03 Sky Knight (26 page)

The dragon’s scales turned charcoal grey, so that he was almost completely camouflaged in the darkness. ‘Look up there,’ he grumbled.

In the sky, something like a tatter of black silk whipped and twisted on the wind, moving seemingly at random, but getting nearer all the time.

‘What does he want?’ Nimbus said.

The silk came spiralling down to the balcony, where it became something of substance: a man, wrapped in a cape the colour of night.

‘Good evening,’ the vampyr said.

‘You’re timing is a little inconvenient,’ Nimbus said. ‘I’m kind of in the middle of something here.’

‘May I enquire what that is?’

‘I’m here for my dad.’

‘I see. And what of your attempt to end Crow’s life? Have you forgotten?’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘Not hard enough, perhaps? If you intend to kill him, you are in entirely the wrong place.’

‘I told you, I’m here for my dad. He was a Wing Warrior once, the best of them all. If he fights with me, that’s twice as much trouble for Crow. Okay?’

The vampyr, who was crouching on the balcony wall like a cat, nodded understandingly. ‘Of course, it’s a good move. You should help your father. But be warned, Crow’s army is on the march. Stay here too long, and there may not be anyone left to save.’

Without another word, he became like a piece of the night’s fabric, and blew away. He was seen as a vague, rapidly–moving shadow over the rooftops, and then he was gone.

‘I hate that guy,’ Nimbus said.

Cumulo muttered something about eating the vampyr, and how it would be worth the indigestion; then he fidgeted on his perch, twitching his wings restlessly.

Nimbus opened the tower door, revealing a small room, occupied by two bundles of dirty blankets. As he stepped inside, one of the bundles shifted.

‘Dad?’ he said.

The bundle looked up, and though the face that Nimbus saw was gaunt and drawn, unshaven, bloodied, and dirty, it was none–the–less the face of his father.

‘Dad!’

They embraced, and Nimbus wished it was a moment that would never end. The second bundle – a filthy travelling cloak and a scrap of linen – unfurled itself into the figure of Lady Citrine, but at least for the moment, Nimbus was oblivious to everything except his father. His dad, the best of all the Wing Warriors, the real hero.

‘Nimbus,’ Cloud said, gripping Nimbus’s shoulders. ‘Am I glad to see you. How are things going on the outside? How have you been fighting Crow?’

‘Ah, well... I haven’t exactly been...’ Nimbus stopped. He was about to disappoint his father all over again, and he wasn’t sure if he had the strength for that.

‘Nim?’ Cloud pressed. ‘What’s happening?’

‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’ve been making a terrible mess of everything. I went out to Serpent’s Coil, but Tidal had a sea serpent called the Ocean King and he captured me. And Cumulo got imprisoned in a magic chain and he nearly died. And then Sky flew out, and she saved us all, and... And I thought you were dead.’

‘Sounds like you will have a lot to tell me when this is over.’

‘It gets worse.’

Lady Citrine came nearer, and even though she was covered in grime, and her hair was a mess, it was possible to see the memory of her beauty and power in the way she stood, and the fire in her eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘The people of Landmark. We had to destroy Flint Lock, and abandon the village. I don’t even know where my people are now.’

As Nimbus hung his head in shame, Captain Spectre materialised beside him. ‘He’s here,’ the captain said, flatly. ‘I mean, I’m here. The body. Downstairs. I can sense it.’

‘There’s no time,’ Nimbus said. ‘I have to find the villagers.’

Spectre remained very still, with his ghostly fists clenched tightly. ‘Nim. It’s my body. That thing has my body. And it has been leading Crow’s army since my death. It may know where your people are.’

‘I suppose...’

Spectre turned, slowly removing his visor to reveal his eyes for the first time. They were filled with the kind of pain borne from years of loneliness; a kind of pain that Nimbus could not even hope to understand.

Nimbus stared at his reflection in the mirrored surface of the spirit blade. ‘I suppose I wouldn’t mind a rematch,’ he said.

Spectre nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said, before dematerialising.

Nimbus touched the piece of tower stone. If he did this – if he won – he would be losing a good friend. He had got used to having Spectre hanging around his neck. It would be strange without him.

‘Dad, a little help with the door, please,’ he said.

The two Wing Warriors put their shoulders to the door.

‘On three,’ Cloud said. ‘One, two...’

‘Three,’ Nimbus said.

Together they heaved against the door, and with a groan the wood gave way, revealing a stone stairwell.

Nimbus was already halfway through the remains of the door when his father grabbed his arm. ‘You don’t really expect me to let you go down there without tagging along, do you?’ he grinned.

‘I guess not,’ Nimbus said.

As the last of the Wing Warriors made their way downstairs, Lady Citrine moved out onto the balcony, where Cumulo was waiting patiently.

‘Master Dragon,’ she said, standing beside him and looking over the ruins of her city.

‘My Lady,’ he said, inclining his head.

‘Was it you who taught the boy to be the way he is?’

Cumulo chuckled. ‘No. He figured it out all by himself.’

***

Nimbus thrust open the door to the throne room, and was immediately confronted by one of the skittering spider–soldiers. He easily countered the creature’s clumsy strike.

A second soldier was already lunging at him. He stepped into the attack, batted his opponent’s sword down, and then reversed his own blade so that it slid up and under the soldier’s plate armour. As he pulled free his sword, he simultaneously took his enemy’s.

‘You’ve got better,’ Cloud said, as Nimbus handed him the extra sword.

‘Finally got around to getting some of those lessons from Obsidian. I guess you knew what you were talking about after all.’

Two more soldiers came hurtling towards them, and standing together, Nimbus and Cloud fought them off. Block, counter; block, counter. The soldiers dropped, their heads severed, sludge–like things attempting to claw out of their necks.

More enemies threw themselves into the fray, only to immediately fall back again, and piles of bodies began to mount up.

The Wing Warriors were unstoppable. Cloud was weak, but he had several lifetime’s worth of martial skill to call upon; Nimbus was less talented with a sword, but he made up for what he lacked in skill with sheer determination. Between them, they cut a swath of destruction through the enemy forces.

Then a change came over the spider–soldiers: they weren’t fighting to destroy the Wing Warriors any more, they were fighting simply to survive.

Nimbus redoubled his efforts, and knowing his father was right there with him only encouraged him more.

A minute more, and there was not a spider–soldier left standing in the room, only mounds of bodies, and the occasional black, feathery tendrils of the spider–monsters reaching out desperately in search of a new body to possess.

Nimbus let out a short burst of nervous laughter.

‘Not bad,’ Cloud said.

There was a scurrying sound, and over the bodies of the fallen, one last soldier appeared. Nimbus felt his heart skip a beat as he saw the arrow protruding from between the soldier’s eyes.

‘That’s him,’ he said. ‘Captain Spectre’s body.’

Cloud backed off, so that once again he was standing side by side with his son. ‘I know this one,’ he said. ‘I think we both have a grudge to settle with him.’

Nimbus brushed his fingers against the stone hanging around his neck. ‘This is it,’ he whispered. Captain Spectre did not reply, but Nimbus could sense the spirit’s hope and anticipation. ‘I won’t let you down,’ he said.

With an inarticulate howl, the captain sprang forwards. Cloud moved up to meet him, blocked his initial attack, and then grabbed the arrow with his free hand, pushing it farther in. The captain screamed, lashing out with all four of his spidery limbs, knocking Cloud to the ground.

Nimbus moved into action, slashing upwards to deflect the blow that the captain was directing at Cloud, and then dragging his blade sideways, cutting through two of those spider–like legs. Two more attacks were blocked, but by then Cloud was on his feet again, and together they moved in for the kill.

Nimbus made to thrust, and as the captain twisted to block him, Cloud attacked from the other side, severing another twitchy, inhuman limb.

The captain was falling back, retreating across the throne room, and Nimbus wondered why he had ever been afraid of him. He couldn’t believe he had nearly died at the hands of this weak and pathetic thing. He couldn’t believe how scared he had been.

He couldn’t believe...

The captain’s sword tip was protruding from his father’s back, red with blood.

‘Dad?’ Nimbus said.

Cloud choked, spattering the ground with red droplets. When he turned around, Nimbus could see that the sword had gone right through his chest.

‘Nim,’ he gasped, before sprawling among the bodies of the warriors he had slain.

The captain pulled his sword free and turned on Nimbus. ‘And now you,’ he gurgled, but the Wing Warrior hardly heard him. He was looking at all the blood.

There was so much blood.

The captain charged, and Nimbus blocked the attack without thinking. There was another attack, and another. He couldn’t see properly; there were tears in his eyes.

Another attack.

Vaguely, he was aware he was losing now. But he had already lost. His father wasn’t moving.

He lifted his sword in time to deflect another blow. Metal rang against metal. His hands were numb, his arms ached.

His father wasn’t moving.

He blinked his vision clear, moved farther away. But there was nowhere left to go. He was pressed against the wall.

The captain attacked again, with such aggression that Nimbus’s sword flew out of his grip, clanging off the wall to be lost among the heaps of armour.

The captain paused, his face splitting into an ugly, broken–toothed sneer. ‘Nobody to save you this time,’ he said. ‘No cyclops. No unicorn.’

‘Just shut up and do it,’ Nimbus said.

The captain thrust with his sword, but Nimbus had expected the move and leapt to one side. At the same time, he pulled free the stone from around his neck and stabbed it like a dagger into the captain’s throat.

There was a burst of energy, and the captain stumbled away, hissing, scrabbling at the shard of stone. His eyes flared dramatically, as though something that had been long dead was suddenly alive once more. The single spider–leg protruding from his back went into spasm, suggestive of a creature in the grip of agonising death throes.

Nimbus quickly retrieved Venom from where it had fallen, and then cautiously approached the captain, who continued to stagger around in an uncontrollable manner before finally collapsing against the wall with a horrible bubbling noise issuing from the puncture wound in his neck.

‘Captain?’ Nimbus whispered.

Slowly, the captain raised his head, and an awkward smile played around his lips. It was still a broken–toothed and ugly smile, but there was a different quality to it now: Something kinder. ‘I’ve got such a headache,’ he said.

‘Captain, is that you?’

The captain suddenly gripped Nimbus’s arm. ‘I can sense him,’ he gasped. ‘This thing was controlled by Crow, and I can feel him, like a wound in my mind. He is at the ruined watchtower. That is where you will face him. Quick, help me up. We must get your father.’

Nimbus helped the captain to his feet, aware of scuttling beyond the throne room doors. More spider–soldiers; lots of them, by the sounds of it. He didn’t have long.

‘Dad?’ he said.

Cloud’s eyes flicked open, and he cried out as he saw the captain lurching up behind his son; but then he saw that there was something different about the shambling, dead thing: something human that had not been there before.

‘You did it,’ he said, sitting up, and wincing as a jolt of pain sparked through his chest.

‘Hey, go careful, Dad,’ Nimbus said.

‘There’s no time. Can’t you hear them coming? Here, take my hand. That’s it. Help me stand.’

‘Are you badly hurt?’

Cloud leaned heavily against the wall. All the strength had gone out of him, and the world span sickeningly. ‘It’s not good,’ he mumbled. ‘Where’s my sword? I need my sword.’

‘Forget your sword. Come on. Back to the stairs. We’re done here.’

‘No. I’m just going to slow you down.’ Cloud found a sword lying on the ground, and carefully scooped it up, keeping one hand pressed hard over his wound. ‘Go on, I’ll cover your retreat.’

Nimbus suddenly felt like he was the one who had been stabbed in the chest, and he looked hard at his father, disbelieving what he had heard. ‘You aren’t serious? You can hardly stand.’

‘Those things are coming. This is no time to argue.’

‘We’re leaving together.’

‘No.’ Cloud pushed his son away, then put his back to the wall to save himself from collapsing. Blood was pumping out between his fingers, and his face had gone deathly white. ‘No. I’m going to stay here.’

‘Dad?’ Realisation was beginning to dawn on Nimbus, casting its cruel, unflinching glare over the truth of what was happening. ‘You’re going to be okay... Aren’t you?’

Cloud shook his head. The sword trembled in his hand. ‘I don’t think so. Not this time.’

‘But you can’t... I mean, you’re a Wing Warrior... You’re ageless... Immortal.’

Cloud’s smile was entirely without mirth: An expression of deep regret. ‘People die, Nim. All people. But legends live forever, as long as there is someone to remember them.’

‘But...’

‘Go, Nim. Protect our people. Remember me.’

Nimbus turned to Captain Spectre, desperately seeking from him some answer, some way to put this right; but the look in the captain’s eyes let him know that there was no answer. This was something he could not prevent.