by Duncan Lay
‘Khaliz! This is magic! Get in there and stop it!’
The mage stepped over unconscious men and writhing bodies and into the room.
Merren stared at herself in the mirror without any pleasure.
‘You look beautiful, your majesty.’ Her maid, Anna, curtseyed.
Merren had never seen that about herself but this wedding was all about show, a display of confidence to give heart to a battered country. It would not work if she did not look the part. She could not even take a glass of wine to help her get through it.
‘Thank you, Anna. You may go now,’ she said absently.
Anna curtseyed again, then headed for the door, leaving Merren to try and look into her own eyes.
‘You had to do this! It is for the country!’ she told her reflection—but it did not seem to believe her.
‘My Queen, there’s a man here to see you,’ Anna called.
Merren whipped around, her heart leaping, despite herself. Had Martil returned?
‘Show him in!’ she ordered, and Anna leaped to obey.
Merren tried to control her breathing—and then exhaled in disappointment when she saw it was Sendric.
‘What are you doing here, Count?’ she demanded. ‘Don’t you remember that it is bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the church? Aroaril knows what will happen to you now!’
Sendric ignored her poor attempt at a jest.
‘It is worse luck, your majesty, for this groom to not see his bride when he is waiting in the plaza outside, in front of thousands of people!’ he said stiffly. ‘I came to make sure you have not had any second thoughts about this marriage. For it will have a disastrous effect on the country if they do not see you wed today. It is all many people have been talking about. It has given new heart to the country—the people have really responded to this good news.’
‘Was it to this good news? Or just that your prediction of chaos and anarchy was false?’ she asked archly.
‘It was not my prediction! I merely told you what others feared! If you are unable to face the truth from an adviser—’ he began hotly, but she held up her hand.
‘Go and wait outside. I am not ready yet, but I shall be there at the appointed time. You have my word,’ she said tiredly.
‘Thank you, your majesty. It is the right thing, for the country.’ He bowed rigidly before walking away.
‘Don’t say a word,’ Merren told her reflection.
Khaliz stopped the flailing tree roots that had been causing so many problems, and despatched the insects that had been plaguing the men. He almost ignored the little girl. There was no way a child could best him!
‘It’s safe now!’ he called out—a moment before the tree came back to life and knocked him across the room.
Cursing, he managed to stop himself before he crunched into the wall, and reached into the magic, picking up a chair to hurl at the child. But it stopped in mid-air, and even began to inch back towards him. Sweating now, he doubled his efforts to send it back at her. But she did not even appear to be troubled as a second chair, then a third and fourth rose into the air and pressed in at him.
Grimly he tried to keep them under control, but he could feel his energy slipping away. How was she able to do this? It was impossible! His breath was sawing harshly in his throat and spots were beginning to dance in front of his eyes.
Gello watched in astonishment as the wizard was unable to vanquish a small child. He knew Khaliz had been bested by Barrett in the far northern mountains, but by a little girl? Then the four chairs, which hung in the air between the two, smashed into the Berellian wizard, sending him crumpling to the floor.
Gello looked around to see the men behind him cowering away from the doorway, where the tree roots were whipping back and forth once more.
‘This squad, get in there! The rest of you, find some other way in!’ he said in frustration. ‘We did not come all this way to be stopped by a child!’
Martil had enjoyed a relaxing swim and was lying on a large rock, allowing the sun to dry the water from his skin, when Havell and Argurium swooped down from the sky, skimming the water before landing on the sand with impossible grace. Martil had half-closed his eyes, expecting a spray of sand and water—but there was barely a breath of wind. He grabbed some clothing, expecting to see Karia leap down from the dragon’s back and impress him.
‘Martil! We need you!’ Havell screamed down from Argurium’s back.
Martil had a pair of the Elfaran swimming shorts halfway up his legs when the Elfaran’s words hit him and cold suddenly sliced through him.
‘What is it? Where’s Karia?’ he shouted back.
‘We’re under attack! I’ll explain on the way!’
Martil hauled the shorts on, grabbed the Dragon Sword and ran up Argurium’s extended foreleg, jumped to her shoulder and onto the neck, where Havell sat. Almost before he was there, the dragon had taken off and zoomed across the treetops.
‘Attackers burst in and started killing everyone! Karia stayed to protect the Egg! She’s using magic to hold them back!’ Havell gabbled.
‘What?’ Fury and fear mingled within Martil. ‘You left a child to protect it, while you ran? What about the rest of your people?’
‘We’re not warriors! She told us to go, showed us how she can use the magic within the Egg! I said I’d stay with her but she told me to get you!’
Martil restrained himself from hurling the Elfaran into the trees below only with the greatest of difficulty, then an icy calm seemed to descend on him.
‘How many attackers? Who are they?’ he asked.
‘We don’t know. But my people said they’re killing everyone and that there’s hundreds of them!’
As much as he wanted to rush to Karia’s side, Martil knew he might need some help. ‘Where are the rest of you?’
‘Karia sent them to the old armoury, where we keep our dragon rider costumes, for when we need to scare off ships.’
‘Playing dress-ups, while a child protects them. Take us there now,’ Martil ordered coldly, ice within his veins, fire in his heart.
Merren could see the crowds gathering. It was like the evening when she had been prepared to sacrifice herself to save people’s lives, and Martil had gathered everyone in the plaza. She had been willing to offer her life—and yet, somehow, this seemed harder. But, she told herself, when you have offered your life for your people, sacrificing your happiness for theirs should be an easy bargain.
She swirled her long dress and sighed. Karia had wanted so much to carry a basket of rose petals on this day, not just scatter them but make them dance as she threw them.
‘I’ve been practising!’ she had said.
She would never get to do that now.
‘Not long now, my Queen,’ Louise said softly. ‘We cannot keep the people.’
‘The traditional feast—is it simple? I do not want excess when so many go hungry.’ Merren turned swiftly. ‘Perhaps I should go and see…’
‘We have already supervised it, my Queen,’ Gia replied. ‘There will be horsemeat soup, as you requested. The only concession is some fresh bread, and of course the cake.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Merren said absently, turning back to stare out the window.
‘This is the only way through! And that child is blocking it!’ Heath reported.
‘That is not a normal child!’ Gello spat. ‘We have to get past! We are wasting time here!’
‘At last we have not seen any more of those elves. They are probably still running,’ Heath grunted.
‘That does not solve this problem! Has anyone got a crossbow?’
Ezok had been close by Gello at all times, as ordered, and had seen attack after attack literally swept aside as the child used the very walls of the chamber to strike at all who tried to get inside. But it had given him an idea. He had spent the last few days terrified that Gello would kill him, or that Onzalez would kill him. They had invested so much hope in the Dragon Egg, on his recommendatio
n. If it did not live up to their dreams then he would be the one to pay. Only now he could see his salvation. Thanks to this child, everyone could see just how much power was in the Egg. The limp body of Khaliz, along with two score of others, was simple testimony to that. If the girl could make the Egg work, bring her along. Make her the focus of Onzalez’s anger if the Egg did not work. And if she was killed, place the blame on her killer for why the Egg would not work.
‘We must not kill the child!’ he announced dramatically.
Everyone turned.
‘What? Is it some kind of magical guardian that we can only defeat by reading it a bedtime saga and offering it a glass of milk?’ Gello snarled.
‘It is some kind of guardian of the Egg. I remember now! It’s the Radiant Child!’
He pointed and they all turned to look inside the room, past the tree roots that waved menacingly at them, to where the child stood, her skin glowing in all the colours of the rainbow, reflected by the Egg that she stood beside, protectively.
‘What?’ Gello hissed.
‘It is the only thing that can use the power of the Egg! We must capture it, bring it with us, force it to tell us how to use the Egg!’
Gello looked back in the room. It certainly knew how to use the Egg’s power. ‘And without it…’
‘The Egg might prove useless. We might never learn how to unlock its power!’
Gello swore. He looked at Khaliz. He would have liked the wizard’s advice on this one. But it did not look as if Khaliz would be able to speak for a while—if ever again.
‘How do we capture it?’ he growled finally.
‘I used to be a slinger,’ an eagle warrior said into the silence. ‘I still carry my sling with me, for luck. If you can keep it occupied, I think I can hit it with a piece of wood, perhaps knock it out.’
‘And what if you crack its skull?’ Gello snorted.
‘Do you have any other suggestions—sire?’ The eagle warrior met his gaze.
Gello was tempted to kill the man for insolence, but he had no other ideas.
‘I want a huge rush of men in there. Keep that child occupied and give this man a clear shot. He is to be protected at all costs, understand? We have wasted too much time here already.’
Gello massed men in the corridor, then waved his arm.
‘Charge!’ he signalled.
20
Argurium brought them to an abrupt stop by the tip of the hall’s tail, half-hidden by trees. Martil had seen a pair of ships in the bay beyond, and more on the horizon. While he doubted there would be hundreds of men in the Hall, there would certainly be too many, even for the Dragon Sword to handle. He needed men—and the Elfarans were the only option. Almost before Argurium had stopped, he had run down her leg and into the open door.
It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom, although his nose told him he was surrounded by armour. More than fifty Elfarans stood there, most of them now wearing armour and clutching swords, some of them arguing, all of them doing nothing about going back and saving Karia. They fell silent when they saw him.
He drew the Dragon Sword, and could almost hear it humming. Behind him, Havell rushed over to a rack and began hauling down the armour that was there.
‘You ran away, left a little girl behind to protect you!’ Martil accused, struggling to keep a lid on his anger and fear.
‘We are not warriors!’ someone cried.
‘And is she?’ Martil spun, his voice dangerously quiet. Havell was fussing around him, strapping on armour as he spoke. But he ignored the Elfaran as the man worked around him.
‘You say you are not warriors. But that little girl is protecting the essence of almost every dragon you swore to serve until death. I understand you are afraid. But if you let the girl die and the Egg be taken, everything you have done will be wasted! You think you are elves, you believe you are the creatures children read about. You have forgotten that you are men. But men you are. And you shall follow me now. And you will fight like men while there is breath in your bodies!’
His eyes bored into theirs—none could look away.
Havell adjusted a pair of straps and stepped back. Martil looked down to see he wore strange-looking armour, carved and worked from steel. A solid breastplate, a leather kilt with strips of steel and forearm bracers in the same worked metal. It looked strange and barely fitted him, but did not seem as heavy as his trusty mail shirt.
‘Magic.’ Havell shrugged, as he handed Martil an unusual helm, full-faced, with merely a wide-open strip for his eyes.
Martil slipped it on and raised the Dragon Sword, its eyes gleaming and its blade glowing in this dim chamber, the light making his own eyes glow redly in the gloom. The Elfarans, who had watched this man playing happily with a child and applauding their songs and dances, shuddered.
‘Follow me!’ Martil led the way at a run, the Dragon Sword lighting the way, propelled by massive anger. He had to get to Karia. Nothing else mattered. The Elfarans followed him with a shout.
Karia was unaware of the passing of time. She was lost in the magic, feeling the pulsing power of the Egg beside her. Barrett had taught her to focus her mind, to concentrate on what she was doing, excluding outside distractions. So when more men burst through the shattered doorway, leaping and running over the bodies of those who had already failed, she was ready for them. Tree roots detached from the walls, swung and slashed at men who tried to block them, or who tried to grab them and hold them. But she focused on those who tried to get close to her, ignoring the man who crept around the back of the chamber.
With Louise and Gia by her side, Merren stepped out of her rooms. She took a deep breath and stood there for a long moment, the other two women behind her. It seemed so unreal that she was doing this. What was Martil doing at this moment?
‘My Queen?’ Louise prompted.
‘Let us go,’ Merren sighed, and began the long walk that would lead her outside and to the makeshift altar, where Archbishop Sadlier and Count Sendric waited.
Screaming men were hurled across the chamber, or knocked back into the hallway as Gello, cursing, yelled instructions from the safety of the corridor.
‘Distract it! Throw things!’ he roared.
In response, the surviving men threw remnants of chairs—which were returned to them at double the force. They suffered—but not in vain. The slinger chose his moment well, sending a small chunk of polished wood whistling across the chamber to strike the child on the forehead.
Instantly she crumpled to the ground and the chamber’s defences stopped in the same moment, the tree roots hanging limp. Men who had been held by the walls themselves were suddenly free—although those who had been battered unconscious, or impaled by flying chairs, still writhed and screamed or moaned.
Cautiously, Gello eased into the room. When nothing seemed to be happening, he waved men over to the Egg, and the fallen child.
Ezok was the first there.
‘She’s alive!’ he reported. ‘Help me bind and gag her, just in case.’
‘Are you sure she is the key to this Dragon Egg?’ Gello asked, doubtfully.
Ezok gestured around the chaos in the room, where the likes of the unconscious Khaliz were being hoisted up.
‘Do you know of another small girl who could do such a thing?’
Gello looked down at the small blonde child, a lump of a bruise already swelling on her forehead, where the wood had struck her. Something stirred in his memory, something about a child in one of the reports he had read. But he could not remember in what context. He had dismissed it as unimportant then, thinking that a child was worthless. He shrugged. Surely it was nothing.
‘Bring her along, as well as the Egg. We shall let Onzalez sort out this mystery,’ Gello decided. ‘We have tarried here too long. You two—get the Egg.’
A pair of Berellians reached out to lift up the large Egg—only for it to flash out bright colours, almost too fast to distinguish. They drew back uncertainly.
&nb
sp; ‘That was an order!’ Gello barked.
The pair bent down again—only to drop to the ground, screaming, as their hands blistered and burned.
Gello cursed. ‘Build a cradle for it!’
Using tunics ripped from dead men, as well as broken benches and chairs, a cradle for the Egg was hastily constructed and four men, grunting with the effort, picked up the Egg and led the way back to the ships. Ezok carried the unconscious girl over his shoulder.
‘Hurry! Who knows what else waits for us in this place!’ Gello urged them onwards.
Martil ran swiftly. Fatigue was not going to be a problem. There was but one thought in his head. Save Karia. Anyone who got in his way would die. The Dragon Sword seemed to have caught his mood—or perhaps it could sense the Egg nearby. Not only was it beginning to glow, but it was also emitting a steady hum, a low, insistent noise that echoed the pounding blood in Martil’s ears.
‘They’re in there!’ an Elfaran shouted. ‘The door to your left!’
Martil saw it: a dragon-sized door that was just ajar. Barely slowing, he slammed his left shoulder into the door and pivoted into the room, Sword at the ready—to see it empty of Karia and the Egg. A scatter of bodies lay across the floor, as well as a number of men too badly hurt to be rescued by their comrades. Martil strode across to one, a man with a chair leg through his chest, who was propped against the wall, his breathing painful and blood on his lips.
‘Where is the girl? Tell me now,’ Martil ordered.
‘Why?’ the man gasped.
Martil reached out and grabbed the chair leg, twisting it around in the man’s chest. The man howled in pain and coughed up a spray of blood onto Martil’s breastplate, which he ignored utterly.
‘The child and the Egg are going back to the ships,’ he moaned.
Martil stood and inspected the Elfarans, who stood in a group, looking in disbelief at the stand where the Egg had sat for centuries.
