Radiant Child

by Duncan Lay

  ‘We must cut them off! Half of you follow me, the rest take to the corridors—you know this Hall better than they do. Hunt them! They cannot get away!’ Martil held up the Sword, before sprinting after the invaders. The Elfarans waited but a heartbeat before obeying him.

  Gello chafed at the slow progress back to the ships. Not only were the men struggling with the Egg, which none wanted to touch, but with the dozens of wounded men being carried or helped along. He was tempted to leave them behind but trained men were too valuable.

  ‘Heath! Take a squad forwards and warn the ships we are on our way! Tell Onzalez to be ready!’ he ordered. He watched them run off and wondered if he should go too—but thought it better if he ensured the Egg was safe.

  ‘More men on that cradle! Move faster! And I want a rearguard! Livett, take two squads and wait here for a count of a hundred, then follow us slowly,’ he ordered. ‘The rest of you, get a move on!’

  Martil sensed there were men ahead in the corridor. But he did not slow his pace. The passage here was only wide enough for perhaps three men abreast—and he had the Dragon Sword. He did not care how many men he had to carve through to get to Karia. He had to believe she was all right. After all, they had taken her with them. He would not think of her dead. He lengthened his stride and noted, absently, that the Elfarans were right behind him.

  Around a bend and there they were—a pack of nervous men waiting in the dim corridor, swords ready.

  Martil let out a shout, releasing his fear for Karia and his anger at the danger she was in, turning it into a wordless war cry. Then he was upon them, the Dragon Sword lashing out in a deadly pattern. He remembered his race through the troopers to reach Karia at Sendric. But that was as nothing to what he felt now. Tiredness, caution, pity—none of those things touched him as he ripped into the men facing him. None could stop the Sword or block it and men fell screaming as it sliced them apart. Behind him, the Elfarans threw themselves into the fight, swinging their swords with more enthusiasm than skill. But to a group of men terrified of the bloodied demon in the strange armour, whose sword cut through steel as easily as paper, it was enough. They fled, screaming, with Martil right behind, cutting down anyone he could catch.

  Merren stepped out into the square and waited as the people erupted into cheers, waving and clapping. She waved back and the cheers redoubled. Two companies of men lined the long aisle; behind them, people pressed as close as they could, waving and shouting her name. Her heart was telling her to turn around but all her training, everything she had put into this country to save it, made her stay.

  Inside, she felt dead. Regret almost swamped her and it was a real effort to begin to walk towards her doom. The euphoria of those first days after saving the country from Gello and the Fearpriests were long gone. And it was all her own fault. It was a bitter pill to swallow but there was nothing for it but to gulp it down.

  Slowly, she started down the aisle.

  Gello and his men heard the screams first. Cries of pain, followed by shrieks of terror.

  ‘What’s going on?’ someone yelled.

  ‘It’s more of those magical guardians! They are after us, seeking to regain the Egg and its magic child!’ another shouted.

  ‘The first man to run gets cut down!’ Gello roared at them. ‘Keep together! There’s more safety in numbers!’

  Those men who were already eyeing their escape saw Gello’s drawn sword—and the look in his eyes—and thought again.

  Then Livett and a handful of men raced out of the darkness.

  ‘Elves! Led by a demon! They’re right behind us!’ Livett screamed. ‘They’ll kill anyone they catch!’

  ‘Stay where you are!’ Gello boomed.

  Too late. Many of the Tenochs bolted.

  ‘Leave the wounded! They’re no good to us! And let’s run!’ Gello ordered.

  The men had no qualms about dumping the wounded and unconscious men, such as Khaliz, although the ones who were awake begged and pleaded to be taken along. With as many hands on the makeshift cradle as could reach, the Egg was carried at a run down the corridor.

  ‘Give me the girl! You command the rearguard!’ Gello told Ezok, who wordlessly handed the child over and drew his sword.

  ‘Of course, sire,’ Ezok agreed. But he had no intention of making a desperate last stand. He would do whatever was necessary to save his life.

  The forty men who stood with him nervously did not have long to wait. A blood-spattered demon with red eyes, in strange armour and carrying a glowing sword, descended on them, followed by warrior elves. The bravest of Gello’s men tried to stop him—and were swept aside.

  Ezok did not wait any longer. He turned and ran, followed by most of the other men a moment later.

  The corridor led to a large hall, one of the many that was big enough for dragons to use. The fleeing Tenochs had got this far, Gello saw, until they ran into more warrior elves—and been slaughtered. Now that blood-spattered band barred the way.

  ‘We’re trapped! We’re all going to die!’ Livett moaned.

  Gello turned and back-handed him, sending his captain staggering back.

  ‘Hold this child and I shall clear the way!’ He turned to his visibly frightened force and stared at them hard. ‘Those of you carrying the Egg, keep going. As for the rest of you, any man who wants to live, follow me!’ he shouted.

  With mingled cries of defiance and nervousness, they followed him in a rush.

  The Elfarans howled in return and sprinted to meet them, the two sides coming together with a crash.

  Gello dodged a wild slash of a sword, then cursed as his return bounced off the elf’s armour. He had never fought for his life before, and fear touched him.

  ‘Give us the Egg!’ his attacker challenged, cutting wildly at Gello.

  But Gello had trained with the sword for years, and been tutored by some of the finest bladesmen money could buy. He found time seemed to be slowing for him—the elf’s blows were easy to avoid—and he could feel his confidence growing. He stepped to one side and thrust his sword into the elf’s throat. The elf choked, his blood spraying out, then slipped limply off Gello’s sword.

  The former King felt a surge of exultation the likes of which he had not experienced since the first time a crown was put on his head.

  ‘They die like any man! Come on!’ he waved, shoulder-charging another to the ground and stabbing down.

  But then Ezok and the remnants of the rearguard ran into the chamber.

  ‘They’re right behind us! None can stop the demon!’ Ezok gibbered.

  ‘Hold here! We can face them here!’ Gello yelled in reply.

  Still, he could see his men looking nervously towards the various doors leading out of the hall—but before they could do more than look, Martil burst out of the darkness and was upon them.

  Gello stared in shock and horror as the demon fell on his men. The demon’s sword was humming, its eyes were glowing and its strange armour was drenched in blood—and more was being added by the moment. One stroke of the sword and it cut through everything—swords, armour and flesh. It seemed to dance through his men, every movement creating death. It was as if the others were wading through thick mud, while he skimmed across the surface. None could get near him. Meanwhile, the warrior elves who followed it were slaughtering his terrified men. But Gello could see he still had the advantage of numbers. And here was the place to use it. All it required was a little bravery on his part.

  ‘Come on!’ Gello led a charge. ‘There’s hardly any of them!’

  Martil heard the call and recognised the voice. He beheaded the man in front of him and pivoted smoothly, seeking out Gello. When he saw him he raised the glistening, pristine Sword and pointed it at him, letting out a bellow.

  Gello saw the challenge, heard the inhuman cry of rage from the demon and felt his legs go to water.

  ‘Run!’ he yelled, and led the rush for the doors.

  The men scattered, and the remaining elves chased them
, hacking and cutting at all they could reach.

  But Martil had no intention of letting Gello escape, and raced after him, men either scattering before him, or dying by the Sword.

  Livett led the way through the corridors, the band of Egg-carriers close behind. These men were puffing and grunting with the effort of carrying the heavy Egg in its unwieldy cradle—but the sounds of fighting and the screams of the dying drifting through the air lent speed to their feet and strength to their arms. Ahead they could see daylight, and a way out of this mysterious and terrifying maze.

  ‘Hurry! They’re right behind us!’

  Gello’s shout made them almost drop the Egg. Somehow they recovered and hurried out into the sunlight, closely followed by Gello. Outside the shattered door, Gello stumbled, fell and whimpered, fearing a blow from the demon. But Ezok, close behind him, hauled him to his feet.

  Frightened men pounded past them, racing for the ships, leaving just a handful around the Egg.

  ‘We’ll never make it back!’ Livett whimpered.

  Gello was about to hit him when he realised how few men stood close. His shoulders slumped for a moment, then he straightened.

  ‘Whining won’t save us! Move!’ he ordered. ‘Get the Egg and the girl onto the ships and you shall all be rewarded beyond your dreams!’

  This Egg was his way back, he would not abandon it for anything. Then he looked over his shoulder, saw the demon running towards him and quailed.

  ‘Don’t worry, I am here!’ Onzalez shouted in the next moment.

  The shattered entrance to the hall closed up in an instant, sealing itself and blocking them off from the demon and his elven warriors.

  Gello could not keep the smile of relief from his face. Not only was Onzalez there, but Heath as well, along with a squad of his best men, the ones he had sent to warn the ships.

  ‘Where is Khaliz?’ Onzalez demanded. ‘And the rest of the men?’

  ‘Dead. All dead. First we had to defeat the magical guardian of the Egg, then came a demon and these vicious elves. Men ran or died.’

  ‘The guardian of the Egg?’

  ‘The girl. She defeated Khaliz in a magical duel. Ezok knows all about her,’ Gello explained. ‘She cost us time, and men, gave the elves the chance to summon this demon.’

  ‘Numbers are unimportant. Not now we have the Egg!’

  ‘We still have to get it back to the ships,’ Ezok muttered.

  Martil slammed into the door, cursing. It would not move.

  ‘Another way out!’ he barked.

  ‘This way!’ Havell, who had caught up after arming himself in time to help slaughter some of the slower runners, led them off to the right, down an infuriatingly long passage and up stone steps to a second door, which was not barred. They came out higher on the hill and Martil led the remaining Elfarans, now just a few dozen, in a desperate run down to the bay. The fighting had grown confused in the hall; the slower runners among the invaders, as well as those who had taken a wrong turn, had been found and massacred—but it had all taken time. Now he could see the effect of that, as well as the blocked doorway. The Egg and Karia were almost down at the ships. Desperation gave strength to his legs and he increased his strides, out-running even the fastest Elfarans. He could see the ships clearly, see the party slowly hefting the Egg on board. He almost did not care about the Egg. That could be retrieved later. But Karia…he had to rescue her. Everything was concentrated on getting to her. He could see her being carried limply in the arms of a Berellian. The sight sent a fresh surge of anger washing through him. Nothing could stop him.

  Then the Fearpriest with them saw him pounding down the hillside. He thrust his hands into the sand before him.

  Martil knew what was going to happen, so hurled himself forwards as the wave of power rippled through the ground. He hoped to get over it but it still caught him in its radius, sent him tumbling. He lost the Dragon Sword and lay winded for a moment.

  The Elfarans were running at full pace now, catching up to him, but again the Fearpriest used his hands to make the earth quake and knock them down. Martil staggered to his feet, grabbed the Dragon Sword and charged at the last few men pushing the ship out into the water. Already the oars were digging into the water but he knew if he could only get on the ship, he could at least get to Karia. Nothing mattered but that.

  The Dragon Sword cut down the last man then Martil leaped to grab a trailing rope with his left hand. He bobbed up to the surface and was pulled along, as he tried to haul himself up the rope while keeping hold of the Dragon Sword.

  On board, Livett pointed back at where Martil clung grimly to the rope, dragging himself along it one hand at a time.

  ‘Look at that!’ Livett pointed.

  Gello, Ezok and a dozen others rushed to the rail, to see the armoured demon moving ever closer. It saw them and let loose a chilling shout of rage. Its eyes still seemed to glow, while blood crusted the faceplate of its helm.

  ‘If that thing gets aboard, we’re all dead men!’ Livett bleated.

  Gello shouldered Livett aside and hacked at the rope with his sword, heedless of the damage he was doing to the wooden rail or the blade. Livett and Heath joined him and, next moment, the rope was cut.

  They stared overboard fearfully as the demon floundered in the water for a moment, then seemed to raise itself up, roaring once more. Livett trembled at the sight, then the weight of the demon’s armour dragged it under the surface.

  Merren could see Milly and Sendric now, at the end of the long aisle. She had taken her time with the walk, stopping to speak to people she recognised, or to take flowers from small children. Every time a girl held out a bunch, her heart leaped, thinking it was Karia. She could not help but think back to the day when she had ridden across this square in a carriage, stuck in the depths of despair, only to be told by the girl that her father was the greatest warrior in the world, and here to rescue her.

  Milly was smiling at her but Sendric looked impatient, no doubt the result of the long wait he had endured. In response, she slowed even further, and made a point of talking to a young woman with two small children, who was standing near a grim-faced Kettering.

  Karia woke up slowly, unaware of where she was. Her head hurt and she opened her mouth to ask Martil what was going on—only to discover there was a strip of cloth in her mouth. She tried to reach up and remove it, only to find her hands and feet were tied together. Panicking now, fully awake, she tried to escape, the beginnings of a scream in her throat.

  ‘Shh! It’s all right!’ a strange voice said.

  She looked around, frightened, to see a tall, blond man, in rich but dirty clothes holding his finger to his lips.

  ‘Please listen to me,’ he whispered. ‘Both our lives depend on it!’

  Karia looked at him and could see the pleading in his eyes. Slowly, she nodded.

  ‘We only have a little time. They are securing the Egg in the ship’s hold, and then they are going to come and talk to us both. This is what you need to say, if you want to live. Get it wrong, and we shall both die. Understand?’

  Again, Karia nodded. She remembered the exercises Barrett had taught her to calm her mind and used one of those.

  She did not know where she was but she was sure of one thing. Martil would come for her. Somehow he would come for her. She just had to stay alive long enough for that.

  Merren nodded to Archbishop Sadlier, who in turn nodded to Barrett. Thanks to the mage, everyone in the square would be able to hear the service.

  ‘People of Norstalos! We have come through the darkest period in our history into the light! This ceremony today marks a new beginning, a way forward…’

  Merren sighed as Milly began her speech. This was also an important symbol for the new head of the church and the new Archbishop’s chance to speak to a major part of the population. It looked like it would go for some time. But it had to come to an end eventually. She hoped it would not be soon.

  Martil came to the surface gaspi
ng and spitting water.

  ‘Karia!’ he bellowed, his voice echoing across the water, as the ships rapidly receded, the oars and the current pushing them along swiftly.

  Despite the armour and the Dragon Sword, he tried to swim after them.

  ‘Get him to the shore!’ Havell gasped.

  ‘Let go of me! They’re getting away!’ Martil protested, nearly going under again.

  Several Elfarans had thrown off their armour to come and rescue him, and they struggled to keep him above water. He thrashed and struck out at them, knocking all but one away from him.

  ‘Damn you! Let me go! I can catch them!’ he insisted.

  ‘Martil! You can’t do it that way! We have to use Argurium!’ Havell yelled into his ear.

  The words penetrated the red haze in Martil’s brain, and he allowed himself to be dragged to the shore, where he ripped off the helmet and vomited up bile and seawater in equal measures. His exertions, the running and fighting, caught up with him and it was all he could do to force himself to his knees, where he looked at the rapidly diminishing ships through a veil of tears.

  ‘We shall take Argurium, get her to land on the ship with the Egg and Karia, then tear them apart and bring the ship back,’ he vowed.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Havell appealed.

  Martil wiped his mouth and eyes and stared at the Elfaran. ‘What’s the matter? Afraid?’

  ‘Of failing, yes. There are too few of us. We cannot risk Argurium. The last dragon, man! And we cannot risk you! If you were to die, then the magic, the world could end.’

  ‘If you think I will let—’

  Havell grabbed his arm. ‘No! But use your head. They have to land. We need to find out where, so we can take back Karia and the Egg then!’

  ‘But what if they—’