03 Sky Knight (25 page)

‘So where do we go?’ Salamander asked, leading the horse by its bridle.

‘I don’t know,’ Meadow said. ‘Maybe we could...’ He let his sentence trail off, turning his head slightly to one side as if he was listening for something.

‘What’s wrong?’ Salamander said.

‘I thought I heard something.’

For a moment everything was unearthly quiet, and then there was a rustling in the bushes.

Meadow pressed one finger to his lips to indicate Sky’s father should remain quiet. The horse returned to its preoccupation of munching on the grass by the side of the trail.

There it was again: something among the leaves.

The bushes parted, and a huge stag emerged. It was a majestic creature, with huge antlers and a fierce look about it; and when it turned its gaze upon Salamander, he felt as if he was being judged for every wrong thing that humankind had ever done.

‘It’s the stag,’ Meadow muttered. ‘The one that the old hunters say will kill a man who strays too far into the woods.’

The stag snorted, and pawed at the ground with one hoof. As if in response, there was a growl in the undergrowth, and several large wolves came into the open. Meadow reached for his sword, but hesitated when the hedges rustled again, disgorging another wolf, and then another, and then a really annoyed–looking badger being ridden by a mouse. There was chittering and chirping in the treetops, and the branches were suddenly teeming with squirrels and multicoloured birds.

Salamander and Meadow edged closer together, standing back to back as more and more animals appeared. There were at least a dozen wolves now, along with wild pigs, dogs, hedgehogs, otters, and an assortment of other woodland creatures.

‘What’s going on here?’ Salamander said. ‘Animals don’t band together like this.’

‘I guess they do now,’ Meadow said.

The stag took a step forward, holding its head high. It seemed to study the two men for a moment, as if determining if they were enemies; and then it flicked its head, gesturing towards the path with its antlers.

‘What does it want?’ Salamander asked.

‘I think it wants us to go with it,’ Meadow said, eyeing up the wolf pack cautiously. ‘And I’m not sure we get much say in the matter.’

***

The hydra only stopped its advance when it was close enough for Obsidian to smell its putrid breath, and see the sheen of venom glistening on its many hundreds of teeth. Crow approached through the spikes of the perimeter with his hands held high to show he was unarmed. It was a gesture that did little to make Obsidian feel better. He was well aware the magical energy those hands could wield was far more powerful than any man–made weapon.

‘I think that’s far enough, Lord Crow,’ he shouted, trying not to let any fear creep into his voice.

Crow stopped at once, and lowered his hands. ‘As you wish,’ he said, his voice carrying across the space between them even though he spoke barely louder than a whisper.

‘Why are you here?’ Obsidian asked.

‘I am looking for someone,’ the necromancer said. ‘I believe he is here, under your protection.’

‘Who?’

‘The man you know as Lord Citrine.’

Obsidian paused, composing his thoughts carefully before going on. ‘He isn’t here.’

Crow laughed softly, and specks of rain began to spiral out of the blackening sky. ‘Well, Captain, that’s bad news indeed for you, as I think he is. Right or wrong as I may be, I will come into those ruins, and I will search every square inch. Of course, if I am forced to waste my precious time looking for him, I will be incredibly angry, and I can’t say what might happen to any other snivelling brats I find along the way.’

‘What are you trying to say, Crow?’

‘Simply that, if the lord is brought out to me now, I will leave this place, and allow you and the rest of your people to wander off wherever it is you think you will be safe. There will be no bloodshed. However, if Citrine is not handed over, I will kill every last one of you. It’s as simple as that really.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not? He’s only an imposter, after all. It’s not like you’d be giving up the real Lord Citrine.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I have my ways. Now come on, hurry up. Make a decision. The clock is ticking.’

Obsidian swallowed hard, glancing over his shoulder to where his men were clustered around the trapdoor, ready to give their lives protecting their loved ones. If the necromancer was true to his word, Obsidian could save them all.

His heart beat faster at the thought of being able to transport everyone out of this impossible situation. Moments before, he had been expecting them all to perish horribly; but now there was a way out. All he had to do was betray Lord Citrine.

But it wasn’t really Lord Citrine at all, was it? It was just some man, some palace guard who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The rain fell harder, and Obsidian swept his damp hair out of his face.

If he gave up Citrine, nobody else would have to die. It would be one life, one nobody with a lord’s face, to spare over a hundred others: to save all those children.

But this was Crow, and Crow was not to be trusted. And how could a soldier give up even one man he had sworn to protect?

‘I am here,’ Lord Citrine said, appearing from among the ruins. ‘Lord Crow, I am prepared to give myself up, on the understanding that you will not take the life of any of those people who are here with me.’

‘No,’ Obsidian said. ‘I will not allow that.’

‘Hush,’ Crow whispered, waving his hand. Obsidian felt his throat swell, and he realised that his powers of speech had been taken from him. Only then did he truly understand what incredible, unfathomable power Crow possessed. Only then did he understand how utterly useless their attempts to fight him were.

‘Crow. No magic. Not if you want me to surrender,’ Citrine said.

Crow shrugged, and Obsidian felt his throat instantly return to normal.

‘Do we have a deal?’ Citrine asked.

‘Wait,’ Obsidian said. ‘Lord Citrine. You cannot give yourself up to this creature. He cannot be trusted. He will kill you, and then he will turn on us all anyway.’

‘You have my word, no harm will come to you,’ Crow said, and although Obsidian could not see the necromancer’s face, he could tell that he was smiling maliciously.

‘I have to do this,’ Lord Citrine said. ‘I can’t allow anyone to die for me. You, Captain, more than anyone else here, should know the reason why that is.’

‘Let him go,’ the mayor said, stepping up beside Obsidian. ‘There is no sense in all of us dying. If Lord Crow is prepared to let us live, then we should do as he asks.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ Obsidian snarled. ‘Don’t you see what’s happening here? If Citrine goes, it won’t matter to Crow whether we live or die. He will have already won. Think about it. There must be pockets of resistance fighters all over the land, tiny bands of people struggling to stay alive, fighting Crow’s forces. On their own, Crow will be able to stamp them out like ants, but if they were all to combine, he would have a mighty army to wage war against, a real threat to his dominion. If Citrine is gone, who will unite those people? Who will give them the will and desire, the fire in their bellies? Nobody. The human race will pass into memory. All because we were too afraid. Because we wanted to save our own necks.’

Citrine glanced up, confusion etched into his brow. ‘Do you really believe I could unite a whole world against Crow’s armies?’

‘You are Lord Citrine. Of course I do.’

‘We cannot stand against a necromancer and his army,’ the mayor said.

‘We can try,’ Obsidian said.

‘Oh, please, stop it,’ Crow screeched, and for a split second he appeared as a huge shadow that reached over the ruins. The rain stopped falling, as if even that had been terrified into retreating. ‘I am tired of this bickering. If the Lord Citrine will not leave the ruins, then I will come in and get him.’

Obsidian went to draw his sword, but Crow moved his hand and some invisible force smashed into the captain, knocking him off his feet.

The mayor wailed, and ran off.

‘Why do people always insist on doing things the difficult way?’ Crow muttered. He moved closer, and a sword materialised in his right hand. ‘Lord Citrine, I’m afraid you are about to get terribly hurt.’

Citrine retreated a pace, but lost his balance and fell. Crow lifted his blade.

‘No!’ Citrine said.

An unusual light reflected momentarily in the sword, and then a wave of heat rushed over Citrine. Crow cried out, as fire enveloped his cloak, and something small and glittering began darting in front of his face to distract him.

Citrine scrambled away on his hands and knees, almost bumping straight into Strata, who was standing on a rock with streamers of fire enveloping her hands.

With a hiss, Crow extinguished his burning cloak simply by willing the flames not to be there any more.

‘You’d better get into the cellar,’ Strata said, flinging another bolt of fire at the necromancer.

Citrine didn’t wait around to be told again.

Crow laughed, full of malice and a delicious pleasure, as he stood opposite the fledgling magic user. ‘What have we here?’ he said. ‘You are Strata, aren’t you? The Wing Wimp’s mother. And look, you’ve learned how to make fire.’

‘I’ve learned more than that,’ Strata said. ‘I’ve also learned how to make distractions.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Crow caught a glimmer of movement; but it was too late for him to do anything about it. Obsidian’s sword struck the necromancer’s right arm just below the elbow, severing it completely. The limb flopped on the ground, twitching and grabbing at the air as the blade it had been holding disappeared.

Crow screamed, more in anger than pain; and with one last look of hatred at the captain, he swirled his cloak, becoming a shadow against the greater darkness of the night. A second later, he was gone.

Obsidian let out a slow sigh of relief, but he could not forget the look on the necromancer’s face just before he vanished; a look that said he would not simply kill Obsidian for what he had done. He would destroy him completely.

‘Good job,’ he said to Strata.

‘It’s not over yet,’ Strata said. ‘Look!’

Obsidian turned to see the hydra ploughing towards him, squirming and writhing over the stones and spikes, eager to fall upon the defenders of the ruin.

Hawk and his archers were already loosing arrows at the vile creature, but it barely seemed to notice. All of its concentration, all of its countless heads, were entirely focussed on one target.

Obsidian.

The captain ducked the first set of fangs that came within striking distance, and thrust his sword deep into the hydra’s body.

He pressed his attack, forcing his sword in right up to the hilt; and the deeper the sword went, the more the hydra spat and squealed and thrashed. The captain held on for dear life, gripping his sword with both hands; but the blade came free and he was dashed on the rocks. As he struggled to rise, something sharp slashed across his left cheek, and he was beaten back to the ground. One of the hydra's heads lunged at him.

The captain braced himself for the killing bite, but the head suddenly recoiled with an arrow in its gullet. Then, all of Obsidian's men were around him, stabbing and hacking at the monstrous thing as it backed farther and farther away.

The captain found his feet, raised his sword in defiance, and howled a war cry loud enough to be heard in Crystal Shine.

It was all too much for the hydra, and it turned to flee, striking Strata in the face with its tail as it went. She collapsed, and the fires that had been burning so brightly in the palms of her hands died out.

‘Get after that thing,’ Obsidian ordered, as the hydra wriggled away as fast as it could, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Obsidian’s men showed no mercy, and they gave chase, hacking at the hydra with swords and spears until the once proud creature finally gave up with a wheeze, and slumped dead among the cracked stone, not far from where Crow had vanished.

Obsidian dropped to one knee, leaning heavily on his sword.

‘Are you okay?’ one of the palace guards asked.

‘Fine,’ Obsidian panted. ‘Just... Need to get my breath back. Must be getting old.’

‘No. Your face. You were hit.’

Obsidian raised a hand to his cheek, aware now of a burning sensation that was more than the sting of a fresh wound. ‘Hardly a scratch,’ he muttered. ‘It’s nothing.’

But the burning was getting worse. And he wasn’t on his knees any more. He was on his back, and he wasn’t sure how he had got that way.

‘Captain?’

Hawk’s voice.

‘Captain?’

The stars glimmered far overhead, way beyond the reach of mortals.

‘Captain? He’s not breathing. Somebody, come quick. He’s not breathing.’

Running feet.

‘He’s not breathing!’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Cumulo soared above the clouds, safe from the keen eyes of the sentries that were patrolling the city streets. On the dragon’s back, Nimbus excitedly cast his gaze around, thrilled to be free of his confinement on the island, and even more thrilled at the prospect of seeing his father again.

The tallest tower of Crystal Shine loomed, imposing and beautiful, above the body– and rubbish–choked streets of the once–great city.

‘There,’ Nimbus said, pointing.

Cumulo banked, drawing in his wings as he carefully alighted on the balcony. The stone groaned beneath his weight, which was considerably greater since he had consumed the leviathan’s strength; but the balcony held firm. Nimbus climbed down, drawing the spirit blade.

‘I’m going in,’ he said. ‘Will you wait here and make sure we can get out quickly?’

‘Of course.’ The dragon’s eyes narrowed as he looked across the destroyed city. ‘I think once I may have liked it here, perched high above the streets. I could have seen what was happening for miles around. Now, I do not think I want to see.’

Nimbus patted Cumulo’s flank. ‘We’ll put it all right. You see if we don’t.’