Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  Deneb whinnied nervously in reply.

  ‘We’re going to make it,’ said Anwyn, her eyes picking out the line of the little used path. She reached back to settle the dispatch tube across her back and then she urged Deneb onwards. They were both exhausted but there would be time to rest when they reached Toulwar.

  They were in the cover of the trees.

  There was nothing that could stop them now.

  *

  The dark angel rose up high above the trees. Fury burned in its blackened heart, fury at being denied. But evil is ever a patient thing. And so it would wait. It could feel the woman through the trees. It could feel her fear and the pathetic hope in her tepid soul. It swept over the forest canopy picking out the broken line of the path. In the distance it could see the grey shadow of a city but there was much space in between.

  Time yet to claim the human’s soul.

  16

  Cowardice, Courage and Cunning

  For the first time on the journey Falco was riding alone. Ahead of him were the sick and injured, behind him the leaders at the head of the army. Malaki was nowhere to be seen. The events of the previous night seemed vague and distant, like a half-remembered nightmare. However, something of the darkness had passed from his mind, leaving behind a kind of numbness. Falco had plumbed the depths of despair, now he just felt lost.

  Slowly he became aware that someone was riding beside him. He glanced across to see the emissary.

  ‘I am sorry about Balthazak.’

  Falco bowed his head and after a while the emissary went on.

  ‘We cannot change what has happened in the past. All we can do is look to the future.’

  Falco looked across at him. He could not understand why the emissary afforded him so much attention.

  ‘But it’s not easy,’ the older man went on. ‘It takes courage.’ And for just a second he held Falco’s gaze. ‘Whatever happens here, there are dark days ahead. All any of us can do is decide how to meet them. Will we fight? Will we try to make things better? Or will we lose hope and give in to despair?’ He paused. ‘This is your choice Falco Danté, and it is a simple one.’

  He gave Falco a last meaningful look. Then with a parting nod he urged his mount forward and the grey warhorse trotted on.

  Falco watched as the Queen’s envoy moved along the line, offering a smile here, a word of comfort there. There was much in him that a young man could admire and Falco found himself wondering if his own father had ever offered such hope to the people he had led before everything ended in tragedy. In his heart he was certain that he had.

  He began to look about. He saw the way Heçamede moved through the hospital train, Fossetta and Bryna helping where they could. That was worthy work. Surely that was something he could do.

  A sudden bout of coughing doubled him over. The pain was bad but it was the pain of a raw wound, not the sickening ache of diseased flesh. When he wiped his mouth there was blood on his hand but it was fresh and bright. Falco looked at it in wonder. There was barely a trace of the mucous that had been so much a part of his life. His eyes filled with tears, a cleansing rain that somehow soothed his soul.

  *

  The blinding fear was just beginning to lift from Anwyn’s mind and she began to take in more of her surroundings. It was obvious that the path was rarely used but still it was clear enough to ride at decent speed. Beneath her she could feel Deneb beginning to relax, falling into an easy gait, resting after the desperate race to reach the forest. Anwyn wanted to stop and rest but she was trying not to think of Godfrey and riding helped to divert her thoughts. Besides, as she continued she saw signs of the path being used. Surely now she must be getting close.

  Ahead of her the way opened up as the trees gave way to a wide clearing. The path followed the shore of a lake, edged with reeds and dotted with ducks and other water fowl. Beyond that a golden meadow led back toward the trees.

  At a steady canter Deneb emerged into the clearing and Anwyn closed her eyes as the warmth of the sun fell upon her face. They skirted the water and were almost at the meadow when something startled the birds on the lake. Anwyn was just wondering what might have frightened them when a dark shadow fell across her. She had time for a fleeting moment of terror before the dark angel hit her.

  Pain stabbed into her sides as she was torn from the saddle and carried aloft. Talons, like hot spikes of iron pierced her ribs and she found herself looking back into the vile face of the creature. It stared over her shoulder, its breath scalding her neck and its black eyes glinting with triumph. A bead of silvery saliva dripped from its teeth and fell onto Anwyn’s neck, fizzing and burning like acid. She did not cry out. She was already half way between this world and the next.

  Dimly she reached for the dispatch tube that hung at her side. The strap was caught between the creature’s talons but she managed to slip the buckle and pull it free. Her breath came in short gasps as her lungs filled with blood but she held on to the tube as the demon carried her higher. Looking down, Anwyn saw Deneb disappearing beneath the trees. She smiled to see her beloved horse safe but then she focussed on the dispatch tube and tears filled her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, thinking of her parents and all the people she had failed. As her mind filled with darkness Anwyn let the tube slip from her fingers, a final effort to discharge the duty bestowed upon her.

  The creature carried her out over the water and then, with a shriek of victory, it let her fall. Anwyn was dead before she hit the water, the splash muffled by a thick clump of reeds. For a moment the creature hung in the air looking down at its fallen prey, then with a final cry it soared upwards and disappeared east, back towards its master.

  *

  Again they walked into the night, pausing now for just a few short hours. People settled where they stopped, exhausted by the difficult miles and the growing weight of fear. And yet despite this there was a sense of excitement among the refugees. By now the riders should have reached Toulwar. Some spoke of the dark creature they had seen in the sky but most were convinced that, by the morning at least, help would be on its way.

  Falco was not so sure but even this fragile hope was better than none. He steered his horse over to where Fossetta and Davis were setting a fire. Malaki did not come to help him down from his horse tonight but Falco could see him a short distance away, checking the horses’ hooves. So, grabbing the pommel, Falco swung out of the saddle and dropped to his feet. He felt shaky and weak but he had relied on the help of others for too long. It was time he started to take care of himself.

  Rising from the fire Fossetta came over and placed a hand on his brow. ‘Will you take some soup?’

  Falco nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Fossetta’s face creased with emotion and she moved her hand to his cheek. The black despair had gone from Falco’s eyes. Somehow the boy she loved had come back to them. Turning away, she busied herself with fetching soup.

  Falco looked down to see Heçamede preparing another infusion by the fire. The healer did not look at him. She was still annoyed at his refusal to take the remedy. Falco’s stomach churned with dread at the thought of breathing the fumes again and Heçamede’s mouth tightened as he walked away, turning his back on the one thing that could save him. The treatment was working, but it would take several more doses before the infection was eradicated completely. If they did not wipe it out it would come back with a vengeance.

  Turning away from Heçamede Falco walked slowly over to where Malaki was still examining the horses. He stood close but Malaki chose not to notice him. Falco stepped forward as his friend moved to the next horse in the line and the big youth was forced to stop. He straightened up, still refusing to look at his friend.

  ‘It hurts too much to do it by myself,’ said Falco, swallowing a sudden tightness in his throat. ‘But if you could help me...’

  He left the words hanging and after an awkward silence he nodded and turned back to the fire. Still walking unsteadily he t
ook up the blanket they had been using for the infusion then he moved back to the fire and knelt down beside Heçamede.

  Fossetta’s eyes glittered as she looked from Falco to Malaki. For a moment the big youth remained stiff and unyielding but then his head bowed and he turned towards them. Without a word he walked over to Falco and crouched down behind him.

  Falco handed Fossetta the blanket then, just as he had that morning, Malaki wrapped a powerful arm around his chest and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Heçamede placed the pan in front of Falco and, fighting every instinct of self-preservation, Falco leaned towards it. Fossetta covered him with the blanket and Heçamede removed the lid. The effect was the same as ever, but however much Falco struggled Malaki held him in a relentless grip.

  After what seemed an eternity Heçamede gave a nod and Fossetta snatched away the blanket. Gasping for breath Falco straightened up but Malaki did not relax his grip at once. For a moment he held Falco tight, pressing his face into his friend’s neck. Finally he released his hold and stood up, stumbling off into the camp.

  Still retching Falco reached out towards him but Fossetta knelt down.

  ‘Give him time,’ she said, wiping Falco’s face. ‘Give him time.’

  Falco watched Malaki disappear into the night. The darkness that had filled his mind might be growing less but the pain and grief would be slow to fade. He allowed them to help him back into a more comfortable position and tried not to cry out as they changed the dressing on his burned shoulder. Finally Heçamede began to pack things away in her satchel.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Falco.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ The healer’s reply was curt and Falco wondered if he had said something wrong. Then, getting to her feet, Heçamede left before Falco could see the tears shining in her dark Thraecian eyes.

  Feeling a little confused Falco watched as she too melted into the night.

  ‘Here,’ said Fossetta, smiling. She handed Falco a bowl of soup and a slice of bread. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Hungry,’ said Falco. He had hardly eaten anything in the last few days.

  ‘Good,’ said Fossetta. ‘But take it easy,’ she added. ‘It’ll take you a while to regain your strength.’ Straightening up she turned back to the fire.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Falco quietly and Fossetta turned back to look at him.

  ‘I know you are, my love. I know.’

  Falco finished his soup and devoured his bread. Then, with a last look at the people around him, he closed his eyes to sleep. He slept deeply for almost two hours and woke to a familiar sense of warmth suffusing his body. Simeon was kneeling beside him, his hands extended over his chest.

  ‘Lie still,’ said the old battle mage and Falco settled back down. ‘The rash has all but gone,’ said Simeon.

  ‘I feel different,’ said Falco, wondering, as he often did, how Simeon could know things that he could not see. ‘Sore but not sick, if that makes sense.’

  Simeon nodded and shifted round to sit on a rock. ‘It makes perfect sense.’

  Across the fire Falco could see the emissary standing beside Malaki. They were leaning forward, intent on some task and over the distance he heard the metallic sound of small hammer blows.

  ‘Has he finished it?’ asked Falco, referring to the belt that the emissary had been working on.

  ‘Almost,’ said Simeon. ‘Malaki’s just helping him set the rivets.’

  ‘Is it for his wife?’

  Simeon pursed his lips. ‘I’m not sure he’s married. Not so far as I know, at least.’

  Falco nodded slowly, looking at the man who had come to them in their hour of need. He paused before speaking again. ‘Do you think he can see into the hearts of men?’ he asked.

  Simeon smiled. ‘I think he sees more than most,’ he said. ‘There’s a reason why the Queen chose him.’

  Falco continued to stare at him and then his attention slid across to Malaki.

  ‘People were always going to die,’ said Simeon, as if he could sense the direction of Falco’s gaze. ‘Even with Darius, people would have died fighting the Possessed.’

  ‘I know,’ said Falco. ‘But Balthazak...’ he could not finish the sentence.

  ‘You must not torment yourself with such thoughts,’ said Simeon. ‘You did not bring the demon down upon us.’

  They were silent for a while and Falco watched as the light from the fire played over Simeon’s scarred face. Having felt the touch of dragon fire he could only imagine the agony that Simeon had been through.

  ‘Will we make it?’ he asked.

  Simeon did not answer, he only snorted softly, a dark smile playing on his lips. The Possessed were closing quickly and no one knew if the riders had made it through or not.

  ‘And if we do?’ asked Simeon, deflecting the question. ‘What will you do then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Falco. ‘Return home, I guess.’

  Simeon gave a hollow laugh. ‘Home,’ he repeated. ‘I’m afraid there will be nothing left to return home to.’

  Falco nodded sadly. ‘Then I suppose I’ll stay in Toulwar,’ he said. ‘Maybe in time we can rebuild Caer Dour.’

  ‘You could go with Malaki to Wrath,’ said Simeon. ‘Maybe there you will find the answers that you seek.’

  Falco looked up, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘I knew your father,’ said Simeon. ‘There was darkness in him for sure. But he was not mad. There is a reason why he turned against us.’

  Falco stared at his master.

  ‘I believe your father’s death had some meaning,’ said Simeon. ‘Maybe in Wrath you will find some meaning of your own.’

  Falco was speechless. In the last few days he had felt his world collapsing, closing down to a dim and clouded future and now Simeon had punched a hole through the clouds and the light of possibility shone through.

  Maybe in Wrath he would find some answers.

  Maybe in Wrath he would find some purpose to his life.

  Simeon left him then and despite the thoughts swirling through his mind he managed to sleep once more, but not for long. They woke in darkness and began to walk well before it was safe to travel. The Possessed were now just a few hours behind them and there was no time to tarry longer. Falco had eaten a little bread and fruit for breakfast and now, as he swayed in the saddle, he could feel a semblance of strength returning to his limbs. Ahead of him he saw a mother standing to the side of the path, struggling to rouse one of her children, a boy no more than six.

  ‘Tarran, curse you. We cannot stop!’ Tugging at the boy’s arm the woman was frantic with concern.

  ‘He can ride with me,’ said Falco, pulling up beside them.

  The woman looked up, torn between the need for help and the thought of accepting it from the very person who had brought disaster upon them. Finally necessity prevailed and with a muffled word of thanks she swung her son up into the saddle. Falco wrapped his cloak around the tearful boy.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘The riders have made it through. The knights of Toulwar are already on their way to help us.’

  The boy twisted round to look at him, his stark blue eyes searching for any trace of falsehood. Something in Falco’s heart told him that the riders had not made it through. And yet his words did not have the feeling of a lie. With a small smile the boy turned away, leaning back against Falco’s bony chest.

  *

  Captain Reynald de Roche of the Toulwarian Royal Chasseurs dismounted as he approached the horse. The chestnut mare was trembling with exhaustion and clearly terrified. He offered his hand, talking in low soothing tones as he edged his way closer. Finally he was able to take hold of the bridle and the horse pressed its head against his shoulder, its ears flicking back and forth.

  ‘Easy there,’ said Captain de Roche, stroking the horse’s sweat-soaked neck. It had clearly been ridden very hard but there was no sign of its rider. Slowly he led the horse back to his men. The patrol was four days out of Toulwar and was just heading ba
ck to the city when they came across the frightened horse.

  ‘It came from this direction,’ said one of his men. ‘From the road to Valentia.’

  Captain de Roche turned his head. Had not the Queen’s emissary taken that road not two weeks ago?

  He left one of his men to care for the horse then mounted up alongside the other lightly armoured chasseurs. ‘We’ll follow the trail back to the edge of the forest.’

  He paused before setting off. They had all heard the stories about the breach in the Illician defences, and even on this patrol they had come across a woodsman who spoke of a ‘dark creature’ plying the skies above the forest. They had put it down to a velvet eagle venturing down from the mountains but now Captain de Roche was not so sure. ‘Be on your guard,’ he told his men. ‘I fear there is evil abroad.’

  With that they galloped away. Their own horses were tired and thirsty but the captain knew of a lake not far along the trail. They could water the horses there.

  *

  The people of Caer Dour were stumbling in their haste, cursing the officers from the army who spurred them on.

  ‘Faster... Keep moving... Faster...’

  Falco looked at one man who clearly did not relish the task he had been given. But still he chivvied the people on, glancing back frequently to see if there was any sign of the latest rearguard. Something was wrong. The Possessed were now so close that the defensive forays had been returning quickly but the latest was overdue.

  Daybreak had brought cold showers sweeping across the mountains but now the clouds were breaking and broad patches of blue sky became a welcome sight. But then someone ahead cried out pointing up to the sky and a ripple of dismay swept towards Falco. Looking up he could see what was causing the disturbance, the dark angel flying high above them, casting its shadow of fear.

  ‘Come closer,’ thought Falco, staring up at the creature. ‘I know some who would smite you from the sky.’ As if in answer the creature soared over them, scouting the mountains in the service of its master.