sing for their brethren, letting the music that filled them in the womb of their god reach out to others of their kind, until they are gathered as one family, waiting for the time when Kerberos will rise over this dead earth and reveal to them His will.
So engrossed was he in Calabash’s story that Emuel didn’t at first notice when the song came to an end. The dragons had settled down and were gazing up at Kerberos. The azure sphere was so close that Emuel could see the lightning storms flickering within the god. All was silent as the dragons waited to hear the voice of their creator. The tattoos still writhed on Emuel’s flesh, as though dancing to some unheard music.
There was a pulse of energy, a pure sheet of lightning momentarily engulfing Kerberos, washing them all in a brilliant radiance that had Emuel closing his eyes and shielding his face. Calabash raised its head and howled, the eerie ululation echoed and repeated across the herd. Emuel staggered as Calabash prodded him with the tip of his snout. For a moment his heart sank as he thought that the dragon was trying to push him away, but then he understood. Calabash was gesturing for him to climb onto its back. Emuel had already ridden the dragon a few times, and the experience had been terrifying; once he was settled, he made sure to press his legs firmly against the creature’s flanks, grabbing onto the bony protrusions that grew from the back of Calabash’s neck.
Emuel’s stomach turned over as the creature lurched forward, but he managed to stay seated. He looked back to see the herd following, the ground they had anointed now churned beneath their feet. Their advance was slow at first but soon they gathered momentum, the scenery rushing by in a blur as they raced into the mountains.
Foothills flashed past at breakneck speed, the dragons easily negotiating the rise and fall of the land as they climbed ever higher. When they had set off, Calabash had led the herd, but now others raced past the dragon and its rider, all respect for their leader forgotten in their urgent desire to reach their goal. Emuel was jerked around on the dragon’s back, though he managed to maintain his hold, even with hands that were beginning to ache from the effort of hanging on. In what seemed like no time at all, they had left the foothills and were beginning to climb the mountain range itself. Calabash didn’t once slow as it threw itself through ravines, crawled along the edges of precipices and curled its way around jagged peaks. For much of the journey Emuel closed his eyes, but when he did open them, once, he found himself staring up at dozens of dragons negotiating the ceiling of a hollow in a cliff face above him. Or were he and Calabash on the ceiling, and the other beasts on the floor? Emuel quickly shut his eyes again.
After several hours the rolling motion of Calabash’s back slowed, and Emuel looked around to find that they were now high amongst the peaks. There was almost no further for the dragons to climb. It was bitterly cold, the air so thin that Emuel’s chest laboured with each breath. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as the dragons passed through a shallow valley and onto a plateau. All that lay above them now was the wide open sky.
The dragons came to rest here and stood for a time, silently contemplating the sky, before? as one? unfurling their wings. Emuel wondered then why the dragons hadn’t simply flown to this place far above the world. In fact, now he came to consider it, he had never seen the dragons use their wings for flight.
Calabash staggered to the left, momentarily unbalanced, and Emuel realised then that the dragons had never before flown. They were like newly-hatched chicks, ready to test their wings for the first time by throwing themselves from the nest.
The eunuch found that he no longer wanted to be on Calabash’s back, but before he could dismount, the dragon was on the move. Emuel considered throwing himself to the ground, but it was flowing so quickly beneath him that the moment he hit, he’d break every bone in his body. So he clung on, tears streaming from his eyes, as he watched the edge of the plateau rushing towards them.
Ahead, the first wave of dragons threw themselves into the air and dropped from sight. Emuel sent up a prayer, putting himself into his god’s hands, and he was still whispering the benediction when Calabash’s feet left the ground and the sky took them.
They fell.
Emuel clung on tight as the wind howled about them. All around them dragons were hurtling towards the earth. One, with scales the colour of a cornfield, collided with a spur of rock, shattered stone following the senseless dragon down, its useless wings entangled around it. Emuel cried out as he saw more dragons broken on the side of the mountain, unable to bring their wings to bear in time. Calabash hit a pocket of warm air that lifted them for a moment, holding them seemingly motionless as dragons continued to rain down around them, but with a crack and a sudden drop in pressure they were soon falling as quickly as before.
“Fly!” Emuel shouted. “Damn it, fly!”
Not that he expected his encouragement to do any good. However, almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Calabash banked to the right and began to spiral down in a controlled descent. Other dragons were now also gaining the use of their wings, rising on updrafts, or gliding towards the plain below. They began to spread out, breaking into groups of two or three as they dispersed along all points of the compass, calling to one another as they went, their cries gradually becoming fainter and fainter.
Calabash pumped its wings and turned towards the west, Emuel easily shifting his weight with the dragon, becoming used to the feel of the creature beneath him. A flock of dragons ahead of them were now little more than dark specks against the setting sun. Emuel watched them wink out one by one. A moment later, two dragons flew in to flank Calabash. One had scales the colour of sunflowers, the other was a silvery grey with eyes as bright as diamonds. They called to Calabash and the dragon nodded to acknowledge their presence, before turning to look back at Emuel.
The eunuch patted his mount’s flank and settled himself more comfortably upon the gently rolling back. Twilight seemed so far away now, yet Emuel found that he no longer missed it. This place — this world of dragons and burgeoning potential — was his home now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ignacio and the remaining members of the Order of the Swords of Dawn began to sing hymns. For Silus, it was the last straw.
“You know what? You can take that elsewhere. I mean it.” Silus backed up his words by drawing his sword. He didn’t care that he and Ignacio had been through so much together, that they had once fought side by side; if he didn’t stop with the ‘Holy Holys’ and ‘Most Blessed on Highs’ right now, he was going to get a sword in the guts.
“But He has come to show us the way,” Ignacio said, a beatific smile on his face. “He has come to bring judgement to this godless world.”
“Ignacio, if you do anything to make matters worse I will stand by these people and I will fight you.”
Silus stared into Ignacio’s eyes, trying to find some remnant of his old friend, but the ex-smuggler’s gaze remained curiously blank.
Shaking his head, Silus went back to helping look after the wounded and the dying.
The Swords had gone through the settlement like a whirlwind, killing virtually everything in their path. No wonder Vos had prevailed against Pontaine in the last war, Silus considered, when Katherine Makennon had such men at her disposal. The Pontaine army, as organised and well-equipped as it had been, just didn’t have a chance against an enemy with such a capacity for cruelty and a lust for slaughter.
He found Katya tending to a little boy with a nasty head wound. His right eye had been gouged out; Silus tried not to wince when he looked at the bloody cavity. Zac was sitting on the ground nearby, smiling to himself as he ran sand through his fingers, seemingly oblivious to the suffering around him. Sometimes Silus worried about his son’s emotional health.
“Do you know where your parents are?” Katya was asking. “When did you last see them?”
“They ran,” the boy said. “I couldn’t keep up. And then they were gone, cut down.”
Silus could see the anger on Katya’s face, the desire to turn on the people who had done this and make them pay, but for the sake of the boy she remained calm as she sponged blood from his brow.
Above them, on the crest of a dune, Bestion was praying, facing the direction of the risen god, his forehead to the sand in submission. He’d been crouched in this manner for several hours. Silus was saddened to see the
