Keeper of the Realms: The Dark Army (Book 2) (10 page)

The two adversaries snarled and spat wordlessly at one another. Darkmount drew his arms over his head and increased the passion of his song. Nibbler sucked in a huge breath of air, widened his mouth and tensed his legs ready to jump forward.

‘Enough!’ screamed Charlie. Jumping upright she sent a sheet of golden Will between the two. ‘Enough! I will do it!’ she shouted. ‘I will do it. I will see this through. A deal is a deal and if this is what it takes to beat Bane then this is what I shall do.’

‘Charlie, are you sure?’ asked Nibbler as he settled back on to all four paws. ‘Are you sure this is what you want to do? There’s always another way.’

‘No, it’s not what I want to do. I’d rather be chilling at home with my parents or hanging with you, Jensen and Kelko back in Sylvaris, but this is what’s gotta be done. If we want to keep moving forward then this is the way.’ Charlie forced out a dry laugh. ‘This is the Will and the Way. Ha.
You know Azariah would be laughing if he could only see me now.’

Hands clenched by her sides, she swallowed her fear and prepared herself for what was to come.

11

A Lawyer’s Touch

The crows cascaded through the air like a ragged scarf caught in the wind. Wheeling this way and that, their movement was fierce but discordant. Overhead, ominous clouds churned with the promise of thunder and lightning; below, the apparently never-ending grasslands of the Great Plains stretched as far as the eye could see.

As the flock sped onward, their flight became more chaotic, more disorganized, as though they were having trouble acting as one. At the point when it seemed as though the birds would break off in different directions, an abrupt change came over them. Cawing nastily they spiralled downward and, nearing the ground, burst into one large flailing mass of inky feathers. With an odd sound of breaking glass Mr Crow stepped on to the grass.

Still dressed in his suit and tie, and still slightly transparent after his battle royal with Nibbler – the distant horizon could be seen through his body – Charlie Keeper’s lanky lawyer and legal guardian looked very out of place.

Truly, Mr Crow was a stranger in a strange land.

Almost immediately he began to pace up and down. A perplexed expression crept across his face and as he strode
back and forth with jerky motions his angular nose began to quiver.

‘What to do? What to do? What to do?’ he asked.

Ignoring the fact that he could see the grass through his shoes and refusing to acknowledge that his fluttering fingers appeared more ghostly than Human, he began to gnaw at his knuckles.

‘What to do?’ he asked the grass.

‘What to do?’ he asked the clouds.

‘What to do? What to do?’

Thoughts, fears and anxieties raced through Mr Crow’s brain. It was obvious that he had failed in his task. As far as he was aware, Charlie Keeper still ran free and still had that pesky pendant hanging round her smug little neck – a fact that would no doubt infuriate his master, Bane.

And that was the crux of the matter.

Mr Crow did not, under any circumstances, want to return to face an enraged Stoman Lord. He knew from his previous encounters how powerful, ferocious and unforgiving Bane was.

The lawyer’s beady little eyes bulged with alarm. He really did not want to be ripped limb from limb or pummelled into a bloody pile of fleshy scraps – a fate that he suspected was waiting for him in the Western Mountains. He had no idea how he might return to Earth from Bellania, but he knew that even there he would not be safe from Bane’s wicked revenge. Something stronger than greed swelled inside Mr Crow’s soul.

Cowardice.

‘WHAT TO DO?’ he screamed.

The answer came to him, not in a flash of brilliance, but in a sluggish wave of gutlessness.

He would do nothing.

He would hide and wait.

Surely, thought Mr Crow, an opportunity would arise if he waited long enough or was patient enough?

Having made his decision, he raced forward and leaped into the sky. Bursting into his alternative form, the cawing, shrieking crows sped across the grasslands beneath the tempestuous skies. Banking left and right they searched for miles and miles until they at last found what they wanted.

A dank and dark cave.

Circling round the entrance once, twice, three times, they flew back the way they had come until they hovered above a herd of wild cattle that they had seen while scouting for their hideout. Descending venomously, the flock pulled one of the cows kicking and bellowing into the air. Whipping round, they sped back to the cave and disappeared inside with their writhing catch.

To wait.

And to feed.

Three Stoman generals entered the Throne Room, stamping past the guards and the long line of footmen. The rattle of their swords and the clink of their chainmail resounded across the great space, yet oddly didn’t echo back. Each man was grizzled and war-torn, but they wore their scars and marks from a hundred different battles proudly. Heads held
high, hands on pommel or belt, they marched to the foot of the great dais. Slamming their feet together and holding clenched fists above their heads, they saluted.

‘My lord!’ they said, standing ramrod straight. Each of them knew the punishment for failure. Each had seen lesser men, beasts and creatures snapped across Bane’s knee or torn to shreds between his powerful hands for failing to deliver his wishes. But each cared not. They stared up at their master with shining eyes. Bane, the Stoman Lord, was the man who had led the forces of the Western Mountains to rule Bellania, and for this they would worship him forever.

‘Report,’ commanded Bane.

‘The Second has taken Alavis,’ said the general with a milky eye and a scar that curled his lip in a perpetual sneer.

‘The Third has taken Alacorn,’ said the one with the cleft in his jaw. ‘Both Human cities now lie beneath the shadow of your banner, my lord.’

‘Good,’ said Bane. ‘And do the Tremen still believe that our forces intend to use Alavis and Alacorn as launching posts from which to invade Deepforest and Sylvaris?’

‘Our spies report this to be so,’ said the milky-eyed general.

Bane settled back into the Devouring Throne. He appeared pleased with the news. ‘Excellent. You will command both the Second and the Third to make preparations to move, but they are to take their time. Allow the Tremen to believe they will have weeks – if not months – in which to prepare for the arrival or war.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’ The milky-eyed and cleft-jawed generals both bowed their heads in acknowledgement of their orders.

‘And what of the First?’ growled Bane. ‘How does my prime army fare?’

The last general, larger and more ferocious-looking than the others, peeled back his lips to reveal blackened teeth. ‘The First has already departed the Western Mountains, my lord. As you commanded, they will loop northward through the Great Plains to strike at Deepforest from an approach that the Tremen will not suspect.’

‘You have scouts and outriders scourging the way?’ asked Bane.

‘Yes, my lord. Once the army leaves our land and enters the Great Plains they have been instructed to butcher any who stands in the way. There will be no witnesses to warn the Tremen of our coming. Sylvaris will be caught unaware.’

Bane rumbled in delight. The sound carried across the Throne Room and unlike the clink of the general’s armour it echoed back, growing louder and louder until it sounded like a war drum pounding out its malicious and blood-fuelled intent.

12

The Stubborn Citadel

Keeping the image of Darkmount’s map of the Stubborn Citadel in her mind, Charlie summoned her Will, raised her hands high and tore open a Portal. It revealed a night-time landscape and a series of gently rolling hills that disappeared into the darkness. Darkmount eased his bulk through the Portal and after a quick look gave a nod of approval.

‘Good. This is the place.’ With a beckoning gesture he indicated that Charlie and Nibbler should join him.

Jumping through, Charlie took a quick look at the hills then turned to see if the fortress lay behind them.

‘Oh,’ she murmured as she came face to face with a sheer cliff. She craned her neck back and there, at the very top, where her vision began to blur, she could make out the Stubborn Citadel.

Charlie gulped. The place was huge. No army in its right mind would ever attempt to scale these walls. She was very glad that Darkmount would be doing the climbing.

‘Quick,’ hissed Darkmount. ‘Close the Portal. The light will give us away.’

Charlie allowed the Portal to wink out of existence.

‘Right,’ continued Darkmount. ‘You –’ he pointed at
Nibbler – ‘get going and remember to stop flapping your wings once you are over the citadel.’

‘Stop flapping my wings? Are you crazy? How am I supposed to stay airborne? Hold my breath and hope I float like a balloon?’

‘Idiot!’ snapped Darkmount. ‘Glide in! Gain enough altitude outside the fortress then glide down. Those big wings of yours make a lot of noise.’

‘Oh,’ said Nibbler, seeing the wisdom in his words. ‘OK, good idea.’

‘Well don’t stand there dawdling all day. Get on with it.’

Charlie could see that Nibbler was hesitant. Not because of any concern for his own welfare, but fear for hers.

‘Don’t worry, Nibbler. I’ll be OK. We’ll meet up on the inside.’

‘Are you sure?’

Charlie flashed him a nervous smile. ‘Yes.’

The two of them exchanged a hug.

‘By Stone and Spit!’ cursed Darkmount. ‘This isn’t nursery school. Stop wasting time and get on with it.’

Nibbler threw him a dirty look. Then with a hop and skip he launched himself into the night sky.

Once Nibbler had disappeared Charlie turned to confront Darkmount, but before she could utter a word Darkmount held up his hand. ‘We’re not friends, we’re business partners. Nothing more. Best you remember that.’

Anger seethed within Charlie. She wanted to say something, but knew that now wasn’t the time.

Darkmount walked over to the cliff and knelt down. ‘Climb on,’ he said.

Charlie twisted her sword belt so the Hell Sword rested against the back of her leg. Not caring if she pinched Darkmount in the process, Charlie clambered up the bishop’s broad back, hooked her arms round his thick neck and jammed her feet into the small of his back.

Once Darkmount was certain she was secure and not likely to fall he stood and began to chant softly. His hands and feet glowed a soft dark green, which seemed to melt into the darkness. Charlie didn’t doubt that it would be hard to see from a distance.

Darkmount plunged his hands and feet into the rock and with a surge of his powerful muscles began to climb effortlessly upward.

Charlie swallowed as the ground dwindled into the distance. The fear of an imminent fall rushed through her and as their ascent continued her sense of vertigo only intensified. Even the bunch and tense of Darkmount’s prodigious muscles beneath his cloak didn’t reassure her, and as they climbed higher and higher she was sure that at any moment she would topple off and fall to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs.

Darkmount’s gravelly voice shook her from her thoughts. ‘The cliff ends here and the wall begins. Hold on tight, the ride won’t be smooth.’

Charlie’s stomach lurched as Darkmount began to push his hands into the stonework. Little flashes of dim light met his every contact and as he pushed his fist into the stone it seemed to resist. Charlie began to bounce and shake as the Stoman bishop did his best to climb smoothly.

‘They have treated the walls,’ hissed Darkmount through
gritted teeth, ‘to make it resistant to stonesinging. We will have to hope that no one sees the sparks.’

‘Are … are we going to fall?’ squeaked Charlie.

But Darkmount refused to answer, instead saving his breath for the climb ahead.

Higher and higher they went. As the ascent became increasingly difficult, Darkmount’s muscles started to ripple in an unsteady rhythm, making it harder for Charlie to maintain her grip round his neck. She soon felt her own muscles begin to cramp and tire.