02 Unicorn Rider (16 page)

‘So we just sit here?’ Sky asked.

‘No. We sit in the bedroom.’ Obsidian ushered everybody through to Glass’s room; the soldier followed them as far as the bedroom doorway.

From the window, Obsidian could see two other soldiers in the street. They were standing totally motionless. A wyvern was hunched menacingly on a nearby roof.

‘They have complete control of the village,’ Tidal said hopelessly. ‘There’s no way out.’

‘Are you sure they’re looking for your daughter?’ Obsidian asked Strata.

‘They appear to be. The one in the kitchen didn’t attack us until we mentioned her name.’

‘And you have no idea where she is?’

‘None at all.’

‘Then we must hope that she has vanished off the face of the planet, because I don’t know what will happen if those things find her.’

Sky looked out at the two soldiers and the wyvern. Her house was so close, but it might as well have been a thousand miles away. There was no way she could reach her father.

***

Nimbus looked at the charred remains of the book that had held the secrets of his father’s past. He was glad it had been destroyed. He was certain now that to read any more would only increase the pain and guilt he already felt.

Behind him, Cumulo paced around the room, shaking shards of window from his back and gazing at the mountainside down which the hydra had recently made its escape. ‘You should let me go after it,’ he moaned.

‘Forget the hydra, that’s not what we came for.’

‘It bit me.’

‘You’d be wasting your time. It will be long gone by now. Besides, if I hadn’t been here, I’m not sure you would have been able to beat it.’

‘I was just getting into the swing of things.’

‘Sure.’

‘You didn’t exactly look like you had the situation under control before I turned up, either.’

 ‘I was just getting into the swing of things,’ Nimbus grinned, which was probably about the closest thing to a “thank you” that Cumulo was going to get.

The dragon sat in the shattered frame of the window and stared out at the valley below. ‘You’re right,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘The hydra was strong, as strong as Sorrow was. Perhaps even stronger. I am worried we have not seen the last of it.’

‘Between us we showed it who was boss. I don’t think it will want to bother us again with that hole in its belly.’

The wind whistled up the side of the mountain. ‘It bit me,’ Cumulo muttered.

Nimbus scooped up the ash and flakes of burnt parchment – all that was left of his father’s journal – and walked over to the window.

‘What’s that?’ Cumulo asked.

‘This is the last of what the Wing Warriors were,’ he said. ‘My father’s journal. I was mean to him before we left. I accused him of things, and I never thought he might have been forced into it.’

‘You mean hurting people?’

‘People expected it of him, and he didn’t have a choice.’ Nimbus looked down at the splash of hydra’s blood on the ground. ‘What if I don’t have a choice either?’

‘Do not let the past haunt you, Nim. If you don’t have a choice, then there’s no point worrying about it. If you do have a choice, I know you will make the right one.’

Nimbus’s mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile. ‘Okay. From now on we write a new history book.’

He flung his arms wide, scattering the ash into the wind.

Cumulo nodded. ‘Well said. Any mistakes that our ancestors made are not our mistakes.’

‘Come on.’ Nimbus put his hand on Cumulo’s neck. ‘We have to find Carnelian’s altar.’

Cumulo blinked sleepily, and turned away from the window. At the far end of the library was another door, easily big enough for a dragon to wriggle through, and beyond was a vast chamber, superior in size to any room Nimbus had yet found.

In the centre of the room was the sculpture of a squat cyclopean male, with one arm raised up as if he should have been holding something. His single, unblinking eye appeared to fix Nimbus with an unforgiving stare; and Nimbus was aware of a feeling of utter hatred that emanated from the carved stone face.

Beneath the statue, still burning after all those hundreds of years, was the fire in which the Wing Warrior swords had been forged. The flames danced in a draft from the open balcony on the other side of the room, occasionally forming shapes that Nimbus recognised: faces of people he knew, places he had once visited.

‘What do I do?’ he asked Cumulo.

Cumulo shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps if you approach the altar you will find your answers in the fire.’

Nimbus drew a shuddering breath. ‘Carnelian was no friend to the Wing Warriors, and they trapped his spirit in this altar as punishment for his crimes. He has had a long time to grow bitter and cruel. What reason would he have to help us?’

‘Redemption? Everybody has a right to that, don’t they?’

Nimbus crossed the room and knelt in front of the altar. The heat from the fire made his eyes water, but he forced himself to stare into the heart of the inferno.

‘What do you see?’ Cumulo asked, standing beside him. ‘All I see is a burning spirit.’

The shapes of wyverns, dragons, unicorns, and a hooded man formed momentarily in the fires, but that was all. Nimbus shook his head. ‘There are the same riddles here as those the sword shows me. I can see everything and nothing. It makes no sense.’

‘Concentrate harder,’ Cumulo said. ‘Project your question to Carnelian. Appeal to his better nature, the part of him that worked to protect his people from destruction.’

The flames jumped higher, twisting into the forms of monstrous creatures; but there was one image more than any other that caught Nimbus’s attention: It was an image of Carnelian’s stone altar, only the hand the statue was holding out was no longer empty. Instead, the hand was gripping the handle of a Wing Warrior sword.

‘He wants me to use the sword,’ Nimbus said.

‘Why?’ Cumulo asked.

‘Maybe it will give him the strength to search for the answers I need.’

‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘I have no other choice. I need to find out where the unicorn is.’

He rose, drawing the sword. The flames in the altar sputtered and flickered.

‘Are you sure?’ Cumulo asked.

In answer, Nimbus slotted the sword into the outstretched hand of the statue.

Nothing happened.

Nimbus looked at Cumulo. Cumulo looked back. They both shrugged.

Then the fire went out.

‘What’s happening?’ Cumulo said.

Nimbus backed away from the altar, watching in alarm as the blade of the Wing Warrior sword started to glow with the intensity of images from the past, present, and future. ‘I think I just made a terrible mistake,’ he said.

The sword grew brighter and brighter, as if all the knowledge that had once burned in the fires of the altar was being transferred into the metal of the blade. The statue started to shake, and the wind roared outside.

‘We should leave,’ Cumulo said.

‘I can’t go without answers,’ Nimbus said.

‘I don’t think you’re going to get any. The fire’s gone. The sword has done something.’

‘The sword,’ Nimbus cried. ‘I need to get the sword.’

Nimbus reached out, but even as he did so there was a change in the atmosphere. A deep rhythmic pulse filled the room, making the roots of his teeth hurt; and a noise that he couldn’t even begin to describe drowned out the howling wind.

‘Get down,’ Cumulo growled, and a second later Carnelian’s statue exploded.

Nimbus threw himself on the ground with his hands over his head, and Cumulo  lifted up one of his wings to create a protective shield around the Wing Warrior. The room was filled with the sharp ticks and slightly louder thuds of various sized pieces of rock bouncing off marble floors and pillars, and every now and again there was a softer, meatier sound as stones were deflected on Cumulo’s wings.

By the time the chunks of rock had finished falling, and Nimbus risked peering out from under his hands, the air was thick with white dust that made his eyes run.

‘What happened?’ he coughed.

Cumulo folded his wings up on his back, and flicked his tongue thoughtfully. ‘The statue destroyed itself,’ he said.

‘Why?’ Nimbus was back on his feet, brushing the dust from his clothing. ‘And where’s the sword?’

‘The sword is gone.’

‘No. It can’t be. That was a Wing Warrior sword. It was hundreds of years old. It was magical.’ Nimbus put his hands to his head. ‘Please don’t tell me I’ve just destroyed a magical weapon. My dad will not be happy.’

Cumulo’s eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze swept around the room. ‘I’m afraid we have an even bigger problem than that.’

‘Why?’ The dust was beginning to settle, and the vague outlines of different objects were becoming visible: The exploded remains of the altar, chairs and tables, pillars, and a peculiar, hunched thing in the corner of the room. ‘What’s wrong, Cumulo?’

The dragon’s tongue flickered again. ‘That thing in the corner wasn’t there a minute ago,’ he said.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nimbus watched in horror as the thing shuffled out of the corner towards them. It loped horribly, using its knuckles for balance, and its single eye glittered like a crystal ball.

Nimbus reached for the Wing Warrior sword, but of course, the sword wasn’t there any more. The sword was now in a million silvery pieces, scattered over the floor among the jagged lumps of stonework. But even the horrible realisation that the sword was broken and gone forever paled into insignificance compared to the sense of overwhelming despair that engulfed Nimbus when he saw that there was a twisted horn jutting from the top of the shambling creature’s ugly, brown head.

The horn made it absolutely apparent to Nimbus that he had indeed done something worse than destroying a Wing Warrior sword.

He had released Carnelian.

‘This is bad, isn’t it?’ Nimbus whispered to Cumulo.

‘I would imagine so,’ the dragon said.

‘How bad, do you think?’

‘Carnelian has been trapped in a burning limbo for longer than a mortal mind can recall. He isn’t likely to be in the best of moods, particularly with regard to Wing Warriors like yourself. And I am not sure cyclopeans are pleasant at the best of times.’

The ape–like Carnelian drew nearer, and a sneer played around the corner of his sharp mouth. Even though he was slightly stooped, he still stood taller than a man, and his arms were knotted with muscles. Nimbus did not doubt the cyclops had enough strength in his hands to strangle a dragon if he so wished.

‘So here you are, at last,’ Carnelian said, in a tone that was far more civilised than Nimbus had expected. ‘Nimbus. The final remnant of the Wing Warriors’ crumbling dynasty. I expected you to be taller. And cleverer.’

‘How did you get here?’ Nimbus demanded.

‘You let me out,’ Carnelian said.

‘But... You were... I mean... How?’

‘I assume from your flapping mouth and glazed expression you’re finding this all very confusing, so let me explain it for you in simple terms. You gave me a sword, something to channel my spirit into. My spirit happens to be particularly strong. Not as strong as fire, but stronger than steel. I must thank you for your assistance. It is nice to have a body again.’

‘But my sword!’

‘Never mind your sword.’

‘You tricked me.’

‘Of course I tricked you, and you made it very easy.’

Not for the first time that day, Nimbus mentally kicked himself. ‘This whole thing was a set up. Showing me the death of your people through the sword. Getting me to come here. It was all done so I would free you, wasn’t it?’

‘Congratulations on finally realising what was obviously apparent five minutes ago. You’re absolutely right. I threw out a few clues, got you to follow them here, and then I gave you enough rope to hang yourself. I guess the order of the Wing Warriors is not as picky about who it lets in these days. None that have gone before you would ever have been foolish enough to fall for my little plan.’

‘Shut up,’ Nimbus said, gloomily, feeling rather stupid.

‘Oh come on, don’t be so glum. I’m out now, that’s all I wanted, and I guess I owe you a favour for helping me.’

‘A favour?’

‘Careful,’ Cumulo growled. ‘Carnelian is a unicorn murderer and a trickster. Don’t let him fool you again.’

‘You know why I came here, don’t you, Carnelian?’ Nimbus said.

‘Of course.’ Carnelian was rummaging through the rubble that had once been his altar. ‘I know everything. Past, present, future. Nothing is a mystery to me.’

‘Then tell me what I need to know. Tell me where I can find the unicorn, and we’ll consider ourselves even. You can go your way, and we’ll go ours.’

‘Do you have anything to eat?’

‘No, I don’t. Now, if you could tell me about the unicorn, we can get on.’

‘Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Being stuck in a limbo between life and death for hundreds of years can make you hungry. Shall we find something?’ Carnelian had picked up a large piece of the Wing Warrior sword and was examining it closely. His eye reflected in the metal coldly, and for a disorientating moment he felt as if he was both in and out of the sword at the same time. ‘We need to eat,’ he added quietly, letting the blade fragment slip between his fingers.

‘We need to go.’

‘I could hunt for something. I’m a good hunter. It’s the infinite vision that does it. I know where everything is hiding, and I know where it will run to once I disturb it.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Takes some of the fun out of it, really.’

‘Please, Carnelian, listen to me. You can hunt all you want once we’re gone, but first tell me what I need to know. Where is the unicorn that can save my sister?’

‘Oh look,’ Carnelian said, picking up a small piece of stone. ‘That’s my toe. Third toe, left foot. Marvellous. Your father really is quite the artist. He was the one who carved me, you know? He did all the paintings in this temple too.’

 ‘I never knew my father could paint,’ Nimbus said, quietly.

‘Yes, well there’s a lot of things you don’t know about your father, isn’t there?’