surrounded Anania. As it was, he had no idea that the savage green-skinned humanoids clambering all over the dragon and jabbing at it with their weapons were orcs. Anania was staggering beneath the weight of them and Emuel wondered how the dragon had allowed itself to be so overwhelmed. Did it not know how to fight? Then he saw the ropes that bound Anania’s jaws together. Somehow the orcs had managed to muzzle the dragon, and now they were concentrating on tripping it, weaving a cat’s cradle of ropes between its legs and slashing at it with their swords.
Calabash roared, and though the orcs turned to look at the new arrivals, for Anania it was too late. The dragon crashed to the ground, and was swarmed over by the savage creatures and dispatched by a thousand cuts.
Emuel was almost hurled from Calabash’s back as the dragon barrelled down the hill and into the melee. The orcs threw themselves at the creature with vicious delight, but Calabash was not as unprepared as Anania had been, and it slammed into the greenskins, scattering them and crushing them underfoot. As Calabash reached the edge of the encampment it swung round, almost unseating Emuel in the process, and turned to face its aggressors. More orcs were swarming towards them, seemingly undeterred by the slaughter of their comrades. Calabash stood stock still, watching them come, and Emuel was about to kick the dragon’s flanks and urge it onwards when Calabash took a deep breath. The loose flaps of skin on either side of the dragon’s throat inflated, the flesh distending like the skin of a balloon, and there was a sudden sharp smell in the air that reminded Emuel of grain alcohol. The orcs were so close now that Emuel drew his sword, ready to meet their charge. But the orcs didn’t get the chance, for Calabash let go the breath it had been holding — the pouches on either side of its throat collapsing as it did so — and a torrent of fire poured forth from its jaws. Emuel threw his arm up to shield his eyes from the brilliant glare, and the sleeve of his cloak began smouldering from the intense heat. When the inferno dissipated, he looked up to see the smoking, burnt charcoal forms of hundreds of dead orcs. Calabash looked back at him then, an expression in its eyes that almost looked like concern.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Emuel said, patting its side. “Just give me more warning next time.”
Piotr hurried in on their flank, dispatching any orcs not taken by the conflagration. Emuel swung his sword as Calabash waded once more into the melee and was amazed when a few of the creatures fell to his blade. Something like glee burned in him, before he realised that he was — had been — a man of the cloth, and that murder was prohibited by his vocation. In any case, the matter was taken literally out of his hands when the tip of the sword lodged in the breastbone of an orc and the weapon was dragged away as the creature fell.
To Emuel’s right, Piotr smashed a wooden tower to splinters with a swing of its tail, the orc that had been guarding it flying into the air like a rag doll, only to be snatched up in the dragon’s jaws before it could hit the ground; even over the cry of the enemy and the clash of weapons, Emuel could hear the crunching of bones.
The greenskins had been pretty well routed by now, although a motley group of them remained: encircling the dragons, wielding spears, occasionally shuffling forwards with threatening gestures. Its meal now done with, Piotr made to charge the line, but a bark from Calabash put paid to that, and the dragon came meekly to its companion’s side.
Emuel slid to the ground as Calabash settled back on its haunches, hurrying away as he realised what was about to happen. He quickly scanned the area for a weapon, and spotted a curved shard of bone, inscribed with a strange script and with a rough wrap of leather for a handle. It felt wrong in his hand somehow, but it would have to do for now. He found himself to be unafraid as he faced the orcs. They weren’t so evil-looking really, not in comparison with the Chadassa. He’d faced worse odds before.
As Piotr and Calabash took deep breaths, Emuel raised his weapon and screamed defiance.
Despite everything — Scaroth considered — it had actually gone quite well. He had been as surprised as the rest of them when they had downed the first big lizard so quickly. And now they had the final two monsters encircled, even with the casualties they had suffered, he felt a renewed pride in his men.
Oh, but they would eat well tonight. And then they would give much thanks to Big Blue God for his gift of good hunting. Yes, today was a good day. Today was a day the shamans would commemorate with their songs and rituals.
He was about to give the order to close in on the big lizards when they both breathed in deeply. Scaroth knew what was about to happen, but he had his great uncle’s enchanted hide shield in his right hand and he believed fervently in its magical protection.
“Men… attack!”
Scaroth’s warriors roared as they charged. The air around the orcs rippled as noxious fumes began to roll from the dragons’ mouths, and then there was intense heat and light and Scaroth’s soldiers fell to ash. His shield held, initially, but as Scaroth raised it above his head and cried out, it fell apart. He swallowed and looked up at the black dragon that towered over him. He would not let himself be afraid. He understood that he deserved this fate. He had brought death to his people, and for that he was ready to pay the price. But it was not in the nature of an orc to go out without one final act of defiance.
“I am Scaroth!” he shouted, raising his bone staff and stamping his right foot hard against the ground. “You have killed my people; you have taken everything away from me. Now I-”
But Scaroth didn’t get to finish his sentence, for Calabash breathed out and scattered the orc king to the wind.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Silus shook as another dry heave gripped him and a string of saliva slowly dripped to the floor. He wasn’t sure whether it was the after-effects of the incense used in his communion with Kerberos, or the stress of what he was about to say to Illiun and the settlers that had made him so sick. Katya knelt beside him, rubbing his back and making soothing sounds. He didn’t feel at all deserving of her sympathy.
Eventually the nausea subsided and he got unsteadily to his feet.
“Okay now?” Katya said.
“I think so, thanks.”
Silus had told Bestion to gather everybody together, and he found them in the vast, harshly-lit hall of the ship’s council chamber. Someone had set up a podium for him in front of the ascending tiers of seats. He raised his hand against the glare of the lights as he took to the stand. Silus had hoped for the occasion to be somewhat less formal. As it was, he felt like a preacher, about to deliver a sermon heavy with blood and thunder.
It broke his heart to see the expressions of hope and trust written on the settler’s faces, but Silus knew that he had no choice but to follow Kerberos’s plan; if not to save Twilight itself, then to save his wife and child from oblivion. This was why he was going to have to spin his lie.
“Kerberos — the entity — has spoken to me,” he began, “and I am to deliver His message to you.
“Although I know, Illiun, that you and your people fear my god, He is not without compassion. Kerberos has spoken to me of your origins, your flight across the universe and the deprivations that you have suffered. It is true that your ideology differs from that of our god’s. It is true that you have committed what the Swords would deem blasphemies. Now, however, you need run no more.
“Kerberos has agreed that you may finally settle upon this world.” There was a collective sigh of relief at this. “But not in this place. I have been tasked with leading you to a new land where you will be allowed to make your new home, in the understanding that you will not leave the territory given over to you.” There were rumblings of dissent and Silus waited for them to die down before he continued. “Should you do so, the punishment will be severe.”
The wave of anger that greeted this statement was so sudden and vehement that Silus staggered back, almost tripping over the edge of the platform. The settlers were all shouting at once and he noticed the Swords growing restless, clearly wanting to silence the outrage with their blades.
“You will listen!” Silus shouted, and eventually the tirade of abuse died down to discordant grumblings.
“Thank you. Kerberos has spoken, I am merely His mouthpiece. It is I who argued your case; I who appealed to my god for compassion. If I had not intervened on your behalf, you would have been annihilated in the blink of an eye.” Yet, still he would lead them to their deaths. “I have done my best for you, but this is not your world. You are
