Master of Dragons Page 4

  A second rumble ground away in the depths, then faded. Sevekai’s heartbeat picked up. He knew something of what they sought, but not everything – Drutheira was miserly with information even with her allies. Kaitar said nothing further, but Sevekai could sense the tension in him. He kept his daggers to hand, poised for use. Slipping one between Kaitar’s shoulders would be no hardship – he just needed the faintest of excuses.

  The air began to heat up. Sweat ran down Sevekai’s temples. He felt minuscule trembles in the rock as he walked, as if the entire underworld shivered in anticipation.

  ‘It lies in the chamber beyond,’ said Drutheira. ‘Go silently. Follow my lead.’

  Then she set off, creeping through the pitch darkness.

  The tunnel floor sloped downward steeply, then levelled out. Sevekai could sense the roof opening up. The floor became flatter, as if made level by mortal hands.

  ‘Go no further,’ said Drutheira, halting them. ‘This is the place. I think we may risk a little magic – the sight is worth it.

  Her staff flared, throwing out a curtain of purple-blushed illumination. Sevekai shaded his eyes against the glare, then peered cautiously through his fingers.

  They were on the lip of a vast, perfectly circular chasm. It must have been a hundred feet across, as dark and clotted as the maw of Mirai. A narrow ledge ran around the perimeter, barred by cracks and heaps of rubble. Other tunnel entrances were visible at intervals, leading off to Khaine-knew-where. The cavern roof soared away above them, lost in shadow.

  One by one the druchii crept out onto the ledge, going warily. Latharek hung back, hugging the near wall, looking sickened by the precipitous drop.

  ‘Behold its chamber!’ cried Drutheira, sweeping her staff-tip around her and throwing light up the walls.

  Huge pilasters loomed up over them, each one carved with immense runes of containment. Sevekai could sense the magic bleeding from them like a physical smell, sulphurous and metallic.

  As soon as he saw the runes, Kaitar turned on Drutheira. ‘Dhar,’ he snarled, reaching for his blade.

  Drutheira smiled wickedly. ‘What did you expect?’

  Kaitar sniffed. It was an odd gesture – like a dog hunting the scent of its prey. His eyes suddenly widened. ‘No. Do not do this.’

  Drutheira shrugged. ‘A little late, I fear.’

  Her staff exploded with power, sending crackling lines of energy lashing out against the pilasters. The aethyr-force slammed into the runes, shattering them. A rumble like thunder welled up from the chasm depths, sending loose rubble clattering down the sides of the shaft.

  Sevekai staggered, nearly losing his footing. Kaitar’s head snapped around. He looked terrified.

  ‘What do you fear, Kaitar?’ asked Drutheira, her violet eyes glittering with mirth. ‘No druchii fears Dhar.’

  Kaitar’s face changed into something bestial. ‘Fool!’ he slurred. ‘You cannot control it!’

  ‘You have no idea what I can control,’ said Drutheira imperiously.

  Kaitar went for her, lunging out with his blade. Latharek was closest. He tried to block Kaitar, ducking low to shoulder him off the ledge. Kaitar lashed around, grabbing Latharek and hurling him away. Off-balance, Latharek tumbled clear over the chasm edge, screaming as he plummeted.

  Drutheira fled along the ledge, hurrying around to the far side of the chasm, her staff still blazing. More runes shattered, sending fragments spilling into the vault. The stone walls trembled again, rocked by something huge and muffled from far below.

  ‘You cannot stop this!’ cried Drutheira.

  Kaitar went after her. Malchior attempted to seize him but Kaitar twisted away from his grip. Hreth darted at him next, blade in hand. For a moment Sevekai thought Hreth got a dagger to stick, but Kaitar somehow angled away at the last moment. They grappled on the edge of the ledge, blows flying furiously, before Kaitar punched his dagger into Hreth’s stomach and wrenched it free with a flourish.

  Something terrible had happened to Kaitar – his eyes gleamed with unnatural light, his limbs moved with ferocious speed. He was demented, raving, slavering with fear and fury. Whatever Drutheira was doing had made him crazy.

  Sevekai went for him, dagger in each hand. Kaitar parried with his blade, desperate to get past and go after Drutheira. In the flurry of jabs Sevekai managed to wound him, stabbing a dagger-point deep into his arm before pulling sharply away.

  It should have stopped him. It should have severed tendons, sliced muscle. Kaitar merely grunted and rushed at him faster. Sevekai got his blade to block just as Verigoth came at Kaitar from behind, dropping a throttle-cord over his neck and yanking it tight.

  Kaitar’s eyes bulged and his cheeks went purple. Verigoth dragged him back from the brink and for a moment Sevekai thought he’d pinned him. Then Kaitar’s hands flew over his shoulders and grabbed Verigoth by his armour. With a ferocious lurch, Kaitar doubled over and hurled Verigoth headfirst into the chasm.

  That was impossible. That was madness. Verigoth was strong – the strongest of them all – and he’d been thrown overhead like a child.

  By then Drutheira had reached the far side and begun destroying more runes. Kaitar’s gaze switched back and forth: Ashniel and Malchior blocked him from the left, Sevekai and the wounded Hreth from the right. He looked like a trapped animal.

  Sevekai twirled his daggers in his hands and advanced again. Kaitar let slip a strangled growl and crouched down against the stone.

  Then he leapt.

  If any doubt remained that Kaitar was more than mortal, the leap quashed it. Sevekai could only watch as Kaitar flew high into the air, his limbs cartwheeling, propelled by some unnatural strength far out over the drop. He flew straight at Drutheira, his eyes blazing with anger, his arms outstretched to grasp her. She watched him come with a playful smile on her pale lips.

  ‘Impressive,’ she murmured.

  But just as Kaitar reached midway, a column of fire thundered up from the depths, spearing out of the gloom and engulfing him in a gale of flame. He screamed – a horrific, otherworldly sound that rang round the chamber.

  Sevekai dropped to his knees. The heat was incredible, pressing against his face like a vice. After the long trek in the dark, the sudden brilliance made his eyes sting.

  Drutheira revelled in it. Her robes flapped about her.

  ‘This is the weapon!’ she crowed. ‘This is the weapon!’

  Sevekai had no idea what she was talking about. He shrank back from the heat and the noise, just as all the others did.

  An instant later the fires gusted out and something vast and dark surged up out of the chasm, rising on a tide of ruin, wreathed in oily smoke. With a twist and snap of immense jaws it ended Kaitar’s wretched screaming. A hard bang echoed around the vault, like a steel hammer falling on an anvil. Cracks shot across the walls and rubble rained down from above.

  The creature kept rising, buoyed by an updraft as hot as a forge. Vast wings stretched out, bat-skin black and pierced with chains. Ophidian flesh snaked and coiled on itself in the flickering gloom.

  ‘You know me, creature!’ cried Drutheira. ‘You know what I am. Listen to me! The druchii have returned. Listen! We have come to reclaim what is ours.’

  Sevekai looked on, unable to do anything but cower. A solid mass of curled, distorted black flesh loomed high up over them, hovering across the face of the chasm. Its hide glistened in the witch-light, reflecting from a thousand tight-woven scales. Ragged wings brushed against the shaft’s wall. He saw spines, curved teeth crowded along a jagged jawline and talons the length of an elf’s body. Gold chains, some broken, hung from an armoured torso, and iron runes had been branded and hammered into its flesh.

  A dragon. A black dragon. One of Malekith’s own creations, as warped and ruined as anything to emerge from his embittered mind.

  ‘Your will is broken!’
shouted Drutheira, speaking in the tone of command she used when spellcasting. ‘Your mind is enslaved. You are ours, creature.’

  The beast hissed at her, and flickers of blood-red flame danced across the void.

  ‘Do not resist!’ warned the sorceress. ‘You belong to the druchii. We never forget. We never release.’

  That brought a sudden gush of flame and a roar that made the whole shaft shiver. Flames kept coming after that, guttering and snorting, breaking the murky darkness with a dull glow of crimson.

  ‘Serve me!’ commanded Drutheira, raising her staff fearlessly. ‘Serve me!’

  The beast screamed back, but it did not attack. If it had chosen to it could have wiped her out just as it had consumed Kaitar. Its jaws opened and closed, revealing a long, lolling tongue the colour of burned iron. Its eyes – slits of silver – flashed furiously.

  Sevekai saw the truth then: the powerful magicks that had cracked and twisted the creature’s mind still held. It would not attack. It writhed, snorted and flailed, but its fires stayed subdued.

  Drutheira smiled savagely. ‘You know who your masters are. You sense us. You smell us.’

  It screamed at her again, and echoes rang around the vault. Drutheira pointed the staff directly at it. ‘The wards are broken. When I call, you answer.’

  The dragon’s wings thrashed, sending acrid air washing over the ledge. Its tail scythed, swishing in dumb frustration. Sevekai could only marvel at the imbalance: such a monster, held in check by a fragile, white-haired sorceress. Whatever magic had been used to crack the creature’s mind must have been of astounding strength.

  ‘Go!’ cried Drutheira, raising her arms. ‘Break out! Your will is mine! Your power is mine!’

  The dragon coiled in on itself, writhing in a paroxysm of rage. Its eyes rolled, its jaws clamped shut.

  Then it obeyed. With a clap of ebony wings it surged upwards, climbing fast. Sevekai saw then that the cavern had no roof – it was a shaft soaring upwards, carving through the heart of the mountain like an artery. The dragon ascended rapidly, lighting up the walls in a corona of red. The wind whistled in its wake, howling up out of the depths before falling, eventually, back into echoing silence.

  Sevekai crept to the edge and risked a look down. He could barely make anything out, though the shaft stank of death. Hreth, lying next to him, gurgled weakly. His innards were visible between blood-drenched tatters of clothing.

  Drutheira was breathing heavily and her pale cheeks were unusually flushed.

  ‘So what did you think?’ she asked, calling out to them over the gulf. ‘Magnificent, eh?’

  Malchior scowled back, his expression dark. ‘You let it go.’

  ‘It’ll come when called. Unlike some, it is utterly faithful.’

  Sevekai smiled wryly and got to his feet. Ashniel picked her way around the ledge toward Drutheira. ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘To the surface,’ the sorceress replied. ‘It will be waiting.’ As she spoke, the cavern shook again. The cracks that had opened after Kaitar’s death widened. ‘And we should hurry – this place is perilous now.’

  Ashniel and Malchior hastened to follow her. Sevekai, following suit, felt the stone tremble under his feet.

  ‘Wait!’ called Hreth, dragging himself along the ledge. ‘Some help, brother?’

  Sevekai glanced at him scornfully. Shameful enough to be defeated; bleating about it compounded the crime.

  ‘Sorry, brother,’ he replied coldly. ‘I think you would slow me down.’

  More rumbles broke out, echoing dully from the depths. Sevekai broke into a jog, gliding surely across the uneven ledge surface. When he got to the tunnel entrance Malchior and Ashniel had already gone through, but Drutheira was waiting.

  ‘You planned it all?’ he asked her. ‘For Kaitar?’

  Drutheira placed a finger on his lips. ‘Later, I promise. For now, trust me.’

  Sevekai grinned. ‘Not an inch.’

  More cracks opened up, snaking up the height of the chamber. A low growl welled up from the deeps, prising what remained of the pilasters from the rock walls.

  ‘We need to move,’ said Sevekai.

  ‘So we do.’

  Drutheira slipped into the tunnel and hurried up the incline.

  Sevekai took one last look at the chamber. Chunks of rock were beginning to fall freely, splitting from the mountain and tumbling into the shaft. Whether as a result of Drutheira’s magic or Kaitar’s violent death, the whole shaft was falling in on itself. Hreth still struggled on, stuck on his hands and knees as debris rained around him.

  Sevekai couldn’t resist a wintry smile. It was always pleasant to witness the demise of a rival.

  Then he turned on his heels and raced into the tunnel, following Drutheira back into the dark.

  Chapter Four

  Lothern was not the oldest of the dwellings of the asur, nor the wisest, nor the most steeped in the thrum and harmony of magic, but it was the most magnificent, the most imposing, the most martial, the most sprawlingly and gloriously worldly.

  Clusters of bone-white spires soared into the air, each reflected in the deep green of the lagoon that lapped before them. Immense statues of the gods stared out across the waters, their golden faces cast in expressions of austere superiority. Crystal coronets shimmered under the glare of strong sunlight and the sky blazed a clear blue, washed clean by the rain squalls and now as pure as a mage’s spyglass. A thousand aromas rose from cargo heaped high on quaysides, and every crate, barrel and sackcloth was branded with the esoteric mark of far-off realms and colonies.

  The royal fleet lay at anchor in the glassy lagoon. Each warship had been decked out in red and gold, their sails furled and their pennants rippling in the breeze. Mail-clad troops lined every thoroughfare, and their chainmail sparkled.

  The waterfront rang with boisterous celebration. Crowds thronged along the long quayside, pushing past one another to gain position. All eyes looked up at the greatest spire of them all – the truly colossal Phoenix Tower, rearing up sheer above the water’s edge, its flanks as pure as ivory and its crystal windows flashing in the sun.

  Caledor II stood on the Tower’s ceremonial balcony, a clear hundred feet from ground level, and drank the vista in. The acclamation of his people made his heart swell. Adulation was good for him. It vindicated everything he had done since setting sail from the same quayside six years ago.

  They worship me, he thought, gripping the marble railing with silver-edged gauntlets. Just as they worshipped my father, they worship me.

  Seldom had so many of the fleet’s eagleships been concentrated in one place. The fortified cliffs that surrounded them, all bristling with turrets and banners, added to the sense of excess, of overflowing command, of invulnerability.

  Nothing in the colonies would ever compare to Ulthuan, not even if the asur laboured there for a thousand years. Nothing would ever shine so vividly, or be filled with as much vivacity, or give harbour to so many of the Phoenix King’s dread vessels of war.

  Lothern was the heart of the fleet; thus, Lothern was the heart of power.

  ‘Good to be back, my liege?’ asked Hulviar, standing beside Caledor on the balcony. The seneschal wore his ceremonial armour, piped with gold filigree and lines of inlaid jewels.

  ‘I can breathe this air without gagging,’ replied Caledor, waving at the crowds below. Every movement he made seemed to elicit fresh cheers. ‘My boots are free of mud. Best of all…’ He smiled contently. ‘No dwarfs.’

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Hulviar with feeling. ‘So will you address them now? They have been waiting a long time.’

  Caledor gazed out indulgently. He felt reluctant to do anything to break the spell of massed veneration. Kingship was in large a matter of theatre, of display, and moments such as these were priceless.

  Still, though. They wouldn’t wait
forever. ‘Sound the clarion.’

  Hulviar motioned to an attendant in the shadows. A moment later a fanfare rang out, cutting across the water and stilling the crowd to an expectant hush.

  ‘I will be heard by them all?’ whispered Caledor.

  ‘The mages are prepared,’ said Hulviar. ‘Speak as comes naturally, my liege; the deafest of them will hear as if they were alone with you.’

  Caledor placed both hands on the railing and pushed his shoulders back. He knew full well how resplendent he looked – artisan-fashioned armour of ithilmar and silver, a heavy cloak of sky-blue, long blond hair pulled back from his brow by the winged crown of the Phoenix Kings.

  ‘My people!’ he cried, and they cheered again. Soldiers along the terraces clashed their blades against their shields, sending an echoing wave of noise rolling across the lagoon.

  Caledor couldn’t prevent a fresh smile. The occasion called for dignity, but he was enjoying himself too much.

  ‘My people,’ he said again, waiting for the hubbub to die down. ‘I return to you at the start of a new dawn for Ulthuan. Not since Aenarion’s time have we known such victory. The druchii fall back under our relentless onslaught. The Witch King cowers in his frozen land, knowing his fate draws ever closer.’

  That brought heartfelt cheers. Every soul gathered below would have lost someone to druchii raids; hatred for Malekith never needed to be stoked.

  ‘But I need not tell you this – you know the truth of it. I come here this day to tell of victory in the east, for we have triumphed! We have triumphed over the mountain-folk. The stunted creatures of Elthin Arvan are defeated, and I myself, Caledor the Second, slew the son of their High King in single combat.’

  Hulviar reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew a shrivelled, stinking hunk of dried flesh. He handed it to the King, who lifted it up for all to see.

  ‘They called him “Halfhand”,’ said Caledor, swinging the trophy from side to side as if it were a piece of meat brought back from the hunt. ‘No longer – I call him “No-hand”!’