The Written (53 page)

You are not
becoming someone different...
shouted the voice in his
head.

Instead of doing what Vice
wanted, instead of falling into treachery, he had gone out and
sought his own life, to try and make a difference in the wild
world. Farden thought of all creatures he had slain, all the towns
he had saved, even the bandits back in Beinnh he had slaughtered,
and decided, yes, he had made a difference, at least somewhere in
Emaneska. Farden sat up a little, and felt the claws of the cat on
his chest. The sand fell back slightly. Whatever was woven into his
book made him angry, and vengeful, but it also made him powerful,
and if he could learn to tame it he could make everything right.
With Vice’s cards now spread clearly on the table, it was his turn
to make a decision. Farden began to tug and pull against the hot
sand. He heaved and strained and yanked his limbs from the
ground.

‘I am simply getting to know
the person I already am,’ whispered Farden, feeling the hot wind in
his throat. The cat danced on its hindlegs as he pulled his body
from the sand and stood up. He raised his hands to the blue sky and
felt something he had never known before.

Keep an eye
on the weather, Farden
said the voice, as a single wispy
cloud appeared above him in the endless blue and the desert began
to fade.

Farden snapped back to
consciousness. With a wave of dizziness the colours on the floor
swirled and shifted, and he took a deep breath to steady his
pounding heart and the sickening nausea. A large dark shadow
scudded across the patchwork of colours and a deep repetitive
whooshing sound grew loud in the dark room. Farden blinked owlishly
and wondered why the blood was pounding so loudly in his ears.
Before he realised what was happening there came an almighty crash
from behind the mage and his chair tipped forward onto the floor in
a huge gust of air. Gold wings towered over him, glittering and
shimmering in the sunlight. Shattered pieces of stained glass
cracked and crunched under heavy claws. The dragon raked a
razor-sharp talon over the back of the chair and Farden’s bonds
sprang open with a twang. Completely ignoring the shredding glass
underneath him the mage wriggled and shimmied his way out and bent
to tackle the rope binding his ankles. Once the ropes were a
tangled frayed mess on the floor Farden stood and drowsily started
picking bits of glass from his clothes. The whistling noise in his
ears was back. He wiggled a finger in his ear to no avail.
Shielding his eyes with a hand he stared out of the smashed window.
It was a clear crisp day over Krauslung for a change, and the
bright sun made the mountains sparkle. Farden looked up at the Old
Dragon and Farfallen grinned at him, flashing his teeth, and then
he made a hurried movement with his wings.

‘The King of Skölgard has taken
over the city, you don’t have much time to stop Vice!’ said
Farfallen.

‘I have to try! Just keep them
off my back!’ replied the mage, and with that he hobbled towards
the door. With a nod Farfallen crouched to move further into the
hall. Behind him other dragons swooped and circled the fortress.
The twin bells were singing over their roars and screeches. Archers
were filling the ramparts.

Farden reached the door just as
it flew open under the boots of a dozen men. They stormed into the
room waving their swords but Farden quickly limped to one side,
still holding his ribs. ‘Farfallen!’ he shouted. The Old Dragon
closed one golden eye and blew a jet of orange fire from his jaws
that ripped the door from its hinges and sent the men diving for
cover. Farden was already up and running. Ignoring the flames at
his heels he darted down the corridor and then sprinted up several
flights of stairs, towards the highest part of the Arkathedral, to
the great hall. Farden heard shouts and the banging of weapons
behind him but he kept running and skidded on bloody feet down the
marble hallway. The Arka soldiers at the door saw him coming and
lowered their spears. Farden didn’t break his pace. ‘Out of my
way!’ he yelled.

‘Halt!’ they shouted, and they
marched forward with their spears far in front of them. Farden
didn’t stop. One of them held up his hand in an authoritative
gesture. ‘Stop I say!’ he bellowed.

Farden simply moved the
bedraggled hair out of his face and pushed against the air with
both hands as he ran forward. There was a dull thudding sound and
the soldiers flew backwards against the wall with a loud crash of
armour against stone. The mage didn’t waste a second. He made a run
for the gilded doors and kicked them open. Gritting his teeth
Farden strode into the hall and slammed the doors behind him. He
was breathing heavily.

The great hall was deathly
quiet. Every eye was on Farden as he stood there, dishevelled and
dusty, with blood pooling around his feet. There were no whispers,
no shouts, no clamouring of any kind from the gathered men and
women, only silence. Farden looked around as he tried to calm
himself. A huge man, who Farden correctly assumed was Bane the King
of Skölgard, was standing in front of him, holding Cheska with one
hand and his other at his belt, resting gently on the hilt of a big
sword. Vice was standing in front of the throne, glaring daggers at
him. Farden looked at the statue Evernia, at her calm expression,
and then at the unbalanced scales swinging gently from side to
side, two gold disks sitting in each pan. The sunlight was just
touching the edges of the skylight above her marble head. The sky
was as blue as it was in his dreams. A voice whispered in his head,
and suddenly Farden understood.

A booming shout broke his
reverie. ‘Seize him!’ yelled Vice and a group of nearby soldiers
ran to the mage and grabbed him roughly by the arms. Weak though he
was Farden struggled and pushed against them. Vice stormed across
the hall towards him. Shadows fluttered across the floor and the
new Arkmage peered up into the clear sky to see a swarm of dragons
circling above like vultures. They would be dealt with soon enough,
he thought.

‘Have you told them what you
told me Vice? Have you told them about the fire? About Helyard?’ A
soldier elbowed him in the ribs and the breath flew out of him.

Vice marched straight up to
Farden and struck him hard in the face. Indescribably hard. It was
a fast punch without grace nor mercy and the mage sprawled in the
hands of the soldiers. Vice hauled him to his feet and shook him.
His eyes blazed with murderous fire. The council were talking now.
Bane moved Cheska behind him and his soldiers inched forward.

‘I’ve had enough of you,’
snarled Vice.

‘Tell the council what you
really are, old friend’ Farden gasped.

Vice shook with rage. His hazel
eyes bored into Farden’s, but the mage kept staring straight back
at him. ‘You’re a stubborn bastard Farden, just like your uncle. I
will have you hanged immediately!’

‘You’ll have to catch me
first,’ whispered the mage, and he grinned through bloody teeth,
breaking his gaze for just a second to see a small white cloud
drift across the crystal blue sky above Evernia’s head. With every
ounce of magick he had left in his exhausted body Farden pushed
against the floor. And pushed he did.

Amidst shouts and yells Farden
flew out of the grasp of the soldiers, and soared into the air. He
swung his fist as he flew, focusing all his energy into that one
crucial swing, and like a sudden lightning strike he hit Vice
squarely on the jaw. Sparks exploded from the mage’s fist and in a
blinding flash of light Vice fell to his knees dazed and stunned.
Chaos erupted in the great hall as screams and yells filled the
air.

Farden landed awkwardly,
stumbling on his injured feet, but then ran for the centre of the
room. With a metallic scrape Bane unsheathed his huge broadsword
and swung it with a loud grunt at Farden’s neck. The mage quickly
dove into a roll and heard the blade whine over his head, missing
all but a strand of his dark hair. The king roared and darted after
him with speed unnatural for a man of his size. Farden could hear
the huge man bearing down on him, but he kept running, eyeing the
others closing in on him. All he had to do was get to the statue
and it could all be over, Vice, Cheska, the Arka, they could all
disappear. His chest was about to burst with exhaustion but still
his legs pounded the floor and propelled him forwards.

Just as Bane reached out to
snatch at Farden’s clothes the mage leapt forward in a mad jump for
the scales. The King grabbed at empty air and the mage crashed into
the scales with a pained cry. Farden rolled to the floor in a
shower of hot wax and spitting candles. He grabbed at the gold disk
as it almost tumbled out of his hands and quickly bent his whole
concentration on it. He felt the magick bite and suddenly it
started to pull him in.

He watched as the world ground
to a halt for the last time, ignoring the men poised over him with
swords and halberds, ignoring Vice staggering to his feet, ignoring
Bane frozen only mere inches away, hands outstretched and his face
a boiling mass of anger, the very picture of rage. Farden looked
only at Cheska, staring into her pale blue expression. He wondered
what his child would look like, whether it would have his hair, her
eyes, and whether she would miss him in any way whatsoever. He
looked into her eyes, and she wasn’t the same person any more, just
a hollow shell of what she had pretended to be all those years.
There was a sudden rush of air as the world folded in on itself,
and he was dragged into the blinding light.

Epilogue

For all the things to come

As the orange sun peered over
the craggy ice-locked mountains in the east, a pair of grey-green
eyes watched the light spill over the rocks and ignite the drifts
of snow in a warm yellow glow. The man stood atop the highest
mountain for miles and miles, braving the icy winds that tugged at
his skin. He closed his eyes and let the cold bite his cheeks. The
air was so clear. Below him, in the places the sun hadn’t touched
yet, the shadows fell amongst the black rocks and turned the deep
snow a deep blue colour. The man squinted as he peered at the
jagged skyline in the distance, where the wispy clouds huddled
together. He could see smoke rising from the city in the south.
Beyond that the sea sparkled like a blanket full of jewels.

The mage crouched and pulled
his cloak around him, careful not to drop the gold disk he clutched
in his hand. His clothes were ripped and torn and his pale face was
a mess of bruises and scratches, but he didn’t seem to care. For
the first time in his life he felt true peace.

Farden stayed for a while,
letting the sun warm him, letting his calm thoughts wander, and
then he stood. With a flash of light and a flurry of powdery snow
he was gone.

Later that morning the mages
found that the old vampyre and his chubby servant had disappeared
some time in the night. Their tent was empty but for their
possessions and some of their clothes. At midday hawks arrived
carrying messages saying that they should return home. The dragons
flapped away northwards, silent and brooding. Modren watched them
as they left, as he stood on the shore on the outskirts of Dunyra
harbour. The waves licked his boots. He watched the dark shapes
disappear into the sky one by one. With a sigh he crumpled the
parchment in his fist and threw it into the sea. He left without a
sound, heading for the bubbling quickdoor and Krauslung.

A few months later, a small
boat approached the snowy shores of Nelska with three passengers
sitting on its wet benches. The man in the middle of them was
plying the oars. The gentle grey waves lapped at the soggy boat and
made gentle splashing noises against its sides. The thing creaked
and moaned with every move. The wind was cold, but calm, and it
gently ruffled their hair and played with their clothes. It looked
as though it was about to rain.

Farden paused his rowing and
looked behind him. He noticed a welcome party standing on the
shingles. The people looked cold and wet, but the dragons glistened
as usual.

Durnus looked uncomfortable,
and shuffled around in his seat. He was a touch paler than
usual.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Elessi.
‘You’ve been fidgeting around the whole time.’

‘Nothing is wrong, maid, I am
merely tired and not fond of the sea,’ he said.

‘You told me you loved the
sea,’ Farden said.

‘Not in small boats, now leave
me alone,’ replied the vampyre. Farden nodded.

Elessi wrung her hands, and
tapped Farden on the back. ‘Are the dragons dangerous? I’ve never
seen a dragon.’

‘Well, you’re about to meet
one, but they’re as docile as big cats. It’s their queen you have
to look out for,’ he said. The mage pulled hard on the oars and the
little boat skipped across the waves. His ribs twitched momentarily
and he felt a little stab of pain, but then it was gone again.

After a few minutes of rowing
they reached the shore and a pair of Siren soldiers dragged the
boat up above tideline where the others were waiting for them.
Farden hopped out of the boat and offered his hand to Elessi. She
smiled and jumped to the sand with ease. Durnus scrabbled out of
the other side and got as far away from the water as he could.

Farden walked to the dragons
and smiled at Farfallen. Svarta and Eyrum were on his left,
Towerdawn, Havenhigh, and Brightshow stood on his right with their
riders. The Old Dragon smiled his toothy smile. Farden felt Elessi
jump a little behind him. ‘Well met and good wishes, friend.’

‘And to you Farfallen. Thank
you for your offer of hospitality, but I’m afraid we won’t be
staying long. As soon as the weather improves I’m heading to the
east.’

‘You may stay as long as you
want Farden,’ replied the gold dragon. He wore a sombre expression
for a moment and he lowered his voice. ‘Any news from
Krauslung?’