‘I see lights in the dark,’ she said softly, speaking aloud again. ‘Just pinpricks. Are they watchfires?’
They are the lights of cities, sang Vranesh.
‘Ah, yes. That is Tor Alessi, along the river to the coast. And Athel Maraya, deep in the forest. How is this possible? And that must be Athel Toralien. They are like scattered jewels.’
What else do you see?
‘I see the forest in between them,’ said Liandra. ‘I see the whole of Elthin Arvan resisting us. We are invaders here. The forest is old. It hates us.’
Vranesh wheeled back round, pulling to the east. Her body rippled through the air like an eel in water, as sinuous as coiled rope. It does not hate. It just is.
Like the dragons, Liandra sang.
There are many things we hate. What else do you see?
Vranesh flew eastwards. The dragon’s speed and strength in the air were formidable. Liandra doubted any were faster on the wing, save of course the mighty Draukhain. Ahead of them, blurred by distance and the vagaries of magical sight, reared the Saraeluii. Liandra had visited them many times, always in the company of Imladrik. Those mountains were truly vast, far larger than the Arluii, greater in extent even than the Annulii of home.
They daunted her. The dark peaks glowered in the night, their flanks sheer and their shadows deep. She had never enjoyed spending time in those mountains – that was the dawi’s realm, and even before war had come it had felt hostile and strange. She looked hard, peering into the gloom. She began to see things stirring.
I see armies, she sang, slowly. As Vranesh swept across the heavens in broad, gliding arcs, she saw more and more. Huge armies. I see forges lit red, like wounds in the world. I see smoke, and fire, and the beating of iron hammers.
It was as if the entire range were alive, crawling like a hill of angry insects. Pillars of smog polluted the skies. The earth in the lightless valleys shook under the massed tread of ironshod boots.
Endless, Liandra sang, inflecting the harmonic with wonder. So many.
Vranesh swung around again. Now you see what your scouts have seen. You see why you are needed. The storm is coming. It will roll down from those mountains soon and it will tear towards the sea.
Liandra sighed. She understood why the dragon had shown her such things. Kor Vanaeth cannot stand, she sang.
I did not say that. But you should think on where your powers are best employed. You should see what choices await you.
Liandra’s mind-voice fell silent. She had always known that hard decisions would come again. Like water returning to the boil, she felt her ever-present anger rising to the surface.
They killed thousands at Kor Vanaeth, she sang bitterly.
They did. We both saw it.
Liandra clenched her fists, just as she always did. The gesture had become habitual. I wish for nothing but to see them burn.
The druchii first, sang Vranesh. Now the dawi. Can you really kill them all?
The night seemed to gather itself around her as the dragon soared. It toughened her resolve, helped her to see things clearly. Salendor was already preparing to march, to bring the war back to the stunted ones before they could seize the initiative. Perhaps he was right to.
I cannot, she sang savagely, feeling the lava-hot energy of the beast beneath her. But you can.
Sevekai awoke.
For a long period he didn’t try to move. The spirals of pain were too acute, too complete. More than one bone was broken, and he saw nothing from his left eye. A vague, numb gap existed where sensations from his limbs should have been.
At first he thought he might have been blinded. Then, much later, the sun rose and he saw that he had awoken during the night. Little enough of the sun’s warmth penetrated down to the gorge floor, though – the difference between night and day was no more than a dull, creeping shade of grey.
When he finally summoned up the effort to shift position, the agony nearly made him pass out. He tried three times to pull himself to his knees. He failed three times. Only on the fourth attempt, dizzy with the effort, did he drag himself into something like a huddled crouch.
He was terribly, horribly cold. The shade seemed eternal. The rocks around him were covered with thin sheens of globular moss. Moisture glistened in the underhangs, dripping quietly. When he shivered from the chill, fresh pricks of pain rushed up his spine.
Awareness came back to him in a series of mismatched recollections. He remembered a long trek into the mountains with the others. He remembered Drutheira’s black-lined eyes staring into his, the raids on trading caravans deep in the shadow of the woods and then the dull-faced visage of Kaitar.
Kaitar.
That name brought a shudder; he couldn’t quite remember why. Something had been wrong with Kaitar. Had he died? Had something terrible happened to all of them?
Sevekai’s forehead slumped, exhausted, back against the rock. He felt his lips press up against moss. Moisture ran into his mouth, pressed from thick green spores. It dribbled down his chin, and he sucked it up.
It was then that he realised just how thirsty he was. He pushed himself down further, ignoring flaring aches in his back and sides, hunting for more water.
Only when he had trawled through shallow puddles under low-hanging lichen and licked the dribbling channels from the tops of stones did he feel something of a sense of self-possession begin to return. He lay on his back, breathing shallowly.
He had fallen a long way. He could see that now, twisting his head and gazing up at the sheer sides of the gorge. A hundred feet? Two hundred? He should be dead. The rubble that had come down with him alone should have finished him off.
Sevekai smiled, though it cracked his
