‘Now the gates,’ said Sable; ‘bring them down.’
Sable felt the heat around her rise as the dragon descended into the burning courtyard. He turned his head towards the thick, iron-framed gates, and blasted fire at them. They ignited, the wood blistering and splitting, the iron beams glowing red hot. Sanguino enveloped them in fire, and the gates buckled under the force of the flames, then exploded outwards, sending fiery fragments spinning into the night sky.
A crossbow bolt struck Sanguino’s right flank, and he grunted, then turned. Banner soldiers were gathering to his rear, forming into lines, and he swooped down at them, using his claws to sweep through their ranks, ripping the soldiers to shreds. He sent out another burst of fire, consuming a squat barracks block. The windows blew out, and the roof collapsed in the inferno. Sanguino rose up again, and Sable glanced down. Beneath them, nothing was moving, and charred and smoking bodies filled the yard.
Sable guided Sanguino back up to the walls, and he soared over the remaining stretch of battlements until the last ballistae had been reduced to burning ruins. At the base of the ramp, hundreds of civilians were staring up at the walls, watching the destruction of the defences. With a roar, they surged forwards, breaking into the gardens and spilling up the slope towards the ramp. More were emerging from the shadows of the ruined streets, armed with farm tools and stolen Banner weapons, and the hundreds turned into thousands, a vast mob of vengeful humanity.
Sanguino turned away from the battlements. Companies of soldiers were rushing through the streets of Old Alea from the direction of the Governor’s residence, and more ballistae were being prepared from the backs of several wagons.
‘Quickly, Badblood,’ Sable said; ‘get them before they can loose at us.’
Sanguino beat his wings and surged through the air, crossing the narrow terraced streets of Old Alea where the mortals lived. He sent a long stream of flames down the centre of the road, engulfing the wagons and the ballistae operators, and sending the companies of soldiers scattering for cover. The dark red dragon banked as he approached the edge of the huge structure of the Governor’s residence.
Sable glanced at the building, her gaze lingering on the western tower where she had killed Maisk. A solitary figure was standing on the roof of the tower, his skin seeming to give off its own light, as if a star had descended from the skies.
‘The Second Ascendant,’ she gasped. ‘Turn; get us away from the residence.’
‘Is this not our chance to kill him, my rider?’
‘His death powers will kill you first. I’m immune, but you’re not.’
Sanguino banked again, and the figure on the roof raised his hand. The dragon let out a cry of agony, and Sable could feel his pain through her connection to him. She urged him on, and he soared away, nearing the estate of Felice, where the mansion was still burning. He began to descend, his strength failing, and they tumbled towards the ground. Sable clung on as he crashed into the gardens of the estate, his limbs buckling under his weight and ploughing furrows across the grass as he skidded to a halt, unconscious.
Sable released the waist belt and slipped to the ground, her legs shaking. She drew her sword and scanned the gardens. A few people were staring across the parkland at them from the vicinity of the burning mansion, but no soldiers were approaching. She placed her left hand onto Sanguino’s side, and felt the beat of his heart; it was weak, but persisting. She circled the dragon looking for threats, knowing that soldiers would be diverting to their location. A powerful feeling struck her temples and was rebuffed, and she realised that the Second Ascendant was trying to access her mind. Having failed, he would likely guess her identity as a Holdfast, and send everything he had against her and the dragon.
She leaned against the still form of Sanguino to catch her breath, then heard the sound of boots in the distance. Glancing up, she saw ranks of soldiers entering the gardens from the direction of the residence. They took a few moments to form up into a thick line, creating a deep shieldwall, then began their advance.
Sable drew on her remaining battle-vision. If she was going to die, then she would do so defending her dragon. With some surprise, she realised that she loved Sanguino more than she loved any human. He understood her, and yet accepted her the way she was; he hadn’t tried to change her, and treated her as his equal. She glanced at the crossbows that bristled from the front of the approaching shieldwall.
‘Come on, you bastards!’ she cried.
She cursed her luck, and cursed the words that Kelsey had whispered to her in the valley close to the Catacombs. She had met her nephew, as Kelsey had foreseen, and with the prophecy fulfilled, there was nothing to prevent her death.
‘Sorry, Badblood,’ she whispered. ‘You should be on Dragon Eyre with the others. What have I done?’
The ranks of soldiers had crossed the first stretch of grass, and were approaching the range where they would be able to cut her down with their crossbows. Another rumble of noise grew nearer, and she turned, expecting to see yet more soldiers close in on her position.
She was wrong; it was the mob from the city. Hundreds of armed civilians, many with blue sashes or red armbands, were entering the gardens through a different gate. They raced across the parkland, among the neat lines of trees, and slammed into the side of the Banner formation. The outnumbered soldiers kept their lines intact, but were pushed back, their shieldwall contracting under the strain as the mob swarmed round them.
A few of the mob peeled off from the others and reached where she stood next to the fallen dragon.
‘We saw you go down,’ said one with a blue sash
