by Simon Kewin
“Can they defeat the defenders?”
“Maybe. This palace wasn't built for war and there are a hundred ways inside. But who knows what they'll encounter once they're there?”
Meg nodded. “And tell me. These riders on Menhroth's side. If the King offers them this ascension, offers them eternal life and terrible power and all the rest of it. What would their dragons do?”
“A dragon would never allow itself to be ridden by such an abomination,” said Bordun.
“You're sure?”
“I am.”
“So what if the King offers the riders a simple choice? Become like him, undying, or remain dragonriders?”
Bordun didn't reply for a moment. Perhaps he was communing with the huge winged beast somewhere in the distant sky.
“I don't know,” said Bordun eventually. “Some may choose to leave their dragons behind. It is a hard thing to believe or understand, but they might. Those closest to the King, perhaps.”
“And what would become of their wyrms then?”
“They would not understand. They would rage and burn in their anguish. No one would be safe from them.”
“Menhroth could not allow them to live.”
“No.”
It was a terrible thought, but encouraging in a way. She'd imagined riders with terrible powers on undain dragons. Would such a creature be able to cross the An? Perhaps. She didn't know. But at least it seemed the possibility would never arise.
Meg and Bordun watched and waited for several more hours, Meg growing more impatient with each passing moment. The sun set behind them, shadows pooling in the valley then advancing up the slope towards them. Still there was no sign of further attack from the riders. Torches were lit all about the palace walls, as if the defenders were inviting attack. But none came.
“We'll have to wait out the night,” said Bordun. “Most likely the riders will attack again with the sun. For all they know the defenders can see in the dark.”
He was right. Still, the thought of wasting more hours was galling. They couldn't afford to wait longer than the following morning. If the riders hadn't attacked by then, she and Bordun would have to try and get inside the palace. Fight or trick their way through. She lay awake for many hours, trying to think of ways of gaining access, the thoughts jumbled up with worries about the witches travelling to the ice and the timing of the flood they would unleash.
So much could go wrong with it all. Bordun was right. They were losing this war.
He proved to be right about another thing, too. When the dawn came, the first rays of sunlight cutting through the eastern clouds, the wyrm lords attacked. The three dragons flew in together, roaring their flame onto the towers and battlements of the palace before diving aside to circle around again.
One of the undain was lurking among the crenulations and spires of the battlements, and this one tried to do what the other had the evening before. Picking its moment, it leapt into the air towards one of the wyrms. The distance was huge, far beyond anything any normal person could leap. Nevertheless the undain made it, catching hold of the neck of a dragon.
The creature roared and lashed around, spraying fire into the air, but it was unable to reach the undain holding on behind its head. The dragon dived for the ground while the undain, letting go with one hand, drew a blade from somewhere and hacked at the dragon's neck. The dragon roared as it plummeted.
The other two wyrms, seeing what was happening swooped past, trying to knock the undain off with their talons. It made little difference. Two, three more blows and the stricken dragon went limp. It turned from graceful, flying beast to mere weight in the sky. A dead weight. It fell silently to crash into the ground.
The undain, somehow, managed to pull itself free. But now the other two dragons could use their fire without worrying about their fellow wyrm. They swooped low over the ground, scorching everything with flame so intense it burned blue at its heart. The undain was caught, lit up like a torch. As before, the fire didn't stop it. It continued to move, racing for the palace walls. More flame lanced down and finally the undain slowed and staggered. A few more steps and it toppled to the ground to move no more.
Bordun, lying beside her, touched her on the arm. “See.”
While the dragons had been fighting she hadn't noticed the two riders approaching warily on foot, swords drawn, hoping to remain unnoticed. She knew at once it wasn't going to work. The undain she'd detected the previous night was still at ground level, waiting for such an attack. As the riders crept to the palace she felt it stir and move forwards. Then the gates of the palace were thrown wide and the undain defender stepped into the light.
It was huge, the height of two normal men. It held a vast sword in its hand, the blade six-feet long. A creature from some species of giant, perhaps, brought from distant lands. Except, something in the way the creature lumbered forwards, something in its ungainliness, suggested another possibility.
What had taken place here? What horrors had Ilminion worked? Was it possible that this hulking mountain of flesh was sorcerous, assembled from the parts of others, its bones and tissues held together by necromancy? She didn't know. She didn't want to know.
The riders, looking like children before the giant defender, moved apart and circled around their foe. Their intentions became apparent. As soon as the giant lunged at one of them the other could attack from behind, attempting to inflict some mortal wound. The slow dance continued for some time as riders and giant sought an opening in each other's defences. Then one of the riders feinted forwards. It was enough to goad the giant into action. Despite its clumsiness its strength was immense, and with a blur of speed it swung the great blade around in an arc. The nearest rider, still off-balance from the feint, tried to leap over the blow. They didn't move quickly enough. The scything blade caught the rider in the midriff, sending him spinning to the floor. The other rider, with a few moments more to evade the blow, ducked. The blade arced over the rider's head.
The weight of the giant's swing left a momentary opening. The remaining rider leapt in, serpentine blade swinging to land a blow on one of the giant's thighs. The great creature bellowed with rage and staggered before collapsing to its knees. The rider jumped away before the giant could strike, barely escaping the great sword slicing through the air.
The first rider lay on the ground, unmoving. The second rider and the giant returned to their circling dance. The giant, one leg useless, was clumsier now. When the rider stepped behind the creature there was a moment while the giant had to swivel around to keep the rider in view. It was all the rider needed. Stepping into the giant's blind-spot, the rider lunged, serpentine blade thrusting forwards to land a cruel blow to the giant's neck. The giant bellowed, a cry of wordless fury.
The wound was terrible, surely fatal. But the giant had one final act. Swinging its blade even as it fell it caught the salmon-leaping rider in the back, spearing him like a fish.
Both rider and giant sagged to the ground. Meg watched, waiting for one of the three to stagger to their feet. But none moved.
In the sky, bellowing with useless rage, the three riderless wyrms soared around the spires of the castle. They'd been unable to attack the giant while their riders were so close. Now they descended. The ground around the palace was strewn with six bodies: the three dead riders, the giant, and the two undain who'd leapt from the battlements.
The wyrms nuzzled at their riders. At first she thought they couldn't make sense of what had happened, why the riders had stopped moving. Then she saw that wasn't it. The wyrms were separating the riders from the undain. The one who'd fallen the previous evening lay some way away. One of the dragons picked up the limp rider in giant talons and carried them to where the other two lay. When they were done the three dragons stood in a circle and breathed more fire onto the three dead riders. She understood then what this was. A pyre. A death-rite for the fallen.
When they were done, the dragons turned their attention to the three undain. These
they didn't heap into a pyre. Instead they took turns to immolate each where they lay, breathe relentless blue fire onto them. This was no pyre, no act of lamentation. It was an obliteration. A cleansing. Soon there was only ash and dust left.
When they were done, the wyrms roared one more time and took to the wing. They circled once, twice, then, flying in a V formation, flapped away into the sky.
“Where will they go?” asked Meg. “Back to Menhroth?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps to the far north, away from the lands of men.”
“Still, we should assume Menhroth will find out what has happened. That he will come.”
“Yes,” said Bordun. “But we are fortunate. Our enemies have slain each other.”
“No. There is one left, guarding the child. We have to go in and face them.”
Bordun absorbed this information, his expression unchanging. “Can you tell what this remaining defender is capable of?”
“No. I'm sorry.”
“Very well. I'll enter the palace to face it.”
“You mean we will enter it.”
“You wish to come too?” asked Bordun.
“Of course. Who else is going to look after you?”
This time the briefest smile did flash across the rider's features. “Very well. Let us rescue the child together.”
They worked their way down the wooded slopes into the well-tended gardens that surrounded Ilminion's palace. Neither spoke as they skirted around the smouldering remains of the riders, although Bordun stopped and lowered his head for a moment, his mouth moving as he uttered some silent words. They both tried to ignore the sickly smell of burning flesh.
Then Bordun stood and drew his sword. Together, he and Black Meg stepped inside the palace.
The wide courtyard was surrounded by highly-decorated walls, arched windows and doorways leading off into the palace. There was no one in sight. Nothing moved save for a few crows, scoffing at them from their perches on the spires. Warily, they stepped through a tall set of doors leading into the shadowy interior of the palace.
As her eyes adjusted she discerned a wide staircase, carved from polished stone, spiralling up and down. The walls were white, adorned with mirrors edged in gold. Here and there, finely-carved statues or vases stood on plinths. She generally had little reason to visit the homes of the nobles, but even they fell ill and felt pain, and sometimes a witch was needed. Ilminion's palace was dazzling, a far cry from the dwellings of most of those in Angere. The sight of such opulence troubled Meg, as it always did. Who had need of so much room, such treasures, so many things? More rooms just meant more rooms to keep clean so far as she could see. It always felt like a sort of sickness to her. An endless need for more this and bigger that, when none of it seemed to make anyone much happier. Perhaps Menhroth, and what he'd become, was simply an extension of that disease.
“We need to go underground,” said Meg. “The child and the last guardian are there.”
Bordun nodded and, saying nothing, began to descend.
She'd expected to find grim dungeons and torture-chambers in the lower levels of the palace. Instead they descended to a series of spacious halls, as exquisitely decorated as those on the ground floor. Meg strained to see the shadow in the darkness that was the undain. Bordun held his sword at the ready. The silence of the corridors was almost worse than anything. Her senses were stretched to breaking point.
Finally, without being assaulted, they reached a golden door behind which the girl child and her guardian waited.
Bordun put his hand on the brass handle, ready to charge in. Meg stopped him. Something about the presence in the room ahead puzzled her. Perhaps she was getting better at seeing them, understanding what they were.
“Wait,” she whispered. “Let me go first. You can charge in screaming if things go badly.”
“But…”
She gave him a stern look, one she kept for the young and foolish. Which, these days, covered just about everyone. After a moment, Bordun relented and stood aside.
Meg drew a deep breath and stepped forward.
The scene inside the room confused her. How could she have made such a mistake? There was no undain here, no conjured horror. Instead there was just the baby girl, held in the arms of the woman who comforted her. A wet-nurse, clearly: the baby suckled at her breast, making urgent little whimpering sounds. Flickering candlelight suffused the whole scene with a warm, low glow. It glinted off a silver chain around the baby's neck.
Then the woman looked up and Meg saw she'd been right all along.
Had she been the child's mother? Or just some other unfortunate Ilminion chose to care for his daughter? She was one of the undain, that was clear. Her eyes, when she looked up, were glassy and grey. Dead eyes.
Bordun, beside her, stood confused, no longer sure if he should use his sword or not.
“We've come to take the child,” said Meg.
The dead woman shook her head. Her voice was distant when she spoke, like the wind whistling around the eaves on a winter's night. “No. You can't take her. I have to wait here with her, protect her, until he comes back for her.”
“He?”
“Ilminion. My beautiful Ilminion.”
“Ilminion is dead,” said Meg.
The dead woman either didn't hear or didn't understand. “You can't take her,” she repeated. “I have to wait here with her. Look after her.”
Perhaps they could despatch this creature with a few strokes of Bordun's cruel sword. The thought of it repulsed Meg. This undain was no monster, no nightmare. It was a victim as much as the baby was a victim.
Bordun glanced at her and she saw that the rider was utterly lost. He understood fighting. But not this. He looked to her for answers.
Meg considered the grey-eyed woman, feeding the baby girl with milk from her dead breast. There were witches who dabbled in communing with such creatures, in freeing trapped spirits and the like. Meg had always shunned such things. It seemed only a small step away from the horrors people like Thaniel waded through. But she saw what she had to try. The thought of it sickened her, but there was little choice.
She stepped forward, trying to think how to work the unfamiliar, alien magic. It would cost her dearly. She would have to make up for a lack of skill with brute force. Carefully, afraid of triggering some response, she reached out to place one hand onto the woman's head. The woman glanced up at her, the ghost of a smile on her face, as if she remembered the touch of others, caressing her, brushing her long hair.
Moving slowly, smiling in return, Meg knelt and placed her other hand onto the stone floor. Connecting the woman to the earth, completing the circle.
She began to work the magic, delving into the emptiness of the woman's mind for the speck of light that was all that remained of her. It took several minutes but eventually she saw it: a flitting, bobbing spark in the shadows that crept towards her before dancing away.
Meg followed it with gentle persistence, as if gaining the trust of some nervous bird. Finally she drew close enough to the spark to cup it in her hands. She touched it, expecting it to fade or vanish. Instead it bobbed but remained, accepting her touch. Meg drew the little light into her own body. It felt wrong, unwholesome, accepting the fragment of dead soul inside her. She had to force herself to continue, not recoil in horror at what she was doing.
When she was ready she sent the tiny mote of light out of her again, through her other hand, committing the woman's spirit to the ground where she could finally be at rest. The light resisted, as if fearing final oblivion. In the end Meg had to push at it, force it from herself. The struggle lasted for several minutes before the faint flame, finally, receded and faded away.
Opening her eyes, Meg cradled the baby as the dead woman slumped to the ground. There was silence for a moment in the chamber. Meg panted from the pain and effort of what she'd done.
“We wanted to have children.” Bordun's quiet voice filled the silence in the room. It was the first time he'd vol
unteered any information about himself.
“You did?”
He actually smiled at the memory. “We used to argue about it. Not seriously I mean. It was a jest between us. I obviously thought Crimson Wing would be best. She thought Azure.”
“She flies for the Blue Wing?”
“Yes. Although she wears the black and grey regalia of the King's Guard now.”
“I am sorry,” said Meg. The words were useless, powerless to help. “Sorry for everything.”
“You aren't to blame.”
“Perhaps. And perhaps I might have done more to prevent all this.”
“Perhaps we all should have,” said Bordun. He stepped over to look at the baby girl. “She isn't weaned. How will you feed her?”
“It's a simple enough charm to work. One I've used many times. I may be old but I dare say my milk is more wholesome than that creature's. Come. Let's leave this foul place. Let's get as far away as we can.”
“Yes.”
Bordun's dragon flew in low over the valley side when they emerged from the palace. As they waited, Meg took a strip of cloth she'd brought for the purpose and fashioned a simple sling by tying it at an angle across her chest. It would hold the baby in place as they flew.
They climbed onto the wyrm's back and rose into the sky.
The return journey to the archway in the valley proved uneventful. Meg expected pursuit at any moment, but they saw no one. Either word hadn't reached Menhroth of what had happened, or else the King had no idea where they were. Or perhaps, she thought, his forces were simply waiting at the other end of the wyrm roads to ambush them.
Bordun took a different route to return to the An, passing through seven archways in total, hoping, as he explained, to throw Menhroth off their scent. Throughout, Meg clutched the baby to her breast with one arm and with the other clung on to the iridescent scales on the dragon's neck. As they swooped through each gate, the world a blur of rocks and woods and ice and woods again, they were met by shouts and cries. This time she was aware of pursuing dragons. More than one gout of flame seared past, hot on her face. Bordun dodged in the air, threading his way through their opponents rather than turning to attack.
