Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 67 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

Darrick’s mages launched a ferocious attack on the Wesmen reserves. Simultaneously, Izack delivered his first strike. The Balaians ran through burning carts, tents and wooden barricades, Wesmen struggling to understand what was happening even as they died under magic and sword. FlameOrbs sailed out over Darrick’s head, HotRain fell in a torrent from the drenched sky, fizzing as it came, and DeathHail roared across the enemy ranks, its razor-sharp edges slicing and rending through to a thousand bones.

‘Centiles, detach!’ ordered Darrick, his order carried away through the army by his Captains. The force split along drilled lines, scattering through the bemused arc of the encampment they attacked. The General led his depleted double centile of yesterday, storming up to the hastily forming defensive line, chopping through the weaponless and clashing with those a little quicker to arm. Opposite, across the battlefield and beyond the Manse, detonation after detonation told of Izack directing fire on to Wesmen positions. Darrick swung his blade through, waist high, its edge cleaving stomach to the spine. His victim fell, too shocked even to scream.

‘Break this line, come on!’ he yelled. All around him, his forces drove hard, harder than ever in their lives. Blood clouded the air, the acrid smell of smoke laced with burned cloth, wood and flesh floated in the rain and the screams of the wounded, the howls of attackers and urgent shouts of defenders filled his ears.

He exulted, deflecting a well-aimed axe blow to his chest, pushing the enemy back and drilling his sword straight through the man’s heart. He crumpled. Darrick kicked the body aside and stepped forward. Ahead of him, he could see the line attacking the Protectors. If it was the last thing he did, he would get to them.

Senedai swung around in complete amazement, staring back a hundred yards to where his tent dissolved into flame and his second line were suddenly engaged in battle with an enemy that should be lying dead on a field far away. Caught on the precipice of fatal indecision, he called a Captain to him.

‘What, by the Spirit, is happening?’

‘My Lord, the Easterners have launched a surprise attack. They are here on two fronts.’

‘I can see that!’ Senedai snapped, grabbing the Captain’s furs and dragging his face close. ‘Just tell me we can hold them. I must have the Manse before the sun reaches its zenith.’

‘We will hold them—’

Another series of explosions, this time on the opposite side of the Manse.

‘What is happening here!’ yelled Senedai to the sky. He turned on the Captain. ‘If one of those bastards runs across this grass to attack me, I shall personally tear out your heart and eat it. Stop them.’ Unsnagging his axe, he pushed his way through his front line.

‘Fight you dogs, fight! I will not suffer failure.’ A space opened before him and he was face to face with the masked enemy. This one dragged his axe low but his sword whipped into ready with unnerving speed. ‘I will not suffer failure.’

He raised his axe in trembling hands and struck down, the sword blocking his blow with ease. From nowhere, the axe swung up and he leaped back, feeling its keen metal edge whistle past his nose. The sword came down again but this time he was ready, parrying it aside with his axe and punching through with its spiked head, feeling the point enter flesh.

The masked man backed up a step and the point came free, spilling blood. Senedai smiled, fetched back the blade to finish the job but instead felt dread heat in his side. He looked down to see the man’s sword buried under his rib cage. He hadn’t seen it coming. Hadn’t considered the possibility as he delivered his disabling blow. Yet it was he who would die.

Lord Senedai’s axe fell from nerveless fingers and, falling that great distance to the ground, he heard a name taken up in a triumphant, exultant roar.

Tessaya.

They should have run days ago but the scientist inside them all kept them rooted. There had been no need to measure the shade for days now but they had done it anyway, marking its rush across the city peripheries and logging it for future eyes to read, should any of their writings survive.

Jayash looked up at the hideous black-brown mass that covered the sky, keeping Parve in perpetual twilight. Clouds grated at its edges, sending rain the like of which he had never seen or felt and, inside the rip itself, lightning flared and spat. Away in the distance, a bolt sang to earth, rattling the ground. They were getting more common now.

But it mattered very little. Because today was the day that it all began to end. Today the noon shade would cover Parve completely. It was clear that The Raven had failed, that no help was coming and that the rip would continue to eat the sky.

And so they all stood in the central square, eyes locked on the rip as it hung above them and the shadows lengthened with the rush of midday. They waited patiently. There was nothing else for them to do now. Except die.

They waited for dragons.

Chapter 37

Hirad could feel Sha-Kaan straining as they flew into the battle. The Great Kaan was desperate to fight but knew he couldn’t. Nos and Hyn had caught them and now they flew, three abreast, entering the mêlée zone that spread for over a thousand yards left, right, above and below.

It gave a terrifying aspect to the conflict. Death could come from any angle.

Ilkar had said they needed about two hundred counts of uninterrupted concentration to prepare the spell which, when cast, had to be released just at the rip’s surface. It had to be followed up by a charge inside the corridor where the original spell could be used to trigger collapse all the way to Balaia. The Raven mages had worked out a way they might control the collapse but it was yet another risk on top of everything they chanced already. Hirad wondered if one more roll of the dice would make any difference.

Below him, Hirad saw two dragons locked in combat, spilling fiery breath over each other as they sought to bite and tear. Heedless of all else, they fell through the sky, dwindling towards the ground so far below until one found the death grip, used it, and came surging back up. It was the Kaan that fell all the way.

‘Hirad!’ yelled Ilkar. ‘We’re beginning casting. Hold me upright.’

Hirad passed the message on to Sha-Kaan, knowing he only had to think it clearly for him to pick it up and relay it to the other dragons in the flight. The barbarian unlocked his fingers from the rope he’d been clutching with such desperation and grabbed Ilkar’s waist, leaving his arms free to weave if they had to. He couldn’t let Ilkar slip sideways, it would break his concentration. He tightened his thigh grip, felt Sha-Kaan’s scales chafing his skin and concentrated on keeping himself as still as he could.

Abruptly, Ilkar stiffened and then relaxed, his body sagging backwards as he began preparing in concert with Denser and Erienne. Hirad leant in, his head to one side looking around and down, searching the sky for likely attack.

Riding on the biggest animal he’d ever seen and so high it took his breath away, Hirad had never felt more vulnerable in his life. His sword, strapped down, was useless in its scabbard and he considered himself open to attack from anywhere at any time.

The sky was full of dragons. Sha, Nos and Hyn powered towards the rip, their mage charges forming the mana shape for a spell that might save the Kaan. The rip itself, cloud-bounded and huge, dominated the sky. Light flickered and flared inside its brown mass and it ate at the blue with fearsome speed.

Stretched across its surface, the Kaan flew in desperate defensive patterns while flights patrolled further afield, looking to break up attacks before they threatened the rip.

Without warning, Sha-Kaan veered away, angling steeply and climbing sharply, a great bark escaping his mouth. Simultaneously, a shadow swept over them and a Kaan dragon whipped across Hirad’s vision. It opened its jaws and flame gorged out. For a moment, Hirad couldn’t see the target, but then what he knew to be a Naik darted into view, evading the flame and spiralling down. The Kaan gave chase.

‘This isn’t going to be easy!’ shouted Ilkar, his concentration broken by the sudden move.

‘We’ll go again,’ said Hirad, head pressed to Ilkar’s, their skulls making communication easier.

The trio of carrier dragons reformed, heading back up to the rip. On reaching it, they would circle its periphery until the spell was released. All tasks were easier said than done.

Hirad’s terror was gone now, replaced by a morbid fascination, a gnawing fear and a detached disbelief in where he and The Raven found themselves. Sha-Kaan estimated that over seven hundred dragons fought in the sky, the Kaan outnumbered by their enemies but more keenly organised. Against them, the Naik, Gost and Stara, all disparate but all fighting Kaan rather than each other.

Sha-Kaan drilled through a cloud bank and once again the rip was before them. Ilkar tensed and relaxed. Hirad clung on to him and prayed.

Closer to the rip, the noise was extraordinary. Over the rushing in Hirad’s ears, the calls of dragons raged all around him. Wings beat, flame tattooed the sky and the sounds of snapping jaws and claws rending flesh and scale were as clear as they were awfully close.

Hundreds of dragons fought, their bodies colliding with extraordinary violence, the reports echoing across the sky. Their speeds were impossible yet still they dodged, breathed fire as they passed each other and turned acute angles in the air. They were monstrous animal machines with the grace of dancers and the sky was their domain.

Six Kaan hammered past them, their bodies close enough to touch, their power and size causing Hirad to hunch down into his shoulders. His fixed gazed followed them as they dropped on their quarry, four Gost flying direct for the rip. Fire poured from ten mouths and both formations split to dodge the flames. A single Gost caught the brunt of the Kaan breath. Its wings flared briefly, its head a mass of burning scale, and it dropped squealing from the sky.

The Kaan wheeled and reformed, chasing two Gost survivors. But the fourth came on and, with a sickening lurch in his aching stomach, Hirad realised it was heading right for them.

Automatically, he signalled a warning with his mind, feeling Sha-Kaan’s calm thoughts cover his fear. But the Gost came on, large, deep green wings beating, its jaws agape, its eyes fixed on its prize.

And then it was gone. Taken from the side by two smaller Kaan, one clamping jaws on its neck behind the head, the other digging talons into the mound of its body, the impacts sounding like flat thuds, shivering in the air.

Sha-Kaan flew on, Ilkar was oblivious, Hirad quaked.

Tessaya had his targets trapped. The Easterners had rushed into the poorly defended back of Senedai’s forces, causing huge damage with their swords and magic. But their desperation to break through to the Manse attackers had made them careless of what lay behind.

The Lord of the Paleon Tribes had been forced to wait for their strike before he could be certain of their position. Now he moved in quickly, sending pincers to wither the flanks while leading the central prong himself.

To his left, he knew General Darrick was making quick progress. Only the courageous Easterner could have made up such ground during a rough night and Tessaya had nothing but respect for him and his powers of leadership. It wouldn’t save him from death but Tessaya knew he had to destroy the other force quickly before Darrick’s surge undermined the confidence of Senedai’s men.

He clicked his fingers and his hornsmen stepped up. A single blast and the attack drove in. Tessaya unsnagged his axe and raced at the head of his tribesmen, storming into the Easterners’ flimsy rear defence. His first swing half-decapitated a man, his second shattered ribs and split heart and his third slashed a thigh open to the bone.

All the enemy mages were concentrated ahead and he had no fear of spell attack. He drove on and on, batting aside a sword thrust and burying his axe in another exposed skull. He roared his delight, ordered his men on and swung once again.

Sha-Kaan had wheeled away again under a concerted Naik assault. Too many Kaan were covering them, not enough held the rip against determined attack and Hirad could feel his anxiety as much as he could Ilkar’s.

‘We can’t keep on breaking off,’ shouted Ilkar. ‘We’re using stamina. Sha-Kaan has to stay on course. He has to give us time.’

‘He’ll do all he can,’ replied Hirad, his voice hoarse, the spittle whipped away as Sha-Kaan bucked and turned back for another run at the rip.

For a third time, Ilkar tensed and relaxed, for a third time, Hirad held him steady. For a third time he prayed.

Sha-Kaan barrelled through the thickening cloud, ignoring a fight between two Kaan and a Stara that fell past him. Wings, talons and heads writhed, the trio locked together, none with any care for the speed at which they plummeted groundwards.

At the face of the rip, a dozen Kaan broke from their holding pattern and raced directly out, calls urgent, bodies shaped for as much speed as they could muster. In the distance, but growing rapidly, at least fifteen dragons, resolving themselves into the russet brown of the Naik, headed in, and Hirad read something in their formation that spelled real danger.

They split into three groups of five, each in arrow formation. One pushed upwards, another lost height while the third drove on, aiming for the heart of the defending Kaan, who couldn’t afford to split their force into three to fight them all.

They chose to halve themselves, five heading on, five up, leaving the third Naik flight unmolested. With a multiple roar that ricocheted across the sky, the factions met. Fire exploded in all directions, wings beat, talons flashed and bodies thundered together. Naik and Kaan fell, one with a wing torn to shreds, another with a hideous wound all along its underbelly. Others followed, jaws snapping, roars shuddering through Hirad, orange afterglow on the back of his eyes.

But the third Naik flight came on. At first, Hirad couldn’t be sure that they were coming for Sha-Kaan and The Raven. But they changed their direction, no longer diving for the rip but on an intercept course with Sha, Nos and Hyn and their helpless charges.

Hirad searched the air, looking for the Kaan that would take them out but everywhere was confusion. dragons clotted the sky in chaotic pattern, the gold of the Kaan melded with the russet Naik, the brooding green of the Gost and the startling burgundy of the Stara. He was sure no one had seen the onrushing Naik and he pulsed an urgent message to Sha-Kaan whose only reply was to fly harder.

‘It must be this time. We can hold no longer.’

If they reached the borders of the rip, the remaining defensive net would catch the enemy Brood but Hirad could see they weren’t going to outpace the Naik. He looked left and right, taking in his friends. The mages’ arms held in front of them, palms cupped, their eyes closed, heads thrust back as they built the shape that would close the rip and end the war in the sky. And the warriors, both big men and terrified, holding on to their charges as Hirad did, as much for comfort as to keep them upright.

Closer they came to the rip and closer came the Naik. He could hear their barks, confident and bold, and watched their formation spread slightly to give them maximum breathing arc. In seconds, they would be as much flame as flesh. Sha-Kaan had misjudged fatally. No help was coming.

To Hirad’s top left, the clouds parted, three dozen dragons scorching through, blowing the puff aside. His heart leapt but fell harder. They were Veret, not Kaan. Hirad closed his eyes, waiting for the end knowing he would feel the heat for an instant but not wishing to see it coming.

The Veret raced past the Kaan and drove straight into the unsuspecting Naik, scattering them in a fury of wing and fire. The quick, slim Veret wheeled with incredible agility, each Naik the prey of an overwhelming number of the aquatic dragons.

Sha-Kaan exulted, his wings beat a little quicker and the trio shot the last distance to the rip. He barked the defence net away, banked and circled, Nos and Hyn in close attendance. In front of Hirad, Ilkar spoke words he couldn’t understand, aimed his palms up into the rip and, with a shout that quivered through his whole body, released the spell. Three streaks of visible mana leapt the gap and attached themselves to the edges of the rip, one deep blue, one orange, one yellow. Like grappling ropes, they flailed and arced as the dragons circled, crossing strand over strand, plaiting into a rope of mana that fizzed and bucked, its ends still held by the Raven mages.

Sha-Kaan roared, his cry answered by Nos and Hyn. Around them, the air filled with calls, barks and cries.

‘Ready Hirad!’ called Ilkar.

‘What for?’

‘The ride of your life!’ yelled the Julatsan mage.

The three dragons and their charges stall-turned and plunged into the rip.

Hirad screamed as the rip dragged at them, forcing them inwards. Behind them, the lines of mana lashed at the corridor, attaching everywhere they touched. A noise like thunder in the mountains grew in intensity and, abruptly, Ilkar dismissed his mana line. It whipped up and burrowed into the corridor, sending multicoloured lights fizzing through its grey-flecked brown sides, tearing great rents through to a black void filled with a vicious howling wind.

Ilkar turned and shouted something but it was lost in the tumult. Everywhere, the brown corridor was dissolving and behind them the edges of the rip were collapsing in on themselves, sending down gouts of pressure that washed over the dragons. Sha-Kaan’s body was swatted from side to side, tossed like a bird in a gale.

Hirad leaned in as far as he could, gripping the rope so hard he felt sure he would tear it from its moorings. He would have screamed again but the air was being beaten from his lungs as fast as he could drag it in to feed his quaking body.

Sha-Kaan steadied and beat his wings again. Hirad risked a look behind and saw blackness rushing at them faster than they were flying.

‘Sha-Kaan, faster!’ he pulsed, feeling nothing but a crazed mass of thought in return. The light was fading, the corridor disintegrating all around them. In a few heartbeats they would be swallowed into the nothing of interdimensional space. But a few heartbeats was more than they needed.

They burst into Balaian space, Sha-Kaan banking hard away from the rip and flying even faster perpendicular to the great stain in the sky. Hirad punched the air and whooped in sheer joy.

The Raven were back.

Jayash saw the edges of the rip ripple and the lightning stop flashing in its depths. Out from the darkness came three dragons who angled away as they dropped into view. But he hardly noticed them. Because the rip was tearing all across its surface, black replacing the brown he had come to see almost as normality. The edges fell back on themselves with a speed faster than the eye could follow and then the centre punched out, a huge fist of void washing towards the ground.

He could feel the force as the wind picked at his cloak, sent spirals of dust whipping across the square and pushed his hair into his face.

‘Oh dear Gods,’ he said.

The blackness enveloped the ground.

Hirad looked down at Parve. The centre of the rip punched outwards, deluging the ground beneath with the unimaginable power of interdimensional space. It roared among the buildings and howled across the open spaces, a great blackness tearing at Balaia. And, almost as quickly as it had come, the blackness was gone, sucking back in and disappearing with a detonation that would ring in all their ears for days.

Parve had been swept clean. Barely a stone remained to tell of its ever having been built there, just a patch of blasted rock, strewn with dust and the echo of ages.

‘Dear Gods,’ he whispered.

‘Justice,’ said Ilkar.

‘Not for the noon shade monitors,’ said Hirad.

Ilkar, silent now, looked forward along Sha-Kaan’s neck.

Not pausing, Sha-Kaan himself turned and flew hard for the Blackthorne Mountains.

‘We are heading for the Manse of Septern,’ said Sha-Kaan in answer to Hirad’s unasked question. ‘Your forces fight there. Your enemy must not be allowed to destroy the site; it is precious to the Kaan.’

Darrick felled a Wesman warrior with a savage cut to the chest, feeling the strength surge through him. He bounded on, his warriors and mages at his heels. Spells fell less frequently but with no loss of intensity on the defenceless Wesmen and now he had the Manse attackers in his sights.

‘Army to me!’ he shouted and drove across the open land.

A shudder in the ground flung him to his knees. It was followed by another. He looked up to see most of the battle lines ahead sprawling. The Protectors were up quickly but the Wesmen facing them scrabbled to their feet and backed away.

The walls of the Manse were falling.

A third shudder rocked the ground and the Manse wavered, ruined bricks collapsing backwards, tumbling into a gash in the earth where light flashed and darkness grew. A plume of dust shot high into the sky, followed by a column of darkness that snatched it back, licking at the air and driving back into the ground, the sides of the gash closing with a grating thump.

The Manse was gone.

From the Wesmen, a ragged cheer grew, picked up by voice after voice. Axes flew in the air, warriors embraced and songs of victory ripped from a thousand mouths.

Darrick held up a hand and his men stopped moving. He watched silently as the Protectors, weapons now sheathed, stooped to collect the masks of their dead, picked their way among the fallen and moved away. The Wesmen saw them and backed off, letting them go, as if sensing the passing of something. Or perhaps they were just happy not to be fighting the masked killers any more.

Slowly, the singing died away as more and more of the Wesmen gathered to one side of the now empty battlefield by Septern Manse. It wasn’t over. Victory was not yet theirs. Darrick and his army still faced them, and they weren’t moving.

The two sides watched each other closely, the Wesmen ranks parting to allow a man through to stand at their head. Tessaya.

‘General Darrick!’ he called.

‘Lord Tessaya,’ returned Darrick across the gap of some one hundred yards that now separated the two armies. Any survivors from the Wesmen second line had run to join their kin; at least Darrick wasn’t surrounded but he was outnumbered.

‘Perhaps we should parley again, discuss your surrender.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Darrick and behind him, his men cheered. ‘After all, you didn’t believe me last time and I do consider myself a man of my word.’

He gestured west, far across the Blackthornes where the rip had dominated the sky like a second menacing moon.

‘You see, The Raven were trying to save us all and I’ll be damned if I let them return to a land ruled by you, Tessaya.’

‘Brave words for a man in your delicate position,’ said Tessaya. ‘You are not in a position to make demands and even your best warriors have given up.’ He wafted a hand at the Protectors who, walking away towards Xetesk, had stopped and were looking into the sky even as he indicated them. He shrugged. ‘And how, might I ask, will your Raven return at all? The hole to your allies has been most effectively plugged.’

An alien sound echoed distantly. It was a sound Darrick had heard before but, this time, he gambled it did not signal an enemy.

‘There are ways, Lord Tessaya.’

The Protectors had not moved on, their masked faces still scouring the sky. Three dots had appeared on the horizon, high up and closing incredibly fast.

‘I do believe they are coming now.’

‘As if it would make any difference,’ said Tessaya. ‘Meet me in the middle and we will discuss your surrender. Refuse and I shall bleed every last one of you.’

‘The Raven might not make a difference. Their friends, though, might.’ He turned to his nearest Captain. ‘Gods, I hope I’m right. Those are dragons coming this way. Pray The Raven are aboard them or we’ll all be dead momentarily.’

He walked towards the waiting Tessaya.

In no man’s land between the opposing armies, the two men met, their bows respectful, the distance between them deferential.

‘It is a complex situation, is it not?’ noted Tessaya, his face smug.

‘Not particularly,’ responded Darrick. ‘Your armies have invaded our lands, we have stopped you every step of the way and now you seek to negotiate a surrender to ease what would otherwise be a very uncertain path.’

Tessaya folded his arms across his broad chest. Darrick could see drying blood on his forearms and furs. ‘An interesting view but, given the fact that I have already forced the surrender of the pitiful band you sent through my forest yesterday, I feel you are both outnumbered and hold no cards. I hold many lives and I will not hesitate to crush them.’

Darrick risked a glance to his right and saw the dots increasing in size. He wouldn’t have long to bluff now.

‘Very well,’ he said, allowing his head to drop very slightly. ‘State your terms. Let me hear your version of honourable surrender.’

Tessaya chuckled, a breeze ruffling his hair, the rain easing to a stop as he spoke. He spread his hands wide.

‘Even the rains await my words,’ he said. ‘I do not wish to see any more fighting. All those standing behind you will lay down their arms and place themselves under the control of my Captains. They will be held here until suitable work can be found.

‘You will accompany my victorious army to Korina where you will negotiate the surrender of the city to me. You and all of your soldiers will be well treated. Third—’

A ripple of consternation ran through the lines of Wesmen and Balaians. Tessaya half turned, a frown crossing his face. Now it was Darrick’s turn to look smug.

‘Sorry, my Lord but those terms and any that follow are unacceptable, ’ he said. His heart was pounding and again he sent a silent prayer that it was Kaan dragons approaching.

‘You are under no—’

‘Be silent!’ thundered Darrick, the power of his voice rolling over Tessaya, who flinched visibly. ‘You questioned my word, Wesman, and now you are about to regret that decision. You asked where The Raven might come from. Look to your left and look in the sky. There you will find your answer.’

Without looking himself, he pointed, seeing Tessaya’s head turn as if against his will. He watched the Wesman Lord pale and his mouth drop open. All around them, the consternation turned to shouts of warning and fear. On both sides, men broke and ran, the Balaian commanders shouting for calm; their Wesmen counterparts fleeing with their men.

To his credit, Tessaya did not bolt, choosing instead to back away to where his men once stood.

Looking at last, Darrick saw the dragons losing height as they rushed in, still coming at extraordinary speeds. And there was no doubting the flashes of colour against the radiant gold that he could see on each neck.

He opened his mouth and roared with laughter.

The Wesmen had launched arrows, they had made dummy charges and they had taunted, denouncing the courage of the Easterners. But the four-College cavalry, with Blackthorne and Gresse at its head, had faced them down, knowing they could wheel and outdistance their enemy at any given moment.

Eventually, as Blackthorne had guessed, the Wesman commander’s curiosity had got the better of him and, under the red and white Wesmen flag of truce, he had come forward alone. Blackthorne and Gresse had ridden out to meet him. The conversation had been short.

‘I am Adesellere. I would have your names.’

‘Blackthorne and Gresse, Barons,’ Blackthorne had replied.

‘Where are the rest of your forces?’ Only then had Gresse worked out Blackthorne’s theory and why the Wesmen hadn’t simply charged in, putting the cavalry to flight.

‘Well now,’ Blackthorne had said, his tribal Wes all but faultless. ‘It is possible that they are dispersed around this camp, waiting to strike at you as you advance. Alternatively, they may have marched from here in the dead of night, north across the crags to fight your army at Septern Manse.

‘You can find this out by advancing in here and you know we will ride out of your way. But then you might die. Or, you can march towards the Manse. You should be there before dark. Which is it to be? I know which I’d choose.’

Behind them, tent flaps snapped in the breeze. The rain still fell. Adesellere had looked past him to the rows of tents. All silent but all potentially containing sudden death.

‘You will not halt the march of the Wesmen forever,’ Adesellere had said. And he had turned and led his warriors from the battlefield.

Half an hour later, Blackthorne and the cavalry still sat on horseback. The odd scout had ridden out, reporting back that the Wesmen were indeed marching east at a healthy pace.

‘Well, my friends,’ said Blackthorne. ‘I think it’s time we went to collect our wounded. They would be so much more comfortable here.’

He wheeled his horse, the cavalry following suit. It was then the cries went up. Forging towards them, three shapes came out of the shadow of the sky over the Blackthorne Mountains, travelling at extraordinary pace. Gresse thought to turn to ask an elf but it was clear to them all what was coming.

‘Dismount! Dismount!’ The Captain roared as the horses, sensing new and awful danger, began to stamp or buck. The order was obeyed immediately and the horses, once free of human control, took flight, scattering in the face of the threat from above.

‘Dear Gods,’ said Gresse, a painful lump in his throat, his heart beating wildly. He was sweating. The backs of his hands, his forehead, his back and his breath stuttered in his lungs. He couldn’t move and beside him Blackthorne didn’t either.

The dragons closed, the gold of their bodies sparkling in the muted rainswept sky. Lower they came, and lower, and one emitted a piercing bark as they raced overhead, swooping by. Gresse spun around, almost losing his footing. He could have sworn he heard laughter as they passed.