The Written

by Ben Galley

  But the soldiers kept coming, pouring out of hidden doors and shadows like rodents on a sinking ship. Two of the Sirens were already gone, trampled somewhere underneath the chaos. Farden slipped on something wet underneath him. Something whispered to him inside his head.

  We’re running out of time.

  The mage knocked his vambraces together and the ground shook and rippled like a shockwave, pushing everyone nearby to the floor. Farden jumped forwards and swung his longsword in wild arcs to try and clear a path. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied a tall figure standing back from the fighting, arms crossed and defiant, a smirk plastered on his smug face, hazel eyes staring implacably at the carnage. Farden snarled, and that all so familiar rage started to burn in his chest once again.

  High above the ruins of Carn Breagh Farfallen was watching his dragons fall left and right and by the dozen. The snow was an ugly mess of multicoloured blood, trampled and muddy under the clawing feet of the hydra. Bodies covered the ruins, both dragons and riders, crushed and torn and barely identifiable. Some of the riders still moved, desperately hauling themselves through the rock and snow to get away from the monstrous thing.

  As he watched another dragon swooped down and rained bright orange fire on the hydra. The fire engulfed one of the heads and it wailed a cry of pain but another snatched the dragon from the air like a striking cobra and sliced the poor beast in two. The remaining dragons, no more than half their original number, retreated momentarily and hovered around the Old Dragon.

  ‘We can’t go on like this Farfallen!’ shouted Svarta. ‘We aren’t even hurting it!’

  His tawny eyes narrowed. She was right: most of the heads had been scorched or wounded but they hadn’t even slowed it down. The red glowing eyes still watched its attackers with a cold impassive gaze. Its massive claws scratched at the rubble. It hydra whined and swayed in a hypnotising way.

  Farfallen knew that Farden was close, he could feel it, they just had to give him some more time. He turned to face his dragons. Every one of them looked exhausted, beaten, and scared. Half of them were wounded, and the other half were covered in grey-blue blood and gasping in the thin air. They all had a certain look in their eyes, of fear and terror, and Farfallen was sure he was no different. The Old Dragon sighed. There was no other choice. ‘Everyone will attack one head at a time! We will not rest until they all lie smoking in the ruins, now follow me!’ And without another word he dipped a wing and rolled downwards in a sickening spiral.

  Farfallen took a deep breath as the air rushed past him. He chose his prey. Jaws snapped at him but he was too fast, ducking between the necks with a speed and grace that belied his size and age. Flame erupted from his jaws, white-hot and searing, and blasted one of the larger heads in a huge stream of fire. Farfallen quickly flapped with all his strength and with two huge wingstrokes he was clear of the monster. The dragons behind him roared together as they followed their leader in a line. Their mouths were full of scorching flame and they enveloped the head in an orange fire storm that made the air crackle and shiver with heat. A few more of them tore at the neck with their teeth and claws and barbed tails. One by one they hacked chunks from the pale skin with swooping attacks, dodging the other snapping jaws by inches. Arrows covered its neck like needles on a porcupine. Fire licked at its glistening skin.

  With a bubbling wail the head buckled and started to collapse. The eyes blinked frantically, bluish blood poured from between its fangs. Like a falling tree the thing swayed and then finally toppled with agonising slowness and one last bubbling wail. Skin ripped and tore with a splash of bluish blood, and the head hung at a strange angle, dangling grossly against the hydra’s spiny shoulders.

  Farfallen grinned victoriously, and joined the others in loud roar. He let the air buoy him up as he circled his dragons. Towerdawn joined him. His rider jabbed the air with a big sword and laughed. ‘It worked!’ he shouted. The Old Dragon nodded and shook his horns. He smiled a smile of grim satisfaction. Only eighteen more to go, he thought. But the smile died all too quickly, as something was happening below them.

  The dangling head shook and quivered and twitched violently. Something moved beneath the skin. The dead eyes began to glow, slowly at first, but then more. They pulsated with a dim red glow as they began to come alive again. The jaws moved slightly. There was a weird crunching sound and then spines started to appear at the base of the broken neck as another head started to peel from the skin and grow upwards. As the wounded head began to heal and stitch itself back together more eyes emerged and blinked, popping up between thick wet spines. Dark liquid dripped from grinning jaws and and teeth began to push up through black gums.

  The smile faded from Farfallen’s golden face and was replaced by a bleak expression of anxiety. The two heads rose up until they stood as tall as the others, good as new and just as dangerous. The hydra whined mockingly.

  This is madness. Svarta spoke in his head. The Old Dragon scanned the horizon for any sign of reinforcements. ‘I know,’ he simply said, thinking of Farden. We’re running out of time.

  Vice smiled contemptuously. Farden took another step forward and emerged into the shaft of sunlight that poured down from above. If he had taken his eyes off the Undermage he would have seen the hydra towering above them, but he kept his glowering eyes fixed on Vice’s, trying to burn a hole in his forehead. The mage held his dirty blade out in front of him.

  ‘You never learn do you Farden? You never stop to think,’ said Vice. His tone was almost cordial. Farden scowled even more.

  ‘I don’t need to think about killing you, it’s the obvious choice,’ replied the mage.

  He laughed. ‘Hah! As if you’ve ever had a choice. You’ve been wonderfully blind to everything since the start of this, why else do you think I’ve come so far and achieved so much?’ Vice unfolded his arms and began to move sideways, away from the well. Farden moved only his sword, keeping it arms length and aimed at his opponent’s neck. The fighting still raged behind them.

  ‘It all ends with you, Vice,’ said Farden.

  ‘Does it?’ His eyes flashed, and the castle shook as the hydra moved.

  Something dark suddenly stirred in Farden’s mind, something he had not even dared to conceive up until now. Dread loomed from the shadows.

  ‘We’re not about to stop now...’ Vice’s lip curled with scorn.

  ‘Enough talk!’ Farden leapt forward and stabbed at him. But the Undermage was fast. A flash of light from his hand hit the sword and the blade bounced off with a loud ping. Farden slashed again, downwards, and again Vice parried the blow with his spell. The mage kept at it, constantly swinging his blade in all directions like a steel blur. He lunged forward and caught the sleeve of Vice’s robe. The swordtip snagged the cloth, and the Undermage seized his chance. He slammed a fist against Farden’s wrist and the sword spun out of his grasp, clattering on the stones. He pressed a hand against the mage’s forearm and a flash of green light punched the air. Farden flew sideways as if he had been hit by a hammer and he fell against the wall that guarded the edge of the dark well.

  ‘Who are you Farden?’ Vice laughed, with a harsh cackle. The mage breathed hard. The sword was no more than an arms length away but as he went to move Vice shocked him with a swift bolt of lightning and Farden curled up into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut. Ribbons of blue light danced all over his body and shook him with their thunder. He felt like his insides were burning, like his bones were about to snap under the pressure of the spell. He could smell his skin cooking.

  ‘I asked you who you were mage. We always thought you would end up like your uncle and run naked through the city gates, but I doubt if we’ll ever find out. It seems, Farden, that you’ve come to the end of your usefulness. And now it’s up to me to finish the job the others couldn’t.’

  Vice’s words were a low rumble amidst the noisy hiss that blocked Farden’s ears, but he still heard every one of them. The blood thudded noisily and with hasty repetition again
st the inside of his skull.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ More sparks fluttered around the Undermage’s fingers. He reached for the mage and hauled him roughly upright and pressed him against the stone. His eyes burned with savage anger. ‘Who do you think you are, to stand in my way?’

  Farden tried to lift a hand to feebly push him away, but his skin felt like it was being stabbed with pins.

  Go.

  Vice cocked his head to one side, like a vulture, and shook the mage. He brought his mocking face close and shouted. Spit flew from his lips. ‘Hmm? Answer me!’

  ‘I... ’ Farden began, and then took a deep breath, but he didn’t finish his sentence. With all the speed and strength he could muster he rammed his forehead into the bridge of the Undermage’s nose with a loud grunt. At the same time his fingers curled into a fist and he brought it up under his chin. With a pained grimace Vice stumbled backwards and threw a hand out to steady himself. Farden kicked out hard and caught him in the chest. The Undermage sprawled on the flagstones and spat a drop of blood in the dust with a murderous glare.

  ‘Farden the hydra!’ a shout rang out from behind them and Farden spun around to see Eyrum surrounded, with only one Siren still standing by his side, swinging his blood-soaked axe at anything that came within reach. Soldiers hemmed them in on all sides, circling cautiously. At least a dozen of their dead friends lay strewn on the floor, and many of them were missing several large portions of their bodies. The others were not so keen to get in the way of the big Siren’s axe.

  Something moved in his peripheral vision and Farden turned to meet Vice’s fist colliding with his face. Sparks exploded behind the mage’s eyes. He pushed the tall man backwards with a flailing arm and swung another punch of his own. It landed hard on his chest and Vice took a step back, briefly winded. Farden wiped crimson blood from his lip and shook his head. His vision was still blurred, so he blinked and tried to move slowly to the left, around to where he had noticed the manual sitting on a pedestal.

  Vice began to laugh again with that sadistic cackle and those narrow eyes, mocking his every move. ‘You still have no idea. It’s dangling right in front of you and you can’t even see it. Typical Farden’

  ‘You don’t know me as well as you think you do Vice.’

  ‘Hah! Who taught you? Who arranged for you to go the schools, to the Ritual? I did. All of it. I was the one who sent you to live the life of a Written. It’s just a pity you didn’t turn out as I’d hoped,’ he scowled, his eyes boring a hole into Farden’s.

  The mage scoffed, and sidled ever so slightly towards the back of the room. ‘As one of your loyal servants, like Ridda?’

  ‘Still defending your precious Arka, I see.’

  ‘They’re your people as much as they are mine Vice, you traitor!’

  Vice shook his head and didn’t break his gaze for a second. ‘I watched the Arka crawl from their filthy beginnings! I was there when the first stone of Krauslung was carved from the mountains and I will be there when it falls. I have watched you people grow for a thousand years and I’ve seen what you’ve become, bureaucratic fools pissing their gold away with the whores and the drunks in the street, meddling in magick they’ll never understand. Fools, Farden, fools that need removing from these lands. And I shall be the one to do it.

  Farden shook his head. ‘And the Sirens?’ he muttered.

  ‘Two dragons with one stone.’

  Farden glared, trying to convey as much hate as possible in one look. He thought of all the evenings he had spent sat with the Undermage and his dark wine, swapping stories with him, discussing the world and its matters. He thought of every lesson Vice had ever taught him, how many things they had both confided in the other. All this time, he said to himself. The anger and sorrow felt like lead in his chest. ‘It must have been painful to play dumb all these years, faking all those smiles and kind words,’ said the mage. ‘I think you’ve enjoyed every moment of this. Relished every bit of your despicable plan.’

  Vice flashed white teeth and rubbed his hands together, making a little yellow spark float upwards towards the broken ceiling. ‘Immensely.’

  Farden kept inching sideways and made sure he held Vice’s gaze for as long as possible. He didn’t trust his eyes to look at the manual and betray him. Orange fire started to curl up between the Undermage’s fingers. Farden raised his hands, slowly, to be ready to fend off the spell, and took a long inward breath and held it. He could feel magick pulsating along his arms but he pushed it to his legs and feet and tried to remember everything he had seen in Hjaussfen, everything he had learnt that night, sitting beside the fireplace in the Old Dragon’s room, listening long into the morning to the quiet one-eyed Siren called Eyrum.

  Go!

  Vice flicked his hands outwards and the blistering fireball flew straight at the mage in an orange blur. Farden breathed out. With one tiny step he slipped to the side and made the room slow and smudge like a ruined oil painting, pastel shades of grey and white like nebulous fog wiping the world to one side. He watched the crackling orb of flame roll through the air and lazily make its way towards him. The crystalline flames blossomed and whirled and strangely in that moment he felt like reaching out to touch them, to see if they would snap in his hands. But he was still moving and Farden slid to the left as though the earth had suddenly tripped beneath his boots.

  The fireball burst against the wall with an angry flash and Farden was already several yards away. Without wasting a second he sprinted to the pedestal and the manual.

  ‘No!’ Vice yelled, and leapt to catch him. Farden skidded to a halt and grabbed the little book, letting the magick flow back into his hands and erupt in white hot flame from his fingers. There was a dull thud deep from somewhere in the well and the room started to shake around them. The yellow pages curled and crumbled as the fire ate into the book and the room shook even more. Farden lifted the manual up in his fist and let the flames consume his entire forearm until the book was a smouldering mess, just the time it took for Vice to reach him and land a blow to his ribs right where the arrow had hit him. Blinding pain knocked him to the floor. Something or someone was standing behind him, but as he turned a heavy object collided with his skull, and the world went black.

  Farfallen took another deep breath and blinked the smoke from his amber-flecked eyes. A pitiful amount of dragons were left and the sound of their roars and screams below made his heart feel heavy in his chest. He felt Svarta putting her cold hand on his scales and felt her voice in his head.

  ‘We have to fall back, the mage has failed,’ she said aloud.

  But the Old Dragon shook his head stubbornly. ‘I can still feel him, somewhere in there.’

  ‘Farfallen...’ she said, and he couldn’t ignore that she was right. He looked down at the hydra below them, still snarling and biting at his dragons. They fought on bravely. Riders still swung their swords as their mounts ducked and wheeled under and over the squirming heads to breathe fire on the monster’s back and legs. Farfallen could feel their exhaustion. He watched with sad eyes as yet another of his dragons was ripped to pieces by two ravenous heads. One held the screaming beast by its tail while the other tore at its back and head. Sulphurous breath steamed in clouds through its spear-like teeth. Emerald blood ran in rivers down the hydra’s shoulder. Farfallen let a wave of pain pass over him, and nodded slowly.

  ‘Then let us get away from this thing. We have done our best. Emaneska will have to fend for itself.’ said Farfallen, and let out a mighty, if not slightly tired and disappointed, roar. With screeches the dragons quickly flapped away from the snapping jaws. Every single eye, of rider and beast, was wide with terror, or relief, or both. The hydra kept coming at them, hissing and whining, drenched in blood and gore and obviously still not satiated.

  ‘Keep clear of it!’ Towerdawn yelled to the others, and the diminished ranks flapped higher into the clear blue sky. One unlucky dragon lost the tip of its tail as one head snapped its grey fangs but it managed
to escape with the rest and joined the others. They could barely summon the strength to flap their wings. They watched Farfallen and waited. As the Old Dragon opened his mouth to speak a low moaning groan from below interrupted him. They all looked down. Dust was starting to rise up into the air around the hydra’s claws and its eyes were starting to blink and flicker, pulsating like its skin which was now writhing and sweating.

  ‘Something’s happening!’ shouted a nearby rider. Farfallen quietly prayed that it was not another one of its tricks and that it wasn’t about to sprout wings. The dragons backed away even further as smoke began to pour from one of its mouths. The dust turned to ash and cinders and began to billow in great clouds around its legs. A huge boom resonated from somewhere inside Carn Breagh. Farfallen squinted at the monster. Its skin was starting to darken and great black blotches erupted under his skin like bruises. The marks seethed and smoked until all of the hydra’s flesh smouldered like burning paper. The smell was horrible. The remaining dragons soared on the rising air to get clear of the beast and save their strength, and from high above they watched the hydra burn and smoke and wondered what would happen next.

  With a lurch and a stumble there came another deep boom from the castle. One of its legs dissolved into ash and then the tail started to deliquesce in thick bursts of smoke. Just before its heads started to fall and topple like fire-gutted towers to crash and burn against each other it cried out with its minor chord wail for one last time. Then there was a loud sucking noise as the air rushed inwards and the hydra seemed to fold in on itself with a low rumble. It was like watching a mountain burn up and die. As the noise reached its crescendo the hydra gurgled and exploded in a huge cloud of ash. The shockwave turned the snow black and filled the air with dust. Trees were flattened. The dragons rode the blast, and in a moment it was over. They flew in its wake and glided towards the ruined castle, swapping exhausted smiles and toothy grins.