Wrath of Kerberos (33 page)

“Yes. But he used to be one of the most respected sorcerers in Miramas’s Red Cadre, until a certain unfortunate event. After his expulsion he remade himself as an entertainer. Even so, he knows these peaks like the back of his hand, and often comes into the mountains to conduct his arcane research.”

Dunsany shook his head and continued along the canyon.

After they had gone not much more than twenty yards, Silus raised his right hand sharply, bringing them to a halt again. This time, however, there was no question that something lay ahead of them; all could hear the inhuman wails and growls from beyond the next turn.

Certain childhood tales came back to Silus then – stories of goblins and ogur, things from the mountains that occasionally ventured into the human realm to snatch babies and mutilate livestock. He had never given such tales much credence, even as a small boy, believing them to be nothing more than the cider-fuelled folk fears of a simplistic people. Now he wasn’t so sure. After all, nobody he knew had ever been into the World’s Ridge Mountains. The peaks that defiantly bordered the far east of the peninsula were so hostile, and seemingly endless, that not even the hardiest of adventurers dared approach their foothills. There could be far worse than goblins and ogur here.

Dunsany and Kelos joined Silus, all drawing their swords as quietly as possible before, as one, cautiously peering around the corner.

Ahead of them the canyon opened out onto a boulder strewn plane. Swarming across this barren landscape were creatures straight out of the horror stories of Silus’s childhood.

“Orcs,” Kelos whispered. “Or, to be more precise, orc women. Strange, I’ve never seen so many gathered together in a group like this. Usually they’re to be found in their settlements, tending to the needs of their menfolk, or kept as broodmares. What we have here would appear to be an–”

“Army,” Keldren finished, pushing past them to get a closer look.

“Careful!” Kelos hissed. “We don’t want to be seen.”

But it was too late; a fearsome creature wearing only a tattered cloth shift about her loins and wielding a battered sword turned as the wizard edged out of the shadows of the canyon. She hissed, revealing needle-like teeth in a mouth as dark as night. The twenty or so women behind her showed their own teeth in warning, yet they made no move to attack.

“How curious,” Keldren said, as though he were doing nothing more than examining a particularly interesting work of art or an ancient text. “I have never heard of orc women banding together in this manner.”

Despite her ferocious appearance, the leader of the orcs made no move towards the wizard. Instead, she looked at him with an inquisitive expression, her head cocked to one side.

“I should like to examine one of these things.” Keldren held out his hand and muttered something under his breath, and a malnourished-looking orc came stumbling towards him, bone knife dropping from suddenly limp fingers. “But transporting a live specimen would be problematic.” He snapped his fingers and the orc dropped to the ground, blood-specked mucus frothing from her lips. “There. We’ll come back for this one later.”

Keldren looked round at his companions, only to be greeting by a host of shocked expressions.

“Oh, the rest of these creatures you can kill. I have no use for them.” He gestured, dropping another orc with a quickly worded spell.

The creatures attacked, their cries resounding from the surrounding peaks, making it seem like there were more of them than there actually were. They fought fiercely and with determination, and when the leader clashed swords with Silus he had to defend himself against a furious rain of blows. But he knew something of the monstrous himself and, staring into the demented eyes of the orc, he found the well of savagery deep within and drew on it, fighting back with animalistic glee.

Katya had hurried Zac away at the first sign of trouble. Alongside Silus, Dunsany, Kelos and Emuel now held the line, using the narrow mouth of the canyon to their advantage, preventing the orcs from flanking them. Even outnumbered, the humans were a match for the orcs, though much of this may have been down to the magical support supplied by Keldren. Any creature not killed by a sword was slain by sorcery. Only the leader of this tribe seemed unaffected by the magic, each spell seemingly absorbed by the black sword she wielded.

S
ILUS’S OPPONENT WAS
tiring, but so was he. The pause between each exchange grew longer as they circled each other. Any openings were quickly closed by a feint or a parry and it was becoming clear to Silus that his opponent was his equal in every way. As they moved out onto the plain, he became aware that the rest of the orcs were dead, their black blood slick on the pale rock. This fact only dawned on the leader when a wide swing of her weapon brought her around and she could finally see what had happened to her army. A look of such human sorrow crossed the creature’s face that Silus arrested his next blow.

He scrambled to raise his guard, realising that he had left himself wide open, but the orc didn’t take advantage of the opportunity. She was making a strange mewling in the back of her throat, her sword dropping from limp fingers, as she knelt and examined one of the corpses.

Silus knew grief when he saw it, and he remembered that it had not been the orcs that had started the fight, but Keldren’s indiscriminate killing.

He stepped back and left the orc to her grief, sheathing his blade.

“What are you waiting for?” Keldren shouted. “Kill it!”

Katya and Zac had emerged from the canyon now. For a moment it seemed as if Katya would shield her son’s eyes from the slaughter, but she dropped her hand, realising the futility of the gesture; the boy had seen so much already.

“For the love of Kerberos, man, stick it before it sticks you!” Keldren said, striding towards Silus, an ochre glow wreathing his right hand.

This creature didn’t deserve the pain of the death the mage would give her. As the orc leader leaned over her comrade in grief, Silus drew his dagger and cut her throat. The tide of blood splashed over the body beneath her and washed up against Keldren’s boots as he came to a halt. The wizard looked down with contempt.

“For a moment, I thought you were going to show pity for this mongrel.”

Silus looked down at the dagger, then up at Keldren. With a self-control that everything within him fought against, he sheathed his weapon.

K
HULA HOPED THAT
when they found her body she would be honoured with the rites granted to her predecessors – her bones boiled clean, dried and bleached in the sun, pounded into dust and smoked by the shamans of the tribe. Somehow, however, she doubted it. For wasn’t she as much a failure as that long-dead orc king? Hadn’t she led her tribe into death, rather than glory?

As the drumbeat of her heart slowed, and the flood pouring from her throat became a trickle, Khula wondered by what moniker she would be remembered.

The dragon roared, its cry echoing from the peaks and reminding her shamefully of that name she had desperately wished for, but would now never attain.

Khula the Dragon Slayer.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
HREE

“I
CAN’T HELP
but notice that you suddenly seem a bit reticent,” Kelos said.

The dragon’s roar came again and Keldren took another step back.

“Surely you’ve fought dragons before?”

“Actually, no,” Keldren said. “And as such, my magic isn’t going to be of any use. But I’ve led you to the beast, so now – once you have acquired what you need – it will be down to you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

As they walked deeper into the shadow of the range, the azure disk of Kerberos was beginning to rise over the mountains behind them. Blue light washed over the peaks, falling into crevasses and filling hollows, moving down the mountain in a brilliant waterfall of light. This time, when the dragon called, there was music in its voice, as though it were greeting the dawn with song. Besides Silus, Emuel gasped as the tattoos that covered his body began to move.

“Dragons are not just a source of magic,” Kelos said, seeing the change in the eunuch. “They
are
magic.”

“I wish I understood what you just said,” Katya said. “But if it’s going to help us return home faster, I say we kill the thing and get out of here.”

“Silus, you should probably hang back,” Dunsany said. “We don’t want any of the creature’s blood touching you. Not after what happened last time.”

“So, it’s just down to you and I?” Kelos said. “No offence, my friend, but, somehow, that doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“We’ll be fine. We already know where a dragon is most vulnerable. Just go for the throat sacks.”

“There’s something you don’t hear every day,” Katya said.

The light from Kerberos touched almost every part of the mountain, now, and as it flowed towards the foot of the slope, the shale shifted overhead, a small avalanche clattering towards them.

“As soon as it comes into view,” Kelos said, “we’ll try to flank it. I can shield us for a time but, Keldren, I’d appreciate it if you could also help out where you can; supply some magical protection, at least.”

“I’ll do what I can, but I’ve already used much of my power getting us here.” Keldren looked ready to run, and Silus made a promise to himself that he’d cut the mage down if he attempted it.

Emuel began to sing. Moving ahead of them, he started to climb.

“Emuel!” Kelos hissed. “Emuel! What in the seven hells do you think you are doing?”

The eunuch wasn’t listening, and his tattoos seemed to writhe with a greater urgency as he made his way up the slope. Dunsany was just about to rush forward and grab him when the dragon roared again, this time sounding as though it were just beyond the crest of the rise.

More scree shifted and Emuel fell onto his back. He lay spreadeagled on the ground, helpless as the dragon hove into view.

“Emuel, run!” Katya shouted.

“Run, Emuel!” Zac echoed, his little hands clapping together in anxiety.

But the eunuch did not appear to be afraid. Instead, as a great clawed foot came down next to his head, he opened his arms and smiled.

I
T WAS
C
ALABASH.
His desert saviour; the creature who had led him to water when he had been on the verge of dying of thirst, who had protected him against the savage orcs and who had refused to join in with the slaughter of his companions, when its brothers and sisters had turned on them.

The black snout came in close, the jaws opening slightly as the creature inhaled the scent of him, but despite the sight of those scimitar teeth, he knew that he was perfectly safe.

Emuel got to his knees and, holding the dragon’s snout and gazing into its eyes, he sang the song that had called to him all that time ago amongst the shifting dunes. For a moment, the creature stared blankly at him, and a small part of Emuel feared that he had got it horribly wrong; that the dragon would open its mouth and roast them all, just as it had done with the orcs. But then, starting low and deep within its throat, Calabash joined in with the song, its voice harmonising with Emuel’s as the tattoos on his arms twined around each other in sympathy.