Sunlight reflected off the deep blue of the ocean. The sound of oars hitting water filled Rabigar’s ears, as the Vismarian ship followed the rest of the armada west across the Lantinen Sea. Dalriya receded from view and the world of the Krykkers contracted to a few tiny ships bobbing up and down on the waves.
It may be that my people have never been so vulnerable, Rabigar told himself. Krykkers were used to having the safety of rock underneath their feet, if not all around them. Here they were in an alien, dangerous environment, and they wouldn’t be safe until they made landfall in Halvia.
Somewhere to the north, not visible from Rabigar’s ship, the Sea Caladri warships patrolled, protecting them from a Kharovian attack.
The hours passed, the sun gradually withdrew, making the horizon turn orange and the sea purple. But it was still light enough for the Vismarian sailor to spot the smoke to the north.
He raised the alarm and Rabigar, like many others, rushed to the starboard side to look out. He saw one, then two, then half a dozen: great palls of black smoke could be seen rising into the sky.
‘What is that?’ asked a young woman.
Everyone else shared a look. They all knew.
‘The Sea Caladri are out there,’ someone answered her. ‘The Kharovians have come.’
There was nothing they could do, except tell the crewmen to row harder. Those on deck looked anxiously to the bow, for signs of the Halvian coast, then back to starboard, for signs of the sleek Kharovian warships. Neither came into view. The smoke continued to darken the sky to the north, until the disappearance of the sun made it invisible. Then, they could see fire where the smoke had been. The two great navies of Dalriya were clashing out there, and it was impossible to know which way the battle was going.
At last, they could see lights on the Halvian shore. It was close. Many of their ships must have already landed, and were lighting the way for those that remained. Rabigar could feel the relief flow through the vessel, after hours of anxiety.
But the relief was premature.
For now a sailor called out a second warning, and this time he pointed into the sky.
Rabigar knew it was the dragon before he saw it. Doubtless the creature was responsible for much of the fire and smoke they had seen to the north. It had now flown south, looking to wreak more destruction.
What Rabigar wasn’t prepared for was the fear that seemed to roll off the creature down onto the ship. The people on the deck moaned, no longer able to speak. It wasn’t possible to say what, exactly, caused it. The shape of the thing, perhaps—the long tail and neck at each end, the outstretched wings. The size of it, unlike any creature they had seen before. That it was airborne, making it faster as well as more powerful than they were. The fact, of course, that they were stuck on a drifting pile of wood, exposed, with no rocks to hide under.
Rabigar succumbed to the fear, just like everyone else. But his hand brushed against the hilt of Bolivar’s Sword and the weapon gave him the courage to react. It was just in time.
Its wings furled back and a great roar erupted from its long throat. The sound of death. The dragon dived through the air towards them, a green devil hurtling through a grey sky.
‘Into the sea!’ Rabigar shouted. ‘Get overboard!’ He drew his sword, facing the oncoming beast.
Some were able to react quickly enough, running to the sides of the ship. He heard the shouts and splashes as they hurled themselves into the Lantinen, but he didn’t see, for his eyes were now trained on the dragon. It was coming right for him, his defiance provoking its wrath.
The dragon opened its maw and flames erupted down onto him. The sudden heat engulfed him, as if he had fallen into a fire. He held Bolivar’s Sword in front of him. Somehow, the weapon protected him from the flames, deflecting them to the sides. Wherever they went, the ship caught fire, ablaze in a matter of seconds. Even though the flames didn’t touch him, the heat became too much for Rabigar and he wilted, collapsing to the floor, only just able to keep his sword aloft.
The dragon passed overhead with a screech of fury.
Rabigar was surrounded by flames and now he panicked, unable to see anything but fire and smoke. It got in his eyes, his nose, his lungs. Desperate, he pulled his cloak over his face and began walking. He resisted the urge to run, knowing he could trip, bang his head, and that would be it. He could feel his skin crackling and burning, but still, he moved carefully. A rope, still taut, blocked his passage and he moved around it, before resuming in the same direction. He was rewarded when he bumped into the side of the ship. Still holding Bolivar’s Sword, he swung one leg over the side, before half jumping, half falling out of the burning ship.
He plunged into freezing water. He held his breath, trying not to flail about as held onto his weapon for all he was worth, kicking with his legs, until somehow he emerged into cold air, gasping for breath.
He knew enough that he should tread water at first, letting his body adjust to the freezing temperature of the sea. The flames of the ship blinded him, so that he could see nothing else. Fearful, he scanned the sky for the return of the dragon.
He decided he had to move. Krykkers weren’t built for water. His heavy torso, encased in its natural armour, pulled him down, and the blade in his hand prevented him from using the smooth, controlled strokes that would have seen him cut through the water. He turned to face the Halvian shoreline and tried to pull himself in that direction, splashing about and not getting very far. Waves crashed into him, preventing him from gaining any kind of rhythm.
He would not let go of Bolivar’s Sword. He would not be the Krykker to lose the greatest treasure of his race, the weapon of their greatest hero. He would rather drown with it than wash up on the shore without it.
He looked about him. Ahead was another Vismarian ship, also set alight. To his right and slightly behind him was the burning remains of the ship he had escaped from. He couldn’t see anyone else in the rolling black waves.
Wait, Rabigar thought to himself. Why is the ship so far to the right?
The sea. The sea is pushing me in that direction. He looked ahead again. He wasn’t getting any closer to the Halvian shore, where the rest of his people had set lights to guide the last of the armada. He was being drawn away by the tide.
Rabigar had to fight down the panic that gripped at his insides, that clamped his throat.
He had to swim hard for the shore now, while he still had enough energy. If he left it any longer he would be dragged further out to sea.
Rabigar put his head down and pumped with his arms, kicked with his legs. He threw his head to the side, gulping a breath of air, before pushing ahead again. He didn’t waste energy looking about him, checking how far he had got, he just pushed and kicked, his arms burning with the effort, his lungs ready to burst.
He stopped, looked up. He could see the shoreline, but he was still too far away. He put his feet down. Maybe he was close enough to stand? No.
He started swimming again, but he had given everything he had now. He was too tired, unable to move his limbs properly. He felt dizzy. If he lost consciousness now, he would drown. But if he stopped moving, he was dead anyway.
Drop the sword. Part of his mind was telling him to leave the weapon behind, to save himself. No. Never.
He gave it one last push, trying to drag his heavy body to shore. He began to sink under. He held his breath. He could see Bolivar’s Sword in his right hand ahead of him, sinking down with him. At least he hadn’t let go of the sword, he told himself idly, as the oxygen began to leave his brain. At least they would drown together. That was some comfort.
It was time to give up now. He’d done his best.
Then Rabigar was pulled up, his head breaking through the water, and he took a choking mouthful of air.
Strong hands clamped onto him and picked him up, his whole body leaving the sea.
He looked about, head lolling, feeling impossibly high, as he was carried towards the shore. He heard the slosh of legs walki
ng through shallow water, saw the sandy beach, and suddenly he was flying straight towards it as whoever carried him threw him onto the sand.
Rabigar lay there for a while, unable to move, like a fish out of water.
His hand twitched. He was still holding the sword. He was alive and he still had Bolivar’s Sword. It gave him a final spark of energy.
He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Half a mile down the beach dancing light caught his eye. When he looked he saw that the shoreline was aflame. The dragon had torched the armada. The Vismarian fleet, saved from the Kharovians, was now destroyed. Just like the ships of the Sea Caladri.
He heard a wheezing sound and turned to look in the other direction.
Rabigar got such a shock he let go of his sword. Stood in the flickering shadows cast by the bonfire behind him, bent over, hands on knees as it got its breath back, was the largest human he had ever seen. At least eight feet tall, it was large in every respect, seawater dripping down from its hair and clothes like a sea monster that had emerged from the depths.
And, for some reason the most shocking of all, it was a woman. This woman had literally picked him up and carried him to the shore. She was still bent double, chest heaving from the exertion. Despite everything that had happened, Rabigar couldn’t help but look at her chest heaving up and down, for like everything else about her, it was unfathomably large.
She turned her head, standing up to tower over him, before putting her hands on her hips.
‘Well, I’ve found a right one here, haven’t I?’ she asked him. ‘Bloody dragon come and burned us all to bits, and all you can do is stare at me tits!’
17
Comeback Kings
TIME IS A STRANGE ENEMY, Farred mused, as the Kellish countryside slipped by on either side.
Everyone agreed that the fastest way to get to Essenberg from Guivergne was by river barge, but it didn’t feel like it when you were sat on the deck, impatiently waiting to reach your destination. Their pace was determined by the flow of the Cousel, and there was little that could be done to alter it. If he had taken the roads, on horseback, at least he would have felt like he was doing something to get there faster.
Farred was satisfied that he had given the Guivergnais good warning of the threat they faced to the north. The Drobax had overwhelmed the lands of the Grand Caladri and had now turned on the Krykkers. They were unlikely to stop there. Moreover, the Isharites had sent a flying monster, that the Grand Caladri had identified as a dragon. They had told Farred in no uncertain terms that the beast was unstoppable.
The Duke of Martras, whose province bordered the Lantinen Sea, was quick to understand the stakes. He had accompanied Farred to the capital, Valennes, to speak with the king, Nicolas. Farred had found Nicolas to be withdrawn and suspicious. He had looked sceptical at Farred’s talk of dragons. Well, so be it. Farred had done his part. It was now up to the Guivergnais to defend themselves as best they could.
Eventually, the walls of mighty Essenberg came into view. Baldwin’s Bridge towered above them, spanning the Cousel. Two catapults were trained on the river, ready to sink any craft deemed hostile. Emperor Baldwin had built the defences when Guivergne was considered to be Brasingia’s greatest threat. To Farred it seemed that such petty rivalries now belonged to an age long gone. But a mere two years ago everyone here would have agreed that the Guivergnais were the national enemy. Time was playing tricks on them all.
The bargemen shouted up to the soldiers, who waved them under the bridge and allowed them to dock inside the city walls. Passengers were allowed off first, and soon Farred was standing on the harbour of the Market Quarter, saying his farewells. He wasted no time in joining the Valennes Road, passing the market stalls, stacked with greens and other vegetables. The food purveyors were roasting lamb with mint and his mouth drooled at the smell of it. He forced himself to walk on, taking the Albert Bridge, the main thoroughfare across the Cousel.
From the north bank he could see the whitewashed, square towers of Essenberg Castle. He made straight for it, walking down streets lined with the opulent town houses of the merchant and noble classes. The central square opened up before him, and his gaze was drawn to the fluttering flag of the Empire atop the castle. A stag, with seven antler tips, each representing a duchy of the Empire. Only four of those duchies had fought for the Empire at Burkhard Castle last summer. But the sickness at the heart of the Empire had been cut out, thanks to the intervention of Farred’s prince, Edgar. Emeric was dead and his duchy of Barissia was now in the hands of the Emperor’s brother, Walter.
One of the more welcome things that had come from Farred’s role in the defence of Burkhard Castle was that he was on close terms with many of the most powerful men in the Empire. So that when he presented himself at the castle, it didn’t take long for the chain of command to respond to his arrival.
Rainer, Baldwin’s chamberlain, came to meet him personally. He was a reassuring figure: tall, intelligent, with a firm grasp on facts and figures. He wasn’t entirely surprised to hear Farred’s news.
‘We know that Siavash has won control over Ishari. Gustav has warned us of great armies marching south. He is travelling back and forth to the northern realms, so that we have some warning of an invasion. We are expecting it soon. Duke Walter has already based himself at Burkhard, readying its defences.’
Farred remembered watching the Drobax leave Burkhard Castle. He had known then that they would return, but the thought of having to go back there so soon, and face it all over again, made him feel sick.
Rainer read his expression. ‘It’s not an easy path we have. To my shame, part of me feels glad that the Drobax have hit our allies first, because it buys us a bit more time. The Emperor—he carries the biggest burden of all of us. It is no surprise that he has been suffering with the responsibility. I think it will do him good to hear your news from you, Farred, rather than listening to the same old voices. He has begun to blank us out rather.’
Farred wasn’t sure what Rainer meant by that.
‘Would you be willing to wait here while I fetch him?’ the chamberlain asked.
Farred agreed, somewhat unsettled by the exchange.
Some time passed before Rainer returned, alone.
‘The Emperor has asked that you come to his rooms,’ said Rainer, looking uneasy.
Farred gave his consent and followed the chamberlain along corridors and up stairs, keeping pace with the lanky official, who no doubt made such journeys several times a day.
Arriving on a quiet corridor, Rainer rapped on a wooden door. A murmur came from behind the door, and the chamberlain opened it, gesturing Farred inside.
‘His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Baldwin,’ Rainer said, looking red-faced. ‘Lord Farred is here.’
As Farred stepped into the room he saw that the emperor was lounging on a bed, wearing shorts and with a bare torso. A fire was going in one wall, making the room unusually hot, and smoky. Sharing the bed was Inge, the young apprentice to Gustav. She wore a silk dress and they each held a wine glass, a bottle and nibbles in front of them on a wooden tray.
He recalled a similar scene last summer in Burkhard Castle, where they had shared a room. Baldwin had been asleep, and Inge had seemed to enjoy intimating to Farred that they were sleeping together. But that had been at Burkhard Castle, during a siege when Baldwin had every reason to believe he had days to live. This was in the royal castle, when presumably his wife and children were in the same building.
‘Farred!’ exclaimed Inge, ‘it’s so good to see you again!’ Her mocking tone put him on edge, but Baldwin didn’t seem to hear it.
‘Indeed!’ Baldwin agreed. ‘I will never forget the debt I owe you, Lord Farred. Rainer barely had to twist my arm at all to persuade me to see you. Even though I understand your news is sure to sour my mood.’
‘I am afraid so, Your Majesty,’ said Farred, bowing slightly.
Baldwin waved a hand at his chamberlain. ‘You are dismissed, Rainer.’
Rainer exited the room, gently closing the door behind him.
Farred proceeded to tell Baldwin of his journey with the fleet of the Sea Caladri, of Rabigar’s expedition to Halvia. He finished with the invasion of the Grand Caladri and Krykker lands by the Drobax, and a fire-breathing dragon.
As he did so, Inge crunched on a handful of nuts from the tray, washing them down with her wine, before refilling her own glass and Baldwin’s.
‘What adventures you have had!’ she said when he was done.
Farred would have liked nothing better than to give the girl a slap. But he realised that she was dangerous. He was certainly no match for her.
‘It’s not all bad news,’ said Baldwin thickly.
Toric only knows how much wine he has consumed, thought Farred.
‘The Krykkers are no pushovers, and then the Drobax will have to get through Guivergne before they reach our borders. It’s about time they got a taste of what we’ve had, anyway.’
That didn’t sound like the Baldwin Farred knew. Inge gave Farred a little shrug. What did that gesture mean?
There was a knock at the door.
‘Yes?’ said Baldwin in exasperation, as if tired of constant interruptions.
It was Rainer.
‘Your Majesty, your queen is asking after you. She is in the hall. I thought it prudent to come and warn you.’
‘Shit,’ muttered Baldwin.
‘Oh, what does that bitch want now?’ sighed Inge.
Baldwin looked torn. He looked from Rainer, to Inge, to Farred, as if unsure what to do.
‘It would be a great honour to meet the queen,’ Farred said into the silence.
‘Of course,’ said Baldwin. ‘What, you’ve never met Hannelore? Come, come, Farred, let’s see what she wants.’
He leaned over to Inge and they kissed, tongues probing each other’s mouths, until Baldwin pulled away, got off the bed, and began to get dressed. It was uncomfortable and odd, Farred not wishing to share a look with anyone else in the room.
The Weapon Takers Saga Box Set Page 89
