Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“Your time is at an end,” said Deefnir. “A new age dawns, and it is the age of the wraithkin.”

“Ready?” said Tate.

“What are you going to do?” asked Alex. “You can’t fight them.”

“I’ll die trying,” said Tate.

There was a sound. It was like a mosquito, or a night moth, flying swift through the darkness. It stopped with a sudden, thup . Alex turned around and one of the wraithkin who had joined the circle behind her stood with the pale shaft of an arrow emerging from his chest. He looked down in surprise, and then slowly toppled backwards onto the grass.

“Down!” said Tate. He caught Alex by the neck and pulled her down to the ground, lying across her.

“Ow!” she cried, “Get off! You’re hurting.”

Charles looked around. “What the…?” Tate kicked the legs out from under him and he went down on his back, the air whooshed out of him.

Then the air was filled with buzzing, fluttering death. The arrows came from everywhere, whizzing over them, disappearing into the hedge or sailing into the night where they missed. The wraithkin were peppered with them, whirling around, trying to see where they were coming from, but where wraithkin stood, the arrows found them. Alex watched as one found an eye and the figure staggered blindly away into the dark before falling on the grass.

The Shades fell back from the circle, dissolving into thin mist, vague outlines in the moonlight. The arrows whizzed and buzzed, but could not touch them. Across the grass, Deefnir crawled on his belly, an arrow protruding from the back of his shoulder. He reached for Tate across the grass. “Too late for you,” he said, the dappled shade extending across the grass between them.

Tate’s arm swung the across his body. The blade of the axe was an arc of light in the dappled shade. It flew across the gap between them and sank with a satisfying thock into Deefnir’s head. Figures ran up the slope towards them, carrying burning brands and long spears with glinting points. At the sight of the flames, the Shades drifted back, merging with the shadows, drifting insubstantially in the night breeze, leaving the still bodies of their brethren scattered across the grass, slowly turning to ash.

“Slimgrin, here!” shouted Tate, holding up an arm. In seconds they were surrounded by tall, long-limbed figures covered in golden fur, the glint of many white teeth showing in the moonlight. Each carried a long spear. They fell on the figures scattered on the grass, using the long spears to make death a certainty.

Tate rolled off Alex and pushed to his feet, helping her up. For once she didn’t complain. The circle widened as new warriors joined, holding pale bows that curved back on themselves in organic symmetry, pale arrows nocked at the ready, each with a glinting silver tip and pale feather fletches. There was a sense of wrongness around her and she shifted uneasily. It was then that she noticed the black metal tips on the arrows, gleaming dull in the moonlight. The arrows were tipped with iron. The warriors with spears knelt, forming a barrier of spears while the archers took up places behind them, watching the dark for signs of movement. If they were discomforted by the metal-tipped arrows then they did not show it. Tate retrieved his axe.

Into the defensive circle walked two figures, almost identical to the warriors. One had a silver chain around his neck, and Alex immediately recognised Lord Mellion. The other held out his free hand to Tate, who clasped it firmly in his.

“I’ve never been so glad to see you, old friend,” said Tate.

Slimgrin held his fist over his heart, then touched his forehead.

“We stand together,” said Tate, holding his fist over his heart.

Slimgrin made a complex gesture that Alex couldn’t see.

“Any help is welcome,” said Tate. “Amber has the Way-node secure, but we’re not fighting a battle, we’re just trying to save as many as we can.”

“They’re using iron,” said Alex to Tate. “Iron-tipped arrows against their own kind.”

Lord Mellion considered her for a moment and then made a series of complex gestures, ending with a fluttering gesture over his heart.

“What did he say?” asked Alex.

“He says that we are no longer fighting for honour,” said Tate. “We’re fighting for survival.”

They started talking about numbers, how many wraithkin they’d seen, how many they’d killed, and how many of the gifted they’d been able to save. As they tried to evaluate the situation, Alex looked back towards the house. The rooftop was now ablaze and she could see columns of flame rising into piles of smoke above the house.

“If we don’t get people out soon,” she said. “There won’t be anything left. Where’s Dad? Where’s Blackbird and the baby? Where are they?”

Tate stood beside her. “Let’s hope they got out,” said Tate. “Even with Mellion’s warriors we don’t have a big enough force to take the house, and that’s if it wasn’t burning. We’re going to try and secure the exits and help people out if we can.”

Alex turned away. The smoke from the house was making her eyes sting. She blinked. “What’s that?”

“It’s all we can do,” said Tate. “We don’t have enough…”

“No,” said Alex, pointing at the sky. “What’s that?” She pointed at a light in the sky that was getting steadily stronger. They watched as the light became intense and a heavy thumping filled the air. In a moment a big helicopter banked away in a long curve to the left of the house. They could see an open door in the side and green lights inside. There were figures in the doorway looking down at them.

“Do the fire service have helicopters around here then?” said Charles.

“You are such a city boy,” said Debbie.

The helicopter banked away in a long arc and then circled around until it slowed and hovered, a way off beyond the pond at the bottom of the slope.

“What are they doing?” asked Alex.

“I think they’re waiting to see who wins,” said Tate.

Blackbird guided Lesley out of the great hall ahead of her while Big Dave tagged along behind, leaving Niall to watch their backs and keep people moving. Strangely, neither Altair nor his cronies seemed in a hurry. They must have been planning this for a while.

Blackbird shook her head — they were bottled up, they’d never get everyone out. “Up,” said Blackbird to Lesley.

“How will that help?” asked Lesley.

Blackbird’s mind was racing. They’d been seriously wrong-footed and they had to regain the initiative. “Up will give us time,” she said. “They’re expecting us to run, and they’ll be waiting for us if we do.”

“Do I have to remind you that there are no exits up here?” said Lesley, ascending the stairs up to the gallery above.

“I’m aware of that,” said Blackbird. “Do you have a better idea?”

“It doesn’t leave us with many alternatives,” Lesley said.

“There are always alternatives,” said Blackbird, “you just may not like them very much.”

“I already don’t like them very much,” said Lesley.

They reached the top of the darkened stairs and Blackbird pushed through the door into the main bedroom, carrying the baby on one hip and holding the door open with the other while Lesley and Dave came through. The baby stared around wide-eyed at this sudden change of mood, but at least he wasn’t yelling. Maybe even he knew how serious their situation was.

“Find something to block the door,” said Blackbird to Dave, pushing the door closed behind them.

“Will it stop them?” asked Dave.

“No,” said Blackbird.

“Then why bother?” said Lesley.

“Because it’ll give you something to do, and me time to think,” said Blackbird.