Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  Falco was astonished by the gentleness of the landing. There was no jarring thump just a perfectly controlled descent to stillness. He sat there as the cold wind blew through his hair. He could feel the dragon beneath him, her breathing and the slow deep beating of her heart. She moved her head to take in the view and Falco had the strangest feeling that he knew what she was looking at: the flags on the palace... a group of knights perfecting their dressage... the dark tower of the magi, rising like a black spire against the snow covered mountains behind it.

  Ciel’s gaze lingered on the tower and so did Falco’s. More than any other building the tower of the magi looked closed and forbidding, a place of secrets and power.

  Falco drew his gaze away and Ciel followed suit as if she, in turn, knew what he was looking at. He looked beyond the city where a three-masted trading schooner was putting out to sea. Falco had never been to sea in a boat. He found the very notion both exciting and frightening. He wondered what it would be like to ride the waves with the salt spray splashing across the deck. With a smile he focussed on the ship and urged Ciel forward. She seemed to know exactly what he had in mind and with a slight leap she dropped from the pike and hugged the rocky slope as she streaked towards the plateau. They sped high over the city and out over the rising swell beyond the harbour wall. They closed on the Schooner quickly and Falco saw the sailors line the rails as the great dragon banked around the vessel in full mastery of the winds upon whose mercy they were carried away.

  All trace of anxiety and nerves had long since vanished from Falco’s mind and he leaned down over Ciel’s warm back using his hands more for balance than clinging on for dear life.

  ‘Higher,’ he thought. ‘Go high and fast.’

  Ciel seemed to register the meaning of his thoughts because she suddenly drew up and climbed rapidly away from the rolling sea. With every beat of her wings Falco felt an incredible surge of power as they drove up into the sky, climbing higher and higher until the ship was just a child’s toy on the grey expanse below. The sound of the wind and the feel of cold wet mist across his face suddenly tugged at something in Falco’s mind, a memory that had long since been suppressed.

  ‘We’re in the clouds,’ he thought and he suddenly realised he had thought the same thought once before, long ago, almost before he was able to even form the words.

  ‘We’re in the clouds,’ he thought again and in his mind he heard a laugh, deep and soft and just for him. He felt a presence behind him, enclosing him, embracing him, keeping him safe. No words, no face, just a presence - a father showing his son the incomparable wonder of sharing the sky with a dragon.

  He had done this before, Falco suddenly realised, somewhere in the distant past, before illness, tragedy and loss. He had been here before, known this before.

  They burst out from the clouds and Falco felt the warmth of the pale winter sun upon his face. He let go of Ciel’s neck and sat up to savour the unbelievable sense of freedom as they cut through the freezing air. His face felt numb and his hands were beginning to stiffen with the cold but he closed his eyes and abandoned himself to trust. At this height he was but a slip away from certain death but he had never felt so safe. He looked down and the world of Wrath was spread out below him like a map. Then in his mind he heard the distant echo of his father’s voice.

  ‘Now, hold tight,’ said the voice and Falco did.

  He leaned down close to Ciel’s back, grasped the sinewy cords at the base of her neck and felt a reassuring sense of security as the sharp edge of her scales lifted slightly before settling around the contours of his arms. Then the great dragon banked until she was almost inverted and Falco closed his eyes as they fell through the sky, faster than the bird of prey for which he was named.

  ‘This is glory,’ thought Falco, filled by the presence of the dragon. ‘How could there ever be evil in this?’

  *

  Far below in the crucible Aurelian and Nathalie saw them emerge from the base of the clouds, diving at full attack speed.

  ‘He has done this before,’ said Nathalie. ‘Ciel would never fly so hard if he had not.’

  Beside her Aurelian could only nod.

  But they were not the only ones to have witnessed Falco’s flight.

  *

  On the training field the emissary had called the cadets outside to watch.

  ‘Is that Falco?’ asked Bryna.

  The emissary nodded slowly as the great amber dragon tore across the sky above them. Beside them Malaki just smiled. All the other cadets appeared utterly astonished by the sight of him riding a dragon but Malaki had known Falco all his life and he was not surprised. Not surprised at all.

  *

  From a lofty window of the palace the Queen saw the dragon racing over the city before heading out to sea. She had been surprised when Aurelian asked her permission for Falco to attempt a flight. The old crank was not as insensitive as he would have people believe. He knew the delicate situation that existed between her and the magi. If she was too public in her support of dragons then the magi could use the murderous blacks to call her judgment into question. But she could not bear the thought of turning her back on the great souls who gave the world so much.

  ‘He rides well,’ said Cyrano at her shoulder. ‘Maybe the Chevalier was right to bring him after all.’

  ‘Yes,’ thought the Queen, ‘Maybe he was.’

  *

  From the high balcony outside the Grand Veneratu’s chambers, Galen Thrall watched as the dragon climbed towards the clouds, the sun glinting off its burnt orange scales.

  ‘So, there can be no doubt,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Morgan Saker who was standing beside him. ‘The son of Danté is a battle mage.’

  ‘How long before he is ready for the Rite?’ asked Thrall.

  ‘That depends on how quickly he learns,’ replied Morgan. ‘Normally it takes a year or more to hone their skills but with this one, who can say?’

  ‘Then tell the brothers to begin their preparations at once,’ said Thrall as they watched the dragon emerge from the clouds and drop like a falling star towards the ground. ‘Something tells me the son of Aquila Danté will learn quickly and we cannot afford to meet him unprepared.’

  *

  Falco opened his eyes as they plummeted towards the earth. The speed took his breath away but still he felt no fear. He could see the oval outline of the crucible growing rapidly below them, but it was only as they drew level with the rim that Ciel spread her wings to check the speed of their descent. Falco felt his body press hard against hers as she swept down the side of the crucible and along the floor before rising briefly and coming to a halt just a few yards from Aurelian and Nathalie. They turned their faces away from the blizzard of snow that blew up in the gust of her wings.

  The beautiful amber dragon became still and Falco laid his cheek against the warm steely enamel of her scales. He knew now that this was not the first time he had flown with a dragon. He had flown with his father when he was barely old enough to remember. In his mind it was dark scales that lay now beneath his hands, scales that shone like the deepest shade of blood, scales that were almost black.

  Falco knew that he should move but he found that he could not. He felt that if he moved he would lose this precious memory, like a dream dispelled by waking. Like the memory of his father’s last kiss that had sustained him during the demon’s assault. Tears ran from his eyes and disappeared between the scales on Ciel’s back. But slowly the intensity of the feeling faded, even if the memory did not. Returning to the present he felt embarrassed by this show of naked emotion but then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see that Nathalie was crying too. And beyond her there were tears in the eyes of gruff Aurelian Cruz.

  They did not know the details of Falco’s emotion but they knew the strength of feeling that bonding with a dragon could stir. And above them, looking down through a crack in the rim of the crucible, was Nicolas Dusaule. There were no tears up
on his cheeks but in his heart he too was crying. And none of them wept so hard as he.

  44

  The Chamber of Council

  Over the next few weeks Falco took three more flights with Ciel, each time going a little further, and each time trying to reach back into his past in the hope of uncovering more memories that might be buried there. It seemed, however, that there were no more revelations to be uncovered but for Falco it was enough to know that the dreamlike images in his mind were true. He would have loved to have flown more but Aurelian explained that Nathalie and Ciel would soon be heading back to the Illician front.

  ‘They’re only here for a short while to rest and recover,’ Falco told his friends one evening as they sat around a pot-bellied stove in the barracks. ‘Nathalie doesn’t really speak about it, but it sounds as if things at the front are pretty grim.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll find out more tonight,’ said Malaki.

  The other cadets nodded slowly. Tonight, for the first time, they would be attending a public strategy meeting in the Chamber of Council. Lanista Magnus had also told them that they would hear details of the training campaign that was due to take place in the spring.

  ‘I wonder where they’ll be sending us,’ said Alex.

  ‘Don’t think I’ll be going anywhere,’ said Bryna disconsolately.

  Falco and the others exchanged awkward glances. The instructors had made it quite clear that they would only be allowed on the campaign if their units were able to perform the required battlefield manoeuvres, including the notorious traverser manoeuvre.

  All the other cadets were making good progress but Bryna was still struggling to manage the Dalwhinnies. Despite her best efforts they made no more than a pretence of following her orders. It was only when Patrick Feckler gave them a nod that they would finally do as she said and her lack of control was becoming an issue. However, there was no opportunity to discuss it further as Lanista Magnus arrived to escort them down to the public strategy meeting in the city.

  ‘Anyone is allowed to speak,’ he told them. ‘But I would advise you to hold your tongue unless you have something useful to say. Marshal Breton does not appreciate contributions from the ill informed.’

  The cadets muttered in nervous anticipation as they made their way down from the plateau and into the dimly lit streets of the city. Finally they emerged onto the wide paved area surrounding the Chamber of Council and the cadets gazed in awe at the enormous domed building as crowds of people headed towards the entrances.

  Lanista Magnus led them to an archway that gave onto a lofty passage, very different to the dark tunnel through which Falco had entered on the day of his hearing. They emerged half way up one side of the terraced seats and were immediately surrounded by a hubbub of noise from hundreds of people talking in low voices.

  The cadets filed into a series of rows as everyone began to settle into their seats. Falco sat with his friends while Lanista Magnus took a seat directly behind them. Across the room Falco saw Nathalie sitting with two men in military uniform. A few rows down from her sat a group of magi, including Morgan Saker and Galen Thrall.

  Drawing his eyes away from the magi Falco turned his attention back to the huge room which was lit by dozens of brass oil lamps, either fixed to the walls or hung from the ceiling on chains.

  The floor of the chamber had been cleared leaving just a single row of ornate chairs to one side. The centre oval space was covered by a large carpet fully thirty feet long and twenty wide. Falco vaguely remembered the carpet from his first visit but on that occasion he had not really appreciated it. From where he was now sitting he could see that it was a map, not just of Clemoncé, but the entire world of Wrath. As he watched, a line of assistants began to roll it back and Falco realised that the carpet was just a covering for the real map that lay beneath, a map of such detail and beauty that it literally took their breath away.

  ‘Look at that!’ breathed Bryna in a tone of reverence.

  Falco shook his head in wonder. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a map like this. Filling the space where the carpet had been was a huge rectangular panel of inlaid marble. The cartographers had used different colours of stone to differentiate land from sea with warm, earthy shades of ochre for the land and a pale rippling grey for the ocean.

  The border surrounding the map was defined by an elegant pattern of knot-work inlaid with silver and bronze. The surface was polished to a deep sheen that brought out the rich colours of the stone without detracting from the huge amount of detail that had been worked into the map.

  The cadets were enthralled and Falco had the sense that he was back on Ciel, flying high above the world.

  ‘Look,’ said Malaki, drawing Falco out of his reverie. ‘There’s Caer Dour.’

  Falco followed the line of his finger until he could see a small black dot denoting the position of their home town in the north of Valentia.

  ‘And there’s our home city, Reiherstadt,’ said Alex. ‘In the hills north of Lake Viegal.’

  Falco could see the area Alex was meaning, but then he noticed that Reiherstadt lay in the portion of the map that had been painted with some kind of red lacquer. The red area extended across the whole of Ferocia and covered most of Illicia and Beltane. Falco suddenly realised that this red ‘shading’ marked the area known as the Forsaken Lands, territory that had been lost to the Possessed.

  The carpet was finally rolled clear and the assistants departed through a tunnel from which a number of scribes and cartographers now appeared. They carried rolls of parchment and drawing cases with which they could record the details of the meeting. Two of them carried trays filled with small metal ornaments like the pieces of a chess set, while another carried a number of long brass rods that were clearly used as pointers. As they lined up along the near side of the map another man emerged from the tunnel and Falco recognised him as Cyrano, the Queen’s advisor.

  Dressed as ever in his black chenille doublet and turquoise cloak, he swept the room with his hawk-like gaze. When everything seemed to be in order he stepped back from the archway and the people in the hall rose to their feet. At a prompt from Lanista Magnus the cadets did the same.

  Queen Catherine emerged from the tunnel with Prince Ludovico at her side and Falco was reminded of just how striking she was, tall and slender with long dark hair and a face that was both beautiful and strong.

  Behind them came a man Falco had never seen before.

  ‘That’s Marshal Breton,’ whispered Alex, nodding towards the stern looking man with long grey hair and a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. Next came the emissary and a dark haired man with a moustache and beard in the same style as Marshal Breton. ‘And that’s General Renucci of the Fourth,’ said Alex. ‘Second in command to the Chevalier.’

  Falco looked down at the general but his eye was drawn to the emissary. Looking almost elegant in a tunic of pale grey velvet with his long hair washed and combed, Falco had never seen him looking so well groomed, and yet there remained a distinct shadow of stubble on his jaw.

  When the dignitaries were seated the cartographers bowed to the Queen before moving onto the map. Two of them knelt and began to remove the line showing the extent of the Forsaken Lands. Then, referring to a series of smaller maps, they redrew the line and filled in the new area by painting it with the red lacquer. The crimson liquid shrank away from the polished marble to leave a mottled effect which gave the impression of it having been blistered or scorched in a fire. It was a sobering sight to see the advance of the Possessed portrayed so graphically. Only in two areas had the allies held their ground, in the north around the Illician city of Hoffen and in the south around the Beltonian cities of Aengus and Maiden.

  ‘All that, in just a few months,’ said Alex. ‘Another year and there will be nothing left of Illicia and Beltane.’

  Falco glanced across at the two brothers. They were from Illicia but it was clear that even they had not realised just how bad things had become.

&nbs
p; With the new ‘front line’ drawn on the map the cartographers proceeded to lay out the small metal ornaments. Allied armies were represented by small bronze shields, while miniature castles denoted the location of fortified towns.

  ‘The swords mark the location of a battle mage,’ explained Lanista Magnus. ‘Possessed forces are portrayed by the banners and the demonic figurines mark the location of demons.’

  ‘What about that demon figure in Beltane?’ asked Bryna. ‘It looks different to the others.’

  ‘We think that’s the Enemy’s chief lieutenant,’ said Lanista Magnus. ‘The one they call the Marchio Dolor.’

  At the mention of this name Falco felt a prickle of disquiet crawling over his skin. The light in the chamber seemed to dim and in his mind he heard the low demonic voice from his nightmares.

  You would never have the courage.

  You would never have the strength.

  The extent of Falco’s vision seemed to shrink until all he could see was the small bronze figure of the Marchio Dolor. But then his gaze was drawn to the north and Falco frowned as if he had expected to see another distinctive model sitting on the map. A sound pulsed in his ears but he could not tell if it was a demonic growl or just the rush of blood pulsing in his veins.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Malaki’s voice drew him back to the present and Falco looked around the room.

  The cartographers had finished laying out the pieces and it was clear to all that the armies of Wrath were grossly outnumbered. Stepping back off the map the cartographers bowed to the Queen who then invited Marshal Breton to take the floor.

  Moving to the edge of the map the marshal took a long brass rod from one of the cartographers then, without any preamble, he launched into a summary of the strategic position between the allied armies and the forces of the Possessed.

  Falco watched with morbid fascination as Marshal Breton outlined the desperate situation of the war. This was the first time he had seen a strategic map like this but even to his eyes the situation looked hopeless. The only thing that seemed odd to him was a strange gap in the forces of the Possessed as if the cartographers had forgotten to place down a figure. He was sure that this would soon be explained but Marshal Breton seemed to be coming to the end of his initial address.