Chaos Storm (The Flight of the Griffin Book 2) (36 page)

* * *

Controlling a dragon in flight was not as easy as Matheus Hawk had first believed. Upon leaving the mountain cave - he preferred to think back upon the event as a tactical withdrawal rather than fleeing for his life - he had finally believed himself to be the dragon's master. After a little hesitancy, he had found guiding the great beast appeared to work. The dragon had responded well to his first attempts at steering it to either side and later, once his confidence had grown, it had climbed high through the clouds and at his prompting, gently descended to skim the top of the dunes. It was all quite uplifting, coming at a time when he had so needed to be uplifted. Smiling in triumph, he had concluded that the creature's reliance on Nhasic was in the past and that it had accepted that he was now its new master. Which was all good until the desert shifted and became a boiling sea of churning sand. The creature had almost unseated him as it reared in alarm, turned back toward the distant mountains and climbed as high above the desert as it could, taking no notice of his ever-urgent commands.

Matheus Hawk was now very close to being frozen to the saddle. They were soaring at an impossible altitude, and he was unable to elicit any kind of response from the dragon as it headed out on an itinerary all of its own, it was ignoring him completely and he was now resigned to the fact that he was clearly not its master, but a passenger, frozen to its back.

* * *

Quint ducked under the flashing blade and slammed his elbow into the warrior's chest. He felt ribs crack and the warrior's breath expel in an
'Oomph'
before pitching past him to the ground. He ran on, clashing swords with the next warrior that ran to meet him. Spinning the blade to the side, he swung his left fist to connect with the man's temple then brought his knee up, catching the warrior a heavy blow to the stomach as he went down. Around them, the storm sucked in the desert until almost nothing could be seen.

'Keep up… keep moving,' his voice was muffled by his headscarf as he shouted back to those coming in behind. Through the spinning dust and sand, he watched as Pardigan tripped a warrior who had tried to run him through with a spear and saw Elisop whack the falling man with his pan - the sound lost in the howling screech of the storm. More warriors were following, and he could just make out through the clouds of sand that others were dropping over the city wall. They had been left with no choice, the city had to bring the fight to the invaders.

As Pardigan caught up, Quint turned and moved on with several Dhurbar and some Realm soldiers by his side, all of them shouting and screaming challenges as they met the next wave of warriors head on, dodging spears, sidestepping slashing swords, dealing as best they could with the windswept sand that threatened to strip the skin from their bones and blind them as they squinted out through hastily wrapped headscarves.

'Which direction? I can't tell in all this,' yelled Pardigan. He was pulling on Quint's sleeve to get his attention.

Quint cast about, seeing little through the swirling, howling fury of the storm. 'There are fewer warriors here, we must have passed to the side of him, over this way.' They took ten paces to the left and immediately came across the main force of the Emperor's guard. The warriors had formed up into a protective shield, crouching with their spears pointing outward hunkered down against the storm. They each had a heavy wrap of scarves about their faces as protection. Most weren't ready for anyone foolish enough to come attacking them. They were covered up, crouched protecting their eyes. Quint couldn't see the Emperor, but they must be close now, he lashed out, stabbing into the first warrior to notice them and rise up, catching the man in the throat before he could shout a warning. Downing the man next to him with a swift kick below the chin that sent the man flying backwards, Quint moved into the ring with Pardigan at his side and the small group of Dhurbar behind them.

Around them, the warriors began to realise that they were under attack and began emerging from under their wraps, some already hefting spears and drawing swords. The most ferocious battle either boy could remember erupted as the two groups clashed. The Emperor's guards were almost suicidal in their duty to protect their lord. Throwing themselves forward with a demented fervour they sought to kill and eradicate the threat without regard for their own lives. Behind them, just visible in the swirling gloom of the storm, the Emperor, Djinn Tsai, continued to build his Chaos magic, his arms whirling faster than any human could have moved. Surrounding him was a red, crackling helix of energy that swirled up above him in a dancing flashing multi-spiral.

Pardigan was having his own problems as enemy warriors appeared all around him from out of the swirling sand. Meeting the first, he stepped slightly to the side, accepted the thrust of the spear and calmly kicked forward at the warrior's knee. He just heard the gasp of pain from the man as he fell, before the sound was snatched by the wind. Seeing his chance open before him, he quickly drew back and threw one of his knives at the Emperor.

Time appeared to slow as the knife spun. Blades and spears seemed to move sluggishly past him, offering little threat, individual grains of swirling sand presented themselves before his eyes, yet his gaze never faltered from the spinning blade of his knife as it flew, closing upon the small glowing figure. The force of the wind caught the knife, snatching it to the side but Pardigan had reckoned on this and the blade continued on until it struck and he saw the Emperor scream.

Turning slowly towards them, the Emperor slowed his magic long enough to wrench the blade from his side and toss it contemptuously to the ground. He glanced to Pardigan, eyes flashing an angry red and then it was past, and he returned, unharmed, to his spell. It was the briefest of moments, and it was all for nothing - the magic continued and for Pardigan time snapped back into its roaring howling place and he was assailed with the sounds of battle again – metal clashing, grunts of pain and exertion, cries of frustration and anger while all around them the storm wailed.

To Pardigan's left side, Quint's sword shattered under a heavy impact, the fighter dipped down and wrenched a spear from the fingers of a dying warrior and rose using the spear as a staff, spinning the weapon, both ends of the spear connecting again and again, blocking, thrusting and stabbing as around him, more warriors joined the battle from both sides.

'We have to get through,' Quint yelled, 'keep together.' His eyes were sore, his shoulders ached, and he wasn't sure, but he thought he had been stabbed in his side. Every time he moved sharp splinters of pain flashed through him, and he could feel a sticky wetness moving from just above his left hip and down his leg, he closed it all off in his mind and took another step forward, desperate to get close enough to make his own killing blow.

* * *

The Griffin
rose up a towering, churning wall of sand, a very real wind driving her now, blasting through her tattered sails, forcing the little boat up, up to break through the lip of the wave and then the deck dropped and they fell down into the great hole in the desert that the wave had created. As they hit the base, the bow dipped impossibly below the surface only to explode back upwards, sheets of dry, dusty sand washing back over her decks while her crew struggled to hold on.

Tarent had lashed himself to the wheel so he could use both hands to guide the boat while Loras wove his magic next to him, bracing himself, holding on with one hand, his legs wide set against the movements of the deck. The Magician was protecting the sails as best he could and guiding them through the near invisibility of the howling storm; neither of which was an easy task in these conditions.

'We're almost there,' he shouted, his face as close to Tarent's as he could get it. 'I can sense the city… it's not too far away now.'

'Are we going to smash into it? I can't see a thing in all this Loras; I'm sailing blind. This is madness.' Tarent reached up and tucked his headscarf in a little tighter where the wind had been tugging it loose in a vain attempt to protect his eyes.

'Don't worry, I'll tell you when to haul in sail,' shouted Loras,' it will be soon. Just keep on this course; we'll have to do it together. I don't think we're going to get any help from those two.' He nodded towards the closed hatch and then moved forward, riding the rise and fall of the deck beneath his feet as he staggered from one handhold to the next. After a few steps he could just make out Nhasic standing on the bowsprit at the very front of the boat. The little demon seemed to be delighting in the whole experience, grasping firm to his perch with his little hairy feet even when the boat dived down into the desert sands, burying him completely, only to erupt upwards moments later, hands held high in celebration with the desert washing around the boat, dust and sand clouding back from the demon's fur in a dirty plume.

Loras braced as the boat rose up the next wave and then projected his senses forward. It was a confused picture that filled his mind as the storm drew upon each and every element of nature from all around, summoning everything towards it. The city of Dhurban was set ahead like a rock protruding from the sea; he could almost taste the presence of people there and more, in front much closer. This must be the battle, the last stand of Dhurban and the Realm against the might and magic of the Soul Eater Emperor and his people; it was still happening, they weren't too late. Turning, he made his way back, retracing his earlier erratic journey along the moving deck.

'Be ready Tarent, we're not going to stop when we get there, get ready to jump… I have an idea.'

'What about the Princess and Bartholomew?' asked Tarent, his voice muffled by the cloth wrap and only just perceptible through the noise.

'They'll be fine,
The Griffin
will look after them, gotta trust me again, Tarent.'

Tarent looked into Loras's eyes and nodded.

* * *

The Emperor was no more than ten paces away, surrounded by the elite of his guards, each of them huge, battle trained warriors. The fighting was brutal this close, coupled with the fact that it was now impossible to move without treading upon the fallen, making fighting difficult and going forward treacherous. Quint pushed on, trusting that Pardigan and the Dhurbar were following, which they were, until quite abruptly he found himself alone and surrounded by six of the Emperor's guards. They had seen him break through and were moving quickly towards him, blades rising with the obvious intent of removing him as a threat. At that brief moment, he realised he was ahead of the others and felt the first wave of uncertainty flow through him. Was he destined to die here upon this battlefield in the middle of this crazy storm?

Much changes quickly on a field of battle. From despair can come victory and from certain defeat can emerge triumph, sometimes it just happens like that and the flow of the battle just switches. The man in front of Quint moved forward, a grin hidden by his headscarf making its way to his eyes, his blade rising almost to the top of its arc, but before it could fall a knife struck him. Quint watched incredulously as the blade appeared to sprout from the man's neck. The grin dropped, a look of panic took over and then he dropped away out of sight, the last Quint saw of him were his blood covered hands clawing ineffectually at the blade. It was over in the blink of an eye, Quint shuddered and moved on. To his left one of the other guards was struck from the side by one of the Dhurbar warrior's and Quint's moment of doubt passed as Pardigan and the Dhurbars caught up with him, and he was no longer alone. The Emperor's men surged forward, trying to regain some ground, pushing the Dhurbars back and, for a few moments, all around this part of the battlefield was a confusing mass of grunting, heaving warriors, all bigger and taller than Quint and Pardigan, shoving, fighting and cursing as they fought for ground. Caught between the two groups, the boys struggled to stay standing.

The battle was at an impasse until a large shape flowed over their heads and flame seared the ground sending men from both sides screaming in terror and agony. The cries of 'Drac' sounded from all around, but it was quickly past and the battle resumed. Quint was now free of the crush and was able to raise his blade. He was about to run a man through when something large and moving fast from behind narrowly missed him and thumped hard into the warrior, knocking him off his feet and back several paces. Glancing down to where the man had fallen, Quint saw he was unmoving and wondered what had happened, and then the pile of cloth and rope next to the man moved and he saw Magician Falk rising from the ground. The old Magician looked very unsteady. He stood for a moment, held his arms out to steady himself as if he were dizzy, and then covering his head from the sandy blast, staggered off through the battle in the direction of the city.

Quint had no time to ask where the Magician had come from, he was already gone, the moment had passed, and the enemy was surging forward once again and he was trying not to trip over fallen bodies. Jolted back to the reality of the battle, he glanced about for support, saw the Dhurbar and Realm troops struggling and cried, 'Hold them!' He struck out again, parrying a savage cut from a warrior who now blocked his way, the cut missed him, but the impact almost knocked the spear from his hand. He noticed the man was already wounded, an open slash, bleeding freely, stretching across his face. The blade that had struck him had taken away most of his cheek and nearly all his cloth head-wrap which had been his only protection from the stinging sand of the storm. The warrior, his robes awash with blood, his teeth bared in a grimace of anger and agony from the wound and sand that beat against his damaged face, came on, almost blind but still fighting. He raised his sword ready to strike again, but Quint brought his spear around and felt it connect heavily against the man's temple, snapping it in two with the force of the impact. He threw the two pieces aside as he watched the warrior collapse. It left a gap in the enemy's defences, and he took the opportunity to dash forward, jumped over the fallen man and through the protective ring of guards.

The Emperor stood alone before him, oblivious to the battle and all that was going on, swinging his arms in a blur, eyes glowing manically, intent upon his spell, still trusting in his personal guards to keep him safe and for the moment, unaware that anyone had broken through. The huge black crystal stood by his side, pulsing red, the faces of captured souls pressing against the side of their prison, mouths wide in silent screams.

With no weapons, Quint could do little other than throw himself at the Emperor. Arms outstretched he launched himself at the little man, flew into the centre of the Chaos storm, unable to see much through the stinging sand he felt his fingers wrapping about the Emperor's neck, the whirling arms banging into him, then he snapped his head forward in a butt that connected with a crunch and the arms stopped moving.

Quint felt the impact on his forehead and knew he had crushed the Emperor's nose as they both fell to the ground. The magic may have stopped for a moment, but the storm stilled seethed, spinning about them. They rolled apart, both trying to regain their feet. Dazed from the impact, Quint managed to pull himself up and stand. He blinked, then turned and saw the Emperor was also up, regarding him with cool eyes.

'You are too late,' shouted the Emperor. 'My storm is complete, and the city is dead.' His high lilting words reached through the howl of the wind and Quint felt his anger flare, ready to take the little man down again and this time to finish him for good. He had taken just one step forward, when a huge shadow erupted over them causing them both to crouch down. Glancing up, Quint saw two shadowed figures jump free as it passed. It wasn't the blue and yellow dragon again, but wooden planking sliding past overhead, and then it was gone. It was the weirdest thing, but regardless, it gave him the chance he needed to close with the Emperor again. The two met, and Quint's blows were deflected and pushed effortlessly aside by the little man who was now grinning, slapping Quint's fists aside before slapping him, once…twice…. three times, dazing Quint as the little man laughed in his face.

'You cannot hurt me, pathetic creature, be gone and stop bothering me.' But before the Emperor could raise his hands again, Quint lunged forward and caught him in a hug that pinned his arms to his sides and set him screaming, vainly struggling in Quint's grasp.

'Here, Quint… push him in here.' The thin voice reached Quint through the hissing roar of the storm and he spun around, saw Loras standing close to a shimmering rift, a doorway between worlds, the dimension on the other side dark and forbidding. He wondered briefly at the appearance of Loras, then stepped towards it, dragging the Emperor with him. The man was struggling, trying desperately to break free. The crystal pulsed a heavy red as power was drawn and the Emperor's teeth clamped down on Quint's neck - the fighter screamed, but held on, managing to make another two steps.

'I can't hold it for long Quint, hurry… push him through.' The Emperor's guard had seen what was happening, and several broke through, but Loras put his hand up, and for a few blessed moments a wall of air protected them, both from the warriors and also the storm, making it a little easier to move. Quint took another step and then dragged his feet closer still as the Emperor thrashed in his grip, legs kicking. He could feel sticky blood running down his neck and pain flaring as the Emperor continued to bite, tearing at his flesh, but he wasn't about to let go. Casting the pain aside, he saw Tarent and Pardigan locked in battle alongside the Dhurbar, glanced back to Loras and saw the look of strain and worry on his friend's face as he fought to hold open the tear between worlds and then he lunged forward, dragging the little man with him to stand on the very edge of the rift. He swayed. He could feel the wind and sand being sucked past him into the hole. The Emperor had seen the rift as well now and was thrashing about in his arms with even greater resolve, desperate to remain in the realm of man. Opening his arms, Quint tried to separate and push the Emperor past the entrance, but it was no good, he refused to be pushed away, his teeth were clamping down harder and his arms now holding tight to Quint in an iron grip of his own.

'I can't hold it Quint… it's closing… slipping away,' Loras shouted, struggling as his hands moved trying to hold the rift open. Figures could be seen now, moving inside, too far back to see any details of them, but they were there, drawn towards the light and sounds from the realm of man – the demons were coming. 'It's going Quint…'

A frantic screech sounded close by and Nhasic leapt at the pair, landing firstly on the crystal, knocking it so that it rocked precariously on its stand, and then on to their joined heads as the little demon franticly sought to return to its home. Behind them, the crystal fell, smashing into countless tiny shards and a new sound joined that of the battle and storm. A wailing, screeching that filled the air as soul after soul was released from the confines of the crystal, looping and soaring all around them leaving sparkling red trails of Chaos magic behind as they fled.

Startled, the Emperor raised his head; anguish clouding his features as he followed the souls' departure. Blood was dripping from his mouth as he let out a wail of despair,
'Nooooooooo…'
he glanced about and appeared dumbfounded, and then Nhasic began pounding the Emperor's forehead with his little fists, and they began to tip forward towards the rift, struggling, the three of them still firmly attached together.

The rift was still open; claws and hideous demon faces close to the entrance of their realm. The look on the Emperor's face turned to panic as he realised they were falling and he tried to push away, but they were too unbalanced. With Nhasic's momentum and Quint's weight they all collapsed, tipping through the rift together, and as they did, the doorway closed.

'
Noooo,
it isn't meant to happen like this,
Quint
.' Loras panicked. Pushing the weight of gathering warrior's back with a wall of air, he quickly conjured another rift, the large gap opening, yawning black amid the dirty brown of the storm, but there was no sign of Quint or the Emperor.
'Quint! Quint don't do this!'
The rift closed.

Without the Emperor weaving his spell the storm was already beginning to slow, spreading out beyond the confines that the Emperor had set, sand rained down upon the city, the battlefield and beyond. Loras opened another rift, this time with both Tarent and Pardigan beside him.

'Quint went in, I saw him,' shouted Pardigan. 'Quint, get out of there Quint.
Quiiiiiiiinnnnnt!
' …But… Quint really was gone.

* * *

The storm blew itself out and what was left of the Emperor's army melted away with it, going out into the desert or after throwing aside their weapons they slipped into the city to take their chances on the streets of Dhurban.