Then Salendor laughed. He motioned to his guards, who all stood down and sheathed their weapons.
‘You’re a damn fool,’ Salendor sighed. ‘And two steps behind me.’
Even as Salendor spoke, Caradryel noticed that the seated figures were not in the same livery as those standing – all of them wore cloaks lined with red, just like the one slumped on the landing outside. They also looked horribly afraid.
‘I don’t–’ he started, suddenly doubtful.
‘No, you don’t,’ said Salendor. ‘Tell your Caledorian savages to put their knives away. We are on the same side.’
Caradryel hesitated, unwilling to lose the initiative, but as he looked more closely at the situation his confidence drained away.
‘I was alerted to this by one of Caerwal’s adjutants,’ said Salendor, leaning against the table. ‘A loyal one, but I took some time to establish that, because it is important to be sure, is it not?’
Caradryel began to feel distinctly foolish. ‘The messenger at your mansion.’
‘So you have been watching me. I suppose I should be flattered.’ Salendor looked over the rows of seated loremasters and his expression changed to contempt. ‘I argued against Imladrik’s plans – you’ll know that. I tried to persuade the others to join me – you might know that too. But you think I’d be stupid enough to try this?’
Caradryel stared down at the attack plans. They involved named regiments from the city. ‘Then who–’
‘Caerwal. Have you not seen the way he is? He lost half his people at Athel Numiel and will never forgive it. Even as he sits in that tent his loremasters have been planning to end it all.’
Caradryel sheathed his knife, feeling a little nauseous, and motioned for Feliadh and his company to do the same. ‘When?’
‘Any time. Six regiments, all sent against the dawi right flank. Suicidal, but it would have brought the war he wanted. Look, you can see the plans here. You can even check the garrison sigils if you wish.’
Caradryel looked down at his hands. ‘My lord, I owe you–’
‘Do not insult me. Learn from it.’
Caradryel really had very little idea what to do after that. He felt deeply, profoundly foolish – like a child suddenly exposed at playing in an adult world. Various responses ran through his head, none of them remotely satisfactory.
He started to say something, but the walls suddenly shook, rocked by a new sound that burst in from outside. Caradryel reached for his knife again, staring around him to find the source.
Salendor tensed, as did his guards. An abrupt tumult rose up from the plain. Horn-calls followed it, harsh and dissonant, and the volume of noise quickly mounted.
Caradryel hastened over to the window, followed by Salendor. He opened one of the heavy lead clasps and pushed it open.
Up on the parapets, sentries were rushing to the bell-towers. Their hurried movements spoke of surprise, perhaps some fear. A great boom of drums rang out from the east, soon joined by rolling repetitions. He knew what that was, just as every asur who had spent any length of time in Elthin Arvan did.
Caradryel turned to Salendor, his smooth face going pale.
‘The dawi,’ he murmured.
Salendor nodded. ‘Indeed,’ he said, closing the window and making for the door.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Caradryel, hurrying after him.
Salendor halted at the doorway. The disdain had not left his face. ‘It was always bound to end like this. Caerwal has not succeeded, but someone else has. Do what you will – I have more important tasks now.’
As he spoke, the floor throbbed from the chorus of low drumming that now rolled at them from beyond the walls. Caradryel heard the tinny response of clarions, followed by the metallic clatter of soldiers beating to quarters in the streets outside.
Salendor strode out of the chamber, his cloak swirling imperiously around his ankles. His guards followed him.
Feliadh glanced enquiringly at Caradryel. ‘What now?’
Caradryel looked around him. Caerwal’s loremasters all waited, mute and fearful, knowing the penalty for what they had done. Outside, the drumbeats picked up in tempo and volume, matched by the strident tones of bronze war-horns.
Caradryel’s shoulders slumped. Everything he had worked for had just dissolved, and for reasons he did not yet even understand.
‘Chain them,’ he said miserably, drawing his knife again and looking distractedly at the dull edge. ‘Then report to me.’
Feliadh saluted smartly. ‘And where will you be, lord?’
Caradryel smiled coldly. ‘On the walls,’ he said, already moving. ‘Fighting.’
Chapter Seventeen
The pain was astonishing. It wasn’t physical, though her body had been battered badly on the way down. It was spiritual torture, as exquisite as any devised by the debased courts of Naggaroth. Liandra wanted to scream out loud, to rage against the fortune that had brought her such agony, but somehow managed to bite her tongue.
Tell me you can restore yourself, Liandra sang.
Vranesh could barely summon the strength to open her eye. It stared at Liandra from just a few feet away, immense and glossy like a golden pearl.
Do not be foolish, the dragon replied. My fire is gone.
Liandra caressed the dragon’s long neck. It felt like her heart was being torn out. She could feel Vranesh’s mortal pain, burning in her own body like an echo.
I would go there with you, Liandra sang.
You cannot.
I would be the first.
Vranesh attempted a laugh. A rolling pall of greyish smoke spilled from her open jawline, sinking into the dry earth and drifting away.
She was right – the fire had gone.
What it is like? asked Liandra, desperate to keep speaking, as if that alone could somehow postpone the moment.
We are there as we were before you entered the world, sang Vranesh. Before the shaan-tar came to tutor you, before strife came from the outer dark. The eldest of us remember. I will see them again, the names of legend.
Liandra inhaled deeply, breathing in the remnants of Vranesh’s scent. The ember-charred musk was weaker, tinged with the hot stink of blood. The dragon was
