02 Unicorn Rider (20 page)

With a yawn, Nimbus hunkered back down against the incredibly uncomfortable stone he was using as a pillow. There was the rustle of wings and the chink of talons on rock as a winged shape loomed over him. ‘Get some sleep, Cumulo,’ he muttered, and he closed his eyes. The shadow tilted its head thoughtfully, and its beady eyes glimmered.

Nimbus was just starting to drift off to sleep, when suddenly he came to his senses and realised the thing towering over him could not possibly be Cumulo, who was still fast asleep on the other side of the camp.

He leapt up, hearing sharp jaws snap on the stone where his head had been lying only moments before. There was an angry screech, immediately followed by the flap of wings.

‘Cumulo,’ he screamed, as a shape rushed into the sky. ‘Cumulo, wake up. There are wyverns here. Wake up.’

He dashed across the ruins, slipping in his haste and falling over a low wall. Something pecked at him from above, raking painfully along his left arm and generating sparks on the plates of the Wing Warrior armour. Uncertain from which direction the next attack would come from, he chose to dodge right, barrelling straight into a large rock and almost knocking himself clean out.

One of the wyverns screeched and descended on him as he crawled along on his hands and knees blindly. ‘Cumulo,’ he shouted. ‘Wake up, Cumulo.’

Claws scraped on stone close to his right ear. He dived to his left, rolling down an embankment and away from the light of the fire. Snapping and hissing told him that the wyverns were not far behind, and he quickly scrabbled to his feet, heading towards the blocky outline of the partially destroyed storehouse where once Cumulo had hidden the Wing Warrior sword. Of course, there would be no sword hidden there this time. There would be nothing Nimbus could use to fend off these foul monsters. There wasn’t even a roof.

A shadow swooped out of nowhere, knocking him off his feet. For a moment he was perfectly still, wondering if the wyverns would be able to see him if he didn’t try to run again.

A wyvern landed beside him with a thump, and craned its neck to look him in the eye. ‘The great Wing Warrior,’ the monstrous creature hissed. ‘Sorrow’s murderer.’

‘You can speak!’ Nimbus gasped, trying to stand.

The wyvern snapped its nasty teeth close to Nimbus’s face, indicating that it would not be wise for the young Wing Warrior to make any further attempts to move. ‘Your own dragon can talk. Why would it surprise you that we can too?’

Another three wyverns dropped out of the sky, hunching over him hungrily.

‘You’re not dragons,’ Nimbus spat. ‘You’re too weak. And there are no eggs for you to have hatched from.’

The wyverns hissed and lurched above him, flapping their wings and flicking their tongues. ‘So young, and yet so full of the belief he knows everything,’ one of them said.

‘I know a dragon when I see one. Cumulo is a dragon. Strong and noble. You’re just some overgrown lizards with wings.’

The wyverns screeched angrily, and Nimbus braced himself for the series of pecks and bites that would rip through the Wing Warrior armour and tear him to pieces. As he flinched away, he closed his eyes; and so he only heard, rather than saw, something huge swing around and club the wyvern right on the end of the snout. There was some confused flapping and screeching, and when Nimbus opened his eyes again, the wyverns were gone. In their place was Carnelian, holding a large, broken piece of tree trunk.

The cyclops smiled, and his single eye twinkled playfully. ‘You owe me,’ he said.

‘I don’t think so,’ Nimbus said, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off his armour. ‘If you hadn’t tricked me into destroying the Wing Warrior sword, then I wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. This is all your fault.’

‘Details, details,’ Carnelian snorted, throwing the tree trunk away. ‘You should just be grateful I don’t sleep as heavily as your dragon friend. He hasn’t even stirred.’

‘He hasn’t?’

Nimbus rushed back up the embankment, heading for the camp. Sure enough, Cumulo was still curled up in the shadow of a tottering wall, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Every now and again his nostrils would twitch, and he would paw frantically with one claw as though he was attempting to dig his way out of an imaginary pit. His scales were the colour of tar.

‘See,’ Carnelian said. ‘Sleeping like a baby. A big, ugly baby.’

‘Something’s wrong,’ Nimbus said, resting his hand on Cumulo’s neck.

‘Of course something’s wrong. He’s been bitten by a fully grown hydra. I’m surprised he got this far.’

‘You knew this was going to happen?’

‘Of course I knew.’

‘Why didn’t you warn us?’

Carnelian shrugged. ‘Just trying to make things a bit more interesting.’

‘This isn’t funny, Carnelian.’

‘You’re right, it’s not, but it’s happened, and there’s nothing we can do about that now. If you want to find the unicorn, we’re going to have to travel on foot from here on.’

‘But we can’t leave Cumulo like this.’

‘We don’t really have a lot of choice, do we? I’m not going to carry him, that’s for sure.’

‘What if he...?’ Nimbus left his sentence unfinished. He couldn’t even think about Cumulo dying without shaking. ‘I’ve already lost so much. I can’t lose him.’

‘He’s just sleeping. He’ll wake up eventually.’

‘When?’

‘Who knows? Could be a few hours, could be a few weeks, or even a few years. It really depends on how many times he was bitten, and how much poison he has in his bloodstream.’

‘He’s really strong. He’ll recover sooner than other creatures... won’t he?’

Carnelian shrugged again. That familiar, sly grin crept into his otherwise innocent expression.

‘You can see the future,’ Nimbus snapped. ‘Tell me if Cumulo is going to be okay.’

‘Why should I?’

‘I thought you wanted to help me?’

Carnelian scampered over to a flat piece of broken pillar and squatted there. ‘You freed me,’ he said. ‘I’m grateful for that, and I said I would help you find the unicorn. I didn’t say I would do anything more than that, and I don’t intend to.’

‘My sister is dying,’ Nimbus snapped, with tears of frustration gleaming in his eyes. ‘How can you be this way when the life of a little girl is at stake?’

Carnelian shrugged. ‘I think you’re forgetting one important thing, Nim. That little girl is the daughter of the man who trapped my spirit in eternal torment for hundreds of years.’

‘And she’s the sister of the boy who saved you from that torment.’

‘Big deal.’

‘Why are you so horrible?’

Carnelian’s eye narrowed, and reflected in its seemingly eternal depths were a million people and places. ‘I have reason to be horrible.’

Nimbus sat beside Cumulo, stroking the dragon’s snout. ‘How have I made such a mess of everything?’ he sighed. ‘My sister is dying, my dad is mad at me, I’ve lost the sword, now I’ve lost Cumulo.’

‘You know we’re going to have to go on without him, don’t you?’

‘I know.’

‘It’s not far though. Not more than half a day’s journey on foot.’

‘I don’t even know where I’m going.’

‘Where you’re going isn’t the problem. The problem is what you’re going to do once you get there. The unicorn is still beyond your reach, held in a place so far on the other side of the daylight world that only the dead may go there. You need a spirit guide, someone who can walk the realms where you cannot.’

‘You heard Captain Spectre. He can’t leave this place.’

A flicker of motion indicated that Captain Spectre was still lingering by the tower doorway. Carnelian was silent, his half–devious, half–playful grin frozen in place.

‘I’m totally out of ideas,’ Nimbus went on, letting his head hang down and lacing his fingers behind his neck. ‘If my father was here, he’d have a plan.’

‘Your father’s plans tended to be limited to resolving things with his sword,’ Carnelian muttered.

‘You don’t know anything about my father.’

‘I have seen everything your father has ever done. I know him better than you ever will.’

‘That’s the problem though, you’ve seen what he’s done. But even with the power of infinite vision you aren’t able to see what he thinks and feels. It is possible to be greater than the actions you are forced to undertake. I realised that too late.’

‘Oh, stop, you’re going to make me cry.’

Nimbus smiled grimly. ‘It doesn’t matter what you think. You can’t change the way things are.’

‘We’ll see.’

They both fell silent, staring at the embers of the campfire. Carnelian frowned, as though he could see something in the last fragile leaves of flame. Nimbus picked his fingernails thoughtfully. Around them, the night breathed quietly, full of secrets and potential threats. The wyverns were probably still close by, waiting for another opportunity to cause havoc.

Cumulo continued to sleep, totally unaware of the dangers surrounding him.

‘Just look at that,’ Carnelian said. ‘If he wasn’t breathing you could almost think he’d been turned into stone.’

‘Turned into stone?’ Nimbus said, his eyes flaring with the light of an idea. ‘That’s it. You are a genius, Carnelian.’

‘I am?’

‘Captain Spectre,’ Nimbus shouted. ‘Captain Spectre.’

The ghostly captain emerged from the doorway. ‘How may I be of assistance, Young Nimbus?’ he asked.

‘You are bound to this tower, aren’t you?’

‘That I am.’

‘Bound to the stone of the tower?’

‘Correct.’

‘Any stone?’ Nimbus scooped up a sharp, palm–sized shard of stone from nearby. ‘This stone, for example?’

Captain Spectre smiled as he realised what Nimbus’s plan was. ‘Let’s find out,’ he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Lord Citrine sat on his throne in the main hall, resting his chin in one hand as he listened to the utter silence of the palace. It was still early in the morning, and apart from some of the servants in the lower parts of the building, and the armed sentries out in the corridor, everybody was asleep. Even Lady Citrine had not yet left her chamber, although Lord Citrine suspected she was getting no more rest than he was.

He drummed the fingers of his free hand on the arm of the throne, and watched the first rays of sunlight find their way into the room. Soon outriders would return with news from the far corners of his realm. He would have to listen to what monstrous events had taken place during the long hours of the night, and he would be called upon to send more soldiers to fight.

How many soldiers did he have to send to their deaths before this was all over?

One of the side doors opened, and Lady Citrine came in. She managed to look royal and beautiful as always, even though her dark eyes betrayed her lack of sleep.

‘Have they started to arrive yet?’ she asked, as she took her seat beside Lord Citrine.

‘Not yet.’

They sat in silence for a long time, watching the way the daylight filled out every dark corner of the room.

On the other side of the main doors, one of the sentries coughed and shuffled his feet.

Beyond the palace, the sleepy city started to wake. The bakeries fired up their stoves, and the market sellers set their stalls. Within the fortified walls of the city, the people tried to go about their normal lives; but all around them the shadows of war continued to grow. Lord Citrine knew all too well that walls were no defence against shadows, no matter how fortified those walls might be. Soon this city would be too dark even for the sun to illuminate.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, eventually.

Lady Citrine reached over and touched his hand. ‘You have already done more than anybody should have been asked to do, and you have ruled fairly and justly. The people love you, and they respect you, and they will stand by you if they have to. Believe in yourself as much as they believe in you.’

‘But they don’t know the truth.’

‘The truth is you are a good man. They know that, and there really is nothing more important.’

‘You are too kind.’

‘I would not blame you if you chose to go.’

Lord Citrine’s mouth bent into an awkward, wry grin. ‘I have nowhere else to be.’

‘Is that the only reason you stay?’

He looked at her carefully; at her beautiful, smooth skin, and flowing hair. ‘You know it isn’t.’

‘And for that reason alone, it should be me that apologises, not you. I ask much of you, and yet cannot give you the one thing you would wish for in return.’

The main doors swung open, and a soldier approached the thrones. He was covered in dirt, and the helmet he was carrying under one arm was badly dented.

When he was a few paces from the thrones, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head. He smelled of stale sweat and horses. His hair was matted with filth.

‘My Lord, My Lady. I bring terrible news.’

‘And so it begins again,’ Lord Citrine said. ‘Please, Soldier, tell me of this news.’

‘I regret to be the one to bring these tidings, but Flint Lock Fort has been captured.’

Lord Citrine leaned forwards. ‘What would make you believe such a thing?’

‘I have seen with my own eyes, winged creatures flying above the ramparts, and soldiers in black cloaks standing on the walls.’

‘And what of the soldiers we had stationed there?’

‘There was no sign of them.’

Lord Citrine glanced at Lady Citrine. ‘The fort is one of our mightiest strongholds,’ he said. ‘Are we really to believe that it has fallen for a second time?’

‘Many strange things have happened in these recent months,’ Lady Citrine said, with a slight nod.

‘My Lord,’ the soldier said. ‘May I humbly request troops to undertake a mission to liberate the fort?’

Again, Lord Citrine turned to Lady Citrine. ‘It would take many men to storm the fort. More men than we have here.’

‘Soldiers would have great difficulty getting into the fort, but the Wing Warrior would find it exceptionally easy, wouldn’t he?’ Lady Citrine said, and although she posed her words as a question, they did not sound like a question to the kneeling soldier. They sounded more like a carefully disguised order.