Dragonfire

by Charles Jackson

  Nearest of all of them, neither Godfrey nor Randwick wasted any time. Both men instantly leaped forward and slashed at the horses with their blades, forcing the animals to rear back and toss their riders heavily to the ground. William and Diego made short work of them as they landed, darting in and despatching them without hesitation or mercy.

  “The flank… the flank…!” Godfrey shouted, crossing to the eastern barricade in an instant as the remaining six horsemen also reached their defences. Three more vaulted their mounts over the logs and dived into the fray while the others pulled up short, slid from their saddles and drew their swords as they charged forward on foot.

  A slashing blade caught Diego in the back of the head, killing him instantly and sending his lifeless body sprawling to the ground even as the attacking rider was himself knocked out of the saddle at point-blank range by Lester’s third shot. Another rider caught William in the shoulder with a long, iron-headed mace, fracturing his collar bone, knocking him senseless and sending him crashing backward against the piled logs. Randwick slashed his assailant across the back with his sword a second later and sent him tumbling backward with a scream of agony, only to be pounced upon by Lester, brandishing a long dagger in each hand.

  Downward strike: deflect, side-step and riposte…

  The third rider crashed straight through the middle of them, knocking Godfrey flying with his horse as he leaned forward to slash wildly at Nev, his first available target. A momentary image of the impending attack had already appeared in her mind however and she was waiting for him with her defence prepared.

  The katana flashed from its scabbard, arcing upward as she stepped to her left and deflected the blow with a turn of her wrist, keeping her grip loose enough to ensure the sabre slid along her own and away to the right rather than risk taking the full force of the strike and snapping her own weapon in half. Twisting her hands in the middle of her follow-through, she pivoted and slashed diagonally downward as he passed, opening up the entire length of the man’s outer thigh with her razor-sharp blade.

  Caught by surprise and overcome with the agony of the wound, the rider completely misjudged the timing of the jump he’d intended to make that otherwise would’ve carried him straight over the other side of the enclosure to safety. His horse stumbled heavily at the end of its leap, casting him from the saddle and slamming his body into the base of a tree where he fell crumpled and motionless, either dead or unconscious and of no further concern either way.

  Slash… backhand… thrust and strike…

  “No…!” She barked sharply, whirling in place and realising she was already too late as images of what was to come flashed through her mind.

  Nev tensed, refusing to accept the inevitable, and prepared to dive into the fray once more only to be forced to suddenly dive away to her right, twisting her body awkwardly and rolling to avoid the slash of an unexpected sword blade that cut viciously through the air where her head had been just a split-second before. Less surprised by the attack itself than she was by the fact that it had come without warning, she was on her feet again in an instant and turned to meet her new and unexpected attacker, only to find herself face to face with Edward Garrick.

  With both guardsmen dead and William out cold, only Lester, Randwick and a very dazed Godfrey stood ready to meet the three remaining Blackwatch troopers as they leaped over the log barricade and came slashing at them with sabres, round shields in their other hands. Armed only with daggers, Lester was outmatched from the start and it was only his lightning reflexes that saved him as a Blackwatcher came howling at him with sword raised. He ducked away from the blow, rolling to one side and crunching heavily into the barricade in the process, jarring his shoulder and forcing a grunt of pain from between his clenched teeth.

  He was still on the ground and at a great disadvantage as his opponent turned and swung at him again, slashing the sword downward in a deadly arc. The blow was stopped cold with a loud and jarring clang as Godfrey, still woozy on his feet, stumbled in from one side and blocked with his own blade, snapping it in the process. Momentum alone was enough to carry him on as he dropped his shoulder and collided hard with Lester’s attacker, sending both of them crashing to the ground in a tangled heap of arms and legs.

  There was a moment’s desperate struggle before the black rider gave a wheezing moan and fell limp, the jagged stub of Godfrey’s broken blade jammed between his ribs. A large man of close to a hundred kilos even without his armour, the dead horseman still had some fight in him however in that he was still rather inconveniently lying on top of Godfrey, leaving him pinned beneath and struggling to free himself in his already weakened state as the battle continued around him.

  Randwick met the second of the three with his own sword raised, parrying the initial strike against him and following up quickly by swinging round with the staff he carried in his other hand and dealing the fellow a solid crack to the side of his helmet. The padded iron took most of the blow but it was nevertheless still strong enough to send stars flickering across the man’s vision and leave him staggering backward for a fraction of a second.

  Randwick counter-attacked immediately, thrusting forward with his own sword only to be unceremoniously upended as Godfrey and his opponent rolled past in the midst of their own struggle, collecting the old man’s ankles in the process. He landed hard on his backside, unhurt but caught off balance as his own opponent recovered quickly and attacked again, stabbing downward with as much force as he could muster.

  The sabre point found Randwick’s right shoulder, forcing him back hard against the ground with a hiss of painful breath. The light mail beneath his leather tunic held, preventing an actual puncture wound, but the point dug deep all the same, damaging the muscles beneath and sending fiery agony throughout his upper body. Even so, he was able to strike with his own sword in return, taking the man in the throat and rolling him away to one side with a stunned expression on his face as his life’s blood poured out onto the ground around him.

  The safety of the king and princess remained paramount in Randwick’s mind at that point, and regardless of the pain burning through his right side, his first thought was to leap to their aid. It was therefore a complete and terrible surprise in the seconds that followed as the old man attempted to lift his body from the ground and suddenly realised he was unable to move. He found that he was also unable to speak, able to utter little more than a few unintelligible croaks no matter how hard he tried.

  He fought desperately with his own body, trying to find some way to free himself from whatever dark magic had afflicted him, but struggle as hard as he might his nervous system simply refused to comply, and turning his gaze to one side (his head appeared to be the only part of him that he could control), he realised that Godfrey, lying no more than two metres away, appeared to have the same problem. They passed a meaningful look, which Randwick followed with a faint shake of the head that received a nod of agreement from you younger man.

  Neither of them were subsequently able to intervene as the third Blackwatcher lurched forward to attack the king, and the princess howled in fury as she leaped toward him, ready to defend her father. As she appeared to be a young girl with no obvious weapon in hand, the attacker initially dismissed her as any kind of credible threat as he slashed downward with his sabre, roaring with rage and meaning to cleave Phaesus’ head from his shoulders as he lay propped with his back against the logs to one side of the enclosure, clearly in no condition to fight back.

  Charleroi had no time to think about what she was doing. Her questing hands found the nearest available weapon almost by instinct, fingers curling about the handle of the same mace that had struck William moments earlier, now lying discarded after falling from its dead owner’s grasp during the melee. With a roar of anger and exertion, she swung it now in a wide arc and brought it crashing against the side of the trooper’s head. The man’s helmet crumpled under the heavy impact, crushing his skull beneath and killing him instantly.

&nb
sp; “Charli…!” Phaesus croaked, eyes wide and struggling to regain his own feet in spite of his injuries. “Behind you…!”

  She whirled, mace at the ready, and gasped in shock as Amun Baal strode purposefully toward her with a grim expression and sword in hand.

  XVII

  Nemesis

  “You’re the witch: the one who’s been causing all the trouble…” Garrick observed coolly, keeping a discreet distance and holding his blade before him at chest height as he eyed Nev up and down. “You’re practically famous, girl…!” Markedly different from the broad-bladed sabres the Blackwatchers had carried, Garrick’s rapier was long and relatively thin. Its primary use was as a thrusting weapon, although many were often also honed with razor-sharp cutting edges, and Nev was more than happy not to find out whether his was any exception.

  “Well that makes one of us, then,” Nev fired back with a sneer, “cause you’re nobody to me …” She could see in her peripheral vision that there was trouble where the king lay but she daren’t turn to look for fear of losing concentration. Unlike the troopers that had come before him, this man had the poise and manner of a trained swordsman and instinct told her she couldn’t afford to show him any weakness.

  “Do the insults work… generally…?” He countered evenly, actually almost sounding interested as the hint of a smile quirked at the edge of his lips. “Do they make the other morons angry… make them careless…?”

  “Haven’t really had time to talk before,” she shrugged, almost grinning herself as her hand rested on the hilt of the katana at her belt, her eyes never leaving his. “Usually I’ve only needed to kill the other morons…” She’d intentionally emphasised her words to cast another slight in his direction, thinking he was probably sharp enough to pick up her changed inflection.

  “Oh, you’re good…” he chuckled softly. “I do so appreciate a rapier wit… moreso a real rapier, though…!” He added, words straining with sudden exertion as he lunged forward, taking two short leaps forward in quick succession and thrusting at her face with the tip of his blade.

  Nev drew back immediately, side-stepping his first thrust and flicking upward with her own weapon just enough to deflect the second. She held the katana ready in both hands as they drew apart once more, keeping it drawn in to one side of her body just enough to shield it from clear view.

  “There’s no need for this, really…” she ventured, her breathing elevated by the sudden burst of activity. “We could go our separate ways: I don’t particularly want to kill you…”

  “Ahh, well that is where our opinions differ dramatically…” Garrick pointed out with a sneer of his own. “What was that phrase you used…?” He continued thoughtfully, tensing his body for another assault. “…‘That makes one of us...’…?”

  Another lunge and thrust forward, and Nev parried again before spinning away to the right, trading ground for safe distance. She’d seen his muscles preparing for the attack and managed to evade again (barely) but all the same, she recognised she was dealing with an extremely experienced swordsman. Perhaps not as accomplished as Honda when the old man was in his prime, Garrick was nevertheless a very dangerous opponent, that fact far more frightening when Nev considered that unlike Honda, this opponent really was trying to kill her.

  “I could cut you in half…” she threatened, trying to sound intimidating and not really managing it that well.

  “If you could do that, girl, I’d be dead already…” he pointed out quickly, probing her defences again and this time catching the sleeve of her jacket as she twisted out of reach once more.

  He was getting closer with each attack and Nev knew it was only a matter of time before one of his thrusts found its mark. Fleeting opportunities for her to strike back were appearing and disappearing again just as quickly as they moved cautiously around each other, but she was finding it impossible to commit to any attack of her own. This was no training dojo – making a mistake here would likely see her either dead or seriously maimed – and the extra layer of fear and uncertainty that came with that realisation was putting her off her game just enough to prevent her from taking the risk.

  Nev also realised in that moment that the surrounding battle had suddenly turned extremely quiet with very little motion at all showing in her peripheral vision. She still didn’t dare glance away for fear of leaving herself open to attack, but she began to get the distinct impression that something had gone very wrong.

  “Cousin, don’t to this…!” Charleroi begged, the thought that Baal had betrayed his own family too terrible to accept in spite of what she’d seen at the docks. “Father’s dying… please… help me…”

  “I’m afraid the king’s death is inevitable, dear…” the prince replied calmly, almost smiling now (and not in a pleasant way). “…Inevitable and necessary… as is yours…”

  “How could you do this…?” She demanded, anger showing through her tears now as reality came rushing back hard and she swung the mace awkwardly in front of her. “Betray your own family…your own people…?”

  “I’m going to save our people…” Baal snarled in return, a sneer flickering across his face. “Phaesus has hurt Huon more in six months than some kings manage in a lifetime! You think all these new inventions have gone unnoticed? You think the Brotherhood and the rest of The Osterlands would turn a blind eye to the heresy being committed here in the king’s name? The cardinal feared for our people – that they would suffer the eternal damnation of The Bicephalus for the sins of your father. He came to me for help…” he added, rising to full height for a moment and almost sounding righteous “…and I was happy to give it!”

  “You never were satisfied as viceroy, Amun… I knew that well enough…” Phaesus wheezed sadly, shaking his head. “I know father promised you The Blacklands in the last war, and that you felt cheated when Harald unexpectedly sued for peace. De Lisle may have dressed all this up in enough rationalisation to ease what shreds of conscience you have left, but this was never about ‘saving’ our people…” he croaked. “If you’re going to kill us both, let’s speak plainly on it at least.”

  “I was stripped of glory… of my destiny…!” Baal shrieked, all of his long-held anger, entitlement and feelings of betrayal bursting forth now that they came to the truth of the matter. “Harkon was heir-apparent, curse him, and the only reason you weren’t given Taas was because you didn’t want it… didn’t want any throne. The Blacklands was to be mine to rule as I saw fit… but then the peace came, and all that was left when the dust settled were the cast-off scraps from the negotiating table…”

  “You were a brother to me, Amun… an equal…”

  “I was never an equal… not to Belil or Harkon!” Baal screamed, fury in his words now as spittle sprayed from his lips. “Never good enough for the Namur…! Damn you, Garrick, finish that little bitch and be done with it…” he bellowed, momentarily turning his attention toward duel playing out between Nev and his deputy-viceroy off to his right “…there’s work to be done here!”

  “You’ll never be good enough for De Lisle either, cousin…” Phaesus pointed out coldly, recognising now that there was no hope of bargaining and feeling too weak to bother. “They’ll use you just long enough to get what they want, and soon enough it’ll be you lying here and someone you trust will stand over you with murder in their heart.”

  “Time to die, cousin…” Baal hissed bitterly, cursing inwardly as he fought to hold back the tears that came with a decade spent dealing with feelings of rage and betrayal.

  “You’ll have to come through me first,” Charleroi snarled, planting her feet carefully and standing ready with the mace. “I’ll die before I let you touch him…”

  “That, my dear, is the general idea…” Baal observed with an evil smile as he raised his blade and took a step forward.

  Charleroi’s training had never included the use of such a weapon, but she raised it now as best she could despite her limited strength, swinging it around to intercept Baa
l’s attack. The mace’s superior weight worked in her favour now as she rose to meet him with a wild shriek of her own, absorbing most of the blow and turning the attack away to his right.

  She parried his second attack a moment later, swinging the mace awkwardly and blocking Baal’s blade with a loud, ringing clang of clashing metal. She wasn’t prepared to face a seasoned fighter however, and Baal pressed forward even as she blocked his first strike, swinging his free left hand back around in a return arc and smashing the back of his clenched fist into the side of her head before she could react. She fell backward with a scream that was equal parts shock and fear, collapsing dazed against the logs beside her father and overcome with the pain now burning across her head and shoulders.

  Gravely wounded as he was, Phaesus wasn’t about to allow such an attack against his only child. With as croaking snarl of fury, he struggled to rise to face the prince, drawing back his fist to strike. Too slow, he was pinned to the barricade a moment later as Baal ran him through the shoulder on his left side, the point of the sabre digging into the wood beneath as the king grunted with pain and rage. Wrenching the blade free, the prince drew it back once more, meaning to plunge it straight into the Phaesus’ heart as Charleroi screamed in terror.

  “Can… you move… boy? Randwick croaked hoarsely, managing to find some voice now as they both continued to struggle against the invisible bonds retraining their bodies.

  “Not… yet…” Godfrey wheezed in return, his head twitching as he tried to shake it to reinforce his negative response. “Can… feel my… fingers loosening… though…”