King's Army

by Mark Huckerby

  “Don’t,” Tamara whispered to the old man. She didn’t want to see the thing that had carried them here. Her son. Her Richard.

  “The only shame here is yours,” hissed the Black Dragon, circling them in the gloom. “You let our family become weak, a laughing stock. If people have suffered, it’s your fault, not mine.”

  “Is that what your keeper tells you?” continued LC. “It’s funny, I don’t remember you being such a gullible child.”

  The Dragon shot from the darkness, its jaws open, fire whistling around its dagger teeth, inches from LC’s face.

  “NO!” yelled Tamara.

  The Dragon’s eyes flicked to her. Then it withdrew, as if remembering what it must look like to her. LC squeezed Tamara’s hand and whispered. “Talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”

  Tamara swallowed hard and mustered a smile through her tears.

  “I would like to speak to my son,” she said in a level voice.

  The Black Dragon snorted and flicked its tail across the dungeon doors behind it.

  “That makes a change. I thought you were more interested in your horses than your family.”

  “I shouldn’t have left; I’m sorry. But I did what I thought was best. Can I speak with Richard?”

  The Dragon recoiled, as if stung by his own true name.

  “Please,” continued Tamara, “I’m still your mother. I love you. I want to help you.”

  For a moment the beast met her eyes and she thought she could see a fleeting glimpse of the son she remembered. A furrow in the brow, a softness in the eyes. LC watched with awe. She was getting through to him.

  “Richard. It’s me. Show me Richard,” she urged, reaching out her hand to the monster’s face.

  The heavy clunk of a bolt being slid open and the sound of footsteps approaching shattered the moment. The Black Dragon shook its body and opened its wings.

  “There is no Richard. There is only the Dragon. Your son is dead,” it sneered, then turned and crawled away up a staircase into the dark.

  Tamara put her hand to her mouth, giving way to the grief that swept over her.

  Across the room, Cameron Lock stepped down into the chamber, flanked by his Viking guards. “How the mighty have fallen,” he chuckled.

  “You monster!” shouted Tamara, lunging at him, only for the nearest Viking to pick her up and fling her back to the floor.

  “Careful now,” said Lock, “I may have decided to keep you alive for the time being, but if you push me, I’ll gladly send you to the Tyburn Tree.”

  “You should be the one hanging,” spat Tamara, “for what you’ve done.”

  “Is it really me you’re angry with?” asked Lock. “Or is it the former Lord Chamberlain here?” He turned to LC. “How many kings and queens have you let down over your many, many years of service?”

  “I don’t answer to traitors,” said LC, refusing to meet his eye.

  “Or perhaps, Queen Tamara,” continued Lock, enjoying himself, “it is yourself you blame, for abandoning your children to their fate? Still, at least you brought Alfie back. He’s going to be very useful to me.”

  “If you harm a hair on his head, I promise you, I’ll—”

  Lock waved an arm dismissively. “You’re in no position to promise anything. You are relics of this kingdom’s pathetic past, both of you. A new age is coming, something glorious you’ll never live to see.” He turned to the Viking guards. “Throw them in a cell. If they resist, kill them.”

  He turned and made for the stairs. The Vikings heaved LC and Tamara to their feet.

  “You’re a fool if you think you can control her, Lock,” shouted LC. The professor stopped for a moment but did not turn around. “Hel will destroy you along with everybody else.”

  Lock carried on up the staircase, out of sight.

  Later, in the pitch darkness of their cell, the prisoners spoke in hushed, defeated tones.

  “What he said about your long service, all the kings and queens… Does Alfie know?” asked Tamara.

  LC let out a laboured sigh. “No. His Majesty knows only what he needs to.”

  “Then I hope he was paying attention to his training. Because Lock was right about one thing. You and I can’t do anything now. It’s up to the kids. Everything depends on them.”

  High above them, Lord Protector Lock caressed the edge of Hel’s mirror. Even shrouded with its velvet cover, the sound of impatient flies coming from it was constant now. It was no longer a mere object; it was a living thing, like a mad dog straining at its leash. Lock smiled.

  “Soon, my mistress, we will have what we need to release you, and you will turn our enemies into dust.”

  Alfie had never liked hunting. Despite his father’s attempts to take him grouse shooting or deer stalking when he was old enough, he’d always made excuses not to go. He could tell his father was disappointed, even though Richard was only too keen to join in. It wasn’t just that Alfie felt faint at the sight of blood, it was more that it didn’t seem like a fair fight to him – some defenceless animal against a bunch of fully-grown men armed with guns. It sounded more like a massacre than a sport. But tonight he truly understood for the first time what it must feel like to be that animal, hiding, running for your life, waiting for the end to come at any moment.

  Lock had ordered every undead draugar and every berserker to join the Black Dragon in the hunt for the Defender and his Resistance allies. London and its sprawling suburbs were swarming with rampaging Vikings, terrorizing the streets, searching every house, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. Brian had decided they should avoid the city entirely and strike west. They could turn south towards Stonehenge once they’d put some distance between themselves and their pursuers, he’d said. Even with Alfie, Ellie and Brian keeping airborne on Wyvern as much as possible and Qilin blink-shifting with Hayley, it took several hours of dodging Viking patrols before they could even begin to relax.

  Wyvern glided into a smooth landing at the edge of a small wood on the edge of the Chiltern Hills. Brian dismounted and lifted Ellie down. Alfie let Herne jump down and then patted his weary horse on the neck; she shook her head playfully in response. Even though he was sure Wyvern could understand the seriousness of their situation – on the run, hunted, loved ones left behind – he could still feel her joy at being free to fly through the skies again. Fair enough, after months at the bottom of the North Sea, he supposed.

  In truth there was something about being away from London, out in the countryside, that always made him feel better too. Even though the skies out here were just as dark and the ground was frozen just as solid as it was in the city, he felt like he could breathe for the first time in days. Maybe LC’s plan would work, he thought. Maybe once they had rallied their forces they could turn the tide against Lock before it was too late. Maybe he could still save his family and his friends and everyone else. That was a lot of “maybes”, but that was all he had right now, so it would have to do.

  “Can we walk for a bit?” asked Ellie. “I need to warm up.”

  Alfie looked down at his little sister. She was shivering inside her big coat, hair laced with frost and lips turning blue. He didn’t feel the cold inside his armour, but for Ellie and Brian the series of fast flights they’d made had been hard to endure.

  “Sorry, yeah, of course,” he said.

  Alfie recalled Wyvern into his spurs and took off his armour. The biting cold snatched his breath away for a moment.

  “Any sign of the others?” he asked, trying not to let his teeth chatter.

  Qilin had been blink-shifting with Hayley from high point to high point, across the landscape below them, but he’d lost track of them after a while.

  “Ahead of us, I reckon,” said Brian. He wiped the snow off a stile, revealing a footpath sign pointing into the woods. “This way. If we march fast, we won’t feel the cold so much. Old army trick.”

  The trio wound their way through the woods quietly at first, saving what energy they stil
l had for the journey ahead. Icicle-heavy branches overhung the path like claws reaching out to grab them. There seemed to be no animals or birds here, as if the unnatural winter had driven all the life out of the place.

  “It’s nicer in springtime, to be honest,” said Brian. “Carpets of bluebells and all that.”

  Alfie laughed. “Didn’t think of you as much of a rambler.”

  “He’s full of secrets, aren’t you, Brian?” said Ellie with a cheeky grin.

  Brian frowned and changed the subject. “This is part of the Ridgeway. Oldest road in England. Traders have been pounding up and down this path for thousands of years. Anyway, you should feel right at home.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Alfie.

  “Because we just crossed into Wessex, Alfred the Great’s original kingdom. Funny place; always been a ton of magic here.”

  They tramped on and a short while later came out of the woods into a frozen meadow. On the other side there was a small hill, just below the top of which they could see Hayley being sick and Tony patting her sympathetically on the back.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Alfie when they caught up with them.

  “Shifting sickness,” said Tony. “It can happen when you do too much teleporting in one go. It’ll pass.”

  Hayley stood up and wiped her mouth. “I’m OK. Anyway, we have bigger things to worry about,” she said, pointing to the brow of the hill.

  They crept up and peered over into the valley below. Campfires were burning, flickering flames illuminating the hulking figures of Guthrum and his draugar warriors. Some were resting, some sharpening their axes, others arguing and pushing each other around. Berserker slaves delivered a dead deer to be roasted over one of the fires.

  “A Viking camp in Wessex. Well, that’s a blast from the past,” whispered Alfie.

  A pair of devil dogs ran into the camp and transformed back into draugar as they reached their lord. The Vikings said some words to Guthrum, who yelled at them and then battered them round their heads till they ran off.

  “They must have been tracking us,” said Brian. “Looks like the trail’s gone cold, for now.”

  Herne let out a low growl. He was looking up at the sky behind them.

  “Er, what’s that?” said Tony, pointing above the woods.

  The others turned to see the clouds above the wood glow red. A jet of fire erupted across the sky, and a dragon’s wingtips scythed down through the swirling fog.

  Alfie looked at the woods. The beast had not yet emerged from the clouds, but they were too far away across the field to make it in time. Nor could they go down the hill towards the Vikings. If the Black Dragon was descending towards the camp, it would pass right over them.

  “Everyone stay low,” said Brian, looking around for cover that wasn’t there.

  “He’ll see us against the snow – we’re sitting ducks!” said Hayley.

  Above them, the belly of the Black Dragon was breaking through the cloudbank. Desperate, Alfie looked at the blanket of snow that surrounded them and had an idea.

  “Everyone lie down!” shouted Alfie, taking Herne’s collar and pulling him close. “And hold your breath!”

  Confused, the others nevertheless obeyed – it was too late to run anyway. Alfie extended his ring finger at the snow all around them and closed his eyes, focusing his mind. Suddenly the surface of the snow moved, as if shifted by a strong wind, clouds of it covering them all in an instant, until they became nothing more than five shallow bumps in the snow-covered field. The Black Dragon thundered low over their hiding place and swooped on, into the Viking camp.

  A moment later, Alfie sat up gasping for air, followed by the rest. Ellie wiped snow from her face and looked around in a daze.

  “I’m not even going to ask what just happened there…”

  They shook the snow from their bodies and peered once more over the hill. The Black Dragon had landed in the Viking camp.

  “What do we do now?” cut in Hayley. “We can’t risk flying – not with Lizard-breath around.”

  “And it’s too dark to blink-shift very far,” added Tony.

  Brian looked around at everyone’s tired faces. Alfie was hugging Ellie, who was shivering again.

  “We’ll find somewhere warm to rest for the night,” he said. “If the Vikings have gone by the morning, we’ll carry on south.”

  “Are there any of those, what did LC call them, peculiar royals round here?” Tony asked.

  “Royal peculiars,” Brian corrected him. “No. But I know another place.”

  Being careful to keep below the brow of the hill, the tired gang followed Brian west.

  Guthrum spat a thick ball of half-chewed meat on to the ground and rose to meet his visitor. His draugar men gathered around the Dragon, keeping hold of their axes just in case.

  “Sjáðu! Engilsmaðrinn hefr sent oss skikkjurakkan hans til skemmtunar okkr,”* said Guthrum.

  The Black Dragon didn’t know what he had said, but he could tell from the guffaws of laughter all around him that he was being mocked. He opened his jaws and breathed a torrent of flames over the Viking that was laughing hardest. The draugar screamed and rolled on the floor, till his comrades kicked enough snow over him to put out the flames, and he sat up, blackened and smoking, but as undead as he was before.

  “I have a message from Lord Protector Lock,” growled the Dragon.

  It was long after nightfall by the time the band of weary wanderers trudged towards the remote cottage. Brian had taken to carrying Herne because, despite the hound’s size, the snow was too deep for him to walk now.

  “Where are we?” asked Alfie.

  “Nearest big town is Chippenham, where Alfred the Great was nearly caught by the Vikings before he fled into exile,” said Brian. “But that’s still miles away.”

  “So we’re in the middle of nowhere?” asked Alfie.

  “That’s the general idea,” said Brian, quickening his pace.

  Alfie could have sworn Brian was almost running up the path by the time they reached the quaint front porch of a little house. The curtains were drawn, but there was a dim light burning inside. Wherever this was, it looked like someone was home.

  Brian put Herne down, took a breath and knocked on the door. They heard the latch being unlocked and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged bear of a man, with a well-trimmed beard and a pot belly straining beneath a thick woollen cardigan. He stared at Brian, as if not believing what he was seeing, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. The silence was shattered by a four-year-old girl with long brown hair wearing a tiger onesie, who burst out past the man’s legs and threw herself into Brian’s arms.

  “Daddy!” she cried with delight.

  Alfie and Hayley looked at each other in astonishment.

  The little girl’s name was Willow, and she was full of questions.

  “Why are you so cold? Where did you come from? What’s your dog’s name? Do you like unicorns?”

  After she’d finally let go of Brian, her other dad, Greg, ushered them all into the warmth of the cottage. For a long time neither Brian nor Greg could say very much without crying or laughing or sometimes both at the same time. Alfie marvelled at how tenderly Brian hugged and caressed his family. The only thing he’d ever seen Brian treat that gently before was his gun when he was cleaning it.

  Tony was now blink-shifting Willow from one side of the room to the other, which made her squeal with delight, while Brian piled logs into the wood-burning stove. Greg bustled through carrying a pile of dinner plates, which he nearly dropped when Tony and Willow appeared out of thin air right next to him.

  “Again! Again!” shouted the girl, giggling.

  “Do you mind if we lay off the magic until after dinner, just to avoid me completely freaking out,” said Greg, depositing the plates on the table. He sounded much more well-spoken than Brian, Alfie thought.

  “Yeah, sorry.” Tony smiled, delivering Willow back on to the sofa.

  By the time
they had finished a hodgepodge dinner of potatoes, soup and a ham Greg had been keeping frozen outside for a special occasion, Willow had fallen asleep curled up on the floor next to Herne, and the others had learned all about Brian’s family. He had met Greg years before in the army – Greg was his commanding officer, and they had had to keep their relationship a secret.

  “I was his bit of posh totty,” chuckled Greg, which made Tony spit a potato clean across the room with laughter. Herne was happy to clean it off the floor.

  After they had both left the army and got married, they decided that Brian would keep working while Greg looked after their newly adopted baby, Willow. Brian’s job involved protecting people and that’s exactly what he did with his family too – by keeping them secret. The downside was that when the country was thrown into chaos by the Viking invasion, he couldn’t let them know what he was doing and where he was going. And he wasn’t going to risk putting them in danger by making contact afterwards, either.

  “Weren’t you worried that something had happened to him?” asked Ellie.

  “Gosh, no,” said Greg, squeezing Brian’s hand. “If anyone knows how to look after himself, it’s this chap. But the longer it went without word, yes, I’ve had some sleepless nights.”

  “And did you know what he really did for a living?” asked Hayley. “You know, all the superhero stuff?”

  “Not at first, no. He’s very discreet about his work – which is funny because usually he’s a terrible gossip,” said Greg.

  “Oi,” said Brian.

  “Every time he had to work late they’d be some news story about a superhero averting disaster somewhere. At first I thought he was the Defender!” Greg continued, over everyone’s laughter. “But after a while I put two and two together. It’s nice to meet you all. I’m sorry I can’t offer anyone seconds. The shops round here aren’t what they used to be.”

  The laughter dwindled as everyone was reminded of what was happening in the world outside the cozy cottage. While the others helped wash the dishes, Brian carried Willow to bed and sat with Greg watching her sleep for a while, talking in soft whispers to each other.