by Simon Kewin
Riders rushed to swarm around each, their organized formations in stark contrast to the desperate lashing and swinging of the undain. Again, the attackers relied on numbers rather than skill.
Desperate fighting broke out all around Caer L'dun. Barion had kept a small group of defenders back in the central tower. These he now unleashed, sending them running into the courtyard to fight the flying undain and their passengers. The riders on the battlements, meanwhile, were attacked from all sides: from those scaling the walls, from those undain who had crash-landed in the courtyard behind them, and even from above, as those flying in fired arrows or dropped rocks.
Barion and Jenath still fought alongside the remaining riders. Cait could see no sign of Axana. The desperate fighting raged on and on, the ferocity of the undain matched by the grim determination of the riders.
Ran and Borrn fought together on the steps of the tower that Cait and Hellen worked their magic from. The scuffling and clanging from their combat echoed up the stone stairway. Impossible to know how many were trying to force their way up, who was winning. Cait tried to ignore the danger and focus on the battle before her, hurling out ice into the ranks of the attackers where she could. Her efforts were weakening. She had little strength left. More than once the world seemed to recede from her as she unleashed some bolt of ice, dizziness washing over her. Hellen, too, was struggling, her face a mask of pain as she worked and worked at her magic.
Then, again, the horns blared across the battlefield. Once again the screaming hordes retreated, undain falling from the walls to scurry or crawl away. The attack had been repulsed. Borrn and Ran reappeared, both bleeding, Borrn breathing heavily from his exertions.
“They're retreating,” said Cait. “We've actually beaten them.”
But Borrn, walking to the open windows, stared westward, across the river, alarm clear in his blue eyes. Cait turned to follow his gaze, see what he was seeing.
The mist had closed in, now, so that sky and fog and ice were one uniform greyness. But something was emerging from the gloom of the An: three vast, trundling contraptions, their approach making the ice rumble. All the fighting ceased as wyrm lords and undain together stood to watch the fresh assault Menhroth was sending against Caer L'dun.
Cait had the impression of huge skeletons as the veils parted: A-shaped frames of interlocking bones lashed together upon moving platforms. They were huge: as tall as a three or four storey building. The frames held pivoting arms, as if the devices were a nightmarish cross between a child's swing and a see-saw. Human-sized undain swarmed over each, winding cranks and turning wheels, or else simply standing to watch the tower of Caer L'dun coming into view, like sailors on the deck of a sailing boat.
They were machines, siege-engines. Catapults. She'd seen something similar back home, on weekend trips to mediaeval fairs, but never anything on this scale. A brown tail snaked out behind each, leading back into the mists. Pipelines. The bone catapults were being fed Spirit directly from the White City, fuelling their movements.
The detail puzzled Cait. Why did the undain need to employ necromancy to build siege-engines? Instinctively she reached out with her mind's eye to study the trundling machines.
She saw immediately: the machines were alive. There was a mind in each of them, a controlling intelligence. Somewhere in each latticework of bones were those of the single person who had been transformed, remade into one of these hulking, creaking contraptions. Fer had described something similar in the flying undain she'd destroyed on the banks of the An: bones from many bodies cut and lashed together, necromancy and mechanics combining to make a new life form.
Cait could feel the seething malevolence coming from each, the glee at seeing Caer L'dun. They had been constructed for one purpose, the destruction of the wyrm lords' fortress. She wondered who they'd been, these three individuals. Had they accepted their fate with delight or horror? Many more bones had been added to their bodies, lashed into their structure. Some of the additions were huge, perhaps even dragon bones. There'd been remains that large in the crypt beneath Car D'nar.
The great machines stopped their advance. The undain riding along on them leaped off, teams of them moving to turn wheels that drilled spiral anchors down into the ice. At the same time the great arms of the three machines began to tilt backward, straining against thick sinew-like ropes. At the end of each arm was something like a hand, cupping a single, round boulder the size of a car. Spirit energy fizzed through the machines as they prepared to fire. Cait caught glimpses of the devices' thoughts, weighing up distances and trajectories.
“Can you reach them?” asked Cait. “Will arrows fly that far?”
Borrn shook his head. “They're out of range of our weapons, as they must have known. Can magic not destroy them, cripple them?”
She reached into the mind of the middle of the three machines. Perhaps she could confuse it, disrupt it. Even persuade it to turn, send its boulder crashing into one of the other machines rather than at the fortress. She could see no other way.
The mind in the machine laughed at her, dismissive. It was far too strong, fuelled by all that Spirit. Cait tried again but it was like battering against walls of glass or ice. Gasping from the effort of it she staggered back, the walls of Caer L'dun about her once more. She shook her head as Borrn raised a questioning eyebrow at her.
The first of the catapults unwound. The undain leaped from the device as the great arm shot forward with alarming speed, stretched ropes pulling on it as the Spirit pumping into the machine pushed. The contraption shot backward despite the anchors, part of the A-frame buckling from the weight and strain of hurling the boulder into the sky.
The partial collapse of the catapult made little difference. Cait watched as the huge rock arched toward them, graceful and silent, looming larger each moment like a new moon in the sky. It soon became clear the machine's aim was true. To cries of alarm, the boulder smashed into one of the walls of Caer L'dun, striking it at its base, punching a ragged hole clean through.
Dragonriders tumbled as the breached wall crumbled, spilling the helpless defenders on top of it to the ground.
The undain army roared as it prepared to flood into the castle.
12. Voices in the Dark
England
Fer was standing in the dark of a moonless night when the attack came.
She'd had trouble sleeping, pursued in her dreams by nameless, faceless horrors, forever reaching out to touch her as she fled from them. She'd left Catherine and the Lizard King snoring in the tumbledown stone hut they'd made their home for the past two weeks and stepped outside, hoping the cold night air would bring her to her senses and drive the phantoms from her mind.
The world was hushed, the night moonless. She liked the feeling of the darkness enfolding her, but she worked a werelight to stop herself tripping on the rough ground. In its pearly glow a pair of white eyes shone from the night, but she knew from the slow, panicky mind behind them it was only one of the sheep that roamed the hillsides. In the distance, the agonized cry of a fox cut through the night air.
Fer breathed deeply, savouring the peace, the safety. This strange world unsettled her with its noise and speed and flashing lights. She felt more herself in the wilds and woods, far from road and city. But they were never truly safe. They often saw gleaming machines flying high and silent overhead, or else clattering away in the distance behind the trees. There was danger everywhere. Sometimes she thought she was losing her mind, unclear whether the voices she heard were her own, or those of lost spirits in the aether, or whether they were the words of the disembodied voices that spoke from their machines.
She hugged herself tightly against the cold. She'd had a bad dream; she was spooked, that was all. The inactivity wasn't good for her.
They'd seen no pursuit since their flight from Glastonbury; it seemed Genera genuinely thought them either dead or in Andar. Catherine was a little better, too, a little more her old self, although Fer still caught a look of b
leakest despair in her eyes from time to time. Understandably. The old witch had lost her daughter and probably her granddaughter. There were no words Fer could speak, no spell she could work, to make that any better. Still, they'd begun to discuss the future, talk about taking up the fight against the enemy once more. In truth there was little they could do, but it would be good simply to do something. Do anything. Keep busy, keep her thoughts about Andar and her family and the people she'd grown up with at bay.
Her thoughts often turned to Seleena, the witch who had set out with them on the journey to this world and who had been killed in the Tanglewood. That could so easily have been her, Fer. Perhaps it was best not to think about such things. She thought about Hellen a lot, too. The old witch had annoyed her with her meddling and her instructions, but Fer found herself missing Hellen now, wishing she were there. They needed all the help they could get.
The assault on her mind that hit her threw her into desperate panic. She'd let her defences slip a little, lulled by the quiet of the night. She fell to her knees, hands clutched to the sides of her head as if to press the intrusion from her mind. The presence from her nightmares was still there, in the real world, sending its tendrils over her, tasting and feeling, tapping and pressing to find a way inside.
With a cry of effort, Fer cast the creature back, making the walls around her thoughts strong again. She would not let them invade her. She knelt on the wet ground, panting heavily. She waited for further attack but the presence was gone, like a night time creature startled at being seen. She began to breathe once more.
She had to be more careful. There were undain everywhere in this world and they were looking for her, always searching. She'd learned to keep her thoughts guarded, of course. Everyone in Andar did so from a young age, even when they were sleeping. But she had never needed to resist such unrelenting attack. She had to get better at keeping her enemies out of her mind. She wondered if Cait, if she were even still alive, was learning to do the same. Her cousin was so untrained, so open.
Something touched Fer on the arm and she gasped in alarm, scrambling backward to escape. Her werelight had gone out in the attack, and now there was someone in the darkness. It gripped her tight.
“Fer, it's OK. It's me.” The voice of the wise man, the Lizard King. He'd come out to find her when he heard her cry. “What happened?” He took his hand from her arm.
Fer flared the werelight into life again, making it sputter above her head. “I was attacked.”
“Attacked magically?”
“There was a presence seeking for me, sniffing me out.”
The Lizard King didn't speak for a moment as he searched the aether for the enemy Fer had described. “I see nothing now. It feels like we are alone.” The Lizard King's face was lined with concern. “Are you sure it was an attack?”
Fer rose to her feet and began to brush the dirt from her clothes. “Of course I'm sure. What else would it be?”
“I don't know. It's just … there is something I recognize in the air. Like an echo of a familiar voice.”
“Whose?”
“I'm not sure. One I've heard before I think.”
“It was still an attack.”
He nodded, his forehead furrowed. One of the lizard tattoos that adorned the skin of his neck tilted its head as if it were studying Fer.
“Sometimes,” he said, “when I slip into the thoughts of others, the person sees it as an assault and reacts as you have.”
“As they should. You can't invade the mind of another like that. It's repulsive.”
She caught the flicker of dismay that crossed his features and regretted her words. She knew he had grave doubts about what he did. He was a good man, honourable enough to be troubled by his abilities. And she should be grateful to him. His intervention had saved them outside the concert hall.
He didn't reply, only nodding his head as if he agreed with her.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I didn't mean you. I know you only act when driven by need. But there was nothing gentle or subtle about this attack. Someone or something tried to force their way into my mind. It has to be the undain or Genera.”
“I suppose,” said the Lizard King, although there was a note of doubt in his voice. “You kept them out?”
“Yes. But whoever or whatever it was knew I was here. We may not be as safe as we thought.”
The Lizard King paused before he spoke as he often did, as if he consulted with invisible presences in the aether. “Then I suppose it is time we returned to civilisation as we discussed. I've been thinking Catherine might be up to the journey now. At least if we're moving we'll be harder to trace.”
“You mean back to Manchester?”
“The city is at the centre of things in this world. Genera has its headquarters there.”
“Perhaps it's the worst place to go then,” said Fer. She wished more than anything she could have gone back home with Johnny. Andar needed her. “They won't let you simply go back to your old life.”
“I know,” said the Lizard King. “I'm not sure anywhere is really safe. But perhaps we can antagonize the enemy somehow when we're there, deal them a blow when their attention is turned to the other world.”
Fer sighed. “Perhaps. It seems pretty hopeless. Angere is so powerful and we're so weak. What difference can a few little spells, werelights and a bit of ice, really make?”
“If there's one thing I've learned from all my eavesdropping it's that everyone is vulnerable, everyone is flawed. We all have secret weaknesses.”
“Hard to see any weakness in them.”
The Lizard King looked thoughtful. “It might be something small, so insignificant they've overlooked it. It might be something huge, so big they haven't even seen it. But it will be there.”
“Well, we can try at least,” said Fer. “How do we get back to the city?”
The Lizard King smiled in the glow of the werelight. “Walk, I suppose.”
They made their way north for a week, trailing across fields and woods, occasionally chancing a short journey by bus or train. For much of the time they navigated using the map and the lodestone – the compass – built into the Lizard King's phone. Or, to preserve battery, they used the sun and stars to guide them. Catherine showed Fer how to find the North Star in this world. A figure that resembled a ladle or a pan with a bent handle pointed the way. The shape was a bear, supposedly, but Fer couldn't see it. By day they simply kept the low winter sun to their backs. Or sometimes, if the sky was a uniform grey, the Lizard King found north by studying the scattered houses and farms they came across.
“How can you tell which way is north from them?” asked Fer. “Some sort of magical divination?”
The Lizard King shook his head at her words. “Ah, no, not that. It's the satellite dishes. They always point south.”
Mostly they slept out of doors, huddling inside sleeping-bags bought by the Lizard King at a large roadside shop, but on some nights it was too cold, or too wet, and they had to chance a night at a convenient Wayhouse. A pub as Catherine called them. The woman was tough, and never complained, but winter was coming on quickly, and it was clear from her stiffness each morning that the cold wasn't good for her joints. Fortunately the Lizard King had come prepared with a plentiful supply of paper money to pay for what shelter and food they needed. The warmth and comfort of a proper bed was always welcome, even if Fer always lay awake listening, heart pounding at each night time thump and scurry.
Every excursion into civilisation was a risk. Each day they had to cross numerous roads, Fer always feeling very exposed. The cars and lorries roared by so quickly she didn't have time to study who or what was inside. When it was dark, the machines' blinding lights seemed to pick Fer out, pin her in place. If a vehicle slowed down her stomach fluttered in alarm. Cait and Danny had been pursued by riders on two-wheeled machines. Motorbikes. Fer kept a special watch out for those, although fortunately there seemed to be few of them about in the winter.
Whenever they were in public, she and Catherine worked magic to alter their appearances, enough to fool casual glances thrown their way. Maintaining the glamours was an effort, one they could only sustain for an hour or two at most, and Fer was under no illusion the undain would be deceived. As the days went on, it seemed inevitable she and the others would be spotted at some point. The intrusive attacks on her mind continued, but she was ready for them and kept them out.
Despite all the dangers they managed to remain undetected so far as they could tell. They'd kept the Lizard King's phone charged, and the bookwyrm reported to them no sign Genera knew where they were, no chatter about them on the mysterious network. It was possible the creature didn't see all the messages of their enemies for reasons Fer didn't fully understand, and Fer spent her days searching the world around her with her mind's eye as well. So far as she could tell, no one was following them or lying in wait for them.
One evening, as Catherine lay snoring in her sleeping-bag, Fer sat with the Lizard King beside the small fire they'd allowed themselves. The wet sticks smoked and spat in their little circle of stones, but they gave off a welcome warmth. The weather was changing, colder than it had been. That morning, the ground and leaves had sparkled with a thick frost. By the look of the hard stars in the sky it would be the same tomorrow.
“Have you suffered any more attacks?” the wise man asked.
“A few,” said Fer. “So far they haven't broken through.”
“That is good.”
“Yes, I suppose.” In truth it was a small victory. What chance did they really have against the monsters of Angere, their servants in this world with their terrible machines? She and Catherine and the Lizard King were walking to their own deaths. They had little choice, they had to try, but she was under no illusions. It wouldn't be enough.
