Sam Bowring - Prophecy's Ruin

Somehow it all felt wrong. It was happening too fast. It didn’t feel as if he was treading the right path.

Suddenly he was wrenched free of himself as the dream swirled again and thrust into his other, into Bel …and it was as before, when he had seen through Bel’s eyes in Drel Forest …

The whelkling grunted as it dropped from the top of the cobblestoned tower and Bel knew he accounted for most of the weight. Fahren, behind him, was as light as thread and sinew, but Bel was broad and wore steel bands on his legs and arms, along with sword, boot knives, steel skirt and chest piece. Fahren had promised that he could give the whelkling a helping boost and, as they plummeted downwards Bel prayed he would be swift to do so. A moment later he felt an upsurge of warm air and the whelkling suddenly gained height. It began flapping heavily, bearing them up towards the Cloud. He dared to glance downwards, saw those on the ground watching, saw the worry on Jaya’s face as she faded into a pinprick far below.

The whelkling climbed until the Cloud was but paces from their heads. Beneath them sprawled Fenvarrow, dark and unwelcoming. The temperature was dropping rapidly too, and Bel shivered.

‘Look!’ he shouted over the rushing wind.

Some few leagues back from the border, a vast army of shadow creatures camped upon the Stone Fields. There were raised stone paths along which moved war engines and wagons. One, carrying an entire load of dark ice, glowed eerily.

‘You are certain they won’t see us?’

‘No, our invisibility spell is cast.’

‘Good!’

‘Let us just hope that Battu and Losara are both down there seeing to their minions, far from Skygrip.’

Bel felt as if he’d dived into cold water. They were high above and well inside enemy lands, with no turning back. His blood began to tingle.

For hours they flew, passing thousands of shadow creatures below. The glowing lights of the five goblin cities lit up the horizon for a time, blazing against them as they passed over. Bel couldn’t help but feel exposed, despite Fahren’s assurances. Soon the cities fell behind and Skygrip loomed on the horizon. Bel had seen pictures, but he was still awed by the towering fortress of twisted rock and the great spikes of its sceptre head.

‘This is total madness,’ came Fahren’s voice in his ear. ‘Good luck to the both of us!’

The whelkling began a slow decline, which seemed to Bel to stretch an age. Skygrip was so massive that he kept thinking it was closer than it was. They circled about the sceptre head, then angled towards a cave mouth that opened in its side. The whelkling gave its booming cry as they swooped.

A patrol of six Graka appeared around the tower, moving to intercept the whelkling. Angry shouting erupted as they spotted the intruders on its back. Fahren sent crackling bolts of energy at them, and three fell screaming. Two wheeled towards Bel, and he felt a zing through him as he instantly plotted the necessary movements of his sword and saw them transpire a second later. The two Graka shrieked, each missing a wing, and began spiralling like leaves towards the ground. The one remaining Graka turned and dived, managing to dodge Fahren’s bolts. The whelkling flew on obliviously, its course unaltered.

‘They’ll know we’re here!’ Fahren yelled.

‘Let them come!’ screamed Bel.

The cave mouth swallowed them suddenly and they landed in darkness with a heavy thud. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust, aided when Fahren conjured a glowing ball of light to see by. They were in a large cavern populated by stalls of whelklings and cages of birds. Several Grey Goblins stood frozen in surprise, and gasped as Fahren’s light found them. Bel slid from the whelkling and moved forward with a slash and a stab, cutting them down without resistance.

‘Come when I call you,’ whispered Fahren in the whelkling’s floppy ear and pressed his fingers to the side of its head.

‘There,’ said Bel, pointing to a staircase heading upwards. Together they ran towards it.

Skygrip was a maze, but Bel was sure they would find a way to the roof if they kept going up. At the top of the stairs they ran along a tunnel, and heard the sound of running feet echoing behind them. They turned into a wide corridor with a mural of the Dark Gods cut into the wall and came face to face with a goblin patrol. ‘There!’ barked the leader, and without another sound the goblins charged.

Bel rushed to meet them, feeling as if he overtook even himself, and clattered against their knives as a blur. The goblins were faster and more conniving than any hugger, and the path his sword had to travel to keep him alive was tighter and stricter than before. He swished at one hissing face that ducked, but others that rose against him met with steel. The fury overtook him and he laughed as he rent limbs asunder and spattered the walls with black blood. He spun as the last goblin fell and saw that others had caught up from behind. Fahren was backing towards him, one hand holding the glowing sphere that blinded the goblins and made them curse, while his other pumped back and forth sending fireballs that burst messily against whatever they hit and ran like liquid. Bel heard himself yell as he charged past, crunching over sticky charred remains to hack at any who still stood. From somewhere lower down in the castle came wails of rage and the sound of many, many feet.

‘Hurry, Bel,’ shouted Fahren, and they dashed along the corridor and up another flight of stairs. At the top they found a thick wooden door with a lock that Bel’s sword couldn’t smash.

‘Let me,’ said Fahren, pushing him aside with a nudge of power. The mage focused on the lock, which glowed briefly in his hand and clicked open. They toppled out onto the roof, where ahead of them rose the billowing Breath of the Cloud.

‘Close the door!’ Fahren yelled. ‘There are too many for you to fight them all!’

Bel bellowed his indignation and swung his sword. There could never be too many. He slammed the door shut nonetheless.

‘Stand back!’ ordered Fahren and Bel stalked away. The mage made a circular action with his hands and there came a great grinding noise. A disc of rock lifted from the roof, cracking to pieces as it did. Fahren’s hands shot forward and the pieces hurled against the door, driving it into its hinges and piling up against it. Almost immediately came a thumping on the other side.

‘It will take me some time to channel enough power into the spell,’ called Fahren as he moved towards the Breath. ‘I must not be interrupted. You must protect me.’

He fell to his knees before the great spout, raising hands that glowed white as he built up power. Bel strode to stand over him, watching the skies and the door, his sword jumpy in his hand. Pebbles on top of the rock pile wobbled as those behind the door strained to open it.

‘Get axes!’ came a muffled shout.

A group of Graka appeared at the edge of the roof. They spotted him and Fahren immediately, but did not yet swoop towards them. Another pair appeared, beating their wings more heavily, and after a moment Bel saw why – each had an arm hooked under that of a Black Goblin, who hung between them in the air. As soon as they brought him over the edge, he twisted free and landed lightly on all fours like a cat. Astoundingly, a butterfly sailed after him to land on his shoulder. He rose smoothly to his feet, revealing a sword and a brace of daggers hanging around his waist.

‘My my,’ he said in a dusky voice devoid of emotion. ‘Long time since I clapped eyes on you, my boy.’ He padded forward, the sword leaping into his grip, and arched a hairless eyebrow at Fahren. ‘What’s your mage doing there?’

‘Destroying you and all your people,’ said Bel.