by Joffre White
The king looked into Gizmo’s eyes. ‘I feel a coldness in my body, the like I have never felt before. How bad is this wound?’
‘It’s very bad magic, I’m afraid.’ He turned away to soak a cloth and bathe the wound. ‘I’ll have to use all my knowledge and powers to fight its effects.’
King Hector placed his hand on Gizmo’s. ‘You didn’t say you could cure me and you didn’t say you could stop its effects. Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth.’
The wizard sighed and looked at the king. ‘This isn’t just bad magic, it’s foul magic. Magic that has been corrupted and polluted. This is Magic of Lord Maelstrom’s making. I can delay its final result, but even I cannot cure it.’
‘And what is that final result?’ asked the king.
With moist eyes, the wizard could only answer with one word. ‘Death.’
They sat together in silence for a while, until King Hector spoke up. ‘How much time can you buy me?’
Gizmo inspected the wound; the red and green sores had grown angry and putrid.
‘Two days at the most. I can administer a saviour spell which will allow you to fight until the end. You will appear normal to those around you until you suddenly collapse, it will end in a blink of an eye.’
‘Can you stop his evil from taking my soul?’ pleaded the king.
‘Fear not, Lord Maelstrom will not claim your soul to reincarnate you as one of his minions, that I will certainly prevent.’
‘Then do your work and quickly. I have my people to lead into battle and a sword that demands I avenge this wicked deed before my time is taken,’ said the king.
Those around the king’s pavilion heard a painful scream followed by a golden flash which lit up its interior. The king’s men at arms quickly drew their swords and rushed into the pavilion only to be met by King Hector, standing strong before them, his sword raised, held by a steady arm.
‘Let it be known that every man and woman must now take food and rest while they can. In a few hours we make our stand. Let us be ready and steadfast in our endeavours,’ he announced.
They gave their salutes and left to inform the commanders while the king and Gizmo put together the plans which would determine victory or defeat. The last rim of the sun caught the horizon and streaked out its broad rays of light across the landscape, bathing the armour of King Hector’s army in a crimson red sheen as they stood in silence, their pennants hanging loosely in the still evening air. Dark, bruised and brooding clouds bore down on them from the south, a roll of deafening thunder rattled through the heavens followed by sharp, jagged lines of lightning, piercing the ground and exploding into showers of flame and rock. Then they came, a multitude of evil creatures and creations, rising out of the earth, howling and screeching, swarming forward, ready to engulf and destroy any other living thing that blocked their path.
As the final glint of natural light faded from the west, Gizmo placed the handle of his cane against King Hector’s forehead, the golden sun on his crown burst open and released a blinding blaze of light, out and into the eyes of the advancing hoards. For one final time King Hector’s voice gave the command.
‘For Castellion. Let the Light free us from evil!’
At once his archers responded and the sky above darkened with a hail of arrows, flying ahead as Castellion’s southern army charged forward to meet its blinded and confused enemies.
As the battle raged on, there in the midst of the hacking, fighting figures the wizard could be seen, arcing his silver cane back and forth, bringing down and destroying all evil in his path. Beside him was the dark lithe figure of the giant cat, clawing and tearing apart any foe that came within striking distance.
For a day and a half, the bloody conflict continued, strength enduring from the need to survive, men and women throwing themselves forwards to meet a never-ending enemy. King Hector led the way, upright and proud on his horse, a beacon of light pouring out from his crown, blinding their foes, pushing back the evil darkness, giving courage and hope to all those that fought alongside him.
When the moment came, Gizmo was the first to see the sword fall from the king’s hand as his body slouched forwards onto his horse’s neck. His golden crown slipped from his head and as it struck the ground all light was extinguished and a cloying darkness enveloped them all.
16
A Dragon’s Revenge
Frog woke with a start and looked around him. It was daylight, just after dawn. Lady Dawnstar, Sir Peacealot and Logan were sitting bolt upright as if also woken suddenly.
‘What is it?’ asked Frog. ‘Why do I feel so strange? It’s like I’ve lost a precious memory and a sadness is pulling in my stomach. Something’s missing?’
‘I feel it too,’ said Logan.
‘And I,’ acknowledged Sir Peacealot
Lady Dawnstar turned to them, a tear running down her cheek. ‘A light has gone out in the Chosen.’
‘One of us has been lost? But who?’ asked Logan.
‘I can’t tell,’ she replied, rising. All I know is that someone has fallen into the shadows and we must hurry. The darkness has turned against us, we are needed now more than ever.’
They roused Ginger and Fixer, leaving them only time to wash their faces in the stream and drink a little water.
‘What’s the hurry?’ asked Ginger.
‘We have to go. Now!’ said Frog.
‘Have to go where? Our guide hasn’t turned up yet,’ replied Ginger, turning to pack his bedroll. An acorn struck him on the shoulder.
‘Well that won’t help,’ he muttered.
Another landed on the blanket in front of him and he brushed it away.
‘Cut it out,’ he said irritably. ‘I’m going as fast as I can.’
A third hit him on the head.
‘Right, that’s it.’
He stood and turned to see the others staring, not at him, but above him. He followed their gaze to see a large black and white bird, perched on a branch. It cocked its head to one side, giving them all a stare with a black, beady eye. With a flutter it drifted down and landed by Fixer.
‘What’s it doing?’ asked Fixer.
The bird picked up a stick in its beak and hopped across to Frog, placing it on the ground in front of him. It then hopped back and repeated the process twice more.
‘Well, I’ll be ...!’ exclaimed Logan.
‘Look!’ said Frog. ‘He’s made an arrow, it’s pointing towards that path. He’s our guide!’
‘Excuse me,’ said Fixer. ‘But why do you assume that it’s a he?’
‘Because he looks like a he,’ replied Frog.
Lady Dawnstar smiled. ‘She’s right, Frog, it could be a she-bird.’
As if to confirm Fixer’s statement, the bird fluttered up and onto her shoulder.
‘See,’ she said, grinning. ‘She knows.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ said Ginger.
The bird flew from Fixer’s shoulder and back on to the branch above Ginger where it pulled an acorn loose and dropped it onto him. Their laughter was nervous and full of melancholy. Lady Dawnstar broke the following silence.
‘Now, let’s get packed, we’ve a guide to follow.’
They followed the path out of the clearing and into the forest, the bird flying off down trails, indicating which was the correct way to go when they got to forks in the pathways. The rest of the time it happily perched on Fixer’s shoulder, occasionally rubbing the side of its head affectionately against her hair.
When the sun was high over them, shining down through the leafy canopy and onto the green undergrowth, they stopped briefly to eat a meal made up of some cold meat left over from the night before. Then they were on their way again, following the bird this way and that. Finally, when the shadows had grown long through the trees, they reached the edge of the forest and a view through the thinning tree trunks showed them an expanse of dry, dusty plain. They moved out into the open and away from the borderline of trees. In the distance the
y could see a line of hills and towering behind them a range of mountains, their peaks and slopes white with ice and snow, dark clouds hovering above them menacingly.
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Logan. ‘The northern mountains, the edge of the Frozen Wastes. I never knew that a forest of this size existed so close to them.’
‘So that’s where we’re headed?’ asked Frog.
‘Over those hills are the north downs, that’s where we should be meeting Sir Dragonslayer and the gathered army,’ said Logan. ‘Let’s hope that we’re not too late.’
‘Too late for what?’ asked Ginger.
‘Haven’t you noticed how the temperature has dropped since we stepped out of the forest?’ asked Logan.
‘He’s right,’ said Fixer. ‘I’m going to put my cloak on.’ She turned to the bird on her shoulder. ‘I guess this is where we say goodbye,’ she said.
The bird stroked its head against her cheek and flew up into a tree. It studied them for a moment, then suddenly it was gone, back into the forest.
As the sun reflected on the overhead clouds, painting them blues and pinks and mackerel grey, the party moved forwards across the plain, their breath suddenly appearing from their mouths in fine plumes of mist.
‘Not good. I hate the cold,’ commented Frog as he tugged his cloak around him.
The walk seemed to take forever, the hills at first refusing to grow in size as they approached them. The air was turning frosty as dusk descended and they finally reached the foot of the rising ground. Unexpectedly, the twilight faded and gloom surrounded them. The sudden loss of light revealed a red glow, rising up from the other side of the hills.
‘What’s that?’ asked Frog.
‘I’m not sure,’ replied Logan.
It was at that moment that they heard it, a resounding roar of many voices, a battle cry. This was the moment that Sir Dragonslayer and the northern army faced the immense and fierce attack of the Hidden People.
‘The battle,’ said Logan. ‘It’s begun!’
Without consultation, they scrabbled forwards and upwards, clambering over the rocky, uneven ground, pushing themselves to reach the brow of the hill, some hundred or so metres above them. As they ascended, they heard the clamour of fighting growing louder, the shouting, the clash of weapons, the cries of warning, of fear and pain.
Drawing in breaths against the frantic efforts of the climb, Frog turned to Ginger. ‘Have you ever been in a battle before?’
‘Not like this,’ Ginger replied.
‘How about you?’ Frog asked Fixer.
‘Not to where any fighting was happening,’ she answered.
Frog paused to catch his breath. ‘Are you two scared?’
They both looked at him and nodded.
‘Then at least we can all be scared together. And I bet they are as well,’ he said, indicating the other three ahead of them.
On the other side of the hill, fate played a dark card as Sir Dragonslayer found himself surrounded by ice figures. He had been hacking his way forwards, trying to make a space for others to follow, when the gap had closed behind him.
Several of the Maids of Steel had seen his plight and were trying to forge a path to him but as he stood there, lashing out with his sword, he could see the heat of the blade fading. Each time it contacted with one of the Hidden People, a cold ice blue spread into the steel. He thrust the sword into the figure that faced him but this time the weapon had no effect and glanced off the solid ice-cold body. An arm reached forward and grabbed Sir Dragonslayer roughly by the throat. Another hand tore away the cloth wrapped around his face, his skin exposed for the icy fingers that touched his cheek, and then they were upon him.
Those close to him saw that he tried valiantly to take his own life before he was turned into one of the frozen dead, but moments later he rose from the mass of ice figures, his own body covered in blue-white frost, his eyes lifeless and black as he turned to face his comrades, no longer a friend, no longer an ally. His sole intent was to touch them and make them become as he now was, a frozen zombie and a servant of evil.
On the other side of the hill behind the battle, four figures stumbled, clutching at their heads while two other figures looked on with worried faces.
‘What’s happening to them, Ginger?’ cried Fixer.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I wish I knew.’
Lady Dawnstar gritted her teeth and pulled herself upright.
‘Another of the Chosen has fallen!’ she shouted. ‘Make haste lest we all fail.’ She grasped Frog’s cloak and pulled him on, encouraging the others to follow as Sir Peacealot and Logan regained their senses and scrambled forwards.
As they reached the brow of the hill, the scene of conflict was spread out before them. A glacier of transparent figures, their shapes fading in and out as the fires reflected on them, reached out across the valley floor and away towards the mountain skyline. A line of fires glowed amongst the army of fighting Maids, Rangers and bowmen, all desperately struggling to hold back the onslaught.
A deafening roar filled the air, the ground itself seemed to tremble from its intensity as a winged beast appeared from behind their lines.
It was Sir Dragonslayer’s dragon, enraged and filled with the pain of its companion’s death. In its fury, it swooped down amongst the bowmen, scattering bodies aside as it scooped up and devoured some of the burning braziers. It arced up into the sky, beating its wings as it hovered high overhead.
‘I know that dragon,’ said Frog. ‘What’s it doing?’
‘Exacting a terrible revenge,’ said Logan.
It was then that Frog felt the overwhelming sense of sadness and rage. He buckled to his knees as fury and grief spilled from the dragon’s mind and washed into his.
Logan knelt by him and tried his best to comfort him.
The dragon’s wings slowed, rhythmically fanning the air, and with each stroke its great exposed chest and belly began to glow a golden colour. ‘Is it going to breathe fire on them?’ asked Ginger.
‘More than that,’ explained Logan. ‘This is the final and ultimate sacrifice any dragon can make. It is about to reclaim its companion and take them both to oblivion.’
‘I still don’t understand,’ said Ginger.
‘Watch and you will. I would advise that you shield your eyes when the moment comes,’ he warned them.
The dragon was now blazing white-hot as it dropped its head and dived for the ground, heading for the shape that used to be Sir Dragonslayer. It plucked him from the frozen throng and rose into the sky with the figure clenched in its great jaws. Higher and higher it flew until, finally, it closed its great wings and fell, its shape lost in the furnace of flames that it had become, plummeting head first towards the foot of the mountains where the Hidden People spilled out in their thousands.
The impact, even though it was miles from where they stood, shook all of them, human and frozen, off their feet.
A ball of light exploded outwards and across the plain towards them and a great, dark mushroomshaped cloud rose up in the distance. Then a rush of warm air passed over them only to be quickly followed by a return of the freezing temperatures.
Frog raised himself up, a steely look on his face.
Fixer and Ginger stepped back in awe as they saw his eyes flare emerald green.
As the rumbling faded into the distance, there was an uneasy silence as even the frozen figures seemed distracted and confused by what had just happened. In that moment, Lady Dawnstar realised the effect that the loss of Sir Dragonslayer could have on morale. Drawing her sword and throwing off her cloak so that even at this distance her suit of armour reflected the braziers’ flames, she raised her voice in command.
‘Maids of Steel. To arms! To arms!’
Beside her, Logan and Sir Peacealot raised their voices.
‘Rangers of Castellion. To arms! To arms!’
‘Bowmen of Dinham. To arms! To arms!’
Faces turned towards them as they charged do
wn the hill, alarm turning to welcome recognition. As the three of them plunged their swords into a burning brazier, the army was galvanised into action with renewed vigour and determination, and before the frozen figures could react, burning steel was once again raining down upon them.
‘I guess that we’d better stay up here out of the way,’ said Ginger.
‘We have our part to play Ginger, I for one have a friend to avenge,’ said Frog. ‘You can make yourselves useful by helping those bowmen to light up their arrows, for a start.’And he was off, scampering down the hillside, all thoughts for his own safety recklessly left behind.
Fixer smiled at Ginger. ‘We can’t let him have all the fun!’ Then she was running down the hill after Frog.
‘You call this fun?’ said Ginger. Then, looking around and finding himself alone, he shouted, ‘Wait for me!’
He stepped forward, tripped over the edge of his cloak and barrel-rolled down the hill past Frog and Fixer, finally coming to a rest in a crumpled but unharmed heap at the feet of a startled bowman.
‘Stop messing about Ginger, there’s work to do,’ said Fixer.
The devastation caused by the dragon’s sacrifice stopped the source of the onslaught and after a short while the rows of advancing frozen figures thinned out and ceased appearing out of the dark frost.
Castellion’s men and women stood breathing heavily, their tired bodies exhaling white clouds of breath into the air.
‘Is it over?’ asked Sir Peacealot.
Logan looked across the valley. To the east, a pale light was breaking on the horizon.
‘Dawn is coming, what there may be of it. This is but a pause, they’ll not advance again until night descends. Now is the time for us to get these brave souls to fill their stomachs and take rest. Lady Dawnstar, your Maids await your leadership and Sir Peacealot, I would suggest you give counsel and command to the bowmen of Dinham and all others who bear arms. I’ll take charge of my Rangers.’