*
Nathalie’s heart ached with pity as she saw the tear run from Wildegraf’s eye.
‘Heavens help him, but he knows we’re here.’
Still watching for any sign of danger she moved a step closer and now Wildegraf turned a swollen bloodshot eye upon her. His cracked lips moved but no sound would emerge. Nathalie was about to move a little closer when finally the battle mage spoke.
‘Flee,’ said Wildegraf in the rasping voice of a corpse.
Nathalie froze. She had never dreamed to hear such fear in the voice of a battle mage.
‘Flee!’ repeated Wildegraf but it was too late.
Even as Nathalie began to back away, the Slayer burst from its concealment in the cliffs. The first strike from one of its large curved blades would have severed Nathalie’s neck, but Wildegraf’s warning gave her just enough time to duck behind her shield. Even so the blow knocked her off balance and she rolled backwards before coming to her feet. But the Slayer was quicker and Nathalie barely had time to raise her sword before another blow threatened to open her chest. Head, knee and belly, the Slayer’s attacks came with blinding speed and it was only sheer reflex that saved Nathalie from disaster, but then the demon kicked her in the thigh with an obsidian hoof and Nathalie stumbled on a leg that had suddenly gone numb.
She would have died had it not been for Ciel. The amber dragon threw herself at the Slayer and caught its right arm in her powerful jaws. The Slayer roared in pain but its armour denied the worst of the dragon’s teeth and Ciel was forced to let go as the demon’s other blade scythed towards her neck. She arched back from the stroke and struck down with a taloned paw but again the armour of the Enlightened protected the demon from harm.
Ignoring the damage to her knee and hip Nathalie got to her feet, her mind blazing with fury at what this creature had done. Swiftly summoning her power she brought her sword and shield together and shot a spearhead of glowing light directly at the Slayer’s chest. Even Ciel recoiled from the intensity of the attack but in the next instant Nathalie understood the fear in Wildegraf’s bloodshot eye. The powerful attack would have severely wounded a normal demon but the Slayer’s armour absorbed the damage leaving the demon with little more than a blackened flesh wound over its ribs.
If anything, the attack only drove the Slayer into a more dangerous frenzy. It attacked with whirling blades and an arc of burning brimstone that Nathalie only just managed to block with a shield of iridescent light.
Taking a step to the left she staggered on her injured leg and the demon was on her instantly. She took one blow on her shield and parried another with her sword, but a third struck her a glancing blow on her helm and she reeled from the impact as she felt warm blood running down her neck. Behind her she felt a sudden explosion of heat as Ciel blasted the Slayer with fire, but somehow it remained unharmed and with chilling clarity she realised they could not defeat it.
‘Ciel!’ cried Nathalie. ‘Run!’
Responding instantly to Nathalie’s command, Ciel cut off the stream of fire, but even as the dragon turned to run the Slayer struck out with one of its swords. The curving blade missed the dragon’s neck but it hacked into the leading edge of Ciel’s right wing. The dragon snarled in pain and the Slayer aimed another blow but then Nathalie blasted it in the face with a fireball.
Hampered by their injuries, Nathalie and Ciel raced for the edge of the cliff, but the Slayer shook off the last writhing coils of flame and started after them. For all its size the demon was incredibly fast and it would have caught them, but an invisible force took hold of its legs and brought it crashing down.
The demon sprawled on the ground as Nathalie and Ciel leapt from the escarpment and disappeared from view, but a moment later they reappeared with Nathalie hanging precariously from the riding harness on the dragon’s back.
The Slayer’s mind flared white with fury as it saw its quarry escaping. But even as it watched it saw the dragon bank to the side and crash into the trees, its right wing had been damaged and it could no longer fly properly. There would be no swift escape for the female Defiant and her wyrm, and the Slayer would follow them until they had no more strength to flee.
The knowledge that they would not escape took the heat out of the demon’s frustration. Soon it would begin the hunt, but first it would deal with the one who had tripped it, the one who it thought had been emasculated and broken.
*
With his sight fading Wildegraf saw the Slayer turn back towards him. It had taken the last of all his strength to bring the demon down, but Nathalie and Ciel had got away. That was all that mattered. Now they could raise the alarm and his fellow battle mages would have time to prepare for this new and powerful foe. Wildegraf knew the demon would make him pay a terrible price for his interference but he did not care. It was not for naught that the enemy called them Defiants.
61
Flight
Nathalie clung to the riding harness as they whipped through the treetops. Her shield made it difficult to hold on with both hands and she thought she might fall, but then Ciel had swung beneath her and she was able to pull herself into the saddle. But even now they were not safe. Ciel’s wing was injured and Nathalie could sense her searing pain as the dragon struggled to control their descent. Nathalie tried to fortify both their bodies as they plunged through the trees and crashed into the forest floor.
Wincing from the force of the impact Nathalie got to her feet, spitting out dirt and pine needles as she fought to clear her head. Ciel was standing to one side, her scaled brow gathered in pain as her right wing hung lower than the left. Nathalie immediately rushed round to see what was wrong, glancing up through the trees to see if there was any sign of pursuit.
A quick investigation revealed that the main bone of Ciel’s wing had been damaged. The Slayer’s blade had bit into the scales and fractured the bone beneath.
‘Can you fly?’ asked Nathalie, trying to keep the desperate need out of her voice.
Ciel gave a sigh and the dejected angle of her head spoke volumes, but still she nudged Nathalie with her great head, urging her to get into the saddle.
Nathalie almost wept at her dragon’s courage. She could feel her pain but they needed speed.
‘Just a moment,’ she said to Ciel and, looking up towards the escarpment she started back through the trees.
Falling through the air she had let go of her sword as she reached for the riding harness and now she could feel it lying at the base of the escarpment. She was certain that the Slayer would come after them but the sword of a battle mage was like a part of them. To leave it behind would be like abandoning a friend.
Emerging from the trees she caught sight of the sword among the rocks. She started towards it but then she heard a demonic roar from the top of the escarpment and she knew she had no time. Focussing her mind she reached out and the blade dislodged a rock before flying through the air and into her hand. Despite a growing sense of fear and panic, the feel of the sword brought a certain calm. But then the silhouette of an armoured demon appeared at the edge of escarpment and she knew the hunt was on.
Limping on her own injured leg she started back to Ciel. The amber dragon was waiting for her. She too had heard the Slayer’s roar.
With a final backward glance Nathalie sheathed her sword and climbed into the saddle. As she felt Ciel prepare for flight she tried to channel her healing powers into the dragon’s wing. There was no time for anything more.
Tears flowed inside her helm as Nathalie whispered words of encouragement against Ciel’s amber neck.
‘Fly, my love,’ she breathed. ‘As hard and fast as you can. Just fly.’
62
Old Times
In the sheltered courtyard of The Oak Leaf, Falco was dozing in his chair. He was not sure what it was that roused him but sitting up he caught the sound of people entering the inn. He heard furniture being moved and then he heard Madam Beaujon’s voice.
‘My apologies, Master Merrywea
ther,’ said the landlady. ‘I should have known better than to leave that there.’
His heart suddenly pounding, Falco reached across to whack Malaki on the knee.
‘What was that for?’ asked Malaki, blinking in the late afternoon light.
Falco did not reply. In the dark interior of the inn he caught sight of an armed soldier pushing a young man in a wheeled chair.
‘Evening, Madam Pieroni,’ said Madam Beaujon. ‘And how is Dame Casta these days.’
‘Not well,’ said a voice that was intimately familiar to Falco. ‘But Heçamede was able to help her, I think. And I’m sure the company did her some good.’
It appeared the group was about to head into the parlour when Madam Beaujon called them back.
‘You might want to take a look in the courtyard before you settle down for supper,’ she said with a knowing suggestion in her tone. ‘There’s a couple of young men waiting to see you.’
‘Is that so?’ said Fossetta in the no nonsense tone of someone who expected to be asked a favour. Would it be someone whose child or nephew was having nightmares or yet more people who needed Heçamede’s help?
Falco began to smile as he heard footsteps coming towards them. Finally Fossetta appeared, undoing the cords of a travelling cloak as she looked expectantly around the courtyard. For an instant her eyes passed over the two young soldiers without recognition, but then she looked back at Falco and the angle of her head shifted subtly as she focussed on his face. Then suddenly her cloak fell to the floor and she raised her hands to her mouth.
Falco was about to speak when Fossetta suddenly turned away, her eyes filled with tears. Falco felt suddenly awkward as if he had somehow hurt her feelings, but then the young man in the chair wheeled himself forward.
‘Ballymudge!’ said Tobias with undisguised delight and now it was Falco who choked on his tears.
The crippled boy smiled warmly and Falco moved forward to grasp his trembling hand.
‘Hello Tobias,’ said Falco. ‘Hello Heçamede,’ he added as the healer stepped out into the courtyard.
‘Well met, Master Danté,’ said the healer, her dark Thraecian eyes shining with warmth. ‘Master de Vane,’ she added, smiling at Malaki who had now also come forward.
With an encouraging smile Heçamede nodded Falco towards Fossetta.
‘Hello Fossetta,’ he said.
Finally the housekeeper raised her eyes and with a sudden rush of emotion she gathered him into her arms.
‘You could have written to let me know you were coming,’ she said, when finally they could speak.
‘I didn’t think,’ said Falco huskily.
‘Well, no. You never do!’ she scolded and now Falco smiled. That was the Fossetta he knew and loved.
With much sniffing and wiping of eyes Fossetta let go of Falco to give Malaki an equally emotional embrace. Then moving into the light of the courtyard she stepped back to look at them properly.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, drinking in the sight of Falco. ‘I almost didn’t recognise you. And then for just a second I thought I was looking at your father. Except for your eyes,’ she added stroking his cheek. ‘You’ve your mother’s eyes.’
Falco also had to accommodate some changes in Fossetta’s appearance. She had lost weight for a start and the skin of her face was weathered from all the travelling, but she looked well.
‘Let’s sit down,’ said Fossetta, although she kept Falco standing for a moment longer as she struggled to reconcile the sickly youth she had known with the strong young man who now stood before her. His shoulders were broad and his chest was deep and his arms looked like he had been working the land for the last eight months. His dark hair was thick and healthy and even his neck looked strong and muscular. And as for Malaki... well he had always been big and strong but now he looked positively intimidating.
‘Heaven’s larder!’ she exclaimed as they sank into chairs at the centre of the courtyard. ‘What on earth do they feed you on in Wrath?’
They all laughed and suddenly the words began to flow.
‘Where had they come from?’
‘How long would they be staying?’
‘How were Bryna and the emissary and the other young people from Caer Dour?’
They wanted to know everything: the Academy of War and their training, the city of Wrath and the ocean that lay beside it. And the Queen! Fossetta could not get over the fact that they had actually met the Queen.
‘I thought she’d just wave at you as you entered the academy!’
Tobias wanted to hear about the dragons and seemed to be particularly taken with Falco’s description of Aurelian and Dwimervane.
Fossetta introduced the two soldiers from Toulwar who had been accompanying them on their travels, Captain Reynald de Roche and Lieutenant Francois de Lacy of the Toulwarian Royal Chasseurs.
The two men bowed with military formality but remained at a discreet distance so the old friends could reacquaint themselves properly.
The talking continued with barely a pause until Madam Beaujon invited them to move into the parlour where it was warmer and food had been laid out for them. They sat around the fire taking it in turns to ask questions and share their experiences.
‘And what about your search?’ asked Falco when the conversation came round to the reason they were travelling the land in the first place. ‘You mentioned one Ballymudge in your letter.’
‘We found a‘other one,’ said Tobias. ‘Bu’ he mi’ not make it.’
Falco nodded slowly. He had disturbingly vivid memories of his own ordeal as a child, nightmare visions that almost tore his mind apart until he learned how to survive them.
‘But enough of such difficult things,’ said Fossetta. ‘Tell us of your achievements, something to cheer us up.’
‘I can tell you about the night Bryna got drunk with the Dalwhinnies,’ said Malaki with a mischievous smile.
‘Mistress Godwin?’ said Heçamede. ‘Surely not!’
Neither she nor Fossetta had heard of the notorious archery unit, but Falco noticed the way Francois and Captain de Roche suddenly leaned a little closer to listen. It was clear that they at least had heard of the infamous Dalwhinnies.
‘Yes,’ said Malaki. ‘Threw up all over me, she did.’ And with that he launched into the tale.
As the evening wore on two other men came in to join them, greeting Tobias with an exchange of foul mouthed banter that would have made even Dedric Sayer proud.
‘Allow me to introduce Pierre Laffite and Louis Macaire,’ said Fossetta with a disapproving glare. ‘Wagon drivers extraordinaire,’ she added with practised sarcasm.
‘Pleasure!’ said the two men, turning to Falco with disarming smiles
‘Blades and buggery!’ said Pierre as he looked up at Malaki’s face. ‘But that’s some birthmark you’ve got there!’
‘I thought the midwife was supposed to smack the baby’s arse!’ said Louis Macaire and the two men exploded in self congratulatory laughter.
Malaki raised an indignant eyebrow but Falco could not help laughing and even Fossetta raised a hand to conceal a smile. And that was that. It seemed that these two men could match any of the Dalwhinnies’ antics and the rest of the night was spent in carefree conversation and laughter such as Falco had rarely known.
They talked long into the night and after that they went to sleep in real beds. Falco smiled as his head sank into the deep feather pillow. They could only stay for a day or two, but it was enough to know that tomorrow he would wake up and have breakfast with people he had known all his life.
As he drifted off to sleep he imagined that he was sleeping in his old room in Simeon’s villa. He imagined that life was simple and the only thing he needed to worry about was making sure he did not forget his master’s wine. He could almost hear Simeon’s voice, chastising him over some minor misdeed in that deep tone of authority that also managed to convey an underlying sense of affection. He could almost convince himself that th
is, most normal of scenarios, was true.
And oh, but by the stars, he wished it were.
63
The Call To Arms
Back at Le Matres, Bryna was sorting the Dalwhinnies into work details when the signalmen sounded the call to arms. Having arranged an escort with two of the local scouts, she had been hoping to set off for Daston once the Whinnies were on their way, but now everyone stopped what they were doing and looked back towards the camp. At first they thought it must be a mistake or a drill, but then they noticed the commotion around the command tent and the fact that the red battle flag had been raised. This was no drill and Bryna suddenly found herself running back towards the camp.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Patrick Feckler as he fell in beside her.
‘No idea,’ said Bryna as they reached the Dalwhinnies’ tents. ‘But have the men fall in. I want them armed and ready to deploy in ten minutes.’
Paddy frowned. He had seen enough of the world to know trouble when he saw it and the tension now spreading through the camp was certainly not a training exercise. This was an actual mobilization. He barked a few commands and smacked a few heads to get the men moving then he ducked into the tent he shared with Dedric and ten others. All around, men were cursing and falling over each other as they exchanged work clothes for armour.
Paddy was quicker than most. With hands that were used to working under pressure, he donned his armour, belted on his sword, grabbed his bow, campaign pack and helmet and left the tent, stuffing a few last minute things in his pack as he went.
‘Get the men lined up,’ said Bryna as Paddy emerged from the tent. ‘I’m going to see what’s happened.’
The entire cadet army was scrambling to fall in as Bryna made her way towards the command tent. The commanders were now gathered outside along with a number of the other cadets. They were speaking with a rider who was clearly exhausted from a long ride.
‘What is it?’ asked Bryna. ‘What’s happened?’
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