King's Army

by Mark Huckerby

  “Stop messing about!” shouted Alfie as they levelled out once more. “We’re nearly there! Get ready to blink-shift!”

  To his horror, Alfie realized that Tony wasn’t joking and the very next moment heard the wheels clicking and clacking as the mechanism tried and failed to find the brake pads. Any moment they would crash into the antechamber outside the Keep at approximately three hundred miles per hour.

  “TONY! TONY!”

  Tony stirred, but still his eyes remained closed.

  “Sorry, mate,” said Alfie, as he kicked Tony as hard as he could in the shins.

  “YOWW!” yelled Tony, eyes springing open.

  Alfie grabbed Tony’s arm and twisted him towards the window. The blackness of the tunnel walls was replaced with a blur of lights outside as the carriage rocketed into the antechamber.

  “NOW, TONY! NOW!”

  Tony whipped his mask on, focused his eyes and the next moment they were sliding to a halt on the antechamber floor, while the carriage hit the end of the tracks, bucked and flew through the air, smashing through the doors to the Keep. Alfie groaned and sat up, nursing the bruises on his arms and legs.

  “I really need my armour back.”

  Tony hovered over him, beaming. “THAT was wild!”

  Inside the Keep, the carriage had done its job, not only gaining them entry, but taking out three Viking draugar guards on its way towards crashing into the broken ops table. Tony gazed in wonder at the huge underground hall.

  “You never told me you had such a cool base! Needs a tidy up, though,” he said.

  “Yeah, thanks, I’ll have a word with the cleaners,” said Alfie, leading him past the unconscious Vikings, towards the entrance to the Arena. “Come on, the regalia is kept in here.”

  They ran on to the dirt floor of the wide, oval training arena, eyes on the regalia cases that lined the wall on the far side. Alfie was relieved to see that even though the glass had been smashed, most of the swords, crowns, sceptres and other items of regalia seemed to be intact. Lock must have ordered that they be left there for the new king to use. What Alfie and Tony failed to notice till it was too late were the six Viking draugar who had been left to guard the real Crown Jewels waking up on the benches either side of them.

  “ÞJÓFAR!”* yelled one of the Vikings, rallying the others to their feet.

  The growling Viking squad surrounded Alfie and Tony, circling them like a pack of wolves.

  “OK, Qilin,” said Alfie. “Time to do your thing.”

  The red-robed superhero disappeared, throwing the meathead Vikings into confusion, then reappeared by the regalia cabinet. Another split-second later he was back next to Alfie handing him the tiny Coronation spoon.

  Alfie looked at it, unimpressed. “The spoon? What did you pick that one for?”

  “Sorry, I thought it looked useful,” said Tony.

  “Not for fighting Vikings!”

  They both ducked as the first axe swing whooshed past. Alfie scooted through the nearest Viking’s legs and rolled clear.

  “GET ME SOMETHING TO FIGHT WITH!”

  Tony blink-shifted back to the cabinet and returned with the Sword of State. Alfie grabbed it and the blade burst into light with a blinding flash that had the Vikings stumbling back, arms raised.

  As the glare dimmed, two of the draugar charged again, but this time Alfie was ready for them. Sparks flew from his blade as it crashed into their onrushing axe heads, sending the pair spinning into the benches. The rest of the Vikings were more wary now, muttering Old Norse curses under their breath as they lunged and withdrew. Alfie spun round, parrying each blow in turn, but he knew he couldn’t keep this up for long.

  “Some armour would be nice!” he yelled at Qilin, who was back by the regalia.

  “Armour, armour…” said Tony, running his fingers over the jumble of bejewelled items. “I don’t see any!”

  Alfie ducked as an axe gave his hair a trim. “The Shroud Tunic! Looks like an old T-shirt!”

  Tony saw the dirty white tunic and picked it up. “Really? Oh well, if you say so.”

  He materialized next to Alfie, who blocked a Viking’s axe an inch from his nose.

  “Whoa! Thanks. Here.”

  Qilin grabbed him and blink-shifted him out of harm’s way, behind the startled Vikings.

  “GEFÐU STAÐAR VIÐ ÞESS!”* yelled a frustrated-sounding Viking.

  “JÁ, ER EKKI RÉTT!”† complained another.

  Alfie took the spurs out of his pocket and spoke to them gently. “Ready to have some fun, girl?”

  He tossed them high in the air and pulled the tunic over his head. A white tide swept over him from head to toe as the magical armour enveloped his body. The Defender was back in the Keep. He rolled forward, letting the spurs lock like magnets into his heels as they fell.

  “SPURS!” shouted Alfie.

  The Arena was filled with fearsome whinnying as Wyvern uncoiled from Alfie’s heels like a giant butterfly bursting from its chrysalis. She reared up at the Vikings, clattering them with her front hooves, then took off, diving at the panicking draugar and chasing them in circles round the arena. Tony clapped his hands.

  “Wow, your ride really hates Vikings, huh?”

  Once Wyvern had redecorated the arena with knocked-out Vikings, Alfie recalled her into his spurs and took as much of the regalia as he could carry, packing the rest in the portable regalia case. The Swords of State and Mercy, sceptres and armill bracelets, each shimmered with a golden glow, as if comforted by the touch of their rightful owner. Finally, he was relieved to see that the diamond, sapphire and ruby-adorned Ring of Command was there in its place – he had feared it had been lost for ever when he had taken it off during the battle on the oil rig. He slipped it on to his finger and turned round to find Tony giggling at him.

  “You are so bling, Super Alfie.”

  As agreed, Alfie headed down to the dungeons, while Tony slung the regalia case over his back and climbed up the nearest tower. Holgatroll’s full-frontal assault had drawn most of the Vikings and berserkers outside, so Alfie didn’t meet anyone as he raced downstairs. He was surprised how much he’d missed the feeling of power he got from wearing the armour, but he reminded himself that they weren’t out of trouble yet. It was only when he ran into the dungeon antechamber and was faced with the dozens of doors that he realized there was a problem. He had no idea which cell Ellie was inside, if any.

  “Ellie? Are you here?” he called out.

  Big mistake. A cacophony of hoots, shrieks and growls erupted from the cells as every inmate decided to make their presence felt. Some even tried to trick him into opening their cells by shouting, “I’m Ellie! In here! Let me out!” – but their low, gruff voices rather gave them away. Suddenly Alfie felt his spurs twitch. He summoned Wyvern.

  “What is it, girl? You got a hunch?”

  Wyvern whinnied and trotted straight to one cell door, touching it gently with her head.

  “Well, OK, but if I find some giant sugar-lump monster in here, you’ll be in trouble.”

  Alfie recalled Wyvern into his spurs, unsheathed his sword and ripped it into the door, cutting his way inside. He stepped back, ready to be attacked if he’d got it wrong. But as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a small figure hunched on the bed with her knees pulled tight to her chest. She looked up through strands of lank, greasy hair, shielding her eyes.

  “Ellie!” he called out.

  “Who are you?” she muttered through cracked lips.

  “It’s me, Alfie.”

  Ellie chuckled a bitter laugh. “No, you’re not. Anyway, he’s gone.”

  Alfie realized he was still wearing his Defender armour. He reached up and pulled it off, the armour transforming back into the tunic and coming to rest in his hand.

  “Ellie, it is me. Look.”

  His sister’s eyes grew wide as she stood up from the bed on shaky legs and walked over to him. He reached out and caught her as she fell into his arms.


  “Alfie? But how…?”

  “I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to leave.”

  Alfie pulled the tunic back over his head and, with his Defender armour restored, he carried Ellie out of her cell.

  Outside on Tower Green, Viking devil dogs were swarming over Holgatroll like wasps on jam. She had at least two on every limb, biting and clawing at her tough green hide. Every time she threw one off, two more Vikings would transform into the monstrous canines and take its place. Suddenly, to her surprise, Qilin appeared from thin air, clinging to the only free spot he could find – the top of her head.

  “Get off me, imp!” roared Holgatroll, shaking her head. “I can’t see!”

  “I thought you might like a hand,” shrieked Tony, gripping hold of her bushy eyebrows.

  “I don’t need help from you!”

  But just then a devil dog’s dagger teeth found their way through the troll’s skin and sank into her leg. She howled and shook off the devil dogs in her fury.

  “You could have fooled me!” shouted Qilin, clinging on by his fingertips. “Let’s take this somewhere quieter!”

  And with that he blink-shifted them away from the devil dogs, which fell into a heap, biting each other in their confusion, and reappeared with Holgatroll on top of the White Tower.

  “Fine!” huffed Holgatroll, grabbing hold of the weathervane and bending it over in her attempt to balance on the roof. “Where is King Alfred?”

  Tony scanned the towers anxiously.

  “He’ll be here soon. I hope.”

  Alfie was inside the tower, making for the light above. As soon as he reached the roof, he would summon Wyvern and fly them out of there. That would be Qilin and Holgatroll’s cue to make their retreat too and meet up at the rendezvous point. But as he passed an archway off the staircase, a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Your Majesty…”

  He tried to ignore it – he had to get Ellie to safety. He climbed up another couple of steps. But the voice came again.

  “Alfie…”

  Alfie eased Ellie on to the steps and helped her to find her feet.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, half delirious.

  “Keep going,” he answered. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  The Defender stepped through the archway into a small, whitewashed cell, with a single thin window in the shape of a cross high on one wall. Soft light from a dozen black candles dappled the ceiling. At the far corner was a stand covered with a dark velvet cloth, next to a small desk.

  At the desk sat Cameron Lock, writing in a book. “This was Sir Thomas More’s cell,” he said, and looked up, smiling.

  Alfie’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “You’re not my history teacher any more, remember?” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Nevertheless, you might learn something, Alfie,” said Lock. “Lord Chancellor More was a wise and powerful man. Some said it was he, rather than the king, who really ran the country. But if you ask me, his greatest achievement was this.”

  He threw the book he had been annotating across the cell to Alfie. As it landed with a loud clap, Alfie could read the title: Utopia.

  “It’s another word for paradise,” Lock continued. “More imagined a land where nobody disagreed with each other, everyone got along and no one had any secrets. There was a darker side, of course – slavery, executions for the smallest crime, and so on, but, well, nowhere’s perfect.”

  “Sounds like a snore-fest to me,” said Alfie, kicking the book back to him.

  “People assumed he’d made the whole Utopia thing up, of course,” Lock persisted. “But actually he’d been there himself; pan-dimensional travel was a hobby of his. He was quite a guy.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Alfie. “Like, how he died.”

  He unsheathed his sword, illuminating the cell. But if Lock was worried, he didn’t show it.

  “Executed on the orders of his king and master, Henry the Eighth,” said Lock. “I’m delighted to see some of my lessons sank in after all. Now, let me teach you something else.”

  He pulled the velvet cloth off its stand, revealing the seeing mirror. The buzzing of flies instantly filled the cell, burrowing through Alfie’s helmet and into his ears, making him feel woozy. Somehow he knew he shouldn’t look into the mirror, but he couldn’t stop himself. The black glass rippled like an oil slick and through the darkness came the woman’s face. Lock didn’t have to tell him who this was – it was Hel, the Norse Goddess of Plague. The half of her face that he could make out was radiant, drinking him in like she was looking right through his superhero armour at the child beneath. Alfie opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It felt as if the mirror was sucking all the oxygen from the air.

  “At last, you bring me a king.” Had she spoken out loud, or had her words merely appeared in his mind? “I can feel your fear, young Alfred. Fear for your friends, your family, your people. Fear that you will let them down. Yes, you worry that you lack courage.”

  Alfie shook his head – there was no difference between the buzzing of the flies and the lilting music of Hel’s voice. He could feel her pulling thoughts from his mind, guiding him closer, like his mother’s hand around his when he was little. The Defender took a step towards the mirror.

  “I can help you, Alfie. I can help you find your strength. I can help you save them all. I can help you…”

  Alfie felt like he was floating through a dream. He was a passenger in his own body. All he could think of was her voice. He didn’t even feel the spurs digging themselves into the floor, trying to hold him back as he stepped closer to the mirror. He reached out. He wanted to touch her face.

  “Alfie?”

  A voice cutting through the fog. Not hers. But familiar.

  “Come to me. Come…” Hel spoke close, hard, a command now.

  “Alfie, don’t!”

  His sister’s voice. Ellie. His sister. His—

  Alfie snapped out of the trance and yanked his hand away from the mirror. Hel’s face turned fully towards him, the skeleton half revealed, screaming at him. He stumbled back to the doorway. Ellie grabbed his arm.

  “What are you doing? Alfie?”

  Lock was out from behind the desk, running at him. But the spell was broken. Alfie swung Ellie on to his back and, pointing his fist at the staircase wall outside the room, focused his mind through the Ring of Command. The Defender ran at the wall as the ancient stones answered their monarch’s call, scattering outward like windblown leaves. Alfie and Ellie hurtled through the gap into the waiting night’s air, falling for a moment before Wyvern unfurled beneath them and carried them high and away. All Lock could do was watch from the open wound left in the tower’s side and think about how he would calm his angry mistress in the mirror.

  Seeing the Defender flying from the tower, Qilin stretched his hand out to Holgatroll.

  “It only works if you hold my hand,” he said with a shrug.

  “I’m good, thanks,” said the troll.

  Holgatroll bent her knees and leapt clean over the Tower walls, bounding off across the rooftops. Qilin scratched his head.

  “Girls are so hard to talk to sometimes,” he said and blink-shifted after the others half a mile at a time.

  * * *

  * “Look! A stinking troll has escaped from its cave. Bring me its ugly head.”

  * “THIEVES!”

  * “STOP DOING THAT!”

  † “YEAH, IT’S NOT FAIR!”

  If Hayley stopped running, she would die. Her legs felt like lead and her breath was coming in short, sharp stabs. She was built for sprinting, not the marathon. All her energy spent, she slowed to a walk and clutched her sides.

  “KEEP GOING!” Brian shouted, waving her on urgently.

  Behind Brian was a sight she’d never forget. A yowling, screaming mass of enraged berserkers, led by a handful of fearsome Viking draugar, who vaulted over parked cars and pushed over phone b
oxes in their relentless pursuit. A black-feathered arrow whistled past her head and embedded itself in the wooden fence she was leaning against with a deep thunk.

  “MOVE!” Brian yelled, grabbing her arm and dragging her on. Hayley sucked in more air and forced her legs to work.

  “How … much…” Hayley gasped but couldn’t finish the sentence. But Brian knew what she meant.

  “The park should be right around this corner.”

  They had to make it. They couldn’t fail on their part of the mission. And to think, earlier Hayley was feeling annoyed that she was going to be left out of the action while Alfie and his new, shiny superhero buddies were busy doing all the fun stuff at the Tower. Instead she and Brian were on a mission to break into the Crystal Palace transmitter. The huge radio mast towered over the south London park, and it was their job to switch it back on and start broadcasting again.

  “This will be a message of great comfort and cheer to those who hear it,” LC had told them before they left, solemnly handing them a flash drive.

  “Do you even know what this thing is called?” Hayley had laughed, holding the USB stick.

  “I confess I do not, Miss Hicks. But you need to ensure it is delivered,” LC had said, his face stern.

  Hayley and Brian had set off south across London in good time before the curfew, keeping to quiet back streets, and had only occasionally glimpsed distant berserker patrols. The blizzard was particularly thick today, which helped them to stay concealed. They’d used the sub to travel west along the river and disembarked at Vauxhall before setting off again through the deserted streets of south London. All they had to do was reach Crystal Palace Park by nightfall, hide out and then turn on the transmitter. But as bad luck would have it, when they emerged from an alley in Dulwich, they’d ran slap bang into a party of Viking draugar from the Swanage fleet who were enjoying some shore leave. Brian and Hayley had tried to pass by the rowdy rabble unnoticed, as if they were just locals heading to the market, but one of Vikings, a huge brute with part of his skull breaking through the green skin of his forehead, had caught Hayley’s eye, and grabbed her.