The Demon Horsemen

by Tony Shillitoe

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he challenged.

  ‘Waiting for you,’ she lied.

  He scowled disbelief. ‘You couldn’t have known I was coming along here. That’s bullshit.’

  ‘True,’ she admitted, ‘but I’m glad to see you.’

  ‘I’m sure you are,’ he replied sarcastically, and went to walk past, but she blocked his way. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

  ‘I…’ She hesitated, unable to say what was on her tongue.

  ‘What?’ he snapped.

  Anger rising, she answered, ‘I want my son to be my son.’

  Runner snorted contemptuously. ‘You can have that when my mother is my mother.’

  ‘I am your mother.’

  ‘You’re some filthy bitch who keeps getting in my way,’ he said. ‘A mother looks after her kids. You don’t know how to do that.’

  Swift glanced at a group of people staring at the scene as they passed, then had to take a sideways step to prevent Runner walking by her. ‘I’m not here to argue with you.’

  ‘Then what are you doing?’

  ‘I’m asking you to stay with me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here.’

  Runner looked around and saw Wahim and a host of soldiers a few short paces off the road, watching him. ‘Are they with you?’

  Swift checked over her shoulder. ‘Yes.’

  He snorted again and tried to walk on. Swift grabbed his arm, but he shook her off, shouting, ‘Don’t touch me!’

  ‘Runner!’

  He recognised Chase approaching. ‘You too?’ he said.

  ‘I’m glad you’re safe,’ Chase said as he reached mother and son. ‘Are you joining us?’

  ‘No,’ Runner replied bluntly.

  ‘You should,’ Chase said. ‘I need a smart second. I don’t have anyone who knows the city streets as well as you do.’

  ‘Are you working for the soldiers now as well?’

  ‘I’m working for the freedom of our people,’ Chase told him. ‘The Ranu have given us a chance to get rid of the Kerwyn kings.’

  ‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

  ‘And what did you hear?’

  ‘I heard this army follows Inheritor. He’s a Kerwyn king.’

  Chase shook his head. ‘Born Kerwyn maybe, but he just wants us to have a good kingdom. He’s not like the others.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘You can meet if him you want,’ Chase invited.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll take you to him.’

  Runner scowled. ‘Bullshit! You?’

  Chase grinned. ‘Yes, me.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘Try me,’ Chase challenged. ‘I’ll take you to him right now.’

  Runner looked at Swift and again at the soldiers across the road, then met Chase’s eyes and said, ‘All right. Take me to him.’

  As Chase led Runner from the road towards the main encampment of Inheritor’s army, he winked surreptitiously at Swift. She smiled weakly in return, grateful that her half-brother had at least stopped Runner from disappearing again.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The noise came in intermittent vibrations that resonated through her. A dull thud drew her out of the depths of her torpor and she imagined voices shouting and faces staring into her own. The pain at the edge of her senses surged to a blinding crescendo and vanished, and she slipped back into the depths like a fish diving for safety. Images swirled, mingled and disintegrated, flowing on a torrent of emotions, lost as quickly as they surfaced.

  Then she was conscious of a roaring sound and the world fell apart, fragmented like the visions within her mind, and the roaring was followed by falling and a pressure on her chest that crushed the breath from her body. The weight…it was killing her. Instinctively she pushed it away, brute energy exploding in a blinding light, followed by a slow tide of darkness that washed softly over her, like her mother’s hands used to when she was a child and couldn’t sleep.

  Captain Waziri watched the salvo of shells explode in the Kerwyn Royal Gaol and was pleased with his gunners’ accuracy. The soldiers on the deck of the surviving dreadnought were shooting at the incoming airbird. Two had already been brought down in the crossfire he had orchestrated between them. The fires on board the vessel, generated by star-reacher strikes, were being quenched by his crew and the damage sustained was minimal. His decision to steam into the harbour and keep on the move meant his ship had not suffered the same fate as those of his colleagues, and he’d also managed to destroy the star-reacher battery along the southern bluff. Via the farspeaker he’d learnt that the greater Ranu sailing fleet had utterly routed the Kerwyn armada, and the ground troops were already storming into the city’s northern section. Captain Metza, leading the dragon eggs, reported that the Port of Joy population was streaming west and the city’s military defence was fast following suit. The siege was over. He would inform the president immediately.

  The sudden explosive burst of light on the southern bluff amazed him. As the dust cleared and it became clear the Royal Gaol had collapsed, Waziri surmised that the Kerwyn had stored a significant stockpile of explosives in the building, which the final dreadnought salvo had ignited—with a catastrophic result.

  He flinched as a star-reacher struck the port deck of his dreadnought. The surviving airbird clattered overhead, its wings wobbling as bullets tore through its flimsy red frame, but he kept his eyes on the smoke-covered bluff. President Ki and General Shalam had vastly underestimated the Kerwyn kingdom’s military capability and he wondered what other surprises the Kerwyn were planning.

  The surviving prisoners clambered out of the ruins of the Royal Gaol and the Bog Pit. Some fell upon the few guards who had survived the attack and bashed them to death, but most of the escapees ran for the unanticipated freedom delivered inadvertently by the Ranu.

  A small group scaled a pile of tumbled stone to discover a massive crater where the Royal Gaol had stood. To their amazement, there was a naked woman spreadeagled on a slab of stone at the base of the huge hole, a large black rat sitting on her chest. Most of the prisoners slid back down the pile to skirt the bizarre scene, but one of the two remaining clambered down the loose slope and warily approached the prone figure, shooing the rat away. The creature’s reluctance to leave unnerved her; the rats inhabiting the Bog Pit were ferociously aggressive creatures. When the rat finally retreated into a hole in the rubble, she turned her attention to the figure. What she saw was an old woman, hair white and flared like a halo, her arms spread as if she was hanging in chains against the slab she was lying on. Struck by a sense of familiarity, she bent forward, studying the woman’s face through the caked layer of dust until she recognised the former owner of the bookshop in the Farmers Quarter. ‘Batty Booker,’ she murmured. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She waved to her companion, who was waiting on the lip of the crater, and when the young woman joined her she said, ‘We can’t leave her here. Come on.’ With considerable effort they hauled the old woman out of the crater.

  Word focussed on his memories of the Royal Gaol to form the portal connection, but the space between the makeshift poles remained empty. He concentrated harder, willing the connection, but nothing changed. Frustrated, he slapped his hands against his thighs and stormed away from his astonished companions.

  Law followed him. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious?’ Word snapped.

  ‘But why won’t the portal form?’

  Word met Law’s gaze and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps we’re too far from the gaol.’

  ‘No. We’ve created portals to the Fallen Star Islands. It’s not the distance.’

  ‘Then the Royal Gaol doesn’t exist any more,’ Word replied sarcastically. He shook his head again and apologised. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  Before Law could respond a third voice intervened. ‘Perhaps the Royal Gaol doesn’t exist any more,’ Shadow sa
id. ‘The Ranu were bombarding it as we left.’

  ‘Why?’ Word asked.

  ‘You know as well as I do. Creator’s star-reachers were fired from its battlements, making it a prime target for the Ranu.’

  ‘Then the Abomination might already be dead,’ Law suggested.

  ‘Or released,’ Word said angrily.

  Shadow chuckled, but his tone contained a sneer. ‘She would already be dead if you had listened to reason.’

  Word met his steady gaze before looking away in disgust.

  ‘Now what do we do?’ Law asked.

  ‘I have an army to organise once my warlord has completed the withdrawal from the city,’ said Shadow. ‘I need to make a stand to prevent the Ranu pushing deeper into the kingdom if we’re going to have any hope of fulfilling your ambitions for Jarudha’s Paradise.’ He strode towards his soldiers, his red robes flowing around him, then added over his shoulder, ‘You didn’t think to bring horses, did you?’

  Word watched the king enter the town centre with his soldiers before he and Law returned to their colleagues. He made the sign of the holy circle and gestured for them to sit on the grass in the dappled shade of an old gum tree. When they were all settled he said, ‘The loss of the city affects us much more than it does the king. The temple is sacred and the catacombs hold the knowledge of generations of Seers. If the king fails to restore us to the city we have lost the path to Jarudha’s Paradise.’

  ‘We can call down the Demon Horsemen,’ said Pelican.

  Word glared at him. ‘No. You know the cost for that. The Horsemen can only be our last resort.’

  ‘We may have to call on that resort if the Ranu cannot be defeated,’ said Law.

  ‘The king is confident that he can drive them back into the sea once he has his army organised,’ Moon reported. ‘When Creator joins us, we can begin helping the king.’

  Word shook his head. ‘The factories where Creator had the airbirds built have been destroyed, as have the resources for the star-reachers.’

  ‘We have our crystals,’ Moon reminded him. ‘Perhaps it’s time we tried uniting our Blessings against the Ranu.’

  ‘We should consider promoting the best among our acolytes,’ suggested Newday. ‘We have disciples ready to serve Jarudha in the highest office.’

  Word considered the proposals before he responded. ‘When Creator gets here, we will discuss this further.’

  ‘We can’t ignore the use of the Demon Horsemen,’ argued Law, and he met Word’s cautionary gaze with a calm expression. ‘Scripture led by example and he was taken up to serve. If that is the sacrifice required to bring them to save us and the hope of the Last Days, I am content to be chosen.’

  Gift sat on the old throne smiling, ignoring the bright sunlight angling through the hole in the domed roof. He was the king. His brothers had run for their lives and left him to save the city from the Ranu invaders. When the battle was over and he had saved Port of Joy he would be the hero and balladeers would write and sing songs about him for centuries.

  He reached down to the side of the throne and picked up the brass-and-ruby-inlaid broadsword that had been the symbol of the Kerwyn kings for generations. It was brutally heavy for a teenage boy and he had difficulty lifting it when he stood, needing to use both hands to wield it. His eldest brother, Inheritor, had always wanted to own the sword and for a very short time he had—at least until Shadow had had him assassinated. It was strange that they had never found a body, but at least the sword had been left behind. Shadow had never shown any interest in owning it, being more enamoured of his religious friends and the blonde slut who teased Gift by cavorting lewdly in his presence. The sword had stayed in the palace as an unwanted object. Now it was Gift’s, confirming him as the new Kerwyn king.

  The silence beyond the palace told him the bombardment had ceased. It was time to marshal his troops and lead them against the enemy. The Ranu would realise they were facing a hero and would quail at the sight of him striding towards them with the ancient Kerwyn sword of kings in his grip. Already he could feel the sword’s reputed magic, the strength of the souls of his predecessors flowing into his arms and heart. He was the saviour of his people and he would be a great king.

  With General Shalam dead, the sea captains busy aboard their craft and President Ki absent, General Shakir el-Hanim, as third-in-command, took charge of the landing force. Boats and a handful of remaining dragon eggs ferried troops and equipment to the shore from the bigger ships. The lighter shipping vessels tied up to the battered Port of Joy wharfs and crews unloaded their cargo while soldiers worked at repairing the damage to the docks caused by the bombardment. The Ranu encountered minimal resistance inside the city, apart from pockets of stranded Kerwyn soldiers abandoned in the retreat, who made brief stands before being overwhelmed or surrendering. The general was following standard procedures long instituted by President Ki during the Ranu empire’s years of military expansion. Neutralise the enemy force. Secure the target area. Begin spreading goodwill through the local population by distributing food and repairing essential buildings. A sizeable portion of the population had fled the city during the dragon egg raid, so now the task was to draw them back and win their hearts so that the defeated Kerwyn leadership could not rally the people against the Ranu.

  General Shakir relaxed into the green leather seat of his steam-powered wagon as it trundled noisily across the bridge. He was fascinated by the simplistic Kerwyn architecture. A gaggle of children outside a larger two-storey house stared at the four-wheeled contraption that moved without being pulled or pushed by an animal, and as the general smiled at them he thought how Ranu culture was going to bring a vast improvement to their lives. President Ki’s argument that the invading Ranu forces were liberating the barbaric cultures from the ignorance of their leaders and religions once again rang true.

  His driver stopped outside the smoking ruin of the Kerwyn palace where a captain overseeing several squads was awaiting orders to enter the grounds. Shakir climbed down from his seat, saluted the captain, and asked, ‘Any sign of resistance within?’

  ‘No, sir. No enemy visible on what’s left of the walls,’ the captain reported, then added, ‘There is someone standing on the steps of the palace.’

  Shakir’s eyebrow arched. ‘Really? And what does he look like?’

  ‘A madman, sir,’ the dark-bearded captain replied. ‘He says he’s the king.’

  ‘Shadow?’

  The captain shook his head. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then who is he?’ Shakir asked, getting irritated with the captain’s uninformative replies.

  ‘He says he’s King Gift, or at least that’s what the translator says. He has a sword, sir.’

  Shakir scratched his greying beard and said, ‘Show me. Have your men ready in case he does something stupid.’

  The general approached the solitary figure sitting on the steps of the palace. The shattered facade exposed the interior levels to the world and smoke drifted from several fires smouldering in the wooden beams and frames. Four corpses lay around a shell hole on the grassed space, face up and arms outstretched as if they were trying to embrace the sky. As Shakir came within ten paces of the steps, the figure stood awkwardly and yelled in a high voice, ‘Stop! You are trespassing on my land!’

  Shakir was surprised by what he saw. The speaker, a youth barely of age, if at all, had pieces of red armour hanging from his shoulders and arms, making him look like a child dressed up in his father’s clothes. The sword he hefted in both hands was far too heavy for him.

  ‘I am General Shakir el-Hanim, representative leader of the Ranu People’s Army. And you?’ Shakir asked.

  ‘I am King Gift Ironfist!’ the youth barked. ‘Kneel before me.’

  ‘Where is Shadow?’ Shakir asked.

  ‘I am the king,’ Gift responded petulantly. ‘I do not have to answer your questions.’

  ‘Where is Shadow?’ Shakir repeated.

  The youth hesitated, assessing Shak
ir’s tall, imposing presence, then replied, ‘Shadow has run like a coward. He has abandoned his people and now I am king.’ He descended the steps, one by one. As he came within sword length of Shakir, the Ranu soldiers raised their peacemakers. Shakir waved them down. ‘You are wise to call off your soldiers,’ Gift said. ‘My sword is the great sword of the Kerwyn kings and it brims with magic.’

  Shakir smiled wryly and bowed his head slightly. ‘You are a brave and mighty king. Few would dare stare so boldly in the face of death as you have done.’ He looked around the empty palace grounds. ‘Where is your army?’

  ‘I am the army,’ said Gift. ‘But my men will come soon.’

  Shakir bowed his head again and said, ‘Then we will leave you to the palace, King Gift.’

  He gestured to his soldiers and the Ranu withdrew, wondering what had possessed the general that he would walk away from the mad boy with the oversized sword. Shakir, however, was content. He had found a puppet ruler for the city without any awkward manipulation of local authorities, and that would make the transition to Ranu control so much easier.

  PART SIX

  ‘Victory is an illusion. The enemy of the moment may be defeated, a battle won, even a war, but no one is ever truly victorious. The losers carry with them the shame of defeat, and the victors’ hands are stained with blood. No one really wins.’

  FROM ‘THE LESSON OF THE SMALL DREAMS’, A SPEECH BY THE JARU PHILOSOPHER ALWYN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Fragments of memories and her comprehension of the outer world slowly shifted into positions that made sense. The transition wasn’t smooth. Images resurfaced randomly from her subconscious to distort the view that her eyes offered, but their frequency diminished until she felt confident that she could trust what she saw and heard.