Blood and Fire (Book 3)

by Marcus Alexander

  Charlie too, could not deny that she was enjoying every moment of their flight. With her Will and Hotstepper’s flames flickering around her, she wrapped her arms once more about the dragon’s muscular neck and watched the world pass by.

  47

  Sylvaris

  There were shouts of anger from the Winged Ones as they saw the pillars of smoke rising over Deepforest.

  ‘Oh no,’ whispered Charlie.

  Her stomach lurched as she realized that all her worst fears might have come true. Hoping against hope, she bobbed from side to side, trying to find the source of the smoke. She had to know if it was Deepforest burning or the city itself. She had to know.

  ‘Stop lurching around,’ instructed Hotstepper.

  ‘But –’

  ‘I know, Charlie of the Keepers, I know. But your wriggling around is not making flying any easier. Just hold still for now.’

  ‘But what if it’s the city that’s burning?’ said Charlie, thoughts of Jensen and Kelko first and foremost in her mind.

  ‘If it is, then we will remedy the situation when we arrive.’

  Charlie bit her lip. She had placed all her faith in the Winged Ones and their ability to save the day but had she been fooling herself? Could anyone really turn the tide of war? Thoughts of using her Will to Portal ahead came to mind but before she could pursue the idea she was interrupted.

  ‘DOWN!’ commanded Torn Moon, her voice snapping like a whip.

  Tucking their wings in, wave after wave of Winged Ones left the jet stream and plummeted downward in a stomach-churning free fall. Charlie, knowing Hotstepper was about to follow suit, gripped tight with her knees and wrapped her arms securely round his neck. But as mentally prepared as she was she still shrieked as he fell into a steep dive and Deepforest, no longer below, instead rose up like a wall in front of them.

  They fell for long, long minutes, then one by one the Winged Ones slowly pulled themselves out of their dive to fly over the gold- and green-coloured forest canopy. Ahead of them lay great billows of smoke that obscured their view. Charlie only had moments to study the land before they were amidst the dark clouds of ash. She coughed as she inhaled, the acrid scent scalding her throat, then they were through the worst of it and gliding over Sylvaris.

  The city had been devastated.

  Again.

  Fresh fires smouldered, their glow giving buildings a hellish appearance. Towers that had survived the first battle had toppled and the few that still stood looked worn and battered. Bridges had tumbled, leaving little more than twisted stubs and splinters behind. Marketplaces lay ruined and K’Changa playing fields were scorched. Looking beyond this, Charlie was heart-stricken to see huge swathes of Deepforest blackened and crumpled and devoid of life.

  But she could see that Tremen still moved on the floating boulevards and walkways and that Sylvaris, although bloodied, remained free. Her hopes soared, then swiftly fell as a bank of smoke drifted aside to reveal the Stoman army with its endless rows of soldiers and Shades that stretched from the forest’s edge all the way back to the horizon. Charlie saw the crackle of power writhing amongst groups of Stonesingers and looming out of the crowd like titans of old were juddering behemoths. And all that stood between these and Sylvaris was a thin line of struggling Treman soldiers doing everything in their power to hold back the tide.

  Hotstepper’s sudden growl was so loud, so strong, that Charlie felt it in her bones. Other dragons began to snarl and shout, their angered voices booming across the sky. And before Charlie could question what was happening, the Winged Ones descended over the battlefield.

  Kelko stared angrily at the line of flailing soldiers. He knew they were fighting a doomed battle just as he knew that his beloved city, broken as it was, was likely to be burned to the ground by day’s end. His hands curled round the haft of his Brambleaxe. All he wanted to do was get into that line and join his fellows in their fierce fight to hold back the Stomen.

  But he couldn’t, could he? He was Sylvaris’s general and Lady Dridif had been more than curt when instructing him to lead from the back and not from the front. A good general used his mind and wits to lead, not brawn, she’d said. But Kelko knew he wasn’t a real general. He preferred to work with emotion and instinct rather than cold wit. He’d done his best for the people of Sylvaris but really it had been the advisors that Dridif had loaned him who had devised the strategies. And now, with all commands given, he was expected to stand back here and watch like a useless figurehead.

  ‘Ah, Blight me Leaf,’ he muttered. Turning, he addressed the three grizzled (and rather old) advisors who stood by his side. ‘Right, lads, I appreciate yer help but I think the time for playing generals is over. We’ve done the best we could but it’s time ta get in there and show those fool Stomen that we don’t give up easy. Now don’t try and stop me –’

  ‘We won’t,’ said one.

  ‘Eh?’ said Kelko. ‘Ya won’t?’

  ‘Nope,’ replied the one on his left. Pulling his sword from its scabbard, he eyed the battle line with a crazed glint in his eye.

  ‘Time for giving orders is long past,’ said the third. ‘Now let’s get bloody.’

  Snarling, the three advisors raised their weapons and ran to join their comrades. Kelko stared foolishly after them, pausing to regain his composure. With a glance over his shoulder, he took one last look at his beloved Deepforest, then fixed his eyes upon the enemy.

  He saw the Shades slash at his countrymen with talons of shadow.

  He saw Rhinospiders scuttle over fallen bodies and watched as their riders plunged spears into flesh.

  He saw Stonesingers urge behemoths to rise and stamp their feet, killing all beneath and rocking the very ground with their might.

  He saw siege weapons fling burning rocks into the forest canopy.

  Behemoth

  He saw –

  ‘I’ve seen enough,’ he growled. ‘MORE THAN ENOUGH!’

  Wrapping himself in anger and rage, he slapped his helmet over his head, readjusted his grip upon his Brambleaxe, sprinted forward and slammed shoulder first into the struggling mass of soldiers.

  ‘Burn me forest?’ he bellowed.

  He smashed a Stoman’s sword in two.

  ‘Destroy me city?’ he screamed.

  He kicked a Shade with his armoured boot.

  ‘Kill me people?’

  He swung his Brambleaxe, knocking a Stoman from his feet.

  He opened his mouth to say something but a red mist descended across his vision and a fresh wave of rage burst from his heart. Snarling and gnashing his teeth, Kelko began to really move. He lashed out with feet, axe blade, haft and fist, pummelling his way forward. Deep into the Stoman ranks he went, dropping all that came before him like wheat before a sickle. Deeper and deeper he strode, the line of Tremen pushing with him until at last he could move no further. The weight of the seemingly endless Stomen stopped him in his tracks. Crowded from the front and crowded from behind, he had nowhere else to go. He found his face pressed close to a Stoman’s. They snarled at each other but, unable to raise their weapons, they had to settle for wrestling with words of hate.

  ‘Green-skinned, leaf-loving pig!’ spat the Stoman.

  ‘Shut it, chump!’ retorted Kelko. Fuming, he turned to his compatriots and shouted, ‘Sylvaris!’

  ‘Sylvaris!’ echoed the Treman to his left.

  ‘Sylvaris,’ whispered the dying Treman to his right.

  ‘SYLVARIS!’ bellowed Kelko as loudly as he could.

  The shout was repeated by all the Tremen. Groaning and moaning, muscles close to bursting, they took a step forward, forcing the Stomen back.

  Kelko grinned into the face of his angered adversary.

  ‘We might be smaller than you,’ he said, ‘but we’re tougher!’

  ‘SYLVARIS!’ he shouted again and as his comrades repeated the word he tried to take another step forward.

  But the Stomen didn’t budge. Their front lines had been pushed
back as far as possible and as the Stoman lines behind pressed forward an impasse formed.

  ‘You can’t beat us,’ spat the Stoman soldier. ‘You can’t! We are as endless as the ocean’s waves and you but a sinking ship that we will smash against the shore. Listen to us!’

  A fresh peal of Stonesong rose over the Stoman ranks. The chant grew and grew and the Stonesingers were only too happy to gorge themselves on the additional power.

  ‘Do you hear?’ said the Stoman. ‘That is the sound of your demise, little man.’

  The soil beneath their feet rocked then bulged upward. The two forces were split apart as great mounds arose. Shouting in horror, the Tremen pulled back. The air remained thick with the sound of Stonesong and the many Stonesingers harvesting the song continued to point flaming fists towards the ground.

  Snapping and groaning, creaking and cracking, the earth split asunder to reveal three behemoths that were so big, so huge, that they dwarfed the others of their kind. Terrible hands of stone began to slowly emerge from the ground.

  The Tremen moaned.

  And as if to add to their woes, the very skies cracked with thunder.

  ‘Wait,’ said Kelko as a glimmer of reason muscled past his anger, ‘there are no clouds in the sky.’ He turned to shake the Treman next to him. ‘Thunder!’ he shouted.

  ‘Wot?’ muttered the dazed man.

  ‘Thunder!’ roared Kelko with unsurpassed joy and pointed towards the smoke rising over Deepforest.

  Growls, deep and heavy with the promise of retribution, burst across the battlefield. The sounds startled both the Tremen and the Stomen and sheared through the Stonesong. Unpowered, the three gigantic behemoths sank back into the ground but no one noticed. All eyes were looking towards Sylvaris. They saw a flicker of colour and a sudden spinning of smoke as something powerful sent vortices rushing through the air. There was a tense pause and then, flicking forward on mighty wings, came Winged One after Winged One.

  Hundreds of them.

  Thousands of them.

  48

  Brokering the Peace

  Charlie watched as long lines of Stomen were engulfed by fire and the behemoths were torn into rubble. Shocked by the turn of events and horrified by the immense power and size of the Winged Ones, the Stoman army fell silent.

  Torn Moon flew low over the battlefield. As she passed the ranks her shadow drenched the soldiers in darkness. ‘IF YOU WOULD LIVE,’ she roared, her voice rich and full of authority, ‘DROP YOUR WEAPONS!’ Flaring her wings, she landed on top of a behemoth, bringing it crashing down and crushing the unfortunates that were too slow or dumbfounded to get out of the way. She stood amidst the sea of Stomen like a figure of legend, then slowly padded forward, crushing soldiers and Shades between her talons and dripping flames from her teeth. ‘OR IF YOU WISH TO TEST THE METTLE OF MY WILL, RAISE YOUR BLADES AND LET US SEE HOW THIS DAY UNFOLDS!’

  Those nearest Torn Moon looked up at her and the other dragons flying overhead in dread. Unwilling to face her wrath, they allowed their weapons to drop from numb fingers. As more and more Winged Ones landed amongst the Stoman army the clatter of falling weapons grew until it seemed that the entire Great Plains was awash with the clank and jangle of discarded blades and maces, spears and bludgeons.

  ‘Better,’ said Torn Moon in her normal voice. ‘Last Laugh! Handino! Dancing Stone! Bitter Sail! Attend me!’

  Obeying their summons, Torn Moon’s captains flew low to join her. They put their heads together and began to confer. The Stomen stood nervously, unsure how to proceed. The sudden change from proud invaders to shamed warriors was not lost upon them.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Charlie as she and Hotstepper flew lazy circles overhead.

  ‘The end,’ said Hotstepper. ‘Defeating the Stomen was the easy part but now you get to witness the slow part: deciding what happens with the losers and how best to dispose of the troops.’

  ‘“Dispose”?’ squeaked Charlie and although she found herself full of rage every time she looked at the Stoman army she could not stomach the image that that word brought to mind. ‘Please, Hotstepper, please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it means!’

  ‘It does not,’ replied Hotstepper. ‘Fierce and ferocious we might be but we are not animals. By “dispose” I mean disarming and transporting the soldiers. Torn Moon and her councillors will judge the defeated and decide who will be punished, who will be imprisoned, who will be made to rebuild what they have broken, and who will be allowed to go free.’

  ‘You would let some of them go?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Hotstepper. ‘Although some will undoubtedly have come here with evil in their hearts, others will not. Some will have come here for foolish reasons – pride, duty, misplaced belief. These we will allow to depart. The others though … they will face sterner judgements.’

  As Charlie looked down at the multitude of the defeated and the Winged Ones that stood like sentinels amongst them, dozens of questions came to mind, but she pushed them aside. She had other matters to attend to first.

  ‘Can you take me back to Sylvaris?’ she asked. ‘I need to check on my friends.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Dipping his wings, he banked in a long turn that took them out across the Great Plains, until they slowly righted themselves to face back towards the forest and its city. Charlie stared at the smoke and smouldering fires with tired eyes.

  She had done it, or rather they – the Winged Ones – had done it. Peace. They had brought about the end of hostilities, the end of the killing, the burning and the destruction. And with this came the promise of rebirth and regeneration.

  But for all this she could not prevent herself from staring unhappily at the ruins of Sylvaris and the great swathe of Deepforest that had been ravaged. The tender part of her wanted to cry at the cost, at all the loss of life and pain that had been inflicted to reach this moment, but for some particular reason she found herself thinking of a piece of fruit. To be exact, a Verraverry berry. Rushing out of her heart, pushing past her depression and overcoming her exhaustion, came a sense of life that materialized as a smile upon her face.

  ‘Rumbling Hunger,’ she chuckled, ‘wiser than you seem.’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Hotstepper.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Charlie. ‘I’m just going fruity.’

  As Hotstepper politely chose to ignore her nonsensical answer she grinned happily. No longer did she see the flames and smoke, or the devastation and ruins. What she chose to see instead was Sylvaris as it would look when they started to rebuild. She could picture the Tremen calling forth new trees and using the power of their treesinging to build their towers anew. She could see the Winged Ones flying overhead and bringing peace to all of Bellania. And with those images in her head it did not take her long to picture the Winged Ones crushing Bane and freeing her parents.

  Life suddenly seemed sweet.

  As they sped back towards Deepforest she caught sight of Nibbler and, unable to stop herself, she held her hands aloft and shouted, ‘Dude, I’m flying a dragon!’

  Nibbler threw her a cheeky wave and performed an insane-looking loop-the-loop.

  ‘Winged One,’ corrected Hotstepper.

  ‘A draaaaaaaaagon!’ she hollered, startling nearby Winged Ones and causing Shades and Stomen to look up in wonder. She couldn’t have stopped herself even if she wanted to; she was simply too high on life.

  Even though he was flying, Hotstepper somehow managed to slap paw to muzzle. ‘The sooner I reunite you with your friends,’ he said, ‘the better.’

  ‘Ssh,’ said Charlie, ‘don’t spoil the moment.’ Spurred on by the wonderful feeling of success, she asked Hotstepper to fly lower. Skimming just above the Stoman army she shouted, ‘Hey, suuuuuuuckers! We won! We won! Victooooooory!’

  Cackling with delight, she leaned back, closed her eyes and breathed deep. Victory. At last.

  An eerie howl sliced through the sky.

  It came again, loud
and guttural.

  Alarmed, Hotstepper wheeled round and almost caused Charlie to lose her grip in his haste.

  ‘What was that?’ he growled.

  The other Winged Ones, just as concerned, were looking towards the distant horizon.

  The scream sounded once more. It slammed across the Great Plains, over the heads of the Stoman army and crashed against Deepforest, causing the birds that had returned to panic and take to the sky. The jubilant Tremen, cheering for all their worth, fell suddenly silent.

  49

  Dark Wings Over Deepforest

  A silhouette appeared in the distant sky. It twisted and coiled through the air with sinuous grace. The gathered crowd watched it with mesmerized eyes. A whisper of wonder arose as it became apparent that the silhouette was not alone. More of the shapes appeared until the sky seemed thick with wriggling forms.

  The bitter scream came again. Others’ voices joined the first. Shrieking and howling, hissing and clicking, the noises burst across the crowd, so harsh and powerful that they forced several people to step backwards.

  Charlie, still riding Hotstepper, felt her earlier joy dissolve to be replaced by an acidic sense of dread. Unlike the people below, she knew what was coming.

  ‘They’re Stowyrms,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re Stowyrms,’ she repeated, louder this time so she could be heard over the howls. ‘Bane took the Wyrms and turned them into something new.’

  ‘Stowyrms?’ Hotstepper repeated the unfamiliar word. ‘I –’

  ‘WINGS!’ came Torn Moon’s sudden roar. ‘UP! UP AND READY YOURSELVES!’

  There was a flutter of motion as those who had landed joined their kin patrolling overhead. Eyes wide, talons flexing, the dragons prepared themselves. The Stowyrms drew close, their shrieks growing louder. Closer.