01 Wing Warrior (9 page)

‘It’s true, the memories I possess are only half–formed, but I’m not wrong about this.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘Some things you just know are true, in your heart. Like you know you are a Wing Warrior.’

Nimbus let his head sink until it was almost touching his knees. He hated to admit it, but the dragon was right. He could deny being a Wing Warrior with every bit of his common sense and reason, but it wouldn’t make a single bit of difference. Eventually he would wear the armour.

‘But I’m not ready for all this.’

‘Whether you are ready or not, this thing is coming.’

Nimbus ran his hand over the surface of the Wing Warrior sword. The metal was cold and unforgiving, the edges sharp enough to cut through bone. It made him sick to think of using something so cruel against another living thing. ‘Do you think I can beat it?’ he asked, without looking up.

‘I think you can do more than you have ever realised.’

‘Do you think I can beat it?’ Nimbus repeated.

‘Yes.’

‘You really believe that?’

‘I’m a dragon. I have to believe in the unbelievable. And you have to believe it too. You have to be prepared when the time comes.’

‘How do you expect me to be prepared when I don’t know what it is I’m preparing for?’

Cumulo shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘I don’t have all the answers, Nim. Nobody does. We just have to do the best we can based on what we know.’

‘That’s my point, Cumulo. I don’t know anything. I’m just a stupid kid. Probably the most stupid kid in my village. My dad’s forgotten more than I’ve ever known.’

Cumulo was silent.

Nimbus picked at his fingernails nervously. Between his feet a small, black spider was spinning a web in the grass.

‘The sword is too heavy,’ he went on. ‘The armour is too big. I don’t know what to do. I can’t be what you want me to be.’

Cumulo suddenly glanced at the sky, his eyes narrowing with concentration. The sun was no longer visible behind the high banks of thickening cloud. ‘Wherever you are taking me, I think you should take me there soon,’ he growled.

‘What is it? Can you hear something?’

‘No. I can sense something. It’s in the air, but I don’t know where. It’s looking for you.’

‘An enemy?’

‘I’m not sure, but I think it would be a good idea to take cover quickly. We aren’t ready for a fight.’

Nimbus stood, his pulse quickening. ‘I want to go home,’ he said.

‘You’re supposed to be taking me to a new hiding place. You can’t go home.’

‘I need to see my mum. I want to make sure she’s okay.’

‘But, Nim...’

‘Just through these trees there is a ruined castle. That’s where I was taking you. It used to be a guard post, a watchtower protecting the eastern paths through the Grey Mountains. It’s been empty for years now. Nobody ever goes there, they think it’s haunted by evil spirits.’

‘Is it?’

‘Up until today, I would have said no. But you’ll be safe there. Trust me. Just head through these trees and get inside the ruins. Stay hidden and I’ll come back tomorrow, just as soon as I’ve made sure my family are okay.’ He stuffed the sword into the sack with the armour. ‘Hide this for me.’

Cumulo stretched out his wings as far as they would go. ‘Be careful,’ he warned, and then with one gigantic flap that blasted Nimbus off his feet he shot into the sky, punching a dragon–sized hole through the overhanging leaves.

‘No,’ Nimbus shouted, as branches and bits of wood rained down on him. ‘No flying. You’ll be seen.’

It was too late though. Cumulo was already nothing more than a tiny speck in the distance.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hawk was a soldier at Flint Lock Fort. Being a soldier was an incredibly important job, and involved doing lots of incredibly important things like polishing suits of armour, sharpening spears, and marching in the courtyard. Why these things were so incredibly important, Hawk wasn’t sure; but they definitely were, otherwise why else would he have to do them?

Hawk was seventeen years old and had officially been a soldier for just over a month, having only recently finished his tuition at the Crystal Shine Academy of Archery and Swordplay. He had never really taken to sword fighting, it was tiring and very hard work; but archery was something he had really enjoyed, and he had graduated from the school with honours.

His skill with a bow was such that he was selected to perform a demonstration at the palace before Lord and Lady Citrine, the rulers of Crystal Shine and all the adjoining lands. The demonstration was received so well he was immediately appointed a position under the command of Captain Shard, whose responsibility it was to protect the Western Borders from invasion.

‘This is a very important position,’ Captain Shard had once said.

‘Yes, Captain,’ Hawk had said.

‘If we are ever invaded, those of us here at the fort will be the first line of defence,’ the captain went on. ‘That means we are entirely responsible for looking after all of our people. You must remember that at all times.’

The Western Borders had never been invaded, as far as Hawk knew, but he was sure that didn’t make his job any less important; and he had no reason to doubt that what the captain said was absolutely true. Thinking it through logically, the fact the Western Borders had never been invaded spoke volumes about what a good job the soldiers of Flint Lock did.

‘But really, think about it. Who’s going to invade us?’ Clay, one of the other soldiers, had said.

‘I don’t know,’ Hawk replied. ‘But there must be someone, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.’

And that, pretty much, summed Hawk up. He was a simple boy with a simple mind, and he tried his best not to concern himself with business he shouldn’t be concerned with. He didn’t know why he was positioned at the fort, and he didn’t need to. He had been told being there was important, and that was good enough for him.

‘Don’t you ever feel like you’re wasting your time here?’ Clay had asked.

‘Why should I?’ Hawk said. ‘How can you ever be wasting your time when you’re doing something you love?’

And indeed, Hawk loved being a soldier.

He had started loving being a soldier the first day he had put on his suit of shiny new armour, and he had thought nothing in the world would ever make him stop loving it.

But on the day the Forbidden River rose up, and goblins returned to the realms of men, Hawk made an important discovery.

He discovered he was completely wrong.

***

It was late afternoon, and the shadows were lengthening as the tired sun dipped below the horizon, turning the sky a fiery orange. There were no birds, and the land as far as the eye could see was silent and sleepy.

Hawk was standing watch on the north turret of Flint Lock, which was the tallest and therefore most important turret. He was dressed in the armour of a Flint Lock guard, with a silver breastplate and a red–crested helmet. He was armed with his ceremonial spear, as was traditional for all guards at the fort, but he also had with him his bow and a full quiver of new arrows.

He had been on watch for almost six hours, and was beginning to get tired. Staring at an empty landscape where nothing ever moves can have that affect on a person. His mind, despite his best efforts not to let it, was beginning to wander; and the prospect of a hot supper was getting more and more appealing.

White flakes of cloud tangled around the distant tops of the Sanguine Mountains, rising like steam from the humped back of a monster. He watched, drumming his fingers on the wall of the turret, as the clouds peeled away and broke on invisible air currents.

There were rumours the mountains that loomed menacingly on the north–western edge of the borderlands were home to foul and evil creatures. Most people didn’t believe such rumours, but Hawk did, and that was why he always watched the mountains so closely, especially when night was beginning to fall.

He yawned and let his gaze travel south to the calm, massive expanse of the Everlasting Ocean. There were no travellers on the main road linking Crystal Shine with the port city of High Tide. There were no boats out on the ocean. The world was as still and quiet as an undiscovered tomb.

Hawk’s stomach was not so quiet. It was grumbling and complaining, and he was all too aware how long it had been since he last ate.

He turned his attention back to the empty borderlands. The last fingers of sunlight had turned everything a deep red. It was as though the ground itself had been caught on fire.

Spoon and Carp, the two chefs, would be in the kitchen right now. They would be boiling potatoes and carrots, and roasting chickens. They would be cooking parsnips and making huge vats of gravy, nice and thick the way Hawk liked it.

There would be fresh bread baking in the oven, filling the whole fort with a delicious smell; there would be churned butter on the table; there would be hot tea boiling on the stove.

He licked his lips and his eyelids drooped sleepily.

Suddenly a terrifying screech echoed across the landscape, and a black shape ripped through the clouds above the mountaintops. So deafening was the sound, Hawk lost his balance and fell flat on his back. By the time he was on his feet again the shape, whatever it might have been, was no longer in sight.

He leaned his spear against the turret and tied his quiver of arrows around his waist. He was no longer thinking about food.

Moments later the tower trapdoor opened and Clay climbed out. Clay was a huge man, and getting through the trapdoor took him a lot more scrabbling and squeezing, puffing and panting, then it did for other people.

‘Did you hear that?’ he asked.

‘Hear it? I saw it,’ Hawk said.

‘What was it?’

Before Hawk could answer, the shape reappeared on the horizon, looping and weaving above the clouds before heading directly for the fort.

Startled shouts were already rising from other turrets, and an alarm bell started ringing in the courtyard. Soldiers were running backwards and forwards, putting on helmets and strapping on swords. From Hawk’s viewpoint they looked like scurrying silver ants swarming over a termite hill.

Although Hawk had never seen a dragon before, he knew that was exactly what the thing swooping down over the jagged peaks of the Sanguine Mountains was. There really weren’t that many things a huge flying lizard could be mistaken for.

The dragon’s wings made a flat, slapping sound, and as it raced above the open wilderness any living thing its shadow touched, every blade of grass, withered and died.

Hawk watched, almost hypnotised, as the sunlight flickered on the dragon’s sleek, black scales.

‘Hawk,’ Clay said, drawing his sword. ‘Hawk, shoot it.’

Hawk continued to stare, mouth open.

The dragon bellowed furiously and soared above them, hanging momentarily like an ugly stain on the red sky.

‘Hawk,’ Clay repeated.

‘What?’

‘Shoot it. Use your bow.’

‘Right.’

Hawk picked up his bow with shaking hands. The dragon came plummeting down from the sky, as fast as a shooting star, into a hail of arrows fired from soldiers all around the fort. Each arrow pinged and snapped uselessly on the dragon’s armoured skin.

Hawk fired an arrow of his own, aiming for one of the dragon’s wings, but at the last moment the dragon banked away and the arrow twanged on its scaly back instead.

‘Try again,’ Clay said.

The dragon roared over the fort. Soldiers ducked or ran screaming for cover. A black vapour was coming out of the dragon’s mouth and nose: an acrid, thick smoke that billowed around the dragon protectively.

Hawk fired another arrow, watching in dismay as it bounced off.

‘It’s no use,’ he said. ‘Its armour is too strong.’

‘We must be able to hurt it,’ Clay said.

‘We can’t.’

The dragon wheeled and came back, trailing a black cloud behind it. This time it came lower, pulling up at the last minute to perch on the fort wall. Its claws clamped down and great chunks of stone broke away, crashing into the courtyard below.

‘Shoot it now,’ Clay shouted.

The dragon spread its leathery wings and the whole fort was cast in its terrifying shadow. The hounds in the kennels began to wail pitifully, and men dropped to their knees, coughing and choking. Preserved meat in the kitchen immediately turned black and rotten, newly baked bread crumbled to dust, and freshly laid eggs cracked and oozed green puss.

‘The beast is diseased,’ the soldiers screamed. ‘It brings death. We must escape.’

Another flurry of arrows filled the sky, before clattering harmlessly on the dragon’s broad chest and shoulders. Soldiers threw spears that splintered into pieces.

Captain Shard emerged from his chamber with a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. He was bemused at first as to what could have thrown his well–managed fort into such chaos, but then he saw the towering horror of the dragon.

‘What are you?’ he gasped.

The dragon reared up, glaring at Shard with eyes that had seen years of misery and had enjoyed them all. ‘I am Sorrow,’ it hissed. ‘I am the end of the world.’

Defiantly, Shard stood for a heartbeat longer; then he threw down his weapons and ran.

Up on the turret, Hawk drew aim, trying to stop his arm from shaking. The dragon swung its large head around to look directly at him, and he cried out, letting the bow slip from his grasp.

Soldiers in the courtyard were running to find somewhere to hide, tripping over each other in an attempt to escape. Nobody was fighting any more.

‘We have to get out of here,’ Hawk said.

‘Right,’ Clay said.

They ran to the trapdoor and Clay squeezed through. Hawk was about to follow, but risked looking back one last time at the terrible monster that had so quickly broken the defences of the fort.

The dragon narrowed its eyes to tiny slits, and then opened its mouth in a terrible scream. Jets of black fog poured out of its throat, spewing into the courtyard. The air filled with the rotten, earthy stench of a slow and lingering death.