The Vulture King Read online

  Finally, one evening as they stopped to make camp, Bayre pointed ahead. “The eyrie,” he said, and Aram felt a deep cold settle into his bones. The vulture king’s stronghold sat atop the mountain he could see in the distance. The Saanen they had sent to the Veldera settlement had returned the evening before. The Black Shrouds and Veldera would be joining them soon he reported. It was almost time.

  Bayre glanced across at him. “How do you feel?”

  Aram stared at the distant peak unsure of how to express the jumble of emotions in his chest.

  Bayre said, “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know how to feel.” He jerked his head towards where the kraal folk were setting up camp for the night. “A lot of people there feeling scared and confused tonight. Why don’t you go talk to them?”

  “Me? Why me?”

  Bayre gripped Aram’s shoulder, swinging the boy around to face him. “These people have put their faith, their hope in you. While we’ve travelled you’ve barely spoken a word to any of them. Tomorrow, they are going to fight for you. Many of them are going to die. I think a bit of conversation is the least you can offer them in return.”

  Aram hung his head as Bayre turned on his heel and marched off. It took a few minutes, but he gathered his courage and moved over to the nearest group of people. A boy around his age sat on a bedroll as a woman handed out food to him and an older man. Aram sat down and they all stared at him, eyes wide. The woman moved over and asked, “Would you like some?”

  Aram nodded and she tore off a hunk of bread, then handed it to him. Taking a bite, he savoured the sweet, nutty taste. “This is delicious, thank you.”

  The woman’s smile was warm as she nodded her head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

  The boy piped up. “Mother is the baker in our kraal. Her hazelnut bread is world famous.”

  The woman laughed and ruffled her son’s hair. “Sten here likes to exaggerate. It’s hardly world famous, although my customers seem to like it well enough.”

  Sten turned to Aram. “I like your bird. I wish I had one.”

  Since leaving the barrens, Ryu had ridden on Aram’s shoulder, no longer needing to be hidden inside his mesh pocket when people were around. He reached up a hand to stroke the magpie’s head, giving himself time to process Sten’s words. Never in a hundred years could he have imagined one of the kraal-folk expressing a liking for his bird. Or for what Ryu represented.

  Feeling the silence had stretched too long, he said, “Ryu is a faithful friend, but he’s also a terrible thief. You should mind your buttons. He’ll try pull them right off your coat.”

  The boy laughed and fingered the copper buttons on his jacket. Aram encouraged Ryu to hop onto his hand, then extended his arm to the boy. Wonder etched clear on his face, Sten raised one finger and gently stroked the magpie’s wing. Ryu croaked his pleasure at the touch, and everyone laughed.

  “How are you all feeling?” asked Aram. “About tomorrow?”

  The man, who had so far sat silent, said, “Sleep will be hard to come by tonight for most of us.”

  Aram nodded. “For me too.”

  “Really?” asked Sten. “But you have magic. Why should you be afraid?”

  Aram thought for a moment. “Tomorrow I face the greatest evil the world has ever known. I have power, but the vulture king is hundreds of years old. I can’t match his experience. I’m frightened that after coming so far, I’ll let all of you down.”

  Sten’s mother moved over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. “There is no blame in this. All we can ask of you is that you try. That’s all that can be expected of any of us. To not give up, now when it counts the most.”

  Aram laid a hand of top of hers and squeezed. The moment was rushing towards him when he would finally face the king. It no longer scared him. With the woman’s comforting words in his heart and the warmth of the radix pulsing through his blood, he knew he was up to the task. He felt grim satisfaction that finally he’d have his chance to end the vulture king’s tyranny. He hoped he had the chance to deal with Tai too, but the most important thing was making sure he got Bina and his mother to safety. He stood and said, “Thank you. May you be luck’s favoured friends, tomorrow and always.” He moved away from them and wandered through the camp, stopping to talk to as many people as he could. Finally, with most of the army asleep, he stopped and stared towards the distant peak. Even with darkness shrouding it, he could feel where his enemy waited. Aram made a silent vow. “Your time is over, king of the Carrionlands. Alaiya will be free again even if it costs me my life. I’m coming for you tomorrow and nothing will stand in my way.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Just after sunrise the next day, the Black Shrouds marched into camp followed by a trailing mass of Veldera. Aram stared at the Shrouds, none of whom were wearing their face coverings. He was horrified to see all the Veldera had come, including the children.

  “Why did they bring the little ones?” he asked Bayre. “Surely this is no place for them?”

  “We’re taking our final stand, aren’t we boy? I guess the outcome of this battle affects those children just as much as the rest of us. They’re fighting for their lives too, so who are we to deny them.”

  “What about the Shrouds? They’ve left their faces uncovered.”

  Bayre sighed deeply. “Not to add to your burden, but if you fail it’s all over anyway. The king will hunt us down, every last man, woman and child. The Black Shrouds are taking their place proudly at your side, no more running or hiding. It ends now.”

  Without another word, Bayre mounted his Saanen and indicated it was time to move out. The state of deadly calm Aram had been enjoying, shattered under the realisation time had run out. He was about to face down an all but immortal tyrant and his knees felt suddenly shaky as he battled to draw breath.

  “Mount up, Aram,” came the Saanen’s dry mind-whisper. “It won’t do for people to see their leader’s legs shaking like leaves in a gale.”

  Aram pulled himself up and they set off towards the mountain. It loomed larger above them with each passing mile, casting a forbidding shadow over the land. The sky seemed to hang lower than usual today, pressing down on the small army like a rotted, grey hand. Aram lifted his chin, trying hard not dwell on the image of them all being squashed like bugs.

  All too soon they reached the plain stretching in front of the peak. The face of the mountain was peppered with small caves staring balefully down at them like dark eyes. The mass of people and Saanen stopped abruptly. Bayre swung to the ground to start organising the army into ranks.

  “Shrouds, take the front line. Veldera behind them and kraal folk on the flanks,” he bellowed. People began to move to the positions he had indicated.

  Aram turned as a soft voice spoke at his side. “So, here we are Aram.”

  Ellery stood next to him, cradling her red hen in her arms. The bird stared up at him, then the woman gasped as she took in the silver sheen of his eyes.

  “Here we are,” he agreed. A question occurred to him. “Why didn’t you tell me what the Radix would ask of me? It was such a simple thing, after all.”

  Ellery shook her head, an odd smile on her face. “I couldn’t tell you what I couldn’t recall. I remember kneeling before the ice and then opening my eyes again in the exact same spot. The Saanen told me a day had passed but I couldn’t remember anything about it. All I knew was that I had failed the test.”

  Aram nodded. “The Radix protects itself well. So, Ellery, what are we supposed to do now?” He gestured at the mass in front of them. “The king can sit on top of his rock forever and just wait us out. The Saanen could probably bear us to the top but the cechua would pick us off easily as we climbed. If we can’t get to the king, then I’ve already failed.”

  “So quick to give up?” chided Ellery. “You’re forgetting there’s a prize down here the vulture king wants.” She threw her arm out towards the group of a hundred odd Veldera. “We’re enough to power him for scores of
years. He’s not going to allow the chance to capture us slip away from him.”

  Aram felt her words like a low punch to his gut. The Veldera were now bait in a trap he hadn’t even realised he was setting.

  As if Ellery’s words were a catalyst, there was movement from above. Aram looked up to see every cave mouth now contained a cechua with a red-robed slave Veldera mounted on its back. A chilling scream tore through the air and the first bird launched itself into space.

  “Stand ready,” shouted Bayre, his Saanen rearing under him, “They’re coming!”

  Bird after bird launched off the cliffs, plummeting down towards Aram’s forces.

  The next moment the air was thick with rocks and spears which rained down on their heads. Ellery threw up her hands and Aram saw Veldera across the field do the same, pitting their Mechanii power against their attackers. The missiles slowed, wavered, some still being pushed down, others deflected away from their targets. It was an almost silent battle of wills, this strange macabre dance of weapons through the air.

  Bayre had the Shrouds stretched out in a line. At his bellowed signal, they raised bows and began to fire on the cechua bearing their blank-faced riders. An arrow found its target and a red robe fluttered down through the air, tracing a graceful, crimson arc. The woman hit the ground with a thud, and you could hear the sharp cracking of her bones. She lay there, only a few paces from Aram, completely still. He ran to her side and rolled her over. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, but her eyes were wide open. “Where am I?” she gasped, as he leant over her. With a wheeze of pain, she grasped the front of his shirt. “What’s happening? Why is there fighting?”

  Realisation poured through Aram like rancid oil. This old woman with her white hair and lined skin wasn’t his enemy. As she lay dying, her mind was finally freed from the vulture king’s grasp. She didn’t understand where she was or how she’d gotten here. They were fighting people who they should, in fact, be trying to save. These red-robed Veldera were as much his people as the others. The woman let out a low sigh and her hand went slack. Aram’s eyes filled with tears as he gazed down at her. Her blank gaze seemed to reproach him for not getting there sooner, for not being able to save her. This whole fight was madness and the only person who could stop it, was him.

  Ignoring the battle raging around him, he looked for the Saanen leader and found him close by. He threw out the thought. “I need you.”

  Without hesitation the beast raced to his side. He leapt onto its back and instructed. “To the top of the mountain, as fast as you can.” Then they were running through the screaming, swirling masses. Aram saw a cechua grab a Black Shroud in its talons. The bird rose up and then dropped the struggling man from a height.

  Aram clung to the Saanen’s pelt as they raced past the screaming Shroud. He fought back the feeling he was abandoning his friends. He was here for the king—that was the most important thing now. They’d just have to get on without him as best they could.

  The Saanen bounded up the mountainside, finding purchase where another creature could never hope to. Without the beast’s help, Aram would never have made it. Once they reached the top, Aram slid to the ground, Ryu’s eyes fixed on the strange tableau in front of him.

  They stood on a narrow ledge with a flight of stairs hacked out of the stone ahead of them. These rose, steep and treacherous to a carved, granite bowl balanced on the mountain’s highest peak. The longer he stared, the more details Aram noticed. The carvings were of sticks, feathers and most disturbingly, bones. He realised the grotesque structure was meant to represent a nest, a cechua nest if he guessed right. He’d expected a fortress or a castle, instead he’d found this oddity.

  “Wait here,” he commanded the Saanen leader. “You’re my only way off this mountain unless I suddenly learn how to fly.”

  The creature bowed its head in agreement. Aram’s magpie had been riding on his shoulder but now he opened his jacket and let Ryu hop inside the mesh pocket.

  Aram approached the stairs, stepping as softly as he could. As he climbed, he strained his ears for any sound that might indicate what waited for him up ahead. Nerves buzzed in his fingertips and his skin felt stretched too tight. Reaching the side of the nest, he noticed a narrow tunnel passing through its stone wall. He ran a finger along a carved, grey bone and shuddered. It looked almost real. On tiptoe, he edged into the tunnel, braced for an attack, but none came. A few more steps and he could see the exit, though not what awaited him on the other side. He took a deep breath and marched forwards.

  He walked out into the centre of the stone bowl and his world tipped on its axis. A black-haired man sat at the centre of the space on a throne made of claws. They tangled through each other in an agonised mass, talons extending to the skies in silent supplication. Aram’s mouth twisted in disgust. The king sat on the legs and feet of his own cechua, a deranged monument to his power. The man didn’t turn to look at him, simply stared into space as if Aram was beneath his attention. The strange mountaintop nest and cruel throne all spoke of isolation, of a person so removed from humanity that it was almost beyond comprehension. Aram fought to suppress a surge of pity. The creature in front of him was less than human, no matter what suffering he had endured. His mother, Orane, and Tai stood flanking the throne, faces expressionless, eyes blank. Kneeling at the king’s feet was Bina, hands tied behind her back. She looked up and saw him. “Aram!”

  He had to stop himself running straight to her.

  At her shout, the cechua crouched on the floor nearby, fixed its dark eyes on him. He felt like a rabbit pinned by a predator’s gaze and knew the king saw him now. He expected the tyrant to speak, to issue some challenge or acknowledgement, but the cechua simply screamed. As if on command, Orane began to walk forward. She raised one hand and a boulder flew into the air and straight for Aram.

  The days of practice paid off instantly as he knocked it aside. She stopped ten paces away from him. Her face still held no expression, but the lines of strain deepened around her mouth just as he felt a pressing inside his head. He pushed back, knowing she was trying to use her Animai power to gain control of his thoughts. If she did, he’d be nothing more than another of the king’s mindless puppets.

  They stood locked in an invisible battle. Aram drew deeply on the power of the radix, watching his mother’s face sag, caving in on itself. He’d thought she looked old before, but she was turning into a crone in front of his eyes. There was nothing he could do to help her. If he stopped fighting and gave in, they were all as good as dead. He pushed against his mother’s mind as his heart shattered, shards sending splinter pains through his chest.

  With a cry, she collapsed to the ground. For a moment, he thought it was a trick but then her rheumy eyes sought out his face. Her nightjar which had been riding on her shoulder, fluttered towards him.

  “Aram?” the bird whispered. “Is that you, my son?”

  He tenderly cradled the small bird as he dropped to his knees at Orane’s side. “It’s me, mother. I came to find you.”

  “Was I lost?” she asked in confusion. “You’re all grown up. How did that happen?”

  She raised a withered hand to his cheek and tears gushed from his eyes and fell on her face. “Why are you crying, little mouse? No need for tears, I’m here with you.”

  Orane gave a deep, sighing breath and her eyes went still. They stared fixedly up at the grey clouds above them and Aram knew his mother was gone. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling more pain, but he was wrong. Grief blossomed like a dagger-edged flower, cutting his heart to ribbons. But he didn’t have time now for mourning.

  He rose to his feet, turning his body to give Ryu a chance to spy out the curse stone. Only if he destroyed it, would the Veldera be freed from the king’s grip. But the walls of the nest around him were uniformly grey and except for the throne, there was nothing else in the circular space. Before he could locate the stone, Bina cried, “Aram, look out.”

  Tai was moving towards hi
m, a knife held tightly in each hand. The older boy was no match for Aram in power, but he was far more skilled with weapons. Skili hovered over them and Aram ripped open his jacket to free Ryu. He needed the full range of his bird’s vision now. Aram pulled his own knife from his belt and weighed up his options. With Tai’s mind firmly controlled by the king, Aram had no way of influencing him. Fear raced through his veins as he and Tai circled one another. It was a bitter realisation that sometimes all the magic in the world didn’t do you any good. For all Bayre’s warnings, he’d come up here blindly, hoping the power granted to him by the radix made him invincible. But there was every chance Tai would defeat him in hand to hand combat, and if he died, his friends were doomed. He wished he’d practiced harder, although a few short weeks could hardly compare with years of combat training.

  As quick and deadly as the mist-wraith he resembled, the older boy lunged at Aram. He dodged the first blade but the second caught him on the shoulder, opening a shallow gash. To give himself time to get away, he flung his knife at Tai’s face. The boy evaded it easily then stamped a foot down on the blade.

  Aram stood empty-handed in front of his enemy. Tai bent down stiffly to pick up Aram’s knife and tucked it into his boot. It was disturbing fighting someone who showed absolutely no emotion. There was no taunting, no gloating delight in his easy victory. Not even simple hatred, nothing but those empty eyes and slow considered movements. Light flashed along one of the blades and Aram fixed his bird’s eyes on it, riveted by the certain death now approaching him.

  Then it came to him, so clear and simple that he couldn’t believe he’d overlooked it. As Tai walked towards him, he focused on the weapons in the other boy’s hands, drawing heat from the air and channeling it into the blades. Almost instantly both knives glowed cherry red and with a hiss of pain Tai dropped them. Aram drew them towards him while simultaneously cooling the steel. They flew into his hands and he raised them ready to throw. Tai walked mechanically towards him, unable to understand his imminent death. For a moment, Aram hesitated. Tai had betrayed them all, but he was still just a boy. If Bayre was to be believed, simply a foolish, misguided one at that.