Austerley & Kirgordon Adventures Box Set Read online

  Farthington had turned his back on the rising demon and was racing to get off the board. As he brushed past Austerley, he was covered in a spew of vomit, but still he didn’t stop. He could hear the rage of the creature and he was not going to be held responsible for it.

  Austerley felt the taunting, the attack at his very being. His worthlessness was shown to him, his frailty was exposed, his every cowardly act that had ended in someone else’s pain. Despair was grabbing hold of his mind. Seeing his doom, Austerley unleashed the mantra from the book, the one to close the door. Wailing it like a madman, he fought the terror that threatened to take his tongue, knowing failure would mean forfeiting his life, maybe even his essence. Where was Churchy’s god when you needed him? Won’t you help me? Or would you damn us all?

  His tongue steadied. From nowhere, a force restored his nerve and he spoke the mantra now in fresh and constant tones. Gradually, he felt the black tentacles retreating from his mind, felt his senses coming off edge.

  The demon in the whirlpool felt it too. That force once again. Dagon was toppling, to be laid out on the floor of its own temple. The great black wings started to thrash as it was struck with pain.

  Calandra was being overpowered, several frog-men having hit her hard, and only her wings had shielded her from a fatal blow. Seeing her struggle, Kirkgordon joined the fray but the frog-men overwhelmed him and he was soon floored. On his back, slightly stunned, he suddenly felt himself cry out. Where are you, then? Come on, show me now. Or don’t you care? I came, I did my bit. Why am I forsaken?

  Dagon was descending back into the whirlpool but the demon’s wings bore down on the sides of the arena, causing small avalanches of rock and sending amphibians into the deep. The orchestra music was cut short as the brass section, followed by the strings, toppled down the cliff into the maelstrom. Sea creatures were being drawn back into the whirlpool with tentacles waving and many fins struggling against the pull.

  Kirkgordon rolled sideways as one of Dagon’s massive wings crashed into the arena edge beside him. Several frog-men were instantly squashed flat, spraying slimy liquid over Kirkgordon and Calandra. The rock around them crumbled, dropping into the oceanic horror below. Several of the amphibians fell backwards from the ground shock and clattered into Calandra, making her stumble and tilt precariously over the edge. In that moment, Kirkgordon saw that she was not going to be able to remain on the high ground.

  Calandra thrust her staff up above her as she descended through the air. Instinctively, Kirkgordon dived forward to snatch the weapon with his outstretched right hand. Although now in a horizontal position, he pulled up as hard as he could from his biceps but he feared the worst. The end of the staff soon emerged above the cliff-edge without its owner.

  By now the whirlpool was sucking in deeply, like a mighty ogre drawing its breath. Kirkgordon, still on top of the dilapidated cliff, was suddenly caught up in the air flow and pulled over the edge. He tumbled down the smashed rocks, felt his left arm strike hard, breaking it, and then a hand grabbed his shirt. His right hand, still holding on to the staff, felt a colder hand slip over his and take the staff from him. The staff end, glowing an extreme white, whirled past him, drove into the remaining cliff face and buried itself deep within.

  A pale arm curled itself round the staff. Kirkgordon was slipping past it when a slender pair of legs hooked themselves around him and yanked him towards it. Grabbing the staff with his good right hand, he wrapped his legs and body round it. He felt a cold figure embrace him and clung on tight.

  “Hold on, Churchy! Just hold!” Her hair whipped across his face as the staff began to bend.

  Austerley also felt the draw of the closing continuum. The board was bending, and as it dipped down he could see Dagon all but disappearing back to his own place and time, wherever that was. But the board continued to bend as the wind was sucked down into the fracture. Something hit Austerley hard in the back. It was a man; he saw arms and then legs whip past his face. He watched his smart-suited former captor spin uncontrollably towards his doom. As frog-men and fish-men joined other amphibians in the whirlpool, Austerley saw Farthington change. First, wings emerged from his back. He grew three times his previous height and the suit fell away to be replaced by scales. Large nostrils and a protruded jaw with sharp teeth formed on each of three heads, and talons for feet completed the transformation.

  The dragon fought hard against the river, flapping his wings and holding steady above the rapidly closing portal. He roared loudly, beating hard. Austerley was dragged closer to him as the board flexed further. Pivoting on the arrow jammed into his foot, Austerley was now hanging off the board, flailing head-first towards the continuum. Then the board cracked. Austerley dropped. At once his mind seized the consequences. He was falling to the world of the very demon he had just sent back to its own realm. Dagon would have his revenge. The darkest of nights was upon him.

  Revenge of the Dragon

  From his position on the bending staff, Kirkgordon had seen Farthington transform back into his natural form, fighting the pull of the continuum. He was then bemused to see Austerley, with a large piece of board attached to his foot, whizz past him, crashing into the water. He tried to follow Austerley into the water but Calandra held him tight to the staff.

  “No, Churchy! No! It’s too late!”

  The whirlpool was starting to collapse, and Kirkgordon was able to glance around at the arena which had held the ceremony. There was no sign of the orchestra on the far side, only jagged rock formations. There were also no frog-men on his own side of the natural structure, all having been sucked deep into the continuum. After such a frenzy of noise, it was refreshing to have a relative silence, the crashing of the waves now seeming more natural with no tentacles or heads floating in the surf. His arm ached and he was breathing deeply in an endeavour to recapture the oxygen he had spent in self-preservation. His eyes stared grimly at the broken board.

  Austerley was unaware of the worry focused on his previous position. Crashing into the sea upside down, his nostrils had filled with water and he had struggled not to swallow in panic. His foot was still attached to the board, which trailed behind him, stopping him from self-rectifying. Beneath him was the outlying vastness of Dagon’s realm and a rapidly closing portal. His descent continued downwards until, approximately three metres from reaching the portal, it closed abruptly. As the body of water was forced to dissipate its momentum, Austerley was thrown about violently before drifting slowly toward the surface, pulled upward by the board. He had become numb to the pain of the arrow and indeed wondered if he could feel anything at all in his leg.

  His progress to the surface was too slow and Austerley was out of breath. This is it, he thought. The thought brought him some relief, as he was sure he would no longer be spending time with Dagon, and surely Churchy’s god, if that’s where he was going, would be a lot more sympathetic. After all the turmoil, his only regret was not avenging Calandra, not destroying Farthington for consigning Calandra to her doom. Yes, in a strange way, he was at peace. He was ready.

  Calandra, seeing that the whirlpool had finished, let herself drop off the staff. Kirkgordon, counting on her support and not ready for this, dropped off too. He landed on his backside while Calandra touched down nimbly on her feet. She barely noticed as she watched the dragon, now free of any pull from the water, start to climb free. Without looking, her left hand grabbed her staff, pulling it clear of the rock.

  “Cally! I’m fine, thanks for asking. Just bloody dandy.”

  “Shut up! Look! The dragon, look at him!”

  “I see him. We need some cover. Somewhere to run to. Some…”

  “Churchy, shush! Look at him. LOOK!”

  “Yeah, he looks fine, now let’s move.”

  “No, I said look! He’s climbing up to circle. Churchy, he’s looking for something.”

  “But it’s all gone, Cally. Isn’t it? I mean the water’s no longer doing a washing machine. There’s nothing down there.
Nothing. The frog-men, fish-heads, sea creatures, they all got sucked in. There’s bound to be the odd escapee, but basically the guts of them are gone.”

  The dragon circled high, flapping his wings with great frequency to effect a virtual hover over the last location of the now-defunct whirlpool. Then his eyes opened wide and snarls formed across his faces. All three heads looked toward a single point. The dragon turned, then his body became almost arrow-like and dived into the water.

  “He’s diving, Churchy. He’s seen something.”

  “There’s nothing there, Cally. Except… Austerley?”

  Having resigned himself to the oncoming darkness or light the crash of something entering the water shook Austerley’s new utopia. He didn’t care. What could matter now? Then suddenly he was no longer in the water.

  The dragon had dived into the water like a sea eagle. Grabbing the board Austerley was attached to, he flew clear of the surface, his cargo dripping profusely. He climbed high, reaching some thousand feet before he turned and faced his passenger. One taloned foot remained clutching the board but the other gripped Austerley’s body. Austerley let out a wild scream as the board was ripped off his foot. More accurately, his ankle broke, leaving his foot still attached to the board.

  The dragon discarded the board and flew down to the snow-covered earth before dropping the rest of his cargo from a few feet. Austerley spun hard across the ground and then came to rest in the pure snow, colouring it a dark red. Setting down gently, the beast brooded over his motionless prize.

  “Come on!” shouted Cally.

  “I’m done, Cally. Go, go get him!”

  Calandra scrabbled up the uneven rocks, her black wings helping her over the larger gaps. By the time she had cleared the top ledge of the cliff, her staff was already spinning and glowing white. She ran hard towards the beast, her weight lifting into her wings, making her quicker than her gammy leg would have allowed. Soon she was flying.

  The dragon spoke. “Austerley! You… This was my prize. This was mine to have. Six years I have searched for the things this backward, ridiculous religion wanted. All the research, all the time expended. I even freed you from your padded walls, but no, you can’t even manage a twenty minute presentation. That was all that was required. You useless excuse. You will pay for this. I will burn you to an inch of your life. Then I will take you apart limb by limb so that you cry out my name, wishing for death. You will beg, Austerley.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You killed her. Why did you kill Calandra?”

  The dragon was somewhat stunned by this response. Then comprehension dawned. Ah, the drugs, he thought. He was even more stunned by the incredibly hard staff that cracked down on to his middle skull. He roared and turned, unleashing a torrent of flame at his assailant. Calandra had continued over the top of the dragon and was on his opposite side when the hot fire was released. On the ground was a line of melted snow.

  Calandra flew back over the head of the beast, causing him to spin round, heads thrashing wildly in a frustrated search for her. Realizing Calandra’s trick, the dragon flew upward, crashing hard into Calandra, who fell to the snow. She looked up, awaiting the flame from its nostrils, but another sound filled the air.

  “James, looks like we arrived late. See the dragon?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “That’s where I want the fuel dumped, on his heads. But be careful, because he’ll fire back.”

  Farthington saw the microlight in the near distance and prepared to burn it out of the air. Gracefully lifting his large frame with his wings, he took in a large breath. As he waited those few precious seconds to get the microlight in his sights, he was struck hard on the back of his targeting head and felt a burning pain, like a drill overheating, boring into his skull. Calandra fell back to ground again, leaving behind her now half-buried staff.

  Farthington thrashed around, desperately trying to remove the staff with his small arms, his other heads shaking crazily from the pain. Soon he realized that his arms were not going to provide a King Arthur moment. He lifted up one of his powerful legs, gripped the staff, ripped it out and flung it far away. As he did so, he smelt fuel and felt a liquid pour over his body. Looking up, he saw a boy hanging from the microlight with a flaming ragged cloth in his hand. A split second later, he felt the raging heat erupt over his body as the fuel ignited.

  The dragon shook wildly and tried to roll in the snow. The pain was coursing over his skin and sapping his strength. Farthington knew he was in a dangerous situation despite his size and fiery breath. If that microlight had more fuel, or weapons, or the winged woman got that staff into him again, he would most likely die. It’s time to flee, he thought, but not before Austerley pays for his crimes.

  The dragon leapt towards the motionless figure on the ground and snatched him with one taloned foot. Calandra raced at the beast but was knocked aside by a wing. The microlight took a hard turn at Farthington but a flap of his wings caused the over-wing of the aircraft to lift and flip so that the microlight was forced to the ground. James dived out into the snow and Havers careered with the craft into a large snow bank. I have him, thought Farthington. Time to take him somewhere where I can torment him in peace.

  As the beast turned to fly away, he was hit first in his right eye. Ignoring this pain, the dragon started to lift but was then hit by another arrow in his claw, forcing it open. Austerley dropped the few feet to the snow. The beast roared his anger but flew hard, away from Austerley and the island. Kirkgordon, with his left arm strapped hard and straight, watched closely until the dragon was out of sight. Only then did he race over to Austerley.

  Indy was face down in the snow and Kirkgordon struggled to turn him over with his one good arm. A quick scan of his colleague showed him to be breathing at least, but his leg was bleeding copiously. A dark red patch of snow, with pinkish tinges at its edges, lay where a foot should have been.

  “Cally! Havers! Someone! Get over here!” Kirkgordon was accustomed to seeing injuries, but the foot’s absence seemed surreal. He started to slap Austerley’s face.

  “Indy! Bloody hell, Indy, speak to me. Wake up!”

  “How bad is it, Churchy?” said a breathless Calandra.

  “Bad. Bloody bad. I mean, he’s breathing but there’s too much blood. It needs to be stemmed but my arm’s shot.”

  “Move!” Calandra stepped in front of Kirkgordon. She ripped part of her top off and applied it to the ankle stump. The rag turned red almost instantly.

  Kirkgordon sensed someone over his shoulder and turned to see James standing motionless, staring at Austerley. His eyes were cold. Numb, in fact.

  “Look away, kid. Look away.” The child continued to stare. “James,” said Kirkgordon, trying a different tack, “where’s Havers?”

  James continued staring but threw a directional thumb over his shoulder. Glancing in the general direction, Kirkgordon saw a staggering Havers making a determined track through the snow.

  “Havers, are you okay?”

  “Mr Kirkgordon, didn’t see it all but caught that rather mean shot to the dragon’s foot. Good show, sir.” Havers was breathing hard but demonstrating the British stiff upper lip to its full effect. “How is our apprentice necromancer? Blimey, where’s his foot? We need to pack it in ice.”

  “You’ll need to swim and find it. Farthington ripped it off. It’s attached to a piece of board somewhere in the sea, but with all the turmoil it could be well down.”

  “That’s a lot of blood, Calandra dear, I take it it’s not clotting at all.” Calandra shook her head. “Well, time for an executive decision, I think, or Mr Austerley won’t be worrying about walking but rather what kind of wood he wants his box made of.”

  “He needs a hospital, Havers! Now! How we going to get him to one? It’s not like we can just fly out of here. He’s going to bleed to death, man. Dammit!” Kirkgordon got to his feet and turned away. He yelled into the dark. “Why? Why? We came. I trusted. I did the dirty work. We stopped them for y
ou. I’m broken. My friend is dying, so where are you? Tell me! Answer me! Where?”

  “Mr Kirkgordon! Desist! Right now! Miss Calandra, we are going to need your staff. That trick where you get the end up to a high temperature, I need you to do that now. It’s time we sealed Mr Austerley’s wound. James, get clothing or sticks, anything that makes a decent dark mark on the snow. We’re going to write a message on the ground.”

  “For who, exactly? Tell me that, Havers.”

  “Mr Kirkgordon, please remain calm. You are trying my patience. When the door was opened for Dagon to come through, certain associates will have picked up on the, shall we say, spiritual and temporal anomalies that were happening. People are coming. Probably a scrambled fighter from a certain Scottish airfield. An appropriate message will get a helicopter to us and Mr Austerley some treatment. So if you can’t be of assistance then please refrain from such outbursts. Ah, Calandra dear, excellent, it’s white-hot.”

  Kirkgordon collapsed to the ground, exhausted physically, emotionally and spiritually. Dammit, Havers was good. But there were no guarantees. What had turned Austerley round? There was no sense in it. Austerley had been a foot from an arrow in the head. He’d nearly killed him and just now he’d been screaming at the unfairness of his dying. God, you and me need some words, but not now, just not now. Thanks.

  A Eurofighter raced through the sky overhead. He heard Havers congratulate James on a job well done. Then Austerley was screaming. White-hot pain or nightmares from the recent past? Kirkgordon lay back. Damn, this snow was cold.

  Havers Holds it Together

  His face had those little circles you got from sleeping on a perforated metal bench. A plaster cast with the felt-tip penned inscription “Dagon basher” adorned his left arm. Despite all anecdotal evidence to the contrary, the coffee in the brown plastic cup was not bad at all and had revived him after the nap. Still, Kirkgordon was worried.