The Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  Screaming in terror, the last—their leader—ran, leaping off the edge of the Temple and falling into the night, his limbs windmilling.

  For a long moment, Martil and Karia stared at each other.

  Then the spell was broken and they fell into each other’s arms, crying with joy and relief.

  Kesbury and the Derthals found them like that when they scrambled over the top a short time later.

  ‘Captain!’ Kesbury puffed, surveying the man and child locked together in a hug, surrounded by fallen torches and fallen bodies.

  Martil ignored them. He only cared about having Karia back. For her part, she just clung to him.

  ‘You came!’ she kept saying, over and over again.

  ‘I swore I would. And I won’t ever leave you again,’ he promised.

  ‘Captain! The Egg! It’s still below!’ Kesbury insisted.

  Behind him, the Derthals were prodding doubtfully at the dead Fearpriests, as well as exclaiming at the amount of dried blood that covered the top of the Temple.

  But Martil still ignored them.

  ‘Dad, we have to finish this,’ Karia said, wiping tears and blood from his face.

  Only then did he nod, and stand, Karia in one arm, the Dragon Sword in the other.

  ‘I can walk!’ she said. ‘My legs are fine!’

  ‘I don’t want to let you go again,’ he told her.

  She liked the sound of that and snuggled into his shoulder.

  ‘Follow me,’ Kesbury said grimly, and led the way back inside the Temple.

  ‘What do we do?’ a Fearpriest gibbered, as they paused in their flight on a landing, far below.

  Horna took a moment to gather his breath. He had done little exercise in the last few years and the terrified flight from the monster that had attacked them by the altar had left him—had left them all—wheezing and gasping.

  ‘We need guards. Many of them,’ he decided.

  They began down the stairs again, slower this time—only to meet a handful of blood-spattered guards running up the stairs.

  ‘What is it?’ Horna demanded.

  ‘High One! The barbarians are inside! They were led by demons from Aroaril—there was nothing we could do!’ the guard babbled. ‘There’s thousands of them!’

  The Fearpriests looked down the stairs, to where faint cries, and the odd scream, could be heard.

  Horna glanced back up the stairs, then dismissed that option. The demon warrior was up there.

  ‘We must escape somehow,’ he declared.

  ‘But how? There are only two ways out of here!’ another Fearpriest cried.

  ‘The prisoners!’ Horna exclaimed. ‘We must shed our robes and hide among the prisoners. The weak-minded Aroaril-lovers will think prisoners are harmless, and release them!’

  ‘But we have no other clothes!’ someone objected.

  ‘Then we find eight prisoners and exchange clothes with them, send them down the stairs in the hope our enemies kill them!’ Horna said.

  ‘Which prisoners, High One?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter! Just do it quickly, fool!’ Horna snarled, and the guards scampered off.

  Merren strode across the bloody courtyard and into the Temple, Milly at her side. Barrett had raced back to the main gate, heedless of her orders, of being needed here, after hearing from Kay about the wounded, that Tiera had been hit. She would be angry about that later—there were too many other problems now.

  ‘Bring all the wounded here. As soon as we can restore the magic, we can heal them,’ she instructed Kay, before ordering Nerrin to take her inside the Temple.

  ‘Careful, your majesty. We are clearing it out but you never know where they might be hiding—it is a rat’s nest in there,’ Nerrin warned.

  Squads of Rallorans, Norstalines and Derthals were hunting through the lower levels, killing any guards or Fearpriests in red they found, dragging out terrified servants and placing them under guard in the courtyard.

  ‘Have we found their dungeons yet?’ Merren demanded.

  ‘Your majesty! Come look at this!’ Captain Kay called.

  Merren followed him into a huge stone room, almost filled with gold. Bars were stacked along the walls, while jewellery filled seemingly endless wooden chests and spilled across the floor.

  ‘The spoils of a lifetime of evil,’ Merren said in wonder, the torchlight reflecting off the glittering piles. ‘This is twice, maybe thrice the treasury of Norstalos, before Gello stole it. With this, we can return Norstalos to glory and there will still be more than enough for the poor people of this continent to live on. Kay, I want this guarded. This is our future in here. No child need go hungry again.’

  She left the treasure room and followed the advance up through the Temple, uncovering squalid rooms of terrified servants, large barracks with only a handful of guards left and luxurious apartments empty of Fearpriests.

  ‘Where are the dungeons? And where is the Egg?’ Merren demanded, but none knew.

  The guards returned with eight tunics, all stained foully.

  The Fearpriests dressed reluctantly, with Horna urging them on.

  ‘The Aroaril-lovers could be here at any time!’ he warned, then handed the eight robes to the frightened guards. ‘Now, dress the prisoners and send them down the stairs. As for yourselves, I would advise surrender. The Aroaril-lovers are merciful fools, and we must take advantage of that.’

  ‘Yes, High One.’ The guards bowed.

  In no time, eight men in red robes were marched over to the stairs and Horna watched in satisfaction as they began running down to where the Aroaril-lovers lurked.

  ‘We shall escape this yet, my brothers,’ he announced as the guards locked them into cells.

  ‘Your majesty!’ This time it was Nerrin calling, and the urgency in his tone made her run out of a storeroom.

  ‘Look there!’

  Stumbling down the stairs were eight figures in red robes, hands in the air.

  Nerrin formed his men into three ranks, spears at the ready. ‘Show them no mercy, lads, for they would show us none,’ Nerrin told his line.

  ‘Don’t kill us! We’re not Fearpriests!’ one shouted, running slightly ahead of the others.

  ‘It’s a trick! Don’t listen to them!’ Nerrin said immediately.

  ‘We’re prisoners!’ The speaker pulled back his cowl, revealing himself to be a young man with a horribly scarred face. He turned to his companions and waved at them. They all pulled down their hoods, revealing dirty, scared faces. Like the first, they were all young.

  ‘What is this?’ Merren wondered.

  ‘The Fearpriests exchanged robes with us. They are pretending to be prisoners, thinking all prisoners will be released!’ the speaker yelled. ‘They told us we were free, told us to run down here.’

  ‘Bastards!’ Nerrin muttered.

  ‘If it is true,’ Merren pointed out. ‘Come forward, one by one!’

  Led by the speaker, the eight walked down carefully, happy to pull off their robes to reveal they were all dirty, and dressed only in loincloths.

  ‘Well, they all look like prisoners—they’re all bruised and beaten, as well,’ Nerrin grunted.

  ‘Put them with the servants. Once we have the use of magic again, we shall make sure there are no wolves in sheep’s clothing in there,’ Merren ordered. ‘Nerrin, I want a company up those stairs—if the Fearpriests are all in the dungeons, then we are safe—but Karia may not be.’

  She followed the Rallorans as they raced up the stairs, while Norstalines and Derthals spread out into the different floors they passed.

  ‘How big is this thing?’ Merren complained, as her legs began to burn.

  ‘I can smell the dungeons,’ Nerrin shouted, as they pounded up one last flight.

  ‘We give up! We are unarmed!’ someone shouted.

  Out of the gloom a handful of guards appeared. None held a weapon and all lay on the floor, hands over their heads.

  ‘Are there more of you?’ Nerrin ask
ed harshly.

  ‘We are the last!’ one promised.

  ‘Take them away!’ Merren ordered, and they were hustled downstairs.

  ‘What if there are Fearpriests in these cells?’ Milly asked. ‘How do we tell them apart?’

  ‘Get them out one by one. Compare them. The ones who are clean and well-fed shall be the Fearpriests,’ Merren predicted.

  But perhaps the Fearpriests had used their short time in the cells wisely. Every man brought out was stinking and dirty, and cowered away from the soldiers.

  But there was also one familiar face.

  ‘Ambassador Ezok!’ Merren greeted him.

  ‘Your majesty! Thank you for saving me! I have been a prisoner of these foul priests—they were going to sacrifice me. I can help you, I can tell you the hidden Fearpriests in here—just don’t kill me! I helped the little girl stay alive, she can—’

  ‘Karia?’ Merren demanded. ‘Have you seen her?’

  Ezok smiled. ‘Will you let me live?’

  ‘I shall, if you point out the Fearpriests—and tell me where the girl is.’

  ‘They took her up to be sacrificed.’ Ezok pointed upstairs. ‘Do I still get to live?’

  But Merren was already running up the stairs.

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ Nerrin stared at his men. ‘Two squads after her!’ He turned to Ezok, dragging the Berellian to his feet. ‘Right, now show me these Fearpriests.’

  Merren could hear the Rallorans chasing after her but, with the Fearpriests under guard, she did not fear an ambush. She feared finding a dead Karia and what such a sight would do to Martil.

  She had not gone more than a couple of flights up the stairs before she saw a small party coming down towards her, led by a pair of familiar shapes.

  ‘Mummy!’

  She nearly stopped in her tracks as Karia shouted and waved at her, then the three of the them were running towards each other, nearly knocking each other over when they met.

  ‘You’re safe!’ Merren hugged Karia close and it was a long time before they broke apart even a little. The Derthals and Rallorans eased away, giving them room.

  ‘We should never leave each other again,’ Karia said gravely. ‘We should be a family.’

  Merren caught sight of the worried expression on Martil’s face, but she just smiled.

  ‘We shall be,’ she promised.

  ‘Do you mean that?’ Martil and Karia asked at the same time.

  ‘I do.’ She laughed.

  ‘But what about the country, what about Count Sendric?’ Karia asked.

  Merren sighed. ‘Sendric might be dead already. But even if he is not, I shall not marry him. I know what I want now—and it is you two.’

  She could not finish, because Martil leaned in and kissed her.

  Karia squealed with excitement and clapped her hands. She watched them kiss for a while, then patted them both on the head.

  ‘That is enough for now,’ she told them.

  Martil grinned sheepishly. ‘It sounds like this might even be a happy ending from a saga,’ he said, to cover himself.

  ‘Not quite,’ Merren corrected. ‘We still have to find the Egg.’

  ‘Oh that! That’s easy!’ Karia scoffed.

  She led them down one more flight of steps, then into the Council’s chamber, where the Egg stood silent. But as soon as Martil entered the room, it began to flash colours, while the Dragon Sword hummed in response.

  Carefully Martil drew the Sword.

  ‘Time to end this,’ he said, walking forwards.

  He stood by the Egg, watching the colours play across its surface. He glanced at the Dragon Sword. The dragon on the hilt had come alive, and its eyes were flashing brightly.

  With one smooth move, Martil reversed his grip, so he held it like a dagger, then thrust the Dragon Sword into the top of the Dragon Egg. The blade slid all the way down, until the hilt of the Sword rested on the surface of the Egg. Colours still danced across its surface, but nothing else happened.

  ‘Is that it?’ Karia asked.

  ‘Berellian, you might have the promise of the Queen, but I will be happy to kill you, should you try to play us false,’ Nerrin told the struggling Ezok. ‘Show us the Fearpriests.’

  ‘I can do more than that! I can tell you a great secret!’ Ezok gasped.

  ‘Don’t play games with me,’ Nerrin growled.

  ‘There’s a real Fearpriest hidden among the false Fearpriests who came down the stairs!’

  ‘What?’ Nerrin and Horna exclaimed at the same time, one much quieter than the other.

  ‘His name is Brother Onzalez, and those guards selected him to play a Fearpriest!’ Ezok gabbled.

  Nerrin shrugged. ‘We have them all under guard. You can show me which one later. Now point out the Fearpriests here.’

  Ezok stepped away and hurried down the line of prisoners, until he stood in front of Horna and the others.

  ‘Here they are!’ he pointed. ‘Now will you let me live?’

  ‘No!’ Horna snarled, leaping forwards and wrapping his hands around Ezok’s neck.

  The Berellian choked as Nerrin and Rallorans charged in. But the other Fearpriests tried to make a run for it at that moment and Nerrin and his men were forced to beat them down. By the time they reached Horna, and had clubbed him into unconsciousness, Ezok was dead, his neck broken.

  ‘Chain these Fearpriests,’ Nerrin ordered, breathing harshly. ‘And send a message to the guards below. There’s a Fearpriest among the prisoners. Not one is to leave the courtyard until Archbishop Sadlier or Bishop Kesbury get their powers back, and can identify him.’

  ‘This is the time when you need a dragon or an Elfaran to tell you what is supposed to happen,’ Merren observed, as they stood looking at the Egg.

  ‘I still can’t feel any magic,’ Kesbury admitted.

  ‘Maybe it doesn’t like being in this place of evil,’ Karia suggested. ‘Why don’t we take it up into the air?’

  Without any better idea, the Derthals hoisted up the Egg in its cradle, with the Sword still deep inside it, and began to carry it out.

  ‘We should hurry. Dawn cannot be far away,’ Merren warned. ‘Kesbury, go and get Barrett, drag him here if you have to. Get Archbishop Sadlier, as well as the Magicians’ Guild. We must know what is going on.’

  Carrying such a weight up stairs would have exhausted men but the Derthals pressed on swiftly, while Martil, Merren and Karia hurried, hand in hand, after them.

  They laid the Egg down atop the Temple, a decent distance away from the bloodstained altar and the bodies of the Fearpriests and guards. The sky was lightening now, and dawn was close. But still nothing happened.

  ‘I did what the dragons asked me to!’ Martil protested. ‘Why isn’t it working?’

  Nobody could give an answer.

  Below, the noise of the battle seemed to have woken the city from its slumber, and the lack of soldiers on the streets seemed to have removed some of their fear. As the sky lightened further with every moment, they could see the square below, see that the Tenochs had left their homes and were creeping out into the square, trying to see what had happened after their night of horns, screams and battles.

  But the Egg and the Sword sat, only the occasional swirl of colour any indication something was happening.

  A grim-faced Barrett arrived, his eyes red.

  ‘I cannot tell what is going on,’ he told Merren shortly. ‘Now I am going back to her. And you’ll have to kill me to stop me.’

  Merren sighed. ‘I grieve for your loss Barrett, as I do for everyone who has lost their life. But without the magic returning, there is no future for anyone—’

  ‘I don’t care about anyone else,’ Barrett said bitterly, glancing across the roof to where Martil sat, oblivious of the Mage’s presence and even of his grief, before turning abruptly and hurrying away.

  At any other time Merren would have gone after him but not now. She walked back to Martil. Martil knew nothing of Tiera and she s
aw no need to tell him, for fear he might offer sympathy to Barrett.

  ‘If it is not done before sunrise, all magic shall leave this world, and all life with it,’ she said softly.

  ‘I can’t believe it could end like this!’ Martil groaned. ‘Was it something I did, or didn’t do? I know I was not the ideal Sword wielder—’

  Merren stopped his words with a kiss.

  ‘If it ends like this, then it is how I would want to die. With the two people I most love in the world around me,’ she said.

  Martil picked up Karia and they embraced Merren, the three of them holding each other close.

  ‘Here it comes,’ Martil said softly, as he saw the sun peep above the horizon in the east.

  He did not want to close his eyes, did not want to miss a moment of seeing Merren and Karia. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the first ray of light burst across the sky and brush the Egg with its golden light.

  Instantly the dragon on the hilt of the Sword came to life, threw back its head and roared, a challenge that echoed across the city.

  ‘Look!’ Karia cried.

  The Egg was a riot of colour, blazing brightly. The dragon on the hilt was no longer gold, but a bright silver. It spread its wings and took off, flying high into the sky. Next moment there was a green dragon there, then it spread its wings and flew away. Then gold, then silver again, then red, blue, white—almost too fast for the eye to see, they were created and took off, circling high in the sky above the Temple, others swooping across the square, soaring through the city streets.

  At first Tenochs screamed and ducked for cover as dozens of dragons flew over and among them, but the people quickly saw there was no danger.

  Children tried to catch them, people waved and pointed as each new one raced through the sky.

  ‘They’re so beautiful!’ Karia sighed.

  Now the Egg was pulsating, beating almost like a human heart. With each beat it grew smaller, while the dragons soaring across the city grew larger, doubling in size each time it pulsed. The tiny dragons, which had flown out just the size of a human hand, were now almost as big as Argurium, and every person in Tenoch could not fail to see them, or be moved by the sight of so many dragons at play. They chased each other, they turned somersaults and loops through the air, their obvious joy could only be reflected in those watching them.