01 Wing Warrior (12 page)

‘No, but the mayor does.’ His mischievous grin flashed momentarily.

‘We can’t take the mayor’s horse.’

‘We’re not taking it, we’re borrowing it. We’ll bring it back.’

‘But...’

‘He won’t miss it for one night.’

‘It’s wrong to take other people’s things.’

‘I know, but this is a special situation.’

‘You’ll be in trouble.’

‘And you’ll be sent back home if you aren’t quiet.’

Glass bit her tongue. Her brother had used his stern voice, and that usually meant it was best to shut up and try not to get noticed.

An owl shrieked, and its cry seemed haunting and bleak in this colourless night–time world. The windows of several houses glowed with candlelight. They looked warm and inviting, and Nimbus was filled with the desire to go back to bed and pull the blankets up over his head until this was all over. It would be so easy to run, to hide away and pretend that everything was still okay; but he knew he couldn’t. No matter how he felt, he had to be brave.

He took Glass’s hand and darted down a street at the side of the mayor’s house. Keeping to the shadows, they slipped over the back wall and then cautiously made their way towards the stable where the mayor housed his black stallion, Onyx.

Onyx was a huge animal with powerfully muscular shoulders and a look in his eye that suggested he knew a lot more than he was letting on. He was fast too. He had won the Landmark derby three years running, and was rumoured to rival Lord Citrine’s finest stock for speed and stamina.

He was also a good–natured creature, and often allowed the children of the village to ride him under the mayor’s supervision. As such, he knew Nimbus and Glass, and wasn’t particularly surprised when they opened his stable door. As the children saddled him up, he did wonder why the mayor wasn’t around; but he certainly had no intentions of saying no to the opportunity of having a bit of a night–time canter.

‘This doesn’t seem right,’ Glass said, as Nimbus lifted her onto Onyx’s back.

‘It’s fine,’ Nimbus replied, hopping up behind her. ‘I’ve watched them saddle this horse hundreds of times, and I’ve ridden her a bit.’

Onyx snorted disapprovingly.

‘I think it’s a him,’ Glass said.

Onyx nodded and pawed the soft ground with one foot.

‘Whatever. You worry too much.’

‘I’m not worried about your riding. I’m worried about you getting arrested for stealing a horse.’

‘I told you already. We’re not stealing it.’

‘And will you be given the chance to explain that if the soldiers catch you, or will they just shoot you right out of the saddle?’

Nimbus thought about it. She was probably right. He had broken into the stable in the middle of the night. Who would believe he wasn’t intending to keep the horse?

He glanced at the mayor’s bedroom window. There were no lights. What if the mayor was watching him? What if there were soldiers already waiting for him out in the lane, ready for an ambush? He would be arrested. Cumulo would be alone.

‘I have to do this,’ he said, as much to himself as to Glass.

‘I know,’ Glass said. ‘But can you do it fast, please? Before anybody finds out what we’ve done.’

He wrapped his arms around her, then pressed his heels into Onyx’s flanks. Onyx set off at a gentle trot, heading out of the gate and down the lane.

Nimbus held his breath and tried to stop his hands from shaking.

No guards ambushed them.

As they left the village, being as quiet as possible, the moon appeared from behind a bank of brooding clouds to light their road west. Night creatures snuffled in the undergrowth, snorting and growling and generally sounding unfriendly. Nimbus tried not to think about goblins.

‘What’s going on, Nim?’ Glass asked.

‘I’m not sure. Something happened out at the fort. I don’t know what it was, but I think Dad’s involved in some way.’

‘Is Daddy at the fort?’

‘Not yet. I wanted to go to take a look before he got there.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know really. Just to see, I guess.’

‘Is Daddy in trouble?’

Nimbus tightened his grip on the reins. He didn’t answer.

‘Nim?’

‘Did you know Dad has a sword?’

Glass giggled. ‘Daddy works at the mill. He doesn’t have a sword.’

‘That’s what I always thought.’

He urged Onyx to trot a little faster. He didn’t really want to reach the fort in any great hurry, but he didn’t want the mayor to find out his horse was gone either.

After a little while Glass began to nod. Eventually she fell asleep against his arm.

The only sound was Onyx’s hooves crunching on rocks as he weaved between hedges and trees.

Clouds continued to roll across the purple sky, occasionally obscuring the stars and making it look like they were blinking on and off like tired eyes.

Nimbus’s own eyes started to feel very heavy. His head sagged onto his chest.

The clip–clop clip–clop of Onyx’s hooves was almost hypnotic.

He closed his eyes.

It wouldn’t hurt if he fell asleep.

‘Wonder how far it is now?’ he muttered, to nobody in particular.

As if in answer, Onyx suddenly stopped. Nimbus jerked fully awake in the saddle.

A peculiarly angled shape – the silhouette of a demon – was looming on the horizon. He blinked, rubbed his eyes. It was no demon; it was just a mess of broken towers and shattered walls, crumbling rubble and blocks of collapsed stone.

‘Flint Lock,’ he said.

The gates of the fortress, which had long been thought of as indestructible, were hanging on their hinges like splintered teeth. Black smoke drifted around the ruins.

A single flag whipped and snapped on the remnants of the only turret that had survived the destruction. It was a lonely symbol of a place that no longer existed.

‘What happened here?’ he whispered.

Onyx shook his head. He didn’t have any answers, he was just a horse.

A wolf howled.

Glass stirred in Nimbus’s arms. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked.

‘I guess so,’ Nimbus said. ‘I’m going to take a closer look.’ He paused uncertainly. ‘Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do. That’s what Dad would do. I’ll take a closer look.’

He climbed down from the saddle, then lifted Glass down to walk with him. Onyx followed without being led. He may only have been a horse, but he wasn’t stupid and he certainly wasn’t going to stay on his own. This place gave him the creeps.

As they approached the sorry remains of the fort, they could see people in the murky darkness. Some were slumped against stones and cracked pillars, others were on their hands and knees, coughing and choking and struggling to breathe.

‘Who are they?’ Glass asked.

‘I think they’re the guards who were posted here,’ Nimbus said.

‘Are they all sick?’

‘It looks like it.’

‘I don’t understand. What could have destroyed the buildings and made everyone ill at the same time?’

‘I don’t know. And I have a feeling we don’t want to know.’

Onyx nodded in agreement. He had seen more than enough to know he’d rather have stayed back at the stable.

‘I’m afraid,’ Glass said.

Soldiers were staggering around among the chunks of broken fortifications, heroically calling out names in an effort to list the wounded despite being obviously sick themselves.

Grasping fingers of black smoke were settling over the fort, as if they were desperate to choke the life out of everything inside.

‘Could we get sick too?’ Glass asked.

‘I don’t really want to stay here to find out,’ Nimbus said. ‘We should leave.’

‘Yes, please.’

Suddenly there was an ear–piercing scream – the scream of a thousand wounded men – and something gigantic flew across the face of the moon.

Nimbus’s breath caught in his throat. The soldiers of Flint Lock cowered, burying their faces under their hands and weeping as the thing passed overhead.

‘Cumulo?’ Nimbus whispered.

But this wasn’t Cumulo.

‘What is that?’ Glass asked.

Nimbus’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out. He should have brought the Wing Warrior sword with him. He was totally defenceless. If there was a fight, he couldn’t hope to win.

‘Nim?’ Glass said.

He swallowed. His mouth was too dry to speak. He needed to be brave, to take control. Glass was in danger, and it was his fault. If something happened to her, how could he ever live with himself? He had to get her to safety.

‘Nim?’

The thing in the sky threw its head back and roared, then tore off into the West.

For a while Nimbus couldn’t move, he could only stare at the patch of sky where the thing had been. Glass tugged at his sleeve. ‘Nim?’ she said. ‘Nim? What was that?’

‘We have to go,’ he said.

‘Was it a dragon?’

‘We really have to go. We have to find Cumulo.’

‘Who’s Cumulo?’

Nimbus chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully as he looked out at the broken ruin of Flint Lock and its equally broken soldiers. ‘He’s the only one who can help me now,’ he said.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The mayor of Landmark had a set routine he followed most mornings. Generally he would wake up at six o’clock, get dressed, and have breakfast in his kitchen. Breakfast was usually something warm in the winter, like eggs and bacon, but when the weather was better he tended to have milk and some toast.

After breakfast he would put on his top coat, kiss his wife on the cheek, and then go out to the stable to feed Onyx. After that he would head out for a busy day of being the mayor.

Being the mayor meant he had to deal with all manner of problems: Land disputes between neighbours, complaints about the state of the village square, gathering taxes, and just recently, organising search parties for missing people. But on the day Onyx went missing, such problems became secondary.

The morning routine had gone entirely to plan. He had woken before first light, dressed, and enjoyed a good breakfast of scrambled eggs. He had put on his top coat, kissed his wife on the cheek, and then he had gone out to the stable.

The stable was empty.

The mayor stood in the open doorway and scratched his head. There were hoof prints in the soft mud leading from the stable down to the gate, and two sets of human footprints. One of his best saddles was missing.

‘Stolen,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Someone has stolen my horse.’

And that was the exact moment Nimbus became a wanted criminal.

***

Cumulo woke with the sun streaming down on him through a large hole in the roof. This was an entirely new experience for him, as before that day he had only ever woken in a deep, dark cave.

It took him several minutes to gather his thoughts and realise where he was. This was the ruined castle Nimbus had spoken of: the shattered remnants of a once mighty stronghold that had long ago fallen into disrepair.

He rose, stretched each of his four limbs in turn, and then gave his wings a good flap.

After he had left Nimbus in the woods the previous day, he had taken the opportunity to give his wings a proper workout. He had been a little concerned he wouldn’t know how to use them, as he had never been out of the cave before; but as soon as he was up in the sky it was if he had been flying his whole life, and any fears he may have had about crashing into the side of a mountain were quickly forgotten.

Soaring above the clouds was a real thrill. He had been able to see the surrounding land for miles, from the toothy outline of the Grey Mountains in the East, off to the vast oceans in the South, and the desolate plains in the West. To the North he could see a huge, sprawling city with tall, white towers, and beyond that, barren and inhospitable lands that seemed empty of human life entirely.

The sky was never–ending, filled with clouds and startled–looking birds that circled around him, tweeting and chirruping excitedly.

When his wings began to get tired, he landed on the beach where he let the lapping waves of the Everlasting Ocean bubble up over his claws. He watched seagulls as they dipped in and out of the water, and he even tried to talk to a crab that was scuttling over some nearby rocks, but it ran away.

If he could have, Cumulo would have stayed on the beach for the rest of the day, but he knew he had to get into hiding soon. Being spotted would just cause problems, and he didn’t really fancy the idea of being chased with pitchforks, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what pitchforks were.

The ruined castle was situated east of the Forbidden Woods, on an abandoned and overgrown track that disappeared into the darkest and most foreboding shadows of the Grey Mountains.

This place had once been an outpost for defending against intruders from beyond the mountains, but it had stopped being used many years ago. Now, only part of the watchtower and a storehouse with part of the roof missing remained standing among huge piles of cracked and sun–scorched rubble.

Cumulo had stashed the armour of the Wing Warrior in the back of the storehouse, and then curled up in the doorway to get some sleep. He had drifted into dream watching the tiny pinpoints of starlight twinkling in the darkening heavens.

He quite often had dreams he didn’t really understand, and he was quite certain they usually weren’t dreams at all but actually memories. That night, sleeping in the grim remains of a dead fortress, he dreamed of desperate battles fought between men and beasts; knights fleeing in terror before the onslaught of a giant, winged monster.

He woke feeling as though he had borne witness to the sorrow of an entire nation, and in his heart it felt as though he had lost something he never realised he had before.

Once he had wriggled out of the storehouse and stretched every part of his body, he sprawled out on a grassy hillock and enjoyed the feeling of the sun beating down on him. He wondered when Nimbus would come back.

The day wore on slowly, and the sun got higher. Birds fluttered down to perch on nearby stones and rocks. Cumulo drifted in and out of sleep.

He was actually just dozing off when he heard a voice call out. At first he thought he must have imagined it, but when he lifted his head to look around he clearly heard the voice again.