by A. L. Brooks
Gargaron’s skin turned cold; Melai were in its direct path. She were two sunflares away from being engulfed by an inferno and he were utterly powerless to stop it.
Gargaron tried to heel Grimah into a gallop, but his weakened legs could do naught but merely nudge his horse’s flanks. He tried yelling out, for Melai to run, for she had not budged an inch, had made no effort to fly, or flee in any manner. Yet his voice were raspy. And could not be heard. And as he watched, the roaring inferno came at her… swallowing her whole.
6
‘By Ranethor!’ Gargaron gasped. ‘Melai!’
But it were too late. She were gone, vanished beneath the wash of flame, incinerated in but an instant.
Pure rage drove the Skinkk from the ground. It leapt into the air, flapping madly, wildly. Below it, in the same wash of fire that had immolated Melai, the darklings burned like embers. Yet, they were far from dead. They watched the dragon head for skies, watching it coldly with their burning flame-red eyes…
Gargaron thought the Skinkk were fleeing. But it swooped up, circled, and screamed back down in a terrifying arc. It were aiming not at the Imps now, but at him.
Gargaron yanked Grimah back just as the great Skinkk soared over the arch, releasing a torrent of liquid fire that bubbled the stone, melting it, droplets splatting the pavers, scorching it, pockmarking it. The searing heat raked across both Gargaron and horse, Grimah rearing up, squealing, Gargaron tumbling feet-over-head from his mount.
He slammed into ground shoulder-first, grunting, the impact shoving his chin into his chest, but his momentum rolled him back onto his feet. He removed his shield from his back and unsheathed his great-sword as huge blocks of the archway tumbled down about him; he were peppered with crumbling stone and brick, mortar dust clouding the air.
He coughed and wiped grit from his eyes and in the confusion lost sight of his attacker. He squinted into the dust cloud, his eyes scanning the space between the temples above him. He saw the Skinkk not and feeling exposed attempted a dash further beneath his shelter.
As he ran, Grimah scrambled before him, and he heard Skinkk’s roar; he twisted around and saw it diving for him. He took evasive action, leaping across the debris scattered all about him, shoving Grimah through a temple doorway into what he hoped would be safe confines. Gargaron hoped to hurl himself through the doorway after his horse, but he were out of time. He had barely a moment to drop to his knee and heft his shield over his head.
A wash of liquid fire squirted down around him as the Skinkk soared by above. Gargaron’s shield took full brunt, liquid fire fanning out as it hit the shield’s surface.
The Skinkk reared away, flapping upward as the star-bugs now turned Gargaron’s way. Gargaron hefted himself to his feet, but tumbled to one knee. To make matters more dire, the Skinkk swooped on him once more, hell fire squirting wildly. This time Gargaron threw himself at temple doorway, only to stumble in the debris about him and come up short.
An excruciating blast of liquid fire rained across his back.
He roared in agony. It felt as though he had been torn open, his skin ripped aside, a thousand nails hammering his spine and flanks. The Skinkk, weakened itself, crashed into temple ruins, sending down another shower of stone and dirt, peppering Gargaron.
The star-bugs marched onward. And above, the Skinkk regained its momentum, flapping up and up… as if it had done its worst and were now off somewhere to rest or die. That would have been Gargaron’s wish, that those advancing imps had forced it to finally turn tail. Yet, what he did not know was that he had yet to see the last of it. For again it turned, and again it swooped on him.
Gargaron were spent, his back and Nightface were aflame; the roar of fire like thunder in his ears. Yet he clawed himself for temple doorway, any attempt to get himself clear of peril. Though the star bugs were sapping his strength faster than he could move.
He collapsed finally into the crumbled stonework strewn about him. And lay there panting, flames spreading across him. His sight were going, clouding over. His consciousness ebbing away. Before it all went black, he saw two things: Grimah. His loyal mount charging from temple confines, biting into Gargaron’s forearms, and dragging the giant across stone and brick to safety. And something else. One that truly confounded him.
Melai.
7
She stood beyond the cover of temple. Firing a rapid volley of arrows up into Skinkk’s scaled belly as it swooped toward them. She looked so tiny, so ineffectual, beneath that beast, like a sparrow beneath a mighty bullhorn hound. Her heroic efforts however did little to ward it off.
She flew toward Gargaron. ‘Stand, giant!’ she yelled. ‘Get inside!’
But Gargaron could no more stand now than stop the stars from burning. She turned and saw the star bugs creeping closer and closer. And over her right shoulder came the dragon.
She only had a sunflare to make up her mind about what she should do? Flee, vanish again? Or stay at giant’s side. Either way, this giant would perish. And that being the case, did she want this world alone without him? Her answer were no. Thus she braced herself for a wash of molten fire that would consume them both.
What she were not expecting were the shimmering blue iridescence that filled the air about her, a huge domed barrier of light suddenly hanging over the ruins surrounding Melai, the giant and Grimah. Some peculiar phenomenon that seemed to ward off the Skinkk. For the dragon flapped its wild wings, arresting its momentum, avoiding the light as if it meant instant death.
Here the Skinkk flew upwards, wheeled away dizzily, crashing into the ruins, an eruption of stone and brick blowing out from the impact, and the great dragon disappeared beyond top of domed temple, sliding down its opposite side, out of sight and sound.
8
Melai, confused, looked about; the unconscious giant beside her still aflame. She straightened, and looked about, wondering how the ward had come into being. Now something caught her eye. A tall figure, robed and hooded, striding forward with long wooden staff in hand, moving through the blue barrier like a ghost through mist.
He strode toward her and she struggled to arm her bow but a wave of his spare hand saw the bow fall heavy from her grip. As he reached her he swung his staff around and Melai saw at its tip two faces, one above the other. The upper one female and beautiful as an angel, the lower resembling the face of some tortured demon, fanged and goggle-eyed.
Presently, the eyes of the angel were burning blue and her jaw stretched open and from her mouth there erupted suddenly a roaring gale that swept across both Melai and giant, blasting Gargaron’s flaming body and extinguishing all flame in but an instant.
‘Rehouse your imps!’ this newcomer commanded Melai sternly, his voice deep and resonating.
Melai were struck dumb by his arrival. He prompted her a second time. ‘Are you hard of hearing, nymph? Rehouse your imps before they do us all an illness!’
She fetched her bow and backed away in the direction of the star imps. As she did she eyed the newcomer crouch to inspect Gargaron. The giant lay there huffing, huffing, huffing, as if near to death. Melai watched the robed figure dig his long fingers into Gargaron’s bubbling flesh.
‘What are you doing?’ Melai demanded, arming her bow and aiming an arrow at the back of the stranger’s neck.
‘What does it look like?’ he grumbled. ‘I am trying to save your friend’s life. Now lower your weapon and see to your imps. I should not have to ask thrice.’
Melai did not lower her bow. Yet she wondered something. Could this be Haitharath? Friend of Thoonsk and protector of animals and husband of Evehnyer Dawnraider the witch.
The picture did not fit the one in her mind; the images she had taken from her willow tree were of a sorcerer who stood shorter than this one, who had less a head of hair and not much of a beard. This one before her stood, she judged, as tall as Gargaron’s chest (were Gargaron to be standing), and it were difficult to tell hair from beard, such a mass of it there were. ‘Tell me som
ething, if you will, before I let you tend to him,’ she said. ‘Should the storm winds fall upon Ostamare, and the rains not cease, where ought I to take shelter?’
He glanced around at her, only a small part of his face to be seen hidden there beneath the edge of his hood. Melai awaited the answer that Eve had promised the real Haitharath would provide. Finally he gave it: ‘In your heart, dear nymph. In your heart.’
She turned, satisfied, and hurried away to her star bugs.
9
Hawkmoth Lifegiver stood and raised his staff, running it back and forth slowly above Gargaron’s spine. ‘Tayketh uff yar bernss,’ he said commandingly. ‘Tayketh uff yar bernss, mee seey.’
A squelching sound could be heard along the charred, blistered flesh of Gargaron’s back. Peculiar pink sprouts grew up out of the burnt mess.
By the time Melai had returned (her star bugs once more contained) she saw Gargaron’s entire back were knotted in white roots and the pink sprouts now grew with blue trumpet flowers that gushed black soot onto the breeze. Nearby, Grimah stood, sniffing the air, and every now and then, with both mouths, he nibbled gently at the giant’s ankles, as if hoping to illicit some response.
‘Be you well?’ the newcomer spoke at Gargaron’s ear, as if it were not a query but a command, an incantation.
Gargaron’s breathing, Melai saw now, had settled.
The stranger again spoke at Gargaron’s ear. ‘Be. You. Well.’
Gargaron’s eyes came open. And he lay there looking about. Blinking. Unsure of his whereabouts. He groaned, and croaked, ‘Wh-who are you?’
‘I be Hawkmoth Lifegiver,’ he replied with a warm smile. ‘And glad to meet you.’ He looked around at Melai. ‘To meet you all.’ He surveyed the two headed Grimah as if curious by its appearance, but making no comment other than a So be it expression with his eyes.
Gargaron frowned and eyed the hooded figure at length. ‘Hawkmoth?’ he groaned.
‘Aye. And you have suffered much, thus I urge you to rest.’
Gargaron looked about, as if only now recalling what had happened here. ‘Where, where be that infernal Skinkk?’
‘The Devil Horn?’ Hawkmoth asked. ‘I have warded it off.’
‘Warded it?’ Gargaron looked relieved. But then his eyes widened again. ‘The imps?’ And coughing, he arched his head to search his immediate surroundings and saw Melai, his watery eyes falling upon her as if she were a ghost. Deep furrows dug across his brow. ‘Melai?’ He reached out for her. ‘Is that you, pray tell?’
She stepped through the rubble to his side and took his hand. ‘Aye, it be me.’
He blinked at her, having trouble believing it. ‘But… but I saw you engulfed by flame. H-how is it you stand here?’
‘I managed to fly from its reach before it swallowed me,’ she told him. ‘A nymph’s vanishing tricks can be used for more than just catching someone unawares.’
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching her as a father might look upon a lost daughter. He reached up and pushed damp hair from her face with his long, thick fingers. Then he rest back against the stonework, grimacing in discomfort.
‘Right then,’ Hawkmoth said. ‘Rest here awhile. I must see to the Devil Horn. I fear it be not long for this plane and if it needs it I must help in its passing.’ He squeezed the giant’s shoulder. ‘I shall return when business is done.’
10
Gargaron though refused to sit and wait. He had not come this far to lose the sorcerer so quick. Besides, though he were injured and in pain, wee thoughts of Drenvel’s Bane niggled him. If I could but get some share of Skinkk’s blood…
Against Melai’s protestations he struggled to his feet, using Grimah’s stirrups and then reins to help haul himself from rubble to saddle. He grimaced and groaned and the trumpet flowers embedded in his back, gushed with more soot.
He were obviously not aware, Melai assumed, that his clothes were close to peeling from his frame. The rear portions of his jacket, the tops of his pants were burnt to flakes, held to him by virtue of the fact that they were melted into his flesh. But he would hear nothing from Melai, saying only that they must keep up with the good sorcerer. And he pulled her onto Grimah’s shoulders and they clip-clopped after Hawkmoth.
11
They passed into the bowels of the temple, by the doorway through which Gargaron had heaved Grimah during the Skinkk attack. Inside, dead bats and geckos littered the ancient paved floor. Great spiders swung, deceased, in ruined webs. Paintings of the Cahtu lined the walls with their tusks and bug faces, with their arachnid-eyes and dire-arms.
Hawkmoth strode out before them. When he heard the clip-clopping of hooves on the floor he cast a glance over his shoulder and saw the nymph and the giant mounted upon that twin headed steed. ‘Giant, I believe I told you to rest,’ he said sternly as he pressed onwards through gloomy temple interior.
Gargaron grimaced. ‘Aye, you did,’ were about all he could manage. Though on his next breath he managed, ‘I ne-need its blood.’
‘Blood? From the Devil Horn? What on Cloudfyre for?’
Gargaron grimaced. The world washed before his eyes. ‘Blood… pl-please, could you…’ He panted and his strength and awareness failed him.
A tall arched doorway, sheathed in a band of golden sunlight, delivered the small group from temple into cloudy sunshine and onto a wide courtyard, where, crashed against the opposite ruins, slumped the Skinkk.
It lay with its head resting against a crumbled wall. It eyed them as they approached. It attempted to struggle to its feet but its movements were clumsy now, exhausted. When it attempted to snort a wash of liquid fire nothing spat out but gobbets of molten droplets and acrid black fumes.
Hawkmoth ushered Gargaron and Melai to stay back. Gargaron by then were slipping in and out of consciousness, slumped there against Grimah. The sorcerer went forward on his own, his hand up and his staff slung behind his back, non-threatening. ‘Be calm,’ he said hushed to this creature he had called a Devil Horn. ‘Be calm, oh great Cjayen.’
The Skinkk made no movement. Simply watched the sorcerer with its dying eyes.
Hawkmoth made his way to Skinkk’s side and knelt before its great scaly and terrifying face. If the Skink, this Cjayen, this Devil Horn, had feigned illness and injury, had feigned its waning ability simply to draw the sorcerer on and thus spew forth hell fire, then the sorcerer were in certain peril.
But the Devil Horn lay here, panting, allowing Hawkmoth to reach out and gently place his palm and fingers across the great monster’s jaw. ‘Sleep easy now,’ the sorcerer told it gently. ‘Go now to your mighty ancestors who await you beyond the veil of life. You have lived a thousand years, one of the mightiest and most long lived, of your kind. Your gods hold a place for you now amongst the stars. Go now oh great Cjayen, find them. Pass gently, peacefully, unto eternal dawn.’
Tiredly the Skinkk eyed him. Panting. But its breath were slowing now.
When it stopped, when its great jaw and belly finally fell still, the sorcerer stood and lowered his forehead gently against the forehead of the dragon. ‘Go now,’ he whispered almost sadly. ‘Spread your mighty wings and fly.’
Melai believed she saw the sorcerer wipe a tear from his eye before he straightened and stepped backwards. The body of the great Skinkk moved one last time. Its scales rattled and hissed as its corpse appeared to contract inwards… A white shadow in the form of the Skinkk itself, lifted from the body, like a Skinkk chick dragging itself from its egg. It seemed to crouch there for a moment on the ribs of its departed body, looking about before leaping silently into the sky, circling once above the temple ruins, as if in acknowledgement of Hawkmoth, and then it swooped up and away into the heavens.
Hawkmoth watched it go. With a sigh he turned to Gargaron and Melai. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We must away from here.’
HAITHARATH AND THE IMPREGNATOR
1
THEY followed Hawkmoth through the western gates of Varstahk
and out into sandy woodlands. There were a narrow dirt trail and before they reached the sorcerer’s camp they’d passed numerous plunge-holes, some up to fifty paces across, with jagged volcanic rock cliffs that dropped away to bodies of undisturbed water as clear as crystal; around their edges, long green vines dangled, and thin trees grew from cracks in the rock. ‘Mind where you step,’ Hawkmoth warned.
And that they did. Though the plunge-holes were such a beautiful feature of this landscape and not easy to ignore; even if Gargaron could but only glimpse them through his ongoing grimacing and swollen face. For Melai, they filled her with a sense of delight and nostalgia, for not since leaving Thoonsk had she come across a realm that evoked such wonderful, albeit painful, memories of her water-forest home.
Hawkmoth lead them on. ‘Well then,’ he said after a while, glancing around at them, ‘as neither of you have yet spoken it, I take it your names be Gargaron Stoneheart and Melai Willowborne.’ He had pulled back his hood. They saw his face here for the first time. Bearded he were, dark but streaked in grey. He had kind grandfatherly eyes, Gargaron would have thought, but they possessed a certain intensity when he looked at you. ‘You fit the descriptions well enough sent to me by my Eve at least. Although, hearing it from your own mouths may make me feel a little more at ease.’
Melai were barely aware that in all the mayhem and distraction of the dragon attack, she had neglected to introduce herself. ‘As you wish. I am Melai Willowborne of Thoonsk. And although you call yourself Hawkmoth, be you Haitharath? Friend of Mother Thoonsk?’
‘Aye, I am.’
‘Well then, glad to make your acquaintance. And let me offer my heartfelt thanks for coming to our timely aid.’
‘You are most welcome.’
Gargaron went to speak when she were done but croaked and squinted. He swallowed hard and tried again. ‘And I… I…’ His voice faltered. He swallowed once more. ‘I be G-Gargaron Stoneheart of… of Hovel. Y-you sent for us, I b-believe.’