Luther: First of the Fallen, page 16
Still we did not reveal ourselves. I tried to picture the scene by combining what I knew of our surrounds from my conversation with Egrivere with the sounds around us. The valley flattened for just shy of two kilometres with the ford pretty much dead centre, as if at the bottom of a shallow bowl, almost completely ringed by the forest edge. The floor of the hollow was a water meadow, soft underfoot but passable, but too wet for trees to take root, leaving it open but for a few scattered thickets. It would be heavy for the destriers too, but over the distance I thought them speedier than a man or woman on foot.
The brigands had to break cover and come to the caravan before we could act, otherwise they would be able to reach the safety of the trees again before we overtook them. The closer they came, the better our chances of the counter-attack succeeding, but we dared not even twitch a wagon cover for fear of betraying our presence. We were wholly reliant upon those outside the wagons to pick the best moment.
The drivers called their surrenders after a couple of minutes of sporadic gunfire. We heard the thud of feet on the boards followed by a splash as ours abandoned her place behind the train of sturdy ponies.
One hand on the saddle bow, the reins in the other, I stood next to Accadis while Fyona readied to mount her destrier behind me. A minute passed, then another. I forced myself to breathe steadily and resisted the urge to check my pistol was loose in its holster. I could imagine the brigands closing on their prize.
Suddenly a horn sounded, clear and long.
I hauled myself onto Accadis’ back even as she sprang forward, knowing the call to action had been sounded. We bounded from the back of the wagon first, Fyona just moments behind, to plunge into the shallow water. Foam sprayed around me as Accadis surged back towards the bank.
Ahead I could see the others galloping along the road. Around two dozen men and women on foot, about sixty or seventy metres away, were fleeing up the grassy slope towards the treeline, the snap of bolts following them. A few turned to shoot back with crude arquebuses, their fire hurried and poorly aimed. I dragged out my chainsword but did not ignite the motor – instead I readied to use the flat of it like a club, to take at least one of the fleeing brigands alive. If we could learn where they made their lair it would earn even more favour from Lord Almanthis.
I steered Accadis out of the river and up the slope, galloping hard after a man and woman in padded jerkins over ragged smocks. The man glanced back and saw me closing on them. Urging his companion onwards, he turned and pulled a long pistol from his belt.
I saw the flare of powder and puff of smoke a split second before I heard the crack of firing and the clang of the bullet hitting the chamfron across Accadis’ chest. The destrier carried on without pause while the man broke open the chamber of his pistol and pushed a fresh projectile into the breech.
Too late he raised the weapon again. Accadis rode into him, just a glancing blow with her shoulder but enough to throw him to the ground with a cry of pain. I kicked her onwards, after the woman, bringing the inert chainsword back. In three more powerful strides my steed brought me alongside and I swung, my blow connecting with the back of the woman’s shoulder, sending her sprawling into the long grass.
Accadis circled as I swapped chainsword for pistol.
‘Hold!’ I called to both of them, moving my aim from the woman to the man. ‘Disarm yourselves!’
He opened fire but the bullet whined some way past my right shoulder. I held my finger from the trigger and called again for him to put down the weapon, moving my aim to the woman pushing to her feet a few metres from me. With his companion under threat he complied, tossing the empty pistol aside.
I risked a glance along the slope and saw that Fyona was in pursuit of three others along the riverbank, her pistol barking loud. In the other direction, knights of the Order were engaged in herding a couple of surrendered outlaws towards the caravan while others were riding down those that had almost reached the cover of the treeline. The buzz of chainswords preceded cries of panic and pain.
About forty metres away stood a riderless destrier. I could see the gleam of armour in the grass but could not tell who had fallen or if they still lived. Searching the other knights, I could not tell who was who at this distance.
‘Back to the wagons,’ I called to my prisoners and they moved down the slope at my command.
A few minutes later the echoes of the last bolt detonation faded away. Six outlaws had surrendered and we kept watch over them close to the wagons. Their brigandage obviously was not very successful for their clothes were little more than rags, and such weapons as we had confiscated in poor repair. They seemed on the verge of starvation.
Garrig, senior of the Peakgate knights, approached with his small troop, fusils at the ready.
‘What did you spare them for?’ he asked, waving his weapon towards the prisoners. ‘The lord has ordered the execution of any man or woman that raises arms against him.’
‘Your master can kiss my scabby arse!’ one of the captive women shouted. ‘He’s no lord here!’
‘Hold!’ my father demanded, moving his steed to block Garrig as he raised his gun towards the prisoners. ‘Steady your temper and we might yet find out where more of your enemies are to be found.’
‘They’ll tell us nothing,’ the guard commander insisted, but he stepped back with weapon lowered all the same.
‘Where is your camp?’ I asked the man who had shot at me.
‘Camp?’ he laughed back, bitterness written in his features. ‘Do we look like we have a camp? Or even a tent?’
‘Almanthis’ soldiers harry us from valley to valley,’ said another. ‘But it was the Cragshadow that drove us out in the first place.’
‘Cragshadow?’ said Maegon. ‘What is that?’
‘A myth,’ claimed Garrig with a snort. ‘An excuse made up by work-shy commoners. Thieving cavefolk!’
He tried to come forward again but my father guided his steed to intercept him.
‘Explain yourself,’ he said to Garrig.
‘I don’t answer to you, foreigner,’ the man replied with a sour expression. ‘Just remember who you’re working for.’
‘I work for nobody,’ my father told him. ‘I am a knight of the Order and accept only the authority of the Grand Master.’
‘Well, you’re in the Chasms now, knight of the Order, and these are Almanthis’ lands.’ The other guards did not share their leader’s belligerence, hanging back from the confrontation.
‘In name only,’ said one of the prisoners, a skinny man no older than I, a cut on his brow where he had fallen. ‘We sent for help against the Cragshadow and what did we get? Demands for even more ore. He is a slavemaster not a noble!’
‘Jumped up ore-digger, no better than us,’ added another prisoner.
‘You’ll pay for that,’ said Garrig and brought up his fusil. From the saddle, my father kicked the weapon aside and pulled out his bolt pistol. The other guards raised their weapons hesitantly, their gazes moving from my father to Garrig, unsure what to do.
‘You are four against ten,’ my mother said quietly, resting her hand on the grip of the pistol at her saddle. ‘Make your next words soft and your actions slow.’
Garrig fumed but said nothing, eventually lowering his weapon.
‘The Cragshadow is a Great Beast?’ I said to the woman I had captured.
‘It’s a lie!’ yapped Garrig. ‘There’s no creature made of rock that can move from shadow to shadow.’
‘It haunts the mines to the north,’ the woman told me, scowling at the guard. ‘It comes from the depths at night and preys upon the sleeping. We tried to fight it but had to flee. We daren’t go back in the mines and it ranges further and further from its lair.’
I could see my father’s thoughts as clearly as I might trace the words on a page. It did not matter that we had an agreement with Lord Almanthis, the hunt took precedence. I also knew that there would be no argument against him in this matter.
‘Show us,’ he said to the woman. ‘Take us to the monster and we will slay it.’
There was further protest from Garrig and suspicion from the outlaws, but we mustered our belongings.
‘You either lead us to this creature, or we look for it ourselves and leave you with them,’ I said quietly, indicating the Peakgate knights with a glance.
The prisoners soon voiced their desire to show us the location of the beast that had caused their woes.
‘The lord will have you driven out of the Chasms for this, if he doesn’t take your heads for consorting with outlaws!’ Garrig threatened, but we knew his words were empty. As much as some folk did not welcome the Order, most knew that to raise arms against one of our knights was to invite terrible retribution from Aldurukh.
Even so, my father was riding a narrow line between his oaths as a knight to hunt the Great Beasts and the needs of diplomacy. I tried one last attempt to salvage something of value for the Order.
‘I thought you were knights?’ I exclaimed to Garrig and his warriors. ‘Protectors of the Chasms, brave sons and daughters of Peakgate. A Great Beast has been sighted. The call to arms has been made. Which of you refuses the quest?’
‘Risk our lives for these outlaws?’ said Garrig.
‘No, you risk yourselves for the glory of the hunt,’ I argued. ‘The Great Beasts care not for our laws when they feast on the flesh of those we swore to protect. Brigand, commoner, noble. It matters nothing. Earn your arms and show your families why they should be proud of you. Or would you have the story told in Peakgate that a band of outsiders were braver than the knights of the Chasms?’
Not my most original oratory but it worked all the same. The other three knights called Garrig to them and they held quick conference. Garrig returned and, to his credit, he seemed genuinely shamed by my words.
‘These are our lands,’ he announced. ‘Nobody says the knights of Peakgate are cowards.’
So it was decided that we would all go in search of the Cragshadow, whether to slay it or prove it false. It was not the most promising stage of our fledgling relationship with the Chasms, but at least I had averted outright antipathy. It was my hope that by fighting together we might demonstrate to Almanthis the benefits of future cooperation.
Hopes and expectations can change swiftly, though. By the time midnight arrived, alliance with Peakgate was the least of our concerns.
My brother-in-arms Sar Omeniel died first.
The land about the mine entrance was a mess of spoil dumped over generations, such that even the forest did not come within a hundred metres of the cavern. No light reached the bottom of the canyon, so we had advanced over the broken heaps with saddle lamps on, our weapons at the ready.
We had thought any attack would come from the blackness of the mine, but with a screech like a tortured owl the Cragshadow swooped upon us from behind, ripping Omeniel from his steed. Blood splashed across Maegon beside me, spattering her lamp so that the light threw ovals of darkness ahead.
The thud of Omeniel’s body drew us to the left, bolt pistols and fusils lifted skyward.
‘You never said the bastard thing could fly!’ yelled Garrig, addressing the gaggle of prisoners surrounded by our short column.
‘Above us,’ Fyona warned, tracking her pistol ahead as she heard something in the darkness. ‘It lifted Omeniel without effort.’
‘Something that big should not be that fast,’ said my mother.
‘It’s made of darkness, born of the shadows,’ wailed one of the outlaws. I could see that he was going to flee.
‘Stay with us if you want to live,’ I barked.
He did not listen and broke from the group, darting behind Accadis. I turned in the saddle to see him sprint across the beam from Maegon’s lamp before disappearing. A few seconds later we heard the flap of gigantic wings and a scream from the night.
The foot knights had their own light, a bright blue lantern held on a pole, and clustered beneath it like eggs in a nest, fusils presented in a small thicket. They were slowly retreating away from the mine, stepping together in drilled fashion.
‘Hold your positions!’ bellowed my father, noting their manoeuvre was taking them further from us. ‘We fight together.’
‘We’re not dying for some filthy outlaws,’ Garrig called back. ‘We’ll come back in the daytime with a full force and burn the thing out.’
We formed a living corral around the former miners, using our destriers as a barricade, our lamps shining outwards across the broken ground of the spoil heaps, pieces of ore and discarded tools glittering in the glare. Omeniel’s mare stood atop a nearby mound, eyes rolling, head moving from side to side as she sought the creature that had taken her rider.
‘Widen cordon,’ my father commanded, voice calm but carrying across the thud of my heart. His ease settled my nerves and I urged Accadis forward a few steps, eyes trying to pierce the dark outside the cone of light, finger on the trigger of my pistol.
A sudden downdraught announced the Cragshadow’s arrival. I thought I spied a darkness briefly eclipse the sliver of stars high above the valley. A second later, a terrible slashing of flesh and crunching of bone sounded behind me. The captives screamed in horror, one of them uttering a drawn-out shriek of pain. Twisting in the saddle I saw only movement against the pale spoil, a thrashing darkness from which erupted a trio of running people. I saw a reflection in a plate-sized eye as Fyona heeled her mount around, bringing the beam of her lamp to bear.
The Cragshadow exploded upwards in a flap of wings, leaving only the impression of a vast black shape. Body parts rained down in its wake, bouncing across the scree and slag.
‘It shuns the light!’ cried Sar Gavriel, reining his destrier to the left, sweeping the saddle lamp across the fleeing prisoners. ‘Stay in the light!’
A couple of them stumbled to a terrified standstill, clutching at each other. The third disappeared, heading back the way we had entered. For a few dozen metres he was illuminated by the lamp of the foot knights. The warriors of Peakgate fired a salvo of shots at the fleeing commoner, sending him scurrying into the night gloom. His shrieks followed soon after, accompanied by loud snapping and the scratch of monstrous claws on stone.
The foot knights continued on, creating a pool of light that moved slowly along the valley. Their pace was not swift but it was steady and soon we were separated by fifty metres and more, two distinct circles of sanctuary light.
‘What are you doing?’ my mother demanded, moving across the gap they had opened between us. ‘These are your people. You swore to protect them!’
‘Outlaws!’ Garrig yelled back. His fusil shook in his grasp; the gleam of its powercell underlit his face, exaggerating his fearful expression. ‘They gave up that protection when they refused the lord. They brought this on themselves, digging too deep, getting greedy.’
‘You will never make it out of here,’ I shouted to them. ‘This beast is not going to be afraid of your light for much longer.’
‘Nor ours,’ said Maegon. ‘We must find some way to kill it.’
‘We need more light,’ said Sar Samael. He rode over to the two last captives. It was the man and woman I had taken prisoner. ‘You must have lamps for the mines.’
‘It broke them all when it first attacked,’ said the woman. ‘Those with lamps it killed before the others.’
‘Garrig is right, we unleashed this nightmare,’ moaned the man. ‘Broke into its lair in the deeps.’
‘There are tracking flares and blasting charges,’ the woman said hurriedly, thrusting a finger towards the mine entrance. ‘The depot, behind that wall to the left.’
At the very limit of our lamps I could see a wall about chest-high, and beyond it a structure of heavy beams.
‘Blasting charges, you say?’ said my father.
Just then a shadowy thunderbolt crashed into Sar Samael. His destrier screamed as sabre-claws sank into its flank, bowling it over, even as bloodstained jaws closed around Samael’s arm.
I opened fire, the flicker of my bolts chasing the Cragshadow up into the darkness. There was no thump of secondary detonation. I had either missed or the warhead had not penetrated its hide.
‘Cover each other with your lamps,’ my mother called out, riding back to us. ‘Give it no prey unlit.’
We managed to arrange ourselves in a ring, illuminating one another with our lamps, while the two outlaws stuck close to my father, avoiding the shadow cast by his mount.
I had always thought some of the more complex drills we had trained and paraded as aesthetic rather than useful. That changed as we moved as a group towards the depot wall, some of us riding sideways or even backwards to maintain the ring of light. Looking back along the valley I could see the glimmer of the foot knights nearly half a kilometre away.
Of the Cragshadow there was no sign. No noise of eating, no beat of wing, no silhouette against the night sky.
‘What is your intent?’ Sar Gavriel asked my father.
‘We will lure it down and slay it with explosives,’ he replied. ‘It seems the only way to be sure.’
It must have been half an hour until we were within a dozen metres of the depot wall. The gate was at the far end, closest to the mine entrance, and we could see the heavy chains about the lock.
‘I suppose you did not think to bring a key?’ my father said to the captives. It was not often he showed humour, and I realised that he was as scared as I was but had hidden it so well he appeared uncaring.
At that moment we heard distant cries from along the valley. The smudge of light that was the foot knights wavered, and I could imagine the lantern pole swaying violently. Then all went dark.
