Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising (21 page)

‘It’s wonderful,’ breathed Tagan, turning in circles where she stood. ‘So much life. So much
colour
.’ Before anybody could stop her, she had raced over to the woman with the silks and found herself caught up in a conversation in halting English. Giraldo walked over behind her, smiling ever so slightly, as he watched the country girl with no experience of the world beyond her village communicate well with a complete stranger.

‘Her work is beautiful, isn’t it?’ Giraldo said something to the woman in Spanish and she tipped her head to one side, giving the Pirate King a huge smile. She said something back in a fast, fluting voice and passed her hand across the piece of fabric she was holding. The cloth became a deep, arterial scarlet. She held it up and studied Tagan critically, then passed her hand across it again, and threads of glittering orange and yellow were worked into the red silk. It caught the light breeze, flickering like a forge fire. Her eyes grew round and wistful.

‘That’s so beautiful,’ she said, breathlessly. The woman smiled and stood, tying the piece of silk around Tagan’s waist.

‘Beautiful silk for a beautiful lady,’ she said in halting English. Tagan began to shake her head and untie the sash, but Giraldo stopped her.

‘She is giving you the fabric as a gift,’ he murmured softly. ‘Perhaps there is something you could do for her?’

‘But I couldn’t make anything so beautiful.’

‘Really?’ Giraldo’s smile never slipped, and Tagan nodded thoughtfully. She closed her eyes for a moment and after a second or two, a tiny flame sat in the palm of her hand. She teased the small flame, stretching it out and shaping it until she had crafted another fiery butterfly, just as she had done for Mathias on that day back in Wales, which felt so far away and so long ago now. She opened out her palm and the fiery creature fluttered free. The trader laughed delightedly and clapped her hands, even after the butterfly had faded to a smoky memory.

‘There. You have pleased her. A gift for a gift.’ Giraldo linked his arm into Tagan’s. ‘This is how a community thrives with magic at its heart. Do you see now how grey, how poor, England has become for the lack of it?’

Before she could respond, the noise in the market fell to a hush and the strangest sound began to thread through the crowd. A haunting, but beautiful sound; a male voice, raised in song. Tagan did not understand the words, but there was something strangely uplifting in them. Around them, the market place began to close down, traders moving away.

‘What is that?’ She didn’t notice the tears on her cheeks until Giraldo gently wiped them away.

‘The
adhan
,’ he replied. ‘It is the call to prayer for these people. They live in harmony with the gift of magic, the bounty of nature and their faith. It is the ideal envisioned by so many... so long ago.’ He sighed softly. ‘Come. Let’s get a few hours sleep in a comfortable bed. We have a hard journey, come the morning. We leave at dawn.’

‘Where are we staying?’

‘I know a woman who owns a tavern.’ Giraldo’s grin was wicked. ‘Well,
sort
of a tavern. Eyja’s not going to approve, put it that way.’

The
Vanguard

The Atlantic Sea

S
EVERAL MEN HAD
died under the strain of the ruthless pace set by the Lord Inquisitor. With each death, one of the knights had taken the empty place and continued the relentless pull of the oars until even the Lord Inquisitor went to an oar and rowed alongside them.

‘My lord, this can’t go on. We can
not
keep this up. Not unless you want to have a mutiny on your hands. The men are exhausted.’ Hudson had finally found his courage and made his stand before the Lord Inquisitor. Weaver’s heavily muscled arms hauled at the oars. Though stripped to the waist, he still bore his mask, and the captain tried not to let his eyes linger on the scars that laced the other man’s body.

‘We will not stop, Captain.’ Weaver rumbled. There was no obvious strain in his voice. ‘But work the men in shifts. Feed them, rest them, water them, then put them back to work. We
must
reach Anfa as quickly as we can.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ The captain scurried off to be the bearer of somewhat good news for the first time during this arduous trip, leaving Weaver pulling on the oar.

Anfa

Morocco

D
AWN WAS NO
less hectic than dusk had been as the party emerged from what the Pirate King had referred to as a ‘tavern.’ Giraldo was right. Eyja was not impressed, although she had been the model of decorum whilst they had stayed in the raucous lodgings that Mathias rather innocently noted aloud seemed to house mostly young women. His comrades’ laughter had embarrassed him straight to bed, where he had slept better than he had done in the weeks since leaving home. No dreams plagued him, and when he woke, he was refreshed and eager to make progress.

Of the Shapeshifter there was still no sign. It did not appear to bother either Eyja or Giraldo, although given the slightly self-satisfied expression on Giraldo’s face as he emerged from one of the larger chambers, it was possible that very little would bother him this day. Mathias caught the briefest glimpse of more than one soft body lounging on the bed behind the door as the Pirate King blew an extravagant kiss through it and closed it firmly. Tagan, it seemed, was enjoying the luxury of a proper bed and was still sleeping.

‘Would you want me to?’ He took up a piece of fruit and bit into the flesh hungrily. His expression was filled with a boyish charm that Mathias wished he could muster. He had never known anybody as flamboyant as Giraldo de Luna, and despite his initial distrust and even dislike of the man, he had grown fond of him over the weeks.

‘Warin hasn’t arrived,’ Mathias put in cautiously. ‘I’ve been looking out for him, but... nothing.’

‘Red will turn up when he wants. He doesn’t like crowded places.’ Giraldo dropped into a chair and put his booted feet up on the table. Eyja pushed them off again.

‘Show a
little
respect,’ she said and this time there was no amusement in her voice. Giraldo shrugged and sat properly. He drained all the juice from the orange and then ate the pulp. He licked his lips clean and hungrily ate a handful of dates. Mathias shifted uncomfortably.

‘Weren’t we... leaving at dawn?’

‘A man should not travel on an empty belly. The miserable old bastard won’t mind waiting a little longer.’ Eyja quirked a perfect eyebrow.

‘That is
certainly
not respectful,’ she scolded. ‘And you really believe he’s waiting?’

‘Of course he’s waiting. It’s what he does best these days. Besides. Isn’t he about ten thousand years old now?’

Mathias had no idea who they were talking about, but the last statement made his jaw drop. Eyja laughed lightly.

‘Oh, Giraldo. Look at poor Mathias’s face!’ She stood up, cupped Mathias’s chin in her hand, and kissed his cheek. ‘Don’t listen to his ridiculous lies. The old man can’t be more than five thousand years old.’

Somehow, that was not any better.

‘Who are we talking about?’ Mathias asked. He had naturally assumed that the Wanderer bore his title because he wandered.

‘Akhgar,’ Giraldo said. ‘I forget the rest of his name, but it has something to do with his ancestors. He is very old and very wise. It is said that he has taught magic to more people than any other mage in the world.’

‘Ibn Atash,’ said Eyja softly. ‘Akhgar ibn Atash. It translates, more or less, as “Sign of the fire, son of the flame.” I have not seen him for many years.’

‘Did he teach you magic?’ Mathias paused in his restless fidgeting. ‘Did he teach Warin?’

‘Yes,’ said Eyja. ‘At least in part. It was Havard who had the talent for teaching.’

‘Havard?’ Mathias did not recognise the name.

‘Yes,’ Eyja replied softly. ‘That was the name by which I called him. Warin knew him as Adelmo. Giraldo...’

‘Ramon. To me he was Ramon. And to you, Mathias, he was Wyn.’

‘Wyn taught all of you magic? I never believed the stories about his travels.’

Around them, the brothel was starting to come to life. The moody, hazy lighting of the previous night was replaced by bright sunlight as curtains were pushed aside and the morning sun of Anfa streamed in. Dust particles twirled and glistened in the light and a long silence settled over the breakfast table, broken only by the voices of the residents as they began their daily chores.

Finally, Mathias asked the question that had been plaguing him since he had stood in a stone circle in Wales.

‘Why me? Why
us
? Tagan and I, I mean.’

Eyja stroked Mathias’s hair back from his face. ‘He cared for you and he was running out of time,’ she said quietly. ‘So he saved you. And he saved Tagan because you care for her. Not all of us have been so fortunate.’

A shadow passed over her face and Mathias could not tell whether it was fear, pain or regret, but it did not feel right to pry. He shifted impatiently again. ‘So when are we going to leave to meet this Akhgar?’

‘Soon, dear one. Trust me.’

And he trusted her. There was no way he could not. By the time Tagan emerged from her room, looking more relaxed and happy than he had seen her in a long time, he had forgotten his worries and simply looked forward to the trip ahead.

A
NFA IN THE
early hours was every bit as lively and colourful as it had been the previous night, and the small party moved through the market place slowly, squeezing past the press of bodies. Giraldo bartered for several skins of clear, fresh water from the town’s well. They purchased food and heavy wraps that Eyja assured them would protect their noses and mouths from the desert sands.

Still there was no sign of the Shapeshifter. Even the ever-patient Eyja seemed to be growing concerned by his lingering absence. They arrived at the port in time to see
Hermione
’s sails unfurl as she put out to sea.

‘You don’t think he’s abandoned us, do you?’ The question came from Tagan, who was wearing the scarlet silk gift from yesterday around her head. The look was faintly exotic against her fair skin, and it became her.

‘No,’ said Eyja after a moment. ‘Warin is here in the city. He is just... sulking.’

‘Why is he sulking?’

‘Too long at sea and too many people,’ she replied, glancing briefly over at Giraldo, who shrugged. ‘Warin loves the wild and has little time for people and their cities. Once we get out into the desert, he will soon change.’

‘So will I,’ muttered Giraldo. He patted the waterskin. ‘Fortunately, I can conjure more as long as we have at least a little. So don’t drain these skins too quickly.’

Mathias reassured him that there would be no danger of that. He had already tried a sip of water from the skin and it tasted faintly of goat. ‘How are we going to cross this “desert”?’ He had asked what the unfamiliar term meant the previous evening; Giraldo had said that it was like an ocean of sand. Mathias had never imagined such a thing, but had seen so many extraordinary things over the course of his journey he was losing his ability to doubt.

‘Take a look over there.’ Giraldo nodded his head towards a small, dusty compound. Mathias saw horses there, beautiful horses with the most perfect lines he had ever seen. Heads held high and arrogantly, they looked at the world around them with a kind of sneering indifference. Mathias considered them with a practised eye. They pranced and shook their shining manes, and he could tell just from looking at them that riding the creatures would be a nightmare.

‘We aren’t taking those,’ he said, with such conviction that Giraldo grinned.

‘Damn right, we aren’t,’ he said. ‘We’re taking those.’

Mathias followed the line of Giraldo’s pointing finger and stared at a creature he had never seen before.

‘What are
those
?’

‘Camels,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘Come on, take a look.’

The Sahara Desert

Morocco

I
N A SWELTERING
tent at the edge of the desert, Akhgar ibn Atash looked up and smiled. They would be here soon. They would arrive and he could rest. He had wandered for so long, he fancied that he could not even remember what it was like to be still. To be at peace. Soon he would be free of the burden. He set down his pipe and tapped the ash from the bowl.

‘Send out some riders,’ he said to the young man who sat with him. ‘They will be here soon.’ To a man as long-lived as Akhgar ibn Akash,
soon
was a relative term.

T
HE CAMELS WERE
evil-looking creatures. The animal nearest Mathias lifted its head in a bored manner and chewed idly as it fixed him with a look of faint indifference. There were six of them, some sitting and some standing, but all with that same look of veiled malevolence directed towards the people standing nearby.

Mathias stared into its eyes. The smallest of smiles crossed his face as recognition dawned.

‘Warin?’

The camel let out a grunt and shook its shaggy head slightly.

Then, ever so slowly, it closed one long-lashed eye and winked at him. Mathias’s small smile broke out into a huge grin and he started to chuckle softly.

Eyja sighed and shook her head. ‘I can’t say that I’m surprised. Still, at least we have found him.’ The camel turned its head to Eyja and knelt on its front legs, a startlingly respectful gesture. She patted it on the nose with a wry smile.

‘These are strange animals,’ Mathias called over his shoulder to Tagan, who was standing back fearfully, ‘but they won’t hurt us. Come over here.’ He beckoned her closer and she came to stand beside him. She slid her hand into his and looked at the camel.

‘They call them the “ships of the desert,”’ said Giraldo as he also joined them. ‘Nothing near as wonderful as the
Hermione
, of course...’ He stared deep into the eyes of the camel that was Warin the Red and smirked. ‘But they’ll do. Not as comfortable as my lady either. Still... needs must.’ He turned to the trader, and a swift exchange took place in smooth, easy Spanish. The clink of coins sealed the deal, and within minutes, they were on their way.