Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2)

by C. M. Gray

  * * *

  Chapter 22

  The Battle for Dhurban

  'Please don't touch that… no, nor that… Mr Elisop, please…' Magician Falk let out a sigh of frustration. 'I have tried to explain several times that this machine is very delicate. If you fiddle with things, pull things, untie ropes or change the settings of my instruments, there is a very good chance that…'

  'Fiddle with things!' I shall have you know that I am an expert in… in… ' the little spy waved absently around him at the contraption they were in, flying several hundred spans above the city of Sterling Port.

  Magician Falk slapped Elisop's hand as it reached for a rope holding a bag of sand to the side of the basket.

  'Oww!' There is no need to resort to physical violence. You, sir, are as bad as those horrible children in the way that you treat King Hugo's most trusted and most senior agent and spy.'

  'Hmmm, well that is a matter of opinion, but you are not expert in the art of ballooning. It was I who built this very singular machination and I have taught you nothing, nor indeed shall I ever teach you anything of its design or operation, you are a horrid little man. Now sit down and keep your hands to yourself or the next ballast bag that I shall throw over the side shall be you!' the Magician glared at Elisop. 'Behave and I shall make us some brew to chase the chills away.'

  Elisop returned the angry look but decided not to reply, turning instead to look over the side, but then felt his guts churn and his knees weaken at the awful sight of houses, roads and tiny people passing beneath them, such a long, long way down. He quickly glanced up and fixed his attention on the far distant mountains instead.

  'A brew would be most welcome and go some way towards your apology. When King Hugo placed me in charge…'

  'He did not place you in charge! He… wooooh!' The balloon surged upwards spilling both men to the floor and the contents of brew pot down the Magician's robes. They both scrambled to their feet, spluttering. 'What did you do? What did you touch?' The Magician's eyes glanced over the instruments and then to the side of the basket. 'Aha!'

  'It wasn't me, I did nothing.' Elisop stood, hands outstretched in denial, shocked that he should be accused.

  'You undid the rope, there is a sandbag missing! Mr Elisop, sit down and touch nothing else or I shall be forced to use magic upon you.'

  Elisop glowered. 'You would not dare to…'

  'Do you want to take that risk? Now sit down and be a good spy. If you wish to be useful then sit at the propulsion drive and turn the wheel.' Elisop slunk down into the canvas chair and placed his feet onto the metal pedals. He slowly and grudgingly began pushing them round, and a loud whirring sound could be heard coming from the rear, his eyes flickered from side to side in trepidation as vibration shook the basket. It had all been explained to him before they took flight, but every time he sat to drive the huge propeller, fear over took him, and he felt certain the Source damned thing would shake the whole contraption to pieces.

  'This infernal machine of yours is… is…' Elisop's feet began to move faster and faster and the whirring grew to a strong steady hum sending even more vibrations through the basket. 'There is nothing natural about any of it.' Glancing up at the huge grey balloon floating above them, the little spy shuddered, and then looked back to Magician Falk who was back to setting up his brew pot.

  'Are we there yet? I want to go down.' Elisop gave a sulky look but kept peddling.

  'No, we are not there yet. We have only just entered the desert.' Magician Falk peered over the side to get a bearing on their position. 'However, with you propelling us and a good wind behind, we may reach our destination sometime late tomorrow. We will fly through the night, and it is going to get rather cold so a brew will do us good. I shall try once again.' Magician Falk rubbed his hands together then held them out to the balloon's flaming burner with the little brew pot perched on the side. He gave a tug on a small chain and a huge flame erupted from the burner, shooting up into the cavernous mouth of the balloon with a roar. The basket lurched, and they felt it rise.

  'Oh, I do enjoy flying, don't you?'

  Elisop glared but kept up his steady, pedalling rhythm.

  * * *

  The shield to the city was holding, just. The Magician and his aides were a flurry of activity, constantly dashing from point to point, day and night, re-tying the weaves to the spell, charging the essence of the magic and focusing the protection towards areas of the city that needed it most.

  Watching from high on one of the many turrets, Quint and Mahra gazed down through a storm of impacts that was turning the night sky into an impressive rainbow of ear-splitting crackling energy - the shield was holding, but it was under considerable strain. The stones and arrows of the invading Soul Eater army were being vaporised by the shield; however, the city's defences being unleashed upon the invaders were passing through and inflicting death and awful carnage. Yet the Soul Eaters appeared to have no fear. Thousands were dying under the rain of rocks from the city's catapults, but still more attackers continued to come, throwing themselves forward at the city walls, seemingly oblivious to the rain of projectiles killing those around them. It seemed incredible to Quint that they would keep on coming as the crunching impact of skulls and bones being broken by the rocks and the screams and wailing of the dying filled the night air, yet still they came, piling their dead against the walls. What could be driving them on that was so much worse than a certain death upon the walls of a foreign city, wondered Quint?

  He drew his sword a small way and slammed it home, drew it again, slammed it home again, repeating and repeating the action as he had for several turns of the glass while he had watched the horror of the attack unfold. 'If they break through, it's going to be here. Mahra, go and find Pardigan. When you return, come in through one of the quieter parts of the city where the shield is weakest, maybe Pardigan can place-shift. We each have to do what we're best at, and there's nothing for you here, you need to find and help Pardigan, I'm sure of it.' Quint took a deep breath then turned and looked into Mahra's eyes. 'All I can do is stay here and fight wherever I'm needed… it's what the Source made of me, it's all I'm good for.' He fingered the sword at his belt, the pent up frustration of being unable to do anything other than that and the need to witness the horror unfolding in front of the walls almost too much to bear.

  'You're more than that Quint. The Source gave you great power and skill, but it didn't turn you into a mindless killer, there is a huge difference. The skulls not being present in Sterling are causing a lot of the emotions you're going through. Their power was returning the balance to the world, but, with them gone, it has been slipping back the other way again, towards chaos. What you see out there is the force of Chaos; this is the Chaos storm that we knew could rise if the skulls weren't in place. We have to find the third skull and return it. Hold on to whom you are Quint, don't let Chaos into your heart.' She reached out and squeezed his shoulder, feeling tears welling up inside her. Choking them back down, she tried to smile, then turned inwards towards the centre of the city and threw herself from the wall, the incredible rush of air quickly taken up by soft white snowy wings. She soared across the rooftops and then turned back to look at the boy standing alone on the tower… Source be with you Quint. Source be with us all…

  * * *

  The moment Pardigan had arrived amongst the army of the Soul Eaters he had cursed his own stupid impetuousness. Typical, he fumed. I can't believe I just did that. Not only was he standing amongst a whole bunch of screaming angry warriors, but also his mind was already contemplating the thought of returning through that awful shield. He blinked invisible and stepped several paces to the right as a very surprised looking warrior slashed at the now empty space with a spear. The man frowned in confusion but said nothing, swishing the air from side to side with his spear a few times before glancing around as if looking for someone else to confirm that a boy had materialised, and then, just as suddenly disappeared. Pardigan grinned then jumped bac
k as another warrior almost collided with him in his haste to get to the wall. Time to get away from the crush of battle. He glanced round then moved off and ducked into a large tent, checked around to make sure it was empty and then became visible. It was still incredibly hot, but a relief to get out of the direct sun. He looked over the collection of sacks and broken boxes and decided the skull wouldn't be amongst whatever was here; it was just discarded supplies and empty containers. Peaking outside again, he blinked invisible and slipped out.

  As he moved further away from the city wall it became less crowded, and he had a chance to look around. He slowed as he came to a roped off paddock, home to one of the huge grey beasts with the four long downturned horns, he stopped and stared in open mouthed curiosity at the immense size and strangeness of the creature, then stepped back hurriedly as it reached out to touch him with its long, grey and very wrinkled nose - a little disturbed that it could so obviously see him. He watched in awe as the end of the nose gently lifted then reached out towards him. It was like a small mouth, opening and closing, the inside of the two nostril tubes bright pink and wet and surrounded with bristly hairs. The animal snorted softly, and a wash of warm air blew into his face smelling of sweet hay. The nose moved up and tapped him on the head, and he almost dropped his spell in surprise, and then it turned and went back to grabbing more tufts of hay from a great sack - its interest in invisible boys satisfied. Pardigan smiled and moved on, quite delighted with the exchange, he liked it and wondered what it was called.

  With the sounds of battle fading into the background, he spent what remained of the day searching through tents and hastily constructed buildings, sheltering from the sun and seeking somewhere that was splendid enough that the invaders might have placed the skull. There were a few better-appointed tents; obviously the quarters of higher-ranking officials, but after a cursory search of each Pardigan had quickly dismissed them.

  The sun had set, and fires and torches lit around the huge camp when he made the decision to return and finally follow Mahra's advice. The huge building that the butterfly man had emerged from was an obvious choice, and if the skull wasn't there, then maybe it wasn't in the camp at all. The closer he got the more difficult it was to remain hidden. A mixture of place-shifting and being invisible was getting him closer, the huge beast and its building were easy enough to see. It had been moved back out of the range of the city's catapults, but it was still surrounded by troops and the wraiths that Pardigan had been trying so hard to avoid. He was pretty sure they couldn't see him, but they gave him the creeps all the same.

  Slipping into the building closest to the massive beast he tried to relax, but that turned out to be a little difficult. It appeared to be unoccupied, but it smelled awful… in fact, it stank really… really badly, more than any other building he had been in, and he had been in a few smelly buildings in the camp already. Holding his nose, he had a quick look around. It was a long building thrown together using oddments of scrap lumber, palm fronds and pieces of old canvas. Inside, heavy crates were lined up along one side, built up onto a low platform. He had no desire to see what was in for them to smell like that, maybe it was food for the big creatures. Anyway, he was pretty sure they wouldn't be hiding the skull here. There were a lot of flies buzzing lazily through the thick fetid air, he swatted one away from his face and returned his attention back outside to the beast and its building. The only way to get in was to place-shift, he could reach it from here, but he was all too aware that there would be a moment when he would become visible for all to see before he could switch spells. There were no windows, the only entry to the building was the door at the top of the stairs, and therefore, the only place to shift to was right next to it. There were guards at the bottom, but they were facing outwards and wouldn't see him. Pardigan drew a deep breath, and instantly regretted it as the smell filled his lungs, and he felt the need to vomit… what was that awful stink? He tried to still his beating heart and felt a bead of sweat trickle slowly down his back. He had to get out of here, he was ready, but was still hesitating… this was ridiculous, what if the door was locked? … He supposed he'd just have to shift out again.

  He was still just sorting it out in his head when, without any warning, a warrior pushed into the tent and bumped into him roughly - he blinked invisible and stifled a gasp as he fell to the floor. The warrior glanced down at where he lay, but seeing nobody there, moved to one of the crates and lifted the lid. He peered in, slammed the top back down and moved to the next. Pardigan watched with interest, then pulled the cloth of his shirt up to breathe through because, with the crates opening, the smell was getting even worse. At the fourth crate, the warrior grunted in satisfaction, turned his back to it, dropped his leggings, hitched up his jerkin and sword belt and sat down. Pulling out a knife and a bit of stick, he started to sharpen it, whistling softly and farted. Pardigan didn't know whether to laugh or throw up, he was in a privy! Crawling to his knees he turned, sighted through the gap by the door, and place-shifted.

  The experience of place-shifting was always traumatic. It was like being squeezed through a tube, forcing his way in before coming whooshing out the other side. He landed with an audible thump on the top step and fell forward, banging into the door. Rubbing his head, he cursed softly and blinked invisible at the same time. A quick glance down to the guards revealed he hadn't been spotted, and he turned ready to work on the lock, however, his first experimental try at turning the doorknob found nobody had thought it necessary to lock it. The door opened, and he slipped inside.

  * * *

  The wailing sound of a horn cut through the roar of battle, Quint snapped his head round to scan the wall to his right, trying to see through the smoke and chaos of battle and spot where the problem was. There… close to the next tower, the shield had failed, the third time it had happened in this section. A large crackling hole about the size of a carriage outlined in dancing blue energy was rapidly filling with warriors from the Soul Eater army, clambering over the battlements, already fighting a pitched battle with the Sultan's men. He watched as the dragon dropped down out of the night sky its shrieking roar deafening. As it passed the breach, it bathed everything with fire, torching both attackers and defenders indiscriminately.

  Quint fired off several arrows that merely bounced off its scaly hide and then, throwing down his bow in favour of his sword, dashed down three flights of stairs and out onto the ramparts.

  Within moments, he was in the thick of the battle, pushing his way through other groups of defenders as they fired arrows down into the mass of the enemy. About two-dozen of the invaders had already made it through and were trying to hold a position around the breach to allow in more of their numbers. Quint pushed past the last of those in his way, drew his sword and attacked, immediately taking the place of a man who fell screaming into the darkness clutching a spear in his stomach. Deflecting one blow, Quint turned as a long curved sword cut down, aimed at his head. He neatly sidestepped, pulled the warrior's sword arm towards him and then hit him hard between the shoulder blades as he passed, sending the man flying off the walkway into the city to land with a crash in the street below. Moving on to the next enemy, he deflected another cut then punched out with his left fist catching his opponent in the kidneys then slammed his elbow up under his chin. One of the Sultan's men ran in beside him and together they tipped the man back over the wall on top of those moving up from below, where more attackers were streaming up ladders, screaming in defiance, their faces contorted with hatred and violence. Two of the Sultan's men moved in and began using a forked pole to push the ladder outward, and Quint added his own weight. He stared into the face of the man at the top of the ladder, eyes gleaming above an oiled beard and a mouth open in an angry scream that turned quickly to a look and scream of terror as the ladder toppled backwards to land with a crash onto the horde below. Turning his attention back to those already on the wall, Quint began to move in a familiar deadly dance, cutting, spinning and kicking, clearing the
battlements of invaders until he came upon two huge bearded warriors. They were blocking the rampart, protecting those coming up ladders set behind them, and had several defenders lying dead or dying at their feet. Dropping low, Quint continued his momentum and spun, bringing his blade flashing at their legs while their own blades met only air in the space where he had been. They were both well armoured with metal greaves protecting their shins and his sword crashed into them, slicing across the polished metal in a shower of sparks. The warriors both howled and staggered back to teeter on the edge of the wall and with a shriek of his own, Quint leapt forward, jumped and planted a foot on each man's chest in a fierce double kick that sent them both flying over the side. He landed heavily then sprang up, immediately stepping aside as a huge metal bucket was dragged to the wall and tipped over the edge, sending boiling oil into the upturned faces of those below – howling screams erupted to fill the night air.

  Grabbing the shirt of one of the men as they dragged the bucket back in, Quint hissed, 'We need to close the break, where are the Magician and his men?' The man glanced at him, probably wondering who he was, then nodded his head, indicating he should look where a small man in a dark red robe was crouched at the side of the breach. He was forcing crystals of some kind into the wall muttering and then moving a few paces to repeat the procedure, all this while ignoring the fact that a large group of people were surrounding him intent upon killing each other. As a new wave of attackers reached the top of the wall, Quint turned back to the fight and stabbed out with his sword doing his best to work with the Sultan's men, forcing the invaders back, cutting, stabbing and kicking at the never ending tide of ferocious warriors trying to get at them.

  Eventually, enough of the Sultan's men arrived that Quint was able to step back, exhausted and watch as the shield began to flicker until final, it became whole once more.