He was not alone.
With a rush of adrenaline Falco leapt to his feet and drew his sword, the pain in his right shoulder flaring at the sudden movement. There, not ten feet in front of him, was a mighty black dragon. Like an avatar of darkness it stared down at him with eyes the colour of molten gold.
And now everything came rushing back.
The unbearable hope and the desperate fear of what might come to pass at his summoning. The determination to send out a pure and honest call and the excruciating wait to see what, if anything, would answer. The screaming disappointment when he sensed the colour black. The deception, the violence, and then the revelations that had struck him to the core.
The sadness, the despair.
And the unbearable fury that had driven him to kill.
With a cry of anguish Falco let the sword fall from his grasp. He had tried to end the pain but he had failed. Falling to his knees he bowed his head and wept. He wept for the dragons and he wept for his father, he wept for Darius and Simeon and for all those who had paid the price for the magi’s lies.
Finally he wept for himself and he wished with all his heart that the dragon would kill him. But then he sensed movement and felt the gentle pressure of something pressing against his head.
He was not the only one who wept.
Falco felt an overwhelming rush of feeling as the dragon laid its horned head against his. All the emotions that tore at his heart were mirrored in the dragon’s mind. There was no way to distinguish one from the other. Slowly the tumult died away until all that was left was a sadness. Just a few hours ago they had each sought the other’s death, both acted with hate in their hearts. But long before they ever met their fates had been entwined and now, high in the mountains of northern Clemoncé, these two great souls were reconciled.
Slowly the dragon drew back. It raised its head and closed its eyes and then Falco staggered as from a great compression of the air, a silent clap of thunder that echoed through his mind. Finally he understood that the summoning of a dragon was not just the tolling of some ethereal bell, it was a pledge.
My life,
My strength,
My soul, I cleave to thee.
Falco had sent his message out into the world and now a dragon had answered.
Boom!
*
In the mountains of Illicia a wild man cowered in the haunted darkness of his cave.
In the olive groves of Thraece a healer woke, sweating and breathless, from a deep and troubled sleep.
And on the rugged coast of Beltane a fisherman stared out to sea as the unforgiving waves of the past bore down upon his soul.
*
In a distant land, far beyond the Endless Sea, the dragon’s reply was also heard.
And three that never answered did.
82
Sidian
The clear night gave way to a wet morning and the city of Wrath steamed as shafts of sunlight shone through the breaking cloud. Cyrano stood with the Queen at the eastern balcony of her chambers. He had just come from the royal pigeonnier where a message had arrived from their contacts in Valentia. It contained pressing news but the advisor kept the small piece of parchment hidden in his hand. Now was not the time to deliver such a message. Warily he glanced at the Queen who stood beside him, eyes narrowed, jaw set and hair dampened by the morning showers, she stared out over a city shrouded in smoke.
No one knew how the riots began. Some said that magi appeared in the night, spreading rumours of the Grand Veneratu’s murder, others that a crazed old man had wandered into the city, naked and covered in ashes, and shouting about treachery and lies. People spoke of how the magi had come to remove him and injured two women who had tried to intervene. But however they began, by the time the ninth bell of the morning sounded, there were more than a dozen people dead and numerous buildings alight, sending dark clouds of smoke billowing up into the sky.
‘Is it spreading?’ asked the Queen.
‘No,’ said Cyrano. ‘It is still largely confined to the eastern quarter, but the city guard is standing ready to intervene.’
‘Not without my order,’ said the Queen and Cyrano could hear the controlled anger in her voice.
He was no longer surprised by the calm clarity with which she dealt with such things. A more nervous leader might have already sent in the troops, but they both remembered one of her father’s tenets when it came to civil unrest.
Do not feed the fire.
For now the mob’s anger was directed towards the magi and those businesses in the eastern quarter who dealt with them: the apothecaries and alchemists, the clothiers, scribes and bookbinders. If the soldiers went in now that anger could quickly switch to city officials, store masters and anyone else who might be deemed responsible for the hardships the people were suffering.
‘Do they know the truth?’ asked the Queen.
‘Various versions and rumours seem to be circulating,’ replied Cyrano. ‘But they know they have been betrayed.’
‘This is all my fault.’
They turned to see Meredith emerge onto the balcony. His robes had been washed and dried and he wore them now as he made his way to stand beside them. He looked pale and distressed, his eyes hollow, and a blood stained dressing bound to the side of his head.
‘What have I done?’
‘What was necessary,’ replied the Queen.
There was a knock on the Queen’s chamber door and presently a captain of the Palace Guard appeared. He waited just inside the room until Cyrano moved to speak with him.
‘What is it?’ asked the Queen as he returned.
‘The attacks in the city have stopped,’ said Cyrano. ‘But the people are now massing outside the eastern gate. They intend to march on the tower.’
The Queen turned to look back over the city, to where the road wound up onto the plateau. She could not see the area immediately beyond the wall, but she could imagine the unruly throng slowly building up the courage to storm the mysterious tower of the magi.
Lowering her brow in determination she turned away from the balcony.
‘Fetch my horse,’ she told Cyrano as she swept back into the room. ‘Louisa,’ she went on, addressing her lady-in-waiting who emerged with two other maids from the adjoining parlour. ‘Riding breeches, shirt and jerkin.’ Louisa gave a white-faced nod and ushered the two maids into the Queen’s dressing room. Finally the Queen turned to the captain of the Palace Guard. ‘Have ten of your men meet us in the courtyard,’ she commanded.
‘You can’t go down there!’ protested Cyrano.
‘We can’t send in the army,’ said the Queen. ‘You know what will happen if we do.’
The concern was chiselled into Cyrano’s face, but he remembered the famine of twenty years ago, when the city guard had tried to prevent people from looting the grain stores.
‘I’m coming with you,’ said Meredith.
‘No!’ said Cyrano and the captain together, but Meredith would not be deterred.
‘This is my doing,’ he said. ‘You must give me the chance to make amends.’
For a moment the Queen simply stared at him.
‘So be it,’ she said and turned to continue on her way. ‘Have a horse brought for Lord Saker.’
‘Your Majesty!’ cried Cyrano.
‘They will tear him from the saddle!’ said the captain.
‘Not while he is under my protection, they will not!’ bellowed the Queen and both men stood back in shock. For a moment her eyes blazed but then she drew a breath and spoke more calmly. ‘We spoke of him leading a change, did we not?’
‘Yes,’ said Cyrano. ‘To head a commission or lead an inquiry. Not to face down an angry mob!’
‘We cannot always choose the time and place of our battles,’ said the Queen and Cyrano felt the corners of the concealed note pressing into the palm of his hand. ‘Now. Horses, gentlemen. As quick as you please!’ And with that the doors to her dressing room closed.
In a m
atter of minutes ten mounted palace guard were waiting in the courtyard with the Queen’s own horse, a beautiful black stallion by the name of Souverain. There was also a spare mount for Meredith. The captain had furnished him with a blue guard’s cloak to hide his magi robes.
‘This way he might make it through the city,’ said the captain and the Queen gave him a nod of acknowledgement before swinging lightly into the saddle.
She was now dressed in riding boots, leather breeches, a white blouse and a dark leather jerkin cinched at the waist by the emissary’s black belt, from which hung her sword. Over this she wore a turquoise cloak emblazoned with the white horse-head insignia. It was not the most elegant of outfits but no one would mistake their Queen.
The palace gates were swung open and with military precision the Queen’s guard matched her pace as she trotted out of the courtyard and down the road that led into the city. The streets were narrow and filled with worried looking people, but the troops held formation as they escorted the Queen towards the eastern gate and the road that led up to the plateau. However, as they passed through the double curtain wall it was clear that they were too late. The main body of the crowd had now disappeared over the lip of the plateau. They would be at the tower before the Queen could reach them.
*
Morgan Saker stood with several of the tower’s most senior magi as the crowds appeared. The balcony was high and the doors to the tower were strong, but they had not been designed to withstand a siege.
‘How many warriors do we have in the tower,’ asked one of the men beside him.
‘Enough to scatter this rabble,’ said another.
They spoke with customary arrogance, but this tone was not echoed by the majority of the magi in the tower. Most appeared shaken and overwrought with doubt. News of the Grand Veneratu’s death had struck them deeply, but it had also fractured the cloak of certainty beneath which they had lived their lives.
For four hundred years they had kept a terrible secret. Now that secret had been uncovered and it was as if a veil had been lifted from their minds. For the first time they felt complicit in the crime and the justifications for keeping it secret seemed empty and meaningless. Many were openly chastising themselves or gathered together in fearful groups, while others discussed ways to defend the magi against the judgement that would surely come.
As Morgan Saker looked out from the tower he realised that this judgment was now upon them.
*
At the Crofters’ cottage Aurelian looked down as a great host of people streamed over the plateau.
‘They’re heading for the tower,’ he said to Dwimervane who was standing beside him.
Telling her and Dusaule the night’s dreadful news had been a heart rending experience. Dwimervane was clearly unsettled but Aurelian was concerned about Dusaule. He had stumbled from the cottage and disappeared into the night. Aurelian was desperately worried for his friend, but then he saw a column of palace guard riding up onto the plateau.
‘That’s the Queen!’ he said in disbelief. ‘She’s going to try and intervene!’
‘Surely she must know how dangerous and unpredictable situations like this could be?’
‘Come on,’ he said, hurrying along the slope that swept round up towards the tower. ‘Looks like she might need some help.’
With only the slightest hesitation Dwimervane moved to follow him. In the years to come she might well succumb to anger and madness, but for now her instinct was to protect humankind at all costs, even if that meant protecting them from each other.
*
On the outskirts of the Irregulars’ camp Falco’s friends watched as the mob swept towards the tower with all the aggression of an advancing army.
‘Looks like the people have discovered the truth?’ said Alex and Malaki nodded.
Aurelian had come to speak with them in the night and they were still reeling from the news, although they were less concerned with the magi’s treachery than with what had become of Falco.
‘I’m sure he’s alive,’ was all Aurelian had been able to say.
Now Bryna stepped forward as a troop of palace guard appeared on the plateau.
‘That’s the Queen,’ she said as she caught sight of the horse-head motif on one of the riders’ cloaks.
‘Looks like they could do with some support,’ said Quirren.
Malaki gave a grim nod and turned to Bryna and Alex.
‘Keep a close eye on the Irregulars,’ he said as he moved to where the horses were tethered. ‘The last thing we want is them being caught up in any trouble.’
Untying his horse he called over to Huthgarl and five of the other cadet knights who were standing nearby. Within moments they were mounted and riding parallel to the Queen who was struggling to make headway through the milling throng.
‘She’ll never get ahead of them,’ called out Quirren as it became clear that the crowd would reach the tower before the Queen.
‘Just be ready to help if things get out of hand,’ said Malaki.
*
Falco woke to the light of day but the sky above him was black. The air was cold but he felt warm as if he had slept with his back to a fire. Pushing himself up from the ground he groaned at the stiffness in his body then blinked as the black canopy drew back and clouds appeared in the sky. Realisation finally dawned and he watched as the dragon folded its wings and moved back along the ledge, watching him intently.
Moving slowly Falco eased himself up and sat on a knee-high slab of rock. He had no idea how long he had slept but it appeared to be well into morning. As he slowly got his bearings he recalled dreamlike images of the previous night. He remembered the summoning, and the leap into nothingness, before coming round in the presence of the dragon.
He remembered the dragon’s powerful call, like an echo of his own, and then a time of cautious discovery as they became accustomed to each other’s presence. But as the tumult of emotions finally subsided, Falco had been overcome by a deep weariness and an irresistible urge to sleep.
Using his shield for a pillow he had simply curled up on the bare ground just a few feet from the dragon. Earlier in the night they had tried to kill each other, but as Falco had closed his eyes, he was not troubled by the merest shred of doubt that he was safe.
For its part the dragon had simply watched him, as if trying to fathom the contrasting sense of power and vulnerability. In all its years it had never known such strength in one so young. He was among the strongest of all his kind and yet he felt no disparity between himself and the human soul with which he had been twinned.
As the night had worn on it had started to rain and the dragon had moved to lie beside Falco, spreading a great black wing to shelter him while he slept. The aftershocks of rage still thrummed in its veins, but the madness had passed and he realised that a new chapter had opened in the legend of his life. The dragon now knew that he had come to this land to fight the ancient foe and he was content to know that this human would fight beside him.
Now they sat together on a craggy mountain ridge and as the fuzziness of sleep cleared away, Falco’s eyes focussed on the dragon. It was one thing to encounter such a creature in the charged excitement of a summoning. It was quite another to see it in the clear light of morning. Like something sculpted from black volcanic rock it watched him, its head moving slightly, fierce golden eyes slowly blinking, chest rising and falling, and breath steaming in the cold mountain air.
Falco’s gaze took in the black scales and armoured plates, the smooth leathery wings and the huge claws, resting against the stone. His eyes travelled over the long spear-pointed tail and powerful body. He saw crimson patches of exposed flesh where the dragon’s scales had been damaged by the mage warriors’ attacks. Then his eyes came to rest on the cut in the dragon’s neck, the cut that he had inflicted.
Slowly he got to his feet and the dragon tensed as he moved towards it.
‘It’s all right,’ said Falco, wincing from a sudden pain in his shoulde
r as he raised his hand.
The dragon seemed wary but held its ground as Falco approached.
A sense of remorse swept through Falco’s mind as he remembered striking at the dragon’s neck. Slowly he reached out a hand and the dragon reared back, but Falco turned to look up into its hot golden eyes.
‘It’s all right,’ he said again and the dragon’s posture seemed to relax just a little.
Extending his arm he ran his hand over the shallow cut and the dragon let out a low growl of suppressed pain as the wound was suffused by waves of healing energy. The dragon’s lip curled and Falco caught a glimpse of steel hard teeth as the intense tingling sensation faded from its flesh. Over time the damaged scales would slowly be replaced but for now the cut was closed as if it had been healing for several days.
Moving slowly Falco tended the other injuries inflicted by the magi before stepping back to sit on the rocks. His own body still throbbed with pain and he struggled to remove his shoulder guards and chest armour so that he could begin to treat himself. He already knew there was nothing broken, but there was a nasty gouge down the back of his shoulder and a puncture wound in the flesh where his chest and shoulder met. He did not remember how he had acquired these injuries, but fortunately they were not too serious.
Placing his left hand over each wound in turn he ground his teeth as he imbued his own body with curative power. This definitely helped and as the sense of tingling fire faded away he found the pain greatly reduced although, as with the dragon, it would be some days before the wounds were properly healed.
Falco drew a deep breath and took a minute to take in their surroundings. The rain had now stopped, the clouds were lifting and he could see that they were high up in the mountains. The dragon must have caught him as he fell and carried him here.
Glancing again at the impressive creature he rose to his feet and moved to a hollow in the rocks that was filled with water. He washed his hands and splashed water on his face and winced as he worked his battered body back into his armour. On the rocks nearby were his shield, gauntlets, helmet and sword. He retrieved each in turn and the dragon watched him as he covered his body in armour once more.
Battle Mage Page 69