‘May he find the strength,’ said King Tyramimus.
‘May we all,’ said Colonel Laville, for now he had the unthinkable task of returning to Wrath with news of the Queen’s death.
*
At twenty-four Jeran de Foix was the youngest knight in the Queen’s personal guard. Riding into battle with the Queen had been the greatest honour of his life. Standing vigil at her deathbed was the saddest and also the hardest duty he had ever been required to perform.
He stood in silence as Colonel Laville escorted King Tyramimus into the tent, and was deeply moved by the force of the Acheronian king’s pledge. He had remained, unflinching, when they moved through at the sound of Dusaule’s final tortured moments. Jeran remembered the sense of horror he had felt upon seeing the poor man’s injuries and was glad that his suffering was now at an end.
However, as the Silent Crofter finally passed away, Jeran was sure he had seen the Queen’s death shroud lift a fraction and fall in the flickering lamplight. He looked again, mindful of the fact that it was unseemly for his eyes to linger on her covered form.
There was nothing, and Jeran felt a shudder of supernatural disquiet as if the Queen’s spirit had made some gesture from beyond the veil. Getting a grip of his imagination he averted his eyes, but just as he was looking away he noticed a bloom of crimson on the white linen coverlet, a stain of red where the cloth hung down over the Queen’s mutilated arm. As he watched he saw the stain suddenly swell, almost as if fresh blood was pumping from the wound.
For a moment Jeran simply stared at the growing shadow, then he remembered something he had learned in battlefield triage training.
Corpses do not bleed.
95
Reunited & Torn Apart
Falco stayed just two nights in Hoffen before he and Sidian headed south, but even before they left it was clear that something was wrong. Reports started coming in that the pattern of the enemy’s movements had changed. It was too early to reach any firm conclusions, but Falco felt sure it had something to do with the death of the Slayer.
What was it Lysander had said?
‘We have struck the enemy a heavy blow but we have also drawn their attention.’
Whatever the case, he could not tarry any longer. He had left his friends without a word and was eager to get back to them. Besides, he was still hoping to make it in time for the strategy meeting in Amboss. So, with a final farewell to Lysander and Feurig they had flown south. Their journey north had been a desperate race that pushed Sidian’s endurance to the limit. Now they made their way south at a more normal pace but even then Falco felt Sidian tense with pain each time he responded to a sudden shift in the wind.
‘How’s the chest?’ he asked as they soared above the rolling hills of Illicia.
Sidian’s pride dismissed any notion of discomfort but he could not conceal a quick memory of Falco’s attempt to treat the wound inflicted by the Slayer.
‘I had to make sure the healing went deep,’ said Falco.
Sidian’s injuries were still mending so they rested frequently and spent the first night on the outskirts of an Illician town some twenty miles north east of Ville de Pierre, but even here the reports were the same. The enemy was foregoing all other distractions and pushing west towards Clemoncé. This worrying development did nothing to alleviate the growing sense of danger that had now reached fever pitch in Falco’s mind. He knew that something dark was getting closer, but what it was he could not say.
Sidian looked at him as if to say, ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ but Falco was unconvinced.
All he knew was that his dreams were filled with dark caves, buried secrets and crashing waves of guilt.
By noon the following day they had reached the river Türkis, the single river that emerged from the confluence of Le Grande Cascade. Following the river would lead them to Amboss and it was not long before the bulwarked city came into view. From their lofty vantage point they could see the anvil shape of the craggy hill around which the walled city was built.
Amboss was easily as large as Wrath and was currently surrounded by a number of military encampments, the canvas tents laid out in precise rows and blocks. As Sidian descended through the lower layers of cloud they could see that the camps were swarming with activity. Their approach was quickly noted and people began pointing upwards while others emerged from tents to watch the black dragon descending towards them.
Dropping lower Falco could make out numerous unfamiliar banners and flags, but then he saw one camp flying the light blue and turquoise colours of Clemoncé. He smiled in satisfaction as he recognised the flag of the Queen’s Irregulars.
Banking round, Falco brought Sidian down on a low hummock at the edge of the camp. Having grown accustomed to Sidian’s presence, the Irregulars had no reservations about coming forward, but the troops from the neighbouring camp were careful to keep their distance. By now every soldier at the front had heard the story of the black dragon that had arrived in Wrath but even so, the thought of getting too close went against everything they had been told about such creatures.
Stiff from several hours flying Falco removed his helm and strapped it to the riding harness before climbing down from Sidian’s back. He ducked as the black dragon folded his wings then smiled as he saw Malaki, Bryna and Huthgarl working their way through the crowd of Irregulars. But even as he moved towards them the smile faded from his face. Something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ he asked as Bryna embraced him and Malaki clasped his hand.
His heart was suddenly filled with apprehension and he saw Malaki glance back towards the Irregulars where several of the Exiles were standing. Through the milling crowds Falco thought he saw Alex disappearing behind the white wall of a tent, head bowed and shoulders slumped.
‘Where’s Quirren?’ he asked and the look that passed between Malaki and Bryna filled him with dread.
‘Let’s find somewhere we can talk,’ said Malaki.
‘No,’ said Falco. ‘Tell me now. Where’s Quirren?’
‘He was taken by a demon,’ whispered Malaki, and now the Irregulars turned away. They all knew the story of what had happened.
‘When?’ asked Falco and Malaki shot Huthgarl a worried glance before answering.
‘The morning after you left,’ he said and Falco felt the ground shift beneath his feet. He remembered the demon he had sensed after he and Sidian had killed the two dark angels. What was it the Clemoncéan scout had called it, a ‘geôlier’. But the demon had been miles away, in a different canyon.
‘How?’
Malaki had hoped to be able to speak with Falco in private but it was clear that he was going nowhere until he heard what they had to say, so Malaki led him over to a stand of rocks where they could sit and talk.
Falco sat in silence as Malaki described the events of that fateful morning. His voice wavered several times as he described the final moments of Quirren’s capture.
Falco could not move.
They broke his body and stuffed him into a bag made from chains.
He was still alive.
The demon vanished.
Just walked into a shadow of darkness and vanished.
He was still alive.
Falco’s mind was ablaze.
‘Falco!’ said Bryna but he did not hear her voice. He was now standing before them, eyes tight shut and gauntleted hands clenched into fists.
‘Falco! Stop it!’ cried Bryna and Falco opened his eyes to see that his hands were surrounded by a fierce blue fire that crackled and danced over the steel on his arms. They could feel the heat of it, the barely constrained fury of it.
Slowly Falco let the power leach from his body while his friends just stared at him in shock.
‘He’d still be here if you hadn’t left us,’ said a voice and they all turned to see Alex standing just a few yards away, his eyes red rimmed and bleak.
Falco said nothing. The words ‘I’m sorry’ seemed meaningless and hollow.
‘You shouldn’t have left us.’
‘I didn’t kn...’ began Falco but Alex raised a black gauntleted hand.
‘You shouldn’t have left us,’ he said again and with that he turned his back on them and walked away.
Falco just stood there as the guilt mounted in his chest. There was a sound in his ears like the thrum of angry bees, throbbing and pulsing to the beat of his heart. Darius... Balthazak... Sir Gerallt... Merryweather... Simeon... All lost and now Quirren, taken not because he did not have the power to stop it, but simply because he was not there.
The angry hum grew louder in Falco’s mind until it began to resonate with the unholy drone of his nightmares. And deep within that unsettling growl there were words.
You would never have the courage.
You would never have the faith.
Falco clenched his fists. He squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly the hum and the demonic growling were gone. Turning on the spot he strode towards Sidian who had watched the exchange with an expression of concern on his scaled brow.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Malaki although he already knew what Falco was thinking. ‘Falco, you can’t!’ he cried as Falco approached Sidian. ‘You’ll never find him!’
Falco was deaf to reason and when Malaki put a hand on his shoulder he shook it off, but as he closed on Sidian the black dragon began to back away. He moved to the dragon’s side but Sidian shifted round, angling his body to prevent Falco from reaching the straps on the riding harness.
‘What are you doing?’ hissed Falco but Sidian only looked at him. The dragon’s golden eyes were narrowed, his posture unyielding.
‘But he’s still alive,’ said Falco and Sidian flinched as an image of Quirren’s face appeared in his mind. ‘He’s in pain,’ whispered Falco and his voice began to crack. He stopped trying to advance on Sidian and the two faced each other while Malaki, Bryna and Huthgarl looked on.
Sidian’s gaze did not waver, but the angle of his head changed in a way that conveyed understanding. Falco’s mind was suddenly filled with images of rolling hills and wilderness, endless miles of uncharted territory, empty of anything that matched the gaoler’s description. He recalled the faint trace they had caught of the demon before they left to confront the Slayer and it was clear that Sidian was trying to convey the impossibility of finding this particular demon in the vast expanse of the Forsaken Lands.
‘I have to try,’ said Falco.
Sidian’s eyes narrowed a little more and his thoughts moved to the army of the Irregulars and all the times that he and Falco had saved them from surprise attacks by the Possessed. Falco’s mind was then filled with images of what had happened to Quirren only now it was Malaki and then Bryna being broken and tortured.
The message from Sidian’s thoughts was clear... How many more would suffer if they left to pursue a demon they might never find?
‘But it’s my fault,’ said Falco and here Sidian loomed over Falco, teeth bared and snarling. His ebony claws tensed against the rock and Falco’s mind was suddenly slammed by images of the Possessed, the bestiarum, the Slayer and even the maniacal light in the eyes of Galen Thrall. It was not his fault but theirs and the dragon would have none of this human self pity.
Finally Falco took a breath and looked up. Sidian was right. It was the demons and their minions who were responsible, not those who failed to stop them. There was no denying the fact that he had not been there when Quirren needed him most, and so he could not absolve himself completely. But somehow he must be stronger than his guilt or the enemy would use it to destroy him.
Finally a sense of approval emanated from Sidian’s mind and the dragon inclined his head in something like a bow. For a moment they held each other’s gaze then together they turned as they sensed someone approaching. It was Lanista Magnus.
‘Have you two sorted out your differences?’
Falco’s silence was answer enough.
‘Then come,’ said the senior instructor. ‘The Irregular commanders need to know what it was that drew you away in such haste.’
With a last glance in Sidian’s direction Falco allowed himself to be led away. He exchanged a brief look with his friends who were clearly relieved to see him returned to his senses. He had accepted the folly of hunting for a demon that he might never find, but he had also made himself a promise. If ever he caught the faintest trace of this gaoler then nothing would prevent him from seeking it out.
The Irregular commanders listened in silence as Falco relayed all that had happened since he left them, from killing the two dark angels, to the death of the Slayer.
‘And you’re sure it was the same demon that attacked Nathalie?’ asked one of the commanders who had taken part in the cadet training campaign. ‘The same one that killed Jürgen and Wildegraf?’
Falco nodded.
‘Then you have done us all a great service. The great souls in the north are stretched as it is. To lose any more would have been disastrous.’
The other commanders nodded in agreement. Many of them remembered the black assassin that had almost killed Nathalie. Their need for an explanation had been satisfied and slowly they began to disperse.
‘Will you be joining us for tonight’s strategy meeting?’
Falco looked up to see Lanista Magnus standing beside him. He felt exhausted but he gave the lanista a nod.
‘Good,’ said Lanista Magnus. ‘Sir William was hoping you would be able to make it.’
Falco’s eyes flicked up at the mention of the emissary.
‘There was a letter waiting for us when we arrived,’ he explained. ‘Apparently Marshal Breton has him scouring the area to the east. Although I suspect that’s just an excuse to keep him away from the meeting,’ he continued, for it was well known that Marshal Breton felt challenged by the emissary’s presence. ‘He was hoping to be able to make it himself, but I’m sure he will be relieved to know that you will be there, even if he cannot.’
Falco was disappointed by this news. He knew the chance was slim, but he had been hoping to see the emissary. Lanista Magnus seemed to read his thoughts and he offered Falco a smile of encouragement.
‘Welcome back, Master Danté,’ he said then, sweeping his gaze over Malaki and Bryna, he gave them a grim smile before leaving the tent.
‘Come on,’ said Malaki as the last of the commanders left the tent. ‘Let’s find you something to eat, and then you can get cleaned up before tonight’s meeting.’
Food was the last thing on Falco’s mind, but he got up to follow his friends all the same. He rose from his seat and then stopped as Huthgarl hovered beside him.
‘You know he saved the children,’ said the big Beltonian and Falco felt his throat burn at the pain in Huthgarl’s voice. ‘He might have fallen but he saved the children first.’
Everyone now understood why Falco had been drawn away in such haste, but this understanding could not change what had happened. Somewhere in the world their friend was enduring horrific pain and the thought was almost too much to bear.
‘We will find him,’ said Falco and the look of hope in Huthgarl’s eyes pierced him to the core.
Huthgarl gave a stoic nod and Malaki and Bryna did the same. It was a simple gesture, but to the four friends it felt like a solemn pact. With a final look of shared conviction Malaki led the way out of the tent and Falco moved to follow them but then he stopped.
Beyond the thin white wall of the tent he felt the tormented presence of Alex Klingemann move slowly away. Falco did not know if the healing powers of a battle mage extended to wounds of the spirit, but he summoned all the faith he could muster and hoped with all his heart that Alex could feel something of its warmth.
96
The Son of Aquila Danté
The council hall of Amboss was basically a large debating chamber, a lofty rectangular building with a vaulted ceiling and tiered seats facing each other across an expanse of tiled floor. Tall windows of stained glass were interspersed with huge tapestries d
epicting key scenes from the city’s troubled past. Wall-mounted braziers lined the walls and hung from beams in the ceiling. In normal life the hall was used for all manner of civic meetings, but tonight it was hosting a council of war and the noisy clamour of conversation was accompanied by the clank and jangle of armour.
‘It’s like market day in Wrath, but with swords,’ said Malaki as he, Falco, Bryna and Huthgarl entered the hall.
The room was crowded with military commanders from both Illicia and Clemoncé with dozens of aides, messengers and scribes in attendance. As newcomers to the front they had hoped to enter the hall quietly, presuming that their presence would be of little consequence to these experienced commanders. However, as soon as they entered the hall people began to turn and look in their direction.
It reminded Falco of the night they walked into the barracks at the Academy of War. But now it was not a weakling, a woman and a lowly blacksmith who were the focus of attention. It was the battle mage who had summoned a black dragon, the famous Knight of the Crimson Helm and the female archer who, though she knew it not, was now being referred to as the Mistress of the Rogues. And finally a young Beltonian knight who, despite his relative youth, was easily the largest man in the room.
Not likely that such a group would gain their seats unnoticed.
For his part, Falco met the appraising eyes without flinching, but then he recognised the stern face of Marshal Breton and he felt a tremor of disquiet as the marshal fixed him with a stony gaze. At their last such a meeting he had embarrassed Clemoncé’s most senior commander and it was clear that Marshal Breton had not forgotten. For a moment more the marshal’s eyes lingered on Falco before he withdrew his gaze and turned his attention back to the men gathered around him, one of whom Falco recognised as Dominic Ginola, the battle mage who had saved the people of Caer Dour in the mountains. Unlike Marshal Breton there was no hostility in the battle mage’s eyes, although he frowned as he gave Falco a nod of acknowledgement. He tried to hide it but he was clearly astonished by the change that had taken place in Falco, and troubled by the secrets that had come to light during his summoning. But there was no time for a reintroductions and Dominic turned back to Marshal Breton as the people in the room returned to their conversations.
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