by Ben Galley
There was a yell and a surge in power and a soldier across the room fell to the floor clutching his throat. There was a flash of unearthly light in the well as he tumbled into the well, and for a moment Vice could see the body spinning in the darkness. The Undermage scrabbled to keep the spell intact while his knees buckled underneath him and his lungs burned. Pain racked his whole body. Suddenly, another flash of light, and Vice reached the last word on the page.
There was a deep rolling crash of thunder from underground and the tremendous noise ground to an abrupt halt. Every single person in the hall lurched and convulsed with the final wave of magick, and there was a dreadful moment of pure silence.
Nothing moved, nobody made a sound, all held their breath, and for an eternity they seemed to wait. Soldiers swapped looks, some concerned, others relieved. Only Vice could feel something stirring beneath their boots. Still holding onto the magick he slowly backed away from the pulpit. Something was awake now. One single last word fell from his burning lips, and then the sky fell in.
Bricks and rock erupted from the ceiling as the roof fell in with an ear-splitting crash, raining stone and mortar on the room. One man was flattened by a huge brick as he dove for cover, another was knocked senseless and tripped over the edge of the well. Stone flew in all directions. The wind turned everything into a swirling storm of stone as deadly chips and shards flew everywhere. Carn Breagh was ripped in two. Daylight suddenly pierced the shadows as room after room and floor after floor was ripped from above them and dragged down to feed the hungry well. Snow fell from the hole above in great clumps and gradually the room was swallowed by a blizzard.
‘HOLD!’ Vice screamed at the others through the maelstrom, and whoever was left grabbed at anything that would stop them from being torn away. Cries and yells of terror and pain were torn away into the storm. Another boom and a clang came from the well, and a blood-curdling whine from something below. It felt like the entire world was being dragged, piece by piece, into the well.
There was another noise, louder and angrier this time, almost a gurgling scream, and just then three gigantic claws reached over the edge of the pit and grabbed at the wall. They ripped apart stone like rotten wood. Another clawing foot rose up from the well and smashed against the far wall and turned two soldiers to bloody smears on the floor. A stench filled the room that made Vice gag involuntarily, a smell of sulphur and death, of decomposing flesh. The wind had become hot and dry and the blizzard suddenly died.
Out of the darkness below a head rose, a massive, ugly head that was too horrifying to comprehend. Embedded in its dragon-like face were scores of red eyes that glowed like burning coals, and they blinked as one. The beast rattled its horns as a clump of snow fell on its head. It turned to Vice. Hot breath billowed from its nostrils like the steam that had begun to fill the room. The Undermage stood, shakily, to return its gaze, wondering which specific eye to look at. Dark whispers hissed in his head, voices that he hadn’t heard for thousands of years. After a moment, Vice looked up, through the hole in the castle to the wintry skies above, to the dark shapes circling above, and then back to the monster. The thing made its whining cry again and lifted itself further out of the steaming well. Another head rose, and another, and another, and yet another, one by one, until almost twenty heads had reared up from the shadows, fighting for space with snarls and screeches. Vice couldn’t tear his eyes away, and as he pressed himself flatter against the wall to avoid being crushed by the beast he watched awestruck as the monstrous thing rose into the air.
Mere seconds before Farden thought they would crash into the ruins Brightshow flared her wings and darted back into the sky. The sudden lurching change in direction made bile jump into the mage’s throat, but he forced himself to swallow hard and concentrated on holding on. He opened his mouth to speak but a sudden crash from behind stopped him. They both whirled around just in time to see the castle rip itself in two and erupt in a fountain of broken grey stone. The other dragons roared and dodged the flying chunks with rolls and dives, but one unlucky rider was caught by a shard of rock and was thrown like a rag doll from his saddle. The dragon, a spiny yellowy-orange beast, made a terrible cry and went limp in the air. She crashed to the ground in a shower of snow and brown stone.
‘We’re too late!’ Farfallen yelled, snarling and cursing in some ancient language. They barely had time to think before there was another huge bang. Something was moving around in the gaping hole. Something older than all the dragons combined.
‘Look!’ Brightshow shouted and everyone turned to watch as the demon ripped its way out of the castle.
‘It’s a hydra!’ shouted Farfallen, and with fearful roars and trumpets every dragon backed away from Carn Breagh. Farden’s eyes went wide with shock.
The thing was terrifying, if only by sheer size. With a rumble it pulled the last of its heads from the ruin and stood tall on all four monstrous feet, each one thicker than any tree the mage had ever seen, and rippling with muscle. The hydra dwarfed the swarm of dragons as it stretched to tower high above the castle, easily hundreds of feet tall. A score of heads sprouted from the monster’s thick shoulders, and their entangled necks squirmed like a nest of snakes. Each fearsome head was impossibly big, almost as big as a dragon itself. Blinking red eyes and teeth fought for a place amongst bony ridges and bristling crown-like crests of countless dark blue spines. In the weak morning sun the hydra’s grey flesh seemed to pulsate and writhe in an unnerving way. Its breath steamed in great clouds like an angry volcano. The mage could smell the thing, a horrible rotting smell of meat that permeated the air and soiled the snow. An ear-splitting cacophony of a roar came from every one of its mouths, an eerie, discordant minor harmony, and the sound chilled everyone to the bone.
Brightshow turned her head to look at Farden, and they swapped fearful glances. Farden felt a cold sweat form on his brow. He had never seen anything like it, not in his dreams, no in his darkest nightmares, not on the wall paintings in Hjaussfen, not even in the wildest parts of his imagination. The thing screeched again, and Farden found himself staring, eyes wide, into the fang-lined mouths of the beast. All thoughts of Vice and revenge had disappeared, replaced only by numbing dread.
There was a huge crash as another part of wall fell in under the weight of the hydra, stones crushed to sand under its four gigantic feet, its thick forked tail swishing back and forth restlessly. A myriad of red eyes blinked as one.
Farfallen swooped close and barrel-rolled overhead. Farden heard a deep voice in his head as clear as if someone sat behind him. Go after Vice. We can handle the hydra for now. The mage looked at the Old Dragon and met his gold-flecked eyes. Cut the head from the snake and the body dies said the voice. Farden nodded his head once, grimly, and with that the dragon snarled and flashed a dangerous and toothy grin back at him. He climbed high into the sky, above the hydra, and made a long trumpeting noise like a battle-horn. The others took up the cry and climbed into the air. Below them the hydra snarled and gnashed its countless teeth together, making a sound like snapping trees.
Farden thwacked his dragon’s back. ‘Brightshow! Take me down to the castle, I have to stop Vice!’ he shouted above the roaring and the gnashing.
‘Are you sure?’ she yelled
A sudden surge of energy, maybe confidence, maybe fear, he didn’t know, but still some sort of mettle coursed through him. ‘More than ever, let’s go!’
Brightshow lurched and flapped. ‘Then hold on!’ she cried. Farden was starting to grow tired of hearing those words, but still he tensed his body for the inevitable stomach-churning drop. She dropped like a stone and rolled, making the snow the sky, and then back to the snow again. Farden fought bile again and tried to keep his eyes on the gargantuan hydra that was getting uncomfortably close. There were six dragons behind them, wings tucked and snouts pointed, following him and Brightshow down to the castle. She swerved again and Farden had a blinding moment of fear as one leg slipped from a stirrup. His fingers were froz
en to the saddle and he found himself praying, to anyone who would be listening, that he would reach the ground in one piece.
Above them the dark shapes were falling, roaring and screeching and snarling and trumpeting, a riot of colours with claws outstretched and jaws wide. The hydra made its whistling minor chord wail again and its jaws clicked and teeth ground against eachother. The swarm and the monster clashed, and chaos filled the cold air. One yellow dragon got too close and was torn in two in a shower of blood and ochre viscera. Another had one wing ripped clean from its side. Farfallen dipped and swooped through the nest of snakes-like heads, blasting searing fire in every direction while Svarta leaned far out of her saddle and slashed here and there with her vicious longsword. Towerdawn came up from underneath, flying upside down, and ripped chunks of grey flesh from the hydra’s underbelly with his front claws. One head snarled and snapped at him, missing his tail by inches. Fire filled the morning sky.
Go, a voice said again. Farden shouted to Brightshow. ‘We don’t have much time!’
‘I know I know!’ she snarled, and rolled left to dodge another snapping head. A blue dragon behind them screeched as the hydra clamped onto its back and yanked it from the air. Sapphire blood splashed the snow as the beast disappeared behind rows of sharp teeth. With a quick flap they were suddenly in the clear, around the back of the monster with only its tail to fear. Brightshow crashed to the snowy ground and gulped air. Farden could feel her huge heart thrumming inside her chest, impossibly fast, pounding with fear. Her yellow eyes were wide and panicky. ‘Go, while you still can!’ she gasped.
‘Just keep clear of that thing!’ Farden leapt from her side and drew his sword in midair. The snow crunched and creaked under Farden’s boots as he landed and he remembered the first time he had seen Carn Breagh, all those long weeks ago. Beside him the other dragons skidded into the snow while others hovered to let their riders jump to the ground. A big hand grabbed the mage’s shoulder and he whirled around to find Eyrum standing behind him. His one good eye stared back at him intently. Even in the excitement of battle, his tone was low and measured. ‘Have you still got the scale I gave you?’ asked the big Siren. He held his ridiculously large axe in one hand, hefting it as easily as a toy. The sharp blade glinted in the pale misty light. Farden nodded and patted his chest, and the feeling of the small trinket against his skin suddenly comforted him. A smile hovered on Eyrum’s scarred lips. ‘Then let us finish this you and I.’
Farden opened his mouth to speak but just as he did so a huge black shadow passed over them. Somebody nearby shouted a warning, which came out more as a blood-curdling scream, and they all ran for cover. Sadly one soldier was too slow, and a tail as big and long as a row of buildings flattened him under a huge explosion of snow.
‘Everyone inside, now!’ shouted the mage, and the rest of them scampered into the shadows of the castle wall, where a small metal door was sunk into the ice-covered stone. Their work done the dragons leapt into the sky and quickly retreated. The Sirens took cover, crouching behind blocks of stone, weapons shaking and wide eyes fixed on the monster towering above them. Farden didn’t blame them, fear chilled his heart like the breath of a tomb.
Doggedly the mage focused his mind and pressed his hand up against the cold door. Closing his eyes he tried to concentrate, blocking out the screams and yells from around him. He could hear the swishes of wings and the rumbling cacophony of the hydra, blasts of fire and the sound of things dying. Farden felt the door creak, and redoubled his efforts. He strained and pulled at the door.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ Eyrum grunted impatiently in his ear.
‘Just give me a moment.’
‘You and your magick,’ muttered the big Siren.
‘I said...’ there was a clang and a thud, and Farden stepped back to watch the big rusty hinges melt and dissolve. ‘Give me a moment.’
Eyrum raised one eyebrow. ‘Hmm, stop wasting time. Sirens! With me!’ He shouldered his big axe and strode into the darkness with the others at his back. There were no torches to light their way. Eyrum turned to the mage. ‘A little illumination?’
Farden smiled wryly. ‘Me and my magick,’ he mumbled, and he made a fist. White light shivered around his fingers and suddenly the corridor was bathed in a pale moon-like light. There was a thick burning smell in the air, mixed with rot and ancient damp, a smell that clung stubbornly to the back of the men’s throats and made them cough.
‘Quiet,’ Farden hissed, and they crept on into the ruined castle.
They took every stair they could find, anything that would lead them deeper and deeper into the castle. The sounds of battle raged above them. deafening bangs and tremors that shook the walls whenever the hydra moved. In his head Farden cursed himself over and over, berating his ignorance. He should have realised the first time he came to this dank castle, realised that there was something hiding in the darkness he had felt. Why had he been so blind? He tensed his jaw and consoled his guilt with the fact that Vice was somewhere below them and hopefully weakened by the summoning. Farden would make him pay dearly for what he had taken from him.
After what seemed like an age they came to where the corridors split and the mage looked left, then right and racked his brains to remember the way he had gone before. After a moment, he decided to go left, and quickly found the room he was looking for. The mouldy tapestry was still on the dusty floor, apparently where he had left it, and the narrow spiral staircase still led a path into the darkness below. ‘This way,’ Farden whispered and the others followed silently. He wiped sweat from his forehead and wiped his palms on his tunic. The castle air was getting hot and clammy and stuffy. The mage could feel something, though what it was he couldn’t decide.
They were now in the corridor, and someone had kindly lit all the torches. Farden doused his light spell and momentarily tried to regain his strength. The others strode past him and further down the corridor. He felt a big hand on his shoulder again.
‘What is it?’ asked Eyrum with barely a whisper. The torches threw strange shadows across his face.
Farden shook his head. He ran his fingertips across the old walls. ‘Something is here,’ he murmured.
‘We know that already.’
‘No, something else... something with magick like... I don’t know,’ the mage looked confused. ‘Let’s just keep going.’
‘Mage!’ Someone hissed at them, and they looked up. A Siren with orange scales toting a huge broadsword pointed with his thumb. ‘There’s a door here,’ he said. There was a wide door set deep in the stone, with huge hinges either side of it.
‘That’s the one,’ Farden nodded, and they all spread out and readied their weapons. The mage stood in front of the door and let his hand explore the wood. The massive bolt he had encountered before had been broken open. It was nowhere to be seen. ‘It’s not locked,’ he said, and Eyrum raised his eyebrow again with a questioning look. ‘Should it be?’
Farden didn’t answer. Instead he stood back and held his sword in one hand, and let a blue spark dance on his other. ‘Open it,’ he said. The Sirens and Eyrum moved towards the door and seized the thick iron handles that had half-rusted away from age. Farden let his breath slow, felt his heart stop its incessant nervous drumming and start to steady and focus itself. His grey-green eyes closed slowly as the magick pulsed along his shoulders. The spark in his palm fizzed and started to grow. They watched him, waiting for his word.
All it took was a single nod.
There was a squeal of hinges and ancient oak and then the door swung open with a burst of steam and a blinding flash of bright snowy daylight. The sulphurous stench quickly became unbearable. Without even waiting for the others Farden charged inwards. All he wanted was Vice.
But there was no sign of him. Nor anyone for that matter. Nobody alive at least. Farden held his sword high and ready and looked around. Thick mouldy pillars held up a roof that was now split in two and crumbling with snow and dust. Light poured down on
a huge pit in the centre of the room that smoked and boiled like a volcano. Dead men littered the floor around him. Some were twisted in grotesque shapes with their eyes staring blankly into the shadows and frozen with their last terrified moments, while others lay smashed and broken under rubble, lying in pools of blood with their limbs crushed, unrecognisable. Crimson smears painted the flagstones. The room shook and vibrated with the fighting above. Farden looked around. Trying to ignore the horrible shapes covering the floor he kept watching the shadows. Nothing. He clenched his fist and the spell extinguished itself. Farden prayed Vice hadn’t left.
Behind him the Sirens cautiously spread out and waited. Eyrum leaned close to Farden to whisper. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.
As soon as the words escaped his lips twenty soldiers in fire-blackened armour sprang from their hiding places in the shadows. With shouts and yells they rushed at the little group with their feet stomping through the carnage left by the hydra. For a moment it looked like the odds were stacked high against them, but the attackers hadn’t banked on Eyrum being there.
Without a single word or cry the giant Siren calmly stepped forward and twirled his axe in a huge figure-of-eight, cleaving the first man in half without even breaking momentum. The next received a blow to the head and tumbled backwards into his comrades, flailing his arms and screaming through what was left of his face. Blood filled the air. Farden was by his side, trying to stay clear of the windmilling axe and slashing at anything that got in his way. He grabbed one man by the throat and threw him to the floor, digging his sword deep into the soft place beneath his chin. The was a metallic scrape as the blade hit bone. Lightning flickered in his hand and another soldier flew backwards in a flash of blue and white. The other Sirens stabbed and hacked furiously, trying to even the numbers before it was too late.