Mark Chadbourn - The Burning Man

‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

‘Your instinct is to protect. I understand that. It is why you make a good battle leader.’

‘I just want to finish the job here and get back to my life.’

‘And I will say again,’ Lugh began, ‘this is a turning point in the relationship between Golden Ones and Fragile Creatures. Now there is hope for my people — because of you. We will not forget that.’

Mallory looked out over the wet rooftops of the jumbled city, rolling down towards the main gate.

‘What do you seek?’ Rhiannon asked.

‘I thought Sophie would be here. That old Craft business usually makes her sensitive to what’s going on.’ He shrugged. ‘She’ll probably be along when we need her most, just like the cavalry.’

‘You should speak to our troops,’ Rhiannon said.

‘They’re not my troops.’

‘Do it. They expect it. They deserve it.’

Reluctantly, Mallory climbed onto the crumbling stone base of a rune-carved obelisk and looked out over the ranks. Concentrated in one place, he could finally see what the Pendragon Spirit meant. The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons had the rough faces of country stock and the educated features of city dwellers, the formalised styling of the Reformation and the austerity of the nineteen-fifties; their expressions revealed their fears and bravery, doubts and arrogance; but all of them to a person exuded a quality of hope and a strength of character that suggested they would do what was right, whatever the personal cost.

Mallory drew Llyrwyn. The blue flames licked hungrily towards the looming, oppressive figure of the Burning Man. Everyone fell silent, watching him.

‘You don’t know me,’ he began, ‘and that’s probably how it should be. I’m a nobody. But I’m one of you. And that’s what it means to be a Brother or Sister of Dragons. Individually, we’re a mess. We’re filled with doubts and flaws and guilt and shame and personal failures. We can barely get through our own lives. But when we come together, when we support each other and contribute our strengths to one single, good end — watch out. Because that’s when we work magic.

‘This flame, this blazing Blue Fire, gives us our strength. But it also symbolises who we are when we unite. A beacon in the dark. A light that will never be extinguished.

‘Some of you haven’t had the chance to discover who you are, or what you’re capable of. You’re going to get that chance now. It’ll be scary and tough. But you’ll always have a Brother or Sister beside you, picking you up when you fall, protecting you when your guard is down, carrying you when you’re too tired to take another step. You’ll never be alone. Let’s enter this fight not as individuals, but as Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. And let’s come out of it winners.’

For one moment there was only the sound of the wind and the lashing rain, and then a cheer rose up. Mallory shivered at what he heard in that sound. Surprised that he had found the words to express his feelings, he stepped down; Decebalus clapped him on the back, and even the Tuatha De Danann regarded him with respect.

‘Let’s go,’ he said.

Under cover of the storm, they approached along the narrow street that led to the square in front of the palace. Mallory still held out hope that they would be able to gain access undetected. But as they crossed the square, roaring oil fires ignited along the ramparts and on the towers, and the gloomy building was instantly transformed into a hellish fortress.

The gates were closed, and although they had not been designed to resist a major assault, Mallory could see it would take a long time to batter them down.

Yet as they surged around the base of the palace, a cry rose up. Running furiously and determinedly from the narrow street were many of the strange characters from the Hunter’s Moon, with more of the court’s residents joining them by the second. Living in fear of Niamh’s secret brutality and the enforcement of her guard, they now felt empowered.

Shadow John, tall and thin in his stovepipe hat and black suit, was transformed from his urbane geniality into a terrible sight, eyes ablaze with fury. He leaped to the gate and with one sweep of his long fingers tore open the lock.

With the doors flung open, the ragtag army surged into the suffocating maze of long, low corridors and tiny rooms. The lower ranks of Niamh’s guard rushed from secret passages in guerrilla strikes or attempted to hold the winding staircases leading to the upper floors. At first, Lugh, Rhian-non and the other Tuatha De Danann were hesitant at attacking their own, but when they saw the guards’ uncaring ferocity, they began to respond in kind. Soon the small passageways were filled with clouds of fluttering golden moths from both sides. As Mallory fought his way through to the upper floors, he caught sight of Lugh, his face grim and now wet with tears. Every blow he struck left him shaking.

While the battle raged below, Mallory, Decebalus and one of the new Brothers of Dragons, a sallow-faced Victorian wearing a long, black coat, moved swiftly through the upper floors.

‘What’s your name?’ Mallory asked the newcomer.

‘Charles Granger.’ He carried a short sword awkwardly. ‘I wish I had a good pistol.’

‘Okay, Charlie, you drop back and keep your eyes open for anything we miss. They’re sly bastards and they won’t be averse to popping out and stabbing us in the back.’

‘Let them try it,’ Decebalus growled. ‘I’ll have their heads from their shoulders before they’ve even taken a step.’

They came to a long, low corridor leading to the main staircase to the next floor. Heavy tapestries lined both walls and the only light came from a solitary torch at the far end.

‘I’d have thought we’d have encountered the elite guard by now,’ Mallory said.

‘You are right,’ Decebalus acknowledged. ‘Something is amiss.’

‘I do hope we get through this without too much fuss,’ Charles noted. ‘I’m looking forward to spending some time with my girl.’

‘You and me both.’ Cautiously, Mallory moved along the corridor, keeping his eyes fixed on the opening to the staircase. The silence was broken by a faint, brief sound behind them, like air escaping from a pipe.

Mallory halted. ‘What was that?’

‘I know not.’ Decebalus scanned the corridor.

‘Probably nothing. Let’s keep going,’ Charles prompted.

‘Everything’s something in this place. That’s the rule.’ Mallory edged forward.

Another burst of air, still behind them but louder than the last.

‘Again!’ Decebalus said with irritation.

‘From the ceiling.’ Mallory indicated a series of holes barely visible in the gloom.

Behind them, Charles began to cough. The coughing soon became choking, and they turned to see him clutching at his throat.

‘He can’t breathe!’ Mallory caught him as he fell to his knees. The panic in Charles’s face became horrified realisation as blood oozed from the corners of his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. Blisters erupted all over his skin, bursting to reveal thick yellow pus that turned to blood as it dripped away. Within seconds, he pitched forward, dead.

‘Witchcraft!’ Decebalus exclaimed.

‘Poison, more like.’ Mallory felt a pang of grief and turned it on its axis into cold rage. ‘Poor bastard. She’s going to pay for this.’

‘She will pay,’ Decebalus agreed. ‘Threefold. Pain upon suffering upon hell on Earth.’

Mallory tore a tapestry off the wall and held it aloft so Decebalus could get under it. Shielded from the blasts of poisonous air, they ran down the corridor.

At the stairwell, they threw the tapestry off and prepared to climb to the next floor until what sounded like the roars of jungle beasts rose up beneath them. Feet thundered up the stairs from the floor below, accompanied by an abattoir stink.