The Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  ‘That’s the spirit. You hold onto that thought,’ Hawke told him.

  Leigh and Hawke looked at the barely alive Kettering and Sendric, as well as the other wounded.

  ‘Hey, isn’t that Barrett’s woman?’ Leigh asked, pointing at one.

  ‘Aye,’ Hawke said grimly. ‘And she looks even worse than Kettering.’

  The hope that the magic would return flashed between them. For all of them.

  Gello and Prent’s first thought was to get away from the gates. There was no second thought. Finally they stopped, when the noise of the remaining defenders dying could not be heard.

  ‘What now?’ Prent panted.

  Gello sheathed his sword on the second attempt, his heart still pounding. He had seen how the Fearpriests rewarded failure. But what was the alternative? Throw himself on his cousin’s mercy? Besides, if they had no magic, what could the Fearpriests do to him? He straightened. The Temple was the only safe place in the city tonight.

  ‘Follow me,’ he ordered.

  Sacrax and his warriors all instinctively froze when the horns sounded.

  ‘They’ll know we’re coming!’ Merren cried. ‘Move!’

  With just a nod, Martil, Kesbury and a group of Derthals raced towards the front of the Temple and its blood-stained stone steps that led to the top.

  Sacrax threw back his head and howled.

  His Derthals echoed the call, the strange sound bouncing off the stone walls around the square, then they were loping across the cobbles. They were deceptively fast, for Merren, Milly and Barrett could not keep up with them and dropped behind.

  The Temple guards hurriedly shut the gates and began hurling spears. But the wall around the courtyard at the back of the Temple had been constructed to keep curious and fearful eyes out, not as a defensive measure. Barely ten feet high, it was not a serious barrier.

  Without pausing, Sacrax and his Derthals raced up. Working in pairs, one warrior bent down before the wall, the second used his back as a springboard to leap up and catch the top of the wall and pull himself up, where they could attack the defenders. These Tenochs were city guards, whose most ferocious opponents until then had been straw targets. Against the Derthals they stood little chance. Sacrax was thinking they would have the Temple at their mercy in a few moments when more Tenochs poured out of the Temple itself, a mixture of guards and red-robed Fearpriests, wielding obsidian knives and axe-clubs.

  A handful of Derthals, who had jumped down from the wall to pursue the Tenochs, were caught and killed by this counter-attack.

  ‘Hold here! Help coming!’ Sacrax yelled in Derthal. Half his warriors were still on the other side of the wall. They needed time to get up and, besides, his human allies were on the way. Or so he hoped. He led a rush of his warriors to the stairs, where a mass of Tenochs were trying to force their way up and retake the wall.

  Karia had almost fallen asleep when the sound of the locking bar being drawn back and the tramp of booted feet made her sit up, heart pounding. Instinctively she knew what was happening.

  When the door opened she attacked, biting, kicking, punching and scratching. But without her magic, she was no match for four Temple guards, who carried her, thrashing and fighting, out of her cell and up wide stone stairs towards the altar.

  ‘The Council has decreed you are to go to meet the Great God. Rejoice, for you shall serve Him throughout eternity,’ one of them panted as they dragged her up another flight of stairs.

  Martil could smell the blood thick on the stones as he climbed upwards. The front of the Temple had not been designed for climbing, for there were no steps, just huge chunks of stone. How much effort had gone into this he neither knew nor cared. He just knew these crudely dressed blocks were precisely the wrong size—requiring he, Kesbury and the Derthals to jump and clamber up them, helping each other as they went. Not only were they about half the height of a man but they were also slick and stained with blood. The horns had stopped blowing by now, and he could hear the sounds of fighting, shouts and screams as the Derthals tried to force their way into the back of the Temple. But he had to concentrate on what he was doing. The square seemed far below him, yet the top seemed no closer.

  ‘This is going to take a turn of the hourglass,’ Kesbury grunted.

  Martil ignored him, saving his breath for the climb.

  Merren had watched Sacrax and his Derthals get over the wall. At first they seemed to be winning easily but the sounds of fighting had only grown heavier and, while almost all the Derthals were now up on the wall, the gate was still shut.

  ‘We’re too exposed out here,’ Barrett warned, as a spear flew over the wall to land with a scrape on the cobbles near them. ‘Perhaps we should wait for Nerrin and the Rallorans, and Kettering and the Norstalines to get here.’

  Merren hesitated. She wanted to get inside the Temple, see what was happening and find Karia. But they were horribly exposed here, without even one Derthal to guard them. If a patrol of Tenochs came across them, it would be dangerous in the extreme…another spear landed near them and she nodded.

  ‘Quick now. We’ll wait over there.’ She pointed to the closest alleyway.

  Gello and Prent slowed down, now the Temple was close. They could hear the sound of fighting, as well as the strange Derthal scream that indicated one had killed an enemy.

  ‘How do we get in?’ Prent moaned.

  Gello ignored him, as he sneaked down an alleyway. If all else failed, he thought he could climb up the front of the Temple to reach the top. Then he stopped in shock, Prent almost bumping into the back of him. Heading right towards him was his bitch of a cousin, as well as that interfering wizard of hers and some idiot woman in the robes of an Archbishop! He nudged Prent, and gestured. Prent’s eyes widened, then he nodded, grinning.

  Gello drew his sword, Prent his long sacrificial knife, then they raced down the alleyway.

  It was all a blur to Karia. The four men carrying her up the stairs blocked her view of the surroundings but she had seen what went on at the top of the Temple and had no intention of going up there. Martil had told her to do something unexpected if you wanted to gain surprise. So, instead of fighting, she went limp.

  The guards, who had been trying desperately to control her struggles, relaxed as she did. Then she arched her back and kicked out, wrenching her right leg free, before slamming her heel into the groin of the one holding her left leg. As he screamed and collapsed, she ripped her arms free and rolled herself into a ball, bouncing down a few stairs before coming up to her feet and running down as fast as she could.

  Barrett saw them first.

  ‘Merren! It is Gello!’ he yelled. ‘Get behind me!’

  He wished with all his heart he had the magic to destroy the pair of them as they raced towards him. He had a moment to reflect that this was an embodiment of his favourite daydream—Merren in danger and he was the only one who could save her. Then he hefted his staff and blocked Gello’s path, aiming a powerful swing at the former Duke.

  Gello ignored Barrett. He wanted to kill Merren, pure and simple. She was the cause of all his problems. She had stolen his throne, she had made him a laughing stock, she had defeated him time and again, turned him into an exile and even made him kill his mother! It was time for revenge.

  Gello used his sword to block Barrett’s staff, then elbowed the mage in the head, sending Barrett crashing into a wall. He ignored the fallen wizard as he bore down on Merren. He almost laughed as he raised his sword high. She was not even running! This would be so easy—and so satisfying!

  Behind him, Prent had knocked the woman Archbishop to the ground and was trying to rip her robes apart with his knife.

  Gello could not care about that. He was anticipating the moment when he would strike down his hated cousin. She did not even look afraid! Was she too stupid to understand he was going to kill her? He held back his stroke for a moment, wanting to see the terror bloom on her face before he cut her down.

  Karia had barely got do
wn one flight when a Tenoch guard grabbed her.

  Shouting and screaming, she fought to get free—but to no avail. Sweating and swearing, the guards hoisted into the air up and began carrying her back up the stairs.

  ‘Hurry!’ one grunted. ‘The entire Council is waiting for us!’

  ‘Let me go! My dad’s coming to kill you!’ Karia screamed.

  ‘And that’s supposed to make us afraid?’ their leader sneered.

  Merren stared at Gello, unafraid. She had known Barrett could not hold her cousin back—without his magic, the mage was no match for Gello, who was twice his size. But she was not about to cower and run. Besides, she knew what he was going to do. He would never expect her to fight back, he would want to draw the moment out, try and gloat even then.

  She had a dagger at her waist and, as he loomed over her, sword held high, she drew it and took a pace forwards, stabbing upwards.

  Gello, his sword still poised for the death blow that would never come, simply ran onto the blade and the pace of his advance helped ram her dagger deep into his throat.

  Merren gazed into his astonished eyes as his sword fell to the cobbles, then a gout of hot blood sprayed over her hand, arm and face as he choked on her dagger, an almost comical expression of surprise on his face.

  Without a word, she held his gaze, letting him see her absolute contempt for him, before she ripped her blade from his throat.

  Blood fountained across the cobbles and he stood for a moment, obviously unable to believe what had happened. Silently he mouthed a word: Mother.

  Then Gello collapsed to the ground in a pool of crimson.

  ‘You never thought a woman could beat you,’ she told the dying man. ‘I always told you that would be a fatal mistake.’

  Then a horrifying scream made her look up, to where Prent and Milly struggled on the cobbles a few yards away.

  Milly could feel Prent’s foul breath on her face, as his hands tore at her robes. This was what Tiera and the other girls had been put through. Terror pulsed through her.

  ‘I am going to teach you how Zorva is stronger than Aroaril,’ Prent sneered. His size and weight was pinning her down and he was trying to force his knee between her legs. Terrified and furious, she jabbed her thumb into his eye. As he reared back, she grabbed his knife hand, which was trying to lift up her robes, and rammed it upwards.

  His agonising scream almost deafened her. Desperately she arched her back, flipping him off her. But all the fight had gone out of him.

  She squirmed backwards, kicking him with her feet to get away—then saw what she had done.

  Prent was still screaming, his hands locked around his groin, where the hilt of his long dagger protruded obscenely from the front of his robe. Blood was pulsing out over his hands and onto the cobbles with every heartbeat, while he showed no signs of stopping his curdling wails of agony.

  Barrett, blood streaming down from a cut on his cheek, forced himself to his feet. He stared at Merren, who stood over Gello, and then at Milly, who was sitting and staring at the howling Prent.

  Barrett staggered forwards, reaching out for Gello’s fallen sword, to put Prent out of his misery.

  ‘No.’ Milly laid her hand on his arm, using it to pull herself to his feet.

  ‘But he’ll bleed to death and it could take a turn of the hourglass like that!’ Barrett gasped.

  ‘Good,’ Milly said bleakly.

  Barrett looked at Merren, who nodded her agreement with Milly.

  ‘Come on, we need to see what is going on at the Temple,’ Merren ordered.

  Leaning on his staff, Barrett followed the two women as they strode back across the square.

  Karia had always believed Martil was going to come and save her. He had said so and he had never let her down. Even now, as they dragged her onto the top of the Temple, into the cold night air, she still believed it.

  ‘Dad! Dad! Help!’ she screamed into the night.

  But no reply came.

  The altar was at the very centre of the Temple, surprisingly small, just a stone pillar where the sacrifices could be bent across. Fearpriests, each of them holding a torch, formed an open square around the altar. A brazier smoked beside it and the air was thick with the smell of blood, the stones stained a deep rust brown from years of soaking. Tall stone pillars etched with grotesque carvings leered down at her as she was held across the altar.

  It was then that she realised Martil was not going to come for her.

  The tears came then, the sobs shaking her small body.

  ‘Don’t! Please don’t do this!’ she begged, but they ignored her, as they had ignored all the pleas of their victims over the centuries.

  ‘Oh Great God! Hear our prayers and receive this offering!’ the lead Fearpriest cried into the night. ‘We give you this Radiant Child and we hope you will return to us the powers that are rightfully ours!’

  The four guards expertly stretched Karia across the altar, one holding each limb, the slightly curved stone digging into the small of her back, pushing her ribcage upwards, to allow the stroke that would open her diaphragm and allow Brother Horna to reach into her chest cavity and rip out her heart.

  Around her the Fearpriests were all chanting something in a strange language, its tone sinister. But she could not hear it, could only cry as the knife sliced down.

  Nerrin raced into the square, towards the giant pyramid that loomed over the city. He could see lights at the top, hear something going on up there, but he only had eyes for the fight going on at the back, where Derthals and Tenochs fought over the wall.

  He could see Queen Merren, Barrett and Archbishop Sadlier, all covered in blood but standing upright and walking towards him, pointing at the battle raging just outside the Temple.

  ‘Sacrax! Get the gate open!’ he bellowed.

  Sacrax could not get down into the courtyard past the Tenoch spears. Equally the Tenochs could not get him off the wall but he was not here to hold a wall but to break into the Temple.

  He heard the shout from the square and glanced over his shoulder to see Rallorans just paces away, with the Norstalines just running into the square now.

  Without thinking, he jumped off the wall, landing on a group of Tenochs by the gate, his weight driving them to the stones. Seeing their High Chief in the midst of the enemy, a score of Derthals followed him, landing on the Tenochs as they tried to spear the prone Sacrax.

  Winded, the Derthal High Chief staggered to the gate as his warriors fought to give him time and space. With a shout, he threw back the locking bar and hauled it open.

  Instantly a thick shield wall of Rallorans drove into the courtyard, slicing into the Tenochs before they could get to Sacrax. The Tenochs fought to stop them, then fought to escape—and died both ways as the Derthals joined the attack.

  ‘Into the Temple! We are running out of time!’ Merren shouted from the shadow of the gate, peering into a courtyard filled with dead and screaming wounded.

  Nerrin waved to his leading men and, with Sacrax at his shoulder, drove into the Temple door, the shields carving a path the Tenochs could not stop.

  Horna’s knife ripped open Karia’s dress, exposing her skin, pale in the torchlight. The Fearpriest ripped the cloth further, until he could see where he must strike, then raised the knife high.

  Around him, the Fearpriest chant had almost reached its conclusion and he prepared to make the final dedication himself.

  Then a wordless howl of anger stopped them all.

  Horna opened his eyes and watched, with the other Fearpriests, as a monster from their nightmares appeared over the front of the pyramid, covered with the blood of a thousand sacrificed souls.

  It had two glittering swords in its hands and it raced at the Fearpriests, roaring its challenge.

  ‘Kill it!’ Horna shouted, backing away from the girl, the knife in his hand almost forgotten.

  The Fearpriests all had daggers, and they drew them now and converged on the figure.

  Martil had
told Merren he was in control. But when he heard Karia’s desperate cry for help, looked up the face of the pyramid and saw how far he was from the top, he went mad. Nothing mattered but getting to her and nothing could stop him.

  From somewhere he found the ability to drive himself up each course of the pyramid, leaping ever upwards, heedless of the slippery stones, the cries of Kesbury and the Derthals asking him to wait for them, the fall that waited for a careless step and his own harsh breathing. As he sprang onto the top of the Temple he saw Karia stretched across the altar, the knife above her, and the Fearpriests clustered around.

  His swords leaped into his hands and he raced at the Fearpriests. They tried to stop him but he was among them in a moment, both swords a blur. They were not men, not human to him, they were objects. The Dragon Sword sliced apart all who came near, his fear and anger and hatred driving the deadly blade.

  The elderly Fearpriests, clutching only daggers, stood no chance. They got in each others’ way and all the time the Sword was killing, killing, killing.

  One last head went flying and the remaining Fearpriests, including the one who had stood over Karia, were running for the stairs.

  He ignored them, instead focused on the small girl, still being held by the stunned guards, who had watched this warrior slaughter half their Ruling Council.

  ‘You are dead men,’ he told them, chest heaving.

  The four guards exchanged looks, then let Karia go and rushed at him.

  The first had his head split open by the Dragon Sword, the second took a sword through the throat, then the Dragon Sword ripped open the chest of the third.