“Barver!” snapped Merta. “With me!”
She took to the air and Barver followed. Patch didn’t understood what they were doing, until the dragons carrying Wintel simply dropped her from a thousand feet. It was impossible to tell if Wintel was conscious or not – entangled in the netting, she tumbled through the air as she fell.
Barver was struggling to keep up with Merta, his injuries clearly hindering him. He managed it, though, and as one, the griffin and the dracogriff seized the net as it hurtled down. The weight of it dragged them down too; they pushed out their wings hard, fighting the air to slow their fall, and at last they pulled up.
They brought the netting back and set it beside Cramber, then began to carefully untangle Wintel. Tobias rushed over to help as Merta checked the unconscious griffin.
“She’s alive,” said Merta. She took each wing, carefully feeling along the length. “Nothing’s broken. No torn flesh, and no blood. Though see the swelling here, on the side of her head? It would take a forceful blow to do that.”
Wintel let out a cry of pain. Her eyes flickered open, but she was clearly dazed.
Barver crouched next to her and hung his head in sorrow. “I can’t bear to think of her, asking them for help, and realizing there was no help to be found.”
Wintel reached out and took his hand. “Don’t…don’t leave me, Cramber,” she said, her eyes closing again.
Barver opened his mouth, ready to correct her; then he simply squeezed her hand, giving her what comfort he could. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m here.”
Over by the command tent, soldiers were gathered, the two majors giving out hurried instructions. Patch could see Alia and Wren, and he could have sworn they were arguing, their expressions irate – Wren almost storming off at one point, Alia putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
Patch knew it was over now. The Hamelyn Piper had no need to risk his soldiers when he could destroy his enemy from a distance. It didn’t surprise him when a warning cry came out. A catapult shot had appeared from behind a hill, trailing smoke.
“Take cover!” cried Tobias.
Patch watched it pass high over their heads, feeling an odd detachment as he saw soldiers crouch on the ground. He stayed standing; only at the last moment did he think to cover his ears.
It landed six hundred feet from the camp, the explosion throwing mud into the air, terrifying the camp’s horses – they pulled at their staked leashes, but none tore free. There was a look of horror on every face around the camp. They may have heard about what had happened to Skamos, but seeing it with their own eyes was a different thing entirely.
No more shots came. Not yet.
Patch thought of the rock fired before Skamos had been evacuated. It hadn’t been an accident; it had been fired to ensure nobody doubted what would happen if they stayed.
“I don’t understand,” said Merta. “I thought they would keep firing them until they wiped us out! No amount of Piping or sorcery could withstand it!”
“Well, Tobias?” asked Barver. “What can the Battle Pipers do? And Alia?”
“Even the best Shielding Songs would count for little against those,” said Tobias. “Alia could take some of them out as they fly, igniting the explosives early, but not enough.”
“And then they’ll launch more,” said Merta.
“Look!” said Patch. The Hamelyn Piper, in his dark armour, walked into view on the hilltop once more. The rumbling of thunder began, engulfing them all, resolving slowly into the voice Patch despised.
“You see what awaits you,” said the voice. “Fight for me. Swear your allegiance, and your life will be spared. Your time is up. Make your choice.”
“He has victory within his grasp,” said Merta. “Why does he delay?”
Patch thought of when he confronted the Hamelyn Piper, in front of the Obsidiac Organ, and at least this was a question he could answer. “He thinks he’s worthy of being King,” he said. “That all the evil things he’s done were justified. He made his offer, and he’s going to honour it – because then it’s our fault when he kills us, not his.”
“You have five seconds,” said the Hamelyn Piper.
“I would rather die,” said Merta.
“Four!”
First one, then a second soldier began to move, walking to the edge of the camp.
Tobias saw them. “We have to hold firm,” he said, and then he shouted it: “We have to hold firm!”
“Three!”
More started to move, their heads low, unwilling to make eye contact with the others. Calls came up: “You can’t trust him!” “Shame on you!” “Traitor!”
“Two!”
What had begun as a trickle was now a torrent. More and more were joining the deserters. Patch could see some dropping Pipes – Battle Pipers hoping to hide as ordinary soldiers.
“One,” said the voice.
There were eighty, perhaps, walking out of the camp. “Go, then!” cried Tobias, outraged. “If you’re willing to fight for the Hamelyn Piper, go. But make no mistake. You will belong to him!”
Patch couldn’t watch. He looked away, focusing on the dark-armoured shape high on the hill.
“Good,” said the thunder-voice. “It takes courage to join the right side! Come to me, and pledge your loyalty! If I judge it to be genuine, then you will be welcome!”
The voice faded, the rumble echoing to nothing.
“I must rejoin Alia,” said Tobias. He looked horribly shaken. “We’ll see what our shields can do. We’ll see if there’s still damage we can inflict. We stand and fight, come what may.”
But Patch wasn’t listening to Tobias. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Walking with the deserters, near the back of the group, was Wren.
Patch ran to catch up with her. “Stop!” he cried, breathless. “Wren, stop!” He put a hand on her shoulder.
She spun round, eyes flashing with anger. “Let me go,” she said, brushing off his hand.
“You can’t do this,” pleaded Patch. “You know you can’t.”
She scowled at him. “Can’t do what? Stay alive?” She gestured to the camp. “Look at what’s happening here, Patch. You think the Battle Pipers can defend you? That Alia can whip up shields to save everyone, or knock fifty catapult shots out of the sky?”
“They can try!” he said. “And maybe they’ll succeed!”
Wren shook her head. There were tears in her eyes, just as there were in Patch’s. “It would take a miracle,” she said. “I want to go home, Patch. I want to see my parents again. All this time I’ve been putting off going back, and now it’s all I can think of…I have to do this.”
“Fight for the Hamelyn Piper?”
“I’m just a child,” she said, almost to herself. “I’m no threat to him.” She looked at Patch again. “Go back to camp.”
“No!” said Patch, gripping her arm. “I won’t let you go!”
“You won’t let me?” she said, wrenching herself from his grasp. “This is my decision to make!” Her tears were flowing freely now. “Whatever happens, remember this was my decision. You don’t get to have a say.” She looked to the group of deserters making their way to the hill, already some distance ahead. She started walking again.
Patch grabbed her arm, more tightly this time. “Please, Wren…” he sobbed; she stared at him, enraged. “This is a mistake. I won’t let…”
He heard a sparking sound and felt a sudden, searing pain throughout his body; his legs buckled under him and he fell to the ground, unable to move. He was barely able to breathe, as the pain continued.
“I’m sorry,” said Wren, and then she walked away.
It was almost a minute before the pain subsided and he could move once more. He sat up. Wren had reached the other deserters again. She gave him one last sorrowful look. Patch felt a heaviness in his heart so great he thought he would never get up again.
At the centre of camp, Barver had been watching. He went to move,
but Alia stepped in front of him.
“Let her go,” she said. “Wren’s made her choice.”
And Barver, like Patch, could only watch as the line of deserters made their way up the hillside towards the figure of the Black Knight. For both, it felt like part of them was dying.
As Wren walked, the first spots of rain started to fall.
Her fingers ached from what she’d done to Patch. It was a simple little spell she’d found in Casimir’s notebooks. She hoped it hadn’t hurt him too much, but she’d panicked.
None of the deserters could even look at each other. Their footsteps were heavy, and slow; ahead of them, at the top of the hill, two rows of the Hamelyn Piper’s soldiers formed a corridor ten feet across, leading to the Black Knight himself.
As they entered the corridor, the deserters fell into a rough narrow column. The soldiers of the Black Knight leered at them as they passed, offering sarcastic welcomes. When they were fifty feet away from the Hamelyn Piper, one of the soldiers stepped out and held up his hands.
“That’s far enough,” he said.
The rain was getting heavier now, and Wren could hear sounds coming from over the hill – calls of “Keep those shots dry!” and “Cover them up!”
The Black Knight’s armour was exactly like the diagrams in the ancient book – his arms, legs and torso encased in black, with no helmet. The sight of his face chilled her to the core. She’d last seen it while riding on Barver’s back, with the Obsidiac Organ looming above them, and Barver under the Hamelyn Piper’s control.
“Begin!” announced the Black Knight.
The soldier pointed to the deserters nearest him. “You five go first! Step forward!” The deserters did as they were told. “Now repeat after me, loud enough so our lord and master, the Black Knight, can hear! I swear on my life that I will renounce all previous loyalties, allegiances and fidelities!” He waited, as the deserters repeated the words, before continuing: “And I give my life to the service of my new lord and master, the Black Knight, for whom no undertaking shall be refused!” Once the deserters had repeated everything, he turned to the Black Knight, expectant.
The Black Knight gave a slow nod.
“Your oaths are accepted,” said the soldier. He pointed to the left, where, at the hill’s crest, a man stood with a black-and-white flag. “Go to the standard bearer, he’ll give you instructions. Next!”
Again and again, small groups of deserters were asked to state the oath of allegiance, and were sent to join the Black Knight’s forces.
And then the sixth group stepped forward. The deserter in the middle wore a long leather coat, and as the oath was recited, he kicked out at the soldier and charged. From under his coat he produced a sword, and ran at the Hamelyn Piper, bellowing a battle cry.
None of the Black Knight’s troops moved a muscle, and Wren felt sick at what she knew was coming. A look of utter arrogance was on the Hamelyn Piper’s face as he pursed his lips and began to whistle a Song.
The deserter bore down on him with his sword raised. Five feet from his target, he was struck down by the Piper: the Song was released, and the deserter’s head snapped backwards horribly. He fell. His sword, now in two pieces, landed beside him.
“Continue,” called the Hamelyn Piper.
Wren sensed an uneasiness around her, and wondered how many others in the line had planned to try the same thing. They would surely not attempt it now.
Gradually the line grew shorter. With ten deserters behind her, it came to be Wren’s turn, and as she stepped forward, the soldier stared at her.
“Dear God, girl, what age are you?” he said.
She started to cry. “Please, sire…” she sobbed. “I want to speak with the Black Knight. Please…”
The soldier shook his head and sighed. “What kind of people bring a child to a battlefield?” he said. “You can work in the mess tents, I suppose. Ready, girl?”
But Wren shook her head, the tears still flowing. “I’ll swear directly to the Black Knight, or not at all,” she said, defiant. “He says he’s honourable, he says he’ll be a just King. I must hear it from him, face to face!” She blew her nose on her sleeve.
The soldier looked to the skies. “Oh, good grief,” he said. “Lass, just say the oath.”
Wren folded her arms and shook her head, then burst out sobbing again.
“Send her forward, Captain, or we’ll be here all day,” said the Hamelyn Piper. “If she must hear my sincere pledge to be an honourable and just King, then so be it!”
“Very well, sire,” said the soldier, giving Wren a shove. “Off you go.”
Wren approached warily. The Hamelyn Piper had seen her once before, on Barver’s back; if he recognized her now, she had no idea what he would do.
He frowned as she came closer, but there was no sign of recognition in his eyes. And then she was standing right before him.
“Child,” he said. “I swear to you that I will be an honourable and just King.”
“I beg you, sire!” Wren burst out. “Spare my friends!” She fell to her knees and grabbed his leg, speaking through sobs. “You say you are honourable and just! Show me! Show all of us, and spare my friends!”
“Get up, girl,” he said. There was barely disguised contempt in his voice.
Wren stayed where shex was. She gripped his leg tighter, and her sobs grew even louder. “Sire, I know you’ll be a good King, a great King, as you said. Give them another chance!”
She heard the soldier approach. “Lord, should I remove her…?”
“No,” barked the Hamelyn Piper, clearly irritated. “I’ll deal with it.” The soldier walked away again. “Child, I’ve given them all the chances I can. It’s their choice to stay and die. You’ve made a good decision, and they have not. Now, please, take your place in my ranks. There are things to be done.”
It was a relief to Wren that the Hamelyn Piper seemed fond of his own voice. She wasn’t sure if she could keep the crying going much longer. “You are so wise, sire,” she threw in, hoping he’d keep talking.
He did: “They believe they can win, and they are mistaken. You have seen the truth, and your reward is to live.”
And at that moment, there was a click. A small sound, barely audible even to Wren; she had found the mechanism for the clasp, not an easy thing when you couldn’t see it. She’d been beginning to think that her memory of the armour’s design hadn’t been good enough, or worse – that the actual construction differed from those ancient diagrams.
But no. It had taken her longer than she’d hoped, but she’d managed it.
She sensed a change, though, a sudden tension in the Hamelyn Piper. A realization that something was wrong.
What came next happened in less than a second.
She lifted the freed piece of obsidiac armour from the Hamelyn Piper’s left calf; she rose and turned, speaking the brief incantation Alia had taught her. She felt the energy in her fingertips, and a rush of power. The piece of armour – pure obsidiac – shot out from her grasp, hurtling over the heads of the Black Knight’s forces and the remaining deserters, flying out towards the camp. And then it changed direction mid-air as Alia’s own spell caught it, drawing it towards her at an impossible speed, vanishing from sight. The sound it left in its wake was an extraordinary crack.
At first, nobody moved. Wren, standing next to the Hamelyn Piper, could scarcely believe it had worked.
“What have you done?” said the Black Knight, staring at her. Then he almost screamed: “What have you done?”
The soldier ran to her, and put his sword to her throat. “Give me the word, sire,” he said.
“Little witch!” sneered the Hamelyn Piper. “Captain, there are manacles in my saddlebag. Send for them.”
“I have manacles here, Lord,” said the captain, and he did – hanging from his belt.
“Not like mine, you don’t,” said the Black Knight. “Send for them! They’re painted red, and of a design specially for holding those w
ith sorcery in their blood. I didn’t expect to need them for a child…”
The captain nodded, and caught the eye of another soldier, who set off to fetch them.
The Hamelyn Piper shook his head at Wren. “You think stripping me of a piece of armour will make a difference?” he said. “You have courage, yes, but not an ounce of sense in your head!”
“My lord, look to the field!” called the captain. “Look!”
The Hamelyn Piper looked.
He had never felt such anger in his life.
Watching Wren leave had been the hardest thing Alia had ever done. The plan had been Wren’s idea, and however Alia had argued against it, Wren had held firm.
“Let me go instead,” Alia had told her.
“He’ll never let you get close enough,” Wren said. “I’m just a child. I’m not a threat to him. And you’re the only one who’s used the Leap Device before.”
“We don’t know if this will work!” said Alia.
“It’s a chance,” Wren said. “And there are no others left.”
And so it had been decided.
Nobody else could know their plan. Alia watched from the camp as the deserters took their oath. When it was Wren’s turn, Alia prepared herself: standing firm, ready for when the moment came. Tobias looked at her, and was about to speak, but she shook her head. His demeanour changed, then – he didn’t know what, but he knew she was planning something.
When Wren sent the piece of armour towards her, she was ready to catch it in her own spell and pull it down to her. It shot through the air, coming to a halt the instant it was in her hands.
And there it was: a perfect chunk of pure obsidiac.
She wasted no time. She kneeled and set the obsidiac on the ground, then took the Leap Device from her pocket, with Barver’s feather still clipped to it. She looked at Tobias, who was staring in astonishment.
“Fingers crossed,” she said, then placed the Leap Device on the obsidiac and pulled back the trigger.
The sound that had come before came again, like the slow cracking of glass, but this was magnified a thousandfold. With the sound came the rippling sphere, growing slowly out from the device, engulfing first her, then Tobias, and Barver, then the griffins…
A Vanishing of Griffins Page 24