A castle attacked, but loathe to fight

Out of the darkness and into the night.

Requar lifted his head from the floor, shards of glass trickling off him. Dazed, he looked up.

Where the wall of the room had been was now an enormous, gaping black hole. Night air washed through, tinged with the acrid smell of smoke. And something else was there, in the swirling dust…

Firelight glinted dully on the scales of a huge, taloned claw.

His eyes widened.

The claw moved away, the entire castle shaking as the creature shifted position.

A… Dragon?! he thought in disbelief.

He pushed himself to his feet, glass and bits of stone sliding off the blue shield glimmering around him. A large heap of broken white masonry and timber ceiling beams lay strewn across the room and the splintered dining table.

There was no sign of his brother.

“Arzath!” he cried.

A terrible coldness raced through him. Arzath had been walking right beside the windows when it happened…

An earsplitting roar almost deafened him. He stumbled as more pieces of the room collapsed around him.

Lowering his arm, he saw a gigantic reptilian head, dusty, battered horns sweeping upwards from its ancient hide. Orange eyes glowed like the heart of a volcano, fixed on him. Its mouth opened slowly, rows of black teeth revealed in an angry grin.

Requar turned and ran.

The Dragon's head surged through the hole, its huge jaws opening wide at his back…

He spun into the kitchen doorway just as its jaws snapped together with a thundering crack, missing his swirling cloak by a breath.

Heart pounding crazily, he stood with his back pressed against the wall. Then, cautiously, he peered around the doorframe.

The Dragon extricated its head from the room, ripping more of the ceiling away as it did so.

With a quick, deep breath, Requar spun and raced back out of the kitchen, heading for a section of wall that was still intact, directly opposite him.

He made it as a burst of fire flooded the room, smashing into the kitchen where he had just been standing a few seconds earlier.

Leaning against the wall, he summoned more of his magic, holding it ready along with his shield as he waited for the inferno to subside. When it did, he stepped at once away from the wall and made a wide, sweeping motion with his hand.

The pile of rubble and timbers flung itself out of the hole, smashing into the Dragon's head.

It roared again, enraged.

Requar ran forward.

Arzath lay on the floor, covered in dust. Not bothering to check if he was alive, he grabbed his brother and continued running, flinging them both into the far corner as another burst of fire filled the room.

Pushing himself upright, he turned anxiously to his brother.

“Arzath!”

To his relief, Arzath was alive, and conscious. “What the hell?!” he exclaimed as Requar helped him sit up. Purple remnants of his shield flickered around him.

“It's a Dragon,” Requar told him.

“A Dragon?!”

Getting to his feet, Requar moved to the wall, glancing through the hole.

“The Aegis must have failed.” He frowned. “It was supposed to last for another thousand years...”

Arzath got to his feet as well, brushing dust off his sleeves. “Fantastic!” he said sarcastically.

Requar looked across the room. Everything was on fire. Burning timbers dropped from the ceiling, crashing onto the table in showers of sparks.

His Sword of Healing lay at the far end of the room, on the floor.

Reaching out a hand, he summoned it.

It flew upwards and towards him, but at the same moment, a section of ceiling collapsed. The Sword bounced off the wood and clattered to the floor.

Cursing, he glanced quickly out of the hole, and, ignoring Arzath's scream of warning, sprinted across the room, leaping over debris.

Flinging the obstruction away with his magic, he snatched up his Sword just as a burst of fire hit him.

His shield protected him, flaring up in a bright blue glow, but the fire was immensely hot. Crouching on the floor, he protected his face with his arm as the torrent of flame engulfed him. Gritting his teeth, he endured it. Sweat trickled over him. He could feel his magic rapidly depleting, but he summoned more energy, building it up inside him…

The instant the flames died away, Requar sent a huge, white-hot ball of fire back at the Dragon.

It exploded into the beast's face in a flash of scintillating white light that lit up the night. A rainbow-coloured halo spread outwards from the impact point.

The Dragon screamed.

Panting, Requar got to his feet, to see a storm of violet lightning erupt over the Dragon, striking at it like sizzling snakes that crawled over the beast's wings and danced over its scales. Smoke and the smell of seared flesh filled the air.

Making the most of Arzath's distraction, he hurried through the burning room, debris crashing around him. To his left, he caught a glimpse of the family portrait, blackened and alight, but he hardly spared it a glance.

“Let's go!” he shouted to Arzath.

Reluctantly, his brother left off his attack and followed Requar into the foyer.

The marble floor trembled beneath their feet as the Dragon thrashed and screamed in pain and anger. A chandelier plunged downwards and shattered, narrowly missing them. They raced out the front doors, onto the bluff.

Breathing heavily, they stopped at the edge of the cliff, and looked back at the castle.

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The Dragon reared up, like a great, scaled bird in a white nest, its ragged wings spread wide, and ripped the sky apart with its roar.

Requar gazed sadly as walls fell apart and towers toppled in the creature's wrath. His beloved castle was burning and crumbling before his eyes. It had not always been a peaceful place to live… but it had been his home. It had been his dream.

He closed his eyes.

“We can fight it!” Arzath said. “The two of us! Together!”

Requar opened his eyes and looked at his brother. Arzath's green eyes were fierce, excited. “No,” he replied. He shook his head. Then, Sword in hand, he headed for the path.

* * *

“Mekka!”

Ferrian shook the Angel. “Mekka, wake up!”

Mekka stirred and groaned softly. Ferrian helped him to sit up.

The Angel clutched his head. “Ugh… w-what?” he complained.

“We found the way out!”

“So did I.”

Ferrian shook him again, angrily. “Don't be stupid! Pull yourself together!”

“Leave… me alone!” he shoved at Ferrian groggily.

Ferrian grabbed his jacket and shook him hard. “Mekka! We found the secret door! Don't you care?”

“No!”

Ferrian glared at him.

“I'm of no use–”

Ferrian shoved him back against the wall. “Stop it! Cut it out! We need you!”

Mekka looked miserable. He swallowed. “I cannot come with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because she… she will follow me.”

Ferrian stared at him. “That's what you're afraid of? Don't be ridiculous!”

Mekka shook his head. “I cannot protect her.”

Ferrian gripped his shoulders. “Mekka, she's not Aari!”

“No.” A tear leaked from his green eye. “She… she's his sister.”

Ferrian's hands slipped away. “What? How do you know?”

“The resemblance is too strong. She is exactly like him!” He put his face in his hands. “What is she doing down here? Why did she come in here? Why did I come here??”

“Mekka,” Ferrian waved a hand at the maze of rooms around them. “Look at this place! The Angels don't care about Grath Ardan! No one's been down here for Gods know how many years! There's nothing here but books and dust! They probably posted some token guards to stop kids from messing around!” He shook his head sadly. “The Governor didn't beat you up for trespassing,” he said. “He beat you up because he was afraid of you.”

Mekka said nothing. He remained with his head bowed, face in his hands.

“The guards are not going to hurt Li,” Ferrian continued softly. “She's just a little kid. They will tell her off, nothing more.”

Mekka shook his head. “I cannot do this,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I should not have come here...”

Ferrian looked at him despondently, and his gaze fell upon the Angel's pouch, where the trigonic dagger lay buried, like an insidious parasite.

“You need to get out of here,” he said quietly. “You need to get rid of that dagger. It's messing up your thoughts.”

Mekka was silent for a moment more, then slowly let his hands fall from his face. He looked up at Ferrian, blearily through his hair, and nodded.

Mekka accompanied Ferrian on foot through the library. Still affected by alcohol, he had trouble flying straight. In fact, he could barely walk straight; his passage through the rooms achieved mostly by falling from wall to wall.

NOW who's the graceful one? Ferrian thought, rolling his eyes.

Thankfully, the Angel had recovered somewhat by the time they reached the lowest chamber. Ferrian wouldn't have wanted Li to see him in such a dreadful state. Still, dust smudged his face, hair and clothing, and cobwebs trailed from his wings.

Mekka stumbled over to Li and dropped to his knees before her, as though she were an empress.

“I am sorry, Li,” he told her, hanging his head. “I should not have spoken to you the way I did. Please, forgive me.”

The Angel girl blinked and looked up at Ferrian.

Ferrian nodded at her.

She put a finger to her cheek in serious consideration, as though determining his fate. Then she said, brightly: “Okay!”

Mekka reached inside his jacket and pulled out one of the black feathers that he used for fletching his arrows, and presented it to her on open palms.

Li's eyes widened as she took it. “Wow!” she breathed.

“You must not show it to anyone,” Mekka said seriously. “Let no one know that you have it: especially not your parents. It is a secret. Do you understand?”

Li nodded in awe. Stuffing the feather down the front of her tunic, she rummaged in her own pocket and stuck her small, closed fist out in front of her.

Mekka held out his hands again, and the girl opened her fingers.

A tiny, fluffy feather, white and copper, floated down into Mekka's gloved palms.

He stared at it, then cupped his hands over the feather reverently.

“Hey, Li,” Ferrian said, gesturing at the hole in the wall above them. “Why don't you go ahead?”

“Sure!” Happily, she skipped past them, fluttered upwards and crawled into the dark, square opening.

Stashing the feather away carefully, Mekka got to his feet. They stood for a moment, staring up at the hole.

“Well done,” Mekka congratulated him quietly. He hesitated, then turned to Ferrian remorsefully. “I owe you an apology as well.”

Ferrian waved a hand. “Just… take care of yourself.”

Mekka nodded, folding his arms and looking away. “I will go directly to Caer Sync,” he said. “I will drop the dagger into the Pit, and then I will go and find Hawk.”

Ferrian looked at him anxiously. A dark, cold, hard wedge had lodged in his stomach, as though a part of the black room had broken off and stayed with him.

He didn't want Mekka to go. Something about the whole thing wasn't right.

Something bad is going to happen, he thought gloomily, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I'm tired of feeling helpless.

He said nothing, however, merely swallowed and nodded.

“I hope you find what you are looking for,” Mekka said. “I hope your journey has been worth it.”

He started to move away, but Ferrian called him back. “Mekka!”

The Angel turned.

“Be careful.” He swallowed again. “And… come back.”

The two of them regarded each other, black walls gleaming darkly around them, silver tiles emanating a soft light beneath their feet. Grath Ardan sat closed on its pedestal, still and quiet and filled with all the knowledge in the world.

“I do not intend,” the one-eyed Angel told him softly, “to leave my friends behind again.”

Then he leapt into the air and disappeared into the mouth of the hole, as though the trigon wall swallowed him.

What if you have no choice? The words whispered in Ferrian's mind, but there was no reply from the vast, silent library.

The forest was cold, slumbering in the deep blue shadows that preceded dawn. An icy mist clung to Mekka's skin and feathers as he pulled himself out of the cleft in the tree, and his breath came in visible puffs. He found himself shivering, but was grateful for the crisp, clear air that flowed into his lungs. It was invigorating after the mustiness of Grath Ardan.

He had not truly believed that he was trapped in the library – one thing he had learnt in his trade was that there was always a way out – but nevertheless, it felt good to be out in the open again.

Li sat on the branch ahead of him, a little ghost in the gloom, dangling her legs over the edge. They had climbed quite some way up in pitch darkness through the inside of the tree; the narrow space was too small to fly, but the corridor that led to it was straightforward, though cramped. Mekka judged, from the width of the branch and the empty space around them, that they were a considerable height from the ground.

Mekka turned, examining the trunk. The cleft was hidden in a twist of the wood, practically impossible to spot from the air. He marvelled at how Li had found it. He, himself, had spent half his life roaming this forest, and had never known it was here.

There are always more secrets to be found, he thought, no matter how well you know something.

A moment of ruefulness passed over him. He realised, suddenly, that he missed this place: its mystery, its solitude. Sitting up in the trees alone, watching the dawn brighten the mountains from the canopy…

What would my life have been like, he thought, staring at his black-gloved hand resting on the grey trunk of the tree, if I had never left Arkana?

Would Aari still be alive?

He knew that such rumination was pointless. Perhaps it was the prophecy that haunted him, but he had never felt completely in control of his life; his decisions had never seemed entirely his own. He felt it now. He had tasks to complete, but someone else had set them for him.

Did the Gods write? he wondered. Was his destiny, right this moment, being spelled out across the pages of that ancient book far below his feet?

Turning, he stared at little Li, sitting on the branch, carefree as a sparrow.

It can not be a coincidence that Hawk met her, of all the Angels in Arkana, he thought.

He hoped that the Gods were amusing themselves greatly by tormenting him so.

“You need to go home now, Li,” he told her, walking along the branch. “Your parents will be worried.”

She rolled her eyes as she looked up at him. “My parents,” she replied, “are worried when I'm sitting in my room!”

“They have a right to be,” Mekka answered, folding his arms. “They are your parents.”

Li sighed. Then she got up, and gave him an imploring look. “Can't I come with you?”

“No!” The word came out more sharply than he intended. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?” Her disappointed look sent fine cracks through his heart.

He crouched in front of her. “I am going somewhere that isn't safe,” he told her sternly. “You must not follow me.” The cracks deepened. “You must never follow me!”

Abruptly, he stood up, and turned away. “And don't ask me to be your friend, either.”

Li was silent. Mekka was sure some pieces of his heart dropped away into oblivion.

“Okay,” she said simply, but her voice was missing its usual cheerfulness.

Mekka did not look at her, but unfortunately, she stood in the peripheral vision of his good eye, and he could see her staring up at him. After a long moment, without a word, she took off.

He watched her small white wings until they vanished in the misty canopy.

She is not claustrophobic, as Aari was, he thought. The darkness had not bothered her much. But Mekka thought he knew what she was afraid of.

Being alone.

For a long while he stood on the branch, as the forest lightened gradually around him. Then he spread his black wings and flew to meet his fate.