Caradryel broke into a jog, cursing himself for carelessness. The end of the alleyway opened out on to the main quayside thoroughfare, as busy as all the others. Caradryel emerged breathlessly from the shadows, peering back and forth.
Crowds milled close by, a mix of soldiers in full armour and harbour workers in loose woollen tunics. Caradryel pushed his way through them, trying to catch sight of the figure he’d been chasing.
Sure enough, a way ahead and separated by a throng of unconcerned passers-by, he caught half a glimpse of scarlet fabric, quickly lost in the press. He pushed towards it, shoving his way past those in his path, but it soon became hopeless – the volume of bodies around him reduced his progress to a crawl.
Mouthing a curse under his breath, Caradryel elbowed his way over to the waterfront where the mass of bodies was thinner, trying to decide if he’d learned anything of importance.
He concluded that he probably hadn’t, not enough to report back to Imladrik with at any rate. Something was going on. He resolved to make enquiries on his return as to the whereabouts of the dragon rider Liandra. If she was still missing by the morning and messengers were colluding with Salendor, wearing what might or might not be the livery of Kor Vanaeth… well, that would be of some interest.
It would not be worth divulging to anyone else, at least not in the absence of anything like proof, but it was the start of something, something that might grow.
His face fixed in a frown of concentration, Caradryel started walking again. He had much to think on before the dawn.
Fatigue had no hold on Liandra, nor on Vranesh. The dragon tore through the night sky as fast as she had ever flown, eating up the leagues in an attempt to run down the abomination before them. There was no complaint nor query from her mind-voice, just a blank, animal hatred that crowded out all else.
It is ruined! Vranesh cried out, her song discordant with pain. What have they done to it?
The horror in Vranesh’s mind polluted Liandra’s own, making her hands shake with rage.
I know not, great one, she sang back, holding back tears of empathetic anger. Believe me, we shall end it.
Kor Vanaeth’s desolation still hung in her mind’s eye, inescapable and damning. She had hardly paused over the ruins, unwilling to lose the abomination’s trail. The city was gone now, destroyed for a second time, and from this there would be no rebirth. The walls might have survived an attack by the dawi, but a dragon was another matter. The wreckage of the assault spread for miles into the forest – there had even been signs of a slaughtered dwarf warband amid the trees. The fact that the creature’s rampage had been indiscriminate gave no comfort.
The stink of Dhar hung over the dragon’s trail, tainting the air with a residue of putrid over-sweetness. The aroma was horribly familiar to Liandra, instantly bringing back memories of a hunt she had ended a long time ago. Like a nightmare dragged back into the world of wakefulness the same stink of sorcery had re-emerged, more spiteful than before and now borne on tattered, tortured wings.
Death will be a mercy for it, Vranesh sang, still enraged.
Mercy for the beast, replied Liandra grimly. For her, nothing.
The abomination was still fast. It must have once been a truly magnificent creature, a rare scion of the Dragonspine with few peers, for the black arts of the Witch King had not robbed it of its native speed. Even Vranesh, counted among the swiftest of the drakes, closed on it only slowly.
The hours passed in a bleak procession, marked only by twin flames in the night, the two of them tearing across the sleeping world like burning stars. When the clouds rolled over them at last, cutting out the light of the moons and dousing them in perfect darkness, it felt as if the earth and sky had been swept away, leaving them alone in a void of pure hatred, pursuer and pursued, hunter and prey.
Only with the dawn did the gap close. The black dragon seemed to tire as the sky in the east lightened, finally slowing as the mist-pooled mountains below were picked out by the shafts of gold. The two drakes came together, poised over the high peaks, wings splayed and claws unfurled.
Now we have them, Vranesh sang, her mind-voice little more than a growl.
Liandra leaned forward in her seat, sending flickers of aethyr-fire snaking along her staff.
Fight well, beloved, she sang.
Fight well, feleth-amina, came the reply.
Imladrik slept little, troubled by dreams in which both Yethanial and Thoriol had appeared before him accusing him of things he had done and things he had not. Waking from them to find himself in a besieged city on the edge of eternal war was almost a relief.
Dawn brought a sobering vision to the east of his tower. Morgrim’s host had continued to grow, digging in across several miles of open countryside. Massive engines of war had been dragged up out of the trees – ballistae, trebuchets, siege towers, as well as other huge constructions he had never seen before. Whole regiments of infantry engaged in exhaustive dawn-drills before his eyes, swinging hammers and axes in unison across ranks a hundred wide. Every so often booming war-horns would sound, prompting a massed Khazuk! response which made the earth shake.
Imladrik watched them for a long time, scouring for signs of weakness, marvelling at the vast swell of bodies, all encased in thick armour or draped in coats of close-fitting mail. They went with a swagger, fully aware of their destructive potential. Self-doubt did not come easily to a dwarf – they knew just how deadly they were when gathered together in numbers.
After that he dressed and prepared for the day. He made his way down to the plain in
