by Sam Bowring
Were they real?
Were they real?
Summoning all his concentration, he worked his lump of a tongue, trying to form sound.
‘Wa …’
‘What’s that, Mergan?’ said Braston, taking him by the shoulders. ‘What are you trying to tell us?’
‘Wa … ter …’ he managed.
‘Water!’ Braston near-shouted, the sound piercing Mergan’s ears – so close, so real! The next moment a skin was being held to his mouth, and before he knew it water was pouring down his throat. He coughed and gulped messily.
‘Be gentle!’ said Yalenna, but Mergan seized Braston’s wrist and didn’t let go, not until all the water was squeezed into his mouth or down his front. He had never tasted anything so fresh.
He would wake at any moment, he knew, back in the dark, as parched as ever.
He released Braston’s wrist, weeping piteously.
WHERE THEY WENT
Soldiers sat along wooden tables running the length of the barracks’ dining hall, the buzz of their conversation filling the air.
‘Standards have gone down,’ muttered the man next to Rostigan, letting brown stew slop from his spoon back into the bowl.
‘It’s the new camp,’ said a woman opposite. ‘Supplies are stretched and some of the cooks have gone over.’
‘Bah,’ said the man. ‘All these clean-eared kids.’
‘You might be grateful for them soon enough,’ put in Tarzi, from Rostigan’s other side.
She had respected his request so far – to keep a low profile while they took in the situation, and certainly not to make a big song and dance about him being a hero – but it seemed she could only hold her tongue so long.
‘And who are you?’ said the man. ‘You don’t look like a soldier, and certainly I haven’t seen you in here before. I’d remember,’ he said as he leered at her.
‘Careful,’ said Rostigan, staring ahead while he wiped his mouth. The man took in his stony face, went to say something more and thought better of it.
‘It’s not just kids, as you call them, either,’ said Tarzi. ‘There’s plenty of people from all walks of life, come because they care about what happens to Aorn.’
‘Ha!’ said the man. ‘Fairytales and fantasies have made folk crazy. I’ll tell you this – Wardens or no, I’d like to see the army that could take Althala!’
Outside, screaming began. First one voice, barely audible … then two, three, more joining in, all of them sounding like murder.
‘Wind and fire,’ said Tarzi fearfully, ‘what is that?’
Soldiers rose, glancing around uncertainly. An officer moved towards the doors that led to the square outside. They banged open before he got there, and another soldier stumbled in, his helmet hanging half off his head, blood running down his face. A white monster shambled in after him, swiping him across the back with its clawed wing-tips.
‘Silkjaws,’ muttered Rostigan.
‘To arms!’ someone shouted, and soldiers swarmed the creature. It opened its wings full-span, beating them to send forth blasts of wind. Rostigan raced to the fireplace at the end of the room and reached in for a flaming brand. Ignoring the blistering of hot wood on his skin, he leapt onto a tabletop and hurled the brand at the silkjaw. It bounced off the creature’s chest with a fiery puff, and the creature reared as it began to blaze. Soldiers hacked at it, their swords cutting easily where the silk turned black.
Rostigan joined them as they spilled past the smouldering body, out into the square. There waited a sight which, in all his long years, he had never seen the likes of before.
Ghostly shapes wheeled in the sky as people fled every which way. Nearby a ’jaw landed on a frantically dashing woman, and arced back up into the sky with her struggling in its claws. Another advanced towards a courtier, who backed away with trembling hands held up pointlessly.
‘No!’ he cried as the creature surged forward to bite down hard with fanged maw. Blood poured from the courtier’s neck into his fancy clothes, and the ’jaw raised him up to shake him savagely. Red lines spread from its mouth to soak into its silk.
The woman hit the ground with a crunch, having been dropped from a great height.
Looking upwards, Rostigan saw a ’jaw land on the side of the castle, clinging on like a bat, and batter its head against a window. The window smashed and three more ’jaws flew through it into the castle.
A pair of threaders appeared on a high balcony carrying torches, from which they sent glowing threads jagging thinly upwards, like orange lightning running from earth to sky. Far above, the ’jaws they hit burst into flames.
More soldiers poured from the barracks and castle out into the square, looking for an enemy to fight – but the surprise attack was spread over the entire city, only a few of the ’jaws within swinging distance.
‘What do we do?’
It was Tarzi, beside him.
‘You get inside.’
‘No. I follow you.’
Soldiers charged at the silkjaws that had landed nearby, which stomped about gnashing their teeth in various states of redness. Rostigan watched as a group closed in on one, which seemed to realise it was surrounded and took off.
The officers present were too flustered to give any real orders. Rostigan found himself disgusted by their weakness. Almost without thinking about it, he unstoppered his power.
‘Ears to me!’ he bellowed, threading his voice so all it reached would surely pay attention. ‘They are not attacking any singular place, so we cannot muster our strength. Form groups and spread into the city! Watch one another’s back!’
Soldiers leapt to obey, squads of them running out of the square in different directions. Rostigan pounded after them, arriving on the street to see a cart overturned, a silkjaw crashing down on a fleeing merchant and breaking his back. Rostigan charged the beast, swinging so hard he almost took himself off his own feet. The blow sliced through bone and silk alike, and the tattered creature collapsed.
‘Someone needs to get word to the camp!’ said Tarzi.
So, she followed him still. Well, he could not spare the time to argue.
‘I’m sure they know what’s going on.’
On he ran, trying to judge where the silkjaws were landing, with streets or buildings between. He came to a tavern with the front wall wrenched open, where someone had evidently fought with fire, for the building now belched smoke. He ran inside, reached for an upended chair, broke it across his knee, and handed the legs to Tarzi.
‘Get fire,’ he said. ‘Use a rag and cooking oil.’
As she ran behind the burning counter, a sooty tavern keeper stumbled into view, waving his own fiery brand at the sky. ‘That’s right!’ he yelled. ‘No free drinks for you!’
Tarzi returned with two chair legs, each holding a fat ball of flame. The one she handed to Rostigan consumed some kind of checked cloth.
‘Dead man’s shirt,’ she said, her eyes a little blank.
‘Keep yours with you,’ Rostigan said, and headed into the street again, sword in one hand, brand in the other.
He rounded a corner to find three blood-spattered silkjaws ripping someone apart like squabbling seagulls. A gasp came from above, and he looked up to see a woman who had somehow managed to get herself onto the flat roof of a two-storey building. She backed away from a silkjaw stalking towards her, tightly holding an infant to her chest. The child began to mewl, and the three ’jaws on the ground swivelled their heads towards the enticing sound, dropping appendages from their mouths. Rostigan took in the whole situation at a glance, and knew there was no way he could get to the woman in time. He felt a twang of remorse play on his heartstrings … and, for a moment, it stopped his feet as he experienced a moment of sharp realisation.
He cared.
Here was a classic victim, the kind he would have laughed at during the height of his power. Mothers who protected their young with all their will, even if they stood against overwhelming odds – such as Karrak an
d a group of his leering soldiers – were to be mocked. And yet, standing here now, he experienced a sadness that he would not be able to save this woman, a feeling that would never have occurred to Karrak.
The woman backed to the edge of the roof, and sent a terrified look at what lay below. The three ’jaws on the ground craned their necks, spread their wings, and took off. Rostigan gave a shout that he hoped would distract them, but it came out dispirited, for while he might divert one or two, it was a very dim hope indeed that all four might turn about and suddenly find him the more tempting target.
Before his shout even reached them, however, his leading foot crunched against something hard, and he stumbled with a grunt. As he fell he dropped both brand and sword to put out his palms and catch the ground. He winced as cobblestones dug into his skin more severely than expected. Glancing back at whatever obstacle had felled him, an abandoned rag doll smiled her stitched smile at him.
When his foot had hit it, the doll had felt like stone.
Time had stopped.
Carefully Rostigan lifted his palms from the ground. The extra cuts and bruising had been caused by small pebbles and grit that would, under normal circumstances, have given way. He picked up his sword and the brand – having had them in his hands when time had frozen, they were now here with him in this other place. He was interested to see that the brand did not burn; its plumes were motionless and giving off no heat.
On the roof the woman’s back foot had shuffled halfway over the edge. The ’jaw facing her was tensed to pounce, and the three that had taken off from the ground were now suspended below her at different heights.
Sometimes you have your uses, Despirrow, thought Rostigan.
He took a running leap towards the ’jaw closest to the ground. He landed on its back and it held firm underfoot. He took a short run across it and jumped up to the next one, which was angled more sharply, so he dug his feet into the nook where its wings met its shoulders, lodging and steadying himself. Then he clambered upwards, reached its neck, and inched out along its snout. The third silkjaw was more over than up, so he bent his knees for a spring. Over the gap he went, heavily onto the ’jaw’s back, and kept up momentum for the last leap to the roof. He landed next to the woman and saw the stark horror in her shining eyes.
It will be all right, miss.
Now that he found himself here, it was not so clear what next to do. With no idea of how long the freeze would last, he considered the attack from each direction and wondered if the woman would keep her balance into the bargain. Then he remembered the frozen fire he carried, and smiled.
The silkjaw closest in the air had its jaws wide open, ready to snap on the woman. Taking careful aim over the short distance, Rostigan tossed the brand to clatter perfectly into the creature’s gaping mouth, the fiery end furthest inside. The creature’s silk was somewhat reddened, but hopefully there would be enough dry material there to set it quickly alight.
He took off his belt and tied it to his pants, then knotted the other end around the women’s free wrist, attaching her to him firmly. He positioned himself before the ’jaw on the roof, raising his sword. When time came back, it would happen without warning, so he had to stay ready.
As he waited, thoughts began to swirl. He had used his powers, hadn’t he, back in the square, on the soldiers. For so long he had kept them dormant – with the one necessary exception of convincing Loppolo to march to the Ilduin Fields – and then, without any hint of internal debate, he had gone ahead and unleashed them. Why? Because of the other Wardens?
His reason for stifling his own abilities had always been to go on existing without causing any harm to the Spell. That was happening now anyway, with or without him, as the others were doing whatever they pleased. If he intended to weather their presence, perhaps it was foolish to think he could do it as a mortal. Yet that was not entirely the reason, either. The situation itself was extraordinary, and so perhaps called for extraordinary actions. If he was to save as many people as possible, was it natural to do so by any means necessary? It did not mean he was going to abandon abstinence entirely, but there had to be exceptions.
… save as many as possible …
He chanced a glance at the sky. Were there crows about? Probably they had taken to hiding, if they were there at all. He could not feel them out while time was frozen, his magic as static as the fire.
He would just have to wait.
At least Tarzi would not see him blink from ground to rooftop, for she had not yet run around the corner. She had been close on his heels however, so there was every chance that seeing him suddenly up here would rattle her. How long was he going to be able to keep his secrets from her?
All at once, everything unstuck. The ’jaw in front of him, formerly intent on lunging at the woman, was thrown off by his sudden appearance in its way. The woman yelped as he dragged her away from the edge with his momentum as he swung, slicing the silkjaw across the face, cracking the bones that gave shape to its head. There was the sound of an impact, and he spun about, manoeuvring the woman behind him with his free hand. The leading silkjaw clung to the edge, its mouth working furiously as it tried to spit out the fire that consumed it. One of the others that followed crashed into it and they fell together, leaving a trail of glowing filament. The last one managed to dodge past them, to land clumsily on the roof.
The woman was in a panic now, pulling at Rostigan as she struggled to be free. With one hand holding her baby, and the other tied to him by the wrist, she was having some trouble.
‘It’s a simple knot!’ snapped Rostigan. ‘Get it undone and get off the roof!’
A moment later the belt fell against him loosely, and he knew she had succeeded. As the final ’jaw advanced, he heard her retreating down a flight of stairs.
On the street below, Tarzi skidded around the corner, stopping to take in the scene with surprise. The two fallen ’jaws were not yet dead, as the blood that streaked them meant some silk remained to hold their rickety bones together. As a combined mass of wings and limbs, they began a lurching, entangled crawl towards Tarzi. She steeled herself and ran forward to meet them, clubbing them with her torch, dancing in and out of range of their dangerous bits, and stamping hard on grasping wing-tips.
Rostigan dealt with the final ’jaw quickly, executing double downward sweeps on each of its shoulders to break the framework of its wings. He gave it a decent kick, sending it backwards off the edge, to land in Tarzi’s pile.
‘Finish that one off for me, will you?’ he said, leaning over the edge with a grin. He could not help but admire the pluck of his minstrel in that moment.
‘How did you get up there so fast?’ she asked, between hits.
‘Jumped,’ he shrugged.
‘I can hear the lyrics now,’ grunted Tarzi. ‘As he fought the monsters city-wide, he scaled buildings in a single stride.’ She put her boot through the last opening jaw.
‘Nice,’ he said.
Her rhyming made him think of Stealer’s power. He’d tried to forget about it – it was simply another talent he dared not use – but now he’d opened the gates. He was dubious about it working – the threads of Regret-made creatures had never been easy to affect. Like the Wardens, they had their own set of rules, many of them unknown.
May as well see.
He spied a ’jaw hurtling downwards some distance away, and intoned words.
Silkjaw, no more.
His poetry found no target, and his voice did not echo out of the air. The ’jaw dove out of view, whole and unaffected. Just as he’d suspected.
From his vantage he could see parts of the camp over the walls. With plenty of fires burning in the open there, he suspected the ’jaws had mostly avoided it. Now its soldiers, some with less than a day’s training, were spilling through the city gates, calling to one another as they flooded the streets.
‘Are you coming down from there?’ called Tarzi, a note of worry in her voice.
A couple of people pounde
d along the street, skirted wide of Tarzi, and banged loudly through a door into a dark house to hide. Both he and Tarzi looked back the way they had come, but nothing seemed to be in pursuit.
‘Hold a moment,’ he answered.
At least some of his talents might still prove useful.
He stepped back from the edge so she could not see him, and raised his arms.
Hear me.
In the night, for leagues around, hundreds of dark little minds stirred.
Take to the skies.
His crows were doubtful – their master had not spoken to them in a long time, and they were forgetful of him. Also, they knew that the skies were full of threat.
The white ones must fall! he thundered.
Why? they seemed to reply. Why, why, why …
Never mind why! You will do as your lord commands!
Near and far, from all around, he felt them taking flight, their cawing filling the sky.
They have not eyes, as you know them, but shred their wings and they will fall.
Various images began to reach his mind’s eye. Against a background of stars, several crows converged on a single silkjaw, their beaks tearing bundles from its wings. They could only pluck small amounts at a time, but, as they worked together, the ’jaw had trouble staying aloft. It tried to fight them off but fast became tattered, and soon it whorled downwards, one wing beating frantically in ever-increasing circles.
Some of his crows were getting hurt, or killed – buffeted by larger wings, their own snapped, and little heads became concussed … but they were faster and more mobile than the silkjaws, and attacked in groups. More and more of them arrived, and the ’jaws wheeled about, trying to work out how to deal with this unexpected new enemy.
Do well, said Rostigan, and there will be reward.
Excited by his words, the crows went about their task with renewed vigour. He did not like to promise such things, but the birds would earn their due. If the city had a tomorrow, its corpses would be cleared away – but there should still be time for an eye or two.
‘Rostigan!’ came Tarzi’s voice, containing a note of worry. ‘Where are you?’