by Adam Blade
Why is he changing back? Tanner wondered, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“Ready?” he called over his shoulder. He heard grunts of encouragement and voices calling out their support. He tightened his grip on his sword hilt and brought the blade level with his face, aiming it at the line of infantry.
Tanner’s voice rang out: “Charge!” He broke into a run and heard the other men shouting behind him. Some pulled level, their cheeks red and eyes bright.
Gor’s men ran to meet them, light flashing on their leveled spears. Metal clashed as the people of Colweir threw themselves against the invaders. Death cries echoed across the square as many were skewered on the spears.
Tanner dodged between two shafts, driving his sword against the leather armor of a soldier, but his blade slipped against the polished hide. With a cry, he staggered to one side. The soldier dropped his spear and drew his sword, bringing it around in a wide arc, sending Tanner leaping out of the way, missing by no more than a finger’s breadth. A second later and Tanner’s innards would have been slithering around his feet.
Glancing up at the soldier, Tanner barreled forward, holding the blade out before him. It slid down the other man’s weapon until the hilts jammed together. The soldier grinned behind his visor and twisted his sword, throwing Tanner to the ground. Tanner rolled onto his back, held his sword out in front of him, and swept his feet into the man’s legs, making him stumble and pierce himself on Tanner’s sword. He slid down the blade, blood pouring from his gurgling mouth, eyes wide with shock.
Tanner struggled out from under him and pulled his sword free. He gazed down at the dead man, watching his life ebb away. Another life I have taken, he thought. But I have no choice.
A blow from behind knocked Tanner onto his back. Instinct made him roll aside as a blade descended. It pierced into the ground where Tanner’s head had been an instant before. As his attacker tried to free his weapon, Tanner jumped up and sliced clean through his arm with his sword. The man fell screaming, clutching at his bloody stump.
A huge soldier with a double-handed sword descended on Tanner. His armor was streaked with blood, and he was laughing maniacally, battle lust burning in his eyes. He swung his sword with brute strength at chest level. Tanner managed to step back, out of its path, but nearly lost his balance.
The soldier swung again. Tanner deflected the blade with his own, throwing off sparks, but the force jolted his arm. Another swing came, this time at his head. Tanner tried to lift his sword to parry the blow but he knew he would be too late….
A shadow passed overhead. Huge claws clenched over the soldier’s head and he was lifted off the ground, muffled screams coming out of his helmet. Firepos hurled the thrashing soldier at a varkule. Startled, the beast turned on the broken soldier and tore him in half with its claws.
“Fall back! Fall back!” shouted the villager with the serrated sword, now slick with gore. His command was cut short as a crossbow bolt thudded into his chest, throwing him back against a market stall.
Tanner looked about. The defenders’ line was broken. Gor’s men filled the square, surrounding the last pockets of fighters. Bodies lay strewn and torn on the ground.
Firepos screeched from above and Tanner saw a fireball careen into the enemy, burning a group of spearmen and sending others scattering away from the flames. But still the forces closed, sensing victory. He found himself at the edge of a small band of defenders, all battered and bloodied. A contingent of spearmen surrounded them, weapons leveled.
It was almost over. He had failed.
“Cease!” bellowed Gor.
The fighting petered out. Tanner saw Gor trot forward on his stallion.
Firepos hovered overhead, a fireball spinning in her talons.
“Call off the phoenix,” said Gor. “Or everyone dies, and this whole town will burn.”
Tanner didn’t have a choice. He raised his fist. “Firepos, no!”
The fireball disappeared as the Beast tipped her wings and flew back to land on top of a storage barn behind the small group of defenders. She sent out a call across the square, ruffling her feathers.
Silence fell.
The enemy soldiers parted as Gor approached.
“Thank you for bringing us here, boy,” he said to Tanner, loud enough for everyone to hear. Tanner burned with desire to charge at the man who had killed his grandmother. But he knew the soldiers would cut him down before he made it halfway.
“You spied on me,” he shouted. “After you killed an innocent old woman in cold blood.”
General Gor laughed. “Innocence means nothing in this war.”
A young defender with dark hair, bleeding from a scalp wound, stepped forward. “We’re not at war!” he shouted. “We don’t even know who you are.”
Gor dismounted from his stallion, his armor clanking. From a bag strapped to the saddle, he took out Esme’s fragment of the mask and held it aloft. Tanner felt as though some ancient evil was watching him through the empty eye socket.
“Until I have all the pieces of the Mask of Death, Avantia will suffer!” shouted Gor. “I will not rest until my search is complete.”
“They don’t have what you’re looking for,” Tanner said.
“Oh yes, they do.” General Gor pulled off his dragon-snouted helmet. “Bring me the Mapmaker!”
A chill spread over Tanner. So Gor had even overheard that part of his grandmother’s final words. The dark-haired defender looked back at his comrades. “What shall I do?”
A few shrugged; some nodded.
“Don’t help him!” someone said.
“Why should we tell you, you murderer?” the dark-haired defender shouted at Gor.
“Ask yourself this question,” said the general, smiling and revealing a glint of teeth. “‘Do I give up the Mapmaker, or do I condemn everyone I know and care about to death?’”
“Don’t listen to him,” Tanner cried. “He’ll kill you anyway!”
The dark-haired defender looked at his feet. Then his jaw stiffened. “Very well. I’ll lead you there.”
“Traitor,” a woman in the crowd yelled. “You don’t know what —”
A bolt thudded into her chest, cutting off her words. Tanner saw one of the varkule riders with his crossbow leveled. The villager fell to her knees, choking for breath. The varkule rider clicked his tongue and the varkule leaped forward, its teeth slashing like blades. It batted the woman’s body over and lunged at her. Blood spurted.
“Good work,” said General Gor. “Call him off.” The soldier clicked his tongue again and reluctantly the varkule backed away. “Now, would anyone else like to object?”
People shook their heads; no one spoke.
The general’s eyes fell on Tanner. “You’ve outlived your usefulness.” He turned to a crossbowman. “Kill him.”
Tanner didn’t hesitate. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Firepos swooped down toward him. As the soldier aimed his crossbow, Tanner jumped up and grabbed Firepos’s claw. He was heaved into the air and the bolt thudded into a cart behind where he’d been standing.
“Idiot! You missed,” General Gor shouted.
Tanner let Firepos carry him a hundred paces, until they could no longer see the square, then let go and landed on the roof of a building, clutching at the thatch.
“I need to find the Mapmaker before Gor does,” he said to Firepos. “Stay out of sight until I call you.”
The Beast spread her golden wings and took to the air.
Tanner lowered himself from the roof and dropped into the narrow alley. It was empty, and the houses on either side were quiet, although he suspected many were a refuge for the terrified Colweirians; they had to be hiding somewhere.
He knocked at the first door he came across. He heard someone moving behind it.
“I’m not the enemy,” Tanner hissed through the crack. “Please, I need your help.”
The door was flung open and before Tanner could move, something cold p
ressed into his neck. He stared into the eyes of a young woman, who gripped a gardening fork with white-knuckled hands. He winced as sharp prongs dug into his skin.
“What do you want?” she whispered aggressively.
Tanner put his hands in the air.
“The brute who attacked your town wants someone called the Mapmaker,” he said. “I need to find him first.”
“The Mapmaker’s gone,” she said. “He left long ago. His apprentice is still here, though.”
“Where can I find him?” asked Tanner.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“He’s in terrible danger,” said Tanner. “Trust me, if these murderers wanted to find you, you’d want to be warned about it first.”
The woman lowered the fork. “All right. You look honest enough. The Mapmaker lived on the other side of town,” she said. “Follow this alley, then take the third turn on the right. Keep going until you find the butcher’s. It’s next door. There’s a sign.”
Nodding his thanks, Tanner sped off down the alley, sprinting across open roads, terrified that Gor’s soldiers would spot him. Lungs burning and brow slick with sweat, he peeked around a corner and saw the butcher’s a few buildings down.
Next door to the butcher’s was a building with a sign above it: MAPMAKERS OF AVANTIA. Two of Gor’s soldiers stood on either side of the entrance. Tanner saw the door hanging on its hinges.
I’m too late! Tanner thought.
The body of the dark-haired boy who had led them to the Mapmaker lay spread-eagled on the ground, blood oozing from his slashed throat. Tanner darted out from the alley as quickly as he could and hid in the butcher’s doorway.
General Gor strode out from the Mapmaker’s. “Excellent,” he said. “We have what we need.”
Tanner peered out from his hiding place. Gor stood barely five steps away from him, tall and imposing. Squirming in his grasp was Geffen, the fair-haired boy from the market. In his other gauntlet he clutched a rolled-up parchment. Tanner stared at it. It’s a map!
“This map will show us where to find the other pieces of the mask,” Gor growled.
Tanner gripped his sword hilt, his skin prickling. He couldn’t let Gor get away with the map.
“Shall we kill the boy?” said one of the soldiers, drawing a dagger from his belt. Geffen whimpered.
Gor gripped Geffen’s collar and lifted him off the ground, regarding him coldly. “Not yet,” he said. “The Mapmaker may have gone, but his apprentice here may be useful. Besides, he might provide the varkules with some sport later on.”
The boy’s eyes widened in terror. Gor dropped him and looked around with distaste. “Let us leave this rat hole. The smell of peasant is making me feel sick.”
Tanner followed them back to the main square, keeping a safe distance, his mind whirling as he tried to decide what to do next. He could not attack, but he had to stop Gor from taking the map. The surviving defenders were still in their groups, surrounded by Gor’s men.
“Take him!” shouted Gor, thrusting the boy roughly toward one of the varkule riders. The boy skidded to a halt in front of the drooling varkule, pale with terror. The creature pulled back its lips and growled hungrily. Its rider dismounted, seized the boy by the scruff of his collar, and threw him over the saddle.
“He’s just a boy!” The pale-haired girl called Gwen ran out from an alley, gripping a poker. A laughing soldier lowered his spear as the slender girl rushed toward him. She ducked beneath the tip and swung her poker into his knee. He fell down with a cry, clutching his leg.
She lunged at the rider who held her brother, but more soldiers grabbed her arms and forced the poker out of her hand. She writhed in their grasp, shouting, “Geffen, no! Don’t let them!”
The boy looked helplessly at her, fear etched into his features.
Gor addressed the crowd of terrified townsfolk. “If any of you are foolish enough to come after us, know this: We will kill the boy.” A grin spread across his face. “And I shall see to it that our best torturer makes it a very slow, very painful death.” He beckoned to his archers. “Burn it down.” He gestured to the village. “Smoke smells better than peasant.”
Just then, Tanner saw Gwen rake her nails at one of her captor’s eyes. He fell back, clutching his face. For a moment, Gwen’s arm was free, but Gor stepped forward and lashed her against the cheek with the back of his hand. She sprawled onto the ground, crying out as her face scraped across the dirt.
Tanner knew he had to take advantage of the distraction. He edged farther out, wondering if he could get to the varkule rider and free the boy.
Gor’s archers wrapped rags around their arrows and then dipped them into little pouches of tar hanging from their waists. A soldier with a flaming torch ignited each arrowhead; then they put the flaming shafts to their bows.
“Please!” shouted a man in the crowd. “You’ve done enough. Leave us in peace.”
“Loose!” Gor shouted.
The archers released their missiles. The flaming arrows arced into the air, trailing sparks and dense, oily smoke. They landed on the thatched roofs. Ravenous fire consumed the straw. An arrow thudded into a cart beside Tanner, and the straw inside went up in an instant. Across the town, he heard the crackle of dozens of fires starting. Tanner felt desperate. It was like Forton all over again.
“Form up and march out!” bellowed Gor, climbing onto his stallion’s saddle. The soldiers regrouped in companies, boots stamping and armor clinking.
Gwen rolled over, angry tears streaking down her cheeks. “Cowards!” she cried, turning to face the petrified villagers. She looked dizzy from the blow as she scrambled to her feet. “Why didn’t you help him?”
As the soldiers marched out behind General Gor, the people of Colweir were emerging from their houses and rushing to the river with buckets and pans. Tanner could see smoke rising up over a wide swath of the town.
Gwen stumbled and ran past Tanner toward the Mapmaker’s. He caught her arm and she spun around. “Let go of me!” she spat. “Who are you?” She had a purple bruise forming on her temple and a scrape down her face.
“My name’s Tanner,” he replied. “These men attacked my village, too, just the other day. They killed my grandmother.”
“You led them here,” she said. “You let them take my brother.”
Firepos alighted beside Tanner, folding her wings with a hot rush of air. Her glassy eyes reflected the burning straw. Gwen took a small step away.
“We’ll rescue him,” said Tanner. “I promise.”
“Stay out of the way,” she said. “I don’t need your help.”
She struggled to wrench her arm from Tanner’s grip. “Let me go!” she cried, thumping his chest with her fist. Tanner released her, and watched as she ran up the street.
“You can’t take on General Gor’s army,” he shouted after her. “Not on your own!”
“Who says I’m on my own?” she called back, before disappearing around a corner.
Firepos flattened her body to the ground and Tanner hoisted himself onto her back.
We have to save Geffen, he told his Beast. It’s the only way to make amends for what I have caused here.
Firepos took off with a mighty leap and a sweep of shimmering red-gold wings. Tanner felt the blasts of heat from the fires raging below. Discarded weapons, severed limbs, and dead bodies littered the market square. The cobbled stones were streaked with blood — Colweir would never be the same again.
The rooftops of the town fell away beneath Tanner and his Beast. On the far side, a level plain of rich pasture land stretched until it reached a range of low, wooded hills. Gor’s army was heading out across the plain, like a black snake wending its way to cause more destruction.
“Hurry, Firepos!” Tanner urged.
Air streamed through Firepos’s feathers as the two of them surged forward, sunlight tipping the Beast’s wings with flame-red color.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over
Tanner and he felt a shudder. Rain clouds? Glancing up, he saw a flat belly and gray fur above his head, almost within touching distance.
“What’s that?” He shrank back against Firepos’s feathers.
The creature wheeled away, then dipped down so it flew level with Firepos. Tanner stared in astonishment; the sight took his breath away.
The creature was a wolf as big as Firepos. His lean body was covered with shaggy gray fur and his sleek head thrust into the wind. He gazed keenly ahead with piercing eyes. Behind powerful shoulders grew leathery wings, beating the air with slow, languid strokes. Four crouched legs ending in paws with ragged black claws hung in the air beneath him.
And on his back, riding with confidence and grace, was Gwen.
A ray of light pierces this darkest of days: We have found Gulkien and his Chosen Rider, Gwen, a girl of spirit. Gulkien and I soar higher. Our task will be easier, now that our number has doubled.
“That — that’s a Beast!” Tanner stammered.
“Well spotted.” Gwen’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “I told you I wasn’t alone.”
“It’s your Beast? It chose you?”
“I’m riding him, aren’t I?”
Flame bird and wolf flew wing tip to wing tip, matching each stroke as if mirroring each other. For a moment, Tanner forgot about the pursuit and marveled at Gwen’s Beast.
“His name is Gulkien,” she said.
The huge creature dipped his head to Tanner. Tanner wasn’t sure if he was friendly; his lips were drawn back in the beginnings of a snarl, showing the gleam of white fangs.
Gwen leaned over to whisper in her Beast’s ear. “This is Tanner. He’s a friend ….” She shot a questioning glance at Tanner. “I think.”
Too stunned to reply, Tanner just nodded.
“And I am Gwen,” she said.
Tanner swallowed. “I know. Does this mean you trust me?” he asked.
Firepos turned her amber beak toward Gulkien and called. The wolf howled back.