03 Sky Knight (16 page)

Brushing aside dust and dirt and chunks of rubble revealed a large, square trapdoor of beaten metal with an iron loop for levering it open. Obsidian pulled aside some weeds and other plant life, tracing round the edge of the trapdoor with his fingers. It was big, and sure to be heavy. If he could get all the villagers down there, and then drag across some greenery and rocks, it would be difficult for Crow to find them. Everyone would be safe.

He paused, with both hands on the iron loop, ready to heave the door open.

Would they be safe?

The trapdoor looked like it had not been opened for many hundreds of years. Anything could have set up home down there in that time. Goblins, trolls, or perhaps something even worse. It could be more dangerous than staying above ground.

He weighed up the options. Was it better to be cut down in the heat of battle, or murdered like rats in the dark bowels of the earth?

Did it really matter either way?

He pulled on the metal ring, and with a metallic groan followed by a pop of escaping air, the trapdoor came open, revealing a sloping pathway into pitch black ways beneath the ruins of the tower.

A chill ran down Obsidian’s spine, and he quickly drew his sword, expecting something hideous to burst out of the pit. The very darkness in there seemed to vibrate and pulse, and the fetid stench of damp earth was almost overpowering. Worse than that though, he was once again acutely aware of the sensation of being watched; like opening the trapdoor had alerted some unseen presence to his whereabouts, and now many eyes were peering at him from every direction.

His mouth went dry, and he backed away from the yawning gloom of the pit. There was something very wrong with this place, and he was having serious doubts about making a last stand here.

He advanced to the edge of the slope, and tried to see as far down as he could. The path ran straight on into what appeared to be a large basement. He suddenly realised he was standing on the edge of an old beer cellar. Large kegs would have been rolled down the slope for storage until such time as the soldiers were allocated their rations. There was every chance the cellar would be huge, more than big enough for all of the villagers to hide; perhaps even big enough for all their sheep and other vital possessions.

He started to edge down the slope, keeping his sword at the ready, still expecting some monstrous creature of darkness to lunge at him with teeth and tentacles. The smell got worse the farther he went; as did the sense that he was not alone. The only light was from the open trapdoor, and it was not nearly good enough to illuminate the far reaches of the cellar; but even so, he could make out vague shapes: Things that at first he mistook for soldiers, but then realised were just suits of armour on racks. There was lots of weaponry, and all manner of other things of a more personal nature, scattered over the floor and heaped along the walls.

‘What happened here?’ he muttered, quickly heading above ground as if he feared something might actually pop out of the darkness to answer his question.

As he emerged from the cellar, he heard a faint noise that he immediately recognised. Instinctively, he dropped to one knee, making himself as small a target as possible. A crossbow bolt whistled past his shoulder, thudding into a piece of masonry beyond.

He was about to sprint for cover, when a harsh voice shouted out.

‘Stop!’

Against his better judgement, Obsidian stopped.

‘Don’t think about moving or we will shoot you down,’ the voice went on. ‘There are five expert marksmen aiming at you right now, and unlike the marksmen you brought along, these ones are actually real. Put away your sword.’

Obsidian chuckled, returning his sword to its sheath and then holding his hands above his head. ‘You’re very good,’ he shouted, looking around for signs of the marksmen. ‘I scoured this whole area. I didn’t find a single trace of a camp.’

‘We’re the best at what we do. Now tell your men to put down their weapons.’

Obsidian looked around. The caravan from Landmark was still back up in the woods, slogging through the dense undergrowth, and there was no sign of Hawk or anyone from the garrison heading this way. ‘I’m alone,’ he said.

‘We can see you clearly from here, and the men you’re with.’

‘I’m alone,’ Obsidian repeated, but as he spoke he felt the hairs prickling on the back of his neck, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

He turned around.

Rows of fully armoured knights were standing in front of the trapdoor. There was no way that many soldiers could have snuck up on him. Not unless... Not unless they had always been there, and he just hadn’t been able to see them.

The leading knight, who shone as though he was absorbing the light of the sun and then magnifying its brilliance, stepped forward and bowed his head. ‘Captain Obsidian,’ he said, in a dusty voice that gave the impression it was travelling from very far away and very long ago. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you. We have things that must be discussed.’

‘Tell them all to put down their swords,’ shouted the unknown marksman. ‘If they will not, then we will open fire.’

‘You’re ghosts, aren’t you?’ Obsidian said.

The leading knight smiled, and even though there was no malice in the action, Obsidian felt cold icicles of fear dribbling down the back of his neck.

‘You have been here before,’ the knight said.

‘You mean, when I fought Cumulo.’

‘You are a brave man. You can help us.’

‘Right, you’ve had enough warnings,’ shouted the hidden marksman. As soon as he spoke, a volley of crossbow bolts slashed through the air, zinging and twanging off stones after passing harmlessly through the bodies of several of the ghostly knights.

The lead ghost raised his voice, and though it sounded louder, it seemed no less distant. ‘Lord Citrine, please stop wasting your arrows and come down into the courtyard to speak with us. You are quite safe.’

‘Lord Citrine?’ Obsidian said. ‘Here?’

There was an exchange of opinions in hushed whispers somewhere on the east side of the ruins, and moments later a battered–looking troop of seven Crystal Shine palace guards appeared, with Lord Citrine himself leading them.

‘Captain Obsidian?’ he said, as he approached. ‘My goodness, I’m so sorry for ordering my men to shoot at you.’

Obsidian bowed. ‘My Lord, it pleases me to see you well. What news is there of Crystal Shine?’

Lord Citrine eyed up the ghosts cautiously, making sure he kept at a reasonable distance. His men fanned out around him protectively, trying to watch all of the ghosts at the same time and keeping their crossbows ready to fire at the first sign of trouble. ‘Crystal Shine has fallen, and our beloved Lady is a prisoner. I managed to escape with a group of men, but we have been caught in two ambushes since, and as you can see, our numbers have dwindled. I had hoped we might be able to hide here until we had regained our strength.’

‘You will get no rest here,’ Obsidian said. ‘A force of spider–soldiers will be here by nightfall. I humbly suggest you seek refuge in the mountains.’

‘I agree,’ one the palace guards said, scratching his scarred jaw. ‘We could form a better defence in the mountain passes. There are places where two men could hold back an army.’

‘But we need your help,’ the leading ghost said.

‘What about you, Obsidian? Will you join us? I could use another man like you,’ Citrine said.

Obsidian watched the first few villagers appearing at the outskirts of the woods, bent double beneath their packs of food, firewood, and clothing. ‘I’m sorry. Landmark is gone, and I must protect the people.’

‘You would have a better chance of survival in the mountains.’

‘I know, but the villagers would never make it that far, and I cannot leave them.’

‘Of course.’ Lord Citrine looked at each of his bodyguards. They all met his gaze, and he could see that they were all ready to do what had to be done. They would follow his orders to the last. ‘I will spare you two men for your coming battle,’ he added.

Obsidian turned to the ghostly knights, and addressed their leader. The terror he felt at having to converse with things from the spirit world was absent from his tone.

‘You said you needed help. What sort of help?’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘Let’s talk about how I get Cumulo out of those chains,’ Nimbus said, and then he kicked Tidal hard in the stomach.

‘You’re too late,’ Tidal choked. ‘Your dragons going to die and you aren’t going to be able to stop it happening.’

‘Now, that isn’t very helpful, is it?’ Nimbus snapped, kicking Tidal again.

‘Kick me all you want, it won’t make a difference.’

Nimbus crouched beside Tidal, grabbing him by the throat. ‘I don’t want to keep hurting you.’

‘You hit like a girl.’

The Wing Warrior squeezed Tidal’s throat harder. ‘Sky’s a girl, and it looked to me like she had hurt you pretty badly.’

‘You have no idea.’

Nimbus rose, pacing angrily in the shallows of the water. He felt as if there was a terrible battle raging inside him: A contest of wills between the Wing Warrior and some darker, more violent personality. He clenched his fists, turned on Tidal, and kicked him twice more, aware that each time he did so, that second personality – the one that scared him – was getting stronger.

‘You’re wasting time,’ Tidal groaned, curled up with his arms around his head. ‘Every second you spend with me, is a second in which the life of that stupid dragon drains away.’

‘Tell me how to save him.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Tell me!’ Another kick. ‘Tell me. You lousy –’ kick, ‘arrogant –’ kick, ‘scumbag.’

The last kick made contact with Tidal’s face, rocking his head back. Almost instantly an ugly bruise began to appear over his right eye. ‘Is this what it is to be a hero?’ he snarled.

‘Tide...’ Nimbus could feel angry, frustrated tears coursing down his cheeks. ‘Please, Tide. You wanted to be a hero. Now’s your chance. Tell me how to save Cumulo’s life. You’ll be saving hundreds of other people too. They’ll sing songs about you. You’ll be the greatest hero of them all.’

Tidal shook his head sadly. ‘You don’t understand anything. If you believe you can fly back to the mainland, fight Crow’s army, save the day, and then people will sing songs about me... You’re more of a fool than I ever realised.’

‘Then do it for me. Do it because we used to be friends. Do it for Sky.’

Anger flashed in Tidal’s eyes, and he slowly wiped the blood from his mouth. The water swirling around him formed miniature eddies and whirlpools, and in its gurgling and plopping noises, he could hear the whispers of the dark sea’s promises. He was heir to the Ocean King. He was his own hero.

‘I can’t help you,’ he said. ‘The chains are designed never to come undone until the victim has died.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Cumulo will die.’

‘You’re lying.’

Nimbus went to kick Tidal again, but Tidal was ready for him. He grabbed Nimbus’s ankle, and twisted it. Both boys tumbled into the water, spluttering and gasping as they frantically tried to be the first to rise.

They found their feet at roughly the same time, but Tidal was able to draw Venom before Nimbus could attack again. They stood facing each other on the sun–glittered beach, soaking wet and shivering, panting heavily. Not far from land, the water boiled; an indication that the Ocean King himself had approached to see how this combat would end.

Nimbus stared at the tip of the spirit blade.

‘You should have disarmed me first,’ Tidal said, with a self–satisfied sneer.

‘So, is this how it’s going to end? One of us dead on the beach, left for fish food?’

‘I wasn’t planning on killing you. Not unless you make me.’

Nimbus glanced towards the rocks where Sky had disappeared. Whatever happened, he had to make sure she was safe.

Without another word, he dived forwards, smashing the flat of his palm into Tidal’s jaw. Tidal’s head was forced up, granting a clear shot at his throat. But he recovered quickly, turning away so that Nimbus’s second punch glanced off his shoulder instead. Then, somehow, he had hold of Nimbus’s wrist, and he was twisting it. Nimbus bit back a scream, but his legs were already buckling. For a second longer Tidal seemed to be everywhere at once, and then as quickly as it had all started, the fight was over.

Tidal backed away with a startled cry. Venom was clenched in his trembling hand, and there was a trace of blood on the blade.

Nimbus’s left hand felt like it was burning, and with a rising sense of despair he realised he had been cut. He shook his head. ‘Well done. That’s a spirit blade. Even the smallest cut is deadly. You’ve done what you set out to do. You’ve killed the last of the Wing Warriors.’

‘But, I...’

Tidal let the spirit blade slip from his grasp to stick point–first in the sand. Nimbus could see his dark–eyed reflection in the surface of the sword, and he knew, that frail and shimmering image would be the last thing he ever saw in this world. ‘I should be used to dying by now,’ he said, with a dark laugh, as he felt his spirit struggling to rip itself away from the fleshy remains of his earthly body.

‘I never meant...’ Tidal said, backing away. ‘I didn’t... I wanted the Wing Warrior gone, but I didn’t... You were my best friend.’ Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes. ‘Why did you have to keep fighting, Nim? Why did you have to go on trying to be the hero even once it was obvious you’d lost?’

‘Because I’m the Wing Warrior, Tide. If I don't fight, then who will?’

Nimbus’s head slumped onto his chest, and his breathing slowed.

Tidal hesitated, uncertain what to do. Then he threw Venom’s sheath on the ground, and ran off after Sky, leaving behind the beach, the unconscious Cumulo, the motionless Wing Warrior, and the hungry spirit blade.

***

Private Meadow walked through the empty streets of Landmark, going in and out of houses, making one last check to ensure he would not be leaving anyone behind when he finally went to catch up with the caravan. The village was totally deserted, and so quiet that he could hear the marching of Crow’s army.