The Demon Horsemen (29 page)

He again felt the uncanny presence of someone else, so he stopped, extinguished the lantern and listened in the darkness. Nothing. He relit the lantern and continued, until he reached a point where the tunnel split into three. He eliminated one direction because it seemed to go deeper into the earth. Of the other two, he was unsure and chose the left one. If it was the wrong tunnel, he would retrace his steps and go down the other.

A short distance on, he felt cool fresh air on his cheeks and knew the tunnel opened to the outside world. The tunnel he wanted had to enter the palace. Although his curiosity to see where it opened teased him, he retreated to the junction and headed down the right-hand tunnel—until he felt cool air stirring again. He was puzzled: both led outside. Perhaps the tunnel he’d eliminated first actually came up again inside the palace.

This time, however, he decided to sate his curiosity and crept towards the opening. Shielding the lantern
with his hand he peered out—to discover that he was in the middle of some ruins. He took a moment to understand what he saw around him—the walls that leaned precariously against each other, as if seeking comfort for their damage; stairs that ended mid-air. He realised he had found the palace, but not as he’d expected it to be. He lifted the lantern to let its light spill across the rubble. From what remained of the building, he worked out he was in the stores and kitchen quarters. If Shadow had hidden the canvas bag in his quarters it was now buried beneath a massive weight of stone and timber, beyond retrieval. He had to hope the man had stored it somewhere else. But where? He suddenly realised that his grand mission was reckless and wishful.

As he lowered his lantern a voice ordered, ‘Don’t move.’ Chase didn’t hesitate. He threw the lantern at the voice and bolted into the tunnel.

Running blind was not his forte. He smacked into a wall before realising it was smarter to move quickly but not madly. He glanced back to see light framing the tunnel entrance and the silhouettes of men. Soldiers. The junction might save him. He scrambled towards the intersection, then barrelled blindly into the descending tunnel—and stumbled into a body. He yelped and swung a fist, missed and crouched. ‘Who’s there?’ he challenged.

‘It’s me.’

‘Who?’ He was uncertain of the voice, except that it was young.

‘Runner.’

Light glowed in the tunnel behind them. ‘Run,’ Chase urged.

‘Where does this go?’ Runner asked.

‘No idea,’ said Chase abruptly, and pushed the boy ahead of him deeper into the darkness.

Soaked from the rain, Swift gave up trying to stand, the pain in her ankle too intense. She leaned against the wall in the darkness and gingerly felt the area around the top of her boot, wincing when her fingers encountered a stickier wetness. Blood. She bit her lip and swore. There could be no staying in the garden because, sooner or later, a soldier would stumble upon her. She could hear nothing beyond the wall of drumming rain. Angered by her luck, she unsheathed her knife before she dragged herself across the sodden earth towards the corner of the building to see what options she had for escape.

The lantern light washed around the corner and over her before she could scramble to safety. Squinting, she sat up, her knife ready, and assessed the threat. Four soldiers. If her ankle was good, escape might still have been possible.
Take out the light and the odds will be higher
, she decided. The shadowy figures separated. The lantern holder raised the light and his three companions raised their peacemakers to take point-blank aim.
No chance now
, she realised.
But then what?
She knew what would happen. She’d killed Shadow, so she was already dead. It was just a matter of choosing how to die. With deadly accuracy, she threw her knife at the lantern holder. All three peacemakers roared.

M
eg woke refreshed from a full night’s sleep, but with her head buzzing with the challenges she faced. First, she had to locate Inheritor’s army so that she could tell the others what she had learned. Then she had to find Shadow—he still had the canvas bag, and the sword hilt in the bag was the only bargaining tool they would have to persuade the Seers not to release the Demon Horsemen.

‘They were marshalling the army outside Port of Joy to trap Shadow between them and the Ranu,’ Passion told Meg as she stirred a warm pot of wheatmeal in the underground hideaway. ‘They’d have to be somewhere near that village Swift took us to.’

Meg formed a portal, hugged Jon and Jewel goodbye, farewelled the others at the rebel base, then stepped with Whisper into the blue light. Time was running out.

She emerged in the centre of Littlecreek to find the village empty. The rain had stopped, but a low ceiling of grey clouds still obscured the sun and the light breeze carried an ocean chill far inland. ‘Where are they?’ she muttered.

While Whisper fossicked in the grass, Meg crossed the little wooden bridge, passed Keeper Shepherd’s
abandoned hut and climbed the hill to where the sheep had wandered. There was no trace of the sheep now. At the crest she surveyed the landscape and spied wisps of white smoke curling skywards away to the north-west, at least a day’s travel on foot. The distant camp had to be Inheritor’s army. She couldn’t open a portal link into an area she couldn’t see clearly in her mind, but she had to get there quickly.

Whisper
, she projected. The bush rat came trotting up the grassy slope and sat up inquisitively.
Stay
, Meg told her.
Wait
.

Going
? the rat queried.

Yes
, Meg replied.
Not for long
.

Whisper dropped to all fours and slid into the long grass again, as if uninterested in the matter.

Although she didn’t want to leave her little companion behind, her intended method of transport meant they couldn’t travel together. She spread her arms slightly and focussed on taking the form of a magpie. Her spine tingled and the familiar sense of vertigo enveloped her and the ground reappeared close to her face—close to her beak. She tested her shape, felt the breeze lift her wings as she extended them, and felt more comfortable with the spell.

Baby birds take a leap of faith
, she thought, remembering her previous clumsy experiences at attempting to fly. She looked across to the tree where Keeper and Blade Cutter had liked to sit while minding the sheep, and wished she had thought of climbing into it to launch herself.
It will happen here, from the earth
, she told herself and inwardly smiled. Then:
Do birds smile?
she wondered.

She stretched her tail feathers, letting the tendons and muscles work within her light frame, and knew what it felt like to be fragile.
This time I will fly
, she decided, and leapt into the air.

A Ahmud Ki disobeyed his advisors by deciding immediately to accept Inheritor’s invitation to meet on neutral ground a short distance out of Port of Joy, on a long hill known as Penny Rise. To their further horror, he chose to fly by dragon egg to the designated meeting, through the rain and strong winds.

‘What if the Kerwyn airbirds come?’ the advisors asked.

‘Not in this weather,’ said A Ahmud Ki.

‘And it’s too rough for a dragon egg.’

‘Rain and wind,’ said A Ahmud Ki dismissively. ‘Since when have such things stopped the Ranu empire?’

‘Make the Kerwyn come to us to beg,’ they argued.

But their warnings and arguments were meaningless to him. Since his discovery of the latent energy on the Fallen Star Islands, the fates of the Ranu empire and the Kerwyn kingdom had become insignificant in the grander scheme of his plans to grow and harvest vast quantities of euphoria. In its purest state, the drug was his key to the past—to his long-buried ambition to become a Dragonlord. A quick peace with the Kerwyn, the cost being the official annexation of the Fallen Star Islands and unconditional access to the former owner’s knowledge of euphoria production, would give him the future he’d always wanted.

As he stepped from the dragon egg’s carriage dressed in a crisp white suit, a black sash at his waist, a red cravat neatly arranged at his throat, his silver and white hair and beard precisely trimmed, flanked by an entourage of bodyguards, military leaders and advisors, A Ahmud Ki knew that he looked every part the supreme head of the most powerful empire in history. He savoured the moment, satisfaction flowing through
every nerve as he strode towards the pavilion erected on the hilltop, watched by the audience of Kerwyn soldiers.

The man he was meeting had briefly been the Kerwyn king, before his brother usurped the throne. A Ahmud Ki’s ambassadors and spies spoke highly of Inheritor, reporting that he’d been amenable to an alliance with the Ranu and willing to negotiate. He had all the requisite qualities of a good leader. General Shakir had established a puppet ruler in the city—a wilful and unreliable boy, the last son in the Kerwyn line—but the boy was useless for establishing a political arm of the Ranu empire and had to be replaced. Shadow and his Seers were too treacherous to involve in an alliance, so eliminating them from the Kerwyn political scene was a high priority. Inheritor’s unexpected play for the throne was a surprising and convenient boon.

Inheritor was waiting to greet A Ahmud Ki outside the light green pavilion. A Ahmud Ki appraised him and approved of what he saw. The man was broad-shouldered, with long black hair and a healthy beard. His face was scarred from a brutal accident, rumoured to be the legacy of the assassination attempt by his brother. Dressed in khaki trousers and tunic, he had the build and appearance of a formidable warrior, but closer inspection suggested a softer nature lurking beneath the bold exterior; the astute eyes of an intellectual shining in the darker frame of a man fighting for his freedom and his birthright.

Inheritor bowed his head to the Ranu president. As he lifted his face he said, ‘You have shown considerable trust in coming to meet with me.’

A Ahmud Ki smiled. ‘Coming with an army of twenty thousand isn’t exactly showing trust.’ When he saw Inheritor’s serious frown dissolve into a grin he
knew that he had not underestimated the man. ‘We should talk alone,’ he said.

Inheritor waved his attendants aside. ‘The president and I will talk alone. Bring food and water to his men.’

He opened the flap of the pavilion and waited for A Ahmud Ki to enter. Inside, there was a rudimentary table, its mallee supports partly hidden beneath a rough red table spread, and a dozen chairs. Inheritor ordered the six guards within to leave and indicated that A Ahmud Ki should sit. When they were alone, Inheritor began with pleasantries, asking A Ahmud Ki if his flight had been pleasant and how he had fared during the storm.

A Ahmud Ki answered politely, but he wasn’t interested in niceties and didn’t ask about Inheritor in return. The instant he could redirect the conversation, he said, ‘Your brother is an impatient man. My reports suggest he’ll renew his assault on you tomorrow morning, the moment the storm has moved away.’

‘I have the same reports,’ Inheritor replied.

‘You don’t have the military strength to fight Shadow. You’re courageous and resilient, but in the end Shadow’s army will easily overwhelm your rebels and your cause will be lost.’

‘That might be the outcome,’ Inheritor agreed, ‘but my brother has tried to win before now and I am still here.’

‘And here you will remain, because I have come to offer you a formidable ally,’ said A Ahmud Ki, eager to get to the main issue. ‘These are my conditions.’

Blade Cutter met Hunter’s serious gaze. ‘Swift’s party hasn’t returned from Shadow’s base,’ he said. ‘Our informants say there’s been some movement through the enemy camp that suggests something has happened, but as yet we don’t know what.’

‘Trackmarker sent a messenger to report that he’s also got a problem we might want to know about,’ said Hunter.

‘What?’

‘Chase and the boy Runner—no one’s seen them for two days.’

Cutter ran his hand through his unruly white hair and sighed. ‘Meg, Swift, Chase and the lad,’ he muttered. ‘What is it with this family?’

‘It’s that bag,’ said Hunter. ‘They’re all obsessed with it.’

‘You’ve seen it, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is it as special as they say?’

Hunter shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Mrs Merchant thought it was, but only after Chase made her believe it. And he believed it because Crystal’s grandfather apparently told him about it. It just looked like a canvas bag with a big lock to me.’

‘And Meg knew about it too,’ murmured Cutter.

He turned to look at the green pavilion on the crest of the hill where Inheritor and the Ranu president were meeting. ‘Can we trust the Ranu?’

‘Can we afford not to?’ Hunter asked.

‘You want full ownership of the Fallen Star Islands,’ said Inheritor, leaning back in his chair to study A Ahmud Ki. ‘Is this to do with the euphoria plantations?’

A Ahmud Ki met Inheritor’s dark-eyed stare with his steady grey-eyed gaze. ‘Yes.’

‘I don’t want that product sold to my people.’

‘It’s an established trade,’ A Ahmud Ki reminded him. ‘You have a city of addicts, thanks to Shadow’s Seers.’

‘And I want that ended when I return to the throne,’
Inheritor stated bluntly. ‘You get the islands and you keep the euphoria for your own people.’

A Ahmud Ki nodded. ‘As you wish.’

‘And my brother is handed over to me,’ Inheritor went on.

A Ahmud Ki smiled. ‘Your brother is yours. The Seers, however, are mine.’

‘What will you do with them?’

‘I’m not sure yet. First I need to know what they know about euphoria. Then I’ll decide.’ A Ahmud Ki pressed his hands together and rested his bearded chin on the apex of his index fingers. ‘When I arrive back in Port of Joy I will send my general to organise my forces to deal with Shadow’s army. Your people can assist if you wish, but there will be little need. Shadow has nothing to stop my army now that it’s on land.’

Inheritor rose and extended a hand towards A Ahmud Ki, who accepted it. ‘My father believed I would ruin his kingdom,’ said Inheritor. ‘I doubt he ever thought I might save it.’

‘We cannot be slaves to what others believe we are,’ A Ahmud Ki replied. ‘We make our own destinies.’

There was a sudden tumult at the pavilion entrance, causing both men to turn. Soldiers burst in, chasing a black and white bird that squawked in protest as it landed awkwardly beside a startled A Ahmud Ki. An instant later, a tall elderly woman stood beside him, brushing creases out of her khaki smock. All the men in the pavilion gaped at the vision. A Ahmud Ki’s body thrilled in the presence of magic.

‘Meg?’ he queried.

The woman stared at him, then touched a hand to his cheek in a show of affection. ‘I thought I would never see you again,’ she said.

His hand enfolded hers and energy surged through his arm and into his body; the sensation he remembered
from when they travelled together. ‘You worked out how to do it,’ he said.

‘It wasn’t easy,’ she replied. ‘I’m only just learning.’

Inheritor politely cleared his throat, and kept his serious expression as he asked, ‘I take it you know one another?’

A Ahmud Ki chuckled and stepped back from Meg, releasing her hand. ‘Yes indeed,’ he said and there was joy in his voice. ‘We’ve known each other for a very long time.’

She studied his face while he stared across the landscape at Inheritor’s rebel army camp. The passing years had barely marked his features and at a quick glance he could be mistaken for a man half his age. His fine skin, the high cheekbones, even the carefully trimmed beard and hair, despite the streaks of grey, added to the deception. There was no paunch, none of the alcohol and heavy eating decay that aged men.

‘I thought you’d perished in West Andrak,’ he said without looking at her.

‘I almost did. I lost the will to live when—’ The words stuck in her throat, even after more than thirty years.

He touched her arm and the coursing magic flowed into him. ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known—’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she cut in. ‘It was…it was war. People do stupid things in wartime.’

‘I looked for you.’

‘And I wasn’t going to be found, by anyone.’

He was silent and she stared over the valley, across the rows of khaki tents and makeshift shelters, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, lost in the past.

‘How did you become president?’ she asked eventually.

‘A very long story,’ he replied. ‘One I’ll tell you when the political necessities are resolved and we have time.’

‘You didn’t find your magic?’

He snorted. ‘Not yet.’ He stepped away, then turned to her again. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised you,’ he said gently.

A soft smile creased her cheeks. ‘And you’ve barely changed.’

‘Perhaps,’ he replied. ‘I never expected to be who I’ve become.’

‘But you got power anyway,’ she said. ‘You’ve got what you always wanted.’ She paused before adding, ‘I read about you.’

‘Where?’

‘There’s a library, a huge library, under the ruins of the old Ashuak empire capital city. A whole chamber is devoted to the Andrakis region.’

‘And I was painted as a monster in every book,’ he muttered, looking away.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You wrote some of the volumes.’

‘My books are there?’ She nodded. ‘Then when this is done I’ll go there,’ he said.

‘It’s not that easy.’

‘Why?’

Her smiled widened. ‘It’s a very long story.’

He grinned as well, nodding understanding. ‘You could defeat Shadow’s army on your own,’ he told her. ‘I can feel your power even from here.’

‘Shadow isn’t the problem. It’s the Seers and what they intend to do that I have to fight.’ She reminded him of the threat of the Demon Horsemen—how they were part of the religious belief operating in her land, as well as constructions of Mareg the Dragonlord. ‘But there’s a bag, an ancient bag,’ she told him, ‘and it has something in it you might recognise.’