Wordless and numbed by grief they made their way down from the crags where they were met by members of the Exiles who had stayed back to wait for them.
Finally they caught up with the Irregulars but Malaki and the others were deaf to the cries of joy and relief as people recognised faces among the refugees they had saved. All they wanted to do was hide away, but the older commanders insisted on hearing a full report. They listened with grim faces to the account of the expedition and narrowed their eyes in disbelief as Patrick Feckler gave a brief account of Quirren’s demise. Of all those who witnessed the event, only Paddy could bring himself to speak of it.
Despite the fact that so many people had been saved the youngsters could not bear to hear the venture described as a success. As the meeting was concluded Lanista Magnus came over to speak with Malaki. He laid his hand on the younger man’s broad back.
‘We always knew we were going to lose people,’ he said.
Malaki did not reply. If anything his head drooped even lower but then a cold voice caused him to look up.
‘This wouldn’t have happened if Falco was here.’
They looked up to see Alex standing beside them. His face was gaunt, his eyes glazed with trauma. Gone was any trace of the light-hearted joker and there was a distinct note of blame in his voice. They still did not know why Falco had disappeared but it was clear that Alex held him accountable. Malaki struggled not to let this idea gain a foothold in his mind. But it was true. If Falco had been with them, they would have been able to confront the demon, and Quirren would not now be lost.
In the night that followed Malaki and Bryna lay in each other’s arms.
‘We cannot let it destroy us,’ said Bryna, her voice low and cracked from too much crying.
‘But it was my idea to go.’
Bryna lifted Malaki’s chin and stared into his deep brown eyes.
‘Enough!’ she said, and Malaki was surprised by the harshness of her tone. ‘Guilt is just another one of the enemy’s weapons. Isn’t that what they taught us at the academy?’ She paused and her eyes glistened in the darkness. ‘In all my life I have never seen you flinch from a weapon.’
‘But this is diff...’
‘No. It is not.’ And here she reached up to wipe the tears from Malaki’s face. ‘The guilt and the grief is an attack. And we must have the strength to meet it.’
Finally some semblance of resolve appeared in Malaki’s hollow gaze and he gave the smallest of nods.
For a while they just held each other close. And then Malaki spoke again.
‘I wonder what did happen to Falco,’ he said.
‘I don’t know,’ said Bryna. ‘But he will need you when he returns.’
Malaki frowned until Bryna explained.
‘He is the only one who could have done anything to stop what happened today. Imagine how he’s going to feel when he returns to find that Quirren was taken because he wasn’t here to stop it.’
Malaki squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the thought. He was anxious to know what had become of Falco and eager for his return, but now he dreaded the thought of telling him what had become of Quirren. Trying to remember what it felt like to be strong, Malaki drew Bryna close and tried not to think about what had happened. He failed. And when sleep did at last come, his dreams were haunted by the sound of snapping bone and the agonised moans of a soul that wanted to die.
*
Meanwhile, in the city of Hoffen, Falco was also struggling to sleep. Exhausted and stiff with pain he lay on a makeshift cot in the corner of Lysander’s room while Sidian lay outside on the rooftop terrace. The older man had helped the healers tend to Falco’s injuries. He had used his own power to set the broken collar bone and grimaced in sympathy when the healers placed an icepack in Falco’s groin.
Falco was grateful for the help but he was eager to return to the south. ‘I need to get back to my friends.’
‘I understand,’ said Lysander. ‘And Marshal Breton will be expecting you in Amboss.’
He was clearly fascinated by Falco and brimming with questions, but he knew that now was not the time. He had heard the rumours of the black dragon causing havoc in Wrath, but these vague stories had not prepared him for the revelations that he and Feurig were now trying to comprehend.
‘But stay a few days,’ he added. ‘Take some time to recover, at least.’
Falco reluctantly agreed. In truth he had little choice. Both he and Sidian were far too drained to fly. The dragon had also required healing. The stab wound in his chest had come dangerously close to being mortal and Sidian had roared in pain as Falco cauterized the deep injury with a fierce burst of healing energy. The slash on his face had required a number of silver staples and the scar now mirrored the deep gouge in the steel of Falco’s helm. They were both lucky just to be alive.
They had defeated one of the enemy’s most powerful agents and Falco expected to feel some sense of satisfaction but he did not. If anything the sense of impending doom was stronger than ever. And there had been something else, just moments after the Slayer had died, a burst of fury that seemed to resonate through the earth at his feet.
‘Did you feel it?’ he asked Lysander when the healers had finally departed.
‘Yes,’ said Lysander. ‘It is not unusual to feel a flare of outrage after slaying a demon, only never as strongly as this. We have struck the enemy a heavy blow but we have also drawn their attention.’
‘And do you also feel the shadows of fear?’ said Falco. He was hoping that the older man might be able to explain the uncomfortable feelings that had been growing in his mind, but Lysander just frowned in confusion.
‘Shadows of fear?’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘I feel the fear of the people, but you speak of something different...’
Falco nodded, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
‘Darkness in the earth?’ he suggested but Lysander’s frown only deepened. ‘Darkness in the deep...’ added Falco, desperately hoping for some sign of recognition. ‘Darkness on the hills?’
Lysander felt a prickle of unease crawling up his spine but he shook his head. He could sense the force of Falco’s vision but could offer no explanation as to its source.
Falco lowered his eyes in disappointment. To him the sense of approaching darkness was almost overpowering and he had hoped that another battle mage might be able to provide some answers, but it was clear that Lysander had not experienced anything like the feelings Falco described.
‘Try to get some sleep,’ said Lysander. ‘If I see Nathalie or one of the others I will ask them about this darkness.’
Falco nodded but he did not hold out much hope. He looked down at the bed the healers had made up for him and paused. The bed looked comfortable enough, and yet.
‘The healers can move it onto the terrace if you want to sleep beside Sidian.’
It was as if Lysander had read his mind.
‘I just seem to sleep better for some reason,’ said Falco and Lysander gave a dark smile.
‘They keep the nightmares at bay, don’t they?’
Falco could only nod. All his life he had been tormented by nightmares but he had never felt as safe as when he closed his eyes to sleep beside the black dragon that had answered his call.
Sidian raised his head as the healers helped Falco down to the terrace. He watched as they laid out the makeshift bed before departing with a bow. Falco offered his thanks and gave a faint groan of pain as he lowered himself gingerly onto the mattress.
‘Yes,’ he said in answer to a thought from Sidian. ‘I prefer a cold terrace and your heavy breathing to the soft crackle of a cosy fire.’
The dragon raised a scaled brow at his sarcasm and Falco winced as he worked his way under the quilted blanket.
‘We’ll stay a couple of nights,’ he said as he laid his head on the pillow. ‘But then we head back south.’
Sidian’s expression appeared thoughtful as images of flying south played through his mind. He ca
ught flashes of maps that Falco had looked at and saw the faces of Malaki, Bryna and the other humans from the army they had left. He gave a low rumble of agreement and laid his head down on the paved floor of the terrace.
Falco now took it for granted that Sidian understood what he was saying and it seemed entirely natural to see his own thoughts echoed in the dragon’s mind.
He was looking forward to seeing his friends but the thought of what might happen when they reached Amboss brought him little comfort. It was likely that he and the Irregulars would be posted to different areas of the front. Even so, he was eager to see them and there was also the chance of seeing the emissary again. He too should have arrived in Amboss by now. Falco smiled at the prospect but thoughts of the emissary inevitably lead to thoughts of the Queen and there was no peace in thinking of her expedition into Navaria. The thought of her riding into battle made Falco’s guts twist with anxiety.
‘At least she has Aurelian and Dusaule with her,’ he thought and Sidian half opened a golden eye.
‘Yes, and Dwimervane,’ added Falco as an image of the scarred blue dragon appeared in his mind.
Falco smiled and Sidian closed his eye. With an effort he put aside his concerns for Aurelian and the Queen. In a few days he would be back with his friends. Comforted by the thought he finally gave in to the foggy tug of sleep, oblivious to the fact that one of those friends had been taken by the enemy.
While he lay down in relative comfort, so Quirren spent the night in agony, just as he would spend every night and every day until the demon that took him was slain. But Falco was ignorant of his suffering and so, at last, he slept.
92
Pride Before the Fall
The landscape of southern Clemoncé was lush and green with craggy hills and open woodland. The roads of this rural area were not ideal for an army on the march but the Legion du Trône had made good progress on its journey from the capital. They had spent the night camped in a broad valley, the silvery leaves of poplar trees clapping gently in the breeze. But even as the sun rose the soldiers of the Legion had risen from their blankets to continue on their way. Two hours later they reached the north bank of the river Castanea and the Queen called her army to a halt.
The river was shallow and not particularly wide but it marked the southern extent of her domain. Beyond this modest watercourse lay the independent state of Navaria. The territory was a demilitarised zone and leading an armed force onto its soil was considered an act of war. It was for this reason that the Queen had sent two diplomatic messengers to King Tyramimus advising him of the two Possessed armies and asking for permission to enter Navaria with a Clemoncéan army.
The first messenger had already come back empty-handed and now the second had returned and still there was no word from the Lord High Protector of Acheron. Apparently the king was ‘outside the normal channels of communication’ and could not be contacted. The Queen suspected this was some strategic ploy to force her into taking action that he could then use against her. But this was no time for political manoeuvring. Her scouts reported that the first demon army was less than a day’s march from Sophia and the second would soon be closing from the south.
‘Damn the great oaf!’ she cursed as the messenger delivered his report.
‘We could always divert the demon armies south,’ said Aurelian, sitting on his own horse beside her. ‘Lead them into Acheron... That might get the great bullock’s attention.’
The Queen did not respond to Aurelian’s dark humour. In truth she had expected nothing less from a man as arrogant and stubborn as Tyramimus.
Aurelian glanced across to Dusaule but his mute friend seemed unconcerned. Ever since Falco’s summoning he had appeared even more detached, as if he had moved beyond the limits of caring. He returned Aurelian’s gaze before turning to look back across the river. Either they would continue or not. It did not matter to him.
For Queen Catherine the decision was surprisingly simple. She was Clemoncé’s monarch but she had never seen the other nations as ‘foreign’ simply because they lived on the other side of a line on a map. To her they were all people of Wrath.
With not a glimmer of hesitation she raised her hand and led her army across the river. They had a day to reach the city of Sophia before it was overtaken by the enemy. If that meant offending the sensibilities of the great Tyramimus then so be it. Let him declare war. If they did not stop the Possessed then they were doomed in any case.
As the Queen led six thousand troops across the river Aurelian looked to the right where a dark blue shape followed their progress, moving parallel to the army but keeping her distance so as not to spook the horses.
With her damaged body and tight scar tissue the journey had not been easy for Dwimervane but she ignored the pain as she kept pace with the army. Like him she could sense the dark shadow of the enemy and she yearned to oppose them. Aurelian could feel her anticipation and it matched his own. Despite their injuries they were warriors both. Whatever the challenge that might lie ahead they would face it together.
*
On the opposite side of Navaria the army of King Tyramimus gathered on a broad hill as they waited for the enemy to come into view. Clad in traditional muscle armour, the king looked the very image of regal might. His sun-bronzed skin shone with vigour and his teeth looked startlingly white through the black swathe of his beard. Sitting astride his slate grey warhorse he gave a snort of derision as the dispatch rider conveyed the latest diplomatic message from Queen Catherine of Clemoncé.
Tyramimus shook his head at the Queen’s folly. Poor Catherine was as insufferably polite as her father. A demon army threatened her southern border and still she ‘asked’ for his permission to enter Navaria. He had shown no such consideration in bringing his own army north. He had crossed into the neutral state without a second thought and would deal with these invaders as he saw fit. He certainly would not ask for permission from a leader whose own kingdom was on the brink of collapse.
‘My Lord!’
The king’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the battle mage beside him pointed to the far side of the valley where a black flag had been raised against the early morning sky.
The Possessed were approaching.
Trying to calm his rapidly beating heart Tyramimus urged his mount forward. The initial reports had spoken of fourteen thousand Possessed divided into one large and one smaller force, and each with a demon marching at their head. One of the armies had taken a direct route towards Sophia while the other had swung south. Tyramimus had sent out scouts to assess the enemy numbers before deciding which force to engage.
The scouts from Sophia were yet to return but it did not matter. The force in front of them numbered more than eight thousand so that was the one he had chosen to attack. He would leave the smaller force for Queen Catherine, for he had no doubt that she would enter Navaria with or without his permission.
Pleased by his own magnanimity the king sat up straight in the saddle as a ripple of disquiet moved through his army. They could all feel the unnerving sense of something approaching and Tyramimus clenched his jaw as a tide of doubt rose up around his heart. Half a mile down the valley the mist began to dissipate as a dark mass of troops came into view. This was the first time Tyramimus had seen a Possessed force and the sight of it sickened him.
Though dark and lacking in elegance, the Ferocian armour resembled that of his own glorious troops. Thousands of Sciritae with hoplite helm, round-shield and plate cuirass, and dark blocks of more heavily armoured Kardakae and all carrying weapons that would not look out of place among the armies of Acheron or Thraece. But it was not the rank and file of the enemy that chilled the great king’s marrow. It was the massive creature that marched at their head, a thing of nightmare and legend, a demon.
Tyramimus was ashamed of the fear that flooded his mind. For a moment he was worried that the army would perceive his weakness. Fortunately there was someone present who could spare the great king’s pride.
Like a bastion of indomitable will the battle mage looked down upon the massive foe and took the fear upon himself. Tyramimus was not lacking in courage but the fear that swept up the valley was simply beyond the ability of any normal man to bear. Wiping the sweat from his palm he reached across his body to draw his ivory handled kopis sword.
‘We will wait until they reach the crossing,’ he said, intending to attack the Ferocian force as they exposed their flank.
‘That will not be possible, my Lord,’ said the battle mage as the demon stopped and raised its head to look directly at them. ‘As I sense its presence, so it senses mine,’ he explained.
Tyramimus shuddered to think of such an intimate link with these monsters of hell.
‘We will tackle the demon and the bestiarum,’ said the battle mage, referring to his storm blue dragon. ‘If his Majesty can prevent us from being overrun...’
The muscles in the king’s jaw bunched with determination.
‘You will not be overrun,’ he said and he was proud of the certainty in his voice.
Feeling a newfound sense of calm he raised his sword and a chorus of salpinx war trumpets sounded the piercing call for étoimoi, stand ready. Beside him the great dragon shifted in anticipation as they waited for the enemy to move into position. They would hold until the Possessed reached the foot of the hill and then the army of King Tyramimus would attack.
*
Pausing on the narrow drovers’ road the Queen frowned as she received the latest report on the whereabouts of King Tyramimus. Far from being tucked away in some palatial retreat, the Acheronian king had led an army of his own to confront the Possessed in Navaria. However, he had chosen to attack the force that swung close to his border, while her scouts reported that the other Possessed army was closing on Sophia more quickly than they had thought.
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