A Darkness of Dragons

by S. A. Patrick

  There was a round of respectful applause. Lord Drevis stepped forward and addressed the crowd. “Welcome to you all! Today is the day that we shall celebrate an end to the saga of the Hamelyn Piper. It is with delight that I announce that tonight’s feast shall be followed by a spectacle of fireworks and wonders arranged by the Battle Pipers of Kintner!” There was a great cheer from the crowd. Drevis settled them down with several waves of his hand. “Those yet to lodge their horses in the stables at Tiviscan please be sure to do so in advance of the display. Also –” Drevis pulled out a sheet of paper and looked through it – “I’ve been asked to…to—”

  He drifted off into silence. Wren frowned, puzzled.

  There was a very low droning sound in the air, which varied rapidly as if an insect was attempting to fly into her ear. Wren looked around, expecting to see a swarm of bees or something similar nearby, but there was nothing.

  Instead, she noticed curious behaviour in those standing near her. Slowly, everyone bowed their heads in silence, including Drevis and the others on the stage. The low droning grew louder and more rhythmic, and a melody began to take shape. Wren could see that it wasn’t just those nearby who were affected. Within the vast Hollow, every single person was now standing utterly still, head bowed.

  She looked to the person next to her, a Piper with a blue and grey uniform; she took the woman by the shoulder and shook her vigorously. “Wake up!” hissed Wren. The Piper didn’t open her eyes. Worse, she felt stiff as a corpse, muscles locked in place.

  This wasn’t good.

  Suddenly, the people gathered round the stage began to stride backwards in unison. Wren did the same, not wanting to be left standing alone. When they all stopped, the ground around the base of the stage was empty.

  A group of men, dressed just like the one who had shoved her earlier, spread out along the back of the stage, then reached up into the cloth drapes beside them and seemed to pull on something. The meticulously crafted mock castle began to come apart. Painted canvas fell away from the wooden scaffolds, and then those scaffolds fell away too, landing on the newly vacated ground.

  What Wren saw being revealed underneath – something that had been hidden there all this time – made her tremble with a fear that was almost overwhelming.

  Where the mock castle had stood was a curious collection of huge cylindrical shapes. The tallest and widest of them, in the middle of the structure, was a hundred feet high and four feet wide; the cylinders became ever smaller out to each side.

  It was a Pipe Organ, and each of the Pipes was deep black in colour.

  Wren stared at it, open-mouthed. The sound was coming from those Pipes.

  On the stage, one final canvas sheet was pulled away to reveal a figure wearing a long hooded robe, sitting at a multi-tiered panel of keyboards and pedals that would have been more at home in one of the great cathedrals. Hands and feet started to fly up and down the keys and levers, and the low droning sound grew more and more complex, with higher notes added now, to create intricate melodies.

  The hooded figure stood and walked to the centre of the stage to take a bow, and even though the keys of the organ weren’t being played, the music kept going – just as it did whenever Patch paused while playing his Pipe.

  Wren looked around at the silent people and felt a deep chill as she realized what was going on. She tried hard not to react – drawing attention to herself could be disastrous.

  “Time to go,” she muttered. She backed away one slow step at a time. When she felt that she was at a safe enough distance from the stage, she made for the trees as fast as she could.

  Once in the woods she ran, plunging blindly through bushes. When something loomed up just ahead of her, she screamed.

  It was Barver. “Are you okay?” he said, looking just as panicked as she felt.

  Barver was alone. “Where’s Patch?” she asked.

  “He fell into some kind of trance,” he said. “I could hear those odd sounds, so I moved him down the other side of the hill until they faded. He went limp and collapsed. Then I came to find you.” There was dread all over Barver’s face. “What’s happening, Wren?”

  “Didn’t you see it?” she said. “It was hidden underneath the fake castle.”

  “I left our vantage point to get Patch to safety,” he said. “What was hidden?”

  She told him.

  They found Patch where Barver had left him, sitting behind an outcrop of rock. He was rubbing his head and moaning. Wren kneeled beside him. “Patch!” she said. “Snap out of it! We need you!”

  Patch looked at her, finding it hard to focus. “Did I fall?” he said. “I don’t—” He flung a hand to his mouth in shock: while they were far enough away for the organ music to have lost its power over him, it was still audible and he was able to pick out some of the familiar rhythms and melodies that lay within the intricate sounds. “Oh. Oh no.”

  “It’s a Pipe Organ!” cried Wren. “The Pipes are vast, and they’re dark black, Patch! The black diamond, the bones of the dragon children! It’s already been harvested, and turned into a huge Pipe Organ! Everyone in the Hollow is under its spell!”

  Patch stared at her, despairing. “An obsidiac Pipe Organ?” he said.

  “Exactly!” said Wren. “There was someone at the keys, and surely there’s only one person it could be!”

  Patch shook his head, dreading what she would say.

  “It’s the true Hamelyn Piper!” cried Wren. “It must be!”

  Patch wanted to run away, to just leave and not return, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. He slapped the side of his head quite hard. “Think!” he said to himself. “Think!” He looked at Barver. “You’re immune to the Song being played?”

  “I seem to be,” said Barver.

  “It may be human-targeted, then,” said Patch. “But why is Wren unaffected?”

  She shrugged and held up her wrist, waggling her bracelet. “I guess I’m technically still a rat,” she said. “With modifications.”

  Patch thought for a moment. “In that case, this is going to be up to you two,” he said. “I can’t get closer to the music or I’ll be just as useless as everyone else in the Hollow.”

  “So what do we do?” said Wren.

  “I’ll fly down and incinerate him,” said Barver.

  Wren smiled. “I like that idea.”

  “No,” said Patch. “He’ll be ready to defend himself. The moment he saw you, he’d knock you out of the sky. Probably kill you in the process.”

  Barver tutted. “This is me we’re talking about.”

  “Please, Barver,” said Patch. “That Pipe Organ could have incredible power. It’d be like the Battle Pipes at Tiviscan, but ten thousand times stronger.”

  Another sound joined that of the organ music. Voices. “Go and take a look, Wren,” said Patch. “Tell us what’s happening.”

  She hurried up the hill and returned a minute later. “Some of the crowd are standing in rows and columns, like soldiers,” she said. “They’re moving suddenly every few seconds – both arms up, then to the sides, then down. They keep shouting every time they move, something I couldn’t make out. The rest of the people are at the edges of the Hollow, standing motionless with their heads bowed.”

  Patch listened carefully to the music. He could feel it pull on his mind, but he knew he was just beyond its range. “Like soldiers—” he said, an idea forming. “Does the Pipe Organ look like it could be moved around easily?”

  “Not a chance,” said Wren. “It’s just as big as the castle mock-up.”

  Patch frowned. “Then he needs an army. Unthinking, and controlled utterly by him. But the control would have to continue even after the Piping stopped, or they could never go anywhere.”

  “Is that possible?” said Barver.

  “The permanent domination of the mind of another person,” mused Patch. “A Song of absolute control, of puppetry. Making someone a mindless slave! That kind of thing isn’t supposed to be pos
sible.”

  “Wait!” said Wren. “A man stopped me going too close to the back of the stage, and I swear he was in some kind of trance. There was something wrong about him. Apparently he and others like him helped build the stage in the first place.”

  “Puppets!” said Barver. “It would make sense for the Hamelyn Piper to recruit some before he came here, to help him prepare.”

  “Then such a Song must be possible after all,” said Patch. “And he’s attempting to enslave everyone in the Hollow, all at once!”

  “Not everyone,” said Wren. “Half of the people had taken themselves to the Hollow’s edge.”

  “Did you notice a difference between them?” said Barver. “Those at the edges, and those being controlled?”

  Wren thought for a moment. “Pipers!” she said. “It was the ordinary people at the edges, Pipers in the centre!”

  “An army of Pipers,” said Patch, dread filling him. “And among them the best of the Elite…”

  Wren’s eyes widened. “And surely he would arm them all with obsidiac Pipes!” she said.

  “They’d be invincible,” said Barver.

  Patch listened to the Song again. Parts of it seemed familiar enough – he thought he could unpick those aspects if he had a chance. “He’s gradually taking them over,” he said. “How long it requires I don’t know, but if he succeeds then silencing the organ won’t be enough. They’ll already be his soldiers.”

  “So we strike now, before it’s too late!” said Barver. “Let me toast his noggin!”

  Patch shook his head. “No incinerating unless absolutely necessary,” he said, to Barver’s disappointment. “The very minds of his victims could be at terrible risk if the Song simply collapses! We need a way to disable the Hamelyn Piper safely. Knock him unconscious, maybe, so I can get down there and try to reverse the Song.”

  The three of them thought in silence.

  “I’ve got it!” cried Wren. She went to Barver’s side and delved into Erner’s bag, pulling out a cloth and carefully unwrapping something.

  A leather pouch.

  “This might be just what we need,” she said. “Kaposher Dust. Underath had it.”

  “Ah!” said Barver, nodding. He took the pouch from Wren, feeling its weight. “I can throw the pouch at the Hamelyn Piper if I get close enough, but it’s a risk. As long as it still has potency there’s plenty here, but Kaposher goes stale easily.”

  “We should test it,” said Patch, taking it from Barver. He reached to the ground beside him and picked up an acorn. With extreme care he untied the mouth of the pouch, then dipped the acorn inside and tied the pouch shut again. He tossed the acorn high into the branches of a nearby tree.

  They waited.

  They heard a squeak and a squirrel dropped out of the leaves, falling like a stone. It was out cold.

  Satisfied, Patch gave the pouch to Wren. “You’ll both have to do this,” he said. “Barver, you must focus on flying. Wren, you open the pouch up fully and throw it. Don’t breathe the dust, whatever you do.”

  “And how do we get close, if he’ll swat me like a fly?” asked Barver.

  “I’ll try to draw his attention,” said Patch. “But I can’t promise much, from so far away.” He reached into his bag for his Pipe, but his fingers touched something else. He pulled out the Hamelyn Piper’s Mask and unfolded it.

  “If only we could slap that thing on him!” said Barver.

  “Would it work?” said Patch. “Casimir built the Mask to block Songs passing through it, purely to stop the Hamelyn Piper lip-playing his way to freedom. It wouldn’t prevent him playing that organ.”

  There was a thought buzzing in his head, however. He thought back to the stories of the Eight, as his own words echoed around his mind: this was designed to block Songs passing through it.

  But that wasn’t quite true – it wouldn’t let Songs leave. The Songs of another could still affect the prisoner while he wore the Mask, so that the Pipers guarding him could use whatever was needed to restrain him.

  It was a one-way barrier to the magic of music.

  Patch folded the Mask, then unfolded it again. The action was smooth and took very little pressure. Fold; unfold.

  He did it once more, but this time he twisted it in a slightly different way, and the Mask was inverted when it opened. The curious markings in the metal – those runes that Casimir himself had engraved and inlaid with obsidiac – were on the outside of the Mask now, not the inside.

  Barver and Wren were staring at him.

  “You don’t think—?” said Wren.

  “It’s worth a try,” said Patch. He raised the Mask to his own head and put it on. He had an immediate sense of claustrophobia. With the Mask’s latch broken he had to keep it closed with one hand. He strode towards the hilltop, Barver and Wren following. As he walked the music grew louder, but he could already feel the difference.

  The Obsidiac Organ was having no effect; the Mask was protecting him.

  “Do you have twine, Barver?” said Patch.

  Barver nodded and produced some from his side pack. “Hold still,” he said, and gently secured the front of the Mask.

  Patch was the Piper in the Iron Mask, now.

  He took his Pipe from his bag. “But can I Pipe while wearing it?” he said. “I’m going to play you some courage. Tell me if it works.”

  He began to create the Song of Courage; as he played, Barver and Wren straightened up and thrust out their chins, looking to the sky, determined and fearless. Yet for once, Patch himself didn’t get any benefit from his Song.

  “It’s definitely working,” said Wren.

  “Good,” said Patch. “I’ll be your distraction. I’ll hit him with everything I’ve got. It should give you a window of opportunity. But whatever happens once the Kaposher is thrown, get out of there as fast as you can and leave this place! Don’t wait to check he’s unconscious, just go! Get back to Marwheel Abbey: to Tobias and Alia, and Rundel Stone. Make sure the world knows what’s happening here!” Barver and Wren both shifted uneasily, saying nothing; Patch hoped their courage wasn’t about to override common sense. “Do you understand? Whatever happens, get away from here as fast as you can!”

  Wren frowned. “But what if you—?”

  “Swear it!” cried Patch. “Even if I get into trouble, there’s to be no rescuing of any kind!” He fixed his gaze on them both. Eventually they nodded.

  “I swear,” mumbled Barver.

  “Me too,” said Wren, reluctantly.

  “When the Hamelyn Piper is unconscious I’ll tie him up and put the Mask on him,” said Patch, taking the rest of Barver’s twine. “Then I’ll see if I can use the Organ and reverse the Song’s effects. Now go! Hide at the rear of the Hollow, then wait for my signal. The Pipe Organ itself should give you some cover as you fly at him.”

  “What’s your signal going to be?” asked Wren.

  Patch grinned through the Iron Mask. “Chaos!”

  Patch watched from the edge of the Hollow.

  The civilians were standing around the perimeter with their heads bowed, all but forgotten by the Hamelyn Piper, whose focus was entirely on his new army. Now that he was so close, Patch could make out what it was these “soldiers” were shouting each time they changed position: “We obey you, Lord!”

  The Hamelyn Piper was sitting at the organ, his arms moving in a frenzy over the keys. Standing along the back of the stage were a dozen large men, identically dressed; Patch assumed they were the ones Wren had mentioned, the Puppets. The organ’s Song kept growing in complexity, the movements of the sleeping army becoming more refined as the Song grew ever richer. The Hamelyn Piper’s control of his victims was increasing.

  Patch gripped his Pipe. The Iron Mask felt more uncomfortable every second, making it hard for him to concentrate. He thought of that poor innocent prisoner, who had worn it for almost a decade, and scolded himself. He needed to ignore the Mask and focus!

  His plan was simple enough. He�
��d promised chaos, and if there was one Song that had caused chaos in his own life, surely it had to be the Dance. And while the Hamelyn Piper had an army, Patch realized he could have one too – the unconscious civilians were no longer the target of the organ Piping. If Patch could reach them with the Dance, then delivering the chaos he’d promised would be within his grasp!

  The Dance was a flexible Song; that was how Patch had been able to match it to the reels and jigs he’d taught the various bands he’d played with, after fleeing Tiviscan. Whatever the tune, he knew how to play the Dance underneath it. If it was a familiar tune for a well-known dance, those caught in the spell would perform the moves that the tune required.

  He watched carefully as the Pipers in the Hollow repeated their movements again and again. A plan had taken shape in his mind.

  He put his Pipe to his lips and started to play, hoping he was too far from the stage for the Hamelyn Piper to notice anything amiss. The feet of the civilians nearest to him began to tap out the rhythm he played. As expected, none of the Pipers were responding – they were lost to the Song of the Pipe Organ.

  He risked playing a little louder to draw in more civilians, and then he moved along the perimeter of the Hollow. The civilians followed behind him in a line, like sleepwalkers, taking rhythmic steps with their heads still bowed. Each had a dreamy smile on their lips as, deep in their slumber, they enjoyed their dancing.

  With perhaps two hundred recruits gathered, Patch turned and walked into the Hollow. He led his followers along the space between two columns of Pipers, who continued to follow their commands, oblivious to Patch and the civilians. When he was halfway to the Pipe Organ he changed his Song to include the melody of something everyone would know.

  The Garland Reel.

  At once, the civilians did as the reel required. They paired up and faced one another, two lines of dancers just fitting into the gap between the columns of Pipers.

  Patch paid close attention to the sequence of movements the Pipers were following. It included a section where they raised one leg, balanced on it for a few seconds, then lowered it, before doing the same with the other leg.