Wardragon (24 page)

Jelindel smiled briefly at Daretor’s look of utter disbelief. She reached out and touched a small green stud. Blazing light engulfed the ship. From the ground, had anyone been watching, it would have seemed the vessel had simply blinked out of existence.

From its balcony overlooking the central courtyard, the Wardragon cursed with the Preceptor’s voice. It was obvious the tide of battle had turned against them. It whirled furiously as Kaleton came up from behind.

>THE GIRL HAS FLED<<<

Kaleton nodded. ‘And so must we,’ he said. ‘The rebels have brought in reinforcements.’

The Wardragon felt conflicting emotions over Jelindel’s escape. She has returned to Q’zar, it thought. Something in it, something very old and tired, was glad.

‘Wardragon, we must go,’ Kaleton said again.

>LEAVE? YOU OVERESTIMATE THE DANGER<<<

‘M’lord, by my count, twelve flying carriers have grounded in the central courtyard. At a minimum, several thousand enemy combatants are inside the fortress with more on the way. We must get to the command vessel and take off.’

>I CAN LEAVE ANY TIME I WISH. I DO NOT NEED A VESSEL<<<

‘If I am not mistaken, m’lord, your plans require one.’

The Wardragon considered Kaleton’s words. At length it said, >>>WHERE IS RAS?<<<

‘Ras is not to be found. He disappeared about the same time the fighting started.’

>YOU ACCUSE HIM OF COWARDICE?<<<

Kaleton looked surprised. ‘I accuse him of nothing, m’lord. I merely state a fact.’

>FIND HIM. BRING HIM TO THE COMMAND VESSEL. I WILL MEET YOU THERE IN TWENTY MINUTES. LINGER NOT. SOUND THE GENERAL ORDER FOR PILOTS TO MAN THEIR SHIPS AND GET THEM TO SAFETY<<<

‘M’lord, I took the liberty of doing that on my way here.’ Kaleton turned.

>UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE THE PILOTS TO LEAVE THE STRATOSPHERE TILL I ARRIVE<<<

‘M’lord,’ Kaleton said, closing the door.

The Wardragon quickly gathered together some things that were too valuable to leave behind, then touched a stud on its desk. A panel in the north wall of the room slid aside silently, revealing a dark passage. It stepped through, and the panel slid back behind it. The passage led directly to the berth of the command ship of its fleet. It was several times larger than the fliers Jelindel had destroyed, and was disguised as a tower of the fortress. Its weapons were similarly awesome, being equal to the entire fleet that now lay mostly in ruins.

The Wardragon stalked along the passage. It now had gast, and huge quantities of it. Gast was the most precious resource in all of the paraworlds. Without it the flying vessels could not fly, the weapons could not fire, and the dilators could not open the gates between paraworlds.

It reached the entrance hatch to the disguised command vessel just as its pilot and navigator came hurrying up from the other side. The Wardragon acknowledged them with barely a nod. They were supposed to have been on duty at the vessel. A few moments later, Kaleton arrived. Ras was not with him.

>SEAT YOURSELF<<< the Wardragon ordered. >>>WE LEVITATE IN ANOTHER MINUTE. AND WHERE IS MY OTHER LIEUTENANT?<<<

‘I cannot find Ras, m’lord. None have seen him for an hour past. It may be that he was killed in the initial fighting.’

>YOU DO NOT BELIEVE THIS?<<<

Kaleton paused. ‘Speculation would be idle, m’lord.’

>I WILL NOT TOLERATE INSOLENCE, KALETON<<<

‘M’lord, I meant no offence –’

>DO NOT TRY MY PATIENCE. I POSSESS GREAT FORBEARANCE, BUT I HAVE MY LIMITS. BE ON NOTICE, YOU HAVE REACHED THOSE LIMITS<<<

Kaleton bowed his head. ‘A thousand pardons, m’lord.’

>WE SHALL DEPART NOW<<< the Wardragon told its pilot.

The craft lifted slowly, and as it did the veneer of bricks and tiles that disguised it as a tower fell away in a clattering rumble. The great warship powered straight up.

‘Where to, m’lord?’ the pilot asked, his voice calm and level.

>WHAT IS OUR HEIGHT?<<<

‘Five miles, m’lord.’

>HOLD THIS POSITION. WE WILL SEE HOW THE BATTLE FARES. KALETON. ATTEND ME<<<

Kaleton followed the Wardragon to the tactical cabin at the back of the control chamber. Here they could look down into the glass top of a table that acted like a giant farsight. The Wardragon manipulated some controls, and a view of the fortress appeared, as seen from directly above. It enlarged the view several times.

The situation in its stronghold looked hopeless. The entire fortress had been overrun, and at least twenty carriers had now grounded in the central courtyard. One person was responsible: Jelindel dek Mediesar. She and her allies. The enormity of its loss finally caught up with the Wardragon, and it gave a deep, rumbling growl. For a brief, disquieting second, it imagined that woman’s face had appeared on the desktop monitor. The Wardragon froze, staring at it. Then the image was gone.

The Wardragon struggled to compose itself. >>>HOW – HOW MANY VESSELS DO WE HAVE?<<<

Kaleton noted the Wardragon’s anxiety and quickly checked a console. ‘Twelve, m’lord.’

>THE OTHERS?<<<

‘Most likely destroyed.’

>I WANT TO KNOW IF THE VESSELS ARE OUT OF ACTION, OR IF THEY ARE BEING HIJACKED. THE ONLY WAY HOME FOR THAT RABBLE DOWN THERE IS IN A CRAFT THAT CAN OPEN A PORTAL. FEW KNOW THIS SECRET BUT WE WILL BE BETRAYED<<<

‘Jelindel already knows this.’

>YES. JELINDEL ALREADY KNOWS<<< The Wardragon hesitated, actually confused. Oh, this was monstrous, this feeling of division. Was he – yes,
he
! malfunctioning? He felt as if a second battle raged within. And as with the battle in the Fortress, he knew he must brutally suppress the opposition. >>>HOW MANY VESSELS DO WE HAVE AT THE SOUTH POLE BASE?<<<

‘Twenty-two, m’lord.’

>FULLY CREWED?<<<

‘Yes.’

>GOOD. TAKE US THERE. AND MAKE ALL HASTE. IT IS TIME WE BEGAN OUR ASSAULT ON Q’ZAR <<<

Chapter 16

The Hanging

A
hole opened in the black sky. The craft flashed from freezing darkness into blazing sunlight which made them squint, even through the polarised cockpit window. Q’zar materialised before Jelindel’s eyes like a mirage.

She laughed in joy, pointing. ‘The Algon Mountains, and there, the ocean.’

‘Yes, we made it,’ Daretor conceded, aching to be down on the ground.

‘You have done well,’ said a new voice.

Both Jelindel and Daretor twisted in their seats. Daretor’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, but the stranger raised both his hands in a gesture that said that defence wouldn’t be necessary.

‘How did you get on board?’ Daretor demanded. Jelindel flicked him that odd look again.

‘I was watching you on a security monitor and stowed away. Where is the other one?’

‘He left,’ said Jelindel. ‘So who are you?’

‘My name is Ras. I am the one who gave the Preceptor the mailshirt.’

‘In my language that translates as “Kill him instantly”,’ growled Daretor.

Ras hung his head. He looked like a powerful man attempting to be servile. ‘I was myself possessed by it at the time, so I hardly think I can be blamed for it.’

Ras told them of all that had happened since he found the Wardragon half-buried in a hillside. His account had a ring of truth, partly because he did not seek to conceal his own role, even when it was less than admirable. Besides, it was Jelindel who had buried that mailshirt all those years ago – a secret she had only ever shared with Lady Forturian.

‘You said you advised the Wardragon in policy,’ said Jelindel.

‘I was a moderating voice. Ineffectual for the most part, but I did my best.’

‘So you say,’ hedged Daretor.

Ras frowned. ‘Why would I seek to harm others?’ His question was so simply put that both Jelindel and Daretor were momentarily disarmed, as if they were speaking to an ingenuous child.

Jelindel was still curious about something though. ‘The change in you, after you wore the mailshirt. How did that happen? According to your story, you were a simple sheep herder.’

Ras’s brow knitted. ‘I cannot explain it. My whole life before that time seems like a long dream from which the mailshirt woke me.’ He fell quiet. Then, in a small voice, in which there was the faintest note of despair, ‘To be frank, it sometimes feels as if I am still dreaming.’

‘Interesting, but we don’t have time to deal with you for now,’ said Jelindel. ‘We have to –’

‘Destroy the Wardragon’s base on Q’zar. Destroy its factories and the portal there.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Why else would you be here? For the D’loom horse traders’ annual fair?’

‘What do you know about the base?’ asked Jelindel.

‘I know the location, layout and organisation.’

‘You’re asking us to trust you,’ said Jelindel.

‘I am asking nothing,’ said Ras.

‘Will you submit to the truthsense?’ Jelindel asked.

‘Whatever that is, yes,’ replied Ras.

Jelindel left Daretor in charge of the controls of the vessel – ‘Don’t touch a thing, Zimak!’ – while she performed the necessary incantation, spoke the words of command, and administered the test to Ras. Daretor stared at the controls, wondering how one was meant to control anything without reins or even a steering wheel as one had on a ship.

A short time later Jelindel joined him. ‘Ras is telling the truth,’ she declared. ‘We have nothing to fear from him.’

Daretor grunted, still not convinced, but unwilling to argue in the face of the magical verdict.

Jelindel returned to the pilot’s seat and tapped at some coloured studs. ‘Machine, do you know the place called Argentia?’ she said to the panel of glowing lights and keyboard.

‘Yes,’ replied a melodious voice. Daretor took a pace back and collided with Ras. He mouthed the words, ‘It speaks!’ Ras smiled and nodded.

‘Then take us there,’ said Jelindel.

Staying a little higher than the mountain range, they flew north-east along its flanks until they saw a town nestled into a hillside and surrounded by a tall defensive wall. The trip of weeks by horse took only minutes. Inside, arranged in the shape of a triangle with an extra ziggurat in the middle, was an impressive architectural structure that had not been there when Jelindel was banished to Golgora. How much time had passed here? she wondered.

Ras stood beside Jelindel. ‘The base of the central ziggurat is your main target,’ he said. ‘Do you know the weapon systems of this craft?’

‘Just this sword,’ said Daretor, drawing the blade and holding it before him. ‘I threw that stupid stun weapon away.’

‘I think he means the thundercasts mounted outside,’ said Jelindel.

‘Then you know what the thundercast weapons can do?’ Ras asked Jelindel.

Jelindel nodded again and brought the craft lower. Ras pointed out the various buildings that needed to be destroyed.

‘Leave the north-east ziggurat,’ he warned. ‘It is there that prisoners are held. Now drop me in the town square.’

‘Wait a moment –’ began Daretor. ‘We cannot destroy the buildings while there are people inside. The sight of me emerging from this thing will inspire awe. I shall tell people to get out or be destroyed, and you can then shoot out a section of wall to show that I speak with authority. I can contact your ship from the Wardragon’s control room.’

Jelindel and Daretor looked at each other. Ras was right. The slaughter of innocents was for the likes of the Wardragon and his host, the Preceptor, and not the likes of them. There were innocent people mixed with the not-so-innocent in that place.

‘Agreed, I suppose,’ said Daretor.

‘Then time to do it,’ Jelindel replied.

She brought the craft down into the town square. Ras climbed out and strode for the main ziggurat. Some of those present ran, others cowered, and a few brave souls came forward to see what was happening. When it became clear that instant death was not about to be inflicted upon them, their nerves strengthened, and a cautious crowd gathered.

Jelindel waited a reasonable amount of time before demolishing a section of wall that Ras had earlier indicated. She then lifted the vessel to hover slightly out of bowshot over the town. From this height they could see large numbers of people spilling out of the ziggurats and adjacent buildings. An hour after letting Ras out, the control panel’s voice informed them that a message had come in from Ras. The buildings had been cleared.

Jelindel manipulated several control studs. The north-west structure appeared on a screen on the panel in front of her. A glowing target sight shifted across the screen and stopped on the nearest wall of the building.

‘Lock on to the highlighted images, then fire,’ said Jelindel.

‘You’re sure about this?’ replied a feminine voice. Its former melodious tone was now suffused with concern.

‘Yes.’

‘I sense a reluctance. Perhaps you are a newly qualified gunnery officer. Quick neural information dumps can sometimes cause … Do you know what sort of mess my energies can make?’

‘Destroy the place!’ shouted Jelindel. ‘Can’t you understand orders?’

‘Affirmative. Target acquired,’ said the ship.

Daretor glanced about nervously each time the ship spoke. He was known to speak to his sword on occasion, especially on one recent night when he had become exceptionally drunk, but even then he never expected a reply, and he certainly never thought that it might fly out of his hands and do its own fighting. It wasn’t natural. Perhaps the ship was simply possessed by a daemon. These cold science people didn’t know everything.

‘Life signs?’ Jelindel asked.

‘None,’ came the reply.

‘Fire.’

Brilliant green pulses of atom-annihilating energy blasted the ziggurat. One entire side glowed violet for a second, then vaporised.

The towers and buildings highlighted by Jelindel were blasted into rubble without further doubt from the thundercast controller. Soon there was nothing left standing, and indeed when the smoke and dust cleared there was a large crater where the basement complex had collapsed in on itself. Argentia at least would provide the Wardragon no further assistance.

Struck numb by the craft’s power, Daretor could only watch the destruction with his mouth hanging open, the hilt of his sword feeling more like a toy with every passing second.

By the time Jelindel brought the craft back to land in the town square the wind had blown away the smoke and dust. A group of townsfolk, with Ras at their head, was waiting as Jelindel and Daretor climbed out of the craft. When they approached, Daretor noticed that Ras had an odd expression on his face, almost one of sadness. Jelindel started to ask if all had gone well, but before she had finished her question, blue light flickered out from over Ras’s shoulder and enveloped both her and Daretor, binding them in magical cords.

‘Do not bother with any of your spells, Countess,’ said a voice. ‘I have muffled your magical voice by clamping your jaw. You’ll find it difficult to manifest so much as a smile, let alone one of your interesting little spells.’

A cowled man stepped out from behind Ras. Jelindel now saw that Ras was shackled, a sword pressed into his back by a frightened-looking militiaman. Fa’red threw back his cowl. ‘This is well met,’ he said, grinning.

While Jelindel frantically tried to utter a spell, Daretor cried, ‘We had a pact!’

‘So we did, Zimak – or is it Daretor? I can never tell. However, you broke our pact when you failed to report back what you had discovered here. Now you have destroyed my buildings.’

‘
Your
buildings?’ Daretor exclaimed.

‘I took the liberty, while you were both away, of appropriating the Wardragon’s base here. I discovered many interesting things, especially cold science
things
. I could not understand or control them, but then that is what folk like these are for. They can command mighty forces, but they are still weak where magic is concerned. They work for me now. And not the mailshirt.’

‘I cannot believe that.’

‘No? Think on it: the most highly trained warrior with the most advanced weapons imaginable can be persuaded to leave his post by some ignorant strumpet who flashes a shapely leg at him. Magic is like that, too. It sneaks up under one’s guard.’

Fa’red said all this with the profound distaste of the mage-born for cold science.

‘Then you should know that the Preceptor has a fleet of these metal flying carpets,’ Daretor replied, inclining his head to the vessel they had stolen. ‘We figure he’s on his way here now with what’s left.’

‘And where would he build such a
fleet
?’

‘On Golgora,’ said Daretor.

Fa’red stared at them both for a moment then burst out laughing.

‘On Golgora? The hell world? So let me see, he went to Golgora and built a mine and got together a group of folk with cold science skills so far beyond his understanding that he would be hard pressed to use their toilet without written instructions. He then built a fleet of sky vessels – on one of the most dangerous paraworlds ever charted? Full of ignorant, exiled villains, cutthroats and murderers, who just stood happily by while he did this?’

‘No, he enslaved them.’

‘Your tongue has become quite resourceful,’ Fa’red said. ‘And I suppose he sent them in chains to some university of the cold sciences to acquire an education.’

‘You’re missing the point,’ said Daretor. ‘He’s no longer the Preceptor, or so I’m told. He’s now the Wardragon, and has been for some time.’

This checked Fa’red for a moment.

‘The mailshirt,’ he said. ‘The mailshirt … I wonder.’

‘What they say is correct,’ said Ras in his imperturbable tone.

Fa’red eyed him with frank curiosity. ‘A new player, how interesting. Well, you can all die together.’ Aware of Jelindel’s propensity to thwart him, he conferred a secondary magic-suppressing spell on her, while allowing her full use of her jaw again.

He then briskly issued orders. Guards once loyal to the Preceptor came forward to take hold of Jelindel and Daretor as the binding spells were collapsed, then they and Ras were shackled, hauled away, and locked in a cell.