Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  For a moment Falco could not believe it. He found it hard to comprehend how such strength could suddenly be reduced to nought.

  ‘He saved us,’ said Malaki, his voice was thick with emotion. ‘When the battle resumed the Kardakae engulfed us. We were cut off,’ Malaki’s gaze was inward, focussed on that terrible moment in the battle. ‘But Huthgarl charged them. He forced a way through and held it open for us to break free.’

  Bryna reached out to place her hand over his as the four friends remembered those they had lost. After a while they left him to rest, but Falco no longer felt tired. Beyond the tent he could feel Sidian waiting for him. The dragon’s presence gave him strength and he could not wait until he was well enough to fly with him once more.

  ‘All in good time,’ the dragon’s thoughts seemed to say. ‘But for now you rest.’

  Falco smiled as his mind was filled with images of his own face reposed in sleep. How many times had the dragon stayed awake to watch him as he slept? A guardian of constant vigilance, a companion of endless strength.

  As afternoon gave way to evening, Falco was strong enough to get out of bed and help some of the injured men around him. He was trying to ease the pain of a man who had lost his leg when a wave of weariness washed over him.

  ‘You mustn’t try to do too much,’ said a familiar voice and Falco turned as Meredith Saker caught hold of his arm.

  The young mage helped him back to his bed and poured him a cup of water. As the dizziness passed Falco asked him what news they had of the cities that had been attacked, but Meredith just shook his head. During the battle he and his fellow mages had lost concentration and their communication link with the other cities had been broken.

  ‘We get the occasional image or fragmented sentence, but nothing clear,’ he explained. ‘All we can say for certain is that Amboss was saved.’

  After Meredith had left him, Falco found that he was ready for something to eat, but the taste of the food was ruined by the charred smell of death from the piles of Possessed corpses still burning at the far end of the valley. He tried to rest but he could not sleep.

  It was around midnight when he felt the presence of three men, moving through the tent towards him. Putting aside any thoughts of sleep Falco got off his bed and stood up to meet them. He had already met the healer but beside him was a tall man with weathered skin, blue eyes and a mass of thick grey hair. The third had long brown hair, shot through with broad streaks of grey. His features were craggy, his expression stern, but there was warmth in his deep brown eyes as he looked at Falco.

  They did not speak, but only stood together, and what passed between them could not be expressed in words. Never in his life had Falco felt so safe as he did at that moment, standing in the presence of the hermit, the healer and the fisherman.

  They could not explain the bond that existed between them and none of them felt the need to try. All they knew was that it was about twenty years since their faith had been broken and Falco was about twenty years old. Somehow the birth of this child had echoed through their lives and given them hope. Had the Fates known that he would one day heal the rift between humans and dragons, and offer them the chance to redeem their souls?

  Perhaps... but who could say?

  All that could be said was that they would not have survived the guilt without him and he would not have survived the nightmares without them.

  The strength of their presence lingered even after they had left, but still Falco felt restless. Hoping for a breath of fresh air he got up to leave the tent. The night was illuminated by a bright gibbous moon and Falco swept his gaze over the allied camp, calm and subdued in the aftermath of battle. But then he turned to look out across the valley where hundreds of men were still working through the night. In the cold light of the moon Falco could see row upon row of shapes laid out across the valley floor. It took him a moment to realise that they were bodies, bodies of the deceased waiting for the living to dig their graves.

  The sight struck Falco to the core and he found that he could not move, but then he felt another presence and he turned to see a man beside him, a man who swayed a little as he balanced on a pair of crutches.

  ‘There was always going to be suffering,’ said the emissary. ‘There was always going to be death.’ He turned to look at the young man standing next to him. ‘But there wasn’t always going to be victory, Falco. There wasn’t always going to be hope.’

  With so many dead it certainly did not feel like a victory but Falco could accept the truth of the emissary’s words. Ever since they first met in Caer Dour there had been a strange bond between Falco and the emissary, and now they found comfort in each other’s presence. For a while, they watched the work parties together and when Falco returned at last to his makeshift bed he was finally able to sleep.

  By the following day Falco was feeling much better. He spent the morning doing what he could to help the injured and in the afternoon he went for a walk with the emissary.

  ‘The healer says I need to keep moving,’ said the emissary as they walked towards the edge of the camp where four black dragons watched them from the hillside. Their progress was slow and the emissary drew in a sharp breath of pain each time he caught his leg on a stone or tuft of grass. They had just decided to turn back when Falco’s attention was drawn to the command tent from where Marshal Breton and several of the other surviving commanders had just emerged.

  ‘Something’s happened,’ said Falco as the commanders walked towards them. With them were Lanista Magnus, Meredith Saker and two of the battle mages that Falco had met in the night.

  Hobbling round on his crutches the emissary came to stand with Falco.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked as the commanders approached, but none of them seemed eager to answer.

  ‘We’ve received news from Amboss,’ said Marshal Breton at last.

  ‘At least we think the message is from Amboss,’ said Meredith and he too seemed reticent.

  ‘It’s actually two messages,’ Marshal Breton went on.

  ‘And they contradict each other,’ added Meredith.

  The emissary gave an impatient sigh, annoyed by their prevarication.

  ‘And the messages said, what?’

  ‘One spoke of the Queen’s death and Prince Ludovico claiming the throne,’ said Marshal Breton mindful of the reaction this might provoke.

  ‘And the other?’ asked the emissary, his tone hardening at the thought of the Prince leaping onto the throne before the Queen’s body was even cold.

  ‘The other message was very faint and fragmented,’ said Meredith. ‘Although the mage who received thinks he could make out two words.’

  ‘Which were?’ snapped the emissary tiring of this charade.

  ‘The first word was Queen,’ said Meredith and he swallowed before he continued. ‘We think the second word was lives.’

  The emissary’s eyes fixed him like two steel blades. Who were these fools to stir the coals of his grief?

  ‘We could learn more if we had a quintet and a chamber of discourse,’ said Meredith. ‘But we are only three. We were lucky to get anything at all.’

  The emissary’s expression suggested that their attempts were anything but lucky.

  ‘We can dispatch a rider to Amboss,’ said Marshal Breton.

  ‘Or a dragon,’ said Lanista Magnus. ‘If Amboss has news from the capital we will know it in a day or so.’

  ‘But even they sound confused,’ said Falco. ‘Yes, we could send a messenger, but we might end up none the wiser.’ Here he stopped and turned to the emissary. ‘In a few days I could be back in Wrath. And then we’d know for certain.’

  The emissary stared at him and there was a new kind of fear in his eyes, it was the fear of allowing hope back into his heart. Finally his gaze hardened.

  ‘She is dead,’ he said as if he could not bear the thought of believing her alive only to lose her all over again.

  ‘We won’t know for sure until we reach the capital,’ s
aid Falco and he felt almost cruel as he saw the desperate glint of hope in the emissary’s eyes.

  ‘I will follow you overland,’ said the emissary but Falco shook his head.

  ‘Ten days bouncing in the saddle would kill you,’ he said.

  ‘But three days of smooth flight on a dragon’s back would not,’ said the battle mage from Illicia. ‘Erlösung would bear you, I am sure of it,’ he added, and up on the hillside one of the black dragons now stepped forward.

  People looked at the battle mage as if he were mad, but there was a fierce light burning in the emissary’s eyes.

  ‘We’d take it easy,’ said Falco. ‘And I could heal you along the way.’

  ‘We must go directly there,’ said the emissary. ‘No stopping at towns or cities. I could not bear to follow a trail of rumour and speculation.’ Falco nodded and the emissary went on. ‘We must head directly for Wrath. Only then will we know the truth. If Prince Ludovico is on the throne then we will know that the Queen is truly dead.’

  ‘We’ll fly together,’ said Falco.

  ‘We leave at once,’ said the emissary.

  105

  All The Hordes of Hell

  Down from the high valley they flew and out over the rolling hills towards the forested kingdom of Clemoncé. Even with the gentle rise and fall of a dragon’s flight Falco knew the emissary was in great pain. They rested often and Falco would do what he could to help but the emissary would never let them tarry for long. They travelled now for Wrath and the final truth of Queen Catherine’s fate.

  It was the morning of the third day when they first caught sight of the capital and Falco’s heart sank as the distant towers came into view. The flags of turquoise and pale blue were flying at half mast. Falco’s heart was beating heavily and he could only guess at what the emissary must be feeling, but even now he did not hesitate. For good or ill it was time for them to learn the truth.

  For a while the city did not appear to be getting closer but then it suddenly seemed to expand until it was spread out below them. Falco had suggested that they land on the plateau so as not to alarm the people in the city but the emissary would have none of it.

  ‘This is going to be quite the entrance,’ thought Falco as they circled down to land on the Queen’s personal terrace where a short path led to her apartments.

  The palace guards were stunned by the sight of two black dragons descending towards them. The guards were placed to intercept people entering the palace via the normal routes. They had no reason to expect that someone would seek to gain access from above, but now they scurried to reach the terrace as Falco and the emissary dismounted. The emissary was clearly in pain but he wasted no time as he limped towards the door at the end of the terrace.

  As they advanced, Falco could not help noticing that the palace guards were dressed, not in the pale blue and turquoise colours of the Queen, but in the green and silver livery of Prince Ludovico. Despite the pain that stabbed through his hip the emissary’s face was set hard with anger as he threw open the door to the Queen’s apartments.

  The entrance gave onto a long room with several internal doors leading off to the sides, but the emissary moved straight towards the door at the end, which led directly into the Queen’s personal chambers. The guards at the door had heard the cries of alarm and now they moved to block the two men advancing towards them.

  It was clear that they recognised the emissary, but still the first guard put out a hand to stop him. Limping forward, the emissary took hold of the first guard’s hand, twisted his arm and thrust him to the floor. The second guard tensed, but then he was also thrown aside as Falco made a swiping gesture with his hand. The man was momentarily stunned as the door at the end of the corridor opened and two men appeared. One was an elderly man, dressed in the grey robes of a city official. The second was Prince Ludovico himself.

  The prince was in the process of thanking the man when he caught sight of Falco and the emissary. He stared in surprise, frowned as he recognised Sir William and then gasped as the emissary grabbed the front of his robes and swung him round, slamming him hard against the wall.

  ‘You vulture!’ he snarled. ‘You jackal of the night.’

  Struck dumb with shock the prince opened his mouth to speak, but the emissary ground his fists upwards into his jaw, while Falco looked at the guards with an expression that made it clear they would be wise not to intervene.

  ‘How long did you wait before stealing her throne?’ said the emissary, his face contorted with uncharacteristic rage. ‘Did you even bring her body back to the people or is she buried beneath the fields of Valentia?’

  The prince made no attempt to answer as the emissary’s grip restricted his breathing.

  Moving forward Falco placed a hand on the emissary’s shoulder as five more guards burst into the corridor. They moved towards the emissary, but Falco’s outstretched palm made them think otherwise.

  ‘You’ve always been jealous,’ hissed the emissary. ‘Always coveted the throne and the woman who sat upon it. But you will never be worthy of it, just as you were never worthy of...’

  ‘William.’

  The name was softly spoken and yet it stopped the emissary with the force of a magical spell. He did not release his grip, he did not turn. He froze as if at some cold touch from beyond the grave.

  ‘William,’ the voice said again and finally the emissary found the courage to look around. And there stood a vision.

  Without even thinking the emissary let go of the prince and turned towards this vision of the woman he loved. Her face was thin and her skin was pale, but there was no mistaking the light in her deep blue eyes.

  Could it be?

  The vision held out a hand and the emissary limped towards it. Closer now and he could see new scars on her face, but the curve in her long dark hair was the same as ever. Fearful that it would disappear at any moment he reached out to take the vision’s hand. And what wonder was this, but it did not fade. Slowly the emissary allowed himself to believe that it might be true then the vision smiled and finally he could see his Queen, his Catherine.

  He did not see the hollow cheeks and sunken eyes of a woman who had come close to death. He did not see the empty sleeve, pinned discreetly across the bodice of her dress. All he could see was her face. All he knew was that she was alive.

  The Queen reached up and the emissary held her hand against the stubble on his cheek.

  ‘You came back to me,’ she said.

  ‘Though all the hordes of hell should stand between us,’ said the emissary and the Queen’s eyes glistened with tears.

  Falco felt himself overcome with wonder and then his joy was compounded as he turned to see the hunched figure of Aurelian standing beside him.

  ‘You took your time getting here,’ said the cantankerous old battle mage.

  Falco could sense the sadness in Aurelian’s mind and he caught a quick image of Dwimervane and Dusaule. Somehow he knew that both were gone. His heart gave a sudden spasm of loss but Aurelian put a hand on his arm and gave him a cracked toothed smile as they turned back to the emissary and the Queen.

  ‘They both look knackered,’ said Aurelian. ‘Maybe now people will leave them in peace for a bit.’

  ‘But her arm,’ said Falco. He wondered what terrible events must have taken place for her to have suffered such an injury, but Aurelian just shrugged.

  ‘Ah, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Some of the finest people I know have only one arm.’

  106

  The Cairn of Fallen Souls

  From Hoffen in the north, to the city of Seeburg in the south, the allied forces were reeling from the enemy’s great offensive. Never before had they faced such a concerted wave of attacks, but they had prevailed. The Possessed had breached the front in several places and two cities had fallen, but the Queen was confident that these could be retaken in time. There were still numerous demons and Possessed armies emerging from the Forsaken Lands, but the balance of the war had changed
forever.

  For all its terrible cost, Falco’s victory against the Marchio Dolor had dealt the Possessed a powerful blow. The tide of darkness had turned and now the allied armies pushed forward to reclaim the land that they had lost. The soldiers of Illicia, Beltane and Clemoncé were exhausted but they no longer fought alone. What the Queen had failed to achieve in life had been accomplished by the widespread news of her death. The kingdoms were finally united.

  The legions of Tyramimus marched out to join them in the east.

  The people of Valentia rebelled against their cowardly king and even now their armies were flooding into Beltane, eager to regain something of the reputation for valour that they had once enjoyed.

  Even the southern kingdom of Thraece was joining the fight. After years of being thwarted by the magi, Cleomenes the Younger had finally come of age. In a gesture of mercy he had killed his father, releasing him from the mindless coma in which the magi had been keeping him alive. And as for the magi themselves... the young Cleomenes had invited them to a grand feast of reconciliation, where he poisoned Veneratu Ischyrós and thirteen of his senior magi. Now a fleet of Thraecian war triremes was sailing for the coast around the beleaguered city of Svarthaven.

  ‘The people trapped in that forsaken corner of the world may yet be saved,’ the Queen had said to Falco as they stood together on the marble floor map in the Chamber of Council.

  The light from the oil lamps was reflected in the polished floor and Falco watched as it played over the Queen’s face. It highlighted the scars on her skin, but for all her injuries the determination in her voice was as strong as ever.

  ‘The kingdoms have united,’ she told him. ‘Finally the Possessed will know what it means to face the world of Wrath.’

  Falco spent almost a week in the capital, but as his strength grew so he felt the urge to return to the front. Yes, the world had united but this war was far from over and there would be more suffering and death before the final victory could be claimed. However, before he returned to Malaki and the others, there was one last thing he needed to do.