“Are you sure you know the way, Gran? Your memory’s not what it was, you know.”
“Ye of little faith! Trust me, child. Come on now, chop chop.”
Somewhere not far behind them, people screamed as a berserker’s roar echoed through the tunnels. Hayley smiled at her gran and opened the door.
“You’re the boss. Let’s go.”
Inside the Tube’s central control room, it was pandemonium. Drivers were reporting outbreaks of random violence on every train. Station controllers were calling in with panicked reports of sudden rioting. Everyone was glued to the CCTV feeds trying to make sense of the chaos that had erupted. By the time they had noticed what was happening in the pump room it was already too late. Because what most people who ride the Tube every day don’t realize is that if it were not for a series of powerful pumps that never turn off, much of the network would be underwater. The ancient underground tributaries of the River Thames are only kept at bay by the constant work of the pumps. Pumps that were, at that very moment, being smashed to pieces by one of Guthrum’s Viking draugar.
“Pump failure, sector nine! Water levels rising!” yelled one of the operatives, finally noticing the panel of flashing alarms in front of her.
Everyone in the control room looked to their chief supervisor. Surely he would know how to handle this. Unfortunately for them, their supervisor was hunched over a nice, juicy dead rat that he had just decided to eat. He looked up at them, eyes wild, neck muscles bulging, blue tattoos popping up all over his new berserker face.
Minutes later, on a District Line train, scared passengers were standing on their seats to get out of the water which was rising through the floor. And if that was a nasty surprise, it was nothing compared to their shock at seeing a Viking longship overtake them, sailing through the tunnel!
Hayley was kicking herself. It was cold and dark down here, and they had already crossed and then recrossed several tracks as her gran kept changing her mind about the right way to go. She knew that if they touched the wrong rail with their feet they would be electrocuted. What had she been thinking, letting her gran lead the way? This was a big mistake. “Do you know where we are, Gran? Maybe we should go back.”
“Stuff and nonsense! We’re almost there, girl!”
But Hayley couldn’t see any sign of daylight, or even an obvious exit. And there was something else now. A strange rushing sound was coming from somewhere far behind them. “Shh, Gran, listen. Is that a train?”
“No, that’s no train, dear,” said her gran cheerily. “Sounds more like someone left the tap on.”
Hayley strained to see back down the long, dark tunnel. Something white was moving their way. Shifting side to side, growing… WATER!
“It’s this way,” piped up Gran, pointing at a nearby service door. “I’d stake my life on it!”
Hayley tightened her grip on her gran’s arm and pulled her as fast as she could towards the door and away from the approaching wave. “MOVE!”
Above ground, at the entrance to Tower Hill Tube station, staff were just pulling down the shutters when they heard Hayley yelling, out of breath, from the escalators.
“WAIT!”
Hayley sprinted for the exit. She was giving her gran a piggyback ride, which was slowing her down. But the giant wave thundering at her heels was more than enough motivation to keep moving. They barrelled out of the station exit and dived clear as an immense wall of water crashed out behind them. Seconds later the front of the station exploded as the Viking longship smashed its way through, carried on the flood, over the main road and straight into the Tower of London’s moat, which was filling with water for the first time in nearly two hundred years.
Meanwhile Hayley, nursing her aching limbs, quietly guided her gran into the memorial gardens next to the Tube station and through the secret entrance to the tunnel that led to the Keep.
To the Lord Chamberlain’s surprise, it was Hayley and her gran who came to his rescue. He didn’t want to hurt Yeoman Box, even though she’d become a rather horrible, foaming-at-the-mouth berserker. But nor could he afford to lose the Keep, not when Lock was just launching his shock attack on the country.
The other Yeoman Warders kept their screaming former colleague at bay with their long pikes, while others rolled the heavy Gatling gun into position. Just as LC was about to issue the order to open fire, Hayley and her gran burst into the Map Room.
“BRENDA?!” Hayley gasped, seeing her deranged former friend growl and bite a chair in half.
“Miss Hicks?!” LC shouted, shocked. “Keep back!”
He waved his arms, but Hayley had already sized-up the situation.
“Gran, have a seat!” Hayley said, easing her on to Herne’s leather sofa. “Eshelby – chuck me some meat!”
The Ravenmaster was huddled in a corner of the chamber, trying to calm the kaa-ing ravens he’d just evacuated from the courtyard. Hearing Hayley’s order, he pointed at himself, who me?
“NOW WOULD BE GOOD!” yelled Hayley.
Startled into action, he tossed her a slab of raw steak, much to the irritation of his birds. Realizing that she had a plan, LC signalled for the beefeaters to hold their fire.
“Hey, Brenda!” Hayley shouted, holding the dripping meat up so the berserker could get an eyeful. “Come and get it!”
Brenda screamed a Norse oath and, drooling like a hungry dog, she lumbered after Hayley, pushing over desks and shoving Yeoman Warders out of the way.
Hayley let Brenda get closer and then threw the bloody steak across the Map Room. It landed with a squelch next to the hatch to the Archives. A second later, the transformed Brenda was on top of it, pulling at the red strands of flesh with gnashing yellow teeth. With the berserker distracted, Hayley inched close enough to slip the bolt to the hatch across and ease it open. Taking their cue, the Yeoman Warders rushed forward and booted their colleague hard up the backside. Berserker Brenda clawed at the air, but couldn’t stop herself tumbling forward into the dark of the Archives. Before she shut the hatch, Hayley kicked what was left of the steak down after her and heard a distant belch, which she took as a sign that Brenda had survived the fall.
The Yeoman Warders broke into spontaneous applause, gathering round Hayley and patting her on the back.
“That was a very brave thing you did, Hayley,” said Chief Yeoman Seabrook.
“It’s good to see the Keeper of the King’s Arrows back where she belongs,” LC added.
A little embarrassed, Hayley bowed.
“Right then,” announced Hayley’s gran from the sofa, “which of you nice young men is going to make me a cup of tea?”
“Although you might need to be reminded of the rules around bringing visitors to the Keep,” LC said to Hayley with a wry smile.
A few minutes later, Hayley’s gran was enjoying her cup of tea (plus digestive biscuits) and watching some of the Yeomen reinforce the main doors of the Keep with iron girders, while others handed out pikes and swords.
“All tourists have been evacuated,” shouted Chief Yeoman Seabrook. “Draugar have penetrated the White Tower!”
“Then we are under siege,” LC said, glancing at the ceiling, as if he could see the rampaging Vikings above them.
“It’s all right, Gran. We’ll be safe enough down here,” Hayley whispered, even though she didn’t quite believe it herself. If the Raven Banner’s magic could penetrate the Keep, of all places, then surely nowhere was safe.
“Don’t you worry about me, child. I’m still batting,” Gran replied, miming a cricket stroke.
Her eyes were bright, and she squeezed Hayley’s hand good and tight. Guilt stabbed at Hayley’s heart like a knife. She felt terrible that she’d ever doubted her remarkable gran; she’d saved their lives down there in the Tube tunnels.
“I’m sorry,” Hayley said.
“Whatever for, child?” asked Gran.
“I’m sorry I … you know … made you walk all this way.”
“Nonsense. I could do wi
th another cuppa, though,” Gran said, shaking her empty mug.
On her way to the Mess Hall, Hayley stopped by the ops table, where LC was watching as Yeoman Warder plotters added more and more models of berserker Vikings to the map.
“What’s going on out there?” asked Hayley.
“Bedlam, that’s what, just as Lock planned it,” said LC. “I fear the cunning professor has outwitted me once more. Only he could have thought to create his own army out of innocent people like this. Turning them into his slaves.”
“To do what?”
LC looked up at her. His eyes were red, haunted by age and fatigue.
“To take the kingdom, Miss Hicks. He means to overthrow King Alfred and place his puppet, Prince Richard, on the throne. And with this force of berserkers at his disposal he might just do it. The Defender is all that stands between us and disaster.”
Hayley looked to the monitor showing the video link to the Defender’s helmet. Static still filled the screen.
“Where are you, Alfie?” said Hayley.
“Have we re-established communication with His Majesty?” barked LC.
“Working on it, sir!” came Chief Yeoman Seabrook’s tense reply.
CLANG… CLANG… CLANG…
Everyone froze. Something was pounding into the other side of the main doors, shaking clouds of dust from the thick wood. Vikings bellowed as they tried to break through.
“STAND AT ARMS!” LC shouted, and the Yeomen Warders scrambled to arm themselves, grabbing pikes and wheeling over the Gatling gun.
“Will the door hold?” Hayley asked.
“We can but hope, Miss Hicks,” LC replied.
“Bring me my bow!” shouted Hayley.
Yeoman Gillam hurried to the Arena.
“Very good, Keeper of the King’s Arrows,” said the Lord Chamberlain with a nod.
“SIR!” It was the Yeoman at the communications desk. “I HAVE THE DEFENDER!”
There was no sign of Guthrum or Ellie by the time the Defender made it outside. The high street of Wimbledon Village was littered with abandoned shopping bags and empty pushchairs. Panicking pedestrians ran to and fro, fleeing the crazed, hulking forms of those who had recently turned berserker. The only thing that made Alfie feel better was that Guthrum clearly wanted his sister alive – no doubt under instructions from Lock, or perhaps even their own brother, Richard. He would find her, but first he had to deal with this outbreak of Norse mayhem. He raised an arm and produced a shield from one of his bracelets, flooring a galloping berserker that was chasing a woman carrying a baby. She stuttered a “Thank you”, her eyes wide with horror. Alfie realized there must be thousands like her out there – millions even – scared and confused, helpless in the face of an enemy they never knew they had until today.
“No problem.” He smiled to reassure her, then realized that was stupid, as she couldn’t see his face. “Um, maybe find somewhere to hide till all this blows over?”
A whine of feedback rattled Alfie’s eardrums as the Lord Chamberlain’s voice came over his helmet-radio. “Majesty? Come in, sir?”
“I’m here, LC,” Alfie replied, whacking another passing berserker over the head with his sword as she tried to roar at him.
“Thank goodness. Where are you?”
“Wimbledon. Guthrum was here. He took Ellie. I couldn’t stop him. I don’t know where he went.”
Hayley took the radio. “Alfie, it’s me. Guthrum’s men are here. They’re trying to break in to the Keep. We could use some backup.”
Alfie summoned Wyvern from his spurs and hovered off the ground. “I’m on my way.”
But just then, Wyvern reared up and flew backwards. A jet of fire washed across the street, setting cars and shopfronts aflame. With a scream, the Black Dragon descended, casting a shadow across the rooftops. He landed, cracking the soot-blackened pavement beneath his clawed feet.
Alfie tried to speak, but choked on his words at first. He had seen this creature up close before, but that was before he knew it was his brother. Despite what he’d witnessed at St Paul’s, the very idea still seemed impossible.
“Richard…”
The Dragon’s forked tongue flicked out and another torrent of fire burst from his jaws, washing over Alfie’s hastily deployed shield. He spoke with a guttural reptilian hiss. “That is no longer my name.”
“What have you done with our sister?” asked Alfie, being careful to keep out of range of his brother’s swaying, spiked tail.
“Don’t worry about her. She is under my protection now.”
“What, the same way you protected Dad?”
The Black Dragon shrieked and flapped his wings, tearing the tiles from the roofs on either side of the street. “He was not my father. He never cared about me. Only for you, his firstborn.” He spat the words at Alfie, smoke pouring from his nostrils.
A people carrier weaved through the wreckage behind the Dragon and screeched to a halt when it saw the monster filling the road ahead. The driver, a pale-faced man in his forties, clutched the wheel, frozen in fear, while his wife turned round to comfort the three crying children on the back seats. The Dragon swiped the vehicle with its tail, rocking it off its wheels for a moment. Alfie could hear the screams of the occupants rising in pitch as the Dragon leant down to sneer through the windscreen.
“Stop it, Richard! Leave them alone!”
The Black Dragon hooked a claw underneath the people carrier and dragged it along the tarmac until its jaws touched the bonnet.
“Why do you care about these … peasants?” he chuckled. “All they ever did was sneer and laugh at us royals. They’re not laughing now, are they?”
He arched his neck and opened his mouth. Alfie could see the orange glow building inside his throat as the Dragon prepared to engulf the car in fire. The Defender leapt at the Dragon, slashing at him with his sword. It bounced off his rock-hard scales, but the attack was enough to make him release the car, which veered away through the rubble.
Alfie flew straight up on Wyvern. He might not be able to reason with this thing that used to be his brother, but if they were going to fight, at least he could try to take him somewhere it would cause less damage.
“GO ON, WYVERN!” Alfie yelled.
She’d never galloped so hard or fast. Did magical ghost horses have a top speed? He was sure she’d smashed the record. He chanced a look over his shoulder to see if the Black Dragon was still following him and got his answer in the shape of an eruption of fire blazing inches from his back. He spurred Wyvern on even faster. Ahead he could just make out the churning waters of the North Sea beneath the setting sun.
“Majesty, where are you going?” LC shouted in his earpiece.
The old man sounded breathless, but there wasn’t time to ask him what was going on back at the Keep; Alfie had his own hands full.
“Somewhere he can’t hurt anyone!” Alfie yelled over the onrushing wind.
“You must engage the Dragon! Draw your sword, sir! End this, NOW!”
Alfie didn’t know what to do. He could barely deal with the fact that somewhere underneath those hideous black scales was Richard, let alone the idea that he was supposed to drive his sword into him.
As the Defender reached the sea, the Black Dragon pumping its wings in pursuit, another jet of flame fired past, missing him by a millimetre. In seconds the land was far behind them and Alfie tugged on Wyvern’s reins, turning her round to face his brother. He drew the Great Sword of State from its sheath, lighting up the dark sky.
The Black Dragon wheeled high above him for a moment then stooped into a dive. Claws struck metal as the Defender parried the attack. But the beast’s tail whipped against Alfie’s back as it streaked by, making him scream in pain. And with the pain, came anger. He was sick of feeling guilty for something that wasn’t his fault. Richard had killed their father and betrayed their country. Alfie hadn’t started this, but if Richard wanted a fight, then he would give him one. The Defender gripped his sword and drove W
yvern into a gallop straight towards the Dragon. As sword and talons met again, Alfie steered Wyvern beneath the Dragon, cutting him across the belly. The wound was not deep, but the message was clear: the Defender was not afraid to spill blood.
Dragon and Defender wheeled around each other in the sky like World War Two planes in a dogfight. They hammered each other with everything they had. Alfie’s heart was pounding as he existed only in the moment, not even thinking as he reacted to every move, looking for an opening. It was like his mind was closing down, filtering out all but the essential information that would keep him alive. Swinging his sword, ducking under the Dragon’s tail, deflecting a fiery blast with his shield.
Duck, swing, parry, thrust. A blur of scales, fangs and flame. Duck, swing, parry, thrust. Claws sparked across his chest plate. Wyvern whinnied in pain, but Alfie barely heard it. The Defender’s sword flashed in the sky like a beacon.
Hundreds of feet below them, in the dark North Sea, overall-clad workers on a giant oil platform crowded at the rusty safety railings, watching in awe as the supernatural battle raged overhead.
Exhausted, the combatants collided with each other. The Black Dragon grabbed the Defender’s throat in a scaly claw. The Defender grabbed the Dragon’s tail right back. Wings tangled with spectral horse’s hooves as together they tumbled from the sky. For a moment they were face to face, spinning through the air head over heels, neither prepared to release their hold on the other. Just before they hit the rig Alfie saw the Dragon’s eyes change – no longer the burning eyes of the rage-filled beast, but the terrified eyes of a young man, his brother, Richard.
Workers dived for cover as the Dragon and Defender hit the oil rig and crashed through floor after floor. Steel buckled, gantries collapsed and cables snapped as the Dragon’s bulk tore a ragged hole through the rig’s accommodation block and he disappeared, leaving a trail of twisted metal, ruptured power lines and punctured pipes.
Dark Age Page 19