Tryal's Curse 21.2

Who would fight? he thought, as they ran past the town hall. The street was busy, vampires and Ixisters trickling out of the building and heading into the opposite direction—toward the main gates. They seemed so few in number outside, in the vacancy of the wide streets, when the sky was their only umbrella against the world. He caught sight of Pedra on the front steps of the town hall, her hair wild and tangled as she argued with two vampires.

Aidan yelled at her as they passed by, but his words seemed to blur into the sounds of their surroundings—the wind that rushed past Evian's ears, the clinking of the Ixisters' magically-constructed armour, and the hissing flares of magic that erupted from their palms. 'All right!' he thought he heard Pedra shout back, her voice thin and ringing in his ears. His senses were overwhelmed—sparks and sounds surrounded them. He wanted to curl up within himself, to turn to dust. But what would that help? he thought savagely, and he sped on.

The wind whipped into his face; his solace lay in knowing that Edith was beside him, that every step that hit the ground would propel him further. Away, he thought. From the chaos? Or into it?

As Evian stepped into pace with Aidan, he swore he saw a dark shape circling overhead. Even while squinting into the sky, it was hard for him to separate the mass of slate-grey from the clouds, but as the creature's spiked tail swung through the layer of cirrus, he gasped.

'Dragon!' he breathed. His insides churned. Lira huffed and puffed behind him, so he reached back and took her by the arm. 'C'mon,' he grunted. 'Just a bit further.'

They turned into Cobblers' Street, then barrelled down along the straight, narrow road that led to the town's back exit. The walls were like huge granite teeth without gaps; they were set together with beams of steel. Evian did not doubt that the steel would hold, but it was the iron gates he was worried about. For as long as Evian had seen them, they had been covered in a thick layer of rust, and swung with difficulty on their hinges. Even now, as they grew nearer, they looked battered and flimsy, like a single breath could knock them down.

'There's nobody stationed here?' he yelled to Aidan. The vampire shook his head.

'No!' he shouted back. 'But I expect Pedra's going to send someone.'

'Yeah—how large are Blacksmiths?'

'What?'

'I said,' Evian raised his voice, 'how large are Blacksmiths?'

'Quite—quite large,' Aidan said, sounding bemused and uncertain at the same time. 'I've never seen one.'

Evian thought he heard Edith snort from somewhere behind him, but he ignored her and simply ploughed on. Evian saw that a cart and a couple of horses stood in the shadow of the gates, the horses having been tied to the post of a lyte-fixture. Their small group hurried toward them. Edith untied the horses deftly, while Lira sat down on the floor with a sigh.

‘I’ve never run so much before,’ she gasped, in-between breaths.

‘I used to run,’ Evian said, gently pulling her to her feet. He helped her climb onto one of the two horses, a steady bay mare which had—to his relief—already been saddled. Lira sat awkwardly, gripping the pommel between her fists. ‘Relax,’ Evian told her. ‘Straighten your back. You’ve never ridden before?’

‘Never,’ Lira said, shaking her head.

‘Edith’d best go with you, then,’ said Evian. ‘She’s the better rider.’ He walked the horse over to the gates, where Edith took the reins from him and climbed on herself.

‘Everyone’s a better rider than you, Evian,’ she breathed, her eyes laughing as she adjusted herself on the horse’s back. ‘You’ve got my bag?’

‘Yeah.’ Evian handed it over. ‘You’re going to hurt like hell once this is over,’ he told Lira.

She shrugged. ‘It’s pretty bad already.’

Evian took the other horse, a docile-looking chestnut that reared its head at him as if wanting to be petted. Aidan asserted that he would be fine with flying. He pushed the doors open, just as a crowd of people appeared at the end of the street—Pedra headed them, the Ixisters in all their finery, the vampires unarmed but deadly-looking, their faces paler than the moon. ‘Go!’ she roared, waving a hand at them in farewell. They trotted the horses out into the countryside, slowly entering a gallop as they rode past the trees and into the wider plains. Pedra’s voice boomed after them:

‘To you all, know that we are few, but we shall stand by this town and its people tonight, even after our friends have left. For we have attested our loyalty herein, and we will fight to preserve what is ours—truth, goodness, and a kingdom that once bested all others in its stride. To arms!’ She continued speaking, but Evian tuned her out, turning his focus instead on riding. The cries of the council echoed well past the borders of the city and an unwanted thrill raced through his veins. The uncertainty was reminiscent of his days on sea, but rather than being a break in a monotonous life, here it simply frightened him.

Aidan flew ahead of them, his arms outstretched, his black cape wrapped around his legs like a shroud. Goosebumps erupted on Evian’s arms; he spurred his horse onwards, down the hill, slowing down as he reached a steep incline. Edith was the less hesitant rider—she was already at the bottom when Evian had scarcely arrived at the top. A series of hills stretched before him, like warts on the surface of the earth. In summer, they were an unending sea of green, but now, as winter neared, they bore bruises of brown and yellow instead. The moon looked like a hook tearing into the papery, star-speckled surface of the night sky. Was it only night, yet? Evian felt as if centuries could have been fitted into these few hours, yet nobody would know, or hear, or feel the same trepidation he had.

But as he stumbled his way down the hill, he changed his mind. He felt certain people would remember this night, if only as a passing mention in history.

The Blacksmith army was heading toward them, their spears raised, their flags licking the cool air as they marched over the top of the nearest hill. Aidan swerved sharply in the air, turning back toward Arrowroad. He called to Edith, who was a bit slow to respond, but turned back and raced her horse toward the town. Evian tugged on the reins of his chestnut, yelling, ‘Go! Go, you stupid horse!’, and retreated up the hill again.

He looked over his shoulder as he went. The Blacksmith army moved like an ocean of black, their large, hulking figures reminding Evian of giants. However, it was not the Blacksmiths themselves that inspired the same fear inside him, but the boy. He stood, a small figure perched on the shoulders of a soldier from the advancing line. His face was a picture of cultivated misery.

And he was on fire.

Evian swore.