by Robin Bootle
‘You tell no one of this,’ the captain ordered, glaring at them. ‘Dēofol would have me impaled on a spike.’ Edward nodded, and the captain reached into his bag and pulled out a loaf of bread. He threw it to Edward’s lap. ‘Eat.’
Edward tore the bread and passed it to Elizabeth, devouring it like a starved child as he watched the two men. Their stare was uneasy at first, but then they broke into smiles and wrapped each other in the sort of hug that would have crushed anyone caught in between.
‘It is good to see you, my old friend.’ Quickly the captain’s face descended into fury as whatever tension had existed a moment before returned. ‘I heard you were coming this way. But never did I think you would be so foolish! By what right do you storm the prison?’
‘We have the boy with us.’
‘The boy?’ The captain hobbled the two steps to Edward. ‘This one?’ He grabbed Edward’s chin, forcing his head this way and that. ‘He hardly looks the part. Well, boy, is it true? Are you the one?’
Edward glanced past the captain to Ivandell, uncertain what to say or think. Yes, I am the one. But what difference has that made? His magic was useless, James was missing, and the prophecy was no closer to being fulfilled than it had been the week before. In the end he gave a nod, but it was far from convincing.
‘Interesting.’ The captain stepped away. ‘You may be Ivandell of Ravenglass, but it is not for you to risk the lives of every man in this village. And for a boy who does not himself believe that he is the one!’
‘Ivandell of Ravenglass?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘You make it sound like a title.’
The captain half laughed, half grunted. ‘You do not know with whom you travel? This man,’ he walked over to Ivandell and gripped his shoulder, smiling with gritted pride, ‘this man is a hero. One of very few that we have left. Ravenglass was under siege for weeks. When the fight was almost lost, Ivandell led an attack with two hundred of the bravest men straight through the city gates and in full view of Dēofol himself. A diversion, enabling the rest of the men to escape through the back gates and lead hundreds of women and children to safety. But…’ the captain looked at Ivandell, as if checking whether he should go on. ‘Well, let me just say that there were many who did not make it. And Ravenglass is exactly the reason why he knows what he has risked today!’
Ivandell’s finger shot to his lips. ‘Soldiers!’
They sat in anxious silence as boots trampled past the window. When the sound of the soldiers had faded, Elizabeth said, ‘Then you of all people should know that Ivandell’s cause is worthwhile. This is the boy. Together with his brother he will start a revolution.’
‘I was told my brother would be in the prison,’ Edward added, following Elizabeth’s lead. She had no intention of assisting in a revolution, he knew. She was playing the game, and so should he. ‘Do you know where they took him?’
‘All the prisoners were collected yesterday and marched in the direction of the tower,’ the captain explained. ‘It is well guarded; a small army is encamped there of late.’
‘An army?’ The bulk of Edward’s words caught somewhere inside his throat. Of course there would be an army, he thought. He shook his head, frustrated and appalled at his own naivety. After all Dēofol’s efforts to lure him into Extropia, the idea that James would be so easily accessible in the prison seemed laughable.
‘If you plan to find him, then you had better be the one. Dēofol himself is said to be residing in the tower these days.’
‘Well, I haven’t come this far to be beaten,’ Edward snapped. This supposed captain seemed more and more like someone from Force Crag, broken and unwilling to fight. ‘If they have an army, then we need an army.’ After all, that was how the game was meant to be played, wasn’t it? Boy finds general. Boy builds army. Boy defeats Dēofol.
The captain sniggered. ‘An army? And who would you have lead this army? You?’
‘There must be someone who can follow in the footsteps of the Great Warrior? Someone who can rebuild his army?’
The captain shook his head. ‘There is no one. Most of our finest soldiers were banished alongside the general. Many others have been butchered, unable to submit to Dēofol’s reign.’
‘What about you? Look at your medals, your weapons. Won’t the people follow you?’
‘One day I’ll tell you what happened to this leg.’ He tapped it with his stick to give the sound of wood knocking on wood. ‘The men will not follow a cripple.’
‘What about Hasgard?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘He believes in Edward. He could rally the people.’
‘Perhaps, but he is lost, possibly even dead,’ said Ivandell.
‘And what about you, Ivandell of Ravenglass?’ Edward’s attention shifted quickly. ‘You must have been expecting this? You speak of finding Aris. Who did you imagine would lead the army that would set him free?’ Ivandell bowed his head and paced to the far side of the room. ‘The things you’ve done, the way you’ve believed in me from the beginning… you’re the reason we’ve gotten this far. You once believed in the Great Warrior. How do you know it isn’t you, Ivandell?’
Ivandell turned and glared. ‘Because the Great Warrior is dead!’
‘Edward, there is no point in building an army,’ interjected the captain, ‘unless we have the General’s Ward, a blue ring. Only with this do we stand a chance against Dēofol’s magic. And that is wasted away with him in the Great Black.’
Edward’s eyes stayed on the captain, but already his mind was somewhere else. The cogs were turning again. Something about the general’s death didn’t add up. If he was such a key part of the game, could he really have begun the game in the mountains and at once plunged himself into the Great Black? ‘None of you have ever seen the general’s body, have you? How can you be so sure he’s dead?’
‘Because last summer I searched for him! And all those banished with him – hundreds of warriors!’ barked Ivandell. ‘There is nothing there, not even a trace. There is only one path into the mountains, and it leads to the Great Black! He must have led his men into the Black in the belief that it would provide an honourable death, or some other such madness!’
‘No. It doesn’t make any sense.’ Surely even just one of the men banished with him would have walked back down the valley rather than walk straight into the Great Black. At the very least there would have to be some kind of trace, as Ivandell had put it, of them having been there. The question was, where?
How could a band of hundreds of men simply disappear without a trace? he asked himself, as the cogs continued to turn in his head. ‘If there’s no trace of them then…’
‘Maybe they’re hiding somewhere?’ Elizabeth suggested.
‘I would have found them,’ Ivandell insisted.
Edward nodded his agreement. ‘The only other explanation…’ A great smile swept across his face. He turned to Elizabeth, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘What if they were never there?’
‘I don’t follow.’
He pulled her close and whispered, knowing he would have to refer directly to the game. ‘Of course Ivandell hasn’t been able to find the general. What kind of game would it make if the player turned up to find the army already assembled and ready to defeat Dēofol?’ She looked blankly at him as if she still didn’t understand. ‘Remember what I told you when we first arrived? Places can change, people can appear from nowhere.’
‘I remember, but what has that got to do with…’
He turned to Ivandell, as another memory came to him, further solidifying his belief. ‘Hasgard even told me while Elizabeth was in her cell at Force Crag. It’s written in the prophecy! The boy would rescue the Great Warrior.’
Ivandell’s brow furrowed, as though some part of him was at last ready to consider what Edward had to say. ‘You truly believe, Edward, that the general is still alive?’
‘No,’ said Edward, smiling. ‘I believe he’s still waiting to be born.’
18
The Men of Ejüll
Edward woke with a start, disturbed by voices bellowing in the street. His sleep had been sticky with sweat and regularly interrupted by the sound of passing soldiers. Now as he lay wondering how close the voices had been this time, a woman’s scream pierced right through his ear and down his spine, forcing him upright.
Dawn was breaking. The captain had been due to return and wake them when things had quietened down. Evidently, that moment was yet to come. Edward sprang to his feet and peeked through the blind at the rust-coloured road.
Opposite and just a few houses up, a team of armour-clad soldiers were gathered outside a neighbouring door. They were even more animal-like than they’d seemed in the dark of the night, grunting, talking in snaps, their movements sharp and jerky. One of them tilted his head back and howled, beckoning others from further down the street.
‘What are they?’ whispered Edward.
‘They were once the men of Ejüll,’ explained Ivandell. ‘Before Dēofol turned them, Ejüll’s soldiers always had some sense of compassion. But these Greys are a new breed, not one year old. This, Edward, is what happens when the red mist takes over. Their skin is pale as though their veins do not carry blood. Their faces are twisted with the rage that commands them and their breath reeks of decay. Some question if they are even men, or whether they are monsters born from the ashes of ruin, remade from the remains of their own destruction.’
Another scream in the street drew Edward’s attention. One of the soldiers carried a wailing baby from the house. A young woman rushed out after him, tears streaming. ‘My baby!’ She grabbed hold of the soldier’s arm. ‘Please! Don’t take him!’
‘What’s going on?’ Elizabeth whispered as she joined Edward at the window.
He couldn’t have answered even if he’d tried. His jaw was as locked as his eyes, palsied by the image outside. A man in torn and bloodied clothes came running from the house, begging for the woman to let go.
One of the soldiers lashed out and smashed her across the head with the butt of its sword.
‘Catherine!’ The man crouched down beside her fallen body. She remained motionless while he lifted her head and cradled her in his arms. Sobbing, he shook his head from side to side and stroked her hair. Then calmly he kissed her forehead, rested her head gently on the ground and walked back into his house.
‘Please, Edward, come away,’ Ivandell whispered from the back of the room.
‘Come on.’ Elizabeth pulled on Edward’s upper arm. ‘They might spot us.’
Edward was about to withdraw his fingers from the blind when the man returned to the street, hatred in his eyes and an axe in his hand. He kept the axe low by his thigh and marched quickly to the soldiers as they walked away. With an anguished cry he started to swing.
One of the soldiers fell. But within moments the rest were upon him, their swords hacking down and returning to the air, stained red.
‘My God!’ murmured Edward. It was all too real. The crunching of bones. The spraying of blood. The screams. His stomach muscles seized up, forcing him to heave. Outside, the sound of flesh being cut like cabbage kept on. Then, a soldier laughed.
Edward tried to draw a deep breath but the air only stammered in, one short gasp at a time. Their emotions aren’t real, he told himself, as the woman cried on in his mind, shrieking, her eyes wide with terror, and the man, groaning as the air drifted from his lungs with each hack of their swords.
A fist thumped hard against the captain’s front door.
‘Open up! In the name of Lord Dēofol!’
Edward’s face drained of blood. Ivandell lifted his index finger to his lips. He delicately drew his sword and unhooked his crossbow from his thigh. Edward followed suit, his shaking hand rattling the dagger against the inside of its sheath. Footsteps crossed overhead towards the front door, softening as they reached the rug that covered the trap door. The front door creaked open.
‘We’re looking for a boy. Stand aside while we search the house.’
‘There are no boys here,’ the captain declared. ‘Surely you can see my siring days are past?’
‘Then you won’t mind us looking around.’ A groan was followed by a crash and items clattering across the floor, then footsteps walking freely in the house. Edward did his best to count: four pairs of feet. Or was it five?
Elizabeth put her palm on his chest and motioned for him to calm down. He was breathing too heavily, too loudly. He tried to control himself, but it only made his breathing jerk and stutter. His frantic mind and tensed up muscles were burning too much oxygen. His gaze fell on the window that led to the street. He knew he could slip through its small frame. So could Elizabeth. But what about Ivandell? They’d call him a fugitive if they found him hiding like this.
The footsteps stomped and banged through the house, clearly audible even as the soldiers made their way upstairs to the first floor. After several minutes, a voice called, ‘Nothing here, boss.’
‘All right boys, clear out. And get a move on! We’ve still got another five streets to search.’
The air nearly exploded from Edward’s lungs in a huge sigh of relief but he knew he mustn’t make a sound. He listened as the footsteps converged from various parts of the house towards the front door. But then, as a footstep went past overhead, the rattle of metal on metal came from behind him.
He didn’t know if it had sounded before; he might have missed it in his stupor. But now the rattle seemed so loud that he couldn’t imagine the soldiers hadn’t heard it. He swivelled silently to face the wall behind. It was covered in shields and swords. Another pair of feet passed by and the rattle came again. His eyes shot to a two-foot, oblong, dull silver shield. The hook on which it rested was tilting down. As another pair of feet passed by, the shield bounced again under pressure from the board on which it hung.
He edged towards the shield, the shuffling of his feet amplified unbearably by his heightened senses. He sighed as the fourth soldier passed by without a sound. There was just one more soldier, but he was already by the front door. All soldiers accounted for. His eyes closed in anticipation of their leaving.
Two quick steps were followed by another growl, ‘You sure you ain’t hiding any boys?’
‘I’m not hiding anyone.’ The captain’s voice was throttled; the bastards had him by the throat. ‘Hail, Lord Dēofol,’ he croaked.
‘Well, in that case, on behalf of Lord Dēofol, forgive us our intrusion.’
Pure and brilliant euphoria filled Edward’s body and mind. They’re gone, he sang in his head. But Ivandell and Elizabeth were still watching the ceiling intently, not yet ready to celebrate.
The captain was being choked again. Then a groan. A cry of pain. For an instant, silence.
A huge thud sounded right above Edward’s head – the captain must have been thrown through the air. But Edward didn’t look up. He looked straight at the loose hook on the wall. His hands lunged hopelessly forward as the shield dropped freely to the floor, its bottom clunking heavily on the wooden floorboards, then teasing him as it toppled sluggishly onto its front.
‘Here, what was that? You are hiding someone! There’s someone under the floorboards, ain’t there?’
‘No! No!’ whimpered the captain.
‘Tie him up! We’ll see to you in a minute, you miserable swine! Search the floor!’
A troop of feet piled back into the house. Edward edged towards Ivandell, trying to show he was ready, that he would fight by his side.
‘Edward, no! You must go!’ whispered Ivandell. ‘Through the window, to the mountains! I will find you!’ He shooed Edward away as he himself crept onto the first step.
Upstairs, it sounded as though the soldiers were shifting the he
avy rug. ‘Sir! A trap door!’
‘He’s right, Edward!’ Elizabeth tugged on his arm. ‘You’ll just be turning yourself in!’
Ivandell was at the top of the steps now, his head ducked, his shoulder and sword right up against the trap door, his crossbow in the other hand. ‘Go! Now!’ he ordered.
But Edward was rooted to the spot. The trap door rattled and came free. It hadn’t been raised an inch when Ivandell pushed up with his legs, his sword out in front. He pulled the trigger on his crossbow as he leapt into the house above. And like that, he was gone.
Edward turned quickly to Elizabeth. ‘We have to help him!’
‘No! He’s not one of us!’
‘You know that’s not true. I saw how you held his hand. You know there’s more to them than just code!’
‘What?’ She looked confused for a moment, then, ‘That was just my instincts. I didn’t know what I was doing! Edward, please, we have to get out of here! We won’t find James by dying today!’
He reached down and picked up the oblong silver shield by his foot. It was lighter than expected, and would cover a good four feet of his body. ‘I’m going up,’ he blurted.
She grabbed his wrist. ‘You’re bloody well not! You won’t last five minutes!’
He wrestled himself free and shoved her so hard that she fell. She looked startled and betrayed as she picked herself up. He put his foot on the first step and stared at the ceiling of the room above, his dagger in his right hand. He glanced at her one last time, so choked by everything he wanted to say that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak at all. He stuttered, at first. Then he blurted out, ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I never meant for any of this to happen. But I have to go.’ And with an involuntary roar, he flew up the stairs.
One of Dēofol’s men lay dead, his blood pooling on the floorboards. Ivandell was engaged with two soldiers in the next room, his back to Edward. The captain was nowhere to be seen. A growl from behind was the only warning Edward had. He turned just in time to see a blade swinging for his side.