The Demon Horsemen

by Tony Shillitoe

  ‘It was a dragon lair. Andrakis Va’Ristrin Nyavardenet made this plateau his redoubt. It had a chute straight down into the heart of the plateau, which his dragons used to come and go. The river was the water source. He kept an army here for a time, then moved it to another place, where I found it.’ He took her hand and gazed into her green eyes. ‘I was everything you read in the books.’

  ‘I know,’ she replied.

  He smiled as if her answer satisfied him. ‘There are things I need to teach you, certain Elvenaar wards and bindings that you must ensure are added to the finished weapon.’

  ‘But you can do that,’ she said.

  ‘I will be dead.’

  The finality of his statement made her shudder. ‘It has to be all of your blood, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Now, the glyph I’ve created to keep the government and the army away from the castle has to become your glyph. Before this forging process begins, you have to ensure the glyph is securely in place.’ She nodded.

  ‘And something else,’ he said. He stepped back and opened his black robe, unlaced his tunic and pressed his hand against his chest. He concentrated, his eyes closed, his face contorted with pain and effort, and everything about him began to alter, to grow older. The cloak transformed back into his white presidential suit, his hair became shorter and whiter, his complexion lost its radiance. He sighed, as if waking from a long dream, opened his eyes and held out his hand towards her. In his palm glowed a sliver of amber.

  ‘Take it,’ he said. ‘You can’t bleed me if I keep that. We heal, remember?’

  Trembling, Meg took the amber. Tears were welling in her eyes and she was lost for words.

  ‘Now you have to listen to me very closely,’ he said. ‘I have ancient secrets to teach you. The Elvenaar did more than put their blood into the blade, and now you have to do what they did to protect it. And when I am finished teaching you the secrets, you will take my blood.’

  Meg wanted to scream at him. She wanted to scream at the gods, at Jarudha, at whoever or whatever it was that fixed their destinies. She wanted to scream at the Seers, at Mareg, at herself for the existence of the Demon Horsemen. There had to be another way. There had to be.

  ‘The museum had its uses,’ A Ahmud Ki murmured. He was stretched out on a low marble bench, his arms dangling above twin golden bowls taken from the ancient kingdom’s museum exhibits, blood flowing from long cuts in his veins. The colour was draining from his face. ‘It won’t take much longer,’ he rasped.

  She wanted to grab his arms and heal the wounds, stop this madness, die with him in the face of the Horsemen.

  ‘No,’ he murmured. She looked into his grey eyes. They were duller. ‘You can’t stop this, Meg. I finally beat Mareg.’ A faint smile creased his cheeks. ‘Remember the Elvenaar runes in the blade.’

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘I won’t forget,’ she told him.

  ‘I won’t forget you,’ he whispered and closed his eyes.

  ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘No!’ And clenched her fists. She wanted to beat his chest, force him to stop dying. ‘I love you,’ she cried softly, sobbing. ‘I love you.’

  His lips moved faintly, forming the word ‘love’, and froze.

  Only now did she understand why she had dreamed of A Ahmud Ki standing before her. Tears rolling down her face, she carried the heavy golden bowl of his blood from the museum to the throne room, where the swordsmith was stirring the molten liquid in his vat.

  ‘This must be added,’ she told the old man. ‘There are two of them.’

  He stared at the bowl’s contents, his face whitening as he guessed what it was, but he obediently took it and poured it into the vat’s bubbling golden mixture. The blood hissed and sizzled as it hit the metal and vanished, leaving a lingering pungent odour. Then he returned to stirring, his wrinkled face lit by the golden light, while Meg fetched the second bowl.

  When it too was drained, Meg stood back to watch the swordsmith working his craft. Her heart was heavy and her eyes blurred with sorrow. With a thought she resumed her natural age, no longer wanting to be the young and beautiful self. That woman had died with A Ahmud Ki.

  She fished into her vest and brought out the amber that had been in A Ahmud Ki’s chest and in Erin’s before that. What more must be sacrificed? she asked herself. Memories of all the people she loved who had died because of the amber rushed out at her and she was gripped with a profound sorrow that forced her to her knees. Her family, her children, her friends, Samuel and Emma, Wombat, Button, Treasure, her own daughter Emma, Swift, Erin, Whisper—and now A Ahmud Ki. Also the thousands who had died in the wars, the hundreds of thousands who had perished under the Demon Horsemen—none of it made sense. It was total, absolute waste. And for what? What insanity drove beings like the Seers whose religious beliefs were founded on the destruction of life? What insanity drove the Dragonlords whose sole goal was to have absolute power; an insanity so terrible that it was willing to unleash forces capable of destroying all life? To what end?

  ‘The metal is ready to pour.’

  The voice startled her. She looked up and the swordsmith repeated what he’d said. She nodded. Remember the Elvenaar spells, a voice in her head reminded her as the old man scooped the molten mixture from the vat and turned towards the mould where the fabled sword hilt was waiting.

  Meg returned the amber to her pocket and wiped the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, then she approached the mould to recite the Elvenaar binding spells that were spoken when the sword was first forged deep in the ancient Andrakian forests. A legend had died to bring another back to life.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  ‘Whatever you imagine, the sword will make it happen.’

  As Meg spoke, Inheritor stared at the weapon displayed on a dark blue cloth on a bench in the courtyard outside the throne room. He noted the strange markings, like writing, etched in the blade and heard Cutter, Hunter, Chase, Ella, Trackmarker and Crystal behind him marvelling at the craftsmanship. The laughter of playing children under Passion’s watchful care echoed along the castle walls in the adjoining courtyard.

  ‘What do the markings mean?’ he asked, looking at the swordsmith. The old man gestured to Meg.

  ‘Elvenaar wards,’ she said. ‘They protect the sword against spell corruption and lock it away from those not chosen to wield it.’

  ‘And me?’

  ‘That’s why you have the bracelet.’

  ‘Pick it up,’ Cutter urged.

  Inheritor reached for the sword hilt nervously. ‘It’s a huge blade,’ he said as his hand closed around the handle. ‘I can’t wield this.’

  ‘Try it,’ Meg told him.

  He lifted the sword and turned it. The blade caught the morning sunlight and sparkled. ‘Unbelievable. It’s so light.’ He stepped back and waited for his friends to make room, then twisted and parried and swept the sword through swift, lethal arcs. ‘I’ve never held a sword like this.’

  ‘Can I try it?’ Chase asked.

  ‘No,’ said Meg sternly. ‘It wasn’t made for you.’

  ‘I just want—’

  ‘No,’ she said. Chase shrugged and enviously watched Inheritor test the sword’s balance.

  ‘Put it on the table and walk over to the wall,’ Meg instructed.

  Inheritor obeyed. ‘Now what?’ he asked.

  ‘Imagine it in your hand.’ Inheritor looked at her as if she were mad. ‘Try it,’ she encouraged.

  He looked at the sword and imagined it in his right hand, and was silent with shocked delight when it appeared there.

  ‘Incredible,’ Trackmarker blurted. The sword vanished from Inheritor’s hand and reappeared on the bench.

  ‘Did you do that?’ Cutter asked.

  The sword reappeared in Inheritor’s hand and he grinned like a boy who’d been naughty. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Make it flame,’ Meg ordered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Imagine it
burning,’ she explained.

  Inheritor held the sword away from his body and imagined the sword blade covered with fire, and an instant later he dropped the weapon as it erupted in blue flames. The flames went out.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Meg asked.

  ‘Amazing!’ Inheritor gasped, and then the sword reappeared in his hand. He looked at Meg. ‘I thought it might…’ He hesitated.

  ‘The sword will never harm you,’ she told him. ‘You can imagine yourself wrapped in flames, and you will be, but the flames will not burn you.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Cutter asked.

  ‘I read about it in the Khvech Daas library.’

  ‘What else can it do?’ Chase asked, unable to hide his fascination.

  ‘Anything Inheritor wants it to do,’ Meg replied. ‘Its only limits are his imagination and the circumstances.’

  ‘Can he fly?’ Chase asked.

  Meg smiled at her grandson and turned to Inheritor. ‘Go up to the parapet over there on the eastern wall,’ she said. Inheritor looked askance at her. ‘Go on,’ she urged.

  Everyone looked at the Kerwyn king to see what he would do. He shrugged, held tight to the sword and vanished.

  ‘Hey!’ he called from the parapet. ‘Look!’ He spun on his heels, held the sword high and it ignited in bright blue flames. He swung it around his head and thrust it at an imaginary foe. An instant later he was among them again. ‘This is—’ he started and was lost for words.

  Trackmarker smirked. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when the Kerwyn monarchy had nothing to say.’

  The group laughed. The old animosities had become distant and irrelevant in the past days.

  ‘Be grateful the Kerwyn didn’t have a sword like this,’ Cutter mocked. He shifted his attention to Inheritor and said, ‘You and I have work to do. You’ll only get one chance to use this blade.’

  ‘How do I use it against the Horsemen?’ Inheritor asked Meg.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ she replied. ‘They’re magical constructs so the sword’s magic won’t affect them, only the blade. You’ll have to work that out.’

  ‘A Ahmud Ki said there were eight of them now,’ said Chase. ‘Eight against one?’

  ‘Good odds,’ said Trackmarker. ‘Excellent odds.’

  The Ranu dragon eggs surrounded the castle. Unable to penetrate the glyph, they hung in the air as sentinels for the Ranu government. Standing beside Wahim in the tower, Meg observed the Ranu army massing on the southern and eastern city boundaries.

  ‘They’ve heard what’s happened elsewhere,’ she said, ‘and yet they still think they can fight the Horsemen.’

  ‘What else can they do?’ Wahim asked.

  ‘Run,’ she said. ‘They’ll die here.’

  Wahim pointed to the western roads where traffic and people streamed towards the distant Great Dylan Ranges. ‘A lot of them are already running.’

  ‘Not enough,’ she said, nodding to smoke rising from factories and homes.

  ‘There’s nothing more you can do,’ he said. ‘We tried when they arrested us. It’s too big a concept for most people’s minds.’

  Meg snorted. ‘You’re becoming a philosopher.’

  ‘I’ve had too much time to think about all this,’ he said. ‘Part of me doesn’t believe that my family, my home, the entire land of my father, the Kerwyn kingdom, are all gone forever. I’ve witnessed it and I still can’t accept it.’

  ‘Neither can I,’ she agreed. She tensed as a distant rumble reached her ears. ‘Hear that?’ She stared to the south. Blue sky spread in every direction.

  ‘How long?’ he asked.

  ‘I thought three days, yesterday.’

  ‘So tomorrow.’

  She touched his arm. ‘Take the others away from here,’ she said, looking directly at the Shesskar man. ‘You can’t do anything. This is between the Horsemen, Inheritor and me.’

  ‘Send the others away,’ he replied. ‘As for me, I’ve been on this journey from the start, and I’d like to see how it ends.’

  ‘Passion and Chase are your friends. They’ll listen to you if you lead them from here.’

  Wahim laughed. ‘Your grandchildren never listen to me,’ he said. ‘They have minds of their own.’

  ‘But you can convince them. Take the children and the villagers with you. I’ll make a portal that will take you all into Western Andrak.’

  He nodded. ‘Make the portal. I’ll talk to everyone. But know that I will not be leaving. I meant what I said about staying to see the end. And I see no point going further away if it only means waiting a few more days for the outcome.’

  ‘Then convince the others,’ she pleaded. ‘For me.’

  In the museum, a solitary light sphere glowing above her, she tore a tapestry from the wall and carried it to where A Ahmud Ki, arms still outstretched, was lying across the bench. Fighting back her tears, she tucked his arms against his sides and draped the tapestry over him. Then she sank to her knees and pressed her head against his chest, her sobs echoing through the dusty artefacts of the past.

  Meg held little Jon against her as if she never wanted to let him go again. The child protested, wriggling, so she released him and stooped to kiss his cheek. ‘Look after your mother,’ she advised, and smiled when the little boy nodded vigorously. She met Passion’s gaze, seeing herself mirrored in the red-haired young woman. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ she said and embraced her granddaughter.

  ‘Will this really work?’ Passion whispered.

  ‘It has to,’ Meg replied.

  They released each other and kissed, and Jewel came forward for her hug. I never had enough time to mourn your mother, Meg thought bitterly as she held Swift’s daughter. ‘Where’s your brother?’ she asked as they separated.

  Jewel looked around and shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  Meg had feared Runner would avoid leaving. He was fearlessly curious and still unnecessarily defiant of authority. ‘I’ll find him,’ she promised Jewel and tenderly stroked the girl’s hair.

  ‘The Ranu in Marella won’t be expecting us,’ she heard Hunter explaining to the assembled travellers. ‘It will probably be like last time. We have to remain compliant and friendly, no matter what they say or do.’

  Crystal Merchant approached Meg, her dark eyes still ringed with smudges of the pain she had suffered in the Bog Pit. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Meg replied. ‘You saved my life. Now it’s my turn to repay the debt.’

  ‘My grandfather knew this would happen.’ Crystal shook her head. ‘I should have done more.’

  Meg embraced her. ‘You did what you could do. That’s all any of us can do. If you hadn’t listened to Chase and retrieved the bag in the first place, we wouldn’t have come this far. You made a big difference.’

  ‘Good luck,’ Crystal said quietly.

  ‘I’ll see you when this is finished,’ Meg replied, smiling.

  Chase and Wahim stood either side of the portal, reassuring those waiting that they would be safe.

  Hunter addressed the group, giving them instructions. ‘Trackmarker and I will go through first to be there when you arrive. Wait a few moments. Then the rest of you can follow.’ His eyes moved to Inheritor and Cutter who were standing to the side. Inheritor smiled and nodded to him. With a cursory acknowledgement in return, Hunter gestured to Trackmarker. The two men stepped into the blue light and vanished.

  A short interval later, Chase said, ‘All right, everyone, let’s go,’ and the Kerwyn survivors filed into the portal: parents and children, husbands and wives.

  ‘Goodbye, Great-grandmother!’ Jewel called as she stepped up to the light with Passion and Jon.

  Meg waved to the girl, and for an instant saw Swift in the girl’s features. Runner, she remembered, and scoured the area for a sign of the youth.

  ‘Runner?’ she called to Chase. He shook his head.

  The last person to enter the portal was the swordsmith, Geru
d. He paused as if he wanted to say something to Meg, then simply nodded and stepped through.

  ‘That’s everyone,’ said Wahim.

  ‘No,’ said Meg. ‘You, Cutter and Chase have to find Runner, and then you’re all going through. I’m keeping it open until you do.’

  ‘Then it will be open for a long time,’ said Cutter, ignoring Meg’s sharp glare.

  ‘I’ll look for Runner,’ said Chase, and he jogged out of the courtyard.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Wahim said and followed.

  ‘You can’t stay here,’ Meg told Cutter. Her voice was pleading.

  Her old friend approached her. ‘Meg Farmer,’ he said quietly. ‘Lady Amber,’ and he gazed into her face. ‘If anyone has a right to be by your side when the Horsemen come, it is I.’

  She felt a tear rising. ‘But you’ve given so much already. Your life, your family.’

  ‘To serve you,’ he said.

  She saw his meaning in his eyes; the bond that had held them together across the years. Of all the people alive, Blade Cutter was the only one who knew her whole story, knew her struggles, the lost causes, the losses the amber legacy had accumulated. She took his hand. ‘I want you to go,’ she whispered.

  ‘I can’t,’ he replied and squeezed her hand gently. A tear at the corner of the old man’s eye mirrored her own.

  ‘Then we see this out together,’ she said.

  Cutter smiled and released her hand. ‘I’ll find the boy,’ he said, and strode from the courtyard.

  Meg wiped her eyes and forced a smile at Inheritor who stood in the sunlight, his hand on Abreotan’s sword.

  ‘He loves you,’ Inheritor said matter-of-factly. ‘He always has.’

  ‘I know,’ she answered. ‘I’ve always known.’ She walked closer to him and said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘This,’ she said, indicating the situation.

  ‘This isn’t your fault.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I could have resolved everything when I first went to Queen Sunset’s palace. I had a chance to change everything. If I had, you wouldn’t have to be here.’

  ‘But I am,’ he said. ‘And I’m ready.’