Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) (31 page)

Quint fired off several arrows that merely bounced off its scaly hide and then, throwing down his bow in favour of his sword, dashed down three flights of stairs and out onto the ramparts.

Within moments, he was in the thick of the battle, pushing his way through other groups of defenders as they fired arrows down into the mass of the enemy. About two-dozen of the invaders had already made it through and were trying to hold a position around the breach to allow in more of their numbers. Quint pushed past the last of those in his way, drew his sword and attacked, immediately taking the place of a man who fell screaming into the darkness clutching a spear in his stomach. Deflecting one blow, Quint turned as a long curved sword cut down, aimed at his head. He neatly sidestepped, pulled the warrior's sword arm towards him and then hit him hard between the shoulder blades as he passed, sending the man flying off the walkway into the city to land with a crash in the street below. Moving on to the next enemy, he deflected another cut then punched out with his left fist catching his opponent in the kidneys then slammed his elbow up under his chin. One of the Sultan's men ran in beside him and together they tipped the man back over the wall on top of those moving up from below, where more attackers were streaming up ladders, screaming in defiance, their faces contorted with hatred and violence. Two of the Sultan's men moved in and began using a forked pole to push the ladder outward, and Quint added his own weight. He stared into the face of the man at the top of the ladder, eyes gleaming above an oiled beard and a mouth open in an angry scream that turned quickly to a look and scream of terror as the ladder toppled backwards to land with a crash onto the horde below. Turning his attention back to those already on the wall, Quint began to move in a familiar deadly dance, cutting, spinning and kicking, clearing the battlements of invaders until he came upon two huge bearded warriors. They were blocking the rampart, protecting those coming up ladders set behind them, and had several defenders lying dead or dying at their feet. Dropping low, Quint continued his momentum and spun, bringing his blade flashing at their legs while their own blades met only air in the space where he had been. They were both well armoured with metal greaves protecting their shins and his sword crashed into them, slicing across the polished metal in a shower of sparks. The warriors both howled and staggered back to teeter on the edge of the wall and with a shriek of his own, Quint leapt forward, jumped and planted a foot on each man's chest in a fierce double kick that sent them both flying over the side. He landed heavily then sprang up, immediately stepping aside as a huge metal bucket was dragged to the wall and tipped over the edge, sending boiling oil into the upturned faces of those below – howling screams erupted to fill the night air.

Grabbing the shirt of one of the men as they dragged the bucket back in, Quint hissed, 'We need to close the break, where are the Magician and his men?' The man glanced at him, probably wondering who he was, then nodded his head, indicating he should look where a small man in a dark red robe was crouched at the side of the breach. He was forcing crystals of some kind into the wall muttering and then moving a few paces to repeat the procedure, all this while ignoring the fact that a large group of people were surrounding him intent upon killing each other. As a new wave of attackers reached the top of the wall, Quint turned back to the fight and stabbed out with his sword doing his best to work with the Sultan's men, forcing the invaders back, cutting, stabbing and kicking at the never ending tide of ferocious warriors trying to get at them.

Eventually, enough of the Sultan's men arrived that Quint was able to step back, exhausted and watch as the shield began to flicker until final, it became whole once more.

* * *

'There…'

'Where?' Elisop peered down through the early dawn haze to the desert far below which, with the low sun casting shadows through the rippling dunes, resembled the sea in all but movement. As the cloak of night slowly withdrew, it revealed that the balloon had travelled well and was fast approaching a range of mountains seemingly strung out as a barrier across the desert. Upon sighting the towering peaks, Magician Falk had suddenly become very excited and even more so when he sighted movement.

'There… close to the mountains, I can't believe you're unable to see them, what kind of spy are you?'

Elisop leant forward squinting his eyes. 'I'm a very cold spy.' He shivered and drew his cloak further about him. 'Is it the Royal Army…?'

'Yes, it is indeed the Royal Army, let's go down and see them shall we.' Magician Falk turned to the controls, pulled a lever, tugged upon a rope and then gazed up expectantly through the open bottom of the balloon, smiling in satisfaction as a small opening appeared at the top, spilling warm air. Elisop eyed him nervously, gripped onto the edge of the basket and then peeked over the side again.

'We're dropping… going down…' he squeaked.

'Yes, Mr Elisop, we're going down. Maybe you would like to stay with the troops when we get there?' Elisop ignored him, and the Magician frowned. 'Please power the propeller, we shall need to fly further west to reach our destination.' Elisop grudgingly took his place in the chair, placed his feet on the peddles, and started to push them round, muttering about dark Magicians and the irrefutable fact that it really was he who was in charge and it shouldn't be him that was made to power the propeller… it was undignified for a spy of his standing.

As they descended through the various layers of air, the balloon was pitched and tossed, and it took a steady hand at the controls to bring them eventually to a soft landing close to the low rocky pass from where the troops would soon emerge. Magician Falk jumped out, tied off the balloon to a large rock, and then just as efficiently began preparing a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast while Elisop danced about in the early morning sunlight celebrating his safe return to earth. He pranced, rolled around and laughed in delight, and then lay outstretched, digging his hands and feet into the sand in obvious pleasure at being in contact with firm ground again.

'I shall never leave you again, good, solid, proper land. Man is not made to fly with the birds, tis the work of evil and meddlers in magic…' he stopped and glanced back at the Magician, and then satisfied he hadn't been overheard, continued his worship of terra firma in more guarded, whispered tones as he poured sand through his fingers, giggling ecstatically before finally letting it trickle into his upturned mouth as if it were cool water scooped from a stream. 'Urgh!' he spat, then spat several times more.

'When you have quite finished your re-acquaintance with our planet Mr Elisop, we are now ready to break our fast.' Magician Falk, standing next to a little table and two chairs set up beside the balloon, raised a cup of brew and saluted the little spy. 'Of course, it's made by an evil old Magician that dabbles with flying machines, but it is pretty good.'

By the time the first troops began coming out of the pass, they were finishing their morning meal and indulging in a game of 'Old Jack Bones' the traditional game of all in the Realm. It was played with a set of six dice that custom dictated should be carved from the finger knuckles of your enemies, yet more often they were simply carved from old sheep bones; Elisop was dancing about having won his fifth game in a row.

'We must pack our game away now, we have guests,' announced the Magician jumping up. Elisop stopped his prancing and was about to protest, but was cut short when the Magician gave a wave of his hand, and the dice grew legs of their own and scuttled off into the desert to begin their own strange colony of dice-insects that would one day be discussed, wondered over and studied by learned scholars from all the greatest universities.

'Well met, soldiers of the Realm,' called Magician Falk as the first riders reigned in their mounts to study the strange pair and their even stranger flying contraption. 'It's all right; we're on your side,' assured the Magician.

The leader of the advance party introduced himself as Captain Fellows, who after a careful study of the balloon and its strange occupants, relented to join them at the table. Another chair was produced from somewhere within the basket, and he was soon sitting down sipping on a fresh brew while his men continued to stream out of the pass behind him.

'We have a need to notify the Sultan of our position,' the Captain eventually explained, 'he should know that we will be able to engage with the enemy in less than two days.' He raised the china brew cup to his lips and drew the hot liquid into his mouth with a loud slurp.

'I shall inform the Sultan myself, your Royal Captain-ness,' Elisop simpered. With my flying machine here,' he waved expansively at the floating balloon tethered behind him, 'I shall 'pop' over to the city and deliver your messages and directions. Together with the Sultan, we shall be able to circle the invaders and… and… ' Elisop glanced about for a useful metaphor and grabbed a piece of toast which he began crumbling between his hands. 'We shall crush them and tear them to pieces and…'

'Fear not, Captain,' interrupted Magician Falk as he brushed stray crumbs from his lap. 'After we have broken our fast here, I shall be sure to… drop Mr Elisop into the city to warn of your imminent arrival.' He raised the brew pot as more horses and a big catapult came through the pass behind them. 'Until then, more brew Captain?'

It was, therefore, sometime later around midday with the sun now directly overhead, that Elisop found himself sitting on the edge of the basket, approximately a thousand spans directly over the city of Dhurban and, truth be told, he wasn't entirely certain why indeed he was sitting in so precarious a position. He glanced down at his feet, which were dangling over the side as Magician Falk tried to explain the intricacies of the 'dropping bag' to him. Quite how he had ended up in this position was still a little hazy to Elisop, but in his mind he was to report to the Sultan about the impending arrival of the armies from the Realm and Magician Falk had explained this 'bag thing' was the only real way he would be able to do it.

'As I have already tried to explain several times, Mr Elisop, if we were to try and land, the invaders would just shoot us out of the sky as we approached the city. If we were simply to drop a message canister, then who can say how it may be misunderstood or even possibly lost. Why, we may drop it, only to have it end up down a chimney, or a dog might even eat it! No, it can only be you, the Royal Spy and great leader of our enterprise that should deliver the good news to the Sultan.' Magician Falk beamed as he tightened the pack strapped onto Elisop's back.

'But, why do I sit here? We shall be landing in order for me to disembark, surely? We are merely seeking a suitable landing place I trust… is that correct?' Elisop scanned the city so far below them, and then flinched backwards as the balloon shifted and he felt himself slipping. 'Ohhhh, I want to get back in, take us down!'

'Oh I will…' Magician Falk sounded a little distant as he surveyed the sky to the east, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. He clipped a rope trailing from Elisop's pack onto the side of the basket. 'I fear we may have company. Are you confident of our message when you arrive and find the Sultan, do you have the papers about you?'

'Yes of course I do! I am no fool. I am Elisop the…'

'Good.' Magician Falk gave the annoying little man a shove and watched as Elisop fell, arms flapping in sudden panic, his screaming shriek filling the sky.

'… sppyyyy… aaaaaaaaaghhhhhh!'

'I can't believe he didn't know I was going to do that,' muttered the Magician as he watched Elisop fall. He smiled when the shaped cotton bag opened some distance below with a satisfying …
wumph!
'Oh good, it works. I thought it might…' He continued to study the dangling shape to be certain his aim had been true and smiled as he saw the little spy drift softly down into the city far below. Satisfied, his attention returned to the rapidly growing speck coming out of the sky in the east. 'Oh, bugger, I do believe we have a magical creature coming to play.' Sitting down, he strapped himself in and began peddling furiously.

* * *

Loras groaned as consciousness began to return. A terrible ache in his neck was accompanied by a head feeling fit to burst with pounding pressure. Exploring his senses, he determined he was lying limp and being dragged, held beneath each arm by a person on each side, he could hear their laboured breathing. Opening his eyes was impossible; they felt as if they'd been glued shut. It was incredibly hot, the blinding light of the sun was penetrating his closed lids, and he could feel its scorching heat on his back and neck, which felt burned and raw - he had never felt so awful.

Sand… his feet were dragging through sand. Visions swam, and his memory prodded gently as recollection rose to the surface of his awareness like a bubble released from the depths. They had been flying on
The Griffin
over the desert. Oh Source, the memory hit him hard, and he felt the tremor of fear and loss course through his body;
The Griffin
had crashed, hit by… by something… where was Tarent? Loras tried to open his eyes again yet still they remained stubbornly closed. Oh, Tarent… I'm so sorry… His head lolled and bounced as whoever was carrying him readjusted their grip and fresh pain exploded with pounding pressure behind his brows - if only they would just lay him down and let him die. He was aware that, at some point, he'd been sick because he had a horrible sour, acidic taste in his mouth and a sore, parched throat, but he couldn't remember it happening.

Someone was talking. A strange guttural tongue accompanied by the screeching of what sounded like one of the monkeys from Minster Island… was he on Minster… no? His shin hit a rock and pain flared through him, yet he didn't have the energy to cry out or move in any way but instead felt it overwhelm him and his consciousness slipped blissfully away.

'Aaugh!' Loras awoke and jerked as his head bounced painfully. He'd been dropped onto a rocky surface, but at least it felt delightfully cool beneath his back. Then he rolled onto his side and sobbed as pain renewed its acquaintance with his newly conscious brain.

Somebody laughed, the sound echoing through his head, and then the incredible shock of cold water being tipped over him, drenching him. He choked and rubbed at his face, his eyes felt crusted and bruised, oh Source… he felt bruised all over.

'You see, Princess. You see what I present you with? Your saviour, your hero come to save you. See how pathetic he is, how I have brought him here, like this, even with all his magical powers to grovel at my feet.'

Loras rubbed at his eyes again, trying to make sense of what was happening. A scampering sound moved towards him from the side skittering right up to his head, and he felt something snatch his glasses, wrenching the cord that secured them to the back of his neck. Then he cried out in pain as whatever it was moved in again, grabbed a handful of his hair and tried to tear it from his head, 'Aaaaahhh, noooo!' He made a feeble attempt at swatting whatever it was, and it bit him, hard on the hand, and he pulled it back with a yelp.

'You look like a sad little pile of howler shit, boy, what kind of adversary are you? You are a pitiful, pathetic excuse, and I am disappointed. I wasted time plotting your downfall, it has been far too easy, you are no more than a child after all.'

The tugging on his hair began again, and something slapped him hard, several times on the side of his sunburned face. 'Leave him Nhasic, you may play with him later, for now we need our Magician friend here to recover just a little so that I may draw something from his magical essence and then we shall finish him once and for all.'

Loras felt a wave of despair overwhelm him. Drawing his broken body into a ball, he began to sob. If he would have moisture to spare, then tears would be falling to the floor, but there were none. The sound of retreating footsteps signalled his tormentor leaving. Within him, unbidden, some part of him that still fought for life drew upon the Source and the faintest blue glow pulsed through his body and the healing process began.

'Loras… Loras. For the sake of the Source Loras, pull it together, we need you.'

It was a voice, coming from far away, from some far better happier time. It was Tarent, his friend. Oh to be sitting on the edge of
The Griffin
, with Tarent, fishing off the palm fringed coast of Minster Island. Mahra would be gazing at the fish and Pardigan…

'
Loras
… Loras, get a grip and come back to us Loras…
Loras
!'

'Tarent?' Loras reached to rub at his eyes, all crusty and dry, and tried to tease the lids apart. It stung and he rubbed at them even more as tears finally appeared from somewhere and helped wash away the pain and grime.

'Tarent, is that you? Oh Source Tarent, I messed up…' His voice was dry and rasping, and it hurt to speak. 'I'm so sorry, where are we?' Lifting is head, he gazed about, was he in a cave? Everything was fuzzy and blurred without his glasses, oh how his head pounded… he allowed more healing energy to trickle into his body and immediately his eyes focused a little and his head began to clear, but it made him feel nauseous, so he stopped for a moment, breathing heavily.

'Loras you have to help get me down from here, I can help.' Tarent sounded weak, his voice slurred and faint. 'It's Matheus Hawk and his little demon friend. Fajira is here too… she's next to me; we're up on the wall, in chains… up here! Oh, Source Loras, get up, please!'

'Loras, you can do this thing…' It was Fajira speaking now, the sound of her voice lighting a fire of determination within him, and he allowed more healing energy to seep into his tired, broken body.

'Loras my love, I knew you would come for me… that foul Hawk and his filthy monkey will be back soon, hurry my darling, you must find the will to fight him!'