Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

A battle mage.

  A ballymudge.

  *

  The battle mage gazed down upon the people of Caer Dour, their anguish and terror rending at his heart. He closed his eyes and opened his mind and gathered their fear unto himself. They were almost broken, almost lost, almost but not quite yet.

  Opening his eyes he looked upon the warriors still fighting the Possessed. He looked upon the two bright figures hunched before the flames. And he looked upon the demon, the vile transgressor of their world. He looked upon the demon and his eyes began to flare. He felt his dragon move beneath him and he did not hold her back. He leaned in close as she kicked away from the rock and began to fall. She rolled onto her back, wings folded like a stooping hawk and together they fell like a bolt out of the clear moonlit sky.

  *

  Falco had lost all sense of the real world. All he knew was the close press of Simeon’s body held tight within his arms. The old man’s breath was little more than a dry scrape but Falco refused to let him fall. He felt the overwhelming force of the demon’s malice trying to crush them and still he held on. Slowly the flames of Baëlfire surrounded them and finally Falco’s will began to fade.

  Images flashed through his mind and he knew that he was losing his sanity. He saw his childhood home burning, and the dark eyes of Morgan Saker staring at him through the flames. He saw the exquisite beauty of a black dragon alighting on the Dragon Stone and Darius blasting it with searing bolts of blue. He felt the grief and the hatred in the dragon’s mind and saw them fall together into the abyss. He heard himself screaming and through the screams he saw Malaki walking towards him, his father’s broken body in his arms.

  Falco’s grip faltered on the sword. But then the strangest thing occurred. Part of his mind knew that it was night-time, still several hours before the dawn and yet somehow he felt the sunrise. In his mind he saw it shining above a mountain ridge to the west. He felt himself lofted far above the valley, looking down upon the battle as through the slits in a helm of steel. Beneath him he saw a ripple of yellow scales and the great sweep of a golden wing. Then he felt himself falling, the sound of the wind whistling in his ears. But this was just a fancy, the fleeting dream of someone who was about to die.

  Finally he saw the outline of a face blurred by tears. He felt a rough hand upon his cheek and a tender kiss upon his brow, a kiss that lingered then and lingered still within his heart. Too young to know it at the time, it was the last kiss of a father saying farewell to his son. Falco could feel the gentle strength in his father’s hand, the scratchy bristles of his beard and the wet touch of his father’s tears. He knew that if he gave in to the demon’s spite he would lose this memory for ever.

  And so, even as Simeon died and the darkness closed upon his heart, Falco held on.

  *

  The demon exulted as it felt the Defiant’s heart give out and its lip curled as it prepared to dine upon the weakling’s soul. But then it stopped and a stab of doubt flashed across its blackened heart.

  Draconis.

  There, falling from the sky was one of the despised wyrms with a pure Defiant clinging to its back.

  The demon gave a snarl of rage and hate, frustrated that even at the last, it might be denied the prize of seven thousand souls. With a shake of its head it drew the Kardakae forward into a protective wall of heavy blades and dark steel. Then it summoned such a storm of brimstone as could kill a dragon.

  *

  The dragon came in low and fast, a beautiful creature with scales of deep yellow and shimmering gold. Wings drawn in for greater speed it streaked across the valley, rolling to one side as the demon unleashed a lethal stream of volcanic shale. The deadly burst missed its target and a moment later the great yellow dragon slammed into the towering demon of the Possessed.

  Just before the moment of impact the battle mage leapt from the saddle, turned in the air and landed in the midst of the Kardakae. He swept his blade from its scabbard and killed the first of the dark warriors with a single upward cut. He turned and slew another, the edge of his sword seeming to glow as it sliced through the black armour of the huge warriors. The Kardakae rushed to attack him but found themselves beset by the men of Simeon’s bodyguard.

  All across the valley the men and women in the army found the weariness fading from their limbs and the fear lifting from their minds. For the first time since they fled their homes they believed that they could win and so, even in the face of defeat, they found again the strength to fight.

  The demon was almost thrown off its feet by the force of the dragon’s attack, but it was a thing of impossible strength. Even as it staggered back it grabbed hold of the dragon and slammed it into the ground. The earth shook as the mighty creature was brought down. The demon rose over it, the flesh of its shoulder was torn to the bone but still it raised a fist ready to strike a blow that would crush the dragon’s ribs. It never got the chance.

  Recovering with amazing speed the dragon opened its mouth and hit the demon full in the face with a burst of fire. The monster roared as its skin began to peel away. It kicked out with its steel-hard hooves but the dragon twisted clear. It was reaching for the dragon’s throat when the battle mage struck, severing the tendons at the back of one enormous goat-like leg. The demon staggered and turned to face the Defiant, but before it could mount another attack the dragon reared up behind it, pulled its horned head to one side and sank its teeth into the base of the demon’s neck. Roaring in pain the monster reached back to grab its assailant but then the battle mage hit it in the chest with a bolt of energy that illuminated its ribcage from within.

  Slumping to its knees the hellish fiend tried to summon one last explosion of fire that would consume them all, but the dragon dug its talons into the monster’s face, drew back its head and the battle mage’s blade whipped across its throat. The battle mage stepped clear as a flood of burning fluid spilled down the demon’s chest. The dragon released its hold and the massive creature of the underworld pitched forward onto the ground.

  The demon was dead and the battle mage and the dragon turned their attention to the Possessed. Before the sun rose in the valley not a single one of them remained alive. The people of Valentia had come to the very brink of desolation, but finally the battle for the soul of Caer Dour was won.

  21

  The Marchio Dolor

  Deep in the Forsaken Lands of Beltane a demon of far greater power closed its eyes as it felt one of the Faithful depart. The vanquished demon had been cunning and strong but new to the earthly realm and rash. It had pushed too far, too fast and now it had paid the price for its zeal. But no matter. It was but one of many unlike he, who was a thing of singular power. In the realm of perdition they had no need of names but here, in the charnel world, they called this demon the Marchio Dolor, the Marquis of Pain.

  He was not displeased by the name.

  The Marchio Dolor turned to the northwest. Yes, somewhere there, near the border with Clemoncé. Of all the seven kingdoms Clemoncé was the smallest and yet, in some indefinable way, the strongest too. Their Defiants gave hope to others and where there was hope it was not so easy to break the faith of common souls.

  The armies of the Faithful were sweeping across the land. There were just two places where their advance had been stalled. In the north, around the Illician city of Hoffen, and in the south where the Faithful were being thwarted by the Beltonian general Vercincallidus. Even now the Marchio Dolor himself was moving south to crush the troublesome general.

  What they needed was a demon of similar power to break the resistance in the north.

  The Marchio turned to the supplicants weeping in the night. The pitiful fools longed for death but death would not save them. Death would only deliver them into the hands of others far crueller even than he. They existed now only to suffer and every day would be a new revelation of agony. But tonight he would use them for a higher purpose. He would use their pain to reach into the heart of the infernal realm and call forth a demon to slay the
Defiants and cleave the wyrms asunder.

  With utter indifference he looked upon the supplicants, men, women and children, their eyes and mouths stitched shut to further enhance their fear. They cried and sobbed in ragged snorts, terrified in the certain knowledge that worse was yet to come.

  His lip curled in disgust at their weakness then he closed his eyes and knelt down upon the earth to pray. He prayed until the supplicants rose into the air as if each were suspended from a butcher’s hook snagged within their chest. He prayed until the rock beneath them split apart and the flames of Baëlfire rose up around them, until their flesh turned black and their tortured screams filled the night. They would writhe in agony until his prayers were answered and then their crozzled souls would descend to suffer the eternal torments of hell.

  Finally satisfied, the Marchio Dolor came back to his feet. It might take months for such a demon to rise from the deepest planes of hell but still he ordered the Enlightened to stand ready to make whatever tools this new manifestation of darkness might require.

  Many years ago the Enlightened had made the armour that covered his flesh, armour that could deny the power of a Defiant and turn the point of a wyrm’s claw. Now the Enlightened stood around the burning pit like ghosts, the light of the flames playing across their pale skin and bone white eyes. Unlike the Marchio however, they were not inured to the screaming of the damned. Deep within their withered hearts something of their humanity still remained and the light of the flames glistened in the tears upon their cheeks.

  The Marchio paid them not another thought. The suffering would continue until a new demon rose from the pit and then the Defiants would pay for the sins of their resistance. For now he turned his mind back to the kings and queens who stood against him, to Osric the proud, Ernest the weak, Vittorio the fool, and Catherine the bitch queen of Clemoncé. He would break them all and feed upon their screaming souls. And then he would move on to Acheron and Thraece, and what sublime satisfaction there would be in humbling their great strength.

  Had he possessed anything in the way of humanity he might have smiled in anticipation, but tonight one of the Faithful had been slain and there was no room in his heart for anything more than hate. He looked down on the bleak land stretching out below him. In the distance he could see a faint glow of orange light, the torches and campfires of those who fled before him. He flexed the muscles of his mortal flesh and his eyes burned like pits of molten bronze. Tonight they had suffered a defeat but tomorrow they would be avenged. The nations of Wrath were divided and weak, the Defiants and wyrms too few.

  There was nothing in the world that could stop them now.

  PART II

  WRATH

  22

  Toulwar

  Falco woke to the smell of herbs. It was daytime and he was lying in a bed with clean linen sheets. Blinking slowly, he gazed up at the dark wooden beams on the ceiling. For a moment he thought he was back in Simeon’s villa and a feeling of deep relief washed over him but then he noticed the ceiling was different and the sense of relief vanished as memories of all that had happened swept through his mind. He closed his eyes and turned his face into the pillow.

  ‘It’s all right. You’re safe.’

  He felt a soothing hand on his forehead and opened his eyes to see Fossetta sitting on the edge of his bed.

  ‘There, now,’ she said, smiling as she saw the recognition in his eyes.

  Falco tried to sit up but he was too weak.

  ‘Here,’ said Fossetta, raising him up and placing another pillow behind his back. She offered him a glass of water but Falco waved it away.

  ‘Dizzy,’ he said, closing his eyes once more.

  ‘That’ll pass. You’ve spent the last eight days flat on your back. It’ll be a while before you find your feet.’

  Falco nodded but his mind was struggling to make sense of things.

  Eight days?

  He had dreamlike memories of being carried through the mountains; of the sky giving way to a canopy of trees. He remembered waking to the feel of rain on his face, images of people tending him, of food and drink being coaxed down his throat then the echoing sound of walls around him and candles burning in a darkened room, people sitting beside his bed.

  Once again he opened his eyes and this time the room did not tilt around him quite so much. He looked up at the woman he had known his entire life.

  ‘Toulwar?’

  Fossetta nodded but her smile was laden with a sadness that Falco had never seen before.

  ‘We’re in the citadel. You were brought here after the battle.’

  ‘The battle,’ said Falco, clearly confused as to what the outcome had been.

  ‘We prevailed,’ said Fossetta, although her expression did not speak of victory. ‘One of the riders got through. A battle mage managed to find us.’

  ‘With a dragon,’ breathed Falco, frowning as he remembered the strange images streaming through his mind.

  ‘Yes,’ said Fossetta while Falco took in his surroundings.

  The plainly furnished room was built from a pale stone softened by carpets and wall hangings. A pair of heavy turquoise curtains hung to either side of a balcony that extended from the room. Falco had no idea where he was but the light outside the window gave the impression of height. He looked back at Fossetta.

  ‘Simeon?’

  The housekeeper shook her head.

  ‘We buried him in the mountains. With the others who fell.’

  Falco nodded. He had already known that Simeon was dead. He remembered the sense of departure when his heart gave out and could only hope that the old battle mage was now at peace.

  ‘It’s funny,’ said Fossetta, removing a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse. ‘Sometimes I can still hear him calling for me.’ She smiled at her own silliness and Falco reached out to take hold of her hand. He had to swallow several times before he spoke again.

  ‘Malaki?’

  ‘He’s fine,’ said Fossetta, brushing the handkerchief across her cheek. ‘A bit battered and quiet but he’s fine. He’s been spending a lot of time with Bryna.’

  Falco smiled but Fossetta lowered her eyes.

  ‘Her father died in the battle too.’

  Falco’s smile faltered.

  ‘He charged the demon, with Lord Cadell,’ said Fossetta.

  ‘I know. I saw them.’

  They were silent for a while as their thoughts were drawn back to the terrible night in the mountains.

  ‘And Merryweather? He was hurt...’

  ‘The wound refused to heal,’ said Fossetta. ‘He died shortly after we arrived here.’

  Falco’s heart clenched in grief.

  ‘What about Tobias?’

  ‘Better than you might think. The people here are very kind and the emissary thinks he might be of some service to the Queen.’

  Falco was too upset to enquire what this service might be.

  ‘So many dead.’

  Fossetta gripped his hand.

  ‘Hey, now,’ she said in a sterner tone. ‘There would have been a lot more if you hadn’t gone to help Simeon.’ She waited until he looked at her, the expression in her eyes warning against any further self pity.

  Falco looked suitably chastised and Fossetta bent down to kiss him.

  ‘Welcome back, my love,’ she breathed.

  He leaned his head against the soft flesh of her cheek. He could not remember a time when she had not been there to ease away his fears.

  ‘And now,’ said Fossetta, letting go of his hand and rising to her feet. ‘I think there’s someone else who would like to see you.’

  Falco watched as she moved to the door.

  ‘He’s been sleeping in the corridor,’ she said in a disapproving tone. ‘Seemed nervous about being in here in case you woke up.’ She raised her eyes despairingly as she reached for the latch. Falco heard her speaking to someone outside then she stepped back and Malaki appeared in the doorway. Shoulders slumped, the big youth ambled into
the room, his downcast eyes looking everywhere except at his friend.

  Falco’s eyes began to smart and an ache that he had forgotten closed around his heart. Fossetta looked at Malaki and despite her earlier tone there was an expression of understanding in her eyes. She gave him a smile and nodded him on.

  Falco eased his legs over the side of the bed and slowly got to his feet, clinging on to the bedstead to prevent himself from falling. He swayed a little and Malaki lurched forward to catch him but Falco caught his balance and suddenly the two boys were standing face to face. The silence stretched as they struggled to find something to say.

  ‘So,’ began Falco. ‘Are you still going to the Academy of War?’

  Malaki nodded.

  ‘Good... I’d hate to think you broke the emissary’s nose for nothing.’

  A snort of laughter escaped from Malaki before he could restrain it.

  ‘I thought I might go on as well.’

  Malaki looked up and now it was Falco’s turn to avert his eyes.

  ‘Shall we go as friends, do you think?’

  ‘No,’ said Malaki. ‘We’ll go as we have lived... as brothers.’ And before Falco knew what was happening Malaki swept him into a bone crushing embrace. The dam holding back their tears burst and the two boys held each other as they cried. Falco’s tingling legs gave out and the only thing holding him up was his friend’s great strength. He buried his face in Malaki’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry about your father.’

  The tightness of Malaki’s embrace increased.

  ‘And I’m sorry about yours.’

  Fossetta watched as the two boys healed the rift that had opened up between them. She tried to speak but her throat felt suddenly tight. The two youths moved apart as she gave a cough from the door.

  ‘I’ll have some food sent up,’ she managed, looking at Falco. ‘But try not to eat too much.’

  Falco nodded and Malaki’s face brightened at the mention of food. Fossetta looked at them for a moment longer then with a tearful smile she left the room. The two youths grinned at each other, then a wave of vertigo coursed through Falco and Malaki reached out to help him back onto the bed.