‘President! What’s that?’
A Ahmud Ki snapped out of his reverie and followed Nazul’s pointing finger to three shapes flying from the southern bluff of the harbour mouth. Shaped like birds, with fixed wings, they were making a direct line for the dragon eggs. ‘Airbirds,’ he murmured, mesmerised by the tiny vehicles that were rapidly closing the distance between themselves and their obvious targets.
‘What can they do?’ Nazul asked.
‘I think we’re about to see,’ A Ahmud Ki replied grimly. He recalled the reports from his observers who had informed him that the airbird technology was clumsy and an unlikely threat.
The lead airbird homed in on the dragon egg closest to the palace, its dark spindly frame dwarfed by the massive fabric structure. Puffs of smoke appeared from the dragon egg’s carriage. ‘They’ll shoot that little thing down,’ said Nazul excitedly, but as he finished, smoke appeared underneath the airbird’s thin wing and a tiny object, smoke streaming in its wake, streaked across the gap between the vessels. It struck the dragon egg and exploded. The dragon egg structure crumpled, hot air escaping through the gaping hole in the fabric balloon, and the suspended carriage tilted precariously as the vessel began to lose height. Soldiers leapt from the carriage, plunging hundreds of spans into the ocean to their death.
A Ahmud Ki’s attention was riveted to the airbird. It had wobbled violently when it fired the missile and now its rider seemed to be wrestling to maintain control. It barely avoided colliding with the stricken dragon egg, and lost height, yawing and rolling like a ship in a storm. He switched his attention to the second airbird, which was already within peacemaker range of the next dragon egg. The soldiers fired at it in rapid succession and the Kerwyn airbird suddenly dipped, rolled and pitched into a downward spiral, finally plunging into the water. So they are vulnerable, A Ahmud Ki thought, pleased.
The third airbird had greater altitude than its dragon egg target and it came in relentlessly at a shallow angle, above and out of the soldiers’ firing line. A streak of smoke trailed a missile that ripped through the dragon egg’s white fabric. As it exploded, it generated a gigantic fireball and the shredded, burning fabric, ropes and carriage plummeted into the sea. The Kerwyn airbird swept in a graceful arc around and over A Ahmud Ki’s dreadnought, revealing its red-painted underbelly, then began to gain height.
‘What can we do to stop them?’ Nazul asked.
‘Nothing,’ A Ahmud Ki replied, suppressing his anger. ‘We just hope the soldiers on the other two carriages can shoot them down.’
He searched for the airbird that had almost crashed after bringing down the first dragon egg and found it circling low over the water, slowly climbing, but no longer a threat to the remaining dragon eggs. The other airbird, though, was already rising above the two remaining dragon eggs approaching the palace. You might get one, A Ahmud Ki conceded, but not both of them now. One squad of soldiers in the palace would still be enough to secure the first, crucial foothold. They had the military firepower to overwhelm the inferior Kerwyn.
The airbird reached a high point, almost hovering above the dragon eggs. Like a hawk, he noted with appreciation. We underestimated the Kerwyn inventors. Then it started another gentle descent, targeting the foremost dragon egg.
‘How many missiles does one of those flying machines carry?’ Nazul asked.
A Ahmud Ki could not answer the admiral’s question. The airbird’s approach was shallower this time and the soldiers in the carriages caught it in a deadly crossfire. Then, to his horror, he glimpsed smoke trails streaking across the sky and the second dragon egg erupted into flames.
‘They’re firing those things from the palace!’ Nazul yelled.
The fiery wreckage tumbled seaward. The airbird wobbled violently as it too fired. This time the missile smashed straight into the carriage of the last dragon egg, the explosion tossing bodies out of the heart of the fireball. The attacking machine dropped dramatically, its rider struggling to keep it in the air, then it levelled almost at the ocean’s surface and flew towards the city, leaving in its wake plumes of smoke, wreckage and corpses. A Ahmud Ki stared silently at the carnage, slowly comprehending the magnitude of what had happened. It had been a very long time since a Ranu assault was ruthlessly repelled.
‘What now?’ the admiral asked.
‘General Shalam is on the farspeaker, President,’ the operator reported, holding the mouthpiece towards A Ahmud Ki.
A Ahmud Ki strode to the operator and snatched the mouthpiece. ‘President Ki here,’ he stated abruptly.
‘What plan shall we adopt, President?’ General Shalam’s voice crackled.
‘You’re the general. What do you advise?’
‘We need to do something about those airbirds and the missiles,’ the general replied.
‘Obviously!’ A Ahmud Ki snapped.
There was a hissing pause before General Shalam’s voice crackled again, ‘I will order a targeted bombardment of the Kerwyn palace to eliminate the weapons based there. I’ll also send a task force to find and destroy the Ranu flying machines. When the threats have been eliminated, I’ll order a land attack from the north and the south to acquire the city.’
‘Good,’ A Ahmud Ki said, and handed the mouthpiece back to the farspeaker operator. He gestured to Admiral Nazul who immediately came to him. ‘General Shalam has matters in hand here. Transfer our troops to the El Bakar, and you can accompany them. But before you leave, tell Captain Azmiri to set a course to the Fallen Star Islands.’
‘Are you leaving, President?’
‘As soon as the troops are off the ship,’ A Ahmud Ki replied curtly and headed for his cabin.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Meg studied the Seers while she waited patiently to learn what they intended to offer. Word was clearly seen by the others as their leader in Scripture’s absence. The man called Law seemed to hold some status, and appeared of a similar age to Word, but the other three in the chamber were much younger—their beards were short and not white, not even greying, as if they’d only recently been elevated to the Seers’ ranks. One, Newday, was very young to be a Seer. They were watching her as they whispered together in the meeting room where Word had insisted they gather. All wore an amber gem on a chain, causing her to wonder just exactly how powerful they had become and from where they had procured the gems. The presence of floating light spheres in the chamber was testimony to these Seers possessing a higher level of magical ability than their predecessors, so caution held her from asserting her true self. She had to retrieve the sword hilt if she wanted to ensure a balance of power remained, and a rash action without knowing exactly how dangerous her opponents might be would jeopardise too many lives. Scripture was the key to the canvas bag, so she had to determine his whereabouts.
The Seers turned their attention to her, and Word cleared his throat and said, ‘Why have you come back?’
‘To speak to Scripture,’ she replied.
‘His Eminence isn’t available, as I told you.’
‘Then I’ll wait,’ she said calmly.
‘Scripture is no longer among us,’ Word announced.
‘Dead?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘He has ascended.’
His unsettled tone suggested that he wasn’t using a euphemism. ‘How do you know for certain?’
Word scrutinised her face as if searching for something. ‘You are the Abomination, aren’t you?’
‘You can call me Meg.’
‘You can’t stop what is destined to happen. We are already in the Last Days. Jarudha has blessed us all. The Demon Horsemen come whenever we call.’
‘Have you summoned them?’ she asked.
Word hesitated before saying, ‘Jarudha’s work is not your business.’
Again, his hesitant response warned her that there was something he wasn’t revealing. The meeting was stalemated. She had the impression that the Seers had no idea what to do with her, beyond perceiving her as their nemesis an
d so having to nullify her. They certainly had no intention of revealing where they were keeping the canvas bag. I have to use other means, she decided, and focussed on Word. Her probe into his mind met with a startled gasp and her effort was blocked.
‘You dare!’ he growled, affronted by her intrusion. ‘You have no right to force your way into my mind!’
Word pointed a finger at her. She sidestepped the energy bolt and it burned a hole into the wall. In the same motion, she imagined a pulse of energy shoving the Seers against the opposite wall, the table and chairs slamming against them. She seized her opportunity in the chaos and ran to the door, but as she pulled it open something solid cracked against her forehead. Stunned, she collapsed to her knees and the second soldier waiting outside the door brought his heavy wooden cudgel down across the back of her skull. She fell onto her side like a dropped sack of barley.
As the Seers pushed aside the broken furniture and staggered to their feet, cut, bruised and winded, Warlord Fist entered the meeting chamber, accompanied by two guards. He assessed the damage and, with an edge of sarcasm, said, ‘Seems you needed some assistance.’
‘One Ranu dreadnought is steaming out of the blockade and heading west,’ Hordemaster Greyhair reported. ‘It’s the president’s flagship.’
‘Running away before his army turns tail,’ Shadow remarked, gazing across the harbour mouth from the palace wall. ‘Give me that thing.’ He took the brass farseer and held it to his right eye, adjusting the focus until he could make out the dark grey silhouette of the Ranu vessel sailing away. When he surveyed the rest of the Ranu fleet his optimism diminished and he handed the farseer back to Greyhair, muttering, ‘Or perhaps he doesn’t feel the need to be here.’
He looked left and right, past his brother Gift, before asking, ‘Where’s Lastchild?’
‘Prince Lastchild is in his chamber,’ the hordemaster informed him.
‘Packing his paintings,’ Gift added. ‘Seems he thinks the Ranu have just started.’
‘Then he’s being premature,’ Shadow replied and smiled wanly at the teenage prince. ‘There’s an important lesson for you, little brother. Never give anything away unless you don’t want it or it’s no longer yours to give.’
‘So you won’t let me be king yet?’
Shadow snorted. ‘Not yet.’ He noticed a sky blue robe among the soldiers along the parapet. ‘Go ask your brother what he’s planning. I have a visitor.’
Gift pulled a face as he turned to leave, but Shadow merely smiled at his younger brother’s insolence and turned to greet Seer Moon. He responded to the Seer’s signing of the holy circle with the same and said, ‘Creator’s star-reachers and airbirds have made our enemy wary.’
Moon looked out to sea, before turning back to the king. ‘Your Highness, Seer Word sends his warm regards and asks me to tell you that we are praying earnestly to Jarudha to turn the Ranu away.’
Shadow nodded appreciatively. ‘Already the Ranu president has left. Now it is a matter of patience and perhaps some resilience on our part before we can expect the Ranu fleet to leave as well.’
‘Creator is already overseeing the construction of more airbirds, Your Highness, and the stock of star-reachers is being replenished.’
‘Then pass my gracious thanks to him for his diligence.’ He looked past Moon as if he expected someone else to arrive and said, ‘I assume your visit is more than cordiality.’
Moon nodded. ‘Seer Word asks me to inform you that we have caught the Abomination.’
Shadow’s quizzical expression betrayed that he didn’t fully understand Moon’s news, but then he realised its significance. ‘Ah. And where is she?’
‘Your warlord is escorting her to the Royal Gaol. She is in heavy chains and closely guarded to ensure she cannot use her magic to escape. Seer Law is accompanying Warlord Fist.’
Shadow scratched his chest. ‘From all I know about this old woman, Fist would be well advised to kill her while we have her.’ He beckoned to a soldier. ‘Go to the Royal Gaol. Tell Warlord Fist that he is to immediately execute his new prisoner. If Fist is elsewhere, as he ought to be, you are responsible for seeing that the old woman is killed. Understood?’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
‘What’s your name?’
The soldier looked up. ‘Saw Hardedge, Your Highness.’
‘Do this properly, Saw Hardedge, and you will be called Hordemaster Hardedge when you bring proof that the old woman is dead.’
Hardedge saluted, fist to forehead, and responded, ‘Your order is done, Your Highness!’ He turned on his heels and strode briskly along the parapet towards the steps.
‘Your Highness, I don’t think Word wants the woman executed,’ Moon protested.
Shadow smiled. ‘Of course he doesn’t. He wants to make the same mistake as his predecessors because his curiosity outweighs his caution. So he will be grateful that I’ve saved him from failing himself and Jarudha.’
He fixed Moon with a steady gaze that dared the young Seer to argue at his peril. When Moon held his tongue, Shadow continued. ‘Where is His Eminence?’ Moon’s hesitation to answer caused Shadow’s left eyebrow to rise. ‘His Eminence is not unwell, is he?’
‘His Eminence is very busy,’ Moon explained. ‘He has handed all worldly matters over to Word.’
Shadow was amused by the young Seer’s clumsy avoidance. Something had obviously happened to Scripture; it was unlike the old man to be silent, especially with the Ranu threat on the kingdom’s doorstep. ‘I’ll take full responsibility for the Abomination’s death,’ he said, ‘and also the credit when the Last Days are upon us. Tell Word that I’m impressed by his loyalty and his support. He has forged a very important bond between us that will be the ruin of the Ranu and anyone else who would dare to interfere with the greater plan of Jarudha.’
He signed the holy circle, effectively dismissing Moon, and turned to see his brothers, Lastchild and Gift, ascending the steps to the parapet just as the Ranu dreadnoughts fired their first salvo.
‘It’s a form of euphoria,’ Law explained, handing Fist the thin phial of amber liquid. ‘Give her a dose at sunrise, midday, sunset and midnight and she will stay subdued and semi-conscious. I will find out from Word when we intend to interrogate her. Before that can occur, the Ranu must be driven away.’
Fist handed the phial to a guard and ushered Law to the heavy wooden door. ‘There is much to do,’ he said as he turned the brass handle. ‘Chained and drugged, the Abomination will not be a threat. My men will see to that.’
He ordered two soldiers to escort the Seer back to the temple in the Northern Quarter and waited for Law to descend the stairs before he went back into the chamber and closed the door. He strode across the stone floor, his metal-studded boots clanking menacingly, and halted before the prisoner, assessing how effectively the chains held her rigid against the rough stone wall.
‘Comfortable?’ he asked as he slowly twisted the chain attached to her right wrist, tightening it to pull against her skin until she groaned. ‘Can’t quite appreciate the pain yet, can you, you old piece of shit? But you will when I return. I’ve some scores to settle with you.’ He spat in her face and watched it ooze down her bloodied cheek. ‘You’ll be begging me to kill you before the sun rises tomorrow. We have an appointment after dark, you and I.’
He turned to the eight soldiers in the chamber and said, ‘Stay here until the next squad relieves you. Two of you will keep your peacemakers trained on her at all times. Change duties with another pair every half-hour. If she does anything unusual, if she starts to fade away, if a chain moves suspiciously, you shoot. Got me?’
‘Yes, Warlord!’ the soldiers chorused.
He turned his attention to the guard with the phial. ‘You heard the Seer. A dose every quarter of the day. Double the dose if she looks too alert.’ He addressed the group again. ‘If she escapes, you will be publicly gutted and made to feed your own entrails to the dogs.’
Fist marched from the
gaol and returned to his mounted troop. He led them through the main gate onto the thoroughfare towards the city centre. Capturing the Abomination was the pinnacle of his career and he expected the king to reward him handsomely for achieving what so many had failed to do over the years. Two sharp blows of a cudgel—that was all it took to bring down a legend. Now he was the legend. His name would be immortalised in songs and stories: Sharpeye Fist—slayer of the Abomination.
There was still much to do. His hordemasters were strategically positioned along the city’s coastal defences, in case the Ranu hadn’t heeded that they were outmatched after the destruction of their dragon eggs. Reinforcements were marching in from the countryside to bolster his troop numbers to ensure the Ranu were outnumbered if they tried to land. His status was rising rapidly, history was embracing him, and he appreciated how luck and circumstance had combined so often in his life to bring him to such greatness.
He urged his horse through a crush of frightened citizens who were fleeing the city. The ordinary people were detestably easy to scare and he’d issued orders to his soldiers to execute anyone who got in their way if the city was attacked. Such people were expendable for a greater cause. Looking ahead, he saw that a section of the Main Way was a seething sea of yellow as people carrying their meagre possessions headed east. They blocked his access to the Northern Quarter and the palace. He cursed and gestured for his troop to veer into a side street to avoid the crowd, but as he pulled on his reins he heard a distant rolling thunder. He hesitated. A moment later the city echoed to a string of explosions, and clouds of smoke and debris rose simultaneously from the direction of the palace.
‘Ride! Ride like fire!’ Warlord Fist yelled, and spurred his horse towards the crowd, intent on charging through them to get to the palace.
The Demon Horsemen Page 24
