The dragon was badly wounded now but it was still a formidable foe. Moving past the emissary Darius tried for another attack but the dragon ducked and the battle mage’s fire shot over its back. Then the dragon took a rapid breath and flames burst from its mouth.
The emissary dived aside as the protective shield sprang up over Darius once more, but the battle mage was weakening. Steam rose up around him as the wet blood on his face began to boil.
But still he came on.
As the flames died away the dragon took another step back until it stood on the very edge of the dragon stone. Darius was now directly in front of it and the dragon drew back a massive paw to crush him, but the battle mage met the attack with his open palm. There was a pulse of light and the dragon screamed as the bones of its right forelimb were shattered. It reared up on its hind legs and grabbed the battle mage with the talons of its left paw. Darius cried out as the dragon’s claws sank into his neck and shoulder. The dragon tried to bite him but Darius grabbed its great head and somehow held the jaws at bay. Unable to reach him with its teeth the wounded beast opened its mouth once more.
Dragon fire engulfed Darius as the opponents grappled on the edge of the abyss, and finally his strength began to fail. His hair ignited and the flesh of his face began to blister and crack. The battle mage was burning alive but even at the last he placed his hand against the dragon’s chest and with a final detonation of magical force he ruptured the dragon’s heart.
The flames vanished and there was a moment of stillness as the two mighty combatants stared into each other’s eyes. Had the dragon been any other colour they would have fought side by side, each willing to sacrifice themselves to save the other’s life. But the dragon that Darius Voltario had summoned was black and black dragons are the enemies of humankind.
Black dragons are mad.
For a second the dragon stood erect, its talons hooked over the edge of the dragon stone then the light went out of its eyes. As it fell backwards its mighty wings wafted forward, folding around Darius as if enclosing him in a last embrace. Then, still locked together, the dragon and the battle mage fell from the dragon stone and were gone.
10
Every Living Soul
Falco managed barely a mile down the mountain before he collapsed from pain and shortness of breath. Following close behind him the emissary bent down to lift him from the rocky path. As he gathered him into his arms Sir William was surprised at how light he was. Falco stood six feet tall, but he seemed to weigh little more than a child. This was just as well for they still had several miles to go before they reached the town and Morgan Saker was leading them at an unforgiving pace.
The seething mage did not even notice that Falco had fallen. If it were down to him they would have left him weeping and delirious in the Castle of the Winds. Indeed, there had been a point when it seemed that Falco would follow Darius over the cliff.
‘Do you realise what you have done?’ Morgan had bellowed as he held Falco at the very edge of the dragon stone, pushing him so close to the vertiginous drop that his heels rested on nothing but air.
‘I didn’t save you from the flames so that you could damn us all!’
Only Falco knew that this was a reference to his childhood and not to the dragon’s fire of this tragic night. Morgan’s hands were locked in his tunic and such was the guilt that now consumed him that he would not have cared if Morgan had let him go.
‘Father!’ cried Meredith. This was the first word that Meredith had uttered. ‘Father,’ he said again and the sense of utter misery in his voice seemed to reach the incensed mage.
With an animal snarl Morgan pulled Falco back from the brink and threw him across the dragon stone. Then, without another word, he strode away and began to climb back out of the Castle of the Winds.
‘What about the dead?’ asked one of the magi.
‘We have no time for tending the dead,’ said Morgan without turning.
The magi turned to the emissary but his expression was every bit as dire.
‘The dead are beyond our power to help,’ he said. ‘The people of Caer Dour are not.’
And with that he hauled Falco to his feet.
‘Can you walk?’ he asked, and the fact that Falco remained on his feet seemed answer enough. He steered him towards the steps leading out of the amphitheatre and the others had no choice but to follow.
Now they walked with stumbling haste down the slopes of Mont Noir. It was dark and they could see the lights of the town shining below them. By the time they reached the outskirts there was a crowd waiting for them, but as they came closer the anticipation on the peoples’ faces quickly changed to alarm. They saw the ailing figure in the emissary’s arms and noted the absence of Darius and two of the magi. They knew something had gone terribly wrong.
‘Where’s Darius?’ they asked.
‘Did he summon a dragon?’
‘What’s the matter with the boy?’
‘Where’s Darius?’
Morgan Saker ignored all the questions and the people parted to let them through. He spotted someone in the crowd and waved the wiry man forward.
‘Where’s Bellius?’ he asked without so much as slowing down.
‘He’s in the gardens,’ said the man. ‘Hosting a party for Jarek.’
‘Find him,’ said Morgan. ‘Have him meet me in the square immediately. Tell him to bring as many of the nobles as he can find.’
The man frowned at the seriousness in the mage’s voice.
‘Quickly man!’ snapped Morgan. ‘As if your life depended on it!’
Without another word the man sprinted away down the cobbled street and Morgan marched on. The crowds fell in behind them as they continued on their way to the centre of town. Their route took them close to Simeon’s villa and as the bustle of the crowds grew louder the old battle mage came out onto the front steps of his home. With him were Malaki and Fossetta.
‘Falco!’ cried Malaki, catching sight of his friend in the emissary’s arms.
He started forward, but Simeon reached out a hand to restrain him.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s the summoning party,’ said Malaki. ‘Something’s wrong. Falco looks hurt.’
Fossetta too felt the urge to go to Falco, but she waited to see what the master of the household would say. The muscles in Simeon’s jaw bunched and he lowered his head as if he did not need Morgan Saker to tell him how things had gone on the mountain. Then he drew a breath and squared his shoulders.
‘Fossetta,’ he said. ‘Go and find Heçamede. Tell her she is needed.’
‘It looks like they’re heading for the square,’ said Fossetta.
Simeon nodded. ‘Then tell her to meet us there if she can.’
The housekeeper did not even bother to remove her apron before descending the steps and hurrying away down a small cobbled lane.
Simeon reached out to take Malaki’s arm. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
It was not until they had reached the square that they finally caught up with the emissary.
‘I’ll take him,’ said Malaki, reaching out for Falco.
‘He needs a healer,’ said the emissary.
‘She’s on her way,’ said Simeon.
Malaki held his friend in his arms as more people flooded into the square. ‘He’s burning up,’ he said as Falco’s sweating brow came to rest against his neck. ‘What happened?’
The emissary did not answer but the look in his eyes filled Malaki with fear as he looked down at his friend.
‘Oh Falco,’ he thought. ‘What have you done now?’
Falco’s pale cheeks looked grey and clammy. The crimson rash, which was normally hidden by his hair, was now visible across his brow and temples. His breath came in weak, juddering gasps and there was a blue tinge to the flesh around his lips. Malaki had witnessed many of Falco’s ‘episodes’, but he had never seen him as bad as this.
‘Quickly Heçamede,’ he pleaded silently. ‘Please, come qu
ickly.’
Morgan Saker marched across the square and climbed the steps to a raised area of stone with fountains at each corner. People pressed forward, eager to know what had happened, but the magi waved them back. Saker was not going to say anything until Bellius and the nobles arrived.
‘Lay him down here,’ the emissary said to Malaki, indicating the broad steps beside one of the fountains. He tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt and soaked it in the cold water before wiping it over Falco’s head and neck. ‘We need to cool him down,’ he said.
Malaki held Falco while the Queen’s envoy mopped his brow and soaked his tunic.
‘Chevalier,’ said a deep voice as Simeon appeared beside them.
The emissary looked up then stepped back as Simeon dropped down to one knee beside Falco. The old battle mage placed one hand on his ward’s chest and the other on his brow then he bowed his head in concentration. For a few seconds there was no change. Falco continued to shake, straining for even the most meagre of breaths. Then suddenly he arched his back, drew in a rasping breath and screamed out a single word.
‘DARIUS!’
The uneasy murmuring of the crowd was suddenly silenced as everyone turned to see where the terrible cry had come from. People moved away from the small group gathered beside the fountain. The anxiety in the air was now turning to fear.
Just what had happened on the mountain?
As people began to whisper and stare Fossetta suddenly appeared, shoving her way through the growing crowd. Behind her came Heçamede Asclepios, one of the town’s most gifted healers. She was a tall woman with the dark looks that spoke of Thraecian heritage. Together they made straight for the fountain and when Fossetta saw the state of Falco’s condition she put both hands to her mouth and choked back a sobbing cry. Heçamede put a hand on Simeon’s shoulder and the old battle mage came back to his feet.
‘What happened?’ she asked, feeling the heat of Falco’s forehead and holding his wrist to check his pulse.
With a quick glance at the surrounding crowds the emissary leaned down close to the healer’s ear.
‘Dragon fire,’ he whispered quietly.
Heçamede frowned and lifted her hand to observe the rash on Falco’s brow. Then she opened his shirt and sure enough the crimson rash was spread full across his chest. Somehow the dragon’s fire had unleashed the full virulence of Falco’s illness. Simeon’s powers had allowed him a few life-saving breaths, but his throat was closing up once more. If his condition could not be stabilised he would die of asphyxiation.
Heçamede quickly opened the leather satchel that hung from a strap around her shoulder. She removed a curious silver tube with a mouthpiece at one end and a small, lidded bowl half way down its length. Then she took out a bottle of whitish powder and tapped a small amount into the bowl.
‘What’s that?’ asked Fossetta.
‘Ephedra powder,’ said Heçamede. ‘It will reduce the swelling in his airways.’
The healer took the instrument and placed one end in Falco’s left nostril before putting her lips to the mouthpiece. Then, closing his other nostril she gave a series of sharp puffs, each timed to coincide with Falco’s indrawn breath. With every puff Falco gave a weak choking cough, but the coughs grew steadily stronger and his breaths steadily deeper. The blue tinge faded from his lips and some semblance of colour returned to his cheeks.
The healer removed the tube and felt his pulse once more. Slowly Falco’s breathing eased and the feverish shaking of his body grew less. The healer let out a sigh of relief and was just turning her attention to the burns on his shoulder when a commotion rose up on the far side of the square. Bellius Snidesson had arrived with a dozen of the town’s nobles. He made directly for the war memorial and people scurried to get out of his way. Everyone watched as he climbed the steps and fell into hushed conversation with Morgan Saker.
‘Help me turn him,’ said Heçamede focussing once more on her patient.
Malaki drew his eyes from the imposing huddle gathered on the raised dais and bent down to help her. He eased Falco over and tore open his scorched shirt so that Heçamede could examine the extent of his burns.
‘Is it bad?’ asked Simeon. Only he knew the indescribable pain of being burned by dragon fire.
Heçamede raised an eyebrow. ‘He was lucky. Only the surface layers have been damaged. The fire must have barely caught him.’
Looking down at the area of red and weeping flesh Malaki could not think of his friend as being lucky. Falco had lost the skin from his shoulder and the flames had licked up the side of his neck and face. The skin might heal but he would bear the scars for life.
Heçamede removed a small atomiser from her satchel. She filled it with a dilution of herbs, spraying a fine mist onto the wound before covering the area with a panel of oiled silk. She bound Falco’s shoulder with clean bandages before applying a silvery ointment to the lesser burns on his neck and face.
Finally she laid Falco back in Malaki’s arms and gave him a draught of something to ease the pain. Falco swallowed the sweet-smelling medicine and, as his body drew back from the brink of death, his mind was free to acknowledge the misery that lay in wait for him. Drowsily he opened his eyes. For a second he gazed at the people looking down at him then he buried his face in Malaki’s shoulder and began to cry.
Heçamede turned to Fossetta and Simeon.
‘The dressings will need to be changed daily,’ she told the housekeeper, who gave a tearful nod. ‘And if you could help with the pain, Master le Roy... Your powers will also help the burns heal more quickly.’
‘Of course,’ said Simeon.
‘What about the consumption?’ asked Fossetta. ‘I’ve never seen it so bad.’
‘No,’ said Heçamede examining the rash on Falco’s chest. ‘And I’m not even sure it is consumption. Scarlet lung does not react to heat like this. This is something different.’
Behind her the emissary nodded his agreement. He was about to say more when a furious voice called out from above them.
‘Where is he?’ cried Bellius, coming to the edge of the raised area. ‘Where is the mad man’s spawn?’
A shocked silence descended on the square as all eyes turned to see the focus of the nobleman’s rage, but Falco was too distressed to heed the venom in his words. Nothing that Bellius said could make him feel worse than he already did.
Standing beside Bellius was Morgan Saker and the four surviving magi. Behind them stood many of the town’s most powerful nobles, the shock written large upon their faces.
‘What is it?’ cried a voice from the crowd. ‘What’s going on?’ All across the square this appeal was taken up until the crowd was clamouring to know what had happened on the mountain.
Morgan Saker raised his arms and waited for the murmurs to die away. For a second he looked down on them with his black eyes and then. ‘Darius is dead,’ he said.
There was a collective intake of breath, the stunned silence of disbelief, and Morgan Saker continued.
‘The dragon he summoned was black. We were unable to restrain it.’ His eyes flicked down towards Falco. ‘The dragon killed two of the magi and would have killed us all had Darius not struck it down.’ Morgan paused. ‘He fought with courage and killed the beast, but he was consumed by the dragon’s fire. They fell from the mountain together. Our battle mage is gone.’
The people of Caer Dour were in shock. Summonings were not supposed to end like this. Everyone knew that there were three ways that a summoning could end. First, the summoning would go unanswered and the battle mage would return alone. Second, the call would be answered and the battle mage would have his dragon.
And finally, yes... a black dragon might answer the summoning. But on such rare occasions the beast was slain. That was why the magi were present. Seven magi to restrain a dragon and a battle mage to kill it, that was the way it was supposed to be. The dragon might be slain, but the battle mage would always return to fight the Possessed. That was the w
ay it was supposed to happen.
Not like this.
Summonings were not supposed to end like this.
This had begun as a day of celebration, now it was ending in tragedy. For a while no one spoke. More people were coming into the square and a hubbub of conversation rose up as the dreadful news was relayed to the newcomers.
‘Simeon,’ said a familiar voice. ‘Whatever’s happened?’
Simeon turned as Julius Merryweather put a hand on his arm. The two men clasped each other’s forearms while Merryweather’s bright eyes flashed around trying to take in the scene.
‘Darius is lost,’ said Simeon.
‘Great heavens!’ said Merryweather. ‘And your boy?’ he whispered looking down at Falco with concern.
Simeon’s lips tightened.
‘Burned by dragon fire,’ he said quietly. ‘Heçamede has secured him for now, but his chest... his lungs...’ Simeon shook his head.
Above them Morgan Saker was fielding a growing number of questions from the increasingly agitated crowd.
‘What had happened?’
‘Why hadn’t they been able to subdue the dragon?’
‘Were the magi too few? Were they too weak?’
‘Weak!’ said Morgan dangerously. ‘We were not weak!’ He was about to speak again when Bellius thrust himself to the fore.
‘How dare you blame the magi,’ he railed, ‘when the reason for this tragedy is lying there in front of you.’
Everyone turned to follow the line of his trembling finger and people moved back, clearing a space around Falco and his companions.
‘He is the cause of this calamity,’ snapped Bellius. ‘Him! The feeble son of Aquila Danté. He warned the dragon before Darius could strike. He sided with the dragon.’
‘That’s not true,’ began Meredith Saker, but his father silenced him with a look.
‘First the father, and now the son,’ spat Bellius and suddenly the sense of shock gave way to a new and altogether more unpleasant mood. The eyes of the people looking down at Falco grew hard and unfriendly. Suddenly there was anger in the air, anger and blame.
Battle Mage Page 10