The Written (49 page)

‘What is it?’ asked Eyrum with
barely a whisper. The torches threw strange shadows across his
face.

Farden shook his head. He ran
his fingertips across the old walls. ‘Something is here,’ he
murmured.

‘We know that already.’

‘No, something else...
something with magick like... I don’t know,’ the mage looked
confused. ‘Let’s just keep going.’

‘Mage!’ Someone hissed at them,
and they looked up. A Siren with orange scales toting a huge
broadsword pointed with his thumb. ‘There’s a door here,’ he said.
There was a wide door set deep in the stone, with huge hinges
either side of it.

‘That’s the one,’ Farden
nodded, and they all spread out and readied their weapons. The mage
stood in front of the door and let his hand explore the wood. The
massive bolt he had encountered before had been broken open. It was
nowhere to be seen. ‘It’s not locked,’ he said, and Eyrum raised
his eyebrow again with a questioning look. ‘Should it be?’

Farden didn’t answer. Instead
he stood back and held his sword in one hand, and let a blue spark
dance on his other. ‘Open it,’ he said. The Sirens and Eyrum moved
towards the door and seized the thick iron handles that had
half-rusted away from age. Farden let his breath slow, felt his
heart stop its incessant nervous drumming and start to steady and
focus itself. His grey-green eyes closed slowly as the magick
pulsed along his shoulders. The spark in his palm fizzed and
started to grow. They watched him, waiting for his word.

All it took was a single
nod.

There was a squeal of hinges
and ancient oak and then the door swung open with a burst of steam
and a blinding flash of bright snowy daylight. The sulphurous
stench quickly became unbearable. Without even waiting for the
others Farden charged inwards. All he wanted was Vice.

But there was no sign of him.
Nor anyone for that matter. Nobody alive at least. Farden held his
sword high and ready and looked around. Thick mouldy pillars held
up a roof that was now split in two and crumbling with snow and
dust. Light poured down on a huge pit in the centre of the room
that smoked and boiled like a volcano. Dead men littered the floor
around him. Some were twisted in grotesque shapes with their eyes
staring blankly into the shadows and frozen with their last
terrified moments, while others lay smashed and broken under
rubble, lying in pools of blood with their limbs crushed,
unrecognisable. Crimson smears painted the flagstones. The room
shook and vibrated with the fighting above. Farden looked around.
Trying to ignore the horrible shapes covering the floor he kept
watching the shadows. Nothing. He clenched his fist and the spell
extinguished itself. Farden prayed Vice hadn’t left.

Behind him the Sirens
cautiously spread out and waited. Eyrum leaned close to Farden to
whisper. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.

As soon as the words escaped
his lips twenty soldiers in fire-blackened armour sprang from their
hiding places in the shadows. With shouts and yells they rushed at
the little group with their feet stomping through the carnage left
by the hydra. For a moment it looked like the odds were stacked
high against them, but the attackers hadn’t banked on Eyrum being
there.

Without a single word or cry
the giant Siren calmly stepped forward and twirled his axe in a
huge figure-of-eight, cleaving the first man in half without even
breaking momentum. The next received a blow to the head and tumbled
backwards into his comrades, flailing his arms and screaming
through what was left of his face. Blood filled the air. Farden was
by his side, trying to stay clear of the windmilling axe and
slashing at anything that got in his way. He grabbed one man by the
throat and threw him to the floor, digging his sword deep into the
soft place beneath his chin. The was a metallic scrape as the blade
hit bone. Lightning flickered in his hand and another soldier flew
backwards in a flash of blue and white. The other Sirens stabbed
and hacked furiously, trying to even the numbers before it was too
late.

But the soldiers kept coming,
pouring out of hidden doors and shadows like rodents on a sinking
ship. Two of the Sirens were already gone, trampled somewhere
underneath the chaos. Farden slipped on something wet underneath
him. Something whispered to him inside his head.

We’re running out of time.

The mage knocked his vambraces
together and the ground shook and rippled like a shockwave, pushing
everyone nearby to the floor. Farden jumped forwards and swung his
longsword in wild arcs to try and clear a path. Then, out of the
corner of his eye, he spied a tall figure standing back from the
fighting, arms crossed and defiant, a smirk plastered on his smug
face, hazel eyes staring implacably at the carnage. Farden snarled,
and that all so familiar rage started to burn in his chest once
again.

High above the ruins of Carn
Breagh Farfallen was watching his dragons fall left and right and
by the dozen. The snow was an ugly mess of multicoloured blood,
trampled and muddy under the clawing feet of the hydra. Bodies
covered the ruins, both dragons and riders, crushed and torn and
barely identifiable. Some of the riders still moved, desperately
hauling themselves through the rock and snow to get away from the
monstrous thing.

As he watched another dragon
swooped down and rained bright orange fire on the hydra. The fire
engulfed one of the heads and it wailed a cry of pain but another
snatched the dragon from the air like a striking cobra and sliced
the poor beast in two. The remaining dragons, no more than half
their original number, retreated momentarily and hovered around the
Old Dragon.

‘We can’t go on like this
Farfallen!’ shouted Svarta. ‘We aren’t even hurting it!’

His tawny eyes narrowed. She
was right: most of the heads had been scorched or wounded but they
hadn’t even slowed it down. The red glowing eyes still watched its
attackers with a cold impassive gaze. Its massive claws scratched
at the rubble. It hydra whined and swayed in a hypnotising way.

Farfallen knew that Farden was
close, he could feel it, they just had to give him some more time.
He turned to face his dragons. Every one of them looked exhausted,
beaten, and scared. Half of them were wounded, and the other half
were covered in grey-blue blood and gasping in the thin air. They
all had a certain look in their eyes, of fear and terror, and
Farfallen was sure he was no different. The Old Dragon sighed.
There was no other choice. ‘Everyone will attack one head at a
time! We will not rest until they all lie smoking in the ruins, now
follow me!’ And without another word he dipped a wing and rolled
downwards in a sickening spiral.

Farfallen took a deep breath as
the air rushed past him. He chose his prey. Jaws snapped at him but
he was too fast, ducking between the necks with a speed and grace
that belied his size and age. Flame erupted from his jaws,
white-hot and searing, and blasted one of the larger heads in a
huge stream of fire. Farfallen quickly flapped with all his
strength and with two huge wingstrokes he was clear of the monster.
The dragons behind him roared together as they followed their
leader in a line. Their mouths were full of scorching flame and
they enveloped the head in an orange fire storm that made the air
crackle and shiver with heat. A few more of them tore at the neck
with their teeth and claws and barbed tails. One by one they hacked
chunks from the pale skin with swooping attacks, dodging the other
snapping jaws by inches. Arrows covered its neck like needles on a
porcupine. Fire licked at its glistening skin.

With a bubbling wail the head
buckled and started to collapse. The eyes blinked frantically,
bluish blood poured from between its fangs. Like a falling tree the
thing swayed and then finally toppled with agonising slowness and
one last bubbling wail. Skin ripped and tore with a splash of
bluish blood, and the head hung at a strange angle, dangling
grossly against the hydra’s spiny shoulders.

Farfallen grinned victoriously,
and joined the others in loud roar. He let the air buoy him up as
he circled his dragons. Towerdawn joined him. His rider jabbed the
air with a big sword and laughed. ‘It worked!’ he shouted. The Old
Dragon nodded and shook his horns. He smiled a smile of grim
satisfaction. Only eighteen more to go, he thought. But the smile
died all too quickly, as something was happening below them.

The dangling head shook and
quivered and twitched violently. Something moved beneath the skin.
The dead eyes began to glow, slowly at first, but then more. They
pulsated with a dim red glow as they began to come alive again. The
jaws moved slightly. There was a weird crunching sound and then
spines started to appear at the base of the broken neck as another
head started to peel from the skin and grow upwards. As the wounded
head began to heal and stitch itself back together more eyes
emerged and blinked, popping up between thick wet spines. Dark
liquid dripped from grinning jaws and and teeth began to push up
through black gums.

The smile faded from
Farfallen’s golden face and was replaced by a bleak expression of
anxiety. The two heads rose up until they stood as tall as the
others, good as new and just as dangerous. The hydra whined
mockingly.

This is
madness
. Svarta spoke in his head. The Old Dragon scanned
the horizon for any sign of reinforcements. ‘I know,’ he simply
said, thinking of Farden.
We’re running out of
time.

Vice smiled contemptuously.
Farden took another step forward and emerged into the shaft of
sunlight that poured down from above. If he had taken his eyes off
the Undermage he would have seen the hydra towering above them, but
he kept his glowering eyes fixed on Vice’s, trying to burn a hole
in his forehead. The mage held his dirty blade out in front of
him.

‘You never learn do you Farden?
You never stop to think,’ said Vice. His tone was almost cordial.
Farden scowled even more.

‘I don’t need to think about
killing you, it’s the obvious choice,’ replied the mage.

He laughed. ‘Hah! As if you’ve
ever had a choice. You’ve been wonderfully blind to everything
since the start of this, why else do you think I’ve come so far and
achieved so much?’ Vice unfolded his arms and began to move
sideways, away from the well. Farden moved only his sword, keeping
it arms length and aimed at his opponent’s neck. The fighting still
raged behind them.

‘It all ends with you, Vice,’
said Farden.

‘Does it?’ His eyes flashed,
and the castle shook as the hydra moved.

Something dark suddenly stirred
in Farden’s mind, something he had not even dared to conceive up
until now. Dread loomed from the shadows.

‘We’re not about to stop
now...’ Vice’s lip curled with scorn.

‘Enough talk!’ Farden leapt
forward and stabbed at him. But the Undermage was fast. A flash of
light from his hand hit the sword and the blade bounced off with a
loud ping. Farden slashed again, downwards, and again Vice parried
the blow with his spell. The mage kept at it, constantly swinging
his blade in all directions like a steel blur. He lunged forward
and caught the sleeve of Vice’s robe. The swordtip snagged the
cloth, and the Undermage seized his chance. He slammed a fist
against Farden’s wrist and the sword spun out of his grasp,
clattering on the stones. He pressed a hand against the mage’s
forearm and a flash of green light punched the air. Farden flew
sideways as if he had been hit by a hammer and he fell against the
wall that guarded the edge of the dark well.

‘Who are you Farden?’ Vice
laughed, with a harsh cackle. The mage breathed hard. The sword was
no more than an arms length away but as he went to move Vice
shocked him with a swift bolt of lightning and Farden curled up
into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut. Ribbons of blue light danced
all over his body and shook him with their thunder. He felt like
his insides were burning, like his bones were about to snap under
the pressure of the spell. He could smell his skin cooking.

‘I asked you who you were
mage
. We always thought you would end up
like your uncle and run naked through the city gates, but I doubt
if we’ll ever find out. It seems, Farden, that you’ve come to the
end of your usefulness. And now it’s up to me to finish the job the
others couldn’t.’

Vice’s words were a low rumble
amidst the noisy hiss that blocked Farden’s ears, but he still
heard every one of them. The blood thudded noisily and with hasty
repetition against the inside of his skull.

‘Are you listening to me?’ More
sparks fluttered around the Undermage’s fingers. He reached for the
mage and hauled him roughly upright and pressed him against the
stone. His eyes burned with savage anger. ‘Who do you think you
are, to stand in my way?’

Farden tried to lift a hand to
feebly push him away, but his skin felt like it was being stabbed
with pins.

Go.

Vice cocked his head to one
side, like a vulture, and shook the mage. He brought his mocking
face close and shouted. Spit flew from his lips. ‘Hmm? Answer
me!’

‘I... ’ Farden began, and then
took a deep breath, but he didn’t finish his sentence. With all the
speed and strength he could muster he rammed his forehead into the
bridge of the Undermage’s nose with a loud grunt. At the same time
his fingers curled into a fist and he brought it up under his chin.
With a pained grimace Vice stumbled backwards and threw a hand out
to steady himself. Farden kicked out hard and caught him in the
chest. The Undermage sprawled on the flagstones and spat a drop of
blood in the dust with a murderous glare.

‘Farden the hydra!’ a shout
rang out from behind them and Farden spun around to see Eyrum
surrounded, with only one Siren still standing by his side,
swinging his blood-soaked axe at anything that came within reach.
Soldiers hemmed them in on all sides, circling cautiously. At least
a dozen of their dead friends lay strewn on the floor, and many of
them were missing several large portions of their bodies. The
others were not so keen to get in the way of the big Siren’s
axe.