Breathing heavily and almost crippled with pain the emissary ignored his defeated foes and limped forward to stand between Falco and the demon. The strength had gone from his body and the world seemed to tilt beneath him as the emissary dropped his sword and let the shield slip from his arm. With both hands he reached up to push the great-helm from his head and then he raised his gaze to look upon the Marquis of Pain. His grey eyes were filled with fear, but there was no mistaking his intentions or the strength of his resolve.
The emissary was offering his own soul in place of Falco’s.
The Marchio understood this man’s gesture. He understood that other humans might consider it noble, but to the demons of the Possessed such an offer was meaningless. They could claim this man’s soul whether he offered it or not, but the Defiants were different.
For some reason the Defiants were able to resist both fear and despair and thus the demons were unable to claim their souls. No. Falco’s soul was worth no more than any others’, but the fact that the Possessed could not claim it made it a prize of maddening value.
With a growl of impatience the Demon advanced upon the emissary. His would be the first soul Possessed this day. Finally overcome by fear the emissary collapsed to his knees as the Marchio loomed over him. The demon reached out and placed a massive hand on either side of the emissary’s head, just as he had with the mighty Vercincallidus. The emissary felt the searing touch of the demon’s hands. He knew that he hovered on the edge of an abyss, but even now his final thoughts were for the Queen.
Had she writhed in pain as her mind was lost to desolation?
Had her life ended like this?
‘Yes, it had,’ said a voice in his mind and the emissary began to cry.
Pleased by the extent of the man’s suffering the Marchio smiled. He let the flames of Baëlfire flow down his arms but stopped them just before they reached the human’s head. Then he raised his eyes to look at Falco.
‘Now we will see which is greater,’ said the voice in Falco’s mind. ‘Your love and compassion, or your fear of hell. Your soul for the souls of ninety thousand others.’
‘Yes or no?’
Falco literally shook with the effort it took to find his voice. He knew that once he spoke the word, he could never take it back. His fate and the fate of the entire army would be decided in an instant. His mind was filled with the torment he would suffer as a consequence of his decision and the satisfaction in the demon’s eyes was almost more than he could bear. But he could put it off no longer. Filled with self loathing he uttered the word.
‘No.’
The Marchio Dolor frowned, but Falco’s gaze did not waver. He would never forgive himself for what he had done, but he also knew that the enemy had tried to trick him. All his life he had believed that this was a choice between himself and those he loved, a choice between courage and cowardice. But this was not a question of courage, it was a question of faith. Did he have the strength to keep faith even if it condemned his friends to eternal damnation?
Even if it condemned the world?
‘No,’ he said again and his quiet voice resonated through all the thousands of minds on the battlefield. And then, with a huge effort of will, he added.
‘You... are... defied.’
The allied army wailed in the face of their damnation, but the Marchio’s mind blazed with fury.
‘You will burn,’ he said, his entire body seething with anger. ‘We might not be able to claim your soul but I will keep you alive for a hundred years and every hour the agony will be worse than the one that went before.
‘I will stop open your ears so that you cannot shut out the screams of those that you have damned. It will feel like an eternity and the last thought in your tortured mind will be the knowledge that the suffering of those you love will never end.’
Still holding the emissary’s head the Marquis of Pain released the flames of hell, but they did not reach the Chevalier’s flesh. Falco flooded his body with a power that denied the hateful fire. He knew it was only a temporary reprieve, but while he could, he would use his power to protect those he loved.
With an angry growl the demon flung the emissary aside and struck Falco with the full force of his mind. The sheer power of it drove Falco to one knee with a storm of screaming hatred trying to press him into the earth. He tried to rise but his strength was diminished by the realisation of what he had done. He could feel the resentment of every soul on the battlefield. The weight of it was like a mountain of guilt and Falco’s strength began to crumble as the other demons added their strength to the force of the Marchio’s spite.
Falco’s mind was suddenly filled with images of all the people he cared about. He saw Fossetta and Simeon, Malaki and Bryna, the emissary and the Queen. He saw the man with the stubble chin and the deep brown eyes. And finally he saw a woman with green eyes and long dark hair, a woman he had never known but always loved.
‘I’m sorry,’ he breathed in the lightless cavern of his mind, but the faces did not hear him. He was lost to them, dead to them.
The physical pain of the demons’ attacks was terrible but the psychological pain of his betrayal was worse. He might have saved himself from the clutches of hell yet still he felt himself slipping towards a bottomless chasm of despair, but then he felt another darkness converging on this place and with it came yet more phantoms from his dreams.
At first he did not recognise them, for he had never experienced their presence in the light of his waking mind, and yet he had known them all his life. In dreams he had helped them survive their own guilt and shame, and in turn they had supported him through his trials of illness, grief and nightmare. And now they had come to save him in his hour of greatest need.
Falco hardly dared believe it as a spark of hope rekindled in his breast. The force of the demons’ hatred tried to break him, but now he found the strength to resist and suddenly he remembered the words that he had muttered so often in his sleep.
Darkness is coming, he would breathe as Fossetta wiped the fevered sweat from his brow.
Darkness in the earth.
Darkness in the deep.
Darkness on the hills.
And darkness was indeed coming, darkness borne upon wings of pinioned night, darkness driven mad by treachery and redeemed by grace.
Even as the demons’ spite threatened to destroy him Falco braced himself against the ground and the Marchio Dolor frowned. No mortal could bear the force of evil that they drove into this human’s mind and yet he remained. He had known that this Defiant was dangerous. It was time for the Faithful to cease their indulgence and kill him.
Drawing his sword the demon started forward but then some movement in the air caught his attention and he stopped. The Marchio Dolor was suddenly filled with doubt and then they appeared, three dark shapes descending onto three treeless hills, three black dragons, and between the wings of each, a man.
A hermit.
A healer.
And a man who fished the seas.
Three men lost to guilt and shame, saved by the birth of a child they had never met, a child who had somehow given them hope. That child had now become a man and that man now knelt on the valley floor, surrounded by a cabal of demons who were trying to crush his spirit. The child was almost broken, almost lost, almost but not quite yet.
Reaching out with their minds the Disavowed took the child into their embrace and Falco raised his head.
For every death and plundered soul.
For every dragon slain and battle mage bereft.
For every heart that clung to hope, and every soul consigned to hell.
Falco raised his head.
And not the fiercest flames of Hades could match the fire that burned in his bright green eyes.
A few yards to his left a black shape stirred as Sidian strained against his bonds. No wyrm could break the chains that bound him to the ground, but Sidian was not a wyrm, he was a dragon from beyond the Endless Sea and there was a series o
f loud chinks and pops as the chains snapped and Sidian surged to his feet.
Time stalled and the Valley of the Three Brethren seemed to hang on the cusp of violence, army facing army, demons facing the great souls of Wrath. And then the Marquis of Pain roared out a deafening command.
To kill and claim them all.
His fellow demons gathered their power in dark swirling clouds and the Possessed moved once more to attack. The blade of the Marchio’s sword shone with a furious light and his eyes burned with hatred as he started towards Falco.
Still kneeling, Falco made no move to stop him. He braced the rim of his shield against the earth while his right hand remained empty. He was not immune to the imminent danger, he was listening, listening for a faint sound like the distant ring of steel. Even above the rising tumult he heard it and reaching back with his free hand he strained with all his might.
*
Two hundred yards away Alex Klingemann heard a metallic rattling sound at his feet. Glancing down he saw Falco’s sword, still lying where he had dropped it and now he listened as the sword began to resonate with an ominous hum.
The hum rose to a screaming whine until it passed into a kind of silence. In captivated wonder Alex watched the sword raise a few inches into the air and then, like an arrow from the bow, it shot off across the ground.
*
The Marchio was almost upon him but still Falco did not move. The demon raised his sword and the infernal blade began to fall and finally Falco felt something slam into his palm, something that could withstand an edge of hell-forged steel. As the Marchio’s blade came down Falco swung his sword to meet it and the demon’s deathblow was deflected.
The Marchio Dolor actually staggered from the force of the impact and Falco rose to his feet. Beside him Sidian roared as he launched himself at one of the minotaur demons, while from the hilltops his kindred came swooping down, carrying with them the battle mages from Illicia, Beltane and Thraece.
All across the valley the allied forces dragged themselves back from the brink of despair and struggled to wrestle their broken formations into some kind of order. The fear of the demons was still as strong as ever, but now they were protected by the faith of not one but three battle mages. The fourth withheld his protection for he needed all his strength to face the demon who now attacked with such fury as the world had rarely seen.
The earth buckled, the air burned and the Marchio’s sword was a livid shard of razor sharp steel. Falco ducked as the glowing blade cut a blazing path just inches above his head. He fortified his arm to take a blow on his shield and even through the disk of Missaglias steel he could feel the heat of the Marchio’s blade. The demon attacked with terrifying strength, but Falco did not waver. He had faced the challenge of his nightmares and his faith remained intact.
The demon conjured Baëlfire and drove it at him in great devouring torrents, but Falco’s power shed the flames like water. The strength of his defence drove the Marchio to even greater heights of rage and the demon channelled his unholy power into his sword until it scorched the air with its heat.
Falco could feel the hateful force in the Marchio’s blade and he knew the touch of it would mean death. For all his faith, Falco knew his own strength was finite and he could not resist the demon’s might much longer.
If he was going to survive this confrontation then he must end it now.
Moving with speed that belied his fatigue Falco parried two blazing sword strikes and then he struck, once to the Marchio’s shoulder and again to the demon’s thigh. Mercurial blood spilled onto the earth, but still the demon came on and Falco was forced to defend against another avalanche of brutal attacks. The demon sent a stream of fire towards his chest but Falco spun away, whirling round to slam his sword into the side of the Marchio’s helm. His blade sheared off the demon’s right horn and cut a deep gash into his arcane steel.
A spasm ran through the Marchio’s body and he dropped his sword as an oily fluid seeped from his cloven skull. He tried to grapple him but Falco stepped backwards delivering a savage diagonal strike from left shoulder to right hip. So intense was the energy surging through Falco’s blade that it sliced through the demon’s enchanted armour. Even now the Marchio glared at him with a gaze that burned like fire, but Falco did not waver as he drew back his arm and drove his blade into the demon’s chest. Dark blood welled from the Marchio’s mouth as Falco’s blade sank towards his mortal heart, but with the last of his unholy strength the demon reached out to grab hold of Falco, pulling him into an embrace of death as his body erupted with Baëlfire.
If he was going to die then the Marquis of Pain would take the Defiant with him.
Falco bared his teeth in agony as the dark fire engulfed him. He tried to block its awful heat but he did not have the strength to finish the demon and defend against the flames. The tendons in his neck were stretched bowstring tight and Falco screamed as he channelled all his power into the tempered blade of his sword.
Deep inside the demon’s chest Falco’s sword flared with the force of his faith and then his mind gave out as both battle mage and demon were lost in an explosion of dark flame and blinding incandescent light.
Slowly the cataclysm faded and in its place, darkness.
104
Of Healing, Grief & Hope
Falco woke to the murmur of voices and the sounds of people moaning in pain. He opened his eyes. Above him the sky was white and it took him a moment to realise it was the pale canvas of a tent. The air was filled with the pungent smell of ointments and herbs but it was also thick with the acrid stench of smoke and burning flesh. He became aware of figures moving around him and slowly turned his head. His vision was blurred but he could see people lying on makeshift beds while others bustled around them. He was lying in an army field hospital.
‘He’s awake!’ said a voice from close by and Falco looked up to see Bryna sitting on the edge of his bed.
‘About time!’ said another voice and Alex stepped into his field of view. The teasing smile on the young Illician’s face was the same as ever, but his gaze was now tinged with an enduring shadow of sadness.
Another figure appeared beside Bryna and tears welled in Falco’s eyes.
‘Welcome back, pastry boy,’ said Malaki and Falco thought his heart might burst with joy.
He tried to sit up but his head swam and he was forced to lie back down. His body ached from head to toe and his skin felt tight and raw as if it might tear with any sudden movement. He closed his eyes against the sudden discomfort but then he felt a gentle hand on his chest and all the pain just faded away, replaced by a familiar tingling warmth.
Falco opened his eyes to see an older man standing over him. The deep brown colour of his skin and his dark ebony eyes marked him as a man of Thraece and Falco knew at once that he was a battle mage. The man had the saddest and most handsome face that he had ever seen and Falco had the strangest feeling that they had met before.
For a moment the man did not speak, but only smiled at the confusion in Falco’s eyes.
‘I will tell the others you have awoken,’ he said, his accent surprisingly soft for one who lived at the southern extent of the world.
With a sense of wonder Falco watched him leave.
‘He’s been amazing,’ said Bryna, coming back to sit on his bed. ‘Definitely the finest healer I’ve ever seen.’
‘He healed you after the battle,’ said Malaki. ‘Treated your burns.’
‘You can hardly see the scars anymore,’ said Alex.
Looking down at his bare arms Falco could see that his hair had been singed away and his skin was covered with faint silvery marks like swirling tongues of flame. Then all at once, the final moments of the battle came back to him.
‘The Possessed?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Destroyed,’ said Malaki.
‘And the demons?’
‘Dead.’
‘All of them?’ pressed Falco and Malaki could hear the anxiety in his friend’s v
oice. He knew Falco was asking about one demon in particular.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘All of them.’
Falco’s face relaxed as his mind was flooded with relief. For a moment he turned his mind inward and listened for the taunting spectre of his dreams but he heard only silence. Finally he opened his eyes.
‘What about the army?’
‘Not good,’ said Malaki and Falco braced himself for the worst. ‘We have near forty thousand dead, few that aren’t injured and none that weren’t affected by the fear.’
Falco’s brow gathered in a frown of understanding. Those overcome by the fear might recover in time, but forty thousand dead! He could barely comprehend the figure but then he asked an even harder question.
‘And of those we know?’ he asked. ‘The emissary...’
‘He’s alive,’ said Malaki and Falco’s body sagged with relief. ‘Although he’ll never walk properly again.’
‘But he’s alive,’ thought Falco as he steeled himself to hear the names of those who had not been so lucky.
Among the names was Dedric Sayer, the foul-mouthed scoundrel from Bryna’s Dalwhinnies, and Allyster Mollé, the young archer who had equalled Bryna’s score on the day of the Trials. Malaki spoke of Alcaeus, the Acheronian cadet that Falco had first tried to match on the daily run up to the Pike, and Lanista Deloix the quiet academy instructor that had always moved with a lethal and feline grace.
Falco winced at the name of General Renucci and felt a surprising stab of loss to hear that Jarek Snidesson had also died. Jarek had been the bane of his early life but over the last few months they had been able to view each other with mutual respect.
But Malaki’s voice had failed him at the final name.
‘And Huthgarl too,’ said Alex while Bryna dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.
Battle Mage Page 93
