02 Unicorn Rider (19 page)

He touched the bruise on his cheek and the deep cut above his left eye. He had held off the enemy for as long as he could, but he had been outnumbered. Even with all his skill and strength, he could not stand alone. A blow to the head had knocked him unconscious, and he could remember nothing else until waking in this damp prison.

What had become of poor Onyx during the struggle was anybody’s guess.

Cloud sighed, shaking his swollen head. What a fool he had been to fall for such an obvious trap. He should have seen this coming.

He was surprised he had not already been killed, but being alive was not exactly filling him with hope. He had not forgotten the vision he had seen in the blade of the Wing Warrior sword all those years ago. There was a chance he could be locked up forever, and forever was a very long time for an immortal.

He could hear the clattering and clanking of war parties being organised in the rooms above. The fort was completely under the control of the man–spiders, and Cloud didn’t want to think of what may have happened to the soldiers who had been stationed here before. The war that people had been whispering about for months was about to start, and it was about to start while he rotted in a dungeon cell.

The moon glistened, half–veiled by clawing strands of black clouds, and somewhere, very far away, a wolf howled as if it somehow understood the suffering that was about to be unleashed on the world.

A dry wheezing at the other end of Cloud’s small cell attracted his attention. An ancient, dust–coated skeleton was hunched up in the far corner. Its skull was hanging down, as if it was in deep concentration; but as Cloud watched, the skull lifted and the skeleton looked straight at him with its empty eye–sockets. The jaw of the skull was hanging open, and despite the obvious lack of any lungs, the wheezing sound was undoubtedly the noise of the skeleton attempting to breathe.

‘That’s quite impressive,’ Cloud said.

The skeleton coughed, and a spray of fine dust shot out from between its teeth. ‘Quite impressive?’ it groaned.

‘Very impressive,’ Cloud said, amending his original assessment.

The skeleton’s bones clinked hollowly as it repositioned itself. ‘I’m really not sure I know what you mean.’

‘Making the whole thing move that way. That must have taken a lot of time to get right.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You can come out.’

‘Come out?’

‘I’ve been alive for a very long time, probably longer than the combined length of your life and afterlife. In all that time I’ve never seen a skeleton that could move by itself.’

If it was possible for a skull to have different expressions, then this one would have looked a little bit bemused, and quite a lot disappointed. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘Not in this case. Drop the act and come out.’

The skeleton’s skull hung forwards again, like it was sulking, and then a wisp of white vapour came out of the eye sockets, forming into the outline of a skinny man with a beard. ‘Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for someone to be put in here so I could play that trick on them?’ the man said.

‘No. How long?’

‘I...’ The man stopped. His ghostly mouth flapped open and closed a few times. ‘I don’t know. It was a long time though.’

‘Sorry I ruined your fun.’

‘So you should be. You could have at least pretended a bit.’

‘You were very convincing.’

‘Was I?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Well, that’s something I suppose.’ The man ran his hand through his beard a couple of times. ‘I’m Sulphur, by the way.’

Cloud looked around the cramped cell, at the scuttling spiders and the buzzing flies and the rat–chewed bones. ‘I wish I could say I was pleased to meet you, Sulphur. My name’s Cloud.’

‘Well, I am certainly pleased to meet you. It’s so nice to have someone to talk to. I haven’t really had much to do since I figured out how to make the skeleton move.’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve bothered to figure out how to open the door, have you?’

Sulphur shrugged. ‘Didn’t really seem to be a lot of point.’

‘I suppose not.’ Cloud fell silent, and went back to looking out of the window.

‘Why are you here, anyway? You don’t look much like a criminal,’ Sulphur said.

‘I’m here because I used to be a Wing Warrior. A criminal by another name.’

Sulphur nodded solemnly. ‘I used to be a criminal. I guess that’s why I’m here, rather than...’ He gestured in no particular direction. ‘Rather than somewhere else. The problem is, I’m stuck haunting this cell, and trying to make up for my sins is proving to be somewhat difficult.’

‘Quite a predicament,’ Cloud agreed. ‘What did you do?’

‘I’m a murderer.’

Cloud smiled grimly. ‘Me too,’ he whispered.

The clang and thump of armour and weaponry being moved around above them continued with an unsettling lack of any accompanying human noises such as laughing or talking. The more Cloud tried to listen, the quieter it seemed to get.

‘Their army grows bigger every day,’ Sulphur said. ‘And the more you fight them, the stronger they will get.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’re not like you.’

‘I know that. I’ve seen what hides beneath their cloaks.’

‘They are the work of a demon. More like...’ Sulphur glanced at the skeleton stooped in the corner. ‘More like that. That isn’t my skeleton, it belongs to someone else, but I can still move it around.’

Cloud looked at Sulphur carefully. ‘What do you know?’

‘Only what I’ve seen.’

‘Tell me. Maybe you can start making up for your sins after all.’

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Tidal sat in the corner of the room, using his knife to dig dirt out from under his thumbnail. He didn’t like this at all.

Out on his little boat, he was free. There were no walls, and there was no roof; nothing to hold him in. At sea, he could travel until he lost himself in the waves, and there was nothing but air between him and the overarching sky.

On the ocean, he could breathe. But he could not breathe here, cooped up in Glass’s room. There was no oxygen inside these four oppressive walls.

Trapped in here, he felt like he was already dead and buried.

He dug the knife deeper under his nail, and winced as the blade sliced through his skin. Blood welled up on his thumb.

‘What have you done?’ Sky asked, moving across to him.

Tidal jammed the thumb in his mouth. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I just don’t like being stuck like this. I wish there was some way we could fight back.’

Obsidian glanced over from his chair by the door. ‘Don’t go getting any funny ideas. Being hot–headed will get us all killed.’

‘I’m just saying,’ Tidal muttered, gloomily.

Sky put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay. Nim will be back soon, and he’ll know what to do.’

Tidal rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Obsidian yawned, stretching to loosen his aching neck muscles. The soldier out in the corridor swayed slightly as he hung down from the rafters, but apart from this almost imperceptible motion, he appeared completely lifeless.

‘Why is no–one doing anything?’ Strata asked, as she stared out of the window.

‘Because it’s sensible,’ Obsidian said. ‘Those things incapacitated all of the fighters we have. Nobody left is going to risk a direct confrontation.’

‘You could fight,’ Tidal said. ‘And there are more villagers than there are soldiers. We could overwhelm them.’

‘Farmers and fishermen, standing against trained soldiers with the uncanny ability to run on walls? I wouldn’t fancy our chances. Besides, I think we’re more valuable to these things as hostages. As long as nobody does anything stupid, I don’t think anyone will be hurt.’

Tidal ground his teeth, and returned to cleaning his fingernails. With each flick of the blade his mood darkened.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Nimbus.

Sky watched him, studying his expression until it became too unsettling and she had to look away. ‘What are they doing out there?’ she asked Strata, desperate for any conversation to break the silence that otherwise pervaded the room.

Strata shrugged. ‘Standing there. Like they always do. It’s getting too dark to see them, but they’re there.’

Sky took a look for herself. ‘Is it just me, or are there more of them?’

In the quiet street, rows and rows of soldiers stood motionless as birch trees: a forest of death growing out of the night.

Slowly, clouds began to obscure the moon and stars, plunging the world into deeper darkness. Strata watched as the soldiers were consumed by shadow, and as each one vanished from sight, her discomfort grew more intense, until her hands shook, and her whole body trembled with a scream that was trapped inside her.

It was not the thought of the soldiers being invisible that caused her such concern. She did not fear the dark.

She feared the dawn.

She feared that more soldiers would come throughout the night, and the daylight would not bring new hope, but instead would reveal a world in which every available space had been filled by evil.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ Strata said, but her voice was not strong enough to support the words, and Sky felt no better for hearing them.

‘I’m trying, but it’s not easy,’ Sky said.

‘They want Glass. The fact they’re still here means they haven’t found her. That means there is still hope.’

The spider–soldier by the bedroom door crept closer. ‘May be best not to mention the girl any more,’ Obsidian said, easing out of his chair and making sure he stood between the soldier and Strata. ‘Every time you use her name, these chaps get lively.’

The creeping terror paused, then withdrew up into the rafters so that he became nothing more than a patch of darkness with twitching legs poised expectantly.

Obsidian took his chair and moved it away from the door. ‘Think I’d feel more comfortable over here,’ he said. ‘And you might want to stay clear of the window as well.’

Sky found herself moving closer to Strata, and Strata took her hand. ‘I can’t see a thing out there, any more. They could be doing anything. What if they start going into houses. My father...’

Strata squeezed Sky’s hand.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Tidal turned his knife onto the floorboards, and began to carve something in the wood. He wasn’t writing or drawing, he was just making aimless marks; but as he added more lines and swirls and curves, he started to believe he could see a pattern forming. It was not an etching of something he had ever seen, or even something he had heard about; it was more abstract than that. It was what the sea might look like if it had teeth.

‘If I could get to the ocean, I could stop this,’ he muttered.

Because there was something in the sea with real strength, real power.

The thing out there, the beast that could devour boats, would bring justice to Landmark.

Justice!

Even the thought of the word brought rage to the surface of Tidal’s mind, and in a fit of anger he slammed his knife into the ground where it stuck, the blade quivering like an exclamation point at the end of his silent fury.

‘What has my floor ever done to you?’ Strata said.

Tidal stared at the knife, its point buried in the middle of the thing he had been carving. ‘Sorry,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Obsidian’s stern gaze fell momentarily on Tidal’s knife, then moved to the window, before darting back to the thing that had tucked itself up in the beams by the door.

He was totally surrounded by enemies, and yet he couldn’t fight any of them.

He couldn’t even see them.

CHAPTER TWENTY

As the deepest, darkest hours of the night tightened around the ruins, Cumulo sat by the campfire and watched the last of the kindling crackle and pop. Everything was still and peaceful, without even the hoot of an owl or the rustle of pixie wings to distract him from his brooding thoughts.

Something was wrong.

Ever since he had left the temple he had been awkward within his own body. He felt like his limbs were made of stone, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. His head was too heavy, his wings ached, and the blood was freezing in his veins.

He wanted to find the unicorn.

He wanted to save Glass.

But right now, he just wanted to sleep.

Curling up and resting his head on his front claws, he yawned and blinked stupidly.

Something was definitely wrong.

A good night’s sleep would help though.

‘Are you okay?’ Captain Spectre asked, from the shadowy recess of the nearby tower’s doorway.

Cumulo sniffed and licked the end of his snout. He was okay. Everything was okay. He was just tired, that was all.

‘Cumulo? Can you hear me?’

Of course he could hear. He was just too tired to talk right now. He would talk in the morning.

‘Speak to me.’

Things would be better in the morning.

‘Cumulo?’

Things were always better in the morning.

‘I guess you must be tired,’ Spectre said, dissolving into the night like sugar dissolving into hot water. ‘I’ll speak to you another time. Have pleasant dreams.’

Cumulo’s eyes blinked closed for the last time.

Nearby, Carnelian moaned fitfully in his sleep, grasping with his fingers in the dirt and gnashing his teeth; then suddenly he jolted awake with a cry that was half terrified scream and half anguished howl.

As loud as Carnelian’s cry was, it was not loud enough to wake Cumulo; but Nimbus was on his feet in a second, certain the camp was under attack.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked, sleepily, once he realised there was no danger.

‘Fine,’ Carnelian said, prodding at his face as though he expected to find his eye was missing. ‘It was just a bad dream.’

‘I didn’t think you had dreams.’

‘It was just a bad dream,’ Carnelian repeated, rolling over and putting his back to Nimbus.

Although the campfire had almost burned out, there was still enough light for Nimbus to see Cumulo sleeping peacefully. The tumble–down mass of Spectre’s tower stood beyond: a massive sentinel keeping watch over them all.