‘HO!’
The emissary gave an amused smile while Bryna swallowed hard. She looked utterly terrified.
As the final ‘HO!’ faded away into more laughter Falco turned to Malaki.
‘You worried?’
‘No,’ said Malaki. ‘They’re only men. Might take her a while but she’ll figure them out.’
Falco was impressed by his friend’s confidence.
‘Besides,’ said Malaki. ‘I’ll kill any man who so much as lays a finger on her.’
Now that, thought Falco, was a far more honest reply.
After the officer commissions it was the turn of the knights. The emissary came back to stand beside Falco and everyone watched as contingents from six different orders of knighthood cantered through the snow. Dressed in mail and surcoat, and mounted on powerful steeds they made an imposing sight and even the Dalwhinnies seemed subdued by their presence.
Falco recognised the five insignia that he had seen when the trainees set out on the épreuve du force but now he saw an additional design, a black eagle on a field of red. The insignia was clearly of Illician origin and Falco suddenly understood.
Der Orden Des Schwarzen Adlers.
‘The Order of the Black Eagle,’ he breathed.
‘It was our father’s order,’ said Quirren quietly as they watched the knights form up in front of them, the breath from their horses’ nostrils clouding in the cold morning air.
Each of the contingents consisted of two knights and a page who carried a sword sheathed in a scabbard and coiled in a leather belt. One of the knights from each contingent carried the colours of their order and Falco immediately recognised the man bearing the pennant for the Knights of Wrath. It was Sebastien Cabal, the Lord Commander of the order.
The knights bearing the colours remained in the saddle while their fellow knights dismounted. Looking nervous, the pages did likewise. They stood at their knight’s shoulder while Lanista Magnus directed the cadets to come forward.
Quirren approached the knight of the Black Eagle. Huthgarl and another cadet by the name of Blaevar approached the knight from the Beltonian Heavy Horse, while two Illician youths moved to stand in front of the Adamanti.
Malaki was the only one to approach the Knights of Wrath.
They came to a halt and then, without further ado, the page passed the sword to the knight who then handed it to the cadet standing before him.
Falco had been expecting some great ceremony or swearing in. He turned to the emissary who was now standing beside him.
‘Does this mean they’re now knights?’
‘No,’ said the emissary. ‘They are now journeymen, sworn to the order that has accepted them. When they have finished their training they will ride to war with their order. Only after their first battle will they be deemed a knight.’
Falco nodded and looked over at Malaki. The knight standing before him seemed pleased to have inducted Malaki but Sebastien Cabal appeared to be brooding with anger.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked Falco, nodding in the Lord Commander’s direction.
‘Malaki is different,’ said the emissary. ‘He has already proven himself in battle. He is now considered to be a ‘knight in waiting’. He will still complete his training at the academy but if the Knights of Wrath were to call upon him he could ride out with them tomorrow.’
‘Why does that bother Lord Cabal?’
‘He thinks Malaki is too young and, unlike the other young nobles, he has not been formally trained.’
‘So why did they accept him?’
‘Oh, the Lord Commander is convinced of his potential. He just doesn’t believe that Malaki is ready for war.’
‘And is he?’
The emissary pursed his lips.
‘We shall see.’
Falco turned back to watch then looked along the edge of the field. He was now the only one of the cadets left and it felt strange to be standing there alone.
‘So where does this leave me?’ he asked.
‘That depends,’ said the emissary. ‘If all they face are the warriors and beasts of the Possessed then sword and sinew should be enough. But if they face an army with a demon at its head then you might be the only thing that stands between them and an eternity in hell.’
Falco looked into the emissary’s hard grey eyes. The young officers in front of them were daunted by the prospect of commanding a few hundred soldiers but that was nothing compared to the responsibility that Falco would bear. The very thought of it was terrifying.
With the inductions complete the ‘academy army’ dispersed and the cadets came back together, talking excitedly. Most of them had been given some token in recognition of their new commands. Alex had been given a beautiful Illician longsword, Jarek a fine light-footed courser with a dappled grey and white coat, most of the spearmen came away with a Thraecian spear and shield and a short bladed xiphos or curved kopis sword. The archers sported new bows with embossed leather quivers. Bryna, on the other hand walked back to the tent with a small, two-handled drinking cup.
‘It’s known as a Quaich,’ said the emissary. ‘A cup of greeting.’
Bryna examined the silver rimmed wooden cup which had a crude elegance to the design.
‘They’ll expect you to drink with them,’ said Alex. ‘It’s tradition.’
‘Drink what?’ asked Bryna.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Alex. ‘They keep it to themselves. But it’s said to be the finest spirit in all the Seven Kingdoms.’
‘Hmm,’ said Bryna, hopefully. ‘I’m quite partial to spirits.’
They all laughed and Falco looked across at Malaki who was looking down at the sword now lying in his lap. A few inches of the blade showed between the scabbard and the hilt and there, clearly stamped into the steel, was the ‘rampant horse’ of the Knights of Wrath.
‘I can’t believe it,’ breathed Malaki.
‘I can,’ said Falco.
Malaki’s eyes shone as he looked up at his friends. They were all nodding and smiling. It seemed that Falco spoke for them all.
There was little in the way of training done that morning. The instructors came to sit with the cadets, fielding an endless stream of questions and insecurities. Yes, they would still practise individual skills but their new units would play an increasing role in their training until the cadet army was ready for war.
‘And as officers,’ said the emissary. ‘You will be expected to attend the public strategy meetings in the Chamber of Council. You too,’ he added, looking at Falco. ‘Battle mages are an integral part of the army.’
Falco glanced up as people turned to look at him. No one doubted the emissary’s assertion that Falco was a battle mage. The shock and fear that had been present when he destroyed Jarek’s sword had slowly faded. It seemed the cadets had finally realised that Falco was on their side. He might mutter strange and unnerving things in his sleep, and he might have frightening powers that they did not understand, but those powers might one day save their lives. It invoked in Falco a new and unfamiliar feeling, one that only added to the growing sense of responsibility.
The talking went on for the rest of the morning and as the assistants laid out the food for lunch Falco took the opportunity to quietly leave. He grabbed a meat pie, some bread and a handful of fruit and made his way up to the crucible, pushing back his cloak as the clouds began to break and the bright winter sun brought some warmth to the day.
‘So they’ve all got their new playmates have they?’ said Aurelian as Falco sat on the crucible steps and took a long drink of water from a copper cup. ‘I hear that archer friend of yours got the Dalwhinnies,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ he added. ‘They might be a shower of delinquent bastards but they’re also some of the finest archers you’re ever likely to see.’
He looked at Falco, noticing his slightly subdued mood.
‘Where’s Meredith?’ asked Falco.
‘I asked him not to come today.’
Fa
lco glanced up at Dwimervane and Dusaule, sitting in their normal places a little way up the side of the arena. Dusaule wore a thick woollen cloak while Dwimervane’s dark blue scales stood out dramatically against the snow covered steps.
‘So, you must be feeling a little left out,’ said Aurelian casually.
Wondering what was going on Falco looked around the arena. He shook his head distractedly but it was true, he did feel somewhat left out and a sense of isolation was beginning to form in his mind.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Aurelian. ‘It’s only natural. Being a battle mage can be a lonely thing. But there are compensations,’ he added and Falco caught a twinkle of amusement in his eye. ‘That’s why I arranged something special for today.’
Falco grew even more suspicious. Normally when Aurelian wanted to ‘try something new’ it involved a significant amount of pain and discomfort on Falco’s part. He watched as Aurelian made his way to the side of the arena. Then, even as the old battle mage nodded up into the sky, Falco felt something falling from the sky. He spun round just in time to see a dragon streaking towards him. Without even thinking he cast a protection around himself to resist the inevitable collision but just at the last moment the dragon pulled out of its dive and swept over his head. As it did so an armoured figure leapt from its back, turned in the air and landed on the ground before him, rolling to absorb the impact before coming back to its feet. The armoured figure drew its sword and dropped into a fighting stance.
Falco had no weapons but still he matched the mystery warrior’s pose, his mind coming immediately into sharp focus.
‘There!’ said Aurelian with obvious delight. ‘I told you he was coming on.’
The armoured figure straightened up, sheathed its sword and removed its helm. Long black hair spilled down over the armour on the figure’s shoulders.
It was a woman.
She looked at Falco with a penetrating expression in her dark eyes then she stepped forward, put her free hand on his arm and kissed him twice, once on each cheek. She lingered on the second kiss, her cheek resting for a moment against his as she gave him a disarming hug.
‘Bienvenue petit frère,’ she said.
Her face lit up with a smile and with a final squeeze of Falco’s arm she turned to face Aurelian. She took a few steps towards him before launching herself into his embrace. Aurelian staggered back and wrapped his one arm around her as she hugged him tight.
‘Steady, girl! You’re going to do me a mischief,’ he laughed as the hard edges of her armour pressed into the stubbly flesh of his cheek.
Finally she let go of Aurelian and ran up the steps to greet Dusaule and Dwimervane with the same warm abandon.
Falco was only just starting to process the pleasantly intimate greeting when he felt a familiar presence looming over him. In a gust of wind and a flurry of snow, a beautiful amber coloured dragon landed beside him. It folded its wings and looked at Falco with a piercing gaze then it walked over to Aurelian who bowed to press his forehead against the dragon’s. The old battle mage raised a hand to the dragon’s neck and Falco noticed a number of injuries on its body. Old scars aplenty but also a number of more recent wounds: scorch marks, tears in its wings and deeply scored lines where something had cut through the armour of its scales. But for all this, the dragon did not appear seriously hurt as Aurelian greeted her.
‘How are you, my beautiful?’ he said.
In reply the dragon nudged him affectionately, pressing the scaly ridge of its muzzle against the damaged side of his torso.
‘It’s fine,’ said Aurelian. ‘Just a bit tight in this cold weather.’
For another moment the dragon looked at him. It turned to acknowledge Dusaule and Dwimervane and then it walked towards Falco who bowed his head to greet it.
‘Allow me to introduce Nathalie Saigal,’ said Aurelian. ‘And her dragon, Ciel.’
Falco gave each of them a shallow bow.
‘You’re taller than I expected,’ said Nathalie as she approached Falco once more.
Falco dipped his head self-consciously but he was surprised at how comfortable he felt in her presence. She smiled again as he looked up.
Nathalie Saigal was a woman of some thirty years with an athletic build and a strong face with prominent cheekbones and eyes so dark they were almost black. She appeared lively and genuinely pleased to meet him but Falco also had the sense of deep fatigue as if she was weary from some hard and unrelenting task. The white line of a scar ran from the bridge of her nose to the base of her left ear but, just like her dragon, Nathalie’s flesh also bore the marks of more recent violence. Her face and hands were covered with numerous small cuts and grazes. Her right arm was bandaged and there was the shadow of a huge bruise that started at the base of her jaw and disappeared beneath the neck of her breastplate. Nathalie raised an eyebrow at Falco’s discreet scrutiny but then she smiled.
‘It’s good to meet you,’ she said with a smooth Clemoncéan accent. ‘I never met your father but I don’t believe what they say about him. About the end, I mean.’
‘It is true,’ said Falco. ‘He really did kill all those people.’
‘Oh, I know,’ said Nathalie with a touch of steel in her voice. ‘I just don’t believe it.’
For a moment Falco looked at her before giving her a nod of understanding.
‘So,’ said Nathalie, her smile taking on a more challenging cast. ‘You’d like to ride a dragon?’
‘What... I... No!’ stammered Falco looking from Nathalie to the dragon and back again.
They both turned to look at Aurelian who seemed to be suddenly interested in how the clouds were moving across the sky.
‘You didn’t even tell him?’ said Nathalie in an accusing tone. She turned back to Falco. ‘He’s terrible,’ she said with a disapproving frown.
‘I didn’t want to worry him,’ said Aurelian, limping over.
Nathalie gave him a withering look before turning back to Falco.
‘So,’ she said. ‘Would you like to ride a dragon?’
43
Long Forgotten Dreams
Falco gripped with his knees and leaned in close to the dragon’s back.
‘That’s it,’ said Nathalie as Falco gripped the ridges at the base of Ciel’s neck and laid his forearms on either side of her spine. ‘You’ve ridden before.’
‘No,’ said Falco. ‘Never.’
Nathalie frowned and glanced at Aurelian but Falco did not notice. His heart was pounding at the very thought of what he was about to do. They had adjusted the riding harness to take account of his height and he could feel Ciel’s scales gently ‘gripping’ his forearms.
‘Shouldn’t I have a strap or belt?’ he asked, blushing when both Aurelian and Nathalie laughed. ‘What if I fall off?’
‘You won’t,’ said Nathalie.
She moved to stand at Ciel’s head.
‘Now be gentle with him,’ she said as the dragon’s horns brushed against her armour.
‘How do I tell her where to go?’ asked Falco and again the two battle mages laughed.
‘You don’t,’ said Nathalie. ‘You decide together.’
Falco gave her an anxious look as if this advice was far from sufficient.
‘You’ll see what I mean,’ Nathalie reassured him. ‘The most important thing is just to trust her.’
Falco gave a nervous gulp.
‘Try to relax,’ said Aurelian. ‘You might actually enjoy it.’
They stepped away from Ciel and Falco was readying himself for something to happen when he noticed Dusaule disappearing over the rim of the crucible.
Aurelian followed the line of his gaze.
‘Some things are just too painful for him to watch,’ said Aurelian and he and Nathalie exchanged a sad look. ‘Don’t worry,’ Aurelian went on. ‘It has nothing to do with you.’ He waited until he was sure that Falco understood and then he smiled. ‘Are you ready?’
Falco gave a stiff nod.
Ciel curved her
long neck to look at him and there was something in her deep red eyes that finally began to calm Falco’s nerves. Her great head dipped once and then with a surge she started forward. In three great bounds she reached the terraced wall of the crucible. She leapt up, pushed off from the lower steps and spread her wings.
Falco felt as if he had left his stomach on the floor of the arena as they powered up into the sky. It was singularly the most exhilarating, terrifying and wonderful thing he had ever experienced. Eyes clenched and hands aching from the tightness of his grip, he waited as he slowly emerged from the overwhelming barrage of sensations washing over him. From the cold rush of the wind and the reassuring warmth of Ciel’s body, to the unbelievable sense of freedom and the great wing-beat surges that carried them higher and higher.
Finally he was able to open his eyes, and much to his surprise he found that he was not afraid. The snow-capped mountains rose up to the north and east, slowly revealing more peaks as they gained in height. Tentatively Falco began to look around. Behind him the sea was a cold winter grey with shades of turquoise along the coast. He looked down and the city of Wrath was laid out beneath him. He could clearly see the outline of the double curtain wall and the harbour bristling with boats. The palace gleamed in a patch of afternoon sunlight and people milled about in the streets like ants. Higher still and Falco tightened his grip as Ciel banked to one side. He found himself looking down on the academy. He could see the square outline of the barracks quads, the long lines of the stables and the numerous other buildings and training fields. Beside one of them stood a large white tent and Falco saw small figures moving around in front of it. He glanced back towards the mountains.
‘It wouldn’t take long to reach the Pike like this,’ he thought and suddenly a memory of the pike appeared in his mind, an image of it wreathed in early morning mist.
‘Yes,’ he breathed and he felt Ciel roll again as she sped towards the mountains.
For a moment the rocky slopes appeared some way off but all of a sudden they seemed to be rushing up to meet them. He felt certain they were about to crash into the mountainside but at the last moment Ciel spread her wings wide and performed a kind of midair pirouette before alighting on the great slab of stone known as the Pike.
Battle Mage Page 38
