by Marc Secchia
Seconds ahead of the Dragons, she whipped through the gate. The mechanisms were housed to her left paw; there, a group of soldiers milled about uncertainly. A body lay slumped across the threshold. Why were they not closing the gates?
“Dragons!” she yelled. “Take cover!”
The men scattered as, with a mighty roar, the Dragons hurtled into the attack. Fireballs rocked the battlements, squeezing between the crenelated gaps as the soldiers dived for shelter. Arborite discipline ensured only a few were caught out in the open. Shadows swooped and dived as the Dragons wheeled above. Three Gold-Red Dragons plowed through the gates, and met a hot reception of chain nets and Dragon-sized crossbow quarrels. Whisper added a neurotoxin flechette or two for a touch of extra flavour, but immediately, three more Dragons piled through the wide gap, clambering over their fellows with zesty, battle-hungry growls.
Overeager, these fellows. Whisper sprayed the nearest with a quartet of anti-Dragon specials. Gemmini would appreciate the use of her excellent work. In response, the Dragons twisted their necks and sprayed billowing yellow waves of Dragon fire about them, firing everything in sight. Whisper dived into the mechanism room as fire licked over the corpse next to her paws, and immediately wished she had not. Ammox’s trail was clear, marked in blood and bodies. He had likely talked his way inside the reinforced door, which was locked and barred in wartime, and then fallen upon the guards and engineers inside with devastating effect. Other soldiers had followed him inside and eventually finished him off, but the Warleader lay beneath a pile of bodies. Dead.
One young solider, looking unfocussed about the eyes, held his arm across his lap as he sat slumped against the wall. Blood pooled beneath his body. He glanced up at Whisper. “Gutted me good, he did,” he hissed, speaking brokenly. “Freaking traitor – went mad. Knew exactly what he was doing to the gates. Spiked the mechanism to open, then smashed everything. Can’t move that tonnage now.”
Whisper breathed, “Did he say anything? Any reason?”
“No. Just yelling … yelling …”
“Yelling what?”
“Yes … yes-sir-me, or something,” slurred the young man. “Yes, me …”
Her suddenly, violently desiccated throat made her croak the word. Whisper wanted to vomit. “Yessimy?”
“Aye.”
Whisper leaped to his side. “Can I –”
“Leave me. You go fight. Heard you fight … g-aaaah!”
His head rolled to one side. Whisper could not catch his sideways gall, even though she tried. She touched his neck. Nothing. “You fought well, brave soldier,” she whispered, and pressed his eyelids shut. “May your soul fly the canyons forever.”
This was wrong. He had deserved better.
The world seemed to shiver beneath her paws. The sounds of battle grew sharper, as if each noise were a fresh dagger-prick to her consciousness. New purpose raged her heart. Whisper rose unsteadily, arming her remaining flechettes and tensioning her crossbow. GRRAA-BA-DA-BOOM!! The room quaked as the Dragons struck again. Shouts and bellows resounded outside. Captain Semoki was roaring to rally the troops, aiming to trap and destroy the Dragons in the gate area – effectively blocking the Warlock’s path. Smart strategy.
She grieved – why Yessimy? Why had the Warleader been shouting for Yessimy when he slew all these good Arborite soldiers? She did not understand.
There was one way in and out. Whisper darted back to the doorway, then ducked as a mighty tail cracked the stones just above her head. The King must be in mortal danger. The Warlock, or the King? The oath bore down ferociously as she vacillated. Complete her charge, and she put herself directly in danger. Accursed oath! She was such a liability in situations like these – yet her courage would demanded only one course. Face Yessimy. Tempt the fates.
Whisper darted out. She began to work her way toward the fortifications leading into the city proper, begging the blinding headache to subside. Meantime, she sized up the chaos in the gateway. Seven Dragons, both the Ice-Orange and the Gold-Red subtypes. Add a few more to the pileup, and they’d reach the buttress above – idiotic reptiles. They were getting in each other’s way quite effectively. Steadying the crossbow on the crook of her left elbow, she took aim. She must ensure that this pile stayed put for a few minutes longer, at least. Just to annoy the conquering slug properly.
As a Dragoness raised her slender muzzle above the pile, Whisper pinned her in the nose with a neurotoxin dart.
Then, she dodged away.
By now, she knew the route to the Palace like her own furry paw. Every second counted. If the Warlock intended to destroy the King – before he had taken something? After? Her running steps slowed. Sanfuri did not intend to tarry here in Arbor, unlike everyone thought.
KAABOOM!!
Glancing over her shoulder, Whisper saw the fortifications and buildings around the gateway slide aside as though Sanfuri had casually pushed open a door. The raging of his power made her senses reel. Her whiskers screamed, danger! There he came, sitting astride Ignothax as if the Dragon were a common beast of burden, his hands fluttering as he flattened defenders left and right. Mercilessly, Warlock marshalled swarms of draconids and dragonets to attack any Arborite left standing. The archers fired back bravely, impaling tens of dragonets and turning several of the downed Dragonkind into pincushions. But the Warlock’s presence was immense. It swirled around him like a blue maelstrom, a whirling concentration of mage-powers unlike anything she had seen in a Human before – or a Dragon. More Gold-Reds streamed in behind him, squeezing onto Arbor’s gardens, pathway and gantries.
Now, he would put the city to the sword.
She raced away, fighting off treacherous tears.
* * * *
Whimper found Yessimy holding a soup gourd to the King’s lips. Her countenance was gentle, every inch the compassionate caregiver – and that was what everyone believed. Inconceivable, that there could be so much as a traitorous bone in her body. Idly, as she tipped the gourd, her right hand held the King’s, and in that simple yet profound gesture, Yessimy stroked the signet ring without appearing to think upon it.
Upon seeing Whisper standing frozen in the doorway, her posture took on a subtly protective air. “What do you want, Whisper?”
“Princess Rhyme sent me with a message – that you should care for the King,” Whisper said. Relief.
“That girl knows I’d protect this good man with my own life,” Yessimy huffed. “Why’s she saying such draconid spit in the middle of a battle?”
“Because she knows you’d never betray the King,” she replied, watching the woman as narrowly as she dared. Nothing. No physical, emotional or even magical sign betrayed the woman in the slightest. She was a true believer.
Could the Warlock have possessed her mind?
Or, she was as innocent as Whisper suspected she was. That mean the King was the victim of a trick and the real traitor was someone else entirely – or the something that Warlock Sanfuri had just alluded to, the trigger or Warlock power concealed in the palm of his hand.
Whisper said, “Lock and bar the door, Yessimy. Don’t let anyone in or out except the Princess.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Do you think –”
“Aye.” Departing the room, Whisper paused in the doorway. “Yessimy, why do you touch his ring like that?”
After a moment, the confused look cleared from the woman’s eyes. “It’s an old family tradition. This ring is meant to have magical powers. I invoke those powers to keep the good King alive. Every time I touch the ring, it’s like a prayer, see?” A tear tracked down her cheek. “It’s just a little thing, but it keeps the heart going. Like you, Whisper. You’re just a little thing, and you’ve kept Arbor alive so far.”
Whisper nodded, and departed. That woman was either the best actress she had met yet, or she was innocent. Now, whom should she believe?
She raced down to the base of the Palace, and into the gardens. If she was not mistaken – aye, Beastmaster Ho
rik was present, tending his pet white-frilled dragonets. They were small Dragonkind with off-white scales and beautifully frilly, almost impractical wings, but the Arborites swore they made the best messengers amongst the Dragonkind. Quickly and confidently, she approached the man. She would send messages to Drex and Xan – Drex to watch his back, and King Xan to attack the bridge with everything he had. With Sanfuri ransacking Arbor, now was the hour to make him pay.
* * * *
Whisper whispered around Warlock Sanfuri’s advance, trying somehow to draw the man out, but he was too cunning. Either he or Ignothax seemed to have eyes everywhere, and they were shielded ten times over for every day of the week. Crossbow bolts bounced or shattered. Axes pinged into the distance. Fire rolled over him without apparent effect. She sneaked past an Arborite Mage, who was muttering, “Such power. Unbelievable.”
How did one upset an untouchable enemy?
Further, Sanfuri appeared to be in no hurry. Whisper trusted this even less than anything she had seen of the man so far. He was not about casual destruction. This Warlock had a goal and he was pursuing it with slow, grinding precision. Drex? The Azar? What was he waiting for? Some aspect of the timing of his assault they did not yet understand?
Shortly, Whisper rejoined Rhyme. They exchanged information in low hisses. Sanfuri’s troops had melted away behind the city, but the draconids attacked relentlessly, pinning down the defenders – ensuring the numbers were too thin to oppose him effectively here, the Princess concluded. Shivura sweated and fought furiously with his coterie of Mages and apprentices, but it appeared that the old adage of Warlock and familiar augmenting each other’s powers was more than true. Furthermore, Sanfuri appeared capable of extending his protection to the Dragons around him, ensuring that Whisper’s flechettes were as effective as tossing a few pebbles around his ankles.
The flames rose as the Dragons torched buildings indiscriminately, until at last, as Rhyme was grinding a few more unladylike execrations between her teeth, something changed.
The Warlock dismounted.
“Going into the museum?” Rhyme grunted, peering around a fire-blackened stanchion. “Why?”
Three or four minutes later, Sanfuri reappeared. By then, the Princess Blue and three of her Captains had formed the famous Arborite tortoises and set to attacking the Warlock and his Dragon cohort from three quarters simultaneously. Ranged weapons could not penetrate the shields, but it appeared a slow advance could. Now, at last, they had an effect. Some of the Dragons peeled away to fight. The Warlock rode ahead majestically upon Ignothax, either unaware of or disdaining the assault.
Whisper ran with the Princess as she spearheaded an assault that, with the help of four Mages, breached the Dragon wall and battled the Dragons hand-to-hand, axe against fang. Rhyme waded in wildly, yelling at Sanfuri to stop and fight. He ignored her majestically.
Majestically? “Rancid fungaslug!” Whisper howled, expending one last flechette on his shield. It plinked uselessly on the ground.
“He’s getting away!” roared the Princess. She rounded on Whisper. “Go warn the gate. He’s headed in that direction. Then, run further. Drex’s troops should have arrived at his bolt-hole, by now. That’s where he’s headed. Can you do that, Whisper?”
“Aye. Fight well, Princess.”
She streaked through the battling ground troops, overtaking Warlock Sanfuri’s oblivious advance. The Warlock even rode over his own men if they were not alert enough to vacate his path. He wore a small blue horn at his belt, she noted. That was new – was that the artefact he had taken from the museum? Why?
After warning the gate guard, she sneaked over the other side, beside the canyon drop, and skirted Sanfuri’s besieging troops at the city’s main gate. This was a more conventional Warlock-supported ground assault, supplied with ladders and other siege engines. Shields did not seem to be so much an issue here; she made her presence count by taking down two Warlocks and injuring a third. Then she was up on her toes and sprinting down the trail. With the wind in her face, she smelled battle further along – the reek of smoke mingled with charred flesh and the unmistakable astringent tang of Dragon acid drifted on the breeze.
Was she right to place her trust in Yessimy? The Warlock was already beyond the Palace. If she had learned anything about him at all in the time since he had severed her tail, she knew that the scar-faced man would make good on his every promise. He meant to attack the Azarinthe troops as a final act, didn’t he?
There was a whisper of death in the air.
Chapter 23: A Panicked Whisper
TWO MILES DOWN the trail leading to the bridge, Whisper ran into the back of a smash-up confrontation between Captain Drex’s troops and Sanfuri’s Irregular Colours, which she had learned was an offensive Azar reference to the palette of skin colours, armour types and fighting styles on display. However, with Drex’s column being outnumbered four to one, the fighting was heavily weighted in favour of Sanfuri’s group. She frowned. Where had the Warlock’s army appeared from this time? They had their backs to her, fighting Drex’s troops coming from the direction of the bridge. Did this mean the Azar had broken through? Or was it too premature to hope?
Too many. She could expend five hundred flechettes on this clutch of diseased goons. Or, she could slip inside one of their fighting wedges, sneak right up to the front line …
I am ingenious!
“You are stupid,” she informed her extremely self-satisfied inner knowing. Succinct.
Therefore, she proceeded to do exactly the ingeniously stupid thing she had just imagined. Whisper camouflaged herself and sneaked in amongst the fighting, brawling, sweating men of the Warlock’s command, dodging flying boots, scything axes and the odd misplaced body part, trying her best not to be trampled as she wormed her way through to the front line.
“DREXOR!” thundered the giant. Ping!
Dancing dragonets, that two-handed hammer of his sounded exactly as he had named it. Drex stood head and shoulders above the axmen of his command, and rallied them by the sheer, mighty force of his presence. He lashed out left and right. Shields? No problem. Armour? He stove in breastplates, broke arms and shattered helms. No subtlety for him.
The tight fighting wedge was headed for Drex – two wedges, she saw now, trying by main force to bull their way though and surround the Illuxorite colossus.
Whisper found herself right in their midst, being clobbered by knees and squashed between shields, spears and greaves. Right. Time to create some personal space. Ping! The man three places ahead of her dropped as though Ignothax had sat upon him. Sweet. Kerching! Kerching! Whisper palmed her daggers and examined the pickings. Ugly knees, mostly. Some were covered by chainmail, but others were open, especially at the back. Unfortunate.
Dance, Whisper!
She lashed out with the daggers, slipping between the falling bodies as the wedge imploded in a slew of swearing men. They had no idea where the attack had come from.
“DREX – eh, what?” spluttered the warrior as his opponents apparently swooned before his unstoppable might.
Whisper un-camouflaged and waved. “Hey, Drex! Enjoying the battle?” She disappeared again as a sword whistled toward her head. The warrior stabbed one of his fellows deeply in the thigh.
Ping! Drex belted a man who had been lining her up with a spear. “Whisper, yar lil’ pint’a mischief!” he yelled.
She rolled over a tumbling body, slitting the man’s throat more by luck than design. She called back, “Sanfuri broke through Arbor and he’s on his way up here!”
“Sanfuri?” yelped one of the Irregulars.
Ping! “Shut yar stupid gob,” Drex advised the man, whose head was a third smaller than before.
“Sanfuri! Sanfuri!” yelled the Irregulars, breaking up and charging in the opposite direction to that which Whisper had expected – away from the city. Drex’s men were so surprised that they only took a handful of free swipes at the departing troops.
“What?” Drex roar
ed. “Stand and fight. Yar cowardly gizzards are mine!”
He flung his hammer in a whirling overhand throw. Ping! One of the stragglers dropped.
His gaze found Whisper’s smirk. “What?”
“Petulant.”
“Satisfying,” he corrected. “Men! Finish those that don’ surrender an’ pledge for Arbor!”
“Where’s the Azarinthe army?” she asked, averting her eyes.
“Broke the far side thar’n morning, and fightin’ over ever since,” said Drex. “Sunstrike’s been bad. We’re coming t’ help Arbor-like. Bin a big landslide lower down. We can’t get to the bridge no more. Come. Yar fightin’ for Arbor? Let’s give thar’n Warlock a warm welcome.”
Suddenly, the ledge they stood upon shook.
“Earthquake!” howled one of the men.
“Sunbolt!” cried another.
Drex cupped a hand to his ear. “Hush. Ain’t nuthin’ earthquake-like.” Then, he dropped to the ground and pressed his ear to the rock. After a moment, he shook his head. “Well I’ll be a friggin’ fungazoid. Thar’n dracopedes. Biggest darn drakkids you ever done see, lil’un. I make ’em a mile shy o’ Arbor an’ coming fast. Go warn Rhyme! Now!”
From the rear?
“He tamed dracopedes?” asked one of the men. Whisper concluded from his ashen-blue complexion that this news was not welcome. Her memories had no idea what a dracopede might be, but anything that could shake a canyon like that deserved her respect.
