He was distracted by a noise and gazed southward. A white dragon egg, glowing with lights, was rising from the city. It was already level with the castle wall, although still some distance from the plateau. He watched its nose turn towards the castle and heard its drivers pick up speed. Which official have they sent? he wondered as the machine lumbered towards him. Surely they’ve already discovered the glyph at the bottom of the road?
He concentrated, and an instant later was on the southern wall. He checked that no one was advancing up the road. Not that anyone could with the glyph in place, he reminded himself, but he was cautious nevertheless. He contemplated what to do. The approaching dragon egg may simply be a deputation from the government demanding an explanation of the strange stunt he was operating. Or it may be full of soldiers sent to arrest him and his companions. He smiled. Perhaps it’s time the Ranu learned about their history, he decided, and opened the upper section of the glyph to allow the dragon egg to enter. Then he levitated to the ground and went to advise the others of the Ranu’s arrival.
A Ahmud Ki resumed his appearance as the former Ranu president in order to greet the dragon egg contingent. He was mildly surprised to see the regional military general emerge from the carriage rather than a politician. He was less surprised when the general was followed by thirty soldiers who took positions in a semicircle facing him, their peacemakers pointed at him.
‘Is this an appropriate greeting for your former president?’ he challenged.
The general signalled to the soldiers to lower their weapons. Then he approached and saluted. ‘I am—’
‘General Ashek Shavez,’ A Ahmud Ki interrupted. ‘You were appointed as general of the Central Andrak region six years ago in recognition of your service to the republic as a commander in the Stepping Stones campaign. I personally signed your papers.’ The general blinked, lost for words. ‘And your purpose here is?’ A Ahmud Ki asked.
‘I’ve been ordered to place the Kerwyn refugees under arrest,’ Shavez replied. He hesitated before adding, ‘And yourself.’
‘And if we resist?’
Shavez blinked again. ‘I’ve been authorised to use force as needed.’
A Ahmud Ki smiled. ‘The Kerwyn are no longer here.’
Shavez met A Ahmud Ki’s steady gaze and shifted his left foot nervously. ‘I know that to be incorrect, sir. Observers have reported seeing the Kerwyn at positions along the walls of this castle throughout the day.’
‘Let me put it another way,’ said A Ahmud Ki. ‘I’m giving you the opportunity to return with a clean report to whichever official sent you. You can tell them I am here, but that the Kerwyn are gone.’
‘Sir, are you resisting arrest?’
A Ahmud Ki subtly twisted his right hand, conjuring an old spell, as he replied, ‘I am.’
General Shavez signalled with his left hand and the soldiers took aim. ‘Sir, I order you to lie down on the ground.’
A Ahmud Ki’s smile broadened as he raised his right hand. Behind Shavez there was a rattle of weapons and a series of thuds.
‘I think your men misunderstood your order,’ A Ahmud Ki informed him.
The general turned his head to discover his soldiers slumped on the ground. His hand slipped to the peacemaker at his belt and he drew it, taking aim at A Ahmud Ki, but his anger melted into shock when the weapon suddenly glowed red with intense heat. Yelping, he dropped it and clutched his right hand with his left.
‘Get the crew out of the dragon egg,’ A Ahmud Ki ordered. When Shavez hesitated he snarled, ‘Now!’
Confused, still in pain, Shavez yelled to the crew to step out.
‘Everyone,’ A Ahmud Ki warned and Shavez repeated the instruction. Five men clambered out of the carriage.
‘Now watch,’ A Ahmud Ki told Shavez. The carriage door slammed shut of its own volition, the drivers roared to life and the lights switched on. As the moorings came away and the dragon egg lifted from the ground, its bewildered crew grabbed the trailing ropes to try to hold it down. Three were carried up into the air, until they let go and fell heavily. Released, the dragon egg rose sharply and hovered three hundred spans overhead where it exploded in a golden ball of flame.
‘I think you understand why I’m not under your arrest,’ A Ahmud Ki said to the general as tiny golden embers from the dragon egg drifted around them. His face became serious. ‘I have a message for you to take back to the mayor and the citizens of Lightsword. Make sure they listen. I am not playing games. Do you understand me, General Shavez?’ The general nodded. ‘Good. Because your life and the lives of every citizen in Central Andrak will depend on how effective you are on getting this message understood.’
He took a slow breath to emphasise the gravity of his words. ‘Central Andrak must be evacuated. Go into Western Andrak. Don’t argue. Don’t delay. There is a storm coming that will obliterate everything; a storm like nothing you can possibly imagine. Anyone who stays here will die. The lands across the oceans to the east are already destroyed. I have seen it. I know what will happen here.’
He read the general’s ashen face and was satisfied the man understood.
‘When I awaken your men, take them out the main gate and down the road. I will open the glyph to let you pass, but after that no one can come to the castle.’
With a thought, he disappeared and reappeared on the parapet over the castle gate. He called to the astonished general as the soldiers rose from their sleep. ‘Tell everyone what you saw here. Tell them you have seen A Ahmud Ki, the Dragonlord, and the awesome power he commands. Tell them what I told you and make sure they understand.’ The castle gates creaked open. ‘You have one chance to live, General. Don’t waste it.’
He stayed on the parapet long after the confused troops and terrified and bruised dragon egg crew had followed their awestruck general down the road towards the city. He heard Inheritor and Chase calling him and ignored them. His body tingled with the amber’s latent energy. The small demonstration of magical power had rekindled long-suppressed desires and memories and he was lost in their thrall, exploring the possibilities that Erin’s gift had bestowed on him.
I am more powerful than I ever was, he realised. Embedding the amber—that was the secret I missed in the past. That was what separated me from Mareg. Now…now I am a Dragonlord.
‘A Ahmud Ki?’
He saw Chase staring at him through the shadows and heard the young man gasp. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Your eyes,’ Chase replied.
‘What about them?’
‘They’re glowing red.’
‘It’s the amber,’ he said, and put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘Let’s get some sleep.’
‘Shouldn’t we set a watch?’
A Ahmud Ki shook his head. ‘The glyph will keep nosy people away.’
He let Chase descend the stairs first and looked up at the night sky and the stars one last time. There was so much beauty in this world and he felt as if he’d missed it.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
She recognised the city along the coastline as she flew towards it. Targa. The last time she’d seen it was from the deck of Captain Marlin’s ship when the Ranu invaded. Then, more than thirty years ago, it had been burning in the aftermath of a Ranu dragon egg bombing raid, its great spires wrapped in flames and dark smoke. Now, in the early morning light, it was like a jewelled dress stretched between the blue ocean and green hills: red roof tiles shining, golden domes glittering, white stone washed with the soft yellow of sunrise. The harbour water sparkled, dotted with vessels—fishing boats, sailing yachts and trading ships, a dark grey dreadnought. Light white smoke tinged with gold rose from hundreds of factory chimneys. The old religious spires, rebuilt since the war, prodded skyward, their silver-buffed shingles glittering like ancient scale armour.
North-east and out to sea, a fleet of Ranu dreadnoughts were lined across the oddly inert ocean, like a low and loose wall. Above them floated a flotilla of dragon eggs, white fabric and elonga
ted frames transparent and golden in the rising sunlight. They faced a storm bank of black and blue clouds that rolled towards them like a massive wave. Lightning flashed and thunder pealed, filling the earth and air and ocean with continuous vibrations.
Meg’s heart sank at the vision. She willed herself to move with greater speed and banked over the city outskirts, where the main roads were filling with people intent on escaping the impending holocaust. Too late, she thought bitterly, and I can do nothing. She gained altitude and headed for the storm, slowing warily as she reached the rear of the dragon egg line. Remembering the ferocity of the Horsemen’s power, she climbed higher and retreated a distance to observe.
In the centre of the clouds a blue light appeared. From its glow, eight Horsemen emerged on their steeds, heralded by lightning and wrapped in thunder. Almost directly below, the Ranu dreadnoughts lit up, enveloped in white clouds as their gigantic peacemakers opened fire at the riders. Salvo after salvo of deadly metal and explosives whistled through the cloud bank, but the Horsemen came on, untouched and undaunted, a galloping tide of death.
They swept across the dreadnought line, dragging the storm in their wake, and the ships erupted simultaneously, fireballs shooting skyward with such speed and ferocity that they engulfed the dragon eggs. Even before the flames peaked in intensity, they were consumed by the wind and downpour of the storm.
Meg banked sharply and raced back towards the doomed city, straining her tiny bird frame to its limit to outpace the charging Horsemen. The chance to save all the people was long gone, but if she could save at least some then she would have a tiny victory. She flew low over the rooftops, between the higher chimneys and spires, and landed at the end of a wide road filled with panicking people streaming towards the countryside. She resumed her human form and conjured a brightly glowing portal between two buildings.
‘This way!’ she yelled. ‘Through the portal!’
Terrified, people scrambled back from the apparition. Three men produced peacemakers and took aim. As they fired, Meg vanished and a magpie took flight.
The Horsemen were already charging across the city, laying it to waste, dissolving the ambitions and dreams of its people to dust. She felt the buffet of the wind and knew there was nothing more she could do. Targa was already dead. As lightning crackled perilously close, she banked and dropped through the portal she had created to save the people, and closed it in her wake.
‘Three days,’ she told the hastily assembled group at the makeshift table in the throne room. Abreotan’s sword hilt lay conspicuously before them, ruby, emerald, diamond and amber gems glimmering in the magic light of the floating sphere. ‘They came to Targa from the north-east.’
‘Then they’ll come here from the south,’ said A Ahmud Ki. ‘There’s little for them to gain by sweeping up the spine of the Ureykeyu Mountains. They’ll come from across the Lake of Tears, through Port Light.’
‘How many people can we get out of those places before they arrive?’ Inheritor asked.
‘They won’t listen,’ said A Ahmud Ki, and he looked at Meg for support.
She nodded. ‘I tried to get people through a portal in Targa. They were too terrified.’
‘I told General Shavez to evacuate the people from Lightsword last night,’ A Ahmud Ki added.
‘There’s no sign of people leaving,’ Chase reported. ‘Nothing seems to have changed in the city.’
‘Except for those things in the air,’ said Hunter. ‘There were seven last count.’
‘Dragon eggs,’ said Cutter. ‘Your impressive dismissal of the general last evening stirred up a hornets’ nest.’ He gave A Ahmud Ki a laconic smile.
‘What happened?’ Meg asked.
‘For later,’ A Ahmud Ki said. He stood and crossed to the swordsmith’s rudimentary workshop where he began inspecting the items. ‘What happens next is between Meg, the swordsmith and me,’ he announced with his back to the group.
He turned to address Inheritor. ‘Shortly, the fate of everyone in this castle and everyone north and west of here will rest entirely in your hands.’ He shifted his attention to Cutter. ‘Take the king outside for sword practice. He’s going to need it.’ Then to Hunter: ‘Fetch the swordsmith from wherever he is.’
Meg approached A Ahmud Ki as everyone at the table responded to his directions. ‘What can I do?’ she asked.
His eyes softened. ‘Be young for me.’
Taken aback by his unexpected flirtation, she stared at him for an explanation, which made him laugh.
‘You have so much power and no real idea how to use it,’ he said. ‘I wasted a lifetime chasing what you have.’
‘But you have it now.’
‘No,’ he replied and his smile faded. ‘It has me.’ He reached for her hands and said again, ‘Be young for me.’
The earnestness in his voice and face touched her. She imagined the years rolling away until she was back in Summerbrook, after her first terrible encounter with the Demon Horsemen, just before she married Button Tailor. Her hair became long and thick and red, her figure lithe, her green eyes sparkled with energy. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were slender, unmarked by age. When she gazed into A Ahmud Ki’s grey eyes she saw her reflection there; the young woman she’d almost forgotten peering back at her. And she saw wonder in his expression.
‘More beautiful even than I remembered,’ he whispered, and lifted her hands to his lips to kiss them tenderly. As he lowered them, he said, ‘Thank you.’
Meg was about to tell him how she had despised her looks when she was young, but broke off at the sound of shuffling footsteps entering the chamber.
‘This is Gerud Alfwyrt,’ said A Ahmud Ki, welcoming the old man. ‘His family have been master swordsmiths for generations. Unfortunately, his sons and grandsons moved into manufacturing peacemakers. More profit. When Gerud dies, the craft of his forefathers will be lost.’
‘I have good apprentices, Sir,’ Gerud replied.
A Ahmud Ki winked at the old man. ‘And they are outstanding craftsmen,’ he acknowledged, ‘but they are not swordsmiths. You said so yourself.’
The old man shook his head. ‘Too true. They know how to make a sword but they don’t feel it. They don’t understand that every sword is unique, with its own character; that it is shaped to suit a single wielder. They know the craft but not the art.’
‘And your art is what we need,’ A Ahmud Ki told him. He moved from Meg’s side, took the swordsmith’s arm and led him to the table. ‘See?’
The old man stared at the gem-encrusted hilt and his face became enraptured. ‘This is very old work,’ he whispered. ‘Ancient work.’ He looked up at A Ahmud Ki. ‘This comes from the Bretan period.’
‘You would know of the swords of legend,’ said A Ahmud Ki. ‘This is one of them.’
Gerud’s hand trembled as he reached forward to touch the hilt, his fingers reverently stroking the dragon-head pommel. ‘This is not possible. Only one sword like this was ever made.’ He looked at A Ahmud Ki again. ‘This isn’t possible.’
‘Anything is possible,’ said A Ahmud Ki.
Gerud withdrew his hand. ‘I can’t make a blade for this.’
‘You must,’ said A Ahmud Ki.
‘But this weapon,’ Gerud said, his voice trembling like his hands, ‘this is not the work of a man. This is the work of the gods.’
‘This sword wasn’t made by gods,’ said A Ahmud Ki. ‘The Elvenaar crafted it.’
Gerud looked back at the hilt and Meg saw covetousness mixed with his reverence. ‘I am unworthy,’ he said, shaking his head.
A Ahmud Ki took the old man’s arm again. ‘You are the only living person who can replicate the skills needed to craft the blade. Look at me.’
The old man’s eyes widened with shock as A Ahmud Ki’s age melted away and he returned to his younger self, the half-Aelendyell chancellor of the Andrakian kingdom.
‘Let me go!’ Gerud screamed, but A Ahmud Ki kept a firm grip on his arm.<
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‘I am the sole surviving descendant of the Elvenaar,’ he said. ‘I was known as Terin of Solweonyn among the Aelendyell and I inherited all that was taught in the Book of Lore.’ He released Gerud’s arm and the old man retreated several stumbling steps, staring in fear at the living legend before him.
‘All that you need to remake the blade for Abreotan’s sword is here,’ A Ahmud Ki continued. ‘You will be guided by my friend. She is wise in the ways of the Elvenaar.’
I don’t know anything of the Elvenaar ways, thought Meg in alarm. She saw the old man cowering before the Dragonlord and wondered why she had never dreamed of this moment. Why were some things clear and others never revealed?
‘You have work to do, my friend,’ A Ahmud Ki said to Gerud. ‘Liquefy the metal first, and include what you need to temper it, then the major ingredient must be added before you pour the mould.’
‘There’s no kiln, no bellows, no fire,’ Gerud complained, his fear dissipating.
‘Put the metal in the vat. We’ll create the heat,’ said A Ahmud Ki. He looked to Meg. ‘Can you heat the vat for Gerud?’
She approached the equipment, applied a spell to the squat maroon vat, and in moments it was radiating heat. ‘How hot?’ she asked.
Gerud lifted a lump of grey rock and dropped it into the vat and watched. ‘Hotter,’ he instructed. Meg increased the temperature. ‘Hotter,’ he ordered again. The rock began to liquefy. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘There. Keep it there.’
She stabilised the spell, conscious of her body beginning to sweat in the tremendous heat, and Gerud added lumps of metal and powders.
‘Come with me,’ said A Ahmud Ki. She followed him from the throne room, through a corridor and onto a platform suspended above the chasm at the castle’s centre.
‘Do you know what this was?’ he asked. She shook her head.
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