‘I never dishonoured you,’ said Imladrik.
Then Liandra laughed for a third time, and the sound was bitter. ‘No, you did not. I do not believe a day has passed when you have not kept your honour, my lord.’
Imladrik said nothing. The words cut him deeply, especially coming from her. He knew what they all wanted of him, and he also knew what she wanted of him – the two things were much the same. Just as he had done years ago, he felt the tug of desire, the pull towards oblivion. The dragon responded to it, growling like a blast furnace lighting up.
It would be so easy. He could give in this time, forgetting about windswept Tor Vael, forgetting about Ulthuan and its survival. The two of them could do what they had resisted before and take the fight to the enemy together. They could sweep east at the head of Caledor’s armies, burning a furrow through the forest until the flames licked the very ramparts of Karaz-a-Karak.
He saw Draukhain and Vranesh flying in dreadful unison, the Master and Mistress of Dragons searing through the air like vengeful gods, cracking open the halls of the dwarfs and exposing the deeps within. He could cut loose at last, unlocking the cage that kept his true nature sealed behind layers of control. He could unfurl, giving into the second soul that whispered within him and finally, just for once, forget duty and embrace pleasure.
He felt the words form in his mind, ready for the song that would seal things.
I long for it. I long to bring ruin on them, with you by my side. I would wage war until the end of the world with you, caring for nothing but death and splendour.
In the end, though, it was Liandra that turned away, as if suddenly afraid of what she might goad him into doing. Vranesh’s head dipped, and the two of them started to circle back down, gliding through the twisting air currents.
‘But you are right, of course,’ she said bleakly. ‘You are always right.’
Imladrik followed her. The fury ebbed from him, but only slowly.
You deserved better than silence, he sang.
That halted her. Vranesh slid round, angling so that Liandra could look back up at him. She gave him a proud look.
‘I did.’
‘And do not think, even for a moment, that I had forgotten.’ Imladrik came down to her level, easing Draukhain’s bulk alongside the slender Vranesh. ‘We are all the children of Aenarion, Liandra. That is our downfall. We have only ever been defeated by ourselves.’
Tor Alessi was by then barely visible, a speck of white stonework on the long shore. They could have been alone, the two of them, lost in an edgeless sky.
‘Do you not think it would be easier for me to give Salendor what he wishes?’ Imladrik asked softly. ‘I know what it would bring – victories, to begin with. For a time we would hurt them. Our thirst for vengeance would be slaked, and we would revel in it.’
Draukhain was circling Vranesh now, turning in a wide falconer’s arc as Imladrik kept speaking.
‘But then the long grind would begin. Athel Maraya would burn. Athel Toralien, Sith Rionnasc, Oeragor – they would all burn. We would throw our finest into those flames and they would wither. Even the dragons would grow sick of it as the years wore on; they would no longer heed our songs, leaving us alone against an empire of mindless fury.’
Liandra listened warily, as if he was spinning some deception around her.
‘And who would gain from this?’ asked Imladrik. ‘You know whose hand was behind the war – the same that grasps the sceptre in Naggaroth. I will not see that happen. I will not let our desire for vengeance give him what he desires.’
She never looked away. Her expression never changed: sceptical, bruised, disappointed.
‘You sell us short,’ she said.
‘That is your judgement,’ said Imladrik.
‘Then I must warn you, lord,’ said Liandra, nudging Vranesh closer. ‘You are wrong. This course leads to ruin. We must strike now before they gather more strength.’
Imladrik nodded. ‘I know your view, though it changes nothing.’
‘So what, then, of us?’
Imladrik felt his stomach twist. The burn of desire was still there – for another life, one that he had only glimpsed in brief intense snatches. Above it all, though, hovered Yethanial’s calm presence, the one who had sustained him, the one his true soul cleaved to when away from the heady madness of the dragon.
‘That moment has gone, feleth-amina,’ he said, forcing the words out. ‘We have both taken vows.’
Liandra looked at him for a little longer, her face flushed. He couldn’t decipher her expression – it could have been anger, or maybe humiliation, or simply disbelief. They hung there for a while longer, their steeds’ wings making the air thrum, before her expression finally hardened again.
‘You may have done, my lord,’ she said. ‘For myself, I vow nothing.’
Then Vranesh arched, twisted, and shot down towards the sea. She went quickly, like a falling stone, plunging down towards the sparkling waters.
Imladrik watched her go, motionless in the air, letting Draukhain hold position and giving him no orders.
For a long time he said nothing at all. The wind pulled at his hair. He felt wretched, more wretched than he could remember being – even the brisk push of the salty air felt stale and old.
I like her, sang Draukhain eventually. I always did – she has a heart after our own. Are you sure you are right in this, kalamn-talaen?
Imladrik’s eyes remained locked on the diminishing figure of the flame-red dragon as she spiralled out over the ocean.
No, great one, he sang bleakly. I am not sure about anything.
‘Draw!’
Thoriol bent into the pull, using his whole body to lever the arrow on
