“But the other dragons!” Char cried, even as Pax started to hold her wings in that gliding gesture I now knew so well – just before tucking them together and diving forward. Stars keep us from colliding with any of the other great dragons, I thought, dreading what could happen when two such large and dangerous creatures hit each other in mid-flight.
“We should already be in the lead, Char,” I argued. “And we have to do something!”
I sensed that buzzing in my head as Char conveyed her thoughts to the dragon below. Whatever she had said, Paxala responded by angling herself to dive faster. She wanted to be quick. She wants to be the first, I thought, as orange light flared ahead, coming from the mouth of the Crimson Red. She hissed small gobbets of fire, causing the clouds around us to suddenly glare with red and orange, revealing her ruby red body in flashes. I hope this works, I thought, seeing how she had turned herself into a living lantern.
“Skreayargh!” We plummeted out of the sky like a burning arrow, the flames that Pax was blowing flowing around us in thin, fast-evaporating sheets. I wondered what the rebel army would think when they saw us. We would look like an incandescent, falling star!
There was a sizzling sound as the flames revealed a dark, draconian shape just behind us on our right. It was Morax! Another flare of flame and there, right behind us was Socolia, copying Pax’s example.
“Char?!” I managed to shout over the howl of the rushing wind. “There is the land to think about…”
“She knows what she’s doing!” Char said angrily, though her face was tight and pinched with worry. She didn’t like what Pax had told her, I could tell. The Crimson Red’s sudden inability to sense was something new and unsettling for all of us.
WOOOSH! With a sudden flare of Pax’s wings, we broke through the low-lying cloud and into the rounded, broad area in front of Rampart. We were traveling fast, straight for the wall itself.
“Turn! Turn!” I was shouting, struggling to signal to Morax at my side as Paxala shrieked, and threw herself into a curving roll.
My stomach lurched and I groaned as I was lifted bodily from the saddle and thumped painfully back down into it again to see, for a split second, the ground racing past above my head as Pax flipped herself over again, pulling herself out of her flaming death-dive headlong at the reinforced, gigantic wall of Rampart.
“Shrekh! Sckreayargh!” She and the other dragons called in alarm, peeling off in all directions so as to avoid the wall.
“It was Ansall,” I breathed, my heart thundering a hundred beats a minute. “It had to be. He must have made that magical smoke and clouds above, to lure us in…” And, it would explain why Pax couldn’t sense Zaxx before – was it because the Abbot had used the same, nullifying clouds? Hadn’t there been a low river fog hanging over the river-village outside Rampart before?
Paxala shot out along the lip of the bowl of hills in a wide circle, allowing us to catch our breath and begin our first strafing run – only, something was wrong. Very wrong.
There was no rebel army here waiting for us.
Chapter 21
Neill, and the Darkening
There was no rebel army here. No matter what my eyes reported, my mind refused to believe. But what could that mean? Where were they, if they weren’t here?
We flew, skirting the hills, away from the walls of Rampart and its heavy blanket of low, magical grey clouds just overhead. The clouds had lowered to entirely cover the tops, forming a hollow where the light below was dingy and grey, and the sound curiously echoing. It was like a cave, with the back of the cave being the tall wooden walls of Rampart with its sharpened stake wall tops.
The ground beneath was churned from the passage of many, many feet and hooves, and, as I looked down I could still see the many small flares of campfires, the pitched tents – both individual and large, as well carts and vehicles standing in small huddles like they were old friends in a market place.
“Neill?” Char was clearly as disconcerted as I was. “Where are they? Where are the rebels? Your brothers?”
“It’s a trap,” I said, stating the obvious, probably. “We have to warn Sir Rathon!” I said, just as I saw, amongst the discarded remnants of the encampment another batch of wagons and carts, sitting on their own. These different carts were long and bore about six wheels on either side, with long wooden arms stacked carefully along their body. “That makes no sense – those are catapults, I am sure of it.” I pointed to them. They were, as far as I could guess, the only weapon that the warlords and clan armies had against dragons. They were also one of the few weapons that an army had against a walled or fortified enemy. “If the rebels had meant to march on the academy, or the prince’s own palace, they would have taken those catapults with them,” I said. At least, I was sure that was what my father would have done, and would have expected Rubin and Rik to have followed suit.
It’s not like the sons of Malos Torvald to throw away any weapon that they’re going to need in the future, I thought in alarm.
The sudden blaring of horns made me look up as the double-column of Sir Rathon’s knights of the Middle Kingdom marched into the valley, their plate and chain armor catching the reflected glimmers of the cookfires, and their proud banners and pennants flailing and flapping with the force and fury of their charge.
We flew towards them as we watched their column break apart in practiced and tried maneuver, their two-rank lead (with Sir Rathon and his trusted second right hand at the front) to become a line of four, eight, sixteen, and soon it was an outpouring of what must have been over a hundred mounted lancers, and still room for much more in the empty battlefield. They charged at nothing but churned mud, their furious clip faltering and slowing, as their tight formation started to fray in confusion.
“Sir Rathon! Sir Rathon – go back!” I stood up in my stirrups to wave both of my hands at him. “It must be a trap – go back!” I hollered, but my words either could not reach him or went ignored. Instead, the general slowed his troops’ furious charge to a slow trot, before calling for his forces to form a dense cube.
BWAR! BWAR! Another wave of flash of the banners overhead as Sir Rathon was summoning me closer to give counsel.
“Neill? What should the other dragons do?” Char was saying.
“Can Pax tell them to keep circling the hollow, but stay well clear of the Rampart walls?” I said quickly. “And stay under the clouds, if they can.”
Char nodded, as Pax gave out a series of whistles, shrieks, and clicks of bird calls. “Hey!” I heard Terence call out as his blue Morax suddenly changed direction and hugged the hills of the hollow, but Lila saw me waving, and gave us a thumbs-up sign.
“Is Pax okay now? Can she sense the other dragons? What about Zaxx?” I said hurriedly as we peeled off from the other dragons and started flapping down towards the knights.
“Yes.” Char nodded, white-faced with worry. “All is back to normal, and yes, she tells me that Zaxx has been here, as well as a good few thousand or so human warriors, but neither are here now.”
Then, where are they? I thought. And were the dragons’ senses restricted to what was here in this hollow, underneath that cloud? That meant that we were sitting ducks…
I didn’t like it. Not at all. Not one bit. I made to stand up again, to try and signal to Sir Rathon that he should wheel his knights out of here, just as I intended to do, when there was a change in the air.
A cold breeze. No, to be more accurate, it was a freezing wind, and it was coming from over the top of the Rampart wall. “Wait,” I murmured to Char and Paxala both, and we slowed our flight, pausing to beat Pax’s wings in the air above the deserted plain. There was no way I wanted us to be vulnerable and on the ground whenever the trouble came. Dragons needed to be able to fly.
“There, what is that?” I saw something on top of the Rampart wall. A speck, barely bigger than a thimble. It was a man, and even from this great distance I swear that I could recognize the proud stance it took, unbowed and un
broken in the very center of the wall, before stepping forward boldly, right to the very edge.
“Draaagon Ridersss,” the voice of the Abbot Ansall found us through the wind, sounding strange and with hissing sibilants. I thought that it must be a strange effect of the clouds above. As I watched, I could see the same austere black garb, the same gleam of a hairless head (the beard appeared to be gone) and he even still had his cane at his side which I saw him rise to point down at the knights below us.
“Knightsss of the prince,” the Abbot croaked, and I thought that we would never have been able to hear it were it not for the strange echoing amplification of the clouds around. “Sssuch a shame that Vincent couldn’t make it. I have an offer for him. One that he sssimply cannot refuse!” The man started to hack and cough where he stood, and Sir Rathon spurred his horse forward and called up to the great wall and his enemy above.
“Abbot Ansall! Oath-breaker! Heretic! Traitor to the rightful throne of the Middle Kingdom. You have been charged for your crimes and, before the eyes of the world and in the name of the prince, I order you to give yourself up to his judgment, now!” Sir Rathon barked in a voice used and suited to battlefield chanting.
“Sssilly little man. Why would I give myssself up?” The Abbot finally stopped choking and coughing, but appeared to be laughing instead.
“Your armies have clearly abandoned you – as well they might when they saw our dragons,” Sir Rathon barked. “You know the might of Prince Vincent’s armies. Give yourself up now.”
“But, why little general – my armies haven’t abandoned me. No, far from it – they are all around!” He raised his staff and emitted a cry, and I saw a spark of electricity flare from the top of his cane and up to bracket along the bottom of the lowering clouds.
“Dragon Riders? Ready!” I called, reaching for the first lance which I intended to throw straight at the heart of the Abbot. I didn’t know where the rebels were hiding, but unless the Abbot was lying, they had us surrounded.
And then something really weird happened.
The dark and heavy clouds above started to wisp downwards. Small tufts and tendrils of smoke fell, insubstantial and wavering from the sky. There were a hundred tentacles of smoke, and a hundred, hundred more.
“What is this…?” I said as drips of the cloud-smoke fell past my shoulder, puffing and evaporating right there in Paxala’s wing to regather and coalesce in its same column of smoke on the other side, continuing its fluttering way down to the ground.
“Enough of your games and theatrics!” Sir Rathon shouted savagely, swiping his lance across the nearest column of smoke that stood before him, scattering it into wisps. He spurred his horse to charge through the next, scattering that one, too.
“I don’t like this, Neill – I think we should get the dragons out of here,” Char said.
“I don’t know what the Abbot is playing at, or whether he’s just buying himself time, but you’re right,” I nodded, standing once again (shirking away from the nearest column of cloud-smoke as it flowed off my shoulder) to shout, “Dragon Riders! Ride!” Paxala wheeled, but, as we did so there was a sudden scream from below, halting our escape.
“What was that?” I looked down. We couldn’t leave Sir Rathon and his men down there if they were under attack! I peered, and saw that one of Prince Vincent’s mounted knights was on the ground, dead, and standing before him was a shadowy, insubstantial figure.
More screams erupted from the mounted knights as the columns of cloud-smoke coalesced into pale warrior-like forms, barely human, but each holding the shadow blades and weapons as they must have done in real life.
“What has the Abbot done to his army?” I asked, aghast at what I was watching. I watched as more of the cloud-warriors formed, and struck, before collapsing and tattering into mist whenever they were struck. I didn’t know if that meant that the specters were banished, or dead, or whether they would only come back again, but I could see our knights were surrounded, and that they could be attacked from anywhere, any angle, at any moment.
“Sir Rathon!” I screamed. “Get them out of there!”
“How do you like my new army, little general?” the Abbot cooed and purred. “The mighty Zaxx has been very kind to me. He has been teaching me so many ancient and forgotten things. Magics forgotten by humanity that, with a little tinkering of my own, I have used to make us invincible!” The Abbot cackled at us. “You fools fell for every part of our trap!”
Hssssss…. Behind the Abbot, there came a deep, hissing groan, that seemed to shake the very walls of Rampart itself.
“Char? I think we’ve just found out where Zaxx is…” I said hesitantly as the deep grey clouds behind Rampart started to deepen, as if a great shadow were moving toward us.
“Behold, your god!” The Abbot started to gibber as twin patches of glowing red eyes winked on in the clouds above him.
He’s insane, I thought, hefting the throwing lance up to my shoulder. “Char – I want a clear shot – but I want all the other dragons to get back to the academy. Now.”
Char nodded grimly, conveying my wishes to Pax who twittered and shrieked her suggestions to Morax and Socolia and the others, while beneath us, the knights were being butchered.
“Skreyargh!” Paxala beat her wings furiously in tight circles, trying to not only blow away the cloud-warriors but also to gain enough momentum for a charging attack. Just one shot, I thought. That is all I need.
Above us, however, the Abbot cackled as the great, flame-filled eyes of Zaxx drew closer. “You see, before I only wanted to be immortal, for myself. I gave that knowledge to the Old Queen Delia, and helped lengthen the lifespans of the princes… but what the great and mighty Zaxx has showed me? He has showed me a way not only to live forever, but to be everlasting…” He doubled up in some sort of hysterical joy as Paxala swooped, and I raised my arm…
“You just have to want it badly enough…” the Abbot said, throwing out his cane and pointing it at us! My heart quailed, but Paxala’s did not, and she flipped her wings to her side, curving her flight around the bolt of electrical light that shot past her, and hit the knights beneath and behind us. There was a sound like sizzling water, and I looked over my shoulder to see knights and horses evaporating into the same shadow, cloud-smoke as the Abbot had called.
He’s only adding to his army of darkness, with every kill his soldiers make, I thought in horror, seeing the wisps of the human knights rising upwards, upwards to the strange clouds above.
Hsssss…. The glowing eyes were joined by a snout, and horns, and tufted ears as a great head almost the size of Pax’s entire body emerged out of the mists. Zaxx had grown huge in his exile.
“Neill, now! Now!” Char shouted, using her own stirrups to help Paxala turn in a tight curve in front of the walls, leaving me with just one, crystal-clear moment—
The Abbot had lowered his staff and stood, not twenty feet from me. He looked different, changed. Gone was his wispy and wiry beard. Gone were his eyebrows and any sign of hair. Just a wizened, ancient head with sunken, glittering eyes. And it wasn’t only his eyes that glittered, but the skin around his brows, his cheekbones, under his eyes and lips was also oddly reflective, like, he had scales.
“Yargh!” I threw the small lance, and watched as it arced over the distance between us, as fast as thought and made all the speedier by the momentum of the dragon upon which I sat. The Abbot looked astonished and confused for a moment as it shot straight at him, thudding into his body.
“Oof!” the Abbot exhaled at the same instant there was the crack of splintering wood as the lance shattered on impact with the old man’s chest. Although the force of my throw bowled him over, the throwing lance was in pieces all around him, and the Abbot was coughing and pushing himself back up again.
“It didn’t kill him. It didn’t even injure him!” I said, mortified as Paxala flashed past and upwards, flaring her wings and claws at the rising maw of Zaxx, the monstrous golden bull.
; “Skreayargh!” Pax roared her defiance at the dragon that was her father, and, in response, Zaxx opened his mouth and shot out a torrent of flame.
“Dive!” Char shouted, but she did not need to tell me to clutch Pax’s neck, nor the dragon to suddenly spin in the air and change direction, avoiding the boiling firestorm that erupted from Zaxx’s mouth.
Great claws, each talon as big as my entire body seized the top of the Rampart wall, breaking it apart as Zaxx hauled his bulk onto it, ready to launch after our much smaller dragons.
“Arise, my god! Arise, my army of darkness!” The Abbot was capering where he stood, as more and more wisps of shadow smoke rose from Sir Rathon’s fallen knights. I watched as the Abbot once again gestured with his cane, pointing south. “Fly to the Dragon Mountain, and punish those who would stand in the way of our birthright!”
At his command, the clouds boiled and parted, as the shadow-soldiers melded into it, and the clouds broke away from their more natural fellows, and raced southwards, towards Mount Hammal.
“Uh, Char…?” I called.
“I saw! And we’re not staying!” Char shouted.
Thank the stars, I thought, as I saw the tails of the other Dragon Riders vanishing out of the head of the valley. We have to catch that shadow army, somehow. We have to stop it from falling on the academy as it had here. Behind us there were screams, and another bolt of terrible power as the undying Abbot turned more of Sir Rathon’s living knights into his army of shadow darkness.
Chapter 22
Char, Flying
We flew as fast as we could, though no words passed between the riders. We all just knew that we had to get back to the dragon crater and our friends.
The dark armies of the Abbot were heading there. How fast did they travel? How could we warn the crater and the academy before they got there? I kept thinking again and again in alarm. We had been unprepared. Woefully unexpecting the dark magics that the bull dragon and the Abbot could utilize. Behind me, Neill’s face was pale and pinched with fury, his eyes far away.
Dragon Mage (The First Dragon Rider Book 3) Page 20
