by Dan Davis
‘Alchemists, sir,’ Archer said, his face a blank mask. ‘Cast some sort of spell over on the flank that smashed our horse and foot and landships, sir but we saw them off and they won’t be bothering us again.’ Archer coughed.
Cromwell frowned, as if he could tell Archer was being cagey. He peered at Weaver, who stared innocently up into the sky.
‘What’s happening now, General?’ Archer asked. ‘You’re pulling the whole army back?’
‘The alchemists have destroyed us,’ Cromwell said, nodding. ‘And Charles Stuart’s banner is still flying. As is that of Prince Rupert and that of the fool Digby. While my left and centre melts away. My horse regiments from the right are covering our retreat. So, yes, this battle is lost. But it is not too late. We shall yet win the war. The men are disrupted, retreating and vulnerable but they are alive. My New Model Army is intact. Even if it was destroyed, I have the Alchemist Dee. His company of automata may be just enough to save England.’
Writer felt a thrill of terror. From what Bacon had told her, the Lord High Alchemist Dee was the most dangerous man in England. More even than Cromwell, or even Cedd and Bede before they were killed. As dangerous as Burp, perhaps. A man who could destroy the world.
‘Captain Smith?’ Cromwell shouted over his shoulder.
A fine looking officer walked his horse up.
‘What are your orders, General?’ Captain Smith asked. ‘Me and my men shall see it done.’
‘Get to London, Smith,’ Cromwell said. ‘Order Dee and the rest of those devious men to bring the new weapons and whatever else he can north from the city to meet me. With Dee’s devices, we shall crush Charles Stuart and his blind followers and foreign devils.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Captain Smith said.
‘And while you are bringing the alchemists and their weapons north I shall pull back what forces remain and retreat south towards London. I have a few favourable place in mind to defend outside of the city and we shall hold the enemy off for as long as we can. Though we are outnumbered in men and horse and without landships we have no way of countering their battlemages.’
‘Actually,’ Writer said, speaking up. ‘They’re dead.’
‘I know you.’ Cromwell stared at her. ‘This is the water girl?’ he asked Archer. His eyes grew wider.
‘Writer,’ Archer said, introducing her. ‘Well, Maerwynn, of the Vale. This is General Crom—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Cromwell asked. ‘You are the friend who was with Cedd and Bede? You were their prisoner, girl.’
‘I escaped,’ Writer said. ‘But as I did so, I saw them engulfed in an explosion of fire. A cannonball hit their gunpowder store, I think. And the energy from their half-completed spells and the summoned demons also detonated.’
‘That great blast. It truly was their battlemages dying?’ Cromwell seemed to stand straighter, grinning at his men. ‘Bede and Cedd too?’
‘Bede and Cedd and all the other battlemages were incinerated,’ Writer said.
‘Are you certain? Did you see bodies? They can be tricky, these alchemists.’
‘I saw them engulfed in flame and when it was over there was nothing left of any of them.’
Cromwell’s scowl turned slowly into an enormous grin. ‘Cedd? And Bede? Both dead?’ he turned to his men. ‘All is not lost. Their alchemists are destroyed. What of the King? I mean, Charles Stuart, was he consumed by this inferno also?’
‘No,’ Writer said. ‘He was further away, in a golden carriage. He fled, pulled by white horses.’
Cromwell scowled, then chuckled. ‘No matter. It was the alchemists that were their true strength. Their demise gives us a chance. Yes, yes, we are battered but not broken.’ Cromwell nodded and frowned at Writer. ‘But how did you escape?’
‘She flew,’ Weaver said, scowling.
Cromwell frowned, as if he thought he was being mocked.
‘It’s true, General Cromwell,’ Archer said. ‘We saw her. She can fly now.’
‘Fly?’ Cromwell looked round at his men. ‘Fly? Like a bird?’ His officers chuckled.
‘Well, it is not as though I am flapping my wings,’ Writer said, irritated yet determined to be polite. ‘But yes, using my abilities, I can indeed fly.’ She was so far rather unimpressed with this Cromwell fellow.
Cromwell scratched his warty face. ‘Well I never,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see that. That would be most handy, miss. In fact, would you mind flying up and taking a little look at—’
There was a noise like an explosion of thunder. Blinding, painful white light filled her eyes and the ground shook. The last thing she saw before clamping her eyes shut was redcoat soldiers blasted away, arms and legs windmilling as the men spun through the air.
She found herself sprawled on the trampled earth. She was hurt. One arm twisted under her body. There was a weight on her back.
A familiar voice rang out, blasting through the ringing in her ears.
‘IT TAKES MORE THAN A LITTLE FIRE TO KILL THE INVULNERABLE BEDE!’
Writer rolled over. Archer was laying half on her back. She shook him off and looked for the voice.
Bede.
And Cedd, too.
They stood together, in a shallow depression, right by the road. Redcoats lay everywhere, weapons flung all over. Horses struggled to their feet and bolted away.
Archer rolled over and grabbed his weapon.
Cromwell staggered to his feet nearby, his mouth hanging open.
‘Yes, yes, there you are,’ Cedd shouted, pointing. ‘We’re going to kill you, now, dear Cromwell,’ Cedd said. ‘And the rest of your men. And then you traitorous children.’
‘And then I’m taking back my dragon,’ Bede cackled and raised his hands to cast a spell.
Archer’s Fury
Archer whipped the rifle from the ground next to him, aimed down the sight at Bede and pulled the trigger. The butt banged into his shoulder. The smoke obscured his sight but he could see his shot had no effect. Bede stood there still, beside Cedd, his fingers darting about and mouth muttering.
‘Load your muskets,’ Cromwell, climbing to his feet, shouted at the startled redcoats standing about all around them. ‘Form a line here. Right here!’
Dozens of men shuffled into place, forming a long, arcing and terribly ragged line. Sergeants and corporals staggered to their feet and shouted at the men. Officers bawled commands at everyone else.
‘It is a waste of time,’ Writer shouted next to him. She was shouting at Cromwell but the General ignored her. ‘Bede has a protection spell.’
‘Kill those alchemists,’ Cromwell said.
The redcoats, in a rough double line, raised their muskets and fired.
Many of the musketeers had not even fired their weapon during the battle so those muskets were loaded. They went off in an enormous, rippling cracking sound. The air filled with the familiar stinking smoke.
Shots slapped into some sort of barrier about the two alchemists. The barrier pulsed and flowed with the dozens of impacts, like hail upon the surface of a pond. The alchemists were unharmed.
Bede had his arms stretched in front of him, his thin lips moving with the incantation he was chanting. With the ringing in his ears, all Archer could hear were the Sergeants shouting to reload their muskets.
When the last shot fired, Cedd threw out his arms, his ancient and lined face twisted into intense concentration. A pulse of air blasted from him, surging out in a ring as quick as lightning, smashing through the hundreds of soldiers around them.
The blast did little to Archer, other than blow smoke in his face and fling his hair about. His friends were also unaffected, though Keeper had to calm Burp, who was thrashing his tail like a whip. The blast had been directed around them, missing the wagons, missing Burp and the Winstanley’s, missing Cromwell and his mounted men who stood confused, calming their horses.
Then the soldiers screamed.
Hundreds of veteran soldiers, almost as one, let out terrified shouts and wails, screami
ng their throats ragged. One moment they stood in two rough ranks, calmly reloading their weapons. Then the spell hit them. They screamed, dropped their muskets, turned, and ran as fast as they could away from the alchemists. They ran through the fields and toward the trees, falling over each other to get away from Cedd and Bede. Even the officers ran with them. The men were shedding anything that might slow them down and they tossed their helmets, packs and pouches as they ran.
‘Hold,’ Cromwell and his attendant officers shouted at them. ‘Hold, you fools. Do not flee. What is wrong with you lunatics? Come back!’
‘It is fear magic,’ Writer called out. ‘Cedd has bewitched their minds. Those men shall not return to their senses for some time.’
Cromwell turned to the two alchemists with thunder upon his face.
‘Form lines,’ Cromwell shouted at his horsemen behind him. ‘Bring me my horse.’
‘Sir, you can’t,’ Archer said.
Cromwell mounted and drew his sabre. ‘Form on me,’ he shouted and his horse company and staff officers formed four ragged lines about ten men wide.
Cedd and Bede smiled at each other.
‘Wait,’ Archer cried.
‘This is what they want,’ Writer yelled. ‘You cannot hurt them!’
‘Do something, Archer,’ Keeper shouted.
‘Charge them,’ Cromwell shouted. The first line charged, their horses snorting in fear and tossing their heads, hooves kicking up the dirt.
‘Stop!’ Weaver shouted.
It was no distance at all. Cromwell was at the front. He had four or five men on either side of him riding knee to knee. All had swords drawn and pointed or raised high ready to slash down at the two old men. The first line covered the distance in a few moments and it seemed as though Bede and Cedd would be trampled.
The horses crashed headlong into the magic barrier. The entire line came to a sudden halt. It crumbled into a swathe of horse and men and screams.
Some of the horses kicked their legs and scrambled to their feet, treading on the fallen riders. They galloped away after the still-fleeing redcoats.
The second line of horsemen, despite seeing that an attack was futile, charged to save their General.
‘Stop them, Archer!’ Weaver shouted, grabbing his arm.
Archer was tired but had recovered a little from his earlier use of his power. He quickly brought down a wind and blew the charging horsemen out of the way. Some men fell from their horses, the rest of the horses veered away and peeled off from the attack, the men on their back fighting to stay on. The dismounted men ran after their horses.
The men in the last two lines shouted in protest and swore oaths at him but Archer pushed them away too, with an irresistible but steady flow of air.
‘It’s for your own good,’ Archer shouted at them with his loudest battlefield voice.
Bede and Cedd were talking furiously to each other, walking forward.
‘How do we hurt them?’ Weaver asked Writer.
‘I do not think that we can,’ Writer said. ‘I do not think anything can get through Bede’s defences. Perhaps we should withdraw. I think there is a greater enemy in London that we must face.’
Archer watched Bede cackling away at the edge of his magical barrier, where the first line of horsemen lay. Cedd stood over Cromwell, looking down. Cromwell looked hurt, half trapped under a fallen horse. The horse was not moving.
‘She’s right,’ Weaver said. ‘Let these idiots kill each other. We should never have been involved. Let’s go with Winstanley and Susan, get out of here.’
‘We can’t let them kill Cromwell,’ Archer said, though he was tempted to run. ‘This whole army will fall apart without him and then Bede and Cedd will have won. England will be theirs.’
‘You must know a way of fighting them,’ Keeper said to Writer. ‘You know everything.’
‘But I don’t,’ Writer said. ‘I mean, if I could conjure up a demon, the force released as it hits the barrier might be enough to shatter it. But I never learned summoning.’
‘A demon?’ Weaver said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. ‘A demon like the one in Stearne’s mechanical arm? It’s on the back of Burp’s wagon, in a sack.’
Writer gasped. ‘Yes!’ She ran over to the open rear of the wagon. Weaver ran with her.
Bede and Cedd chuckled and they reached down through their barrier toward the fallen General.
Archer could not wait for whatever Writer and Weaver had in mind. He brought the wind down upon Bede’s barrier spell, hoping the weight of air would crush it like a bird’s egg. The power flowed out of him and into the world and poured in down upon the magical dome.
Cedd looked up, annoyed and Bede stopped laughing. The wind was strong enough to force most of the horses away from the barrier. A wounded man crawled through the grass, battered by the force of the wind. The grass bent flat around him, rippling like waves.
The barrier shifted. Archer felt it through his power. Felt it shrink away from the mass of air pounding into it. Cedd stepped backward, bumping into the lanky Bede.
The tall alchemist bent his back and threw his hands out but Archer pushed more air down. It was like a waterfall, pounding down and down. Bede’s long back bent like a willow holding up the barrier. Both alchemists took a step back, and then another.
Cromwell and the rest his men were being blasted too and they were huddled against the ground with their hands over their heads. If they could have looked up, they would have seen the alchemists being pushed away from them.
Bede stepped back further. Cedd crouched next to him. They backed away further from Cromwell and the other men.
Archer funnelled the air down. There was a whole world of air out there and it would never end. Air from miles away rushed in, creating a wind that would be felt beyond the horizons. Yet Archer’s strength was not endless. He felt it fading. Failing. The roaring wind lowered in frequency from a scream to a hum.
Cedd smiled.
Archer collapsed onto the ground, taking deep breaths. ‘I’m sorry,’ he tried to say. Writer was rubbing his back and he grasped her as he climbed to his feet.
‘Keeper,’ Writer shouted. ‘Hold them until Weaver is ready.’
‘Come on, Burp,’ Keeper cried and leapt on the dragon’s back. Burp was huge now and Keeper sat comfortably on his shoulders, in the dip between Burp’s spiked shoulder blades. Burp climbed crawled down the side of the wagon, walking on his wings, stepping down over the wagon wheels like they were nothing. Burp moved awkwardly in his twisting, writhing walk but he was now bigger than a warhorse and twice as long. Archer took an involuntary step back and Writer moved away with him.
‘Good boy, Burp,’ Keeper shouted, his eyes glowing red.
Bede and Cedd looked afraid.
The dragon stretched his neck out and Keeper put his hands on Burp’s back. A rumbling furnace sound echoed from deep inside the beast’s chest. Burp opened his jaws and spewed forth an arc of flame. It curved through the air, high and smashed into the barrier. Fire flowed over it and all around. The flame stopped for a moment and then the dragon took a shaky step, roared and shot another line of red flame through the air. It burst against the magic dome, fire pouring down like water to cover it completely.
It was impossible to see inside the barrier.
‘Are they getting burned?’ Archer shouted to Writer.
‘When we find the arm,’ Writer shouted in response. ‘You must shoot it with your musket. The blast will destroy them.’
‘What do you mean?’ Archer shouted. ‘I’m not sure if it’s loaded!’
Writer ran back to help Weaver who was rummaging around in the back of the wagon.
‘Anyway, it’s a rifle,’ Archer shouted after her.
The very air was burning and the heat was intense. Fire dripped onto the grass and burned its away toward Cromwell and the other wounded men. They were in danger of being roasted alive.
‘Keeper, stop now,’ Archer shouted.
&
nbsp; ‘I’m trying,’ Keeper shouted over his shoulder. He slapped the scales on the dragon’s back. ‘Stop, Burp, stop! You’ll kill the other men!’
The fire continued to spew from the dragon’s rippling throat. Burp stepped forward, his iron-black claws gouging deep into the earth. The stream of flame stopped for but a moment while the dragon took a breath, roared and spat fire again. Cromwell and the others crawled away from the advancing fire, crying out in fear or pain.
‘Watch out, Keeper,’ Weaver shouted, ran near to the dragon and slammed her fists hard into the ground.
The earth underfoot pulsed out from her.
‘Weaver, stop,’ Archer shouted. ‘Don’t do it again.’
A cracking, creaking behind caused Archer to spin round. Winstanley’s huge, heavy wagon lurched into the sky, forced upward in a stream of dirt. It flew up into the air, arcing and spinning, dropping soil and stones. A barrel crashed open next to Archer, spilling earth into a pile. The wagon tumbled down between the magical barrier and Cromwell’s wounded men.
The wagon shed earth, barrels, herbs and bushes everywhere over the edges of the flames. The great thing slammed deep into the ground, throwing cool, wet earth over Cromwell and shaking the ground with the force of the impact. The frame of the wagon burst apart with the impact and scattered huge planks and iron-rimmed wheels against the barrier. The earth completely smothered the flames.
Burp finally stopped spitting his fire and slumped down, exhausted and shuddering from exertion. Keeper lay on the spikey scales of the dragon’s quivering wings.
The fire on the barrier faded away to a smoking black film. Archer thought he saw movement inside. It was hard to see because the earth kept shaking.
‘Weaver,’ Archer shouted. ‘Please, stop now.’
A black crack in the earth appeared before Weaver, and snaked its way through the ground toward alchemist’s magical shell. As the crack reached the barrier, it opened up, growing wider and wider, soil and grass tumbling in from both sides. It swerved around Cromwell and the other men, giving them a wide berth before tumbling toward the barrier. It reached the edge of the magic barrier and grew wide. It ran round the edge, shaking the whole thing. It thudded and rumbled and the surface shimmered like oil on water. The cracked widened and grew. Earth sprayed out from underneath in a vast wave of black soil and stone that flew out and away across the field.
