Last Stand of Dead Men

by Derek Landy

  “They’ve been at this for hours,” Vex said as another explosion rocked the wall. “How long before they get bored, do you reckon? Before or after the wall topples over?”

  “We need to take the offensive,” said Saracen. “We need to get our people down there.”

  “General,” Skulduggery said, “tell the others your suggestion.”

  Mantis swivelled its gas mask towards them. “Thank you. Some of you may have noticed that our enemy leaves itself vulnerable when it attacks. Its number is split into three. The Wretchlings are closest to the wall, twelve thousand of them. Behind them, Warlock Energy-Throwers, twenty in all. And behind them, Charivari has been glimpsed, sitting on the hill with approximately fifty Wretchlings and a further twenty Warlocks. That is our opportunity.”

  “You want to go after him?” Gracious asked.

  “Three cloaking spheres ought to conceal my troops,” Mantis said, nodding. “I am sure Grand Mage Ravel has one or two secret exits from which we could leave the city. We would then move around behind them, attack from the rear, and either kill or capture Charivari.”

  Vex frowned. “And if you’re noticed, the attacking force will return and you’ll be wiped out.”

  “If the attacking force notices, that will be your signal to open the gates and charge at the Wretchlings. Without Charivari to issue commands, they will find themselves fighting a battle on both sides.”

  Stephanie didn’t know if her words would be welcomed here, but someone had to say it. “There are more of them than there are of us.”

  “Surprise is a sharp weapon to wield,” Mantis replied. “But you need not engage them fully. You would just have to sow enough confusion to allow us to slip backwards, still under cover of the cloaking spheres. Then you would return to the safety of the wall and leave our enemy confused and standing in the middle of a field, not knowing which way to turn.”

  “In order to be ready at the gates, we’d need to drastically reduce our numbers on the wall,” said Vex. “The Wretchlings could swarm us.”

  “I did not claim this plan to be without risk.”

  “If it goes wrong,” Saracen said, “you’ll be out there alone. We won’t be able to get to you. And Warlocks aren’t known for taking prisoners.”

  “Death comes for us all. But I do not believe we will fail.”

  A few days ago, Mantis was the enemy – alien and unknowable. Today it was a friend, and Stephanie didn’t want to see it risking its life on something so dangerous.

  “What does His Highness say about this?” Vex asked.

  “Ravel doesn’t get a say,” Skulduggery responded. “On this wall, I’m in command. Mantis has a plan, and it’s a good one, and I’m inclined to agree to it. Unless anyone here has a reason why I shouldn’t.”

  Stephanie could see it in their eyes. They wanted to object, but they didn’t have a choice.

  “OK then,” Skulduggery said. “General, prepare your people.”

  Mantis gave a sharp salute, and left them where they crouched.

  “It’s suicide,” said Donegan.

  “Maybe,” said Skulduggery. “But if it works, this battle is over.”

  “And if it doesn’t, we’re down half our number.”

  Skulduggery looked out over the battlements. “Fortune favours the bold. He who dares wins. The only easy day was yesterday. Signa Inferemus. Take whichever slogan you like the most and lean on it. That’s how you get through decisions like this. Stephanie, stick.”

  She frowned, took the stick from her back and handed it to him. He gripped it, and the sigils started glowing again. He handed it back, fully charged, without saying anything.

  The morning passed without any more deaths. The bombardment slowed, as if the Warlocks were getting tired. When the Warlock had attacked Valkyrie and Skulduggery in that alleyway eighteen months before, he’d used up so much power that he tried to eat Valkyrie’s soul in order to get his strength back. Stephanie didn’t like to think about what the Warlocks outside the gate would have to do to get their energy up again, and she certainly didn’t want to see it. She found a spot against the wall where she could sit and no one was going to trip over her, and she closed her eyes and tried to doze.

  She woke to find a camera being shoved in her face. She recoiled, slapping it away. The cameraman adjusted focus as he hunkered down, and before she could rip the camera from his hands, another man joined him. She recognised him – the journalist, Kenny Dunne – and suddenly it all slipped into place. His annoying little investigation, Ravel’s documentary crew … Of course they would find each other. Of course they would.

  “Hi, Valkyrie,” Kenny said. She couldn’t be bothered to correct him. “You remember me? You questioned me about Paul Lynch’s murder, a year and a half ago. Skulduggery pretended he was a cop, Detective Inspector Me. Remember that? I’m Kenny Dunne, and this is Patrick Slattery. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind talking to us.”

  “Talking to you about what?” Stephanie asked, holding her hand in front of the lens and turning her face away. “Seriously, stop filming me.”

  “Valkyrie, this is your chance to set the record straight. This is your chance to tell your side of it.”

  “Side of what?”

  “Of everything,” said Kenny. “Of everything that’s going on. We’ve been here for days, in among these people, and we don’t understand them. We can’t. They’re all hundreds of years old, and yet they look better than we do. They can do magic and shoot laser beams from their hands and throw fireballs and … and we can’t wrap our heads round any of that. But you … you’re one of them, but you’re also one of us.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she said, and stood up. They stood with her.

  “I know plenty,” Kenny said. “These people call you Valkyrie, but I know you as Stephanie Edgley, eighteen years old, from Haggard, in north County Dublin. Recently left school and is considering college. According to your old teachers, you’re a bright girl who holds herself back for some reason. Your classmates liked you, even though they viewed you as a little weird.”

  The anger rose in her throat. “You talked to my friends?”

  “A few of them,” said Kenny. “Don’t worry, I didn’t make it obvious. I’m a journalist. Getting information out of people is what I do.”

  She grabbed her bag, went to walk off. “Go pick on someone else, would you?”

  “I’m not picking on you, Stephanie. I’m trying to tell your story.”

  She turned to him. “What’s this for?”

  “A documentary. The Grand Mage believes that the normal world will find out about sorcerers soon enough, and we want to use this documentary to answer questions and allay fears.”

  “That’s what Ravel wants?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s lying. He’s a murderer and a traitor and he wants to take over. Everyone in Roarhaven does. They want to rule the mortals because they think the mortals are inferior. But I’ve seen what that’s like. I’ve been to a world where sorcerers rule the planet and the mortals, the normal people like you, are slaves. That’s all they are. So this little documentary of yours, Kenny, will be used to calm them down while Ravel gets things organised. You’re going to help him take over the world.”

  “The Grand Mage explained all this to us,” Kenny said, shaking his head. “There’s been a huge misunderstanding. He doesn’t want to take over, he wants to co-exist. He says once the Warlocks are defeated he’ll talk to you and make you see that—”

  “See them?” she said, pointing over the wall at the Warlocks. “They were meant to attack Dublin. Ravel’s been planning this for years. He set the mortals up. But it’s all gone wrong, and instead of attacking the poor defenceless mortals, the Warlocks are here, attacking us.”

  “Stephanie, you don’t have all the information. I sat down with the Grand Mage and talked about—”

  “He lied to you, Kenny. Hasn’t anyone ever lied to you before?”


  “Then why are you fighting alongside him, if he’s so bad?”

  “Because the Warlocks have to be stopped.”

  “That’s what the Grand Mage said. That’s all he wants.”

  “No it isn’t. But none of this will make it into the documentary, will it? You’ll either edit it out, or Ravel will. So what’s the point of talking to you?”

  “Because this might be your last chance to tell your family you love them,” Kenny said gently. “If you have a message for them, I can make sure they get it if something happens to you.”

  Stephanie leaned forward. “My family know I love them. If I needed a documentary to tell them that, then I don’t deserve the opportunity.”

  Resisting the urge to take the camera and hurl it over the side, she walked over to where Skulduggery was standing as NJ conjured up another magnifying window between the battlements. When NJ saw Stephanie, she smiled.

  “Hi.”

  Stephanie grunted.

  “I was in the Sanctuary earlier,” NJ said, apparently unaware that a grunt was meant to indicate an unsociable attitude. “Fletcher’s awake. The doctors say he’ll be able to teleport in a day or so.”

  Stephanie frowned. “You know Fletcher?”

  “Oh, yes,” said NJ, and then her smile faltered. “I mean, not well. We’re not close, or anything. We’re just friends. Not even good friends. Just ordinary ones. Ordinary friends. I have a boyfriend. Well, I don’t, but if I did, I mean, it’s not that—”

  “NJ,” Skulduggery said, “could you please stop talking and finish what you’re doing?”

  “Yes,” NJ said, blushing. “Sorry.”

  A moment later, she was done.

  “There,” she said. “Sorry, again, about the babbling. Sometimes I babble. I don’t mean to. But I babble. I do. I’m trying to stop. Or at least cut down. It’s not easy. Once, I babbled so much—”

  “NJ,” Stephanie said sharply. “Thank you for your help. You can go now. Go check on Fletcher, there’s a good girl.”

  NJ nodded, smiled, and ran off.

  Skulduggery peered through the magnifying window. “I see you were talking to Kenny,” he said.

  Stephanie didn’t look at him as she answered. “They’re making a documentary. That’s what they think they’re doing anyway. It’s just propaganda that Ravel’s going to use.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “He probably thinks you’re her.”

  “Yeah, I got that. But don’t worry. So long as you’re around to constantly remind me that I’m not good enough, it shouldn’t go to my head. Has Mantis reached them yet?”

  “See for yourself,” Skulduggery said, stepping to one side. Stephanie peered through the window. She could see nothing different. Charivari and his Warlocks were still on that hill with those Wretchlings, still focusing on the wall. She moved slightly, just in time to watch a sentry being yanked backwards and vanishing.

  “They’re there,” Stephanie said. Whispered, actually.

  Skulduggery nodded, looking through the window with her. Mantis’s invisible army had sneaked right up on the hill without being noticed. Another sentry was lost to sight.

  Any moment now the army would charge. Any moment …

  Warlocks and Wretchlings vanished as a wave of invisibility swept over them, leaving only empty tents. From where Stephanie stood, there was no hill that seemed more peaceful. But down there, she knew, within those bubbles of invisibility, a battle was raging and people were dying. Blood was being spilled. Limbs were being shattered. Lives were being ended.

  A fireball burst outside of the bubble. A stream of white energy emerged from mid-air, high above the hill, fading to nothing the further it travelled. A stream of purple energy carved a furrow in the grass.

  So far, the Warlocks attacking the wall hadn’t noticed that their commander and his company had disappeared.

  “How long will it take?” Stephanie asked.

  Skulduggery turned his head fractionally. “To subdue fifty Wretchlings and twenty Warlocks? I don’t know. The Warlocks would be Charivari’s personal guard.”

  “So the best and the toughest, then.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  They stayed there, watching the hill while the slow bombardment of the wall continued. Stephanie lost track of time. She started looking around, shifting her position to look through the magnification window at the Wretchlings. She found them fascinating. Artificial creatures. Just like she had once been.

  “Something’s happening,” Skulduggery said, his voice low. She looked back at the hill as, one by one, the cloaking spheres collapsed, revealing the dead and the injured and the captured.

  “Oh, no,” said Stephanie, and her insides went cold. From where she stood she had a wonderful view of the hill, and could clearly make out General Mantis and its soldiers, on their knees and surrounded by Warlocks.

  That evening, Stephanie watched the Wretchlings drive stakes into the ground, all in a line that stretched from one side of the field to the other. The prisoners were brought forward, and each one was chained in place. Mantis itself was chained to the stake directly before the gates. Stephanie saw Regis down there as well, and Ashione. She was hurt. She could barely stay upright.

  The Warlocks stood behind the line, watching the wall silently. Charivari stepped between them, until he was the only one out in the open. He was pale, and bald, and tall. Taller than Mevolent had been, certainly. Maybe ten feet tall, with scars that criss-crossed his muscles. He looked at the wall, maybe counting the cracks and the gaps, maybe calculating how much longer it’d stay up. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t shout up threats or insults. He didn’t wave any flags or make any gestures.

  When he was satisfied, he walked back through the line, the Warlocks parting for him. Moments later, white energy started to glow in the hands of his soldiers.

  “Get ready,” Skulduggery called. “Snipers, take careful aim. Try not to hit any of our own.”

  But the barrage didn’t come. Instead, the glowing energy started to flicker, became white flames. Stephanie felt the alarm that rippled along the wall, but she didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand it until the prisoners began burning.

  There were horrified cries beside her as the screams reached them. The prisoners strained against their bonds, but there was no escape. Mantis writhed on its stake like an insect in a frying pan.

  “Rifle,” Skulduggery said. Then, “Rifle!”

  He snatched a gun from someone, put the stock to his shoulder and fired. Mantis jerked back and sagged against its chains. Skulduggery shot the next man over. Then the next. Then he shot Regis, caught him in the chest, stopped his screaming. Ashione was rolling on the ground, trying to stamp out the flames. It took two shots to end her agony.

  By now the other snipers along the wall had taken up the responsibility. Each shot took the life of a fellow soldier, and gradually the screaming grew less, and then stopped altogether.

  The bodies continued to burn, black smoke rising from white flames.

  ight fell. The Energy-Throwers roamed the streets, waiting for the wraiths to come back. Stephanie stayed up on the wall. She couldn’t sleep, not after what she’d seen. Her insides were knots sliding in acid. Her mouth was always dry, no matter how much water she drank. Fear, she supposed. This was true fear. She didn’t like it much.

  Losing Mantis and its army like that … that was a blow. That was a serious blow, and not just to their numbers. There were no smiles up on the wall. No jokes, no matter how bleak. Losing Mantis had robbed them of their humour. This was probably what hopelessness felt like.

  She looked north, out over the dark countryside. Dublin was north. And north of Dublin, Haggard. Her family. Lying in bed, asleep, no idea that their fate was being decided out here under the sickle-bladed moon. She wanted nothing more than to be in her own bed in her own room, and not for the first time she wondered how Valkyrie could have done th
is for all those years. There was nothing brave about it. Nothing noble. Valkyrie had chosen magic and danger over her family, and that was something Stephanie could not understand. She wouldn’t be here if she had any other option.

  “You’re really not her,” said Fletcher.

  She turned. He stood there, pale in the moonlight.

  “I’d never have been able to sneak up on Valkyrie,” he said. “I’d have had to teleport right behind her. But she’d have known. Whether she’d hear something, or feel it in the air, or just sensed that someone was behind her, you know that way sometimes you just know you’re being watched? Or maybe you don’t. Maybe it’s a human thing.”

  “I’m human,” Stephanie said. “If you cut me, do I not bleed? If you poison me, do I not die? And if you wrong me, shall I not have revenge?”

  Fletcher looked at her. “Did you just make that up?”

  She smiled softly. “It’s Shakespeare. Kind of. I changed it a little. Paraphrased.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Fletcher, “you’ve got full access to all your memories, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Everything I ever read. Or Valkyrie ever read. Or heard or saw or did. It’s why I’m so good at exams. Are you feeling better?”

  He shrugged. “Still shaky, but I’m OK. Woke up a few hours ago and no one would tell me what was going on. Have to admit, I didn’t think Ravel would still be in charge.”

  “Well, apparently it’s complicated,” said Stephanie. “It’s all about seizing the right time. If it were me, I’d just go right up to him and turn him to dust.”

  “Yeah, you’re good at that, aren’t you?”

  His voice was tired and lacked venom, but his eyes were still full of hurt and anger.

  “I did what I did so that I could live,” she said. “It was self-defence.”

  “It was murder and it was attempted murder. You tried to kill Valkyrie.”

  “She never loved you, Fletcher.”