Tanza (40 page)

‘Dear Krii…’ Ciera began, still coming to terms with my surroundings, ‘you’re right in front of it!’

‘I can’t believe we’ve lasted this long,’ one of the Anzaii replied.

‘I think there’s a specific reason for that,’ Tiaro said.

Using our close contact with each other and the artefacts, I allowed the other Anzaii to hear Ciera and Tiaro too.

Without Tiaro even having to say so, I knew her thoughts centred on the Zeikas’ attempts to capture me near both Tez and Telby City. Now that we had seen a waverade artefact, it didn’t seem quite so strange that the Zeikas specifically wanted me.

‘Bal Harar’s minions have failed,’ Tiaro began, including Ciera in the wave, ‘and now he is here to do the job properly.’

‘Over my dead body,’ I growled, speaking out loud for emphasis.

‘That’s exactly what he doesn’t want,’ Tiaro said. ‘I think that’s why he’s landed. And that’s why his horse has not disintegrated us already.’

I stood up from my ineffectual hiding place, the other Anzaii right behind me. Ignice Jabez continued to stare straight at us, snorting its nostrils and curling the back of its mouth in a carnivorous snarl. The pointed yellow teeth in its maw clacked shut less than an arm-length from my face. It reared and screamed, then lowered its head to focus on us once more.

I looked over to my left to see Tyba staring at us in disbelief. The Bal was engaged with at least eight Tanzan warriors, keeping them all at bay with his unbelievable swordsmanship and magic.

‘Do you think Bal Harar knows you have to touch the demon in order to dispel it?’ one of the Anzaii asked.

‘Yes,’ Tiaro said. ‘He knows you will step forward to try and defeat it. He will wait until you’re close, then hit you over the head and carry you off.’

‘You are right,’ Ciera agreed, getting closer to our position. ‘I have been battling Bals for centuries. They have a gift for thinking ahead. Bal Harar wants to know our plans. He hates to be outwitted.’

Even though Tanza was more or less defeated, Bal Harar was still bent on gaining the ability to track down all Kriites and kill them. And he would use my wave abilities to do so.

I forced my hand towards the demon-horse’s nose.

‘If it has been instructed not to harm me,’ I began, ‘then perhaps I can touch it without sustaining injury.’

Though fearful, the other Anzaii sent me their support.

‘Do it,’ Ciera said. ‘Try to dispel it. I will be there momentarily. Together we can beat it.’

‘Or die trying,’ I thought. That would be better than becoming Bal Harar’s wave-puppet.

Ignice Jabez stilled as my hand made contact. It shuddered all over, as if battling within itself. The cords of lava lay slick over its neck, dropping shiny orange blobs onto the parapet. The horse’s muzzle was hot to the touch, but it did not burn me. The slick fur felt much like Rekala’s hair after she had been swimming.

‘Ready?’ I asked the gathered Anzaii.

Yes came the instantaneous reply within my mind. I jumped forward, grabbing handfuls of Ignice Jabez’s mane from either side of its head. I brought the face close to mine, forcing it not to use the acid-smoke, lest it kill the prize.

Dropping from high up in the clouds, Ciera landed on the horse’s back, pushing the enflamed wings away from his soft underside. For long, painful seconds, it felt like we were in two places at once. Ignice Jabez struggled against Ciera’s much greater bulk. Visions of dust and darkness washed over me and the demon-horse was before us, running in circles around a great corral.

Holding on with all my might, I closed my eyes. The other Anzaii clung to me, hoping that no stray arrows would fly our way and that Bal Harar would remain occupied.

Chapter Twenty-eight—Contingency Plan

W
ithin the dusky atmosphere of the spirit realm, the now wingless demon-horse glowed with a brilliant orange light. It was breathtaking at the same time as being repugnant. The senseless squealing and bucking reminded me of breaking-in wild horses back at home. Would this scenario play out in much the same way?

I moved forward to lay my hands on the wooden beams of the corral. The texture was rough, with thick iron nails holding the rails and posts together. Steeling myself, I climbed over the fence and approached the horse.

‘Steady now, steady,’ I said to the horse. Heedless, it continued to run in circles around me, kicking up more and more dust with every pass.

Whenever I got in its way, it would rear or throw its head, kicking out with its front legs. I rolled away from it and looked around for a rope or harness. There was nothing. The horse bellowed at me, working itself into a lather.

As I watched it through my wave senses, it occurred to me that beneath the frightening exterior, was a normal, natural horse. Unlike Boiva, this demon had been summoned by just one person. It was loyal to Bal Harar and Bal Harar alone. As such, it had been beyond his ability to summon a complete physical form. It was an inhabitation of a real creature. The size of it and the wings and flames were additions to that body.

Knowing this, I concluded that our only way of stopping it was to dispossess the demon. Krii had cast out demons many times during his time on Chryne. He had set those people or animals free. All we needed to do was set the horse free.

‘Open that gate!’ I shouted to the bewildered Anzaii.

‘Ignice Jabez, leave that animal in the name of Krii.’

The demon-horse turned on me with a ferocious glare in its eye. The other Anzaii opened the gate as the horse reared up before me. The demon, Ignice Jabez, stared out at me from inside the horse’s eyes, but I could tell he was losing control. The fur stood out in jagged ripples and fiery light pulsed from the equine body.

It heaved and bent its neck down to retch. An ear-splitting crack ricocheted outwards as semi-transparent light burst from the creature. Screaming at us, the fire-demon shot up into the sky and away. The bewildered horse jogged once more around the corral before bolting out.

A physical blow to the face shocked me back to my real-world senses. Bal Harar’s demon-horse was gone and his attention was fixed on us. The other Anzaii from the strike force moved to defend me, but the Bal grabbed first one and then the other, rending their bodies apart with ease. Blood and gore splattered around us.

I gagged, reaching for Fyschs in his white scabbard at my side. My Tolite-kin came out into the blustery night, shining with pent-up fury. After all the ranged fighting we had done, it felt strange to finally draw my sword. The eye near the tip of the blade flicked open and two gold teeth emerged on either side.

The thunder that slapped our turbulent surroundings was soon followed by a ripple of lightning. The storm was getting closer.

‘Dear Krii, help us,’ I prayed, ‘send rain.’

‘Rain will hinder as much as help us at this point,’ Ciera argued. ‘It will dissipate the cloud content of the shrouds around Centan and Condii, revealing exactly what we’re up to with Elonavé.’

More Zeikas had landed on the parapet. Tyba and his troops ran to engage them before they could reach me. Bal Harar tore apart any humans who strayed too close to him. Those who held back to fire arrows were soon obliterated by his and other Zeikas’ fireballs.

He won’t want to kill me, I thought. So it’s up to me to engage him. I can save some more lives.

Overhead, our skyearls could not get close. Swarms of dragons grappled with them, breathing green fire over them, biting with their yellow razor-edge teeth and gouging with their claws. Ciera was struggling against a host of death hawks and dragons.

Riftweaver danced out of the Bal’s reach, well aware that he could cast a rending spell on her if he managed to touch her. Bal Harar threw a fireball, which she ducked. I moved in from behind, driving Fyschs in a sideswipe that nearly beheaded him.

The Bal rolled and came to his feet with two swords drawn. These he slashed at me, using manoeuvres I had never been taught by Sarlice. I concentrated on defending myself. Without a shield, it was difficult.

Each blow that struck Fyschs was like a wooden paling being whacked across the bones of my arms or my shins. Fyschs was a living extension of me, moving faster than conscious thought, reacting in tune with my body’s heightened reflexes.

Riftweaver, being only A.S. had no weapon-kin to use against the Bal. Her Sleffion-kin, the gold skyearl, was not far away, but was fighting for her life. The Anzaii artefacts Riftweaver and I held enhanced our perceptions, increasing our reaction time and giving us split-second impulses of what the Bal was going to do next. Knowing we could use conjurations against him, the Bal fought us only with swords and fire.

With Fyschs in my right hand, I blocked and moved away from Bal Harar’s strikes, using countless moves I could not name. Having backed me into a corner, the Bal crashed the hilt of one of his swords against my head.

I staggered back, barely registering that he was raising both swords up high to attack yet again. He will take my arms off! Executing ‘candle maker’, I planted both feet and lifted Fyschs upwards in a straight line. With both hands on my sword and the strength of my thigh muscles under me, I blocked the Bal’s attack, drove upwards and pushed him back.

He stumbled momentarily. Bal Harar was limited by not wanting to kill me, but I did not have the same problem.

Head and chest aching, I strived against my pain to perform a series of offensive moves, from the low jabs of ‘stoking the fire’ to the quick and complicated side, lower and upper attacks of ‘flying sparks’.

I pushed Harar back, keeping my feet in sturdy positions as I ‘crossed the kindling’ and attacked him with two rapid slashes. I succeeded with the strenuous crouch, switch and strike attacks of ‘blazing inferno’ for the first time. Then, in a ‘stirring the soup’ strike that would have made Sarlice proud, I knocked one of Bal Harar’s swords flying.

I used my left fist and elbow to knock my enemy down. While his remaining sword kept Fyschs at bay, I punched him in the face. A burst of flames scored my right eye and scalded the flesh of my cheek and ear. Pain erupted and the vision in my right eye was washed with red.

Free of human assailants once more, Riftweaver ran forward to help me, but a group of dragons broke from the fighting above us and knocked her back.

‘Confuse them,’ I instructed. ‘Use the Centan artefact to take control and then use one of the dragons against the other.’

‘I don’t know how,’ she responded, perplexed.

I could sense still more Zeikas and more Tanzans converging on our position. Word had passed around that the Bal himself was battling the Astor.

Riftweaver dispelled the dragons that were attacking her and grappled with one of the fallen riders.

‘You will never take me alive,’ I said to Bal Harar. ‘If you bring a dragon down here, I will only use it against you.’

With an expression like stone, he stretched out his spare hand to me, as if willing to rend me there and then. I jumped out of his reach and tried a round-house kick. The Bal was too quick, crabbing in a circle around me, controlling the fight. I held Fyschs up in front of me, chest heaving. My arms locked up with fatigue and the scalds on my face burned wetly. I need rest.

‘Don’t give up, Talon,’ Ciera said. ‘While the Bal is distracted here, more Tanzans escape to Ravra.’

‘I need help,’ I called. ‘I can’t do this for much longer.’

Ciera struggled ever-more violently against his own attackers, striving to get to me.

‘Do not mistake my interest in you for fear,’ the Bal responded. ‘You are nothing but a tool I will use against others of your ignorant, self-righteous kind.’

‘What did we ever do to you?’ I asked, almost sympathetic for whatever great evil must have triggered his hatred.

‘You are inferior,’ he said. ‘Weak, unintelligent, suckling whiners. That is why your people must die.’

I stared at him in shock. Is there no reason, but genocide? He struck at me with renewed strength. Fyschs met his every blow, but the strain on my arms and back was starting to toll. Before the pain became too distracting, I assumed icetiger form. I stalked around him, growling under my breath. Weak am I? Unintelligent? Even if I am, Krii isn’t.

The Bal held his sword at the ready. Expecting a blow to the head, I pounced anyway, sinking my teeth into his exposed forearm. The hilt of his sword smacked down into my forehead at the same time as my fangs found bone. His shout of pain was muffled by the clouding of my awareness. I slumped back into human form, barely managing to stay awake. I could not make my body move.

Ciera descended onto the top of the gatehouse, breaking the stone at one corner with his weight. With his good elbow, the Bal hit me in the gut. Scrambling to his feet, he awkwardly wrapped his injured arm with his cloak.

Blood spouted from the wound, splashing on the grey stone. A flash of lightning above was reflected momentarily in its sheen. Still unable to clear my head, I rolled onto my side, blinking. The Bal kicked me savagely in the chest.

With the outrush of my breath, blackness swarmed across my vision, yet I clung to consciousness, desperate not to be taken.

Bal Harar held his good hand out and made a swirling motion, speaking words I could not understand. A dragon coalesced in the air before him, its many spines flexing as it stood rigid before its master.

The Bal’s concentration was now divided, just as mine would be if I was confusing a dragon.

He climbed onto the creature’s back just before it reared and blasted an approaching skyearl with green flames. Then it stepped forward to clutch me with its claws. I squirmed backwards and the immense talons shredded my chain-mail vest. The thick, muscular arms were cool against my exposed skin, clammy and unreal. I struggled, but the dragon advanced on its hind legs, snarling.

Its claws took the skin off my arms and sides in great gouges as it grasped me.

Thunder crashed and Ciera’s roar carried the sound to new heights as he rushed to my side. Easily fifteen times the size of the dragon, Ciera slapped it off me with his forepaws. It rose into the air, breathing flames over my Sleffion-kin’s head. The blue fur and golden horns glistened in the ferocious green light, wet. Ciera must have recently doused his head with water to protect it from Zeika flames.