Herbie Brennan - Ruler of the Realm

There were close on a million demons waiting in the desert. The creatures had no fear of death. Once they marched, they were relentless as ants. They kept coming, wave after wave, however many you killed. More to the point, if Beleth had managed to portal in an entire army, he could portal reinforcements if the need arose. There were an awful lot of demons in Hael. Another million fighting demons would be nothing to him, or another two, or three or even ten. The possibilities were too hideous to contemplate. The only hope would be to score a fast, decisive victory, then close the portals before Beleth could react. Close them, sabotage them, keep them closed. For ever, if possible. The Nighters could do without their demon servants. The price had just grown too high to pay.

The other obvious approach was to throw his entire might against Blue herself, hope to score a quick victory there before Beleth moved. But what were the chances of that? He was fairly sure he could overrun the Faeries of the Light eventually. But soon…? Unlikely. And even if it only took him days, there was no guarantee Beleth would not attack at once.

General Procles, the senior field commander, had already emerged to greet him, flanked by three of his aides. Hairstreak waited until he was within earshot, then called out, ‘Send your men away, Graphium – this is private.’ He dismissed his own people with a casual wave.

Procles was a tall, thin man, slightly stooped for a soldier. There was a deferential air about him that belied a steely character beneath.

‘I take it the mission was unsuccessful, Lordship?’ he said promptly.

Hairstreak shrugged. ‘My niece will not give her decision before tomorrow. Perhaps not even then.’

‘Will she stand down her forces in the interim?’

Hairstreak shook his head.

‘Do we know why?’ He was a shrewd General. His question really meant, Is there room for compromise or negotiation?

‘She does not trust us.’ Hairstreak sighed. ‘Perhaps we have given her some cause.’

Typically, Procles let it go. ‘Do you have a contingency plan? In the event of her refusal?’

Hairstreak sighed again, more deeply this time. ‘A desperate one, Graphium. That’s why I sent our people away. I want you to hear what I have in mind and I want your opinion. Then, unless you can convince me there is another, better way, I want you to take immediate action. Immediate,’ he stressed. ‘I cannot say how much time we have, so speed is essential.’

Procles nodded gravely. ‘I understand, Lordship.’

Hairstreak held his eye. ‘This is how I analyse the situation. If we are overthrown by the Faeries of the Light, that will be a tragedy. If we are overthrown by Beleth, that will be the greatest disaster in the history of the Realm. Neither ourselves nor the Lighters would ever recover. Our world would become a slave state with the demons as our masters. Do you concur so far?’

Procles nodded again. ‘Yes. If we are overthrown.’

Hairstreak said, ‘Clearly, we will endeavour to secure ourselves against either eventuality. We may even succeed, but I doubt it. I believe we might defeat Beleth or we might defeat Blue, but we will not defeat both. Anyone who thinks so is a fool.’ He stared at Procles, who shrugged slightly. Hairstreak went on, ‘It is my conclusion that, in such circumstances, we must ensure the defeat of Beleth as our absolute priority. Do you concur?’

‘Of course. This is precisely why you have offered an alliance to the Queen.’

Hairstreak said. ‘She may easily refuse it. Blue is obsessed with fighting us. She does not – will not – see the greater threat. And it may be too late by the time she comes to her senses. Let me speak frankly with you, Procles…’

‘Of course,’ Procles murmured.

‘Our pre-emptive strike has not been as successful as I anticipated. The Faeries of the Light are now counterattacking Yammeth Cretch. Our troops are holding them at the moment, but if Beleth moves, we are lost. Thus -’ he took a deep breath, ‘- it is my conclusion that we must throw every available man into a massive attack on Beleth’s forces in the desert. Not merely the reserve troops here, but our forces presently engaged with the Faeries of the Light.’

‘Even though the Queen has not agreed a ceasefire?’

‘Yes.’

Procles looked stunned. ‘You’re prepared to leave the Cretch and city undefended?’

Hairstreak nodded sourly. ‘Effectively, yes.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, we can deploy a few militias of men who are too old or too ill to take part in the main offensive. They may delay the Lighters a little, but frankly I am prepared to sacrifice the entire Cretch – should it come to that – for the sake of a quick victory over Beleth.’ He hesitated. ‘But there is one more thing…’

Procles waited.

Hairstreak said, ‘Not all Nighters live within the Cretch. Simultaneous with our attack on Beleth there must be an immediate uprising by every loyal Faerie of the Night throughout the Realm. We can set the Realm alight within hours and with luck this may keep the Lighters occupied just long enough for us to dispatch Beleth. If that happens and if we can close down the portals again and if we don’t lose too many men in the process, we may then turn our attention to the problem of Queen Blue. Possibly we may have enough strength to depose her, if we cannot defeat the Faeries of the Light completely.’ He stared at Procles. ‘I would appreciate your comments.’

‘There are a great many if s in your plan, Lordship.’

‘Do you have a better one?’

Procles shook his head. ‘No, Lordship.’

‘Then set the contingency in place. Our commanders are to act on it as soon as they are able. Preferably tonight.’ Hairstreak turned on his heel and strode back to his flyer. As he climbed aboard, he added half to himself, ‘And pray to Darkness this is the right decision.’

Pyrgus stopped, locked by a weird, almost overpowering sensation of unease.

‘What’s the matter?’ Nymph asked at once.

‘Something’s wrong,’ Pyrgus said. By his reckoning they were very close to where they’d left the flyer, so close all he’d been thinking about was getting back. But now…

He looked around. The Trinians, who’d been escorting them cheerfully until now, had disappeared. The desert stretched endlessly behind them, rocky, desolate and bare.

‘Nagel…?’ he called out urgently.

The orange dwarf materialised at once from behind a rock. ‘Eeper dahn!’ he hissed, glaring.

Pyrgus looked at Nymph.

‘He wants you to be quiet,’ she told him.

‘Ask him what’s going on. There’s something wrong.’

Nymph started to speak, but before she could utter a word, Nagel put a finger to his lips, caught her by the hand and led her crouching up a rocky outcrop. Pyrgus stared after them for half a second, then followed.

It was almost a repeat of what had happened when they topped the rise and saw the Hael legions camped in the deep desert. Following on Nagel’s urgent signs, they raised their heads carefully.

A small contingent of men wearing the grey-black uniform of the elite Nighter Scout Regiment was moving grimly across the desert in the direction of Beleth’s waiting legions.

‘God of Light,’ groaned Pyrgus. ‘Those are messengers. Hairstreak’s joining up with Beleth. He has to be. We’ll be facing them both now.’ He looked around for Woodfordi. The palace needed to know about this new development at once.

Nagel said something in a whisper.

‘We must pull back from this position,’ Nymph translated. ‘There may be more following. If we stay here we’ll be discovered.’

The Trinian was already on his way to lower ground. Pyrgus and Nymph scrambled after him. For a frustrating fifty minutes they followed the Trinian tribe, moving silently from cover to cover, until Nagel called a halt in a shallow crater ringed by a sulphurous fumarole fog.