Dragonfang (40 page)

‘
Ashstillin
!’ she cried out. The air seemed to be sliced into a curtain of shimmering ribbons. Jelindel spoke another word, too low for the others to hear: it was the truename of a paraworld.

Jelindel plucked a strand of Daretor’s hair. ‘Stay here,’ she said. Then she brushed the fluctuating curtain aside and disappeared beyond it.

‘I wish she wouldn’t say that,’ Daretor said, drawing his sword to face the oncoming hordes below. Hargrellien moved to his side, loading her crossbow.

‘Where is the thundercast?’ Daretor enquired, seemingly nonchalant.

Hargrellien gestured towards their packs. ‘It will serve you little. Fa’red has developed a way to neutralise its powers unless it’s in an authorised user’s hands. He would not have permitted one of us to carry it otherwise.’

‘Then it’s good old fashioned swords and bows.’ Daretor turned to stare at the still glowing portal field.

Hargrellien followed his gaze. ‘You think she will fail?’

‘I think she will return with help, but I mistrust the kind of help that paraworld demons might provide. Were I a man of lesser appetite for battle, I might find that portal tempting.’

Hargrellien turned back to the advancing soldiers. ‘Give me mortal combat any day, Daretor. Paraplanes are for Senior Adepts or madmen.’

The Preceptor’s soldiers reached the foot of the hill. Impatient archers let fly a salvo of arrows which arced high and fell short, save for a handful that thunked into the ground around Daretor and Hargrellien. Daretor hewed one from the air a second before it struck Hargrellien.

‘My thanks,’ she said, inclining her head by way of salute.

‘They will be in proper range in a minute or two, then I warrant they will see us dance a pretty jig.’

But the archers did not fire another salvo. Instead, the forward battalion charged. The ground shook with the thunder of forty thousand pounding legs. Dust filled the hollow at the base of the hill and, from its turbulent opaque face, an endless stream of soldiers burst forth in their headlong dash up the rocky hillside.

‘Brace yourself!’ Daretor shouted above the noise.

At that moment, behind them, there was a flash of light and Jelindel reappeared. She stumbled as she stepped from the portal and Daretor grasped her by the shoulders. He gazed closely at her. Her hair was longer and she seemed older, if that were possible. Her bandages were gone and her wounds seemed to have vanished.

‘By White Quell’s blood, it’s good to be back,’ she wheezed.

‘Then you must have come from a worse hell,’ Hargrellien mumbled. ‘Did you bring aid? For if not we are all undone this next minute.’

Suddenly, above Jelindel’s head, a swarm of silvery globes whizzed back and forth, humming softly.

‘Do it!’ yelled Jelindel. She snatched up a sword and turned to face the onrushing soldiers.

Daretor’s face was strained as he stepped back from Jelindel. ‘Is this it? Some flying balls?’ He ducked as one passed over his head.

‘Trust me,’ Jelindel said.

Blue threads of power crackled out from the globes and encircled Daretor’s body. His back arched and his mouth gaped open. His limbs were vibrating so fast, they were a blur. In the blink of an eye all the globes shot into his open mouth and disappeared.
A spasm went through him, and then he seemed to shake off the episode and stand tall and straight.

As the soldiers came within a hundred yards of their position, they let out a blood-curdling bellow. In that moment, Jelindel spoke a single word and there were two identical Daretors standing side by side, both armed with a sword. An instant later, there were four, then eight, then sixteen. The doubling accelerated exponentially and in another few seconds there were literally thousands of armed Daretors spread across the hilltop. Still more kept appearing until the hilltop was rows deep with copies of the warrior.

In perfect unison the Daretor warriors let out an ear-shattering whoop and together, eerily synchronised, they charged down the hillside. The impact of the two armies coming together shook the ground, then it was drowned out by the myriad cries and screams and the sound of steel hewing through leather and flesh, or clanging against resisting metal.

Most of the battle seemed to take place beneath a mushrooming cloud of dust that thousands upon thousands of feet, caught in the turmoil of battle, stirred to life.

Carrion birds circled above the swirling dust, the setting sun casting their long swooping shadows for miles.

On a faraway mountain flange the Preceptor and his elite personal bodyguard reined in their horses to gaze at the battlefield. The Preceptor seemed a broken man. It was all he could do to sit on his horse and not topple to the ground.

‘All gone,’ he lamented. ‘All gone. How is that possible, Fa’red? My mighty army, finished …’

Fa’red said nothing. He did not allow himself to smile, for
he himself was still in shock. The inestimable Countess Jelindel dek Mediesar had once again exceeded his most charitable estimations of her power. Her ability to deceive those around her was incomparable. Far from releasing the paraplane slave spirits, she had indeed stored them. Never before had he seen such a display of power. She had to be at least an Adept 15. Still, he had one more trick up his sleeve, and it didn’t matter to him whether he obtained the gems from the countess or from the Preceptor.

‘Three of them,’ the Preceptor muttered. ‘There were but three of them. And I? Twenty thousand did I throw against them. All gone,’ he said again.

The captain of the bodyguard laid a hand on the Preceptor’s arm. ‘My lord, we must keep moving. When word of this rout spreads across your dominion …’

The Preceptor feebly shook off his hand. ‘I see how this day will fall out. All will rise against me. The hammer that I held over their heads these past few years is no more.’

His head dropped on his chest and the guard captain took the reins of his horse and led him on.

Behind them, Fa’red reined in his horse and waited till the Preceptor’s elite guard had passed. He then swung around and doubled back along the trail at a light canter.

Jelindel found Daretor crouched on the blood-soaked battlefield, his face buried in his hands, and his body wracked by sobs.

She crouched beside him, the strain of the past hours washing over her in dizzying waves. ‘What ails you, are you hurt?’ she said, urgently.

He peered at her over his hands, his sunken eyes wild and
haunted. ‘Hurt? Am I hurt? No. I am untouched, though thousands of me died today, and each blow did I feel as if it struck my own flesh. I killed even more. I killed an entire army. No more, never again. Honour, glory, they are merely empty words, used by fools. Never again, never again.’ He stopped, aware of his hysterical babble.

Jelindel stroked his face, brushed a wisp of lank hair from his tormented eyes. ‘You’re scaring me,’ she said.

He almost smiled. In that moment Jelindel relaxed a little, having caught a glimpse of the old Daretor.

‘You must rest now,’ she said. ‘While you do, I need to free our allies. Open your mouth, please.’ She spoke a word as Daretor opened his mouth wide. The silvery globes poured out and swarmed above her head.

‘I thank you,’ Jelindel said. ‘The debt is paid.’

‘We thank thee, true heart. But debts are never paid and we owe you much. We will be watching. Fare thee well.’

The slave spirits, once imprisoned by mighty mages and set free by Jelindel, floated up the hillside and disappeared into the ringstone, though the portal had closed many hours ago.

Daretor watched them go, a look of pure incomprehension on his face. ‘What manner of things are they?’

Jelindel swallowed, moistening her dry throat. ‘Much prized power. They took a great risk coming back here, where their kind are imprisoned for eternity and swapped and stolen by Senior Adepts.’ She kissed her fingers then put them to Daretor’s cheek. ‘What did it feel like to be the most powerful Adept in the world?’

‘A burden, nothing more,’ he said. He dragged a hand across his face. ‘Hargrellien. How did she fare?’

‘She did well. She will stay with us till we get the gems safely
to Lady Forturian.’ Jelindel cupped Daretor’s blanched face between her shaking hands. ‘Is your pain easing?’

‘I do not think it will ever pass, nor should it, perhaps. It will be my burden to remember this day for the rest of my life.’

‘I never thought I would see tears in those eyes,’ she said, kindly.

Daretor pulled back and turned away. The entire slope was littered by the dead and wounded. His many likenesses had dissolved when mortal wounds were inflicted upon them. Those left standing at the battle’s end had similarly disappeared when the last of the Preceptor’s men fell. A low moaning was rising from the battleground.

‘I grieve for
them
…’ he said. His gesture swept the battlefield. ‘So many fathers and sons and brothers and sweethearts shall not return from this day. How much more grief there will be in the world because of me?’

Jelindel gently brought Daretor’s head around to face her. ‘You did not start this.’

‘No, but I finished it. And now much will change. Darker times lie ahead, Jelli. Anarchy and death, and an endless night in which few lights will burn.’ He groaned. ‘But perhaps we can lessen the darkness.’

Jelindel stared worriedly at Daretor’s haunted face. ‘Did you see things … when you were one with the spirits?’

Daretor shook his head. ‘I don’t know what I
saw
. During the fighting I felt as though I were so huge that I could trample the foe underfoot.’ He winced. ‘Things were laid out before me that no man should ever know.’

‘Oh, Daretor …’

‘Jelindel! Daretor!’ cried Hargrellien from her vantage. ‘Time to lie flat, play dead.’

Daretor fumbled for his bloodied sword. ‘Are they back?’

‘It’s a battle that only she can fight,’ said Jelindel. ‘Lie sprawled and trust her.’

For a long time nothing happened. Through the ground they heard what seemed to be heavy footfalls, as if someone was running. After another ten minutes there were more footfalls.

‘There they are,’ came Hargrellien’s voice. ‘I did not search them after I killed them.’

‘No wounds on their backs,’ came Fa’red’s suspicious voice.

‘I am no alley back stabber, Master.’

‘The girl should be carrying the gems –’ Fa’red stopped, and sniffed the air. ‘I sense foul play –’

Fa’red’s voice stopped suddenly, then his body fell to the ground. Daretor bounded up in time to see Fa’red’s bulk collapse across Jelindel. Hargrellien was standing over the mage.

‘I’ve simply stunned him, but we should kill him while we have the chance,’ she said.

‘No, we agreed on this, Hargrellien,’ Jelindel said. ‘The Preceptor will soon know that Fa’red has been working against him. Fa’red will be seen to have given us much covert assistance. Better to have those two fighting each other, than have one giving us all his attention. Now take us prisoner, as planned. Train your crossbow on us, and don’t forget to load it.’

After several hundred yards they skirted a hill, there to be confronted by a small shed with huge bat wings. The ten-foot chicken legs were fully extended.

Jelindel stayed Daretor’s sword arm. ‘Hargrellien seems to know what she’s doing.’

Daretor loosened his grip on the sword pommel. ‘But do we?’ he wondered.

Hargrellien called in a twittering bird song.

Jelindel’s flesh goosed. She recognised the secret language of the lindraks from the night that her family had been slaughtered by the assassins.

A corresponding call came from the shed on legs.

‘We have them!’ shouted Hargrellien. ‘Coster, fold down the legs.’

Someone waved from the open door, then vanished. Moments later the great legs began to fold, lowering the shed. Coster appeared at the door.

‘Where is the master?’ the flight engineer asked, suspiciously.

Hargrellien shot him with the crossbow, and he fell to the ground. The legs continued to fold until the shed came to rest on the ground.

‘Was there no other way?’ demanded Daretor, clearly shocked as he looked down at Coster’s young body.

‘You should waste no sleep over that one,’ said Hargrellien. ‘He was Fa’red’s youngest, but most deadly deadmoon assassin.’

Daretor’s face registered doubt so Hargrellien pushed the body over with her foot.

Strapped around Coster’s waist was a sheath of throwing knives.

Hargrellien then re-armed the crossbow and stepped back. Daretor instantly reached for his sword but Jelindel pushed down hard on his hand so that they both clamped on to the pommel.

‘Show yourself in there!’ Hargrellien called. ‘Your time is up.’

Linnet, the hostess, appeared in the doorway. She was holding her hands up high.

Hargrellien swiftly brought the crossbow up and pulled the trigger, even as Daretor’s left hand swept it down. The bolt thudded into a chicken leg. The shed shuddered, but stayed aloft.

Hargrellien dropped the crossbow, drew a dirk from her boot and stepped back warily, watching Daretor and Linnet. Jelindel intervened.

‘There’ll be no more killing,’ she ordered. ‘Act like the enemy, and you become the enemy. Become the enemy, and you might as well not fight the enemy. Leave her here, alive, to look after Fa’red.’

Hargrellien lowered her knife. She eyed Jelindel peripherally. Linnet had not moved. But her hands had dropped.

‘You, get out!’ Jelindel called up to Linnet. To Hargrellien she said, ‘We’re partners, agreed? If we were going to kill people on the suspicion of being dangerous, you would have died long ago, Hargrellien.’

Hargrellien watched as Linnet walked past them. It wasn’t long before she broke into a stumbling run and was lost to sight.

‘On that count I would disagree, Jelindel. No one under Fa’red’s personal influence is entirely harmless.’ She walked over to the giant leg and pulled the crossbow bolt free, then the three of them climbed in.

Once inside the forward cabin, Hargrellien sat in the steersman’s saddle and told Daretor to close the door. They felt themselves rising as she straightened the great legs.