Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  Falco looked up as the dragon reared above Aurelian. He saw it draw a breath.

  ‘NO!’ he cried and with a great effort of will he snatched the dragon from the sky.

  The summoning stone shook as the mighty dragon came crashing down. With the speed of a giant cat it regained its feet, spun round and struck Falco a mighty blow that drove him to his knees. A second blow sent him flying back and a strike from its tail drew blood as it found a gap in his armour. Two ineffectual attacks from the magi distracted the dragon but a blast of dragon fire sent them scurrying for cover.

  Dazed by the attacks Falco struggled to his feet as the dragon turned back to face him. He refused to draw his sword, refused to raise his shield or summon any kind of magical defence.

  They had killed the dragons, their greatest allies, their fellow souls.

  He might be only one man, cast adrift on the churning swells of grief. But he was human. And to fight now would make him complicit in the crime that had broken the bond between their two great races.

  As the dragon reared above him Falco lowered his arms and raised his head. There was no excuse or plea for mercy in the bleak desolation of his gaze, only shame and sadness and the unquenchable fire of regret.

  The dragon paused.

  Nothing, in all its sable years, had challenged the animosity that it felt for humankind. There had been no doubt, no mitigation, no quarter near conceived. But still it paused. In its own mind it now saw images that it had never known before. Images from a dragon that might once have been red and of the soul that fought beside it. It felt the emotion of human fury at what had been done, not just to his dragon kin, but also to the great souls in human form. He saw the dragon and the man go out to face a new battle, to reconcile the present and the past. It was a battle that failed, and as the dragon and the man passed into darkness the image was replaced by that of a small boy, standing in the burnt out ruins of his home.

  Wings spread and talons poised, the dragon paused as he looked down upon the mirror of his soul.

  *

  On a ledge above the dragon stone, concealed by a tall column of fortissite, Galen Thrall muttered the words of a spell that would see this dragon dead. He filled it with all his power and all his hateful spite. Then he closed his waxy green eyes, drew a breath and prepared to strike.

  *

  Lost in a world of pain Falco looked up into the golden eyes of the dragon. He was ready for the final blow, but then the dragon paused. Memories of his father swirled through his mind, intertwined with those of his dragon, impossible now to tell them apart. For a moment he felt the smallest hint of hope, a slender bridge that might lead them back from the brink of disaster. But then he felt the surge of Galen Thrall’s will and the forming of his murderous spell.

  With a roar of primal rage Falco spun round and thrust out his hand as a life’s worth of pent up energy burst free in a sheet of blinding flame. It parted the air and severed the column of fortissite behind which Thrall had finalised his spell. But the Grand Veneratu never uttered the final word of release. The guillotine of light struck him in the chest, scything through ribs, lungs and spine. His lifeless body tumbled into view, the pupils in his waxy green eyes now fixed, never to narrow in malice again.

  Above him the column of fortissite remained upright, the only substance that magical force cannot damage, sliced clean through by the power of an orphan’s rage.

  Silence descended on the dragon stone as the truth of what had just happened sank in.

  The Worshipful Master of the magi was dead.

  All eyes turned to look at Falco, but only the dragon watched him.

  The dragon watched as Falco’s mind cleared and he slowly became aware of what he had done. The fear of turning out like his father had kept his power locked away. His entire life had been scarred by the stigma of madness and murder, but now he knew that this perception was untrue. His father had never been a murderer and had only killed in self defence.

  But what of him?

  Could he have blocked the Grand Veneratu’s spell?

  Or had he lashed out in anger?

  Killed in anger?

  And what was that, if it was not murder?

  All eyes were fixed on Falco, but only the dragon watched him. The dragon watched him as the realisation dawned in his mind, as remorse bloomed like an all consuming star in his breast. After all his fears and inhibitions, Falco had finally unlocked his power, only to become what his father never was. And he could not bear it.

  ‘Falco! No!’

  Meredith called out and Aurelian tried to stop him with mental force, but they were both too late. With the conviction of the damned Falco sprinted across the dragon stone and leapt into the consoling arms of death.

  PART IV

  REDEMPTION

  80

  Great Chief

  ‘No!’ cried Aurelian as Falco disappeared from view.

  But as quickly as Falco vanished over the edge of the dragon stone so he was followed by a winged streak of night.

  While everyone else had been looking at Falco, the dragon had watched him. It had watched as the storm of emotions tore through his mind until there was nothing left but blind, unbearable remorse. It was just such naked emotion that had stayed the dragon’s hand, cut through its own madness and the vengeful mist of hate. It was just such emotion that had saved the dragon’s life. And now the vessel of that emotion had leapt to his death.

  Even as Falco started to run the dragon moved to follow. It was still confused and burning with rage, but finally it recognised the brother who had summoned it, the brother who had saved it from the magic users’ bonds and killed the master who would surely have slain it.

  As Falco leapt from the summoning stone the dragon leapt after him. Turning in the air it gave a mighty sweep of its wings, accelerating towards the figure that was plummeting towards the rocks below. With no time for a second beat the dragon tucked in its wings, tightened its scales and cut through the air with the speed of a stooping hawk. The wind whistled over its streamlined body as the mountain loomed below it.

  A hundred feet from the jagged rocks the dragon broke out of its dive and snatched the armoured body from the air. There was no time for gentleness. It gripped the figure by the shoulder, forcing its talons through the gaps in his armour then it spread its wings to arrest their descent. But it was too late to avoid an outcrop of grass and rocky shale.

  Throwing up a shower of rocky soil Falco’s body clipped the outcrop as the dragon struggled to find some purchase on the air. Rolling to one side it swung Falco away from a ridge of solid rock, but this left it with no room to manoeuvre as it plunged towards the mountain’s slopes. As the ground rushed up to meet it the dragon turned onto its back and gathered Falco’s inert form against its chest.

  The mighty beast skidded into a bank of scree, ploughing a rough furrow with the hard mass of its body before coming to rest in a mounded crater, shrouded in a cloud of gritty dust.

  *

  Aurelian and Meredith stared down in horror as the dragon turned in the air, curled into a ball and smashed into the rocky slopes of the mountain. A great cloud of grey dust burst into the air, obscuring the site of the impact. With their hearts frozen in their chests they waited for the dust to clear.

  A thousand feet below them, the twilight wind tugged at the cloud of dust and carried it away across the valley. As the view cleared they saw the dark shape of the dragon rise from the ground. For a moment it looked down at something before lowering its head and mantling its wings like an eagle protecting its kill. But then it shifted its position and turned its head to look at them. For a moment it gazed up at the two humans as if it were memorising their faces with its aquiline sight. Then it spread its wings and surged into the sky.

  It was too far away for Aurelian and Meredith to make out much more than an outline, but as the dragon rose into the air they were certain that it was holding something close against its chest. It gained height quickly t
hen angled north away from the city. They watched it for a few more seconds before it disappeared behind an arm of the mountain. And suddenly the wide expanse of sky was empty.

  Before they could speak or even try to absorb what had just happened they heard movement behind them. Turning round they saw the magi standing on the dragon stone, shocked and scared and dangerous.

  ‘The Grand Veneratu is dead,’ said one of the men.

  ‘Danté killed him,’ said another.

  ‘You betrayed us,’ said a third, his eyes focussed on Meredith.

  On a nearby ledge one of the warrior mages struggled down onto the stone. His clothes were black and his flesh was burned from the fire of his own spell. He needed medical attention but the magi seemed unable to focus on anything beyond Thrall’s death and Meredith’s revelations.

  ‘You cannot tell anyone,’ said the other warrior mage. ‘You would put your brothers at risk.’

  ‘The magi are no brothers of mine,’ said Meredith. He spoke through gritted teeth and the atmosphere on the dragon stone darkened beyond the limits of the encroaching night.

  The magi formed a line in front of them and the unharmed warrior mage levelled his sword.

  ‘Enough!’ cried Aurelian and a fierce ball of fire sprang up around his fist. His face was streaked with tears and his voice was coarse with the strain of all that had happened and all that he had learned. ‘We are leaving now,’ he told them. ‘It would be a mistake to try to prevent us.’

  The magi recoiled in the face of Aurelian’s anger, and with a shove of his armless shoulder he urged Meredith forwards, the fireball still writhing around his fist. As they reached the rough steps leading away from the dragon stone Meredith stumbled, the strain of this terrible night was finally taking its toll.

  ‘What have I done?’ he asked as the adrenaline leached away and the ramifications of his actions began to dawn on his mind.

  ‘You have uncovered the truth and saved the lives of two great souls,’ said Aurelian taking Meredith’s weight as the young man stumbled.

  ‘But Thrall...’

  ‘The Grand Veneratu was lost long before tonight,’ said Aurelian as the full extent of the magi’s corruption became suddenly clear. The power of Possession had not died with Syballian the prophet. It had endured like a shadow in the minds of the magi ever since. It explained their enduring animosity towards the battle mages and the dragons who bore them. It explained their reluctance to support the thrones in the war against the Possessed. And it explained the vague distrust that the people had always felt towards the magi. For all the battle mages’ insight they had underestimated the instincts of common folk.

  ‘But where will we go,’ said Meredith, as if the thought had just occurred to him. ‘I can’t go back to the tower... I can’t face my father.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Aurelian as they descended towards the horses. ‘I know where we can go.’

  ‘But where?’ cried Meredith, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice. ‘Where can we go that they cannot reach us?’

  ‘We’ll go to the Queen,’ said Aurelian. ‘She will know what to do.’

  ‘And may the heavens preserve her,’ thought Aurelian as he struggled to get Meredith onto a horse. The Queen bore the troubles of the entire world upon her shoulders and now he was about to bring chaos to her door.

  *

  The Queen looked down at the young man now sleeping in her bed, the pearl white pillow on which he lay stained dark with his blood.

  ‘Will he be all right?’ she asked as Aurelian stood back from the bed.

  ‘It’s hard to say. He has borne a great deal and now he has cut himself adrift from everything he knew.’

  ‘Not everything, I hope,’ said the Queen and Aurelian tilted his head in concession.

  He remembered the awkward beginnings of friendship that Meredith had begun to establish with Falco, Malaki and Bryna, and he knew that Dwimervane had always liked the apprentice mage. Meredith had surely severed his ties with his father and the magi, but he was not entirely without friends.

  They looked down at his pale face, horribly disfigured by the wounds that Brother Pacatos had caused him to inflict upon himself. The court physician had done what he could to repair the torn flap of skin but Meredith would bear an ugly scar for the rest of his days.

  There were a few seconds of silence before the Queen spoke again.

  ‘And you still think that Falco is alive?’

  Aurelian gave a thoughtful nod. ‘I believe so,’ he said. ‘The dragon definitely tried to save him.’

  ‘But where will it take him?’

  ‘Somewhere safe,’ said Aurelian, thinking of the times that Dwimervane had carried him away from danger.

  ‘What about you? Are you sure you will be safe at the cottage?’

  ‘The magi have more to worry about than one old battle mage,’ said Aurelian. ‘They’ll be too busy thinking of ways to justify their deceit.’

  ‘And Nicolas?’

  Aurelian shook his head at the thought of telling Dusaule. How do you tell a man that there was no justification for the deed that broke his heart?

  ‘I should go,’ he said, his voice filled with a deep weariness. ‘Falco’s friends will be wondering why we haven’t returned.’

  With a bow he left the room and the Queen stared after him until the door re-opened and Cyrano came back into the room. The Queen’s advisor had been horrified when she gave the order to take the injured man to her chambers, but now that they had learned the truth he could think of no safer place for the apprentice mage. Still struggling to process the ramifications of all that they had learned he made his way over to stand beside the Queen.

  ‘What will you do?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the Queen and Cyrano gave her a sideways glance.

  He had been amazed by the cold calm with which she had listened to Meredith’s tale, but he knew that she burned with fury too. And now the impossible question of how to proceed lay with her.

  ‘I wish the Chevalier were here,’ said the Queen. ‘He would know what to do.’

  Cyrano could hear the desperate loneliness in her voice.

  ‘Perhaps it’s better he is not,’ he said. ‘Else I fear we would still be collecting magi bodies from the foot of the dragon stone.’

  Here the Queen actually smiled at her advisor’s dark humour.

  ‘Perhaps you are right,’ she said.

  ‘You still think we should tell the people?’ asked Cyrano and the Queen nodded.

  ‘They have a right to know the truth.’

  ‘There will be trouble.’

  ‘What!’ snapped the Queen. ‘More trouble than four hundred years of spiteful opposition: of slaying innocent dragons and emasculating battle mages who might have saved us?’

  Cyrano bowed his head. Like her, he could barely comprehend the enormity of this deceit, but he did not see how sacking the towers and lynching hundreds of magi would help them in the war against the Possessed.

  The Queen’s anger was written in the tight lines of her face. However, behind the physical reaction Cyrano could see her mind working furiously to think of a solution. He knew she would not act in haste, but he needed to know what she intended to do and how much additional security might be required in the city.

  ‘So will you tell them,’ he persisted.

  ‘No,’ said the Queen and here she looked down at Meredith. ‘I will not tell them. He will,’

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ said Cyrano but the Queen’s eyes had taken on a fierce glint and there was no indication that she spoke in jest.

  ‘Do you know the meaning of his name?’ she asked and Cyrano just looked at her. ‘Meredith,’ she mused. ‘From an old Valentian tongue. It means great chief.’

  Cyrano turned back to look at the young man asleep on the bed.

  ‘If the magi are going to survive this they will need a new spokesman,’ continued the Queen as if the idea was gathering weight in he
r mind. ‘Someone the people can actually trust. And I can think of no one better than the one man who had the courage to lay bare their lies.’

  Cyrano was shocked at the very idea, but then he recalled what the Queen had said about the Chevalier and he shook his head despairingly.

  ‘Yes,’ he thought. ‘This was precisely the kind of solution that Sir William would suggest.’

  81

  Reconciled

  Falco became aware of pain in his right shoulder and left arm. His helmet and been pushed askew and the muscles in his neck protested as he turned his head to straighten it. Blinking to clear his vision he tried to take in his surroundings. It was night time and he was lying on bare, slate-coloured rock that shone with the faint glow of moonlight. He tried to shift round but his entire body ached. He felt as if he had taken a beating and had the vague sense that he had lost consciousness. His thoughts and memories felt fuzzy and indistinct. The last thing he remembered was riding into the mountains with Aurelian.

  Inching round he saw that his left arm was still hooked in the strap of his shield, twisted at an awkward angle. With a gasp of pain he adjusted his position and finally succeeded in pulling his arm free. Easing off his gauntlet he tried to move his fingers. They felt stiff and numb but they opened and closed easily enough. It seemed that nothing was broken.

  Shifting again he winced as pain lanced through his right shoulder. He slipped his hand beneath his armour and felt the sticky wetness of blood.

  Removing his other gauntlet he reached up and fumbled with the strap of his helmet. Slipping the buckle he pushed it from his head and the night air felt cold against his sweat damp hair. The left side of his face ached as if from a heavy blow and he reached up gingerly to probe his nose and cheekbone. Again, nothing appeared to be broken but there was more blood around his mouth and nose. With a lightheaded breath he pushed his long hair back from his face and stared out over a remote mountain landscape. He was high in the mountains, very high. Pushing up from the ground he struggled to his knees then froze.