Destroyer of Worlds

by Mark Chadbourn

  3

  The blue flash lit up the swamplands even through the mist, followed closely by the echo of Callow’s scream across the black water.

  Caitlin broke off her examination of the myriad paths through the swamp and removed the axe from its harness on her back. Etain, Tannis, Owein and Branwen were already climbing into their saddles as Mallory growled, ‘With any luck, something’s eaten him.’

  ‘That flash - it was Blue Fire,’ Caitlin said coldly.

  Mallory didn’t respond.

  Another blue flash filtered through the mists, but this time it was accompanied by a shout of gleeful anger.

  Callow was so engrossed in his vigorous attempts to destroy the lantern that he didn’t hear their approach until the last. With a girlish shriek, he booted the lantern towards the deep water and ran.

  Diving at full run, Mallory’s fingertips skimmed the Wayfinder before it splashed into the depths, spinning it upwards where it threatened to escape him again. Scrabbling wildly, he eventually snagged it and hugged it to his chest.

  ‘Sorry, Hal,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t let you out of my grasp again.’

  With powerful strides, Caitlin caught up with Callow in seconds, brutally kicking his legs out from under him. His frightened pleas quickly turned into sly attempts to explain his actions, but when he saw the dark fury in Caitlin’s eyes his voice faded away.

  ‘I bleed, you don’t,’ she said, ‘so how do I get my revenge against a dead thing?’ She pressed the blade of her axe against his face. ‘I could chop you into tiny chunks, but would there be any conscious thought left in them to suffer?’

  ‘Being in this place is suffering enough, m-m-m-ma’am,’ Callow stuttered.

  ‘But it doesn’t make me feel any better. Where’s the justice in that? Where’s the lesson learned?’

  ‘Please,’ Callow called out to Mallory, ‘have a heart! I made a mistake, that’s all. You are Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. You celebrate all that is good about life.’

  Distractedly, Mallory polished the lantern. ‘True. But unluckily for you we’re not Church’s group. They’ve got compassion in spades. Existence brought us together with specific qualities in mind. They’re the good guys. We’re the hard bastards.’ He gave Callow a brutal smile. ‘All except Hal, and I’m betting he’s not feeling very sympathetic towards you right now.’

  Callow let out a small whimper. Caitlin dragged him to Etain and retrieved a rope from her saddle. His searing cries echoed across the entire swamp as Caitlin bound his wrists tightly behind his back, looped the rope around his ankles, then threw the other end over the branch of one of the spindly trees overhanging the swamp. With a jerk, she whipped Callow’s feet out from under him and suspended him an inch above the water, where snapping shapes swam hungrily just beneath the surface.

  He cried and pleaded until his throat was raw, and when he finally stopped, Caitlin said, ‘I think the best thing would be to leave you here where you can’t do any more harm. With a few friends for company.’

  Another jerk of the rope plunged Callow’s head into the water up to the bridge of his nose. The water boiled around him as the razor-worms plunged into his eyes and ears, burrowing and eating for what could be eternity.

  Half an hour later they could still hear his terrible screams as they made their way out of the swamp and onto a barren plain, once again following the lantern’s blue flame.

  4

  In the hard, silvery gleam of dawn, Decebalus came round deep in the mire of the battlefield. The storm had ended, and a strained quiet lay across the great plain, punctuated by the occasional cry. All around were scattered dismembered corpses of both allies and enemy. It took a second or two for Decebalus’s thoughts to flicker into some semblance of cohesion, and then another few seconds to realise he was alive and intact. His first thought was how Seth had been prepared to devastate his own side to achieve a minor advantage.

  The remnants of the once-enormous Enemy force trailed across the battlefield towards the city in small pockets, pausing occasionally to slay a survivor. They skirted much of the area where the gods had fought. Decebalus guessed that if he lived, most of the gods would have survived too. Seth would want to achieve his aims before they returned to the fray.

  Drawing his strength back into his shaky limbs, Decebalus was gripped by a flash of memory. Keeping low, he desperately searched amongst the fallen, overturning bodies to peer into blood- and mud-stained faces. Finally he located Aula buried under a heap of dismembered Lament-Brood. She was deathly pale, her eyes closed, her blond hair matted with gore. Decebalus muttered a brief prayer before taking her wrist and locating a thready pulse. Relief flooded through him; the Pendragon Spirit would work its magic; she would survive. Bowing his head to her chest, he closed his eyes and remembered Dacia, so far away in time and space. He wished he could have shown Aula the beauty of the forests on a summer’s twilight, the great river at dawn with the sun glinting off the water and the smell of a new day rising. Gently, he kissed the back of her hand. So many things unsaid, so many emotions buried deep in his heart that in his rough ways he had never been able to express. But she knew, he was sure.

  Kissing her on the lips, he re-covered her with the bodies to protect her from the Enemy’s sight. As he prepared to crawl towards the city, he caught sight of a small group of Redcaps moving his way, emitting their deep, throaty growl as they tore chunks of flesh off dead limbs. If he stood and fought, it would attract other enemies to him, and he would not last a moment, but there was no way he could escape the Redcaps’ advance without being seen.

  Crawling on his belly, he rounded a larger pile of corpses to find better shelter where he could gather his thoughts. Nearby, two Brothers of Dragons slumped together, bleeding heavily from fatal wounds. Decebalus had nursed high hopes for both of them: Jim Davey, softly spoken and with Shavi’s empathic nature, and Michael Koefman, a messy-haired former musician. Decebalus crawled over to them.

  ‘What kind of thing destroys its own side to get at us?’ Blood leaked from the corner of Michael’s mouth as he spoke. Neither had long left.

  ‘Something that does not care in the slightest about life,’ he replied. ‘I have to get to the city before the Enemy’s bastards reach the Caraprix. Yet there are Redcaps nearby who will see me when I move . . .’

  He let the words hang. Understanding what he was asking, the two Brothers of Dragons exchanged a fleeting glance of acceptance for their fate, and then Jim said quietly, ‘You can count on us.’

  ‘You are good men, both. I will make sure you are remembered.’ Decebalus’s farewell nod couldn’t begin to convey what he truly felt and he crawled away quickly. Not long after he heard them both begin to shout loudly. The roar of the Redcaps followed instantly, and when he heard their savage attack, Decebalus ran for the city.

  The remnants of the shattered gates hung raggedly from the twisted hinges. The city beyond was still, the residents cowering in their rooms. At the entrance, Ronnie darted from a hiding place. His wounds were superficial, but his face had a haunted expression as the devastation across the Great Plain ignited memories of his terrible experiences in Flanders during the Great War.

  ‘I was going after that bastard, sir,’ he said. ‘He’s on his way to the palace and the Caraprix.’

  ‘You will not be able to stop him. He is too powerful,’ Decebalus said.

  ‘And you will? Excuse me, sir, but we’re both of a kind.’

  ‘Not so much, Ronald. You are a better man than me. My experiences have better prepared me for what is necessary.’ Decebalus silenced Ronnie’s protests. ‘I have more important work for you. You must find a way to raise the gods.’

  ‘To help you?’

  ‘No. The game here is almost played. You must leave this place immediately, do you hear me?’

  Ronnie looked unsure.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ Decebalus gripped Ronnie’s shoulders forcefully until Ronnie nodded, unsettled. ‘Bring together our ow
n survivors quickly.’ He told Ronnie where Aula was hidden, and then added, ‘You must strike out for the Enemy Fortress, to offer what support you can to Church and the others. Time is short. Make haste. Do not wait here a moment longer than necessary.’

  Decebalus raced through the gates before Ronnie could argue. A brief detour took him to the Hunter’s Moon where Crowther and Mahalia waited behind a barricaded door. The teenage girl had been a shadow of herself since Jack’s departure, but now her old fire flashed in her eyes.

  ‘Let me help.’ She drew the small switchblade she carried with her at all times.

  ‘I have greater work for you two,’ Decebalus said. ‘You must save an entire city.’

  ‘The Enemy’s broken inside?’ Crowther asked.

  Decebalus nodded. ‘Sound the alarm. God knows, we have practised the escape enough times in recent days. There will be fear, panic. You must show leadership to calm them, and then take them to safety in the foothills. Can I count on you to do this?’

  Crowther’s heavy-set face glowed; as Decebalus had anticipated, the gift of purpose had brought him alive. ‘You can count on us.’

  Within moments of Decebalus leaving the inn, the first tolling bell echoed across the silent city, joined soon by another, and then an entire host. People were already creeping from their hiding places as Decebalus ran up the winding cobbled road towards the Palace of Glorious Light, where he could hear the Enemy advancing. His relief freed him to concentrate on the trial ahead.

  In the courtyard before the palace, Seth waited with a few ranks of Lament-Brood and Redcaps. The god’s head hung to one side as though he was listening, and then he nodded and forced his way through the palace doors.

  Once Seth and his troops had entered, Decebalus slipped in behind and followed one of the many secret passages and hidden stairways that would put him ahead of the Enemy. Math’s chamber was silent, but Decebalus sensed the sorcerer was near.

  He rapped on the door. ‘It is I, Decebalus. The time has come.’

  The door swung open, though there was no one on the other side. Math waited in an adjoining chamber so gloomy that his presence was only revealed by the glint of his mask as it revolved a quarter-turn.

  ‘This is it, then. The end, or the beginning of it.’ Math’s voice was a low rumble. ‘The Golden Ones always feared that if Fragile Creatures rose up they would destroy what they set out to attain. It is in your nature.’

  ‘Be thankful it is. If Existence was left to your spineless kind, the Void would have wiped us all out long ago, and would now be feasting on our bones. Where is it?’

  Math took a step into the shadows and returned holding a small iron casket in the palm of his hand.

  ‘That is it?’ Decebalus queried.

  ‘Size is no definer of power.’

  ‘That has never been an issue for me, in any case.’ Decebalus took the casket, unnerved by how it hummed beneath his fingertips. ‘I expected more resistance from you.’

  ‘All roads have been leading to these End-Times since the beginning. It is futile to try to avoid it.’

  ‘That is another area where I am thankful that we differ. We do not bow down to futility.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Hope,’ Math said with a note of mockery.

  ‘Make peace with yourself,’ Decebalus said.

  He sprinted along the empty corridors towards Doctor Jay’s laboratory. As he neared, he could feel the raw power of the Caraprix pulsing through the stone walls.

  Seth stood before the broken door of the chamber, bathed in an eerie white light that emanated from within. With the shifting tones playing across his face, the god appeared mesmerised by what he saw in the laboratory, and that, in itself, troubled Decebalus: what power could instil wonder in a god? Behind him, the Redcaps shied away, refusing to look. The Lament-Brood stood in their dumb ranks, unmoved.

  ‘You cannot have them,’ Decebalus said.

  Seth’s dark-ringed, unblinking eyes snapped towards him. ‘You do not know what they are,’ he said. ‘If you did, you would not be so quick to defend them.’

  ‘I know that you and your master want them, and that is enough for me.’

  ‘I have destroyed many Fragile Creatures today, and gods, and beasts. Yet you stand here alone?’ Seth fought to stop his gaze being drawn back to the pulsing white light.

  ‘You have never faced anyone like me.’

  Ringing with more than bravado, Decebalus’s words gained Seth’s full attention. When he noticed the small iron casket his mood became darker, as though he knew instinctively what lay within. ‘What is that?’ he said.

  ‘This is the end of you, of me, of everything here. It is the weapon I kept in reserve, the one I did not want to use until you drove me to it.’ The light from the open door changed in quality as if the Caraprix too were aware of Decebalus’s intent.

  Seth stared at the box.

  ‘I am only a poor, muddy-arsed barbarian from the wilds of Dacia with no schooling and only my common guile to keep me alive, but wiser men tell me that what lies within this box is a Wish-Hex.’

  A shadow crossed Seth’s face.

  ‘This weapon was devised by the bastards in the stinking bowels of the

  Court of the Final Word. It has the power to bend reality, to ensnare, if you will, or to destroy, and to destroy on a massive scale, or so I am told. This is only a little baby of a Wish-Hex - not like the one those bastards embedded in the boy, Jack, who accompanies Church. But still, I think it will suffice.’

  ‘You would not use it. You would not survive.’

  Decebalus pretended to consider this point, then said, ‘You gods do not live in the shadow of death, like Fragile Creatures do. It is the thing that defines us. An encounter with death changes us for ever, the passing of a loved one, a parent, like the stones the alchemists used to turn lead into gold. We become something sadder, but greater for the experience. Death is a companion to us, and sooner or later we must make our peace with him. I did that a long time ago.’ He held the box up to eye-level and examined the carvings around it. ‘I have been told that wish is an old word for soul. Now what do you think that means? Is this a small part of Existence, with all the power that lies in it? I think perhaps it is.’

  ‘The Caraprix—’

  ‘If they are destroyed too, then so be it. At least your foul lord will not use them to ensure his unending rule.’

  There was movement in the room. A shadow emerged slowly from the brilliant light: Jerzy, not conscious, was suspended a few inches above the floor. The light wrapped around him and entered him through eyes, mouth, ears and nostrils.

  Seth lunged for the box, and without a second thought Decebalus tore open the lid. His defiant battle cry was drowned out by a deafening roar that made his ears bleed. A brilliant blue light flooded the corridor, and for a second, that was all Decebalus could see, until, strangely, he was walking hand-in-hand with Aula through the forests of Dacia. He was at peace, for the first time. Aula smiled at him, and that was all he knew.

  5

  Into the Great Plain wound a column of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, gods and inhabitants of the Court of the Soaring Spirit, stragglers racing from the city to join the tail end. When the soundless blue flare lit up the sky, they came to a halt and glanced back only to see that the city and part of the mountain behind it were gone.

  Aula stared at the barren, blackened zone for a long moment, and then wiped away a stray tear. Holding her head proudly, she nodded to Ronnie who waited with Mahalia and Crowther, and the column continued slowly on its way.

  6

  Rough hands dragged Callow’s head from the water. He was briefly distracted by the sensation of the wriggling razor-worms disengaging from his empty eye sockets, and then he cried, ‘Oh, thank you, oh, thank you! I knew you’d come back for me. Forget about the eyes! They’ll grow back in no time, and I’ll be as good as new! I forgive you. I accept my punishment for my minor misdemeanour—’

  ‘You encountere
d the Brother and Sister of Dragons?’

  The voice was low and rustling, and inhuman. ‘Who are you?’ Callow asked hesitantly.

  ‘The Hortha.’

  ‘Ah. And what is a Hortha?’

  ‘You should know. I have been a step behind you your whole life.’

  ‘I think perhaps I would have noticed.’

  ‘No. Your kind never notices.’

  ‘Perhaps, kind sir, you could help me down from this undignified position, and then we could talk as old friends—’

  ‘My nature is a paradox for all living things,’ the Hortha said. ‘Some cross my path at random. Some call me to them, consciously or otherwise. And some I pursue. Once I have been encountered I can never be stopped. It is only a matter of time.’