With a great effort of will he threw back his head and screamed. There was a final flaring of light and then both Quirren and the chains that bound him were gone, transformed into a mist of silver motes falling slowly to the ground.
Falco slumped to his knees and Alex gasped as all his brother’s suffering was reduced to a cloud of shining dust. Relief flooded his mind, but then Alex saw Falco fall and he hurried over to help him.
‘Thank you,’ he said as Falco raised his head.
Slowly the strength returned to his body and Falco placed his hand on Alex’s shoulder.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘The day’s fight is not over yet.’
Alex gave a nod as the sounds of the surrounding battle registered on his senses once more. Getting to his feet he could see how far out of position the Exiles had come and now an even larger Possessed force was advancing upon them. Around him, the remaining Exiles had arranged themselves into a defensive formation, ready to fend off the new hordes of Sciritae that were approaching. Over to the right he could see the Dalwhinnies and some two hundred knights battling a huge block of Kardakae.
‘Move your men towards the Dalwhinnies,’ said Falco as he replaced his barbute helm. ‘We need to get you back to the lines.’
Again Alex nodded and Falco was just reaching for his sword when an invisible force snatched him from the ground. His sword fell with a ringing clang and Alex could only watch as Falco landed heavily almost forty yards away. He saw his friend struggle to get to his feet, clearly disorientated by whatever it was that had grabbed him, but before he could act Falco was wrenched away once more, his body flying through the air before crashing into a mass of Kardakae.
Falco was stunned and disorientated by this mysterious attack, but still he managed to summon a burst of power to force the Kardakae back. Glancing up he saw Sidian driving through the air towards him. Relief pulsed through his mind, but then he saw the dragon plunge to the ground, torn from the sky by the same force that had taken hold of him. Fear and concern tightened around his heart as Sidian disappeared from view. The dragon failed to reappear and Falco started towards him, but then he was jerked off his feet once more.
In an ungainly heap he was dragged across the rocky ground through the advancing ranks of Kardakae who struck at him as he passed. By the time he came to a halt Falco was barely conscious. He was dazed, disarmed and confused but still he prepared to fight. He focused his power into his empty right hand, but as he got to his feet he saw that the Kardakae were drawing back.
As Falco’s head began to clear he became aware that something had changed. The tumult of the battle seemed to have disappeared, replaced by an eerie quiet, punctuated only by the cries of the wounded and the shuffling of many thousand troops. Horses whinnied, distant orders were shouted and the wind sighed over the armies that faced each other in the Valley of the Three Brethren. But the fighting had ceased.
As if at some unheard signal the Possessed stopped attacking and moved back from the allied forces, they retreated just a few paces away, looming like a wave of violence just waiting to fall. It was clear that this was not the will of the Possessed warriors themselves. They raged and snarled like wild dogs straining at the leash, but they were held in check by the will of an infinitely stronger mind, a mind that wanted some calm to examine the soul that thought to oppose it.
Falco watched as the Kardakae moved back to form a curved wall around him and then he saw movement as they parted to let something through.
*
The Marchio Dolor’s mind was ablaze with fury. Not only had this Defiant and his wyrm now killed another three of the Faithful, but somehow he had managed to liberate a soul from his dominion. Such blasphemy could not be tolerated.
The Marquis of Pain had had enough.
He hooked his fingers into the fabric of reality and with a sweeping gesture he plucked the Defiant from his feet and hauled him through the air before slamming him into the earth. The man immediately tried to rise, but the Marchio had grabbed him again and dragged him through a gauntlet of Kardakae who beat him almost senseless. The Defiant’s wyrm tried to come to his aid, but the Marchio struck it from the sky and even now two of the Faithful were moving to overpower the black scaled lizard.
The noise of the battle suddenly felt like a distraction and so the Marchio called his forces to a halt. The army that had arrived with him simply stopped while those already engaged withdrew from the fighting. They railed at being restrained, but they could not go against his will.
Finally the Marchio drew the Kardakae back so that he could see this irksome Defiant for himself. Over to his right he continued to press the black wyrm into the ground, surprised at the effort it took to hold the powerful creature down. But now two of the Faithful had arrived and he released the wyrm into their unyielding grasp.
The Possessed parted before him as he walked forward to look upon the human that had caused them so much trouble. The Kardakae stood back in a great arc of steel and there on the ground was a man. Clad in armour and with a shield twisted around his left arm he swayed on his feet. Even now the Marchio could feel the force of his defiance, but after all the expectations, he was just a man.
The Marchio Dolor was almost disappointed.
He drew his sword and clenched the fist that lay beneath the shield armour on his left arm. A part of him wanted to make an example, to kill the Defiant quickly but once again he thought how much more satisfying it would be to break his spirit and claim his soul. In all the history of their conflict the Faithful had never claimed the soul of a Defiant, but the love this man felt for the humans on the battlefield might be enough to break him.
Feeling a thrill of anticipation the Marchio Dolor walked forward. It was time to test the limits of this Defiant’s faith.
103
Darkness
The Marchio’s army filled the valley like a dark inland sea. The defenders had managed to resist the first army that moved against them, but now they were heavily outnumbered. However, it was not the force of numbers that robbed the allied soldiers of hope, it was the massive shapes that walked amidst the horde. No fewer than six demons now strode through the heaving ranks of the Possessed. They walked upright on back-bent legs with torsos that were vaguely humanoid. Their physical forms were quite different but it was clear that they all came from the same infernal realm.
One was a winged fiend with skin that glowed like red hot coals. Two were armed with swords and covered in armour. The fourth was a wraithlike creature whose black body was wreathed in smoke. The final two were reminiscent of bulls, like the minotaurs of legend. Their skin had the mineral glint of coal and their massive claws gouged into Sidian’s scales as they held the dragon fast.
And beside these six there was another, one that did not tower but stood only a foot taller than the Kardakae through which it walked. It was small compared to the other demons, but none of them could match the presence of the figure now walking towards Falco.
Feeling battered and dazed, Falco watched as the Marchio Dolor appeared with two fearsome bestiarum matching his pace like a pair of loyal hounds. One was mottled crimson and the other black, like tar. Their eyes were empty pockets of darkness and their sharp horns curved forward over muzzles filled with teeth. Their claws dug into the ground as they strained to get at Falco, but even they could not break free of the will that held them in check.
Standing fully seven feet tall the Marquis of Pain looked almost human with skin like age tarnished silver. Much of his body was covered in armour that shimmered with waves of heat. He did not carry a shield but the armour on his left arm had been extended, flaring out to either side and sweeping forward into two stabbing blades. At his waist he carried a sword that pulsed and throbbed with an angry light. The demon’s horns protruded from the sides of his Ferocian helm and his eyes glowed like orbs of molten bronze.
The Marchio Dolor stopped some thirty paces short of Falco as if he in turn was studying the human who stood against him.
The sense of power and authority radiating from this figure was like nothing Falco had ever known and he felt a tremor run through the foundations of his faith. The prospect of fighting such a being seemed unthinkable but still he reached for his sword.
Nothing...
His sword was not there. He had laid it down to free Quirren and dropped it as the invisible force wrenched him from the ground.
A sense of panic rose up in Falco’s chest and then he saw movement to his left and watched as the two minotaur demons dragged Sidian into the clearing. They forced him down and bound him with glowing chains that the demons drew out of the earth, pulling them tight until the dragon was held firm against the ground.
Satisfied that no wyrm could break their bonds the two minotaur demons stepped back. The chains burned into Sidian’s scales like branding irons, but he looked at Falco without the merest hint of submission in his fierce golden gaze. The dragon’s courage made Falco’s heart ache, but there were now seven demons ranged against them and he knew they could not win.
No, you cannot.
The words echoed in the cavern of Falco’s mind, just as they did in the minds of every person on the battlefield. He knew they spoke the truth but he also knew that it did not matter.
Perhaps they could not win. But they could still fight.
The Marchio Dolor frowned as he felt the power flare in the young Defiant’s mind. With surprising speed Falco sent a barb of energy spearing towards the demon’s chest and the Marchio barely had time to raise the shield armour on his left arm. The bolt of energy gouged a deep cleft in the enchanted steel and the demon ducked to avoid a curving arc of light that sprang from the edge of Falco’s shield.
Thrusting out a hand the Marchio tried to drag him forward but this time he was ready for the invisible attack and the demon’s arm shook with the strain as Falco set his feet against the earth.
Never before had the Marchio Dolor felt such a challenge to his will and he suddenly understood how this youngling had been able to defeat the Slayer. For all his youth there was a strength to this Defiant that was ageless, a strength not bound by the constraints of his human flesh. And the Marchio Dolor hated it.
With a twitch of his mind he released the hounds of hell and the two muscular bestiarum surged forward only to be stopped again, this time by the force of Falco’s will. The beasts snarled and strands of silvery saliva dripped from their gnashing jaws. Their master wanted this Defiant’s soul but his carcass would be theirs. They would dismember his body and strip the flesh from his tortured bones.
Falco’s hand shook as he struggled to hold the beasts at bay. They were now little more than twenty feet away and if he released his grip they would be on him in an instant. For a moment he considered turning his power to the attack, but then he was forced to defend himself as a blast of burning shrapnel shot towards him from the left.
Several of the other demons began to launch their own attacks and Falco staggered as another blast almost tore the shield from his arm. Still struggling to hold the hounds at bay he summoned a sphere of magical force and strained to maintain it as attacks of fire and brimstone slammed into the shimmering globe of light. Then the ground beneath Falco split apart as the Marchio Dolor channelled his power into the earth and the flames of Baëlfire rose up around Falco.
The combined strength of the attacks was too much. Falco’s protection began to fail and the hounds of hell took another step closer.
‘You are beaten, child,’ said the demonic voice in Falco’s mind. ‘Can you not hear the sound of your failure in the screaming fear of the people you thought to save?’
Slowly Falco became aware of a growing commotion on the battlefield. The fighting had not resumed, but the air was now filled with the rising wail of fear as the cloak of his faith was stripped away. He simply was not strong enough to protect both himself and the army that now stood helpless with terror. He could hear horses neighing and snorting in fear, many breaking free of their rider’s diminished control before bolting across the valley.
Panic swirled like an acid stench in the air, dissolving the courage of the soldiers on the battlefield. Too terrified even to flee, they stood in a paralysed stupor waiting for the Possessed to end their lives and claim their souls. Falco could feel their fear, but there was nothing he could do to assuage it.
Around him the dark tongues of Baëlfire rose higher, scorching the earth and licking around the sphere of his protection. To the side he could feel Sidian’s presence, but even the dragon’s strength was beginning to fail in the face of the evil that now filled the valley. They were doomed, and it was all his fault. He was responsible for leading them here, to this place, to this fate.
The sphere of energy surrounding him suddenly wavered. The hounds inched forward and the flames leapt up, fed by the driving winds of doubt. Falco’s thoughts were suddenly filled with images of what would happen to the soldiers of Illicia and Clemoncé, to his friends.
‘Yes,’ said the voice that echoed in his skull. ‘You know what awaits those who oppose us.’
Tears sprang to Falco’s eyes as the first clouds of despair rose up on the horizon of his mind.
‘But you could save them,’ said the voice.
Despite his inherent mistrust Falco clutched at the thread of hope implied by the Marchio’s words.
‘How?’ he gasped and the hounds of hell moved a step closer.
‘Surrender yourself to me,’ said the voice. ‘Give up your soul and I swear I will let the other humans die.’
Falco almost snorted in derision. Staring into the Marchio’s glowing eyes he looked for the deceit that he knew must be there, but he saw nothing. He frowned in confusion. Somehow he knew the Marchio Dolor was telling the truth.
His soul for the souls of ninety thousand others.
You would never have the courage.
You would never have the faith.
Suddenly the refrain of Falco’s nightmares made sense. This is what the voices had spoken of. This was the question that had haunted him all his life. Did he have the courage to surrender his own soul to save the people he loved.
Falco began to weep.
The fear was suddenly clawing at his mind. Laughing at him. Mocking him.
You would never have the courage.
You would never have the faith.
To Falco’s left a horse went galloping past. The beast shied away from the dark flames surrounding him and disappeared into the massed ranks of Kardakae, but Falco barely noticed it. He was faced with an unthinkable choice - to condemn ninety thousand souls to an eternity of agony, or to surrender himself to the same.
Sweat coursed down his face and his throat burned as the heat of the flames began to sear his flesh, the first touch of the fire that would claim him, or claim those he loved.
The hounds moved closer and the Marchio Dolor laughed at the agony of his decision.
‘It is time for you to choose,’ he said and Falco knew that he was right.
Any moment now the hounds would reach him and begin to tear him apart while he listened as his friends were lost to the unending torments of hell. There was only one way to save them and the thought was forming in his mind even as the sound of hoof beats loomed behind him.
All across the valley, knights and cavalrymen were fighting to control their mounts, all that is save one. Of all the horses on the battlefield only one behaved like the warhorse it was bred to be. And it was only able to maintain its course because of the bond that existed between horse and rider. The rider was a captain of the Knights Adamant and the horse now charging towards Falco was a smoke grey Percheron.
*
The fear was like a storm of thorns and claws tearing at his courage, but still the emissary rode on. He had once seen Falco walk into the face of evil to stand beside a man he loved. Now William Chevalier would do the same for the boy who had given them hope. Of all the battle mages he had met, only this boy made the emissary believe that they could win.
And what is faith if it is not that?
To believe in hope when all hope is gone.
Now Falco stood against seven demons of the Possessed and the emissary could not bear to see him facing the enemy alone. Without even thinking he had snatched up a lance from the chest of a dead Sciritae and driven his heels into Tapfer’s flanks. Leaping over bodies and dodging other panicked horses the knight on the smoke grey Percheron charged. He saw the glowing sphere of light around Falco falter and he saw the two monstrous hounds creep closer.
With a final burst of speed he galloped past Falco and drove his lance into the face of the crimson hound. The beast died instantly as the steel point stabbed through one of its empty eye sockets to pierce its brain. The impact tore the lance from his grasp and the emissary drew his sword as the tar coloured hound leapt towards him. He leaned into Tapfer’s neck as the horse reared up, but the hound’s attack was too powerful and the emissary was thrown from the saddle as the smoke grey Percheron fell onto its side. Immediately the tar-skinned creature leapt upon it and with a sudden lunge it tore out the horse’s throat.
The emissary rolled free as his mount came crashing down. He managed to hold onto his sword and came back to his feet just as the black hound sprang towards him with Tapfer’s blood still dripping from its jaws.
As the terrifying beast loomed towards him the emissary dodged to one side and the beast went streaking past, but its sharp claws lashed out, tearing the armour from his shoulder. Blood poured down his arm but the emissary barely noticed. Again the beast lunged for him but he smacked the tar-skinned creature in the muzzle with his shield and parried a claw strike before hacking his sword into the creature’s heavily muscled shoulder. His blade bit deep and the beast snarled as it spun back to face him.
He tried for another strike but the black hound surged forward and thrust one of its horns through the armour at the top of the emissary’s thigh. He roared in pain as the cruel spike fractured his pelvis and tore through the ligaments of his hip, but with the hound’s horn still embedded in his body he struck at the creature’s neck. The monster tried to withdraw but the emissary struck again and again until the bestiarum’s neck was cut clean through. The hound’s decapitated body collapsed to the ground, its horn pulling free of the emissary’s body by the weight of its own severed head.
Battle Mage Page 92