by Joffre White
The plan was to fire one rocket into the sky so that they could see as much of the battlefield as possible when it exploded. This would be the signal for the other bowmen to fire their rockets out in different directions, as low as possible so that they would go off above the ground and ignite the Blackwater. It would need two people to light the blue touchpapers, one to shield them from the wind, the other to ignite them with a spark. The bowmen had to get their rockets set on to their bows quickly and wait for the yellow flare to burn. This, he emphasised, was when it was most dangerous because the rocket would be within seconds of exploding and releasing the ‘dragons’ as Logan had put it. The timing was crucial. They must pick their distance quickly and accurately and send their arrow and the rocket swiftly on its way. As soon as they had done so, they needed to run for the safety of the hills, far enough away from the Blackwater which, hopefully, would ignite and turn the whole valley and plain into a sea of boiling flames.
A bowman asked Frog how he knew that this would all work.
‘I don’t,’ replied Frog. ‘But it’s all we’ve got.’
They moved to the edge of the Blackwater and spread out into groups of three, Logan and five of the Rangers, ready with their flints. Lady Dawnstar, Frog and Sir Peacealot stood alongside with the rest of the Rangers, ready to shield the rockets with their cloaks.
‘Don’t try this at home,’ Frog mentally reminded himself.
The wind, as if sensing their plans, suddenly turned and swept down from the hills behind them in an attempt to push them out into the Blackwater.
‘Now!’ shouted Logan. ‘The wind is behind us, it will help send the arrows on their way.’
The bowman held the arrow down and Frog wrapped his cloak around the crouching Logan and the rocket. With a sudden flash, the touchpaper ignited, sending yellow sparks out and nearly setting light to all three of them. Quickly the bowman raised the blazing flare, pulled back on the bowstring and sent it soaring into the sleet-filled sky The orange glow disappeared and was extinguished from sight.
Disappointed, Frog turned to Logan. ‘Let’s hope that one of the others has better luck,’ he said. ‘Let’s get to the next bowman ...’
He was cut off by a series of muffled explosions and blinding flashes which fell earthward and gave glimpses of a landscape that was filled with an advancing swarm of frozen figures. They were seconds from being overrun by the massed legions of the Hidden People.
Logan pulled up the end of his cloak and pushed it into Frog’s hand. ‘Keep hold of that!’ he shouted. ‘Run!’
An orange flare shot out to the right of them then, another to their left. They put their heads down and moved forwards and had only gone a few steps when a white curtain of wind hit Frog and knocked him sideways, causing him to stumbled and fall, the rock-hard ground cutting into his knees, his hand losing its grip on Logan’s cloak. Frog looked up and caught a last glimpse of Logan’s grey shape fading into the swirling gloom. He tried to call out, but his voice was lost in the howling wind. Trying to stand, he slipped again, his legs numb with cold and pain. The wind whipped at him, blowing back his hood and tearing away his cloth mask, pellets of hail struck his exposed face drawing pinpricks of blood which froze on his skin.
Two more rockets streaked out into the storm.
‘ I’m either going to freeze or be burnt to death. It’s not supposed to end like this,’ he told himself, bringing his arm up for protection. ‘I don’t want to die, not here, not yet.’ He lay down on his side, curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.
‘I’ll wake up in a minute and everything will be all right. It’ll be just like that film, The Wizard of Oz. I’ll wake up at home, in bed.’
Logan was scrambling up and away from the valley, the force of the storm weakening as he got to the higher ground. He was greeted by rows of worried faces standing at the top of the ridge, Fixer and Ginger among them.
‘Where are the others?’ asked Fixer.
‘They should be right behind me,’ replied Logan as he joined them.
Lady Dawnstar and Sir Peacealot, along with the other Rangers and bowmen gradually clambered up the slopes and formed a group together.
‘Where’s Frog?’ asked Ginger. ‘What’s happened to Frog?’
‘He was right behind me,’ said Logan.
‘You mean that you didn’t make sure he was with you, that he was safe?’ shouted Lady Dawnstar, angrily.
The colour drained from Logan’s face. ‘He was there, I swear he was right behind me. He had hold of my cloak, I felt him pulling at it as we climbed.’
‘Well, he’s not here. He’s down in that hell hole, freezing to death,’ said Lady Dawnstar. ‘And I’m not going to let that happen to him.’ She stepped forward, but Logan stopped her.
‘I lost him. I’ll find him,’ he said sternly, turning back.
There was a rumble from the swirling storm that covered the valley and the Blackwater plain below them. In the distance they saw coloured stars, shooting up into the sky. Then more, this time from the left and right of the vale. They saw the white mass turn orange and then a blood-red carpet swept out in all directions, back towards the mountains, out across the expanse, forwards and towards them. The storm gave way to a moving sea of flames that seemed to lick at the very sky itself. A wave of heat hit them, causing their wet clothes to steam and hang heavily on them.
Lady Dawnstar turned to Sir Peacealot.
‘Can you sense him?’
‘Nothing,’he replied
‘Nor I. Just a cold emptiness,’ she said, bowing her head and gathering her arms around Fixer and Ginger.
Logan collapsed to his knees, striking his fists into the ground with anguish and remorse. The others looked out onto the devastation, a burning, smoking, steaming hell on earth for as far as they could see. Nothing, human or otherwise, could survive the ferocity of the destruction. The Blackwater had risen and Frog had released its awesome power. There was no victory in their eyes, only a sense of loss which engulfed them all as they realised what had happened.
19
Lord Maelstrom
‘As I have put out the sun, I will also snuff out the light of Castellion. Soon the Darkness will be complete, frozen across this world for eternity.’
Lord Maelstrom’s voice seemed to come out of the very ground. It boomed through the thick black air and resonated through their bodies. The men and women of the southern army fell to their knees, their courage smothered by doubt and fear.
‘Know my power and surrender to me,’ continued the voice.
Even the creatures and wolves of his army cowered in fear as the air was filled with an unhealthy orange light which spread out from the southern sky. Black shapes swarmed around a burning object, growing in size as it approached. As it drew ever nearer, its detail became clear and terrible. Black dragons flapped their leathery wings in escort around a chariot of fire pulled by two more of the great beasts, their eyes burning a deep red, great chains lashed around their scaly necks as reins. Standing in the chariot was the formidable figure of Lord Maelstrom.
His tall, wiry frame was clothed in a sickly green material that glistened. The cloak shifted in the heat of the flames which danced and licked at him but did not burn or scorch him. With one hand he swept back his hood and revealed the skeletal features of his face. The skin was tight and pale, his eyes were white with black pupils. Strands of long silver-grey hair hung down in clumps, the bald patches between revealing rune signs, tattooed into his scalp.
‘Your king is dead,’ he announced, pointing to the body of King Hector which was now lying on the ground with Gizmo kneeling over it.
‘I will claim his body and soul as a testament to my victory.’
Gizmo stood back and the king’s body rose slowly into the air until it was floating at head height. Then, a golden glow surrounded it, the brightness turning it transparent until it simply and quietly disappeared.
Lord Maelstrom’s face filled with fury.
‘You dare to rob me of my prize? You have interfered for the last time, you meddling wizard.’
Two black dragons opened their mouths and flames streaked towards Gizmo, who quickly pulled his silver cane from his robes. With it, he drew a circle in the air and a blue translucent orb formed itself over and around him. The flames bounced off and were extinguished by the orb’s protective shell.
‘Do you still think that you can save this miserable world and prevent me from crossing the Dimensions?’ hissed Lord Maelstrom.
‘While I still breathe and while the light of Castellion still shines through myself and the Chosen, we will not bow down to you,’ replied the wizard.
‘One by one, the Chosen will fall, two are gone already, the light that you speak of is dim. Do you not see your army already bows down in my presence?’ mocked Lord Maelstrom.
‘They may falter, but their pride will never allow them to surrender. Their king may be dead but their fight is for their future, their freedom, their world.’ Gizmo turned and addressed the army. ‘Is that not so? Is the Light of Castellion not alive in you all?’
Those that had cowered, those that had bowed their heads in fear, rose up and with them a new strength flooded through their ranks. As they stood proud they banged their swords on their shields and stamped the ground in resounding acknowledgement of this newfound strength and in defiance of their enemy.
‘Fools!’ thundered Lord Maelstrom. ‘Look to the north and behold your final downfall.’
Gizmo turned his face northward and the sea of faces behind him did likewise.
Silhouetted against the orange horizon, growing ever closer, was the unmistakable shape of a dragon, one of Lord Maelstrom’s black and corrupted instruments. The speed of its arrival was unnatural and within seconds a human form was recognisable, hanging limply from the creature’s claws. As it approached Lord Maelstrom, the flames on the chariot were extinguished and the dragon hovered overhead, finally dropping its ragged cargo into the chariot alongside the Dark Lord.
Gizmo already knew who the figure was and even though he did not show it, he knew that now there was little hope left for the future of Castellion and the Dimensions.
‘I could have easily let him die. But it would make this useless,’ said Lord Maelstrom, holding out the Rune Stone. ‘Without his blood to soak it in, I would not achieve the ability to cross over the Dimensions and conquer them at my leisure.’
With his other hand, he reached down and lifted up the figure, holding it by the scruff of its sodden and filthy cloak.
Lord Maelstrom’s mouth split open revealing rows of sharp and broken teeth in a vicious grin of triumph.
‘Behold, my victory. You shall witness the joining of his blood and the Rune Stone. All armies shall fall before me. And you, feeble Guardian, shall perish with a final vision of his death in your eyes.’
Gizmo looked up, helpless, at the limp and ragged body in the grip of Lord Maelstrom.
Frog’s eyes slowly opened and stared back at the wizard.
20
Into Lord Maelstrom’s Hands
As Frog huddled on the ground, he hoped that the nightmare would end and he waited for a quick release. He felt the air around him turning warmer, the rush of wind buffeting him and he braced himself for the furnace of the fiery Blackwater to burn him to cinders.
Instead, he felt himself being grabbed roughly by the shoulders and hoisted into the air. He watched the ground fall away beneath him as it turned into a sea of boiling flames. He looked up to see that his rescuer was a great, black dragon and he opened up his mind to communicate with the creature and thank him.
A hateful, hissing voice invaded his mind.
‘Do not offer me thanks, you little worm, for I am your doom. My master, Lord Maelstrom, tasked me with your capture. If it had been left to me, you would be roasting in flames. A fate that I take great pleasure to exact on all humans when I am able.’
As if to emphasise the fact, the dragon let two streams of liquid flame escape from its nostrils.
Frog struggled even though they were now high above the black clouds.
‘Let me go!’ he screamed, both mentally and verbally.
‘I am tasked with delivering you alive, but I can inflict much pain on you should you give me cause. So keep still and do not bother me,’ came the voice, and a searing pain shot through Frog’s shoulders as the dragon tightened his claws.
Frog, aware of the dangers, closed his mind to the dragon and mentally reached out to the others, the Chosen. Despite his best efforts, he could feel nothing, no form of response. Then, to his dismay, the awful thoughts of the dragon cut into his senses.
You are dead to them, you cannot connect with them. I will ensure that none of your thoughts reach out. All that they will feel is a cold empty space if they should reach out for you. You are a mere human and your skills are no match for one such as I. Now, be still lest I flex my claws again on your flesh.’
Frog closed his mind. He thought of his mother, and of his father, his friends back home, and he filled his mind with images of his other world. Soaking in the pleasures and memories, he calmly spoke to himself, searching for a way to give him the strength to survive.
‘A mere human?’ he thought. ‘I’ll show you what a mere human can do.’
No response came from the dragon, such was the enduring strength of the boy Chris, who survived inside the boy who had become Frog.
He focused his mind further as he swung helpless in the dragon’s grip. He thought of what he carried on himself. He still had his sword and the talisman around his neck. He slipped his hand into the pouch at his waist and his fingers found the glass whistle that Lady Dawnstar had given him, many months before. He also found the leaves that Fixer had given him. Carefully he placed one in his mouth and sucked in the sharp flavour, letting it spread through his body, its powers building his strength, restoring his health, healing his wounds.
Very soon they were descending through the pale orange clouds and as they emerged he viewed the great armies, spread out across the land below. He saw other black dragons, hovering menacingly in the sky, and a blue orb containing the wizard, floating defiantly in front of a flaming chariot, which contained Lord Maelstrom.
Frog felt a dark probing presence, searching for his thoughts. Quickly he focused on his innermost and secret memories, drawing a protective barrier around his mind, creating a void. As he was carried ever closer to Lord Maelstrom, he closed his eyes and hung limply from the dragon’s grasp, waiting for the right moment. A plan was forming in the deepest recess of his brain.
He was dropped into the chariot and heard Lord Maelstrom announcing his intentions and then a rough hand gripped his cloak and raised him from the floor of the chariot.
Frog’s movements were swift and sure. He opened his eyes and let his thoughts flow out to the wizard, and at the same time he pulled out his sword and plunged it into Lord Maelstrom’s arm. A scream of rage and agony tore through the air. As Frog was dropped back into the chariot, he grabbed the Rune Stone from Lord Maelstrom’s hand and threw it towards the wizard. Not waiting to see if it was caught, he reached for two things. First, the talisman. Its Magik instantly made him invisible. Secondly, he raised the small glass whistle to his lips and blew with all his might. There was no sound, but Frog thought that he saw a transparent ripple flow out through the air.
His senses were brought back into focus as the chariot rocked violently. Lord Maelstrom lashed out and tried desperately to remove the sword which had become luminescent in his arm. His voice rising to piercing shrieks, he was shouting in a strange language, trying to summon the darkest of powers to his aid. Frog looked over the side of the chariot. He was maybe five or six metres from the ground. He hesitated to jump when his mind was made up for him. One of the dragons reared up, hissing and growling. Its hind legs caught the chariot and tipped it sideways.
A short, squat creature standing beneath the chariot had a surprising end to its life
as its neck was broken by an invisible weight that landed on it, seemingly from nowhere.
Frog rolled to one side, slightly winded but otherwise unhurt. He found himself in the front lines of Lord Maelstrom’s army, a collection of twisted and ugly animals that were either reptilian or monkey-like in appearance. He rose up and charged forward towards the blue haze that surrounded the wizard. Astonished creatures were knocked sideways by an unseen force as he pushed and shoved himself through them until at last he was racing across the short, open space between the armies and found sanctuary amongst the comparative safety of some of Castellion’s knights. Once there, he turned and looked back.
Lord Maelstrom was now standing on the ground. The luminescence from the sword had spread up his arm and into part of his face. The chariot was in pieces, the two dragons that had pulled it snapped and clawed at each other, causing chaos around them. Lord Maelstrom was facing Gizmo who was now a few metres in front of him, the orb pulsing blue, flashing streaks of lightning, his robes rippling with static. Gizmo held the Rune Stone aloft and Frog heard his name being called.
Frog let go of the talisman. Knights stood back in surprise and wonder as he became visible. He ran to the wizard, who reached out and took Frog by the hand. The orb extended its light around him, his clothes and hair crackled in the static. Lord Maelstrom raised his free arm upwards and a bolt of lightning streaked down from the orange-black clouds, connecting with his fist. His eyes grew wide with madness and his face contorted in fury.
‘Kill them!’ Destroy them all!’ he screamed.
His army rose into action with a frenzy, surging forwards. The black dragons swooped down, snorting flames. As one, Castellion’s army raised its shields and swords, arrows rained from its archers into the oncoming foe and the final bloody battle for Castellion’s future ignited into action.
Lord Maelstrom’s body was gradually becoming transparent. It seemed that pieces of him were fading, melting away.
‘I will not be defeated. I will take my revenge!’ he raged.