Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising (23 page)

‘W
HAT DO YOU
mean, the Wanderer is near?’ Mathias reached out and caught Giraldo’s arm. ‘What’s wrong with Tagan?’

‘Nothing is wrong,’ replied the Pirate King. He looked down at Mathias’s hand on his arm and frowned slightly. Mathias reluctantly released him. ‘Tagan’s connection is to fire, yes? It is natural that Akhgar would reach out to her.’

Tagan smiled at Mathias and he felt, rather than saw, that she was still the woman he knew.

‘We are ready to travel,’ Eyja said, in a voice paled with weariness. ‘The storm should delay them, but given the persistence of our foe we should certainly be away.’ Giraldo helped her to climb back onto her camel. The animals had stood chewing contentedly, barely even paying attention to what was going on around them.

Warin shifted form once more, hanging his head slightly with his own weariness, and the party set off at a loping gait. The day had passed into afternoon and the sun’s relentless heat continued to sap their collective strength. But for Giraldo’s ability to produce water on a whim, they would surely be as dead as the skeletal remains they passed; unfortunate animals and travellers who had lost their way among the dunes.

Mathias rode his camel as close as he could to Tagan, concern for her still nagging at him. He reached over to touch her hand with his own and she swung her head to look at him. The smile she gave him was as warm and sweet as ever it had been, and yet there was a strange sadness in her eyes that worried him. He squeezed her hand once more and released it, riding on in continued silence. The camaraderie of Anfa had dissolved with the discovery of their pursuers. Now there was a sense of terrible urgency that Mathias realised had always been there.

The desert was vast, and silent. As they travelled, Mathias began to understand just why camels were called ‘ships.’ The endless desert was just like the seas across which they had travelled; both were treacherous, and both were blessed with their own aching beauty.

It was the treachery that came first and foremost to Mathias’s mind when he suddenly found a spear levelled at his face. They hadn’t even seen the five men in sand-coloured robes rising up from the dunes to form a threatening circle around them. The lead tribesman said something in a language that Mathias did not understand.

It seemed the other thing the desert shared with the seas was pirates.

The Sahara Desert

Morocco

M
ATHIAS HAD MADE
many assumptions since the beginning of his journey; assumptions based on his own inexperience and lack of understanding. When he had learned that their destination was an oasis, he had imagined something similar to the one they had stopped at earlier: a small pool of water with a few palm trees standing limply beside it. Nothing could have prepared him for the lush green wilderness where Akhgar ibn Atash and his tribe made their home.

The camp was based in a hollow between two dunes that sparkled in the dying remnants of the afternoon sun. As they rode closer, Mathias leaned towards one of the dunes and took a handful of sand. Tiny fragments of glass glittered amongst the silvery-gold grains.

Mathias had never seen so many tents. A veritable town surrounded the crystal-clear pool at the heart of the oasis. Everywhere there were signs of life. Men, women, children, and animals large and small roamed between the tents, living peacefully amidst the beauty of this unexpected paradise. Water was being drawn from the pool and the smell of cook fires made the young man’s stomach rumble. It had been the better part of a full day since they had last eaten, and only now did he realise how hungry he was.

With a delighted cry, Giraldo took off at full speed towards the pool of water, nimbly dodged a small huddle of children playing at its edge and dived into its crystal depths. There was such joy and exuberance in his laughter as the children turned to join in with the stranger splashing them that even Warin, now changed back to human form, cracked a smile.

The leader of the warriors who had brought them to this place, a swarthy man with long, gleaming hair falling around a sunweathered, sand-beaten face, spoke a few words to Eyja, pointing towards first one large tent and then another. She nodded and replied to him for several moments.

‘He says that Akhgar will send for us when he is ready. Until then, we are free to relax in the shade of that tent there. We could all use a little food and rest.’

‘But what of the Inquisitor?’ Mathias could not shake his concern, and it put a childish tremor into his voice that shamed him. ‘If he is alive, he will be right behind us.’

‘They will not find this oasis,’ said Warin. ‘It is protected. It is... hidden. Do not worry about it. Not for now. Eyja is right. You need to rest and eat.’ He grumbled slightly and put a hand to his stomach. ‘Actually, so do I.’

Tagan looked up from the back of her camel. ‘I am tired,’ she said and her voice was tiny. Concerned for her health, and even more for her strange behaviour, Mathias reached up to help her down from the animal. His arm stole around her protectively and he drew her close to his side.

‘You need some sleep, my love,’ he said softly, and she leaned into him gratefully.

Giraldo was perfectly happy where he was and so they let him be. The remaining four headed towards the tent that had been indicated by the tribesman and entered gratefully into its cool interior.

Sumptuous
was not a word that Mathias had ever had cause to use, but it applied perfectly to the interior of the colourful pavilion. Hand-woven rugs in threads dyed the most glorious shades decorated the floor. Silk-covered cushions littered the ground, offering places to sit or rest. A long, low table was covered with food—fresh and dried fruits and cured meats of all kinds, some familiar, others less so.

‘Mathias, settle Tagan comfortably. She looks exhausted.’ Eyja took charge. ‘Water first, I think, and a little of the fruit if she feels she can manage it. Then you will eat, too.’

Warin was critically examining the laden table, his nose wrinkling amid the whiskery beard. ‘Delicate,’ he complained, snatching up a handful of dried figs and cramming them in his mouth. ‘No real food here at all.’

It didn’t stop him, Mathias observed, from taking his fill. He accepted a goblet of crystal clear water from Eyja and gave it to Tagan, who sipped it gratefully. He took a goblet for himself and drank deeply, thankful to be free of the hint of slightly rank animal that had tainted the water they’d drunk since leaving Anfa.

Tagan settled down amidst the cushions and closed her eyes with a little sigh. Eyja knelt beside her, putting a hand to her forehead. Mathias hovered anxiously.

‘Do not fear for her,’ said Eyja, not looking up. ‘She suffers in the heat. A little sleep, a little more water and she will be fine.’ She stroked Tagan’s tangled curls gently as the young woman fell asleep. ‘She is very fair-skinned. The desert is not the place for an English rose. More exotic flowers grow here. But none so tough.’

‘They are Welsh,’ said Warin, bringing a bubble of laughter to Mathias’s lips. For the first time in several days, he finally allowed himself to relax.

The Royal Armoury

England

P
RINCE
R
ICHARD HAD
never been keen on London. He had always enjoyed brief visits to the city that was his future kingdom’s capital,
brief
being the operative word. He had been raised on a country estate and his heart belonged there. The city was loud and busy and filled with people, noise and sulphurous stench. When his father had announced their destination, however, his interest had been renewed. He peered out the windows of the carriage as it made its way towards the docks.

Richard sat opposite his son, studying him with a rare intensity. ‘The Royal Engineer? No, Father, I have not. But you have told me

of his great works, and of course I have used some of his weapons.’ The prince, like his father before him, was a keen hunter and had utilised a Bonnington mechanical bow on his last expedition. The intricate clockwork weapon allowed him to loose his arrows faster and with more deadly impact than ever before. ‘He will be there? It

will be interesting to meet him, I think.’

‘Yes,’ replied the King, staring at his son for a little longer before he also turned to look out of the window. ‘It will. You will like what he has created for our armies. If he manages to get it working in time, then it may give us the strength to stand against Rome.’ There was no point in relaying his doubts and fears to the boy. To do so would raise his suspicions. His time with his eldest son might be short. There was no point in filling it with portents and fear. Beside the carriage rode six of the Royal Guard, resplendent in the blue and yellow livery of the King’s armies, the black rose emblazoned on their tabards. The horses beneath them were decked out in the same colours. They created an impressive tableau as they passed through the East London street. People stopped what they were doing, and for once in their dull, grey lives lifted their head to appreciate the riot of colour that moved past them.

‘Is the
Lionheart
really as impressive as he has claimed?’ the prince asked as the carriage turned down a narrow lane towards a huge foundry. The King’s reply came with a small smile and a shake of the head.

‘It is beyond imagining,’ he promised, gratified by his son’s interest in Bonnington’s work. So few people had believed in the nervous, eccentric engineer when he laid his plans before the royal court.

But King Richard had commissioned the project. He, at least, had believed in Bonnington’s genius.

I
N THE WHOLE
of English history, there had never been anything like it. Prince Richard could see, as he walked around the massive hull, where Isaac Bonnington had drawn some of his inspiration, but there were mechanisms that he had no hope of ever understanding. Steam vents wheezed, expelling white-hot air from numerous places around the central carriage.

Carriage. That was the only word that Prince Richard could think of to describe what it was that he was looking at. In its most basic form, it resembled the very vehicle in which he and his father had arrived into the workshop. But it was at least four times as large and covered with metal plating. Pulleys and chains looped around its eight wheels and disappeared into apertures beneath its bulk. A pair of bulky chimneys huffed soot into the air of the workshop, and it sweated a reek of sulphur, pitch and hot iron.

The windows of the carriage were barely more than slits all around the sides, situated just above the carriage’s most prominent feature.

‘There are six guns on either side,’ said the excited little engineer as he walked the King around it. ‘And two more at the front and back. The armour is strong enough to repel heavy cannon fire and is coated with an alchemical lacquer of my own devising that should repel the base elements.’

King Richard stared at the vehicle. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and yet he was not afraid of its appearance. He had seen the work of the Royal Engineer in the mighty ships that set sail from docks around his kingdom, and each ironclad he had been commissioned to produce had been successively larger and more deadly. But this was something new. This was something that the French and Roman armies could not expect. With all their magic and all their arcane might, this vehicle had the capability to destroy them before they approached.

Across the vehicle’s hull was inscribed the name that King Richard had chosen.

Lionheart
.

‘I call it a
cannonade
,’ said the engineer, delighted by the impressed looks of father and son. ‘It’s not strictly accurate of course, but it is as close an approximation as I can manage.’

‘How does it move?’ Prince Richard was examining the peculiar machinery at the
Lionheart
’s rear. ‘Have you refined the alchemical engine in some way?’

‘Indeed, your highness, though I could not have done it without your father’s original insight.’ Isaac moved away from the King to stand before young Richard. The prince towered over him and had to fight down an overwhelming urge to crouch slightly so the engineer didn’t have to squint up at him. ‘This vehicle, like many of our ships, is self-propelled. All she needs is water in the reservoirs, some tanks of dragon’s breath and a crew to drive her. I have yet to master the art of making the engine work in reverse.’

‘Forwards is all we need,’ said King Richard, stepping across to join them. ‘We will drive the
Lionheart
across any army that dares to invade our shores. We will literally crush the enemy as they stand before us.’ He rested a hand on the cannonade’s cold metal hull. ‘Your last message stated that she is ready to go into service. Is this correct?’

‘Yes, your majesty.’ Isaac bowed deeply. ‘She has performed beautifully in all her tests. A skeleton crew have been put together.’ He indicated the
Lionheart
in a sweeping gesture. ‘She can carry sixteen gunners, two drivers and a further twelve passengers.’

‘Good,’ said King Richard. ‘Then assemble the crew and make her ready to leave. We are going to put her to the test. How fast can she move? How long, Master Bonnington, would it take her to travel thirty leagues?’

‘Under the best conditions and with a constant supply of fuel...’ Isaac’s eyes rolled up as he calculated. ‘Perhaps four hours at the most.’

‘Four hours?’ Prince Richard was incredulous. ‘Nothing moves that fast!’

‘The
Lionheart
does,’ replied Isaac with unquestionable pride. ‘And she will.’ He turned back to the King. ‘Where do you plan to take her?’

Richard looked over at his son, who had gone back to studying the
Lionheart
. Even as the words left his mouth, he felt the chill of fear.

‘Salisbury,’ he said. He looked down at the little engineer. ‘To the circle of stones. And we need to be there soon. In our continued efforts to rid the country of the taint of magic, the Inquisition has uncovered a plan by the magi to conduct some kind of rite at the site. The
Lionheart
gives us the perfect weapon to put an end to it.’

‘She will be ready to roll’—Isaac chuckled at his own joke—‘within the hour, your majesty.’

‘Be sure that she is,’ replied King Richard, oblivious to the attempt at humour. Isaac deflated visibly. ‘The safety of our kingdom depends on this creation, Bonnington.’ The King took a small satisfaction from the look of alarm on the engineer’s face. It took his worries, for a moment, off his more pressing concerns. But only for a moment.

The Sahara Desert

Morocco

A
KHGAR IBN
A
TASH
sent for the party after night had fallen. Eyja gently woke Mathias and Tagan from the heat-induced slumber in which they had been indulging. The first thing that Mathias noted was the intense chill in the air. The days in the desert might have been dangerously hot, but the nights, it seemed, could be just as cold. The extremes confused him, but he drew his tunic more tightly around his body as they stepped out into the night.

A huge fire was burning, around which many of the tribe were variously sitting talking, or eating from a communal cook pot. Delicious scents wafted up at him—a soup or stew of some sort in the black cauldron, and spiced flatbreads cooking on the stones. After the hostility of the day and the nightmare of the chase, it was friendly and welcoming, and as the group crossed the oasis, Mathias wondered if, when this was all over, maybe they could stay among these people. It was a glorious dream, if one which he sadly realised was most likely impossible.

Tagan walked beside him, once again holding his hand. She seemed much improved. Careful attention from the ever-present Eyja, who had thus far treated both young people like they were her children, had speeded her recovery.

‘It has been a long time,’ Giraldo said. For once, his jovial nature was subdued. He had assumed a serious air that was reflected in the faces of the others. Eyja and Warin walked behind him, keeping pace together, but all three had their eyes locked on the tent as they approached it.

The warrior who had greeted them out in the desert stood by the entrance, and bowed his head respectfully as they approached. ‘The Wanderer bids you welcome,’ he said. ‘He will see you now.’ He lifted the flap of the tent and they all ducked in beneath the canopy.