by Joffre White
‘Hang on,’ he gasped. ‘You’re not going anywhere without me.’
The last thing that he heard himself saying was, ‘I’ll never let you go, I’ll never let you go.’
And then he passed out.
13
Fire and Ice
Sir Dragonslayer looked down from the plateau where he stood and surveyed the scene. The plain below glistened and twinkled with ice and frost, the full moon reflecting its pale light on the desolate landscape. He had brought his army many miles north with little resistance. A few foolhardy packs of Rock Bears had attacked them on a couple of occasions, suddenly appearing out of caves in ambush but the Rangers had scouted the path ahead well and each time had reported back the lie of the land. Every time any attack came, they were alert and well prepared, with the Maids of Steel dismounting quickly and engaging the rock bears face to face.
Normally, the sight of a two- or three-metre tall, snarling bear with unnaturally large fangs and razor sharp claws bounding towards you would be enough to make anyone run for safety. But not the Maids of Steel.
Standing resplendent in their mirror-polished armour, they drew their swords and stood their ground, meeting the bears head on, cutting them down with one or two passes of their swords until the attacking creatures lay dead, red blood seeping through the matted fur of their bodies.
Each time the Maids had remounted their steeds, Sir Dragonslayer noticed that none of them was even breathing hard, such was their strength and skill.
Eventually they had reached the great dirt plain that pushed its way through the northern hills and signalled the gateway to the heart of the kingdom of Castellion. They had set up camp earlier that evening, the great beacon fires built and lit along the whole length of their front line, bringing light and warmth and to warn of any attack by the Hidden People. The night was when they were at their most dangerous, the moonlight making them hard to see, almost transparent. Flames and firelight helped to give them some reflective form, but it was still a sharp pair of eyes that could spot them before they were within touching distance. The touch that, when connected to any living thing, froze it inside out. Fauna and flora withered and blackened. Humans and animals crystallised within seconds and became one of them, an ice-encased zombie with no memory or feeling, its only purpose to freeze and crush everything in its path. Such was the curse placed on them by Lord Maelstrom.
Sir Dragonslayer put his fingers up to his mouth and gave a high-pitched whistle which pierced the quiet sky. A few seconds later and high above, silhouetted by the moon, the majestic shapes of two mighty dragons hovered, their wings beating effortlessly. Suddenly they moved apart and streaked down to either side of the valley, curving inwards as they reached no more than a few metres above the ground, their riders now visible, pulling back on the great leather reins. At once, streams of flame jetted from the dragons’ nostrils, flaring at the ground before them as they swept across it. As the yellow fire licked out, the frozen ground steamed and the ice melted, shrinking back a short distance and in the same light, distorted, frozen figures could momentarily be seen, their mouths open in silent screams as they dissolved into oblivion. In that same light, Sir Dragonslayer also caught sight of the endless frozen army of Hidden People stretching out for what seemed over a mile into the distance. He breathed in and a chill passed through his body.
He gave another whistle to signal for the riders to return to camp, satisfied that he had seen all he needed. The enormity of their task impressed upon him as he pushed the consequences of failure to the back of his mind. Tonight would be long, cold and not without incident. He turned and hurriedly made his way back to brief the commanders.
When the attack came, they were in their positions, but if it hadn’t been for the Rangers and their sharp eyes, they could still have been taken by surprise. The rows of Hidden People were reflected suddenly in the light of the fires, only a metre or so from the front line of the Maids. With lightning reaction the Maids of Steel struck out with their swords, not cold steel, but this time red hot and glowing metal blades. They had been resting their swords in the burning braziers which had been placed between them along the line. The hot metal sliced through the frozen figures on contact, shattering them on to the ground, the pieces melting and steaming as they fell. Behind the Maids, the Rangers fired up their swords, ready to change over with the Maids when their swords grew cold. Acting in relay, they allowed each other the opportunity to reheat their weapons and then stepped forward to fight off the oncoming figures, chopping and cutting, chopping and cutting.
Behind them, another row of fires had been prepared and it was from these that the lines of bowmen lit their arrows and fired them into the sky, where they rained down and found the advancing ranks of the Hidden People, ice turning to fire, then turning to steam and turning back to ice under the advancing feet of the next frozen figure.
They battled on for hour after hour and still the Hidden People came.
Occasionally a Maid, or Ranger, was unfortunate to have their bare skin come into contact with one of the Hidden People. Their faces would instantly turn white as the frost coursed through them, turning them into one of the dangerous enemy. This was when their brothers and sisters in arms had to be at their most courageous and cut them down without a second thought, lest they be the next victims.
Sir Dragonslayer knew that his army could not keep up the resistance forever and they would eventually tire. He also knew that as soon as their defence was breached, the frozen figures would touch as many of his people as possible, as quickly as they could, turning Ranger, Maid and bowman alike into one of their frozen army to add to their numbers and strengthen the assault. He realised that it was time for the dragons and dragon masters to enter the battle.
He walked quickly to where he had left his mount. The dragon was crouched in a clearing, waiting patiently and as Sir Dragonslayer approached, it lifted its head and gave a welcoming grunt, a slight wisp of smoke escaping its nostrils. No audible words or commands were exchanged as he climbed up and positioned himself between the dragon’s wings and its scaled neck. Seating himself in the hollow of the creature’s shoulder blades, he gripped the thick leather reins and the dragon extended its wings. With effortless strokes, they rose into the air, Sir Dragonslayer using the fingers of one hand to whistle out a piercing signal into the night sky.
The telepathic bond each dragon rider had with their dragon was hard-earned through trust and dedication from the moment that the dragon chose to let its rider climb onto their great shoulders for the first time. Unless you were a dragon rider, you did not know the ritual. It was known as melding and was carried out in a secret location, high in the mountains. It was also reported to be very painful for a human; some had actually been struck blind during the rite although this was a penalty paid by those who were trying to use the power for evil rather than good. Once the process was completed, which could take two or three days and nights, dragon and rider were inseparable. Their thoughts were joined, as were their feelings, each one experiencing the other’s emotions and senses. A dragon would die for its rider and a rider would without question die for their dragon.
As they rose higher and higher, the other dragons and their riders swept up out of the surrounding landscape to join in formation above the battle spread out below them. In the distance, the ice figures were pouring out of the frozen forests and wasted land, their numbers pushing forwards from a hundred or so deep. At the front line, he could see the well organised army of Castellion, the Maids of Steel and the Rangers, all working in relays to step forwards with red, glowing swords, cutting and scything into the advancing deathly shapes, keeping them at arm’s length whilst the bowmen of Dinham loosed their flaming arrows, which when they fell to earth created momentary gaps in the relentless, glacier-like mass.
Sir Dragonslayer’s plan was to give his people some respite and create a break in the onslaught by attacking the source of the frozen army. Again, his piercing signals rang throug
h the air and the dragons fanned out along the length of the valley in two rows. The first row dipped their heads, tucked in their great membrane wings and plummeted down at the enemy. When impact seemed imminent, they opened their wings, almost stalling in the air, and released great streams of liquid flame at the clamouring figures below them. There they hovered and beat their wings together to fan the flames into an intense crystal-blue. Anything within a hundred metres instantly melted, the ice turning to boiling water and then clouds of steam exposing the black earth beneath, which then burst into flames. The gnarled stumps of the forest ignited and a firestorm of searing flames rose up. The first row of dragons swept away, exhausted, their flames depleted, and their places were filled with a second row of majestic sky lords who breathed down another furnace. But this time they were moving forwards, using their wings to force the firestorm back over the land until they reached the foot of the ice-covered mountain range. All land behind them was now a blackened, hot desert, any moisture scorched away, all evidence of any frozen army destroyed. Their task completed, they turned and flew away. As they returned to the battle front, they joined in with what flame they had left and melted as much of the remaining attack as they could. Finally the Maids, Rangers and bowmen were left to destroy the enduring ranks that were left, still trying to press forward in a futile attempt to break through the line.
Sir Dragonslayer circled back and out to the north, looking for any signs of an advancing army. The dark earth still smoked and flared, charred and lifeless right up to the stony outcrops at the base of the mountains which still glistened with frost in the moonlight.
‘It’s not over,’he thought to himself. ‘They will come again when the land has cooled.’He knew that this had only bought them a couple of days at the most. But at least they could rest and strengthen their defences. It was written in his scroll to hold the line and wait for the coming of the Blackwater. If this arrived then all would be well; if not, the orders were to turn back with whatever people he could muster and rally to the defence of Castellion Stronghold.
Two things bothered him: he had no idea when the Blackwater would come or how it would help, and he had never turned and run from any battle or fight before in his life.
For the rest of the night there was an uneasy peace. Sentries were posted and they slept along the line of battle, ready for any unexpected attack. The next morning, in the comfort of blue skies and warm sunshine, Sir Dragonslayer called a meeting of the commanders and explained their situation.
They knew that the next attack would be relentless, there was no telling what numbers the Hidden People’s army had grown to but, as they had covered the northern territories for several months and Lord Maelstrom had been preparing for this moment for many years, there would no doubt be thousands, if not tens of thousands, pouring out of the Frozen Wastes at the next opportunity. His dragons could not repeat the same effective actions again. They needed time to recover and replenish the chemical that was produced in their throats which enabled them to breathe flames. Never before had they been called upon to deliver their fire with such ferocity and with such prolonged effect. They needed weeks, rather than days, to regain their normal ability. The dragons had played their part, and their flames now spent they could only wait and be used as a last fighting reserve.
It was decided to strengthen the fortifications by making it as hard as possible for the Hidden People to approach them, and so trenches were dug along the line of defence. There was not a man or woman who did not spend time shovelling the hard earth to create two rows of deep pits that ran about twenty metres apart, parallel to their main battle line. They realised that the tactic wouldn’t kill the enemy, but it would slow down their progress. They made full use of the natural resources in the land around their encampments, and trees were harvested to make thousands more arrows, the heads of which were bound with moss and soaked in the flammable sap from fir trees. Cloth from sacking and bedding was fashioned into thick gloves and balaclavas to cover as much human flesh as possible, to make it hard for the Hidden People to touch anyone’s bare skin.
For two days and nights they toiled, taking it in shifts so that everyone slept and replenished their strength. As the sun went down on the third day a feeling of unease grew through the camp. Sir Dragonslayer and his commanders looked skyward. No moon appeared in the sky: the night would be black.
Before the last of the sun’s rays had melted over the horizon, the fires and braziers had been lit and were well stocked. All were in position, the Maids, Rangers and bowmen, all stood proud and ready, their faces masked and their hands covered by either armour or cloth. Behind them all, the dragons and their riders waited uneasily as a last line of defence to either rescue what souls they could or cause as much damage as possible in the event of being overrun.
With a blink, the sunlight was gone and a thick, dark blanket of fog crept out and spread over the land, so that even with the burning fires it was impossible for anyone to see more than a metre in front of their eyes. The silence was complete except for the crackling and fizzing of the fires, swords already glowing red in the flames.
Sir Dragonslayer gave an order for the bowmen to fire a volley of flaming arrows as far as they could and with a whoosh, a hundred or so streaming lights flew out and over the landscape to fall and embed themselves into the ground, half a mile from the waiting army. All eyes watched as the arrows burnt in the distance and were then extinguished as a black carpet rolled over them.
Under cover of darkness, the assault of the Hidden People had returned.
Sir Dragonslayer shouted his first command of the battle.
‘Rangers! We depend on the sharpness of your eyes, look well for us.’
When the time came, the trenches not only slowed down the advance, but they also served as an early warning system as the Hidden People noisily clambered into and out of them. By the time they had reached the battle line, the Rangers had no trouble in picking up their movements and drew their swords from the fires in readiness, as did the Maids of Steel.
Sir Dragonslayer looked along the ranks of unwavering, brave and loyal allies. He drew his sword from the fire, sparks flashing from the orange-white blade. His voice was clear and heard by all.
‘For Castellion. Let the Light free us from evil.’
A resounding cheer let loose into the night air as the last battle for the northern territory began.
14
The Earth Sage
Frog was aware of a rubbing and squeezing of his chest and then of the same sensation on his arms. He opened his eyes to see Lady Dawnstar leaning over him, her hands gently massaging his bare chest with yellow leaves, while on either side, Sir Peacealot and Logan were applying the same treatment to his arms. He felt something in his mouth and spat it out, then a sore aching feeling coursed through his limbs and across his body.
He gasped and caught his breath.
‘Just breathe slowly,’ Lady Dawnstar said softly. ‘The pain will subside, just breathe slowly,’ she repeated.
Frog lay there, clenching his teeth and balling his fists against the pain. It seemed that it would never end, until finally a warmth spread across his skin and numbed the hurt. His head began to clear and his memory started to return.
‘Fixer?’ he gasped, trying to sit up but gently restrained by Lady Dawnstar. ‘Where’s Fixer?’
‘All in good time, my friend,’ said Sir Peacealot. ‘Let’s tend to your needs first.’
‘No!’ replied Frog as he struggled again. ‘Where’s Fixer?’
Logan, Sir Peacealot and Lady Dawnstar exchanged worried looks.
‘Your injuries aren’t dangerous, but if you are to recover properly we need to care for them. Tell us that you’ll calm down first,’ said Logan.
‘Okay, okay. But tell me about Fixer,’ insisted Frog.
Lady Dawnstar leant back, revealing Fixer standing at Frog’s feet, her tear-stained face staring back at him. Ginger stood at her side holding her hand, his face
as white as a sheet.
‘I’m sorry, Frog,’ Fixer cried. ‘I’m really sorry.’
Frog smiled and rested back. ‘No problem, Fixer. I told you that you weren’t going anywhere without me.’ The effects of the leaves coursed through him and he drifted off into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, he was laid out, wrapped in his blanket, his head resting on a soft pillow which, when he opened his eyes, turned out to be Fixer’s leg.
‘Hi sleepy, how are you doing?’ she asked, looking down at him.
Frog gathered his thoughts and looked around him. They were all in what appeared to be another large chamber. There was a small fire burning and the smell of something cooking. He slowly raised himself up on to one elbow, a slight stiffness pulling across his chest.
‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘A new chamber, we decided to rest and have some food,’ replied Fixer.
‘What? How did I get here?’ asked Frog.
‘They took it in turns to carry you.’ Fixer indicated to the others. ‘Even Ginger had a go. He also insisted on carrying your pack and all of your belongings.’
‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘I’m not sure, time doesn’t have any meaning any more but the passage leading from the stone wheels was straight and long, and by the time we got here we all needed to sleep. We’ve only just woken up ourselves.’
‘What happened, Fixer? How did I, we, not fall into the opening?’
‘It was Sir Peacealot, his quick thinking saved us both. As soon as he heard you shout, he knew there was trouble. He all but threw himself halfway over the edge to grab my arm with one hand and you with the other. I think all three of us would have gone if Logan hadn’t appeared through the wheel and leapt across the gap. The first I knew was his long whip was coiled around my waist, then he was pulling me up while Sir Peacealot managed to scrabble back with you.