Falco did not know what to say. He gazed down at the big man then looked back to where Tobias was sitting up. The crippled boy’s head wobbled on his thin neck but his eyes were clear. Falco looked away as a wave of regret swept over him. Then Heçamede was there beside him.
‘Move aside, Falco,’ said the healer as she knelt down to examine the wound. Her mouth grew tight at what she saw but she undid her bag and misted the wound with her atomiser before reaching for a needle and thread.
Too exhausted to get to his feet Falco crawled away on his hands and knees. Struggling to breathe he moved to the edge of the hospital camp and pulled himself up against some rocks. With the black clouds of guilt returning to his mind he looked down at the battle raging across the valley, the heaving violence lit by the cold light of the moon.
The line of defence was still holding but only just. The enemy had taken the low cliffs and was pressing the defenders back. At the middle of the line the Kardakae had advanced to within a few yards of Simeon. Falco saw the emissary’s cavalry brought to a halt by a mass of Sciritae and he saw the towering shape of the demon laying waste to all who stood before it.
But then, away on the left he saw Lord Cadell’s cavalry begin their charge. Feeling like he might collapse at any moment Falco watched as the mounted knights thundered towards the demon.
*
Even as the emissary tried to cut his way through the Sciritae he saw Lord Cadell begin his assault on the demon. The commander of Caer Dour’s army formed his troops into a wedge and brought them up to full charge.
Glancing around, the emissary could see that the main line of defence was slowly failing. Their only hope was to kill the demon, but he knew this was beyond their power. They might still be fighting, but in his heart he knew the battle was lost.
Into his mind flashed the image of a woman’s face and a horse’s head carved in wax, cast in silver, and fixed to a black leather belt. She would have liked it. It would have made her cry, but she would have liked it.
With a clear mind and an aching heart Sir William Chevalier prepared himself for death.
*
Lord Cadell’s cavalry ploughed into the line of Possessed that stood between them and the demon. Most of his remaining knights were stopped or brought down but Lord Cadell broke through with Sir Gerallt Godwin just a length or two behind him. Both knights carried lances and it seemed that nothing could stand against the force of their charge, but then the demon paused in its slaughter and turned towards them. It tilted its great horned head as if surprised by the temerity of their attack then it lowered its head and spread its arms to meet them.
The two knights bore down upon the demon, lances driving straight for its heart, but at the last moment the demon lunged forward. With one hand it grabbed Lord Cadell’s horse by the throat, forcing it up into the air and spilling its rider to the earth, with the other it swept Sir Gerallt from the saddle with a massive blow that broke his horse’s neck and crushed the nobleman’s chest. Sir Gerallt’s lance had caught the demon in the shoulder but the tempered point barely grazed the skin.
Lord Cadell fell badly and looked up in horror as the demon held his horse aloft, the animal’s front legs flailing in the air while its rear hooves skipped and smacked against the rocky ground. For a moment the demon looked down at Lord Cadell as if trying to fathom how such a creature could dream of harming one of the Faithful. Almost absently it crushed the horse’s throat and dropped the animal’s carcass to the floor. With a single stamp of a massive hoof, it killed the leader of Caer Dour’s army then it turned towards Sir Gerallt. The veteran knight was trying to free his sword from its scabbard, but his ribs were shattered and his breastplate was red with the blood he had already coughed up. Barely an inch of naked blade was free before the monster loomed over him.
The demon was reaching for Sir Gerallt when a savage bolt of energy slammed into its side. The towering monster staggered from the impact as dark flesh was blasted from its ribs. With a roar of fury it turned in the direction of the attack.
Blind though he was, Simeon le Roy was staring directly at it.
*
Simeon almost stumbled under the force of the demon’s gaze. It saw him clearly now and there was no chance of further deception. The demon knew the limits of his strength and it knew they were lacking. Its shoulders hunched as it lowered its head and started towards him.
Powerful Kardakae were thrust aside as the demon strode forwards but then Simeon attacked again and another ball of searing blue light shot from his hand. The demon reeled as the magical attack struck it in the shoulder, but this second attack was less damaging than the first. Simeon’s powers were not what they were but still the demon’s advance was stalled. It stopped and, spreading its arms, it summoned its own form of dark magic.
‘Down!’ cried Simeon as he felt the infernal energy building in the demon’s grasp.
The warriors in his body guard ducked behind their shields as a storm of red-hot shards shot out from the demon’s hands. The stream of burning shrapnel would have torn through the men’s armour but instead it slammed into the protective barrier that Simeon had summoned before them. The demon’s chest expanded as it sought to conjure a greater burst but then Simeon drew up his sword. He brought it round in a rapid sweep and an arc of blue energy leapt from the blade, scything through the air towards the demon.
The demon threw up its arms to fend off the attack and the arc of energy parted around its hands, but one small segment got through, opening a gash in its cheek and slicing off the point of one great curving horn. Enraged to new heights the demon raised a massive fist high above its head before slamming it down into the earth. A shockwave of energy punched through the air and the ground bucked violently as the men of Simeon’s bodyguard were thrown to the floor. Simeon himself stumbled to his knees as the earth seemed to kick out from under him.
Towering over the sprawling humans, the demon started forward once more. It came on slowly as if it knew that nothing could stop it now, but then Simeon raised himself to one knee and thrust out a hand in a gesture of denial. The demon stopped as if someone had placed a restraining hand on its chest. It tried to come on, leaning forward as if into a strong wind, but it could not.
Still with one arm raised Simeon gripped his sword and struggled to get to his feet. The effort of restraining the demon showed in every sinew of his body but the blind old man continued to rise as the demon strained to reach him.
The men of his bodyguard had been thrown aside and nothing now stood between Simeon and the demon. His scarred face was creased with effort but then he gripped his sword with both hands and drove the point down into the rock at his feet. It was a statement of defiance, a line drawn in the sand.
The demon staggered as if from an invisible attack. It took two steps back on its massive goat-like legs before regaining its balance and looking at Simeon with an appraising gaze. Yes, it had misjudged the strength of its opponent but now it was time to end it.
As the fighting raged across the valley the demon closed its eyes, spread its hands and the very earth beneath its hooves began to burn. Low flames of angry red and putrid green began to spread forth, creeping across the ground in a slow wave of unearthly fire, a wave that crept inexorably towards the lonely figure of Simeon.
Lying twenty feet away, Malaki stared in horror at the encroaching flames. Like the rest of the men he had been thrown aside when the demon struck the earth. Still stunned from the force he tried to get back to his feet but the flames seemed to be draining him of strength. He could feel the heat of them on his face but the heat seemed to go deeper. It seemed to penetrate his flesh and scorch his mind. He wanted to rush to Simeon’s defence, but the slow advance of the flames was more than his courage could bear and he knew that all was lost.
As the last of any hope gave way to despair Malaki de Vane began to weep.
*
The emissary picked himself up from the rocky ground. He had been thrown from the s
addle when Tapfer stumbled from the impact of the demon’s blow. He could see the smoke grey Percheron backing away, pawing at the ground in terror. The emissary’s sword lay nearby and he lunged for it as one of the Sciritae charged in to attack him. He dispatched the creature quickly and killed two more before he got a clear line of sight to Simeon.
And what he saw made his stomach clench with fear.
The Kardakae had fallen back, flanking the demon on either side while the ground before them burned. The livid flames were low and fierce and spreading towards Simeon. Even from here the emissary could feel their heat. But these were no ordinary flames.
This was Baëlfire from the depths of Hell and no one could stand before it.
*
Simeon did not need eyes to see the flames. He could feel the terrible heat upon his face. He remembered the inconceivable pain of being burned by dragon fire but this was worse. These were flames to consume one’s very soul. He fought against the fear but his will was weakening. And as his willpower faltered the flames crept closer.
Injured men lay in the path of the fire and as the flames reached them they began to scream, horrible screams that tore at the mind of all who heard them. This was the torment that awaited every soul in the valley. Young, old, sick and hale, if the demon claimed them they would burn in agony for all eternity.
Simeon knew this and so he stood his ground. Even as he felt his strength failing he stood his ground and gripped his sword, determined to buy the people every possible second of life... of hope.
*
The emissary heard the screams of the men caught in the fire. They writhed in agony and still the flames came on. Simeon was using all his strength to resist the demon and the mental cloak protecting them from the fear was failing. The old battle mage was still standing but he could not stand alone.
The emissary could feel the fear clawing at his mind. Clinging to the strongest, most precious memories he could muster he started towards Simeon. If he had the strength... if he had the faith... he could get to the battle mage and help him in his struggle. Just to know he was not alone would give Simeon strength. But the presence of the demon was like a physical force. Every step forward took a tremendous effort of will and all the time the flames grew ever closer.
The emissary felt the sweat pouring down his face. He felt his soul cringing from the promise of eternal damnation, but he forced himself on, past the men of the bodyguard who could not bring themselves to move. He forced himself on until he was just a few yards from Simeon, but finally he could do no more.
With his strength spent and his courage crushed, Sir William Chevalier bowed down and pressed his face into the earth.
*
Falco stared down as the terrible flames spread out from the demon. He felt the fear mounting as Simeon’s protection began to fail. The line of defence was finally crumbling and the moment of utter collapse was at hand. He turned to look at the people gathered in the valley behind him. They were huddled close, reaching for the knives that would save their children from a fate infinitely worse than death. Looking back to the battle he saw the strong men of Simeon’s bodyguard laid low by the power of the demon. Only one man had the strength to advance.
He watched as the Queen’s emissary staggered forward, trying with all his courage to reach Simeon. He knew the emissary would fail. He knew that Simeon would be left alone to face the torment of the fire, and he knew that even Simeon’s strength would not be enough. For years Falco had listened to the doubts that haunted his master’s dreams. The old battle mage had been weakened by betrayal and grief. In the end, Falco knew his faith would fail and he could not bear it.
As if in the grip of some terrible nightmare Falco felt his own feet moving as he made his way down towards the battle.
The people watched as their army began to collapse. They watched as the proud figure of the emissary was brought to his knees. They watched as the fire crept forward and the old man sagged lower and lower, clinging to his sword as if it were the only thing holding him up. The end was close and the words of the emissary echoed in their minds.
‘If Simeon falls then end it quickly, before your courage fails.’
The valley held its breath as sharp knives inched their way towards innocent throats, but then they saw a new figure upon the valley floor, the figure of a thin and sickly youth. And the knives of mercy paused.
Falco stumbled over the rocky ground. His head spun, his lungs ached and the burns on his neck and shoulder felt raw and naked. His vision swam but he was dimly aware of the fighting as the soldiers of Caer Dour clung to the last vestige of hope. At the centre the battle was already lost. The low carpet of fire had almost reached Simeon and only the faint glimmer of his will prevented him from being consumed. He was no longer standing tall. He was down on one knee, clinging to the hilt of his sword like a man about to be washed away in a flood.
The men of the bodyguard were oblivious as Falco staggered past them. Some tried to crawl away from the flames, but most were simply bowed in defeat, the humps of broken men. Falco was dimly aware of Malaki and the emissary. Both were still straining to reach Simeon but their efforts were little more than a scrabbling in the dirt.
None had the strength to stand in the presence of the demon.
None save Falco Danté.
He was the weakling of the town, the object of an entire generation of derision. He was the victim of a wasting disease, the son of a madman but he was also the son of a battle mage and somehow he found the strength to face the flames. He staggered forward with one thought in his mind, to reach Simeon and to let him know that he was not alone. To hold him as he died. To hold him as he burned. If they were doomed to suffer the fires of Hell then they would suffer them together.
And with this single aim Falco forced himself onwards. The demon’s presence was like an invisible barrier. It tried to stop him, snarling, clawing and tearing at his mind. It was unthinkable that any human could bear such evil and yet Falco did. He pushed forward and it was Simeon’s words that resounded in his mind.
‘Don’t lose faith... Whatever happens, don’t lose faith.’
Clinging to his master’s words Falco came up behind Simeon and knelt down to embrace him. The old battle mage was almost spent. He still gripped the handle of his sword but his fingers were slipping.
Reaching around his master’s broad shoulders Falco closed his own hands over Simeon’s and held them fast. He pressed his face into Simeon’s sweat-drenched hair and listened to the coarse breathing that was growing fainter with every heart beat. And as he held his dying master he realised that there were words clenched within his shallow breaths. Soft and fierce, more a thought than a spoken voice but still Falco heard them.
‘Aquila Danté was my friend... Aquila Danté was my friend.’
Falco’s heart lurched in grief. So this was the nature of the demon’s attack. This was the doubt it used to bring an old man down. Falco wanted to tell Simeon that he did not blame him for his father’s death. He wanted to tell him that he loved him, but he had no strength for words. He held on to Simeon with every shred of will that he possessed.
Don’t lose faith.
Don’t lose faith.
*
The people of Caer Dour looked on in awe as the thin figure of Falco Dante knelt down to embrace Simeon, two figures of age and frailty kneeling before the towering might of the demon. Somehow they felt something of the emotion in that embrace and for a moment they seemed to imagine the fear lifting from their minds.
Was Simeon regaining his strength?
Could the support of Falco bring him back to his feet?
For just a second it seemed that the flames halted in their advance.
*
The demon felt the presence of the mind that had joined the Defiant and it was perplexed. There was weakness, guilt, grief and fear. More than enough to crush a human soul and yet somehow it endured. Such a soul was dangerous; such a soul could not be allowed to live
. With renewed effort the demon drew upon its deep reserves of hate and drove the fire on.
*
The last mote of hope was extinguished as the people saw the flames advance once more. The pause had been nothing more than a trick of the light, a gust of malicious wind sent to tempt them at the last.
Standing beside the prone figure of Merryweather, Fossetta was weeping openly. She had not noticed Falco’s absence until people began to murmur and point, and then it was only with difficulty that she was prevented from rushing down to save him. Of course she could not. She could barely think for the fear coursing through her mind.
A dreadful hush had fallen over the people behind her as parents prepared to kill their children. Falco’s brave gesture had bought them a few precious moments, but now the end was upon them and it was worse than Fossetta could possibly have imagined. Then, from right beside her, she heard Tobias speak.
‘Ballymudge.’
Fossetta could not look at him. She could not take her eyes from the pathetic and glorious figures of Simeon and Falco. As for Merryweather, he was barely conscious, but the impulse to respond to his son penetrated his stupor.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Falco’s going to sleep soon. We’re all going to sleep soon.’
‘No!’ spat Tobias. ‘Ballymudge!’
Fossetta glanced at the crippled boy but, unlike everyone else, he was not looking down at the battle. He was staring up into the mountains.
Slowly he raised a withered arm, his crooked finger pointing up to a high ridge.
‘Ballymudge!’ he said again.
Slowly Fossetta followed the line of his finger and finally she saw what he was pointing at. There, on the ridge, was a shape, a strange shape silhouetted against the sky and something chimed in her memory. She had seen a shape like that before and finally she put a name to it.
Dragon.
Perched high up on the ridge and staring down into the valley was a dragon.
And on its back a rider.
Battle Mage Page 19
