by Ben Galley
‘About time you did!’ replied Eyrum. The big Siren looked like he was enjoying the action. ‘Finally, a good fight!’ he hissed, and even in the thick of it he couldn’t help but smile.
The group of soldiers had recovered from the quake spell, and were now advancing like an angry porcupine, spears and shields held out. With jabs and parries, they pushed the three beleaguered men backwards into the frenzied crowds. Modren stood behind their ranks, the air humming around him. Farden wasn’t sure if he was biding his time or staying out of the fight. He didn’t have time to decide; more soldiers had pushed their way into the square and were attempting to surround them.
Durnus looked around for a way out. ‘Aside from stating the obvious, it looks as though we’re incredibly outnumbered. I think it’s time to get out of here!’ he said from behind his scarf. Eyrum grunted in agreement. Only Farden looked torn. He cast a glance northwards where Cheska and her entourage had gone. He bit the inside of his lip and cursed inwardly. At least he knew she and the child were safe, he told himself. The dream had lied.
‘Farden!’ shouted Durnus, rudely barging into the mage’s thoughts. ‘What?’ he yelled. He snapped his fingers and lightning cracked like a whip, blinding some of the soldiers. They paused, but only for a moment.
‘We need to leave!’ insisted the wide-eyed vampyre.
‘Right!’ said Farden, and with that the three men ran turned tail and dove headlong into the panicking crowds blocking their way. People parted like chaff and the three men sprinted for the docks as quickly as they could.
‘After them!’ came the cries from behind them. Spears flew past their ears, whistling in the wind. One impaled an unlucky bystander in the leg. He screamed as he fell. The men ran past.
Buying them time, Farden slammed his vambraces together with a clang and stamped his foot. Behind him fire sprang from the cobblestones like a volcano and for a moment it looked as though they had stopped their pursuers in their tracks. Unfortunately, Modren doused the fire with a water spell, and the chase swiftly continued. Farden looked back over his shoulder, and swore under his breath. Tired and tense, he tried to keep up with Durnus and Eyrum.
Hurried feet pounding the cold cobbles, they quickly made it across the chaotic square and sprinted down a wide street leading south to the sea and the docks. Word of a rogue Written and a ferocious vampyre had spread like a forest fire and the rest of the city had already begun to panic. Doors were being locked, windows latched, and barracks were being emptied of soldiers. The three fleeing men tried their best to keep up their pace as they pelted through the agitated crowds and throngs of people. The situation was not looking good.
‘We have to get out of the city!’ Farden shouted at the two running ahead of him, beyond caring for subtlety.
‘I know!’ Durnus yelled over his shoulder.
Farden looked up at the grey slate skies and pulled a wry face. He considered his Weight, but it was only good enough for one of them. ‘Is there a boat? One of the dragons?’ he cried.
Eyrum and the vampyre swapped a glance as they dodged a cart-full of something brown and vile. ‘No not really!’ he shouted between ragged breaths. The big Siren was getting tired. He was not a runner.
Farden managed to catch up and run beside them. ‘What do you mean not really?’
‘Well,’ said Durnus. ‘We hadn’t really planned that part yet.’
Farden rolled his eyes. He had only been back one morning and already things were falling apart. Was there anything he could do right? Maybe he just attracted trouble, he dourly considered.
The mage ducked under a low hanging sign and sent a young man sprawling as he knocked him out of the way with an elbow. Angry shouting chased him. Farden threw a look over his shoulder and saw that a veritable army of soldiers were now in hot pursuit. Modren was at their head, grim-faced and sweating. ‘Then start planning, old friend!’ Farden shouted to the vampyre. Durnus was too busy running to reply.
The three turned a corner and found themselves in a wide empty street. Straight ahead lay the docks, and behind that the rolling sea. Boats meandered about the port. Seagulls squealed overhead as they chased rimelings, pecking at their long forked tails. The masts of nearby ships peeked over the roofs of the buildings, as if inquiring what all the bothersome ruckus was about. The frantic tolling of bells had begun to echo around the valley. Warning bells, warning the city and her docks of three dangerous escapees.
Farden watched grimly as the empty street ahead of them began to fill with spear-waving soldiers. Shadows moved behind curtains in the windows of the abandoned buildings. Light glinted on sharp arrowheads. The three men skidded to a halt and watched helplessly as they were quickly, and neatly, surrounded. A few Written skirted around the edges of the ranks, staying in the shadows and staring at Farden, the mage they knew all about. Farden recognised some of them, others he didn’t. The younger ones glared at him, sizing him up against the pre-conceived monster of their imagination. He hoped he met their expectations. He glared back, baring teeth. He propped his sword against his leg and let his magick fill his veins. He could feel the drop in the air pressure as they did the same.
‘How’s that plan coming along, Durnus?’ growled Farden.
‘This is not a good time for your jokes, mage,’ snapped the vampyre, narrowing his eyes. Farden could hear him breathing heavily through his mask.
‘I’m only trying to lighten the mood.’
Durnus shook his head. ‘Well, we have other more pressing matters at hand.’
Farden shook his head and rubbed his fingers together. Sparks flashed under the skin. ‘You’re alwa…’
‘Could we settle this later, please?’ interrupted Eyrum in a loud whisper. He looked to Farden and flicked his eyes to the mage’s neck. ‘Have you still got the pendant I gave you?’
Farden reached inside his collar and pulled out the dragonscale amulet that the Siren had given him all those months ago, the lucky scale of his dead dragon, Longraid. ‘Of course,’ replied the mage.
‘Then let’s hope there’s still some luck left in it,’ Eyrum said gruffly, and put his knuckles to his lips, as if to bless them. Farden nodded. The soldiers were getting closer by the second. Their ranks bristled with spears and swords. All had fallen silent apart from the bells. Behind them Modren pushed his way through the crowded lines of soldiers and stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Give it up, Farden. You and your friends are trapped.’
The mage looked around and shrugged, feigning indifference. ‘I’ve been in worse situations,’ he replied. At his back Durnus groaned.
Modren stared at Farden in disbelief, urging him to surrender. ‘Last chance, old friend,’ he said in a low voice.
Farden clicked one of his fingers and patted his sword handle. He looked up at the cloudy sky and sniffed. Something dark and hovering caught his eye for a moment, and then it was gone. He looked back to Modren and smiled. ‘We all have to go at some point, today seems as good a day to die as any, doesn’t it gentlemen?’
Behind him Durnus momentarily looked confused until Eyrum nudged him. ‘Today seems fine to me,’ growled the big man. The vampyre nodded and tried to act casual, he grinned through his fangs.
‘Of course. We’re not afraid of death, not at all,’ he said, wondering if he sounded at all convincing, but the wild flames in his pale eyes said it all. A ferocious beast lurked behind them.
‘There you go,’ said Farden, and then his face turned to stone and his gaze burnt into Modren’s, and his voice grew dark and hard. ‘Your move, old friend.’
The uneasy silence lasted for no more than a second, but to those gathered in the street it felt like a hundred. The wind howled between the buildings and a seagull screeched, and then Modren raised his sword and yelled to his men.
Farden raised his hands and turned sideways, a controlled smile stretched across his lips. With outstretched arms, he threw two scorching balls of fire in opposite directions along the street, watching as they exp
loded simultaneously in the faces of the massed soldiers. A dozen or so men fell screaming, hands swiping at their scorched faces. Unfazed, other soldiers began to move forward, waggling their spears, as Modren and his Written began their own spells. Glass began to rain onto the street as the archers above kicked out the windows and nocked arrows to their bows. Durnus snarled at them and yelled something to Eyrum. The big Siren ran to the nearest door and booted it inwards with a single kick and a loud bang. With one hand, he wrenched it from its splintered hinges and dragged it back into the street just as the first of the vicious arrows began to rain down. Durnus and Eyrum ducked beneath the door while Farden stood tall and confident in the middle of the street. Arrows filled the air like buzzing hornets. The mage didn’t even flinch. He was in his element now. Fireball after fireball flew from his blistering fingertips. Men fell left right and centre as they were struck, but still others kept coming. He kicked the cobbles and the ground rippled like a tossed rug, sending one Written sprawling. Another received a face full of glass as Farden sent a vortex spell spinning across the street like a whirlwind.
Something hit Farden heavily in the back and shattered in a flurry of ice. The mage wheeled around to find one of the Written spinning a circle of glittering icicles around her fists, glistening like glass knives. Farden grinned at the young mage, who was obviously eager to impress his captain. The younger woman wore a confident face. Farden almost felt sorry for her.
With one hand, Farden knocked an offending arrow from the sky and with the other he punched the air. The pulse of magick caught the young and unprepared mage off guard, and sent her flying through a window. She landed in a shower of ice and broken glass. Blood painted the windowsill.
Suddenly Modren seized his moment. He sprinted across the street, grabbing Farden by the arm and wrenched him down. Lighting flitted across his skin and Farden cried out. Modren hit him squarely across the face and Farden was knocked to one knee, momentarily dazed. Modren poised for another blow. Unfortunately for him, he poised too long; Farden had used his months in the desert wisely, and had more than a few new tricks up his sleeve.
Farden touched a finger to the cobbles and the ground exploded beneath Modren’s feet. His friend was catapulted into the air and in a blur Farden was after him, his hand encased in a hammer of sparkling ice. With a crack and a thud, he brought his fist down upon Modren’s chest and drove him into the cobbles. It left the mage gasping, clutching his chest. Rage was bubbling up inside Farden. As he raised his hand to hit the mage again he felt an arrow buzz past his ear. In an instant he bent his hand, curling fingers like claws, and the spell came not a moment too soon. Three more arrows fled their bows and ricocheted off the invisible shield. It hummed and reverberated like a pane of glass.
‘I never thought you’d kill your own kind!’ spat Modren, from his position at Farden’s feet. His head throbbed. Farden put a foot on his chest to keep him down and shook his head.
‘They’re Vice’s tools now, like you are. It’s been a long time since we were of the same kind,’ he said.
Modren clenched his jaw and glared daggers. Unseen behind his back, his fist began to glow with coils of green light. Moving like lightning, he flicked his hand at Farden and a cat-o’-nine tails of raking emerald tendrils struck the mage in the chest. Farden was tossed across the cobbles as if a giant had kicked him. He collided heavily with Eyrum and Durnus and all the three men sprawled in the street, dazed and surprised.
The surrounding soldiers ran forward, seizing their chance to pounce on the three renegades. Farden could feel the vibrations of their feet on the cobbles. As Durnus and Eyrum scrabbled to get to their feet, he lay on his back and stared up at the dull sky, wondering how long it would take before his uncle intervened.
It was not long at all.
There came a noise like that of ripping steel, a screeching wail so loud and piercing it threatened to burst the ears of everyone present. A huge shape filled the sky between the buildings and the down-draught of its feathered wings sent men reeling. The soldiers backed away as quickly as they could, some crawling, others running. Modren, wide-eyed and surprised, hid in a doorway and stared dumbstruck at the half-eagle half-lion that had descended on the street. An ageing man wearing a brown jacket and a scrap of red cloth tied about his neck jumped from the beast’s side and began to throw spells at the retreating soldiers. He was grinning quite madly. His wild eyes glowed in the reflection of the fire flying from his hands. At his back, the huge beast opened its beak to growl and revealed row after row of needle-sharp teeth. It screeched once again and grabbed a nearby soldier with one of its deadly claws. The woman howled like a wounded animal as the creature bit down, engulfing half of his body in a single bite. His armour snapped like a sapling and blood splashed the streets. Modren was horrified, rooted to the spot, tree-like. The sounds of fire and shouting and screeching was deafening, a flash of war in an otherwise quiet street.
Tyrfing grabbed Farden roughly by the hand and hauled him to his feet. Farden’s face was expressionless. He nodded.
‘You’re welcome,’ replied Tyrfing gruffly, batting aside an arrow. ‘Now let’s get you out of here.’
‘Took you long enough!’ replied Farden. His uncle ignored the comment and Durnus and Eyrum swiftly joined them, each still holding a piece of the broken door, bristling with arrows like a hedgehog. Durnus looked at Tyrfing with a strange look in his eye. ‘So the rumours are true. It has been too long, old friend,’ he said slowly, from behind his scarf.
Tyrfing nodded solemnly and shook the vampyre’s gloved hand. ‘Durnus. That it has,’ he replied, and the two men simply stared at each other.
‘I hate to interrupt this family reunion but we need to go! NOW!’ bellowed Farden over the noise of the screaming and the clashing of armour. His uncle turned and whistled sharply at his gryphon. ‘Ilios!’ he called, and Ilios looked at Tyrfing, instantly understanding. He dropped what was left of the man on the cobbles and flapped his wings.
‘Farden, get on his back!’ yelled Tyrfing, and Farden scrambled onto Ilios’s feathery back. ‘Just like riding a dragon,’ he reassured himself, and inwardly groaned. With a mighty run and a jump, Tyrfing took his place in front of his nephew, and yelled to Eyrum and the vampyre. ‘You two!’ he ordered. ‘Just stand there and don’t move!’
‘That’s hard when there are arrows flying everywhere!’ hollered Durnus, but even so he did as he was told. Tyrfing patted the gryphon’s feathery neck.
‘Let’s go!’ he shouted, and the gryphon reared onto its hind legs. It seized Durnus and Eyrum in his front claws and then with a mighty flap of his eagle wings he launched himself into the air. In moments they had gone, disappeared behind the rooftops of Krauslung.
Modren emerged from his hiding place and looked around at the mess they had left behind. The dead and dying were slowly being hauled off the street to lie in macabre rows and piles, while others huddled in groups and nervously watched the skies should the ferocious beast return. The gutters at their boots ran red. A nearby house had caught fire. Shattered glass covered the cobbles and sparkled in the orange flames like dusty diamonds. Modren sighed and rubbed his forehead, completely bewildered. He pinched his arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and to his dismay he found he was quite awake. Explaining this entire debacle to Vice, however, was going to be a nightmare, and not for the first time that day, Modren sighed, and walked away.
Chapter 7
“One night, deep in the cold cold wilds, Shadow came to Darkness and proposed a plan unto him.
“‘Darkness!’ hissed Shadow. ‘You and I are brothers, together let us take the day for ourselves, and rule the day as we do the night!’ Darkness put a black hand to a black cheek and thought quietly for a moment as the wind whispered between the firs and stirred the grass at his clawed feet.
“‘Shadow,’ replied Darkness, ‘do not be a fool. How can the Dark exist without the Light to first show it? We rule the night, just as Light rules the day.
We stay with the moon and the stars, and when the sun rises we go to our places beneath the earth and sleep as we always have. Do not be a fool brother. It is how it is.’
“But Shadow was not pleased. ‘Then I shall take the day for myself, Darkness, and you shall have none of it,’ said Shadow, and with that he slunk off into the night and went to the edge of the world to wait for the sun’s rise.
“And so when the sun arose Shadow went to seize the Light for himself, but to his dismay he found he was utterly and completely powerless against it. The sun quickly burnt away his limbs and tail, and Shadow was banished for ever more to hide behind trees and under rocks, to remain shackled there until the end of the world, forever slave to the Light and the movements of her Sun.”
Old Arka fairytale, found in the remains of a burnt house
Ilios was tired. The gryphon’s wings were beginning to shake with the strain of carrying the weight of the three grown men and one extra large Siren, so once they were over the thick forests north of Arfell and the Össfen mountains Ilios decided he had had enough. Flashing a look to Tyrfing, he made a whining whistling noise and slowly began to descend in a soaring downward spiral. Tyrfing didn’t blame him; gryphons weren’t mean for passengers.
Holding tightly to the thick downy feathers covering Ilios’s shoulders, Farden looked down at the frozen green carpet of firs and rolling foothills that reached up to greet them. Evergreen and pebbledash white, the landscape filled in the spaces between the craggy mountains. Snow-drifts hid beneath pine-needles, icicles hung like gibbets from branches hugged by shadow. Crows and pigeons, sensing a predator in the air, fled their nests and flew away, cawing and cooing fearfully, making the spiny tips of the trees quiver.
The mage looked down for as long as he could bear and then promptly closed his eyes, fighting the nauseating feeling stirring in his stomach. No matter how many times he had flown, he still couldn’t get used to the horrible sensation of looking down. His stomach sensibly advised him not to try again, and he decided to wait until they had landed.