90

Sterlester

Candle swooped down and landed with ill grace atop the rocky knoll. The small band of Ancestors Own cowered, then straightened as she transformed back into her human form. They watched, eyes wary as she crawled beneath the enchantments and settled beneath the rocky ledge dug into the ridge of the hillside. Once she stopped moving they relaxed. Turning back to their bows her presence was soon forgotten as the battle consumed their concentration. They fired mechanically. Arrow after arrow, shot after shot. The air around them rained feathers and ash as the iron found their marks.

Candle watched, breathing deeply and feeling guilty for the snatched moment of rest. She would never forgive herself if one of her friends died while she was hiding under a rock. But she needed a moment. Needed it desperately. Someone handed her a skin and she drank greedily, with shaking hands. Sitting, away from the immediate adrenaline of the battle it was harder to ignore the aches and pains in her body. Pasco's sacrifice had given her a brief reprieve, but she had no illusions. She ground her nails into her palm and resisted the urge to crush the water bottle in her frustration. While the Necromancer Queen could raise the dead, the living were at a severe disadvantage. Unless something changed, they would all die. Fact. Candle's mind sheered away from the implications, and she focused instead on her immediate pain. She took a moment to heal herself of the worst of her cuts and bruises, including the large gash on her thigh where corpse Asher had gored her with his teeth. She shuddered, shutting her eyes. When she opened them, the majority of her wounds had closed. She was still covered in blood and grime, but it would wash off. If she had the opportunity.

A thump heralded another dragon's arrival. A moment of tension passed before Candle recognised Steren, landing in a shower of soil and debris. She transformed, a look of terror on her face as she scoured the air above her, then scurried forward in her human form to duck through the meagre protection of the enchantments. Spying Candle, she dove beneath the rock and squeezed next to her friend, her chest rising and falling in time with her deep shuddering sobs. Listening to her friend nearly broke Candle. She knew she was holding back a vast damn of emotion, and if she let one teardrop fall her feelings would consume her. So she held it in. Her life and the lives of others depended on her control. Even now, she had been gone from the battle for far too long. She tried not to think that this snatched moment of rest might result in the death or serious injury of someone she knew. Their deaths would be her fault. Lost in dark thoughts, she nearly screamed when a shadow moved in the gloom beside her. The shadow squirmed about and Candle saw with some relief thatrelief, that it was just Murmux.

"Hello, ladies," he said. The lightning bird shuffled around awkwardly in his bonds so he could see their faces. His tone was light but Candle could see the same deadness in his eyes that was beginning to creep into her core. "Still alive then?"

Candle took another swig from the skin.

"Is there any way to free your brothers?" she asked. She needed to get a grip. There had to be some way they could use his knowledge to their advantage. Something, there must be something. "Those that remain?" Pasco's wall of fire had taken out approximately half of the lightning birds. But of those who had died, half again had been resurrected by the Necromancer Queen. "They fight because of the compulsion in their blood tattoos, yes? If they were freed would they still feel the need to kill us?"

Murmux shrugged, tilting his head on one side.

"Maybe," he said. "They would probably just fly off – bird-brained bastards the lot of them. But there is no way to free them, anyway. They will have to die. They will fight to the death, and then beyond." He sighed. "Most of them deserve it, anyway. They are horrible people. I will shed no tears." His eyes gleamed with moisture, and he turned his face away.

"And there is no way to release you from the compulsion?"

"Not while the Queen lives."

"So we kill her?"

He snorted.

"Good luck with that. I assume you have been trying. What have you been doing up there, painting your nails?"

Candle swallowed.

"I mean, surely there must be a way? You don't know any way to do it? To kill her?"

"Your relentless optimism is grating."

"Candle," Delen's voice called from somewhere above, high-pitched and laced with fear. "We need you!"

Candle stifled a groan and crawled forward on her hands and knees. She lifted her face to the night sky, letting the cool air caress her skin. Almost directly overhead, Jotham was locked in battle with Asher's corpse. The pair of them tumbled over and over in a flailing mass of claw and teeth. As she watched they broke apart. She stood, racing to the edge of the protected circle, not knowing what to do, but needing to do something. The air around Jotham seemed to contract. A blistering explosion of light surrounded him momentarily, silhouetting both dragons in harsh black against the incandescent white light. Then Asher's body was gone, reduced to motes on the wind and Candle breathed in a sharp, juddering sigh of relief. At least now Asher's spirit could find peace. He hadn't deserved to be the Necromancer's plaything in death.

Any relief she felt was short-lived, however. As she transformed back into her scales, Steren called to her from underneath the rock.

"Candle." Her friend was shaking and tears were tracking their way in dirty streaks down her blood-caked cheeks. "I don't think I can do it. I thought I could but I can't."

"It's fine," lied Candle, suddenly much older than her sixteen years. "Stay here."

"Goodbye," said Murmux, with no trace of humour. He didn't meet her eye, only turning his face away from hers, as if he couldn't bear to look at her. Fear threatened to overwhelm her then, hooking her heart with insidious little claws. She had thought Jotham would be able to save them, that her friends being dragons would be enough. Now she was suddenly afraid of dying.

A thought broke through the bleak sludge of her mind's fear. She turned her head to left and right.

"Where is Zephi?" she asked, panic gripping her afresh. She raised her voice. "Has anyone seen the little girl?"

No one paid her any heed. The fighting was directly overhead and the Ancestors Own had more pressing concerns than the whereabouts of one wayward child. One of the other corpse dragons bore down on the hideaway and all thoughts of Zephi evaporated in the more pressing and immediate concern of trying to stay alive.

_______________________________

Zephi

Zephi had spent the first part of the battle lying on her stomach, chewing her fingernails. She gazed upward, watching Candle's flight with terror and awe, and trying to control the fear that gripped her. Every now and then she turned to poke Murmux. He did not seem to enjoy it, or to be particularly appreciative of her updates but prodding him in the side made her feel less anxious. His side was warm and solid, and his irritable cussing was a comfort. After a particularly tense moment in the battle, he announced that she was bruising him and that if she didn't stop he would fry her finger with a bit of lightning. Zephi didn't think he meant it but stopped just in case. Puffing out her cheeks, the moments crept by, punctuated by the bangs and crashes of battle from somewhere above. She tried not to think bad thoughts. Glancing at Murmux, she could see that he was wrestling with bad thoughts of his own.

Unable to bear the inaction, Zephi went in search of a snack. She couldn't find anything, and the Ancestors Own were too busy fighting to pay her any mind. Zephi tried to help by fetching them drinks, but only managed to get in the way. Wide-eyed, she watched the battle rage, and then Pasco as he strode away across the fell. She witnessed him release that devastating wall of fire which seemed to upset the Ancestors Own. Zephi couldn't understand their words but from the tone there was a lot of swearing.

No one paid her any mind and after a while, boredom and anxiety grew too much to bear. Candle had said to stay with Pasco. Pasco might have forgotten her but she would go and find him, even if it meant leaving the safety of the knoll. Decision made, she stood up. Slipping out of the stone circle unnoticed was the work of seconds. Moments later, she was padding across the fell with the wind in her hair, the ground coarse and scratchy beneath her feet.

Zephi could see well in the dark and made a bee-line for the tiny, distant figure that was Pasco. He was further away than she had realised, and her legs began to ache. Soon enough though, she was walking across the desolate fire waste of his magic. The object of her journey was sitting crossed legged at the epi-centre of the blackened valley floor, his eyes closed. She stood before him, ready with a smile for when he noticed her. The pale-skinned man remained quite still. She waited. Of all the people Zephi had met in the Day Nation, Pasco was the only one who reminded her of the humans from home. And he understood her, and he had given her a sandwich.

"Hello, Pasco," she said, stepping close to him and peering in his face. He didn't react. "What are you doing?"

She waited for him to notice her, but he was still. Cautiously she reached out and poked him – still no response. Zephi wondered if he was asleep. But humans didn't usually sleep seated upright, though. At least, in Zephi's limited experience they didn't. She waited some more. The minutes ticked by but he didn't stir. Disappointed she turned away.

In the distance, she could see Candle fighting the last remaining corpse dragon and the sight made her stomach knot. If only she could help – but she was just a small, stupid girl who couldn't fly. Even Murmux could fly. Zephi couldn't even raise a small animal from the dead let alone a person, or a dragon. And there weren't any bones here anyway. She looked around at the charred ground, her eye catching sight of something white against the soot-stained earth. Swooping down with a cry of delight she picked up the small, perfectly formed skull of a bird. She cradled it in her palm, feeling the smooth ridge of its eye sockets with her fingers. The poor thing must have died in Pasco's fires, the flesh melted from the bone. But what was she thinking? One tiny bird would hardly turn the tide of battle, even if she did get the runes right. Pocketing the skull she jammed her hands into the comforting velvet of her dress.

Zephi stood on the vast burnt plain of the valley floor and looked up at the unfamiliar night sky, feeling lonely. Besides her, Pasco might as well have been a rock. She turned away from him, from the battle and looked out towards the sea. What would she do if Candle was hurt? If Candle died? It felt selfish to even think about it but she was in a strange place with no one to love her. Having Candle made it all worthwhile but if Candle died...

Her eyes wandered the skyline. The mountains were familiar and yet different. The trees that grew here were small and stunted, nothing like the thick, luxuriant vegetation of the Night Nation. The valleys were brown and dull, and the mountain ridges were mostly bare. It was uncanny. Her gaze came to a stop on the recumbent figure of the Old Man of Sterlester. A short way across the isthmus, the vast mountain of his head rested against the distant ocean sands. The crags that made his body curved around the bay, solid and black against the stars.

Zephi started walking. The night was warm and pleasant, as long as she ignored the flash and boom of the battle raging behind her. As she crossed the remainder of the isthmus the ground grew sandier, and the tang of salt tweaked her nose. Something dry and scaly slithered away to one side, and a few moments later a bird took flight. A small animal scurried away into the fell. A bird took flight. At length, she passed beneath the deep shadow of the Old Man of Sterlester. It was quiet here. Nothing moved. It felt like the whole universe was focused on the aerial fight taking place over the Enchantments and Zephi was utterly alone.

Zephi paused, next to a rocky outcrop of exposed sandstone. She reached a hand out to brush the rough surface, then snatched it back. If she wanted to keep her friend, she needed to be brave.

"Be brave, Zephi," she told herself, puffing out her cheeks. Her voice sounded tiny, even to her own ears, spoken in the great empty space of that strange world. But the vocalisation gave her confidence.

She reached out, and with a shaking finger drew the rune of waking.

"Hello," she said to the rocks. "My name is Zephi. I know your brother."

__________________________

Candle

Candle tore herself away from the corpse dragon, leaving a chunk of her scales in its blackened maw. Narrowly, she avoided a plume of flame aimed at her head. It singed her scales and she screamed in pain, consumed with adrenaline and primal agony. Trying to pull herself together, to fight with her head as well as her instincts, she banked, summoning threads of magic. It was hard. She was tired, pulling and gathering energy was becoming more and more difficult as the night marched on. The bitter edge of exhaustion threatening to rise and consume her. Her limbs were heavy. Her shoulders strained under the weight required to lift her wings. Summoning a burst of energy from her deep reserve she pulled away, then turned sharply and cast the rune guw for light spear. Her aim was good. The shaft flew true, piercing the flesh of the undead dragon and pinning it to the face of the rock. She had earned a moment's reprieve but she knew, the creature would not stay pinned for long. What was a spear through the heart when you were already dead? And felt no pain? Already the undead dragon was working to free itself, its gleaming blue eyes fixed on her with wicked intensity.

Candle hesitated in the air, not knowing who to help, who to turn too. Everywhere she looked her friends were in danger of being overwhelmed. Jotham appeared next to her. His face was grim, and he had a nasty gash across his face. One golden eye was bleeding and swollen.

"I was hoping the other Guardians would rouse," said Jotham. With casual strength he sent a second spear of light through the corpse dragon's body, further anchoring it to the mountain slope. It screamed at him, fighting to free itself.

"The others?"

"They have the power to tip this scale. Morwagr I haven't seen for a couple of years–"

They parted as a lightning bolt crashed between them. Jotham snarled at the lightning bird who had delivered it, snapping the creature's neck with a lazy shake. Candle slapped another away with her tail, cracking its head against the mountain face.

"Morwagr! She was there, at Angarrack!"

"You saw her in the Night Nation? Then she is probably still there. Charodon I haven't seen recently, I don't know if the others are dead, or sleeping."

There was the sound of ripping flesh and the corpse dragon tore itself free. Jotham swore. Down below, Candle could see the upturned face of the Necromancer Queen. She was laughing up at them, her eyes dark.

"While she lives," said Jotham, "there will be no end to this."

He dove, barrelling towards that composed, smiling face. Lightning birds, spirits and dead airmen crashed into his sides, biting and grabbing, rushing to defend their Queen. He pushed them away, snarling, his flame clearing a path before him. But they kept coming, an inexorable press of dead bodies, weighing him down. The great dragon slowed, then disappeared beneath the mass of them.

Candle screamed Jotham's name, but her cry was cut off as the corpse dragon rose in front of her, its body held together by sinew and dark magic. Great chunks of its flesh were missing. She froze, despair dragging at her limbs. The corpse dragon screamed. The sound was appalling – a horrible, death rattle of rage and despair and then Candle, too was fighting for her life. She twisted to evade the creature, pumping her wings, trying to coax the last bit of energy out of them. Just as she thought she could fight no more there was an earth-shattering screech – the sound of stone rending stone.

Candle tried to cover her ears with her hands, momentarily forgetting she was in her dragon body. The corpse dragon fell away from her as shock waves rippled through the air. Candle fought to stay airborne – everything was rumbling and shaking. Across the isthmus plumes of dust were shooting into the sky, tumbling piles of granite and sandstone sliding down slopes.

"What's happening?" cried Delen.

"Earthquake?"

"No," came Jotham's voice from down below. "Something else."

Candle wheeled around frantically, trying to find out what was happening, trying to find the threat. Whatever it was it was happening in the mountains above Sterlester. Something big. Something enormous. A wild crack resounded across the land, echoing back from the distant mountains in the east and rolling around the foothills of the Guardians. Candle squinted through the dust, trying to see. The earth creaked and groaned, ripples spreading out across the diamond plain of the ocean. The mountain above the Lochlanach settlement rose and rose... until the Old Man of Sterlester stood, one craggy foot in Adamant Bay and one in Hammett.

He was bigger than the King of the Mountain, bigger than any giant. His head brushed the clouds, and his hair scraped the dome of the sky. His face was cracked granite and his skin weathered rock. Trees grew from his ears and his arms bristled with shrubbery. Water cascaded from his pores and when he roared the world quaked in terror. The Old Man took one low lumbering step into the bay, and a tidal wave of water loosed itself on the coast, sloshing over the low plain of the isthmus. As he turned Candle could see the exposed ridge of his spine, shiny with moonsilver, battered and ragged where the metal had been mined from his slumbering body.

The remaining lightning birds scattered before him, but the Old Man of Sterlester casually swatted at them with his sandstone fists. They disappeared beneath the waters and did not resurface. Two of the Night Nation dragons were not quick enough to avoid his wrath and were dispatched with casual violence. Airships with crews both living and dead were smashed into the ground. Imps screamed and chittered as they were crushed. With a boom the Old Man stepped across the plain, his feet uprooting rock and trees, leaving craters the size of villages in his wake. He turned his craggy face towards the Necromancer Queen, leaning forward. Her composure dropped, her already pale face turning grey. She picked up her skirts and ran.

But nothing could outrun the massive mountain giant. He lifted one giant foot. A tangle of roots and trees dangled down, suspended in mid-air. Then he stepped, deliberately. Rocks crashed into the ground. Borlowen screamed, once. When the Old Man lifted it there was nothing left to be seen, just a crater of ground rock, and a few gleaming silver particles. The Old Man lifted his craggy face towards the rising sun and the last remaining Night Nation dragon.

Zebulon crash landed on the sandy shores of Adamant Bay and turned into his human self. He waved his hands frantically.

"I surrender," he shouted. "I surrender!"