Rise of the Deathbringer

by Mark Boutros

  He swallowed. ‘When nobody found your body, our father heard you were sighted and searched for you—’ he wheezed. ‘But after years of searching, he met his death.’ Arazod scratched his feathers and remembered digging his talons into his father’s throat and then shredding it. ‘Oh, we mourned. But whoever murdered him made him give them command of the Fools and they attacked our home during his funeral.’ Arazod threw the bones away.

  Ryza dug her talons into the edge of the roof, a flicker of emotion in her cold eyes. ‘We need to make the Man-Hawks great again.’ She stood and stretched her spiked wings. ‘We’re going home.’

  Arazod pushed himself up to his feet. His stomach ached and he wasn’t sure if it was from his first substantial meal in three years or the thought of going home. ‘We shouldn’t. It’s been long deserted. It might be—’ he coughed. ‘Dangerous.’

  Ryza stared into the distance. ‘We’re going home.’

  Arazod’s feathers felt hot. He’d hoped he would never have to return.

  Ryza pointed to Quizmal. ‘Before we go, kill that idiot. We don’t need him anymore.’

  Arazod shook his head, scared to oppose his sister, but he wanted to prove his use, and Ryza had told Arazod where she had kidnapped Quizmal from. ‘Perhaps we should keep him a while longer,’ Arazod suggested.

  ‘No,’ Ryza said.

  Arazod had no doubt Oaf would come for Quizmal. ‘But his father is the strongest being in Hastovia. The only way to best that strength is by using fear. And Oaf will be searching for his son.’

  Ryza nodded. ‘Very well, Little Arazod. But he’s your responsibility.’

  He nodded.

  They flew to the Ivory Archipelago and landed on the shore.

  Arazod dropped Quizmal onto the sand and left him shivering.

  Arazod had long forgotten about his home. Built into the hillside was their abandoned town of ivory, covered in nests and thick twisted webs. Humans had inhabited it before the Man-Hawks took it. Now it was lifeless; a monument of death.

  The arch was the large, angry face of the first known Man-Hawk, Cyran, and the entrance was through his beak. A crack ran through one of his stone eyes.

  A statue of Supreme Man-Hawk, Sarzo, stood to the left of the arch, while a beheaded statue lay on the ground to the right. The surrounding ruined islands showed no life.

  Ryza fanned her wings out. ‘What happened here?’ She stood over the bones of a fallen Man-Hawk.

  ‘It was brutal,’ Arazod said. ‘Being back makes the screams of the dead loud again.’ He stood exactly where he was when he watched the last Man-Hawk get speared through the back of her head.

  Ryza walked through the beak. She kicked some bones and shrieked.

  The cry chilled Arazod’s feathers. ‘We should go, dear sister. There’s nothing here for us.’

  ‘Shut up.’ She shrieked again and stared into the remains of her home. ‘I need to see Father’s tomb.’

  They walked through the eerie wreckage and down rocky steps to a web-covered stone double door, sculpted in the image of Sarzo’s face. It looked so real; the feathered frowning beak and judging eyes. Arazod feared Sarzo would appear from it and peck his head like he used to.

  Chains wrapped the door handles, and the shazaq, a split-point steel serrated sword that Arazod had wedged through the handles, was still there.

  Ryza ran her claws through the thick webs.

  Something shuffled behind them, but when they turned there was nothing.

  Arazod reached for the shazaq handle in case Ryza turned on him. ‘Okay, well, I’ll go ahead and make sure no—’

  Ryza pushed him out of the way. ‘I’ll take that.’ She removed the sword, hacked the chains off and pulled the doors open. The smell of rotten corpses and waste exploded out of the tomb.

  Arazod covered his mouth. Blood and talon marks covered the inside of the left door. He stood in front of it.

  ‘Speak!’ Ryza called into the tomb.

  They stepped in and descended, Ryza leading with her sword.

  Arazod could kick her down the stairs and trap her inside, but it was too risky.

  A streak of sunrise followed them into the depths of the tomb.

  Hundreds of Man-Hawk corpses, rotten, atrophied and chained, covered the ground.

  ‘How?’ Ryza approached the ivory block their father rested on.

  Sarzo’s decaying body lay in a burial nest of golden sticks. He held his weapon, the Grave Blade, a two-handed steel sword with small blades welded to its sides. His armour, a crystal cuirass modified for his wings, and a spiked helmet lay at his talons. A thin beam of sunlight shone through a tube from the tomb ceiling, illuminating Sarzo’s skull.

  Ryza touched the loose skin and decaying feathers on his face. She stroked the wounds on his throat and turned to Arazod.

  ‘Such a tragedy,’ he said.

  ‘They’re all dead!’ Ryza’s beak twitched. ‘This sort of thing doesn’t happen to Man-Hawks! We’re stronger than this!’

  Arazod put his claw on Ryza’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go. It’s too sad here.’

  She nodded and they turned away.

  ‘Ryza?’ a voice strained from the wall.

  Arazod’s feathers shook.

  ‘What was that?’ Ryza placed the sword by the block and grabbed the Grave Blade. She shrieked.

  It couldn’t be.

  Ryza pressed her head to the tiled wall and walked along it.

  ‘What was what? Your mind must be toying with you?’

  ‘Quiet!’

  She shrieked again.

  A shriek came from beyond the wall.

  Arazod backed towards the steps. A sickness rose in his throat. A nightmare worse than living with the Great Dragon was coming true.

  Ryza moved a pile of bones. Underneath, a small tunnel descended into a pit.

  Roughly twenty emaciated Man-Hawks, still alive but weak, were huddled together. Their wings, ankles and wrists were chained. They must have tried to dig their way out.

  ‘Arnul.’ Ryza pulled Arnul up. He still wore his breastplate and his beak and talons were worn. A scar ran down his cheek.

  ‘My General. You’re alive.’ He fell to a knee. ‘You!’ His eyes widened and he hopped towards Arazod.

  Ryza grabbed Arnul’s arm.

  ‘He fled and left us all to die! We had to eat our brothers and sisters to survive!’

  Arazod raised his claws. ‘I fled so we could live to fight again. I would have returned sooner but I was captured.’

  ‘I heard you laughing during the battle,’ Arnul said.

  ’No,’ Arazod replied. ‘It must have been—’ he wheezed. ‘Whoever committed this atrocity.’

  Ryza held Arnul’s shoulder. ‘Little Arazod did what was right. He would have joined you in here otherwise.’

  Arazod lowered his claws. ‘It’s true.’

  Arnul took a deep breath. He turned to Ryza and dropped to his knees. ‘You will always have my loyalty.’ The other Man-Hawks climbed out of the pit and dropped to their knees.

  Arazod wished they respected him the same way. He dropped to his knees.

  Ryza cut Arnul’s chains and gave him the shazaq. ‘Unchain the others.’

  Arnul shook his limbs and released his friends.

  Ryza threw off her robe, took her father’s armour and helmet and put them on. She touched the symbol of the Man-Hawk on her chest. It depicted talons crushing a skull. She flew up the steps.

  Arazod watched her, desperate to avoid his victims’ eyes.

  A spider-frog blocked Ryza’s exit. Its big frog eyes and mouth pointed at her, and its eight spider legs pressed against the walls.

  ‘Move,’ Ryza commanded, ignoring the fact that it wouldn’t understand. She drew the Grave Blade back, ready to strike.

  The spider-frog opened its mouth. Instead of a tongue, a long web shot out.

  Ryza rolled under the web and it whizzed past Arazod’s face. Ryza wedged her sword through the creature’s chin a
nd twisted the blade. She pulled the sword out and the creature flopped to the floor. Its blood ran down the steps.

  ‘Feast on this disgusting thing. Then we go!’ Ryza shouted into the tomb.

  Arazod, along with Ryza and most of the Man-Hawks, washed himself in the sea on the west coast of Flowfornia.

  Arazod’s previous owner emerged from Mount Hastovia. Even from this far the Great Dragon took up a chunk of the sky.

  The beast flew to the top of the mountain then descended and searched the rocky paths.

  Ryza stood next to her brother. ‘I don’t like dragons. Their power bothers me.’ She turned to Arnul. ‘Any power greater than ours needs to be destroyed.’

  He nodded. Six Man-Hawks returned from scouting, carrying nets and spears.

  ‘Good work,’ Ryza said.

  She turned to Arazod. ‘Care to join us gathering boulders, Little Arazod?’ She smirked. ‘Oh, sorry. I keep forgetting.’ She nodded at his broken wing.

  The other Man-Hawks chuckled and Arnul smirked. ‘Not much use, are you? A Man-Hawk without the hawk bit.’

  Arazod wanted to dig his talons into Arnul’s eyes but he smiled. Arnul’s time would come.

  Ryza fanned her wings out. ‘We’re going to see to it that nothing threatens us ever again. I hate that you have all suffered, but I promise you we will become the most powerful creatures in Hastovia and never suffer again!’

  Her Man-Hawks smiled and shrieked.

  Arnul held his sword across his chest.

  Why were they so ready to die for her but never for him?

  ‘We shall return to the Rux Cay where we were planning to expand our home,’ she said. ‘From there we will build our base and plan where to attack first.’

  Arazod had a better idea. ‘Sister. I know a place we can live. A place already plentiful with food and supplies. And a good place to get back into the spirit of battle.’

  The Gift

  Karl hooked his stone shield, the Star of Reech, onto the back of his stone armour. He placed his stone helmet on and stared at a hay-stuffed grinning dummy, which sat on a cart by the well in the middle of Flowforn’s red-pebbled courtyard.

  About a hundred Flowfornians stood in the shadow of the castle towers, watching, waiting.

  An arrow pierced the dummy’s heart and stuck the figure to the back of the cart.

  Karl clapped and cheered along with the rest of the crowd.

  Hargon tapped his fist against his scratched copper armour and bowed to his audience. He flicked his red hair over his shoulders. ‘Happy day of birth, Karl.’

  ‘Thanks, Hargon. You could’ve just given me some gold, though.’ Karl smiled.

  Hargon cast a glance at Bar Witch, whose tunic was dotted with ale stains.

  ‘Lucky shot.’ She folded her arms.

  Karl and Princess Sabrinia shared a smile. Hargon had changed a lot since the invasion. From a hopeless guard who loved painting, he was now a hopeless guard who loved painting but was also handy with a bow and arrow. Sabrinia had seen to it that everyone trained in some form of weaponry. Karl dreaded war, but at least they would be somewhat prepared if they had to defend themselves.

  He placed his hand on the grip of his steel sword, sheathed to his belt. The experiences of three years ago had scarred him more than he knew. It could be a nice and sun-blessed day like today, and then something as small as a bird flying would send his mind racing into scenarios of war. Since they’d defeated Arazod and Lord Ragnus, they had received invitations to battle, which was odd, as it seemed like sport to armies who simply wanted to test their strength. Sabrinia had rejected them, but Karl worried that by training they would be viewed as a threat, as though they were preparing to conquer, when all they trained for was to avoid death.

  Sabrinia stepped up to the platform. She tucked her hair under her helmet and put her steel breastplate over her gown.

  ‘I’ll give you a tip,’ Hargon said. ‘It’s all in the strength of the holding arm. I lean the bow’s lower limb up a bit to get a nice gentle dip.’

  She turned to him. ‘Thanks. I’ll be sure to keep your tip somewhere safe.’ Sabrinia tapped her arrow against a waste barrel and smiled.

  Hargon chuckled and sat on a stool next to Bar Witch, who shuffled away. Hargon lifted a stone slab and paint palette from the ground and placed them on his lap.

  Sabrinia picked up her recurve bow named Sastin, after her father. It had a steel grip and limbs made from the bendy trees of Herbis Forest. She exhaled.

  The crowd fell silent.

  She went through the motions she always told Karl about. She relaxed her posture, positioned the string in the first groove of her first three fingers, raised her bow arm level with the target, and drew the bowstring back to the side of her face. She looked along the arrow, aligned it, and let go.

  The arrow pierced the dummy’s left eye.

  The crowd roared and cheered, ‘Sabrinia! Sabrinia!’

  She bowed.

  ‘Well done, Princess,’ Hargon said.

  She approached Karl. ‘Not bad, eh?’

  ‘I still don’t understand how you’ve improved so quickly. You must be taking secret lessons.’

  ‘I’m just a natural.’ She shrugged. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

  ‘Yeah. I just wish the others were here.’

  Sabrinia held his hand. ‘Just because they’re not, it doesn’t mean they’re not thinking of you.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He sighed. He missed Oaf and Questions. Sure, Questions would be asking him stupid questions, but he wouldn’t mind that. He also missed the adventurers. He’d grown used to having Sags wake him up every day to train. At the time he had hated it, but Flowforn was lonelier without him.

  ‘Hey, how about I give you a surprise to distract you?’ Sabrinia raised her eyebrows.

  Karl grinned. ‘Really? Yes please!’ She’d never been so forward.

  ‘Peezant!’ Sabrinia called out. Her dirt-orange parrot flew through Flowforn Arch.

  Karl frowned. ‘Being pecked on the head isn’t the surprise I was hoping for.’

  They entered the arch behind Peezant and Karl’s heart lightened.

  Marlens beamed, muddy from travel and her steel armour scratched. She carried a sack over her shoulder, grabbed a jar of a red mixture as bright as her hair from her potion belt, tossed it into the air and caught it.

  Frong, his beard down to his waist, sheathed his spear onto the back of his armour and grinned at Karl. He was still as round as ever but the joy of adventure shone in his eyes.

  Sags pointed at Karl and smiled. He sharpened one of his throwing axes against his gauntlet and looked more alive than Karl had ever known. Adventuring was what these three lived for, and it showed.

  ‘You knew?’ Karl asked Sabrinia and removed his helmet.

  She kissed his cheek.

  Peezant landed on Karl’s shoulder and pecked his ear.

  ‘Go away, Peezant.’ Karl waved Peezant away with the back of his hand, so he went and landed on Sabrinia’s shoulder.

  ‘Looks like we’re just in time.’ Marlens hugged Karl. ‘We’ve got a proper nice present for ya, old pal.’

  ‘Less of the old,’ Karl said.

  Sags grunted.

  ‘I missed you too, Sags.’ Karl squeezed him. ‘I know I always complain about you waking me up to train, but can you please wake me up every day from now on?’

  Sags grunted and patted him on the back.

  Karl released the hug. ‘And be warned, I’ve been practising. I can definitely take you now.’

  Sags grunted.

  Karl turned to Frong. ‘I still don’t understand all of his grunts, but that one was rude, wasn’t it?’

  Frong nodded. ‘But not without truth.’

  ‘It’s so good to have you all back!’ Karl said.

  Frong grabbed Karl’s shoulder. ‘We actually got back to shore a few sunsets ago, but thought it would be better to appear for a special occasion. More dramatic.’


  ‘We’ve got something to show ya.’ Marlens placed the sack on the floor and removed a jar containing a flapping blue-spotted red hair with a green root. It was as thick as a wrist.

  ‘Well, that’s disgusting.’ Karl grimaced. ‘What does it do?’

  The hair slapped against the glass, leaving a slimy residue.

  Marlens held the jar closer to Karl’s face and he backed away. ‘This magical relic is the back hair of the wizard-lizard.’ She grinned.

  Frong continued the story. ‘We found it in the Crystal Mines of Erebost, on an island three days off the coast of West Flowfornia. We pinched the hair while the creature slept. It wasn’t happy, but we managed to escape with only a few cuts and burn marks.’ Frong showed Karl his scarred elbow and a patch where he once had hair.

  ‘Okay, but what does it do?’

  Sags grabbed Karl’s chin and made him face him. ‘I’ll tell you,’ he said in a gruff voice.

  Karl jumped back. ‘You speak! He’s speaking! You have a voice. Is this a trick?’ Karl’s skin tingled.

  The others laughed.

  ‘You all know?’ he said.

  Sabrinia stroked his arm. ‘It was the hardest secret I’ve ever had to keep.’

  ‘How’s this happening?’ Karl stared at Sags.

  Sags took the jar. ‘You pull a piece of the hair off, stick it to whatever you’ve lost, and it grows back! Only problem is it grows back that colour so I look like I’ve licked some sort of weird berry.’ Sags stuck his tongue out, half normal and half red with blue spots. ‘The hair itself grows back, so you can use it forever!’ He handed the jar back to Marlens.

  She returned it to the sack. ‘We wanna study it and use it to help improve healin’ in Flowforn and then more of Hastovia.’

  ‘This is amazing,’ Karl said, giddy. ‘Say something else. Anything.’

  Sags shrugged. ‘Erm… door.’

  Karl’s mouth fell open. ‘Wow.’ It didn’t seem real.

  Frong laughed. ‘It doesn’t really work for small cuts and things, but if you lose a limb…’

  Karl welled up. ‘This is the best birthday present I’ve ever had.’

  Marlens chuckled.

  ‘What?’ Karl asked.

  Frong smiled. ‘That’s not your present.’