Destroyer of Worlds

7

On the eastern side of the city, in the shade of the great brass wall, Veitch and Shavi kept their heads down to avoid recognition as they pushed through the crowd. In the stifling heat, the smell was choking: excrement baked in the gutters and the bitter reek of urine mingled with the vinegary sweat that rose from every too-hot body jostling for space in the slow-moving flow. Occasionally, from some darkened space drifted the sour-apples stink of decomposition.

The only breathing space came where people had fallen, overcome by the heat, hunger, thirst or illness, sprawled on the burning cobbles, their chests rising and falling too slow, and slowing. Shavi attempted to help the first three they encountered, but without water or food or medical supplies, there was little he could do; and the simple act of stopping to offer comfort halted other passers-by who wondered if there was a chance of aid. The desperation in their eyes was almost too much to bear. Now Shavi and Veitch stepped over the prone forms like all the other people, but Veitch could see the tears glistening in Shavi's eyes.

As they edged into a narrow street filled with the shops of silversmiths and jewellery-makers, a gang of dirty children in torn clothes and blankets scrambled forwards and began to beg. Some were human in form, though their faces contained the familiar, sly touch of the Far Lands, but others were covered with thick hair, or had golden triple-lidded eyes or facial contusions that could have been natural or caused by malnutrition and the constant filth. Swarming around Shavi and Veitch's legs, they tugged at their clothes, some surreptitiously trying to slip their hands into pockets until Veitch slapped them away.

'Food, please,' one of them said. 'Just a crumb. My mother is dying. A crumb will keep her spark alight for another hour.' It sounded like a line to elicit sympathy, but the savage emotion in his face offered an unbearable proof.

'We haven't got any food,' Veitch said too harshly. 'Clear off and bother someone else.'

'A coin, then. It does not matter what kind. One coin will buy us a day more in the Far Lands.'

'I am sorry,' Shavi said. 'We do not carry money.'

'Don't bleedin' engage them in conversation. We'll never get rid of them,' Veitch said with frustration.

His feelings already rubbed raw by the misery he had witnessed, Shavi was touched by the children's plight. Bending down, he tried to offer words of advice and support, but it only encouraged more children to cluster around, hands grasping the air for any sustenance he might be offering, and that brought the attention of passing adults who kicked at the children and rolled them into the gutters to get first chance at any offerings, the crowd pressing harder and harder so that Veitch and Shavi were trapped at its core.

'From now on, you do nothing until I say so,' Veitch grumbled. 'You're a bloody liability.'

A man who towered a good two feet above everyone else, his barrel chest bare, thrust his way through the cluster with arms so muscular they appeared to be made of wood. He loomed over Veitch and Shavi, peering at them with blinking, piggy eyes.

'It is!' he exclaimed. 'Two Brothers of Dragons!'

'Bleedin' great,' Veitch said, trying to push through the tight knot without much luck.

'Here, here!' the ox-like man announced to the entire street, beckoning wildly. 'We are saved! The Brothers and Sisters of Dragons are here, in the Court of Endless Horizons!'

Veitch's protests only drew more attention. The crowd around them swelled from one side of the street to the other, and the words Brothers of Dragons could be heard rising from awed whispers to jubilant shouts.

A woman in a black headdress with a third eye in the centre of her forehead clutched Shavi passionately. 'Brother of Dragons. You will free us from the yoke of the Enemy. You will deliver us to salvation.'

'You will ensure that the prophecy of these Last Days does not come to pass,' another woman cried.

Veitch was stunned into silence by the sudden ignition of hope he saw in the faces gathered around him. Fingers brushed his clothes with the awe one would reserve for a great leader or a religious figure. Struggling to comprehend, he stared blankly at one outstretched hand wavering before him, and then gently took it. Someone else took his other hand, and within a moment he was forced to reach out and touch hand after hand, shocked by the relief he saw rise up in everyone he graced with a fleeting contact.

'We will do what we can,' Shavi began, to try to curb expectations, but the cries only rose up louder: 'They will help.' 'The Enemy is doomed.' 'We are saved!'

'How do they know about us?' Veitch asked Shavi.

A bearded man in white robes answered. 'We have always known of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons, in the oldest stories of the Far Lands, in the tales of all peoples from all places. The champions of Existence who will rise up to become the greatest heroes of all-time, all-place. In the earliest days, they were whispered by mystics, and then told to children for the entertainment of young minds, but few truly believed. And then… oh, wonder of wonders!.. Jack, Giant-Killer, stepped into the Far Lands and began his exploits, and the truth became known, and the legend of the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons spread from mouth to mouth.' His voice grew shriller as his passion grew. 'And the tales of other Brothers and Sisters of Dragons in the Fixed Lands reached our ears, and we realised there was hope for us… the great prophecy of the Devourer of All Things could be averted.'

Caught up in his passion, the three-eyed woman continued, 'And so when the shadow of the Enemy began to spread across the Far Lands, we offered up our prayers, and our incantations, and we wished… oh, how we wished… for the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons to be sent to us to help us in our darkest hour. And our calls have been answered. You are here! We are saved!'

Veitch was dragged from the adoration by a glimpse of Shavi's shattered expression. 'All right, we're trying to keep a low profile here!' he shouted. 'This isn't helping.'

But his words were drowned out by the cries, which were growing louder by the moment as more people herded into the street. Soon the commotion would attract more unwanted attention.

Finally, Veitch put his head down and rammed a path through the crowd, no longer caring if he bowled people over. Shavi followed in his wake, the wave closing behind them, attempting to turn in their direction. For a moment, it appeared they would be dragged down, but then Veitch broke through the ranks of those who had recognised them and they were running and dodging back through the flow, not slowing until they were two streets away.

In the shade of a warehouse that smelled of beer, Veitch gripped Shavi's shoulders tightly, desperately wanting to drive away the upset expression on his friend's face.

'Look, mate, so they trust us to do the job, so what?' he said.

'How can we meet those expectations?' Shavi replied. 'Destroy the Devourer of All Things? Change a prophecy of final destruction that has been around since the beginning of time? They are treating us like some kind of messiahs, but we are only human.' He shook his head. 'So much hope invested in us. They offer up their lives to us, to save, because they know they cannot save themselves.'

'Of all of us, I never expected you to give in to despair.'

'I am not giving in to despair,' Shavi said adamantly. 'But I am pragmatic, Ryan. All our plans have failed. The chances of progressing are slim, and even then…' His voice trailed off.

Veitch gave Shavi's shoulders a brief, firm shake. Deep inside he felt something swell, growing stronger, bright with the energy of the Pendragon Spirit; he had never felt its like before, but he knew it was something he had wanted all his life. 'Listen to me — we're going to be the heroes they want us to be. We can't let them down. We don't have the luxury to be soft.' He planted his thumb and forefinger in an L on his forehead. 'To be losers. We've got to be hard, whatever the cost. And we've got to win, not for us, but for them, because that's the job we've been given. All right?'

Shavi smiled, but in his eyes Veitch caught a hint of pity at Veitch's naivety. That only made Veitch more determined, and for the first time he had a clear vision of his own role. Despair was starting to infect all of them, unsurprising given the scale of the threat they faced. It was down to him to stop that despair spreading, to turn them around and show them the right direction. This was where he could finally transcend the person he had been all his life. The swelling emotions grew so strongly, he thought he might burst.

A hubbub rose up from the end of the street and they realised word was spreading rapidly about the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons in the city. 'They want us to save them, but they're going to end up getting us killed. That's… what?… irony, right?' he said with a note of pride at his use of the term. 'Come on, let's get out of here before we're hanging from a lamp post.'

With the shouts and cries drawing closer, they hurried down a deserted alley until they came to a secluded inn few would have known was there. The sign above the entrance to the Wolf's Surprise showed a man's face with unmistakable lupine qualities. Out of place amongst the sleek metallic lines, it was a squat building with a corbelled flint wall and small bottle-glass windows that caught flickers of lamplight within, but reflected only darkness. Veitch and Shavi ducked into an atmosphere of ale and smoke, sweat and damp, but the coolness of the interior was inviting. They kept their heads down and averted their eyes until they found an obscure spot at the end of a curving bar.

After a pause to take in the new arrivals, the clientele returned to their drinks, as sullen and dispirited as the crowds filling the streets. A few surveyed Veitch and Shavi as potential opportunities, but the glint in Veitch's eye and the hand on his sword deterred any advance.

Veitch looked around at the array of bizarre figures. 'Used to drink in a boozer in Camberwell just like this,' he muttered. 'Still, better than being out there with all those bombs going off. What do you want?'

'Fruit juice.'

'There's an old joke there somewhere.' Veitch grinned. 'God, I've missed winding you up.'

'You have missed trying.'

As Veitch ordered the drinks, the door crashed open and a voice boomed, 'There! I told you. Brothers of Dragons!'

'Not a-bleedin'-gain.' Veitch sighed.

Striding next to the bar was a man wearing furs despite the heat, with a wide-brimmed hat that had seen better days and a string of lizards round his neck. A blunderbuss hung from his belt. Behind him strode a painfully thin, extremely tall man in a dark suit, a huge stovepipe hat threatening to topple from his head, with darting eyes that had a silvery glint.

The hunter clapped a hand on Shavi's shoulder. 'I knew it! Even in the middle of a crowd I can recognise a Brother of Dragons. What do you say, Shadow John?'

Leaning down to examine Shavi and Veitch, the man in the stovepipe hat exclaimed, 'Bless my soul, you're right, Bearskin.' He pumped their hands furiously. 'How very wonderful to meet you both. We had the honour of making the acquaintance of one of your colleagues, young Hal of Oxford. A fine, upstanding fellow in the long tradition of your line. Mallory and Caitlin, too. The legend lives on.'

'All right, all right, nice to meet you and all that. Now clear off. We're actually trying to be incognito,' Veitch said.

'Very wise,' Bearskin noted, ignoring Veitch's urgings. 'This is not a time to be a Brother of Dragons. The Enemy must be hunting and harrying you.'

'We are hunting and harrying the Enemy,' Shavi said.

The clap of Bearskin's arm across Shavi's shoulders almost pitched him into the bar. 'That's the spirit, good Brother!'

Shadow John grew lachrymose. 'This is not a good time to be any living thing. How I regret fleeing the Court of the Soaring Spirit to seek sanctuary in a safer part of the Far Lands.'

'There is no safety anywhere,' Bearskin agreed.

'How I miss the Hunter's Moon.' Deep in maudlin recollection, Shadow John rested his hands on his silver-topped cane, rocking gently from side to side.

'Best inn in all of the Far Lands.'

'I miss that place like the Golden Ones miss their long-lost homeland,' Shadow John cried.

Veitch saw Shavi scrutinising the new arrivals closely and recognised the light of an idea appear in his face. 'You are a hunter?' Shavi said to Bearskin.

Bearskin tapped the edge of his right eye. 'Never miss a thing. I track through the thickest parts of the Forest of the Night, or across the desert out there. I can see a blade of grass move on a hillside on the distant horizon.'

'Then you could perhaps help us locate someone, in the heaving mass of this city? A woman?'

'A Fragile Creature?' Bearskin laughed heartily. 'Fragile Creatures are the easiest to locate. Why, I have tracked them across…' His words dried up when he caught Shadow John's anxious expression. 'Well, enough to say that I could sniff out a Fragile Creature anywhere in this forsaken place.'

As the barman laid a tankard of ale on the bar, Veitch eyed it longingly and sighed. 'Okay, let's go.'