by Aaron Hodges
“Give her up, Quinn!” The old woman’s voice chased after him.
He glanced back, seeing her standing in the gate tunnel. Flames gathered in an outstretched hand, and then rushed towards him. Quinn threw himself to the side as the conflagration struck the sand where he’d been, showering him with molten glass. The unconscious Alana tumbled from his shoulder, her head lolling against her shoulders like a ragdoll’s.
Leaping to his feet, he hauled her up, but another blast of flame struck the ground before he could go further. He staggered to a stop, turning to face the old woman. She walked slowly towards him, her eyes flashing an angry red, power flickering in the palm of her hand.
Quinn swallowed hard. Where had this woman come from? She was certainly not a priest, not from the Earth Temple, at least. Had one of the Trolan Magickers escaped during the war, and bided her time for all these years?
“Drop her, Stalker!” Her command rang off the castle walls.
“Never,” Quinn growled.
Fire was building in the palm of her hand, but with Alana in his arms, he knew she couldn’t risk another attack. Quinn thought quickly, seeking an escape. She was still some fifty yards distant, but she was moving slowly, her aging frame betraying her. He started to back away, matching her stride for stride.
“You think you can escape me?” Her voice chased after him, harsh and mocking.
Quinn shook his head but didn’t reply. From the corner of his eyes, he caught the glint of three specks on the horizon. He smiled, keeping the relief from his face.
“Who says I wish to escape you, my lady?” he asked.
A frown appeared on the woman’s face. She spun towards the horizon, spying the specks of red hovering to the south. They were already growing larger. Returning to Quinn, she pointed a finger.
“Give her up, Quinn,” she hissed. “Now!”
It was Quinn’s turn to grin now. “You know what approaches, stranger. Even your magic cannot defy three Red Dragons. Perhaps it is you who should give up?”
The woman bared her teeth, rage showing on her face. She took a step towards him, her flames crackling, but Quinn pulled Alana’s unconscious body in front of his chest, forming a human shield.
“Go ahead!” He laughed as the woman lowered her hand.
“You truly are a coward,” she hissed.
A tremor went through her, and for a moment it seemed she would attack him, regardless of Alana. He pulled her closer against his body and held his sabre to her throat. “One more move, and she dies,” he snapped.
Slowly, the fire died in the woman’s hand. Her eyes shimmered, returning to a crystal blue. She stared at him a moment longer, fists clenched, then she sheathed her sword and swung away. Moving quickly, she retreated to the gate tunnel and vanished into the darkness beyond.
Quinn allowed himself a long breath out, his shoulders slumping in sudden relief. He watched the shadows of the gate a moment longer, then turned to watch the southern horizon.
Chapter 36
Agony tore at Devon’s leg as he staggered after Kellian. His friend had sheathed his knives and taken the boy, but still Devon struggled to keep up. With each step he could feel the crossbow bolt grating against his collarbone. Fire radiated from the wound in his shoulder, but he still held kanker clenched in one hand. With sheer bloody-minded determination, he stumbled on.
Ahead, the darkness receded, giving way to the courtyard beyond the gates. His heart pounded hard in his chest as he moved out into the dying shadows, joining Kellian in the cobbled centre. With Braidon slumped over one shoulder, his friend had drawn to a stop and was looking back the way from which they’d come. Following his gaze, Devon’s stomach clenched as he saw the silhouette of the old woman approaching.
Alone.
“Alana,” Devon murmured. Without thinking, he stepped towards the tunnel, but a hand from Kellian held him back. Devon swung on him. “We can’t just leave her with him!”
“We must,” Kellian replied softly. He nodded to the boy. “Her brother lives. She would want us to save him—you know that!”
Devon swallowed, words abandoning him. The last of his strength fled into the void and he slumped against his friend. Kellian staggered but held him tight, supporting his weight. Eyes tearing up, Devon looked away, his gaze drifting upwards.
He frowned as a shadow swept across the sky. The hairs on his neck stood on end as, moments later, a roar echoed through the courtyard. Kellian tensed beneath him, and, gritting his teeth, Devon forced himself to take his own weight. Bile rose in his throat as his head swam, but he growled in defiance and hefted kanker above his head.
“Come on, dragon, come and get us!” he screamed at the sky.
A roar from above answered him, followed by the rush of wind and a violent crash as the beast came barrelling down into the courtyard. The ground shook beneath their feet as it struck, causing Devon to stagger and fall to his knees. The courage went rushing from him as he stared up at the beast.
The dragon towered over them, its jaws like an open doorway, stretching wide to swallow them. Giant claws sliced through the cobbled ground like it was butter. The scales glowed golden in the last rays of sunlight. Its massive tail lashed out, smashing through a cluster of pillars and causing a low roof to topple inwards. The great blue eyes blinked as the long neck twisted around to inspect the damage.
Sorry.
Devon blinked as the voice spoke in his mind. He stared up at the creature, taking it in, struggling to comprehend. It was far larger than the dragons he’d seen in the Tsar’s thrall. His fear slowly trickled away, replaced by awe. Pulling himself back to his feet, he shook his head, unable to believe what he was seeing.
Its scales were golden.
The Gold Dragons had fought alongside the Three Nations against Archon, and been wiped out during the final conflict. Yet here one stood, its head lifted high, its glistening blue eyes staring down at them with unmistakable intelligence.
Looking into those eyes, Devon suddenly realised it had been speaking to them. He glanced at the ruined pillars, then back at the dragon. He waved one shaking hand.
“It’s nothing…” he hesitated, trying to remember the name the priest had used. “Dahniul?”
A low rumble came from the dragon’s chest. Very well. There was a pause as the blue eyes flickered to the tunnel. You must be quick, if we wish to survive.
Beside Devon, Kellian still stood staring at the dragon, his face frozen with fear. Devon nodded for him, and the beast crouched down, offering a forearm. Gripping his friend by the arm, Devon dragged him towards the creature.
“What are you doing?” Kellian gasped, coming back to life.
“Gold Dragons are allies, remember?” he replied. “We’re going to ride him!”
“Are you insane?” Kellian yelled, but some of the fear had gone from his eyes and his resistance ceased.
Together, they made it to the dragon’s side. Even crouched, it was twice the height of a horse, and they were forced to use its forearm to climb up. With Kellian’s help, they managed to get the unconscious Braidon on the dragon’s back. Devon followed him, only the adrenaline thumping through his veins keeping him upright. Scrambling up, he glanced back and grimaced at the trail of blood he’d left on the golden scales.
Reaching down with his good arm, he helped Kellian up behind him. His friend’s face was pale and he settled into place without a word. They had both seen what these creatures were capable of, had watched as the Tsar’s Red Dragons burned entire fields of men alive.
“Now what?” Kellian yelled, his voice several octaves higher than usual.
The dragon shifted beneath them, its great head turning back towards the tunnel. Shadows flickered in the darkness as the green robes of the old priest appeared. Tillie was limping now, moving slowly. The dragon lowered its head to meet her, and Devon sensed words pass between them.
A second later, the Tillie appeared. Her face was dark, her lips drawn tight. Her blue eyes
flashed back at them as she sat in front of Devon.
“You have Braidon?”
Devon sat frozen by the power in her gaze, but Kellian’s voice came from behind him. “We have him.”
“Then go, Dahniul!” Tillie shouted.
Dahniul crouched, and leapt into the sky with a roar. Devon gasped as his stomach fell away. The air crackled as the great wings swept down, sending dust swirling across the courtyard. Below, the walls shrank as they lifted higher, unveiling the great expanse of the fortress beneath them. Devon glimpsed a dark-cloaked figure standing beyond the gates, looking up at them. A body lay on the ground beside him.
“Can’t you help her?” Devon screamed, his heart aching as he looked down at Alana.
But the dragon was already turning beneath them, its giant wings beating hard, heading north.
Tillie did not look back, but her words carried to him over the rushing wind. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sad. “I tried, but even Dahniul cannot fight three.” With her words, she pointed to the south.
His hope falling away, Devon twisted to look at the horizon, where three scarlet specks hung in the air. They grew larger as he watched, the great beasts rushing across the sky, trying to cut off their escape.
As though in response, the Dahniul unleashed an awesome roar. It rose higher in the sky, until it seemed the air itself would turn to ice around them. Trembling with the cold, Devon’s thoughts fell away as he concentrated all his energy into just hanging on. Through the clouds below, a desert was flashing past, a myriad of rocky escarpments and rolling dunes. They began to lift, growing and stretching, becoming rolling hills, then jagged mountains that reached up towards them. His gaze travelled on, the white-capped peaks rushing closer.
Devon glanced back and saw the Red Dragons had fallen far behind. Their smaller wings couldn’t keep pace with Dahniul, and now they were little more than specks on the horizon again. They would soon lose them in the mountains.
Despair welled in Devon’s heart he looked at the distant fortress. Fort Fall was just a black dot in the narrow neck of land that was The Gap now, its giant ramparts and spiralling towers reduced to miniature. Somewhere beyond, Alana lay unconscious, imprisoned by the vile lieutenant of the Stalkers. Closing his eyes, he sought to stem the pain, to assure himself they’d made the right decision. Alana would have wanted them to escape with her brother.
It was no good, and he found himself falling into the familiar trappings of guilt. If only he’d fought harder, had killed Quinn before the archer could stop him. If only he’d stayed, tried to save her. But he hadn’t, and now the fiery young woman was gone.
Devon remembered her words around the campfire then, the spark in her eyes as she told him she would go back for her brother. A sudden resolve came over him, a soft determination that cut through his pain and despair. He knew what he had to do.
He would regain his strength and march south. With an army or by himself, it didn’t matter. One way or another, he would free her from the dark clutches of the Tsar. He just prayed to the Gods Alana would survive that long.
Beneath them, the dragon drifted lower as they entered the clouds that clung to the mountains. Water formed on Devon’s beard, but he wiped it away, his eyes turning to the woman riding in front of him. He thought back to their first meeting in Sitton Forest. Where had she come from, this powerful Magicker? Why had she travelled with them all this time, helped them, saved them?
As though sensing his thoughts, the old woman stood suddenly. Balancing precariously on the dragon’s neck, she turned and sat down once more. Now she was facing them, Devon could see her eyes were blue again, their sapphire depths clear and piercing. He swallowed as she looked at him, remembering how she had carved through the Stalkers like they were amateurs, not accomplished swordsmen.
The question came to his lips unbidden, slipping out before he could catch himself. “Who are you?”
A smile appeared on her aged face, the wrinkles seeming to vanish for a moment, so it seemed a much younger woman sat before them. Her eyes danced as she spoke.
“My name is Enala,” she said, “and I was sent by the Goddess to find you.”
Epilogue
Consciousness came slowly to Alana. It began with the faint tug of wind in her hair, the awareness of a cushioned mattress beneath her, the warmth of the air in her nostrils. Light seeped through her eyelids, shaking away the last dregs of sleep. A frown creased her forehead as an unknown fear touched her, and she sought to return to her dreams.
An image floated through her mind, of a man with black hair streaked with blonde, and brown, piercing eyes. He stood over her, sword poised, the blade glistening as he prepared to strike.
A scream tore from Alana’s throat as she jerked upright, throwing off a heavy blanket and scrambling to escape. She yelled again as she tumbled sideways and fell from the bed. Stars flashed across her vision as her head struck something hard, followed by the thud of her body hitting the floor. Groaning, she struggled up, sanity creeping back into her thoughts.
Alana took in her surroundings, her confusion mounting. The bed on which she’d lain was massive, its heavy duvet thrown back, the silken sheets still tangled around her legs. Four columns at the corners of the bed held up a rich oaken panel and velvet curtains. The curtains were a vibrant red and sported embroideries of great dragons and shining knights in their plated armour.
Jerking back the curtains, Alana checked to see if anyone else was hiding in the bed, but it was empty. Shocked with the strangeness of it all, she looked around the empty room, hardly able to believe the riches surrounding her. Woollen carpets covered the floor, spilling out across the room like discarded afterthoughts. A meticulous mural had been painted on the far wall, showing a group of mounted nobles in a hunt. At one end of the wall, the men were gathered with bows raised, arrows already in flight, while at the other, an enormous feline fled their party. Shivering, Alana studied the faces, but there were too many to recognise any.
Alana rubbed her head where a bruise was starting to swell, and swore at the bedside table she’d struck it on. She stood and kicked it on its side. Realising suddenly that she was naked, her eyes alighted on a trunk at the foot of the bed. She moved cautiously towards it and flicked it open with a toe, fearful this was all some trap her captors were waiting to spring.
Nothing happened and, looking inside, she found a set of leather riding pants and a black jerkin with studded steel on its wrists. A couple of dresses lay beneath them, but otherwise the contents could have been mistaken for a man’s wardrobe. Hesitantly, she pulled on the clothes she’d chosen, feeling sick as they slid comfortably around her small frame. Somehow, she knew everything within the trunk would fit her perfectly.
Sucking in a breath, she turned, taking in the rest of the room. Beside the bed, two sofas had been arranged around a granite fireplace. Behind the steel mesh, glowing coals still burned, warming the room. Past the sofas was a massive archway, and beyond that she glimpsed the grey light of a cloudy sky. On the other side of the room was a massive set of mahogany doors. Guessing they would be locked, Alana chose the archway.
A cold wind blew across to meet her as she started towards it. Noticing a heavy down jacket discarded on one of the sofas, she paused to pull it on. If she was going to escape, it wouldn’t be to end up freezing to death in the wilderness. Without any idea where she was, she moved to the archway and stepped outside.
Alana’s heart fell into her stomach as she found herself on a marble balcony, looking out across a shimmering garden and spiralling towers. Hope curdled in her chest. Beyond the towers, she could see the familiar red rooftops and shining blue lake of Ardath. Quinn had dragged her right back to where she’d started. Worst of all, she was now trapped in the citadel, at the very centre of the Tsar’s power. There would be no escaping this place.
Looking out over the balcony, Alana stared down at the six-storey drop to the stone paving below. She gripped the marble railing tight, gat
hering her courage. The walls on either side of her were smooth, unassailable, but if she just climbed onto the railing…
The slam of the outside door opening made her turn. Forcing the despair from her face, Alana turned and watched as Quinn paused in the doorway, a smile on his face. Seeing her awake and standing on the balcony, his smile grew and he stepped into the room. He carried a sheathed sword in one hand, and wore another at his waist.
“Awake at last, I see!” he said brightly, moving towards her.
“Stay away from me,” Alana growled. She shrank back, until the railing of the balcony brought her up short.
He paused, a frown replacing the smile. “You still do not remember me? I thought the room…” he shook his head, waving a hand. “I apologise. Here, take your sword, if it makes you feel better.”
He tossed the sword across the room. Alana watched it twist through the air as though it were a snake. It made a soft thud as it landed on the carpet. She stood for a moment, still staring at it, before darting back into the room and snatching it up. Leather scraped on steel as she drew it and advanced on him, blade raised.
Quinn didn’t move, but his smile returned. “Magic or no, you have lost none of your fire, Alana.” He shook his head. “But my power has returned. You cannot defeat me with that.”
As though to emphasise his words, a soft breeze whirled across the room from the balcony, touching Alana’s cheeks. She stared at him for a moment longer, teeth bared, and then lowered her sword. Still holding it tightly in one hand, she glared at him.
“What have you done with my brother?”
His face tightened. “I am afraid your friends took him. I do not know if he survived without our healers’ aid.” He shook his head. “I am sorry for what my man did. He has been…dealt with.”
Alana’s heart fluttered at the thought of her brother free. For the first time since awakening, a smile touched her lips. She stared at the hunter, defiant.