Wardragon

by Paul Collins

  ‘A lifetime we don’t have,’ Taggar pointed out. ‘I thought we had you to fly the craft?’ said Daretor.

  ‘I’m not coming with you.’

  ‘What?’ Jelindel exclaimed.

  ‘We shall have need of Hawtarnas – remember him?’ said Taggar.

  ‘I know the name –’

  At Jelindel’s blank look he added, ‘Our chief systems engineer, who developed a means to leave Golgora the first time. One of my duties is to plead with him to assist us.’

  Jelindel’s shoulders slumped. ‘I guess all allies will be welcome when the final battle comes to be fought. But why Hawtarnas in particular?’

  ‘I know a little of his likes, dislikes and alliances,’ explained Taggar. ‘Hawtarnas does not like the Wardragon, and he knows something of its weaknesses. Believe me, we shall need him if the Wardragon escapes here with even the remnants of a fleet.

  ‘Go warn Q’zar, gather as many allies as you can. But before you go, destroy as many of these craft as possible. I fear the Wardragon has others, but we must do what we can. I’ll coordinate the battle, and try to help the exiles on this nightmare world escape. Go now. As I must, to fetch a reserve that will surprise the Wardragon and its allies most unpleasantly.’

  ‘But won’t you need transport to escape?’ Jelindel said.

  ‘If we fail, you’ll have a head start on the Wardragon because it has no means to chase you. If we succeed, we can steal more craft for our people. There’s a saying on a paraworld I once visited: “Better safe than sorry”. Besides, if your plans bear fruit, we’ll have our transportation. Until we meet again, fare you well.’ With that he turned and exited the ship.

  ‘What plans?’ Daretor asked. ‘Have people been making plans and not telling me? Again?’

  ‘You’d better buckle in,’ Jelindel told Daretor. ‘Things could get bumpy.’

  ‘Bumpy?’ demanded Daretor.

  ‘Just trust me,’ Jelindel said impatiently.

  Daretor felt the vessel shudder with power. From outside there were sudden shouts and, in the distance, dull explosions. The flying wagon levitated. Jelindel tilted the craft, and pressed a stud on a complicated-looking rod. Yellow pulses of light leapt from the wingtips, and suddenly other vessels on the floor were exploding into flames. Debris clanged against the hull and the flying wagon rocked as though in swell. In short order, she took out most of the grounded ships.

  Daretor’s mouth gaped. He looked away from the cockpit view screen when a scene of carnage appeared on the wall of the flying cart. For a moment he reeled, as though one side of the flying craft had been inexplicably ripped open and he was about to fall out. Terrified shouts and klaxons mingled with the crackling of many fires filled the cabin.

  ‘There’s no smell …’ Daretor said in disbelief. He sat down and was automatically fastened to the seat. Unable to comprehend what was happening, he stared in wide-eyed shock as streaks of lightning stabbed at the ground with pinpoint accuracy. Ship after ship erupted into fireballs; panicked crewmen, caught in a crossfire, fell like skittles as they tried to flee the carnage. Strapped to his side, his sword seemed about as powerful as a splinter against the might of the flying machine.

  ‘Uh oh, we’d better get out of here,’ Jelindel said. Guards were dragging up some large guns and plugging in power cords.

  ‘This isn’t how battles are fought,’ Daretor said, trying desperately to understand how so much carnage could be wrought without bearing a weapon. ‘There’s no honour to it.’

  ‘There was no other way,’ Jelindel said, although he barely heard her.

  Jelindel guided the craft into the centre of the apron. Something akin to a giant hammer struck them but apart from a slight jarring they sustained minimal damage. Moments later they were in the sky and rising fast. Shortly they were more than a mile above the fortress, gazing down on a scene that showed a great deal of smoke and flames. A dozen flying wagons converged on the place. Hundreds of armed former slaves spilled from the wagons when they landed.

  The reign of the Wardragon on this world was almost over.

  ‘Time to go,’ Jelindel said reluctantly.

  ‘But what about everyone down there?’ Daretor said, his sense of chivalry fast eroding. ‘Would you desert them on the say-so of a man you hardly know? They saved your life!’ He pointed at the image on the screen. ‘And the Wardragon’s still down there!’

  Jelindel hardly reacted to his outburst. ‘There are plans in motion you know nothing of, Zimak. Remember Hargrellien? Anytime now she and her flock of warriors should arrive.’

  ‘Hargrellien?’ Daretor spluttered, looking both suspicious and annoyed. ‘Ah yes, plans that I know nothing about. Plans kept secret from me. Plans with “Don’t tell Zimak” written all over them. Anyone would think that I was working for the Wardragon. I wonder what he’s paying mercenaries!’

  ‘All right, all right, I apologise. You were not involved, so you were not told.’

  ‘Suppose you tell me now.’ Daretor stared at Jelindel in the silence that followed. ‘So, I am not to be trusted?’

  ‘No, no, it’s just not necessary, because you will see –’

  ‘Look at you! You’re like a miser, agonising over whether to spend a copper coin. Hey, Jelindel, look at all your allies giving up their lives. Such a pity you didn’t tell them that help is on the way, but that was a secret plan and you do love to surprise people –’

  ‘Stop it, Zimak!’ Jelindel snapped. ‘You’re sounding like Daretor! I know all of this is a … a shock. I’ve made a pact with Hargrellien, all right?’ she shouted. ‘The Wardragon has to follow us, and … this world is well suited to Hargrellien’s needs.’

  ‘You gave her this rat trap?’

  ‘Yes. She’ll guard the gast against any further mining by others like the Wardragon.’

  ‘Then why the secrecy?’

  ‘It’s the fate of a whole world –’

  The battle cry that interrupted her was not recognisable as that of a chicken the size of a mansion because it was so shatteringly loud and very deep. Above them, a flock of very unlikely flying objects was materialising in mid-air from a vortex of roiling, gleaming clouds the colour of pearls. ‘BUK BUK BUKCAW,’ thundered one of Hargrellien’s airliners.

  Jelindel smiled briefly at Daretor’s look of utter disbelief. She reached out and touched a small green stud. Blazing light engulfed the ship. From the ground, had anyone been watching, it would have seemed the vessel had simply blinked out of existence.

  From its balcony overlooking the central courtyard, the Wardragon cursed with the Preceptor’s voice. It was obvious the tide of battle had turned against them. It whirled furiously as Kaleton came up from behind.

  >THE GIRL HAS FLED<<<

  Kaleton nodded. ‘And so must we,’ he said. ‘The rebels have brought in reinforcements.’

  The Wardragon felt conflicting emotions over Jelindel’s escape. She has returned to Q’zar, it thought. Something in it, something very old and tired, was glad.

  ‘Wardragon, we must go,’ Kaleton said again.

  >LEAVE? YOU OVERESTIMATE THE DANGER<<<

  ‘M’lord, by my count, twelve flying carriers have grounded in the central courtyard. At a minimum, several thousand enemy combatants are inside the fortress with more on the way. We must get to the command vessel and take off.’

  >I CAN LEAVE ANY TIME I WISH. I DO NOT NEED A VESSEL<<<

  ‘If I am not mistaken, m’lord, your plans require one.’

  The Wardragon considered Kaleton’s words. At length it said, >>>WHERE IS RAS?<<<

  ‘Ras is not to be found. He disappeared about the same time the fighting started.’

  >YOU ACCUSE HIM OF COWARDICE?<<<

  Kaleton looked surprised. ‘I accuse him of nothing, m’lord. I merely state a fact.’

  >FIND HIM. BRING HIM TO THE COMMAND VESSEL. I WILL MEET YOU THERE IN TWENTY MINUTES. LINGER NOT. SOUND THE GENERAL ORDER FOR PILOTS TO MAN THEIR SHIPS AND GET THEM TO SAFETY<
<<

  ‘M’lord, I took the liberty of doing that on my way here.’ Kaleton turned.

  >UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE THE PILOTS TO LEAVE THE STRATOSPHERE TILL I ARRIVE<<<

  ‘M’lord,’ Kaleton said, closing the door.

  The Wardragon quickly gathered together some things that were too valuable to leave behind, then touched a stud on its desk. A panel in the north wall of the room slid aside silently, revealing a dark passage. It stepped through, and the panel slid back behind it. The passage led directly to the berth of the command ship of its fleet. It was several times larger than the fliers Jelindel had destroyed, and was disguised as a tower of the fortress. Its weapons were similarly awesome, being equal to the entire fleet that now lay mostly in ruins.

  The Wardragon stalked along the passage. It now had gast, and huge quantities of it. Gast was the most precious resource in all of the paraworlds. Without it the flying vessels could not fly, the weapons could not fire, and the dilators could not open the gates between paraworlds.

  It reached the entrance hatch to the disguised command vessel just as its pilot and navigator came hurrying up from the other side. The Wardragon acknowledged them with barely a nod. They were supposed to have been on duty at the vessel. A few moments later, Kaleton arrived. Ras was not with him.

  >SEAT YOURSELF<<< the Wardragon ordered. >>>WE LEVITATE IN ANOTHER MINUTE. AND WHERE IS MY OTHER LIEUTENANT?<<<

  ‘I cannot find Ras, m’lord. None have seen him for an hour past. It may be that he was killed in the initial fighting.’

  >YOU DO NOT BELIEVE THIS?<<<

  Kaleton paused. ‘Speculation would be idle, m’lord.’

  >I WILL NOT TOLERATE INSOLENCE, KALETON<<<

  ‘M’lord, I meant no offence –’

  >DO NOT TRY MY PATIENCE. I POSSESS GREAT FORBEARANCE, BUT I HAVE MY LIMITS. BE ON NOTICE, YOU HAVE REACHED THOSE LIMITS<<<

  Kaleton bowed his head. ‘A thousand pardons, m’lord.’

  >WE SHALL DEPART NOW<<< the Wardragon told its pilot.

  The craft lifted slowly, and as it did the veneer of bricks and tiles that disguised it as a tower fell away in a clattering rumble. The great warship powered straight up.

  ‘Where to, m’lord?’ the pilot asked, his voice calm and level.

  >WHAT IS OUR HEIGHT?<<<

  ‘Five miles, m’lord.’

  >HOLD THIS POSITION. WE WILL SEE HOW THE BATTLE FARES. KALETON. ATTEND ME<<<

  Kaleton followed the Wardragon to the tactical cabin at the back of the control chamber. Here they could look down into the glass top of a table that acted like a giant farsight. The Wardragon manipulated some controls, and a view of the fortress appeared, as seen from directly above. It enlarged the view several times.

  The situation in its stronghold looked hopeless. The entire fortress had been overrun, and at least twenty carriers had now grounded in the central courtyard. One person was responsible: Jelindel dek Mediesar. She and her allies. The enormity of its loss finally caught up with the Wardragon, and it gave a deep, rumbling growl. For a brief, disquieting second, it imagined that woman’s face had appeared on the desktop monitor. The Wardragon froze, staring at it. Then the image was gone.

  The Wardragon struggled to compose itself. >>>HOW – HOW MANY VESSELS DO WE HAVE?<<<

  Kaleton noted the Wardragon’s anxiety and quickly checked a console. ‘Twelve, m’lord.’

  >THE OTHERS?<<<

  ‘Most likely destroyed.’

  >I WANT TO KNOW IF THE VESSELS ARE OUT OF ACTION, OR IF THEY ARE BEING HIJACKED. THE ONLY WAY HOME FOR THAT RABBLE DOWN THERE IS IN A CRAFT THAT CAN OPEN A PORTAL. FEW KNOW THIS SECRET BUT WE WILL BE BETRAYED<<<

  ‘Jelindel already knows this.’

  >YES. JELINDEL ALREADY KNOWS<<< The Wardragon hesitated, actually confused. Oh, this was monstrous, this feeling of division. Was he – yes, he! malfunctioning? He felt as if a second battle raged within. And as with the battle in the Fortress, he knew he must brutally suppress the opposition. >>>HOW MANY VESSELS DO WE HAVE AT THE SOUTH POLE BASE?<<<

  ‘Twenty-two, m’lord.’

  >FULLY CREWED?<<<

  ‘Yes.’

  >GOOD. TAKE US THERE. AND MAKE ALL HASTE. IT IS TIME WE BEGAN OUR ASSAULT ON Q’ZAR <<<

  Chapter 16

  The Hanging

  A hole opened in the black sky. The craft flashed from freezing darkness into blazing sunlight which made them squint, even through the polarised cockpit window. Q’zar materialised before Jelindel’s eyes like a mirage.

  She laughed in joy, pointing. ‘The Algon Mountains, and there, the ocean.’

  ‘Yes, we made it,’ Daretor conceded, aching to be down on the ground.

  ‘You have done well,’ said a new voice.

  Both Jelindel and Daretor twisted in their seats. Daretor’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, but the stranger raised both his hands in a gesture that said that defence wouldn’t be necessary.

  ‘How did you get on board?’ Daretor demanded. Jelindel flicked him that odd look again.

  ‘I was watching you on a security monitor and stowed away. Where is the other one?’

  ‘He left,’ said Jelindel. ‘So who are you?’

  ‘My name is Ras. I am the one who gave the Preceptor the mailshirt.’

  ‘In my language that translates as “Kill him instantly”,’ growled Daretor.

  Ras hung his head. He looked like a powerful man attempting to be servile. ‘I was myself possessed by it at the time, so I hardly think I can be blamed for it.’

  Ras told them of all that had happened since he found the Wardragon half-buried in a hillside. His account had a ring of truth, partly because he did not seek to conceal his own role, even when it was less than admirable. Besides, it was Jelindel who had buried that mailshirt all those years ago – a secret she had only ever shared with Lady Forturian.

  ‘You said you advised the Wardragon in policy,’ said Jelindel.

  ‘I was a moderating voice. Ineffectual for the most part, but I did my best.’

  ‘So you say,’ hedged Daretor.

  Ras frowned. ‘Why would I seek to harm others?’ His question was so simply put that both Jelindel and Daretor were momentarily disarmed, as if they were speaking to an ingenuous child.

  Jelindel was still curious about something though. ‘The change in you, after you wore the mailshirt. How did that happen? According to your story, you were a simple sheep herder.’

  Ras’s brow knitted. ‘I cannot explain it. My whole life before that time seems like a long dream from which the mailshirt woke me.’ He fell quiet. Then, in a small voice, in which there was the faintest note of despair, ‘To be frank, it sometimes feels as if I am still dreaming.’

  ‘Interesting, but we don’t have time to deal with you for now,’ said Jelindel. ‘We have to –’

  ‘Destroy the Wardragon’s base on Q’zar. Destroy its factories and the portal there.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Why else would you be here? For the D’loom horse traders’ annual fair?’

  ‘What do you know about the base?’ asked Jelindel.

  ‘I know the location, layout and organisation.’

  ‘You’re asking us to trust you,’ said Jelindel.

  ‘I am asking nothing,’ said Ras.

  ‘Will you submit to the truthsense?’ Jelindel asked.

  ‘Whatever that is, yes,’ replied Ras.

  Jelindel left Daretor in charge of the controls of the vessel – ‘Don’t touch a thing, Zimak!’ – while she performed the necessary incantation, spoke the words of command, and administered the test to Ras. Daretor stared at the controls, wondering how one was meant to control anything without reins or even a steering wheel as one had on a ship.

  A short time later Jelindel joined him. ‘Ras is telling the truth,’ she declared. ‘We have nothing to fear from him.’

  Daretor grunted, still not convinced, but unwilling to argue in the face of the magical verdict.

 
Jelindel returned to the pilot’s seat and tapped at some coloured studs. ‘Machine, do you know the place called Argentia?’ she said to the panel of glowing lights and keyboard.

  ‘Yes,’ replied a melodious voice. Daretor took a pace back and collided with Ras. He mouthed the words, ‘It speaks!’ Ras smiled and nodded.

  ‘Then take us there,’ said Jelindel.

  Staying a little higher than the mountain range, they flew north-east along its flanks until they saw a town nestled into a hillside and surrounded by a tall defensive wall. The trip of weeks by horse took only minutes. Inside, arranged in the shape of a triangle with an extra ziggurat in the middle, was an impressive architectural structure that had not been there when Jelindel was banished to Golgora. How much time had passed here? she wondered.

  Ras stood beside Jelindel. ‘The base of the central ziggurat is your main target,’ he said. ‘Do you know the weapon systems of this craft?’

  ‘Just this sword,’ said Daretor, drawing the blade and holding it before him. ‘I threw that stupid stun weapon away.’

  ‘I think he means the thundercasts mounted outside,’ said Jelindel.

  ‘Then you know what the thundercast weapons can do?’ Ras asked Jelindel.

  Jelindel nodded again and brought the craft lower. Ras pointed out the various buildings that needed to be destroyed.

  ‘Leave the north-east ziggurat,’ he warned. ‘It is there that prisoners are held. Now drop me in the town square.’

  ‘Wait a moment –’ began Daretor. ‘We cannot destroy the buildings while there are people inside. The sight of me emerging from this thing will inspire awe. I shall tell people to get out or be destroyed, and you can then shoot out a section of wall to show that I speak with authority. I can contact your ship from the Wardragon’s control room.’

  Jelindel and Daretor looked at each other. Ras was right. The slaughter of innocents was for the likes of the Wardragon and his host, the Preceptor, and not the likes of them. There were innocent people mixed with the not-so-innocent in that place.

  ‘Agreed, I suppose,’ said Daretor.

  ‘Then time to do it,’ Jelindel replied.