Chapter 22 – The Top of the Tower (8550)
Dragons were
like elves in one regard, reflected Roztov, in that their official affairs
happened very slowly. On top of the Tower of Stovologard Roztov and Ghene stood
and waited with a group of human retainers there to serve the diplomat
Lorkuvan. Since the dragons themselves produced a moderate amount of smoke themselves,
Roztov, lurking at the back, was largely unnoticed as he had a sly pipe.
‘I’m
starving,’ he grumbled along with his stomach. ‘I should have had a bigger
breakfast. Do you have anything?’
The magic of
Floran still lay on them and they spoke Draconic.
‘No,’ Ghene
shook his head.
They were
both dressed in purple robes, the colours of Lorkuvan’s family. The others of
her retinue were dressed in similar outfits, some with gold sashes to designate
a senior rank, or leaning on long metal staves. Both of them wore leather
armour under the robes and had hidden daggers.
‘Hey, Eru,’
said Roztov, addressing one of them. ‘Do we get fed again? It’s well past lunch
now.’
The young
man smiled, he had a broad and open face, bowed and shrugged. ‘I have nothing,
but go over to Fevan, he usually has a bag of mochi.’
Lorkuvan was
waiting patiently for the arrival of the dragon nobility, standing silently
with others of her kin. There were a dozen or so lower ranking dragons already
present, with their human retainers standing a respectful distance behind them.
Roztov
nodded at Ghene and they wandered over to another part of the tower top. Even
dressed in unfamiliar robes the druids were adept at moving around silently and
unnoticed.
There was a
strong wind this high up, but crenulated stone walls along the parapet broke up
most of it. The walls spoiled the view, but kept them sheltered. The top of the
tower was round and nearly two hundred yards wide, roughly the same size as the
games arena in Timu, Roztov estimated, with enough room on it for several
pavilions large enough to house dozens of dragons if it started raining. The
central pavilion was the largest and most ornate, presumably for the king to
sit in when he finally arrived. The floor of the tower was paved with wide
slate slabs, swept clean by thralls the evening before.
The dragons
currently assembled waited in groups around the outer circle of the tower top.
The sky was clear of clouds so they were out in the open. Their human retainers
were nearest to the wall, on the outer edge of the circle of the tower top and
some moved about, running errands or passing messages for their masters. Roztov
and Ghene walked along the foot of the outer wall until they reached the man
that had been pointed out to them.
‘Hey, Fevan
is it?’ said Roztov holding up his hand as he approached the servant dressed in
yellow livery, who stood with several others dressed in the same fashion. ‘I
hear you’ve got food.’
‘Maybe. I
don’t just give it to strangers though.’
‘Come on, be
a pal. Just one. I want something in my stomach for when it all kicks off.’
‘Kicks off?’
asked Fevan, suddenly alarmed. ‘What have you heard?’
Roztov held
out his hand. After pulling a face, Fevan took a bag from his belt, opened it
up and offered it to him. Roztov took a mochi from the bag and took a bite out
of it. When the bag was offered to him, Ghene waved it away.
‘Well?’
asked Fevan.
‘Well? King
Primus is going to meet King Blavius isn’t he? Something bad is going to
happen, you can be sure of that.’
‘This is a
Diet. There is a sacred trust between all dragons when one is called that there
will be no violence.’
‘Too many
other unknown factors mate,’ said Roztov eating the last of his mochi.
‘Garumuda is in the game now.’
The colour
went from Fevan’s face. ‘How do you know that name?’
‘From where
I’m from,’ said Roztov, who felt he had no reason to hide things any longer in
regards to his origin. ‘From my lands east of Tanud, where he makes a really
pain in the arse of himself.’
Some of the
other retainers were turning to listen to their conversation now that it was
straying into dangerous topics.
‘Take it,’
said Fevan handing the whole bag to Roztov, ‘and leave me alone!’
Roztov and
Ghene sauntered back to where Lorkuvan stood. Roztov ate three more mochi then
gave the bag to Eru. ‘Hand them round.’
Eru smiled
gratefully, took a sweet dumpling from the bag then passed it on.
There were
four large staircases on the tower top, one in each quarter, each big enough
for a dragon to walk up, and many other smaller ones for their human servants
tucked away at the edge of the wall. A dragon arrived from below, using the
large stairs, followed by its retinue and everyone turned to see who it was.
‘Drednak,
one of the generals,’ said Ghene who had learned a lot about the Stovologard
dragons from his scouting missions over the last few weeks. Drednak took up his
place close to the central pavilion while all his retainers except one moved to
the back wall.
Ten minutes
later two more came up the stairs, followed by their own entourages.
‘Undeen and
Krew, the other two war-dragons,’ reported Ghene. ‘Undeen recently promoted
after the death of Neith. If they are here then that means that according to
protocol the grand procession will be
next up the stairs.’
Roztov
resisted the urge to roll his eyes, wondering if his friend was enjoying showing
off his knowledge of what was going on. ‘I’m going to have one last smoke
then.’
He brushed
the mochi crumbs from his beard then clumsily pulled his pipe out from under
his robes and packed it full of tobacco.
‘It’s funny
to see all these people here,’ remarked Roztov idly as he packed, lit, then
puffed on his pipe. ‘None of them are armed, have you noticed that? Usually at
these sorts of shows, in human countries I mean, there would be loads of blokes
with pikes and spears and shiny breastplates.’
‘Yes,’
agreed Ghene. ‘In Stovologard men are only armed when they are hunting or
policing other men.’
Out at the
mines, it was a different story, Roztov supposed, but the dragons tied to the
capstans were not from Stovologard, all prisoners taken during the wars with
the Chasm. He wondered if the humans that held the whips might become inspired into
rebellion by the act of beating a dragon or if the Stovologard dragons had even
considered it. This was a truly strange and unique city in so many ways and the
relationship between the humans and dragons was not as simple as master and
servant, he was coming to realise. The humans thought of the dragons the same
way the underclass thought of the aristocratic classes back on Nillamandor, it
was just the way of things, there was some dissent, but either by accident or
design it was focused on the gendarmes, other men, and not the dragons. In
Styke, Roztov’s homeland, the princes, counts and dukes were generally neither
liked nor despised; they were just part of the fabric of the country. Some were
kind and some were not, and they bickered and fought amongst themselves which
brought suffering down on the common folk when farms and thorpes were raided
and burned. Styke was a mess, but it more or less worked. There had never been
a peasant’s revolt, or nothing like it, but that was probably more to do with
the constant struggle between men and goblins which tended to focus everyone’s
attention. Stovologard, if judged by the standards of any other human kingdom,
was better run, better managed, the people better fed and in most ways more
content than in Styke. Styke set a very low bar admittedly. This thought
brought a sad smile to Roztov’s lips.
He looked up
at the clear blue sky and listened to the wind ripping the air above their
heads.
‘These
Diets, they are under truce, but it’s interesting that they are held here,’ he
said as this new thought occurred to him. ‘Provides a quick getaway for dragons
if it all goes pear-shaped.’
‘Not so
handy for their servants though.’
‘I suppose
not, a few blasts of dragon fire would wipe them all out. Uch, how much longer
Ghene?’ sighed Roztov.
‘I cannot
say,’ replied his friend.
Eru turned
to them. He was a young man of the Jetta people, had olive skin and was short
of stature like those of his kind. His face was round and friendly.
‘It may not
even happen at all,’ he said with an exaggerated whisper. ‘It can easily be
called off. I have seen it before. We could stand here all night. If King
Primus arrives though, it’s happening. He won’t enter the royal pavilion until
he is certain Blavius will show up.’
‘Bloody
bastard bones,’ muttered Roztov.
Roztov had
introduced Ghene to Lorkuvan two days before. Perhaps because she was a
diplomat she was interested to meet her first elf.
‘You speak
draconic now in your normal form?’ she asked Roztov.
‘A friend has
cast a spell on us to aid understanding.’
‘A mighty
wizard from the east. The same one that can summon enough bees to chase off a
rune-keeper?’
‘That would
be him,’ admitted Roztov.
‘Well, it
will prove useful I suppose,’ said Lorkuvan. She then moved on to talk to
Ghene, questioning him about his race and their habits. Ghene replied politely
and generally was open with his answers.
‘You live
longer than humans?’
‘Considerably
longer, yes,’ he admitted. ‘Almost as long as dragons in some cases.’
‘And yet
with all these gifts your people have, you do not rule over the kingdoms of
men?’
‘No,’ he
replied. ‘We are descended from the Dynar though, a race of elves that once had
an empire that spanned most of the continent.’
‘And what
happened to them?’
‘That...’
Ghene paused and directed a glance at Roztov. ‘That is a matter of some
debate.’
Although she
was talking to Ghene as an equal, she still had her dragon arrogance.
‘It would be
better for you all, if the elves ruled the kingdoms of men,’ she said haughtily.
‘They are an unruly and savage lot and need the guiding hand or claw of a longer
lived race.’
Roztov, who
was smoking his pipe by the window, coughed out a cloud of smoke. ‘Steady on
old girl,’ he spluttered.
Eventually
the conversation moved on to their plans for the peace talks.
‘You can
wear my colours, and pass yourselves off as my servants,’ she said.‘I will have
ten others with me. It is strange to me, that you show no deference, you show
no fear and you show no knowledge of how to address a dragon properly. You have
the smell of trouble about you, both of you, but even so it is probably best
that you are at the Diet. Don’t talk to any other dragons, they will be
suspicious of you. Don’t draw attention to yourselves. Listen to all that's
said. We'll talk of it later. Only come talk to me if it’s urgent. If I need
your advice on something I'll ask you.‘
Roztov and
Ghene agreed and were sent to meet the other retainers that would be at the
talks and get fitted out with robes. The men and women that served Lorkuvan
were friendly and very curious about the two druids, but were shy with their
questions. Roztov saw that they loved Lorkuvan greatly, holding her in awe the
same way that the commoners back in Nillamandor venerated a favourite duchess
or princess. She was considered kind by dragon standards.
On the tower
top, Roztov finished his last pipe and put it in his pocket. Lorkuvan turned
her head back and looked at him with a withering eye. He smiled at her and
patted his pocket where he had just put his finished pipe. She snorted out a
cloud of smoke and looked away. No doubt she is remember her advice to us to
keep out head’s down, he mused. She was certainly not aware then of the
reputation that druids all over Nillamandor had for interfering in other people’s
business.
‘I wonder if
not having Floran with us is a mistake,’ murmured Roztov.
‘Too late
now,’ observed Ghene.
The stood in
silence for a while, at the back of the group of retainers, waiting for
something else to happen. A lady dressed in a fine black robe approached them
from along the side of the wall.
‘Here comes Fiewa,’
said Roztov nodding at her as she approached. He saw that her robes, while
thick for warmth fitted her figure well and were finely decorated in barely
visible embroidery. She had her hands in a fur muff for warmth.
‘I thought I
recognised you,’ she said. ‘What have you been doing all this while?’
She ignored
the other servants and talked only to Roztov, not realising that he and Ghene
were together.
‘Arranging
things so we could be here for this mainly.’
‘And here
you are, so well done.’
‘What’s your
opinion on all this?’ he asked.
Fiewa
thought for a moment before replying. ‘At face value, it is good news. Blavius
would not be here if he didn’t mean business. Whatever that business may be.
Under normal circumstances this would all be positive. And yet... There is the
matter of your former shipmate.’
‘Have you
heard anything from your friends in the south?’
‘I have.
They play their own games. I’ve a feeling that all of them, city, chasm and
spire – they are all so busy trying to outsmart each other that they are about
to do something incredibly stupid.’
‘I don’t
doubt it,’ agreed Roztov. ‘Is your dragon not wondering where you are? Lord
Pabajan wasn’t it?’
‘Oh, he’ll
not miss me, the old fellow can sleep on his feet, he’ll only wake up if the
King calls for him, which he probably won’t...’
She stopped
talking when a dragon’s head rose from the steps to their left, with the rest
of the dragon following behind it. With no fanfare or announcement, the dragon
walked towards its allotted pavilion at the centre of the square, followed by
twenty human retainers.
‘And so the grand procession begins,’ observed
Fiewa. ‘They arrive in order of lowest to highest rank.’
As the
dragons arrived, one by one, and took their places, Lady Fiewa named them. ‘Tuntelal,
Mistress of the sky, Setanta the Lord of the Darkwings, Sterris the Unwise –
Dragon of Blood Scales and keeper of the southern shrines, Lorguluthe, Lord of
Death, Juhy the Mother – High Clutch Matron, Hannorut the Master of the Hunt, Anglus
the Jackal - known as Cursedblood – Lord of the Outcasts, Amok – Lord of the Firekin,
Master of the Eternal Flame...’
And on and
on, until all the high-ranking dragons of Stovologard were present. To Roztov
they all looked much the same, except that as each one arrived it was slightly
bigger and darker in colour than the previous.
It was well
into the afternoon when King Primus arrived. This was the first time Roztov and
Ghene had seen the king and they were impressed by his size and bearing. Like
the others of his kind his scales were black, but the hide of the king was so
dark it seemed to absorb light. He was so black that he appeared almost as a
shadow, only his yellow eyes and long white teeth breaking up the silhouette.
He was also easily the biggest dragon there, twice the size of Lorkuvan, and
dwarfing even the war-dragons that stood on either side of his pavilion like an
honour guard.
‘That is the
biggest bastard I’ve ever seen,’ whispered Roztov to his friend.
‘Monstrous,’
agreed Ghene whispering back. ‘And ancient beyond measure. The affairs of men
and elves must be like the affairs of insects to one such as he.’
Primus
walked over to the central pavilion where a golden sun shade was raised to keep
the light from the southern sun off him. Unlike all the others of his kind who
were waited on by humans, he was served by other dragons. These were young
dragons, much the same size as the manhunters, with dark green scales.
After about
fifteen minutes, King Blavius and his contingent from the Chasm flew in from
the south.
The many and
variant shapes and sizes of dragon from the south landed in quick succession,
blowing much of the lingering smoke away with their wing beats. They were
almost like a carnival or circus as they arrived, so bright and varied were
their colours when compared to the blacks and dark greens of the city dragons. Roztov
recognised some of them and pointed them out to Ghene.
‘The big red
one is Rah-Ur of course. There are Shumakkak and Barkback. Oh, and Tefnut the
Lioness. They are the sensible ones apparently. There are Gugaloris and... Oh,
I’ve forgotten his name...’
‘The one
with the big teeth?’ asked Ghene. ‘That’s Ukadak.’
‘Oh well,’
said Roztov slightly abashed. ‘I can see you know them all now too then.’
King Blavius
was last to arrive, clearly not used to flying, landed clumsily and was stopped
from falling flat on his face by the timely intervention of his chief advisors
Gugaloris and Ukadak.
He was just
as bloated and impossibly shaped as he had been when they’d seen him last. His
orange scales and long yellow mane set him apart from all the other dragons,
even the most oddly shaped ones of the Chasm. He was large, but still nowhere
near as big as Primus.
Roztov
passed an eye over Shumakkak. She wouldn’t recognise him of course, but seeing
her stirred uncomfortable memories.
The chasm
dragons arranged themselves around their king, taking their time to get into an
order that must have meant something to them, but that meant nothing to Roztov.
Once they were settled they all remained standing in silence.
‘They still
wait?’ wondered Roztov.
‘More are
coming,’ whispered Lady Fiewa in his ear.
Half an hour
later another flight of dragons arrived, six whites, clearly Spire Dragons.
They landed and arranged themselves in a third pavilion close to the other two.
‘One of
those is Mordran,’ observed Roztov. ‘He still bears the marks Broddor put on
him.’
‘We are in
the presence of the mightiest dragons of Tanud, of the world,’ observed Fiewa.
‘There is nowhere else you will ever see such a gathering of power, magic and
majesty. You are honoured.’
‘I agree,’
said Roztov. ‘I do feel honoured. I feel awed. How about you, Ghene?’
‘I do feel
honoured. And awed.’
‘I feel
awe,’ continued Roztov, ‘but I also feel as if they should hurry up. I feel I
need to pee.’
Roztov
tapped Eru gently on the shoulder. ‘Hey, Eru. What do you do when you need to
pee?’
‘Just pee,’
Eru informed him. ‘Our robes are long. Just spread your legs, it will not be
noticed.
‘Right here?
No one else has. I’m not going to be the first.’
‘Roztov,’
sighed Ghene.
‘What? I’m
embarrassing you am I? I’m embarrassing you in front of the dragons?’
‘Well, can’t
you hold it in?’
‘Listen elf.
I’m old. I’m getting old. Unlike you pointy eared bastards we humans age, and when
we do we don’t hold in our pee like we used to.’
Lorkuvan
turned her head downwards slightly in irritation at their bickering, but it did
little to stop Roztov from complaining.
‘Now what’s
happening?’ he asked tetchily. ‘They are all just standing about.’
‘They are
observing each other,’ whispered Fiewa. ‘Soon the king will speak...’
She was
correct, as suddenly, with no fanfare or announcement King Primus addressed the
gathering. He had a deep, but subdued voice, a harsh whisper, not what Roztov
had expected.
‘Curved wing. Rat claws. Beat high. More than
air. Tear off the world with flames. This is a gathering of dragons. All of
Tanud's teeth. I meet all of you. I am living with you now.’
‘Did he say rat claws?’ said Roztov pulling on his
ears. ‘I think Tup’s spell is wearing off.’
‘You’d
better be quiet while the king speaks,’ Fiewa whispered urgently in his ear.
‘Blavius, the son of the golden Buru. You
are not welcome in Stovologard. I do not think you are more than a pile of men.
I smoke to you. I ignore you. What is your condition?’
Blavius
strutted and postured, almost as if he too was confused by Primus’s way of
talking. Eventually, without leaving his pavilion he addressed the other king.
‘It’s very unfair to talk to me like that. Very unfair. I didn’t start this
war. All this is stupid, but no one else sees it.’
‘If you have not come here for peace, why
are you here?’
‘I come with
accusations. I have evidence against you. I have learned of the treachery...
yes treachery of the north. You treason yourself, trying to ally with the east.
You say they are kin, but that’s not true. They are no kin of mine.’
Blavius
turned in a full circle, like a nervous dog, then paced to one end of the
pavilion and turned to look at Primus from over his shoulder. It was a most
astounding display and Roztov didn’t know what to make of it.
Primus
breathed out a deep growl and smoke curled from his nose holes. ‘What is it? It is not my responsibility to
explain my taste to creatures like you. Your accounts are not my remit.’
‘You are a
coward!’ screeched Blavius. ‘You can’t beat me so you seek help from the furthest
and worst of quarters.’ Blavius looked at Gugaloris with a dragonish smile, as
if to seek approval for delivering a line that had been agreed on in advance.
‘Attend, I fail to understand why I should
concern myself with your opinions on my actions.’
‘You don’t
even bother to deny it!’ cried Blavius, again turning to his advisors for
approval.
‘Well, so? If you want to contact my
relatives, you do not have to worry.’
Blavius was
confused by Primus’s choice of words. The king of Stovologard apparently had an
unusual way of speaking that could puzzle those that conversed with him.
‘Your kin?
We are all kin, Primus. We are all sons of Tanud. I know you sent ambassadors.
I know you were sent a message. I want to hear it. Let us all hear the words of
Garumuda, your star-cursed so-called kinsman in the east.’
Primus was
angering, and his voice began to rise. ‘The
foolishness of this dragon is well known. You move your chin and knock your
teeth, but the senses are not created. I am tired of your poor exhibition of
things passing by for wit in the south. No point is reached.’
Blavius
snarled and turned his head to the Spire dragons. Two of them came forward.
‘Curoro and
Guil, high ranking members of the spire council,’ whispered Lady Fiewa in
Roztov’s ear.
‘May I
address you, your majesty?’ said Curoro, one of the elegant white dragons,
arching its neck.
‘Allowed,’ replied Primus with a
dismissive nod.
‘Then I
admit to you, your majesty, that we have your messenger, returned from the
east,’ the white dragon turned and looked at a group of men at the back wall.
‘Step forward.’
A man was
pushed roughly out of the group. He staggered forward, past the other retainers
and out towards the white dragons. He was dressed in ragged red robes that he
clutched close to his body. Curoro ushered the man into the space between the
three pavilions. In a daze, the man looked around at the mighty dragons that
all seemed to be looking at him. He cowered in terror.
‘Bloody
Dreggen!’ exclaimed Roztov recognising the man.
‘They must
have smuggled him into the city somehow,’ said Ghene, casting an eye over Fiewa
who did not meet his gaze.
‘This isn't
going to end well,’ muttered Roztov.
‘What is this?’ asked Primus, sounding
almost genuinely intrigued.
‘One of the
group you sent east three years ago. The last lone survivor, he bears a message
for you from the east,’ explained Curoro.
‘And so? It ignores why you decided to make a
gift like this here. What is your occasion?’
‘We of the
Spire are beyond the petty squabbles of dragon nations, but we are interested
in Garumuda, the mightiest of all dragon kind. We would hear his message.’
‘Ha,’ growled Primus. ‘Do not say that you have not prised witness
from.’
‘The message
is protected by the magic of Garumuda,’ explained the white dragon with evident
annoyance. ‘Not even we wizards of the Spire can remove it. The message can
only be relayed to you, your majesty. I warn you though, dread king, take heed,
there is the stink of necromancy on this man.’
Primus
grunted and called forth a human wizard, an elderly man in bottle green robes.
The wizard examined Dreggen then reported. ‘It is true, your majesty, this man
is spellbound.’
Next a
rune-keeper, a black dragon bearing a null-magic talisman used it on Dreggen,
but with little success. ‘The rune will not break it, your majesty. The magic
is too strong.’
‘We did
try,’ said Curoro. ‘We tried everything short of killing him.’
Dreggen
whimpered and cowered down further.
Primus took
a few steps forward and looked down at the terrified man. The mighty dragon
appeared to consider his options, but really he had none. To do anything else
than receive the message would be to lose face. Still he hesitated.
‘You see?’
butted in Blavius with obvious relish as he strutted up and down in his
pavilion. ‘Now all of Tanud witnesses your cowardice.’
‘Will you prevent your foolish tongue!’
bellowed King Primus who then blew a huge fireball into the sky, making all the
humans present gasp. ‘Step up then man
messenger. Give account. Deliver, divest, proceed.’
Dreggen,
trembling, took a few steps towards Primus then stopped.
‘And so and so on. First telling. What
happened to Ambassador Kretorek and
the others?’
‘Slain, all
slain, your majesty,’ shivered Dreggen. ‘By the griffon cavalry of Lodz.’
As Primus
asked more questions of Dreggen Roztov leaned in to Ghene. ‘Just so you know,
when this kicks off, I’m going full on.’
‘Right,’
replied Ghene, not shifting his eyes from the spectacle playing out in the
centre of the square atop the tower of Stovologard.
‘I feel a
sense of impending doom. I’m full of dread fears, Ghene. I’m not going to hold
anything back,’ continued Roztov, starting to rock back and forth on his feet.
‘Good to
know,’ replied Ghene. He too sensed the grim atmosphere in the lead up to the
message being delivered, but said nothing more.
Having asked
his questions, Primus considered for a while, then looked up at the sky as if
seeking inspiration. Seeing no other course of action though, he finally said,
‘fullness of time, but with no
contentment, directly your message, man.’
Dreggen
straightened up as much as he could or dared to and took a breath. He then bent
over as if stifling a belch, then gasped and groaned. A torrent of words tumbled out of his mouth.
It was largely gibberish, with no meaning to anyone assembled. Roztov could
make out the occasional sentence that seemed to come to his ear in his native
tongue of Stykian;
Then, a long passage that was almost all
intelligible;
‘... the old
man walks his house at night, sees enemies in every shadow, jumps at every
noise, stalked by the one who bears all testimony, the one that has hears every
witness. There is no mercy to be had, when judged by your own recorders, there
is no one to save you when your own hand placed the noose around your neck…
Futile fingers on devices of ill-reason, ceaseless cries, increasingly
senseless, the blue birds turn into needle toothed bats...’
‘Bloody
bones...’ muttered Roztov as Dreggen’s voice got lower, more garbled until it
was little more than a coughing, belching fit. Dreggen bent over and blood fell
out of his mouth onto the slates.
‘Etruna,
protect us...’ whispered Ghene.
It was clear
to all assembled that Dreggen had not know what he was saying. He fell to the
ground when he had delivered the final sentence. Standing, shaking, with a hand
on one knee as he tried to get up – he exploded.
It wasn’t a
small explosion either, bits of him went everywhere. Both kings and both
entourages were hit by droplets of blood. King Primus blinked. King Blavius
scrabbled backwards, his false mane lurching down over the back of his neck. There
was general confusion amongst the people as they all involuntarily stepped backwards,
tripping on their robes and bumping into each other.
Where
Dreggen had stood, a blood red glow appeared in the air then grew to the size
of a barn door. It faced towards King Primus, so that it was side on to where
Roztov and Ghene stood.
‘A portal,’
gasped Roztov.
‘A Dead Gate,’
said Ghene with unnatural calm. ‘Necromancy.’
Before any
man or dragon could think of any action other than standing in astonishment, a
massive skeletal dragon unfolded out of the portal and approached Primus. Two
more followed it. People started to run for the stairs.
The undead
dragons breathed out jets of dark magic and the dragons guarding the king
stepped forward and bore the brunt of it, their scales, blood and flesh melting
to the bone.
Dragons
frantically beat their wings, flying straight up, flying for their lives as
more skeletal dragons breached the portal, followed by all manner of macabre
undead beings. There were humans, giants, three headed monstrosities wielding
stone clubs, skeletal lizards, wolf headed creatures the size of horses. Also
came undead creatures robed in black cloaks casting fire and lightning from
their withered hands, the animated corpses of trolls and ogres with their
intestines coiling around them like snakes. As the top of the tower filled with
monsters, the human servants fled past the druids for the stairs and the
dragons headed for the sky. Not all of them made it. They saw many men and
dragons pulled down by the undead and slaughtered. Lord Pabajan, the master of
Lady Fiewa, too old and slow to get away, was tore into and pulled down by the
undead and ripped apart. Barkback, one of the chasm dragons, tried to fly out
of reach, but was hit in the wing by a jet of darkness from a skeletal dragon
and with it in tatters he fell back to the ground where he was overcome by the
increasing horde.
Roztov
turned into a dragon and Ghene hoped onto his back just as a wave of running
skeletons reached them, their teeth chattering and cackling horribly. Arms
reached up at Roztov’s hind legs, but he kicked them aside and beat them down
with his wings. He flew up and up, but the sky was in as much chaos as the
tower. He ducked under a big chasm dragon as it crashed down into the melee
below, dead from a jet of black breath. He then swerved sharply to avoid the
claws of a massive skeletal dragon as it swooped past him on its bone wings.
‘This is
awful!’ yelled Ghene as he did his best to hold on. ‘Look down there!’
Roztov,
ducking and diving, glanced down at the tower top which was now several hundred
feet below them. It was full of undead now and they were still coming, flowing
out of the portal like the vomit of hell. Big black bats were streaming out now
too, above the heads of the undead hordes, flapping up into the sky to join the
fighting. Clouds of them swarmed around the living dragons, making them breathe
fire in panicked bursts and plunge down into the city to try and escape the
claws and teeth.
Undead
creatures were moving down into the top floors of the tower, hunting out the
living, pouring into the halls and stairwells. Both the living and the dead
could be seen jumping from the windows and balconies, plummeting into the smoke
shrouded city below.
‘What do we
do?’ cried Roztov as he flew as fast as he could upwards. ‘What do we do?’
The sky was
still full of living and undead dragons and flying was far from safe. He
grunted as a small chasm dragon, by chance, crashed into him. They both fell
for a moment, but Roztov recovered and swooped back upwards. The smaller dragon
rolled and flung out its wings, but was then struck by the claws of an undead
dragon as it passed at speed and fell down into the city either dead or
unconscious, its wings fluttering uselessly by its sides.
‘Just get away!’ yelled Ghene. ‘Head out to
sea.’
The air was
full of dragon fire and smoke. Cinders rained down on them from above. Roztov
swooped and soared, trying to gain height and get away from the fighting.
‘Look over
there, to your right!’ cried Ghene, slapping Roztov’s flank. ‘What manner of
stupidity is that?’
Through the
smoke they could see King Blavius and his royal guard descending on and
attacking a group of young Stovologard dragons who were only trying to flee the
area.
Ghene looked
around as best he could, taking stock of the battle.
‘Go round,
go round!’ he yelled. ‘I need to see it all.’
‘Make up
your mind,’ muttered Roztov, but he dutifully banked to his right, high enough
now to be away from the heart of the battle. They flew around the tower in a
wide circle. It was shrouded in smoke, but it was periodically lit up with
dragon fire and blasts of magic. They saw a squadron of Stovologard manhunters
fly as fast as they could from the south, using an updraft to gain height, only
to be met by several of the larger chasm dragons. The chasm dragons breathed
fire and broke up the formation.
‘Blavius is
using the chaos to attack the Stovologard dragons,’ groaned Roztov. ‘What a
short sighted fool.’
Now that
they were higher up the could not see much of any men through the smoke, but
they could see that the Stovologard dragons were leaving the tower through
their atriums and perches, flying out into the clouds in their hundreds. The
braver ones found enemies to fight, while the more timid flew off as fast as
they could.
Many dragons
were above the tower, circling it, much as Roztov was doing. Some were roaring,
most were silent, not knowing what was going on, or what to do.
‘That is a
Dead Gate, Roztov,’ said Ghene, shouting over the wind. ‘Now we know how Old
Bones gets his undead into Gnarlwold.’
‘He’s never
sent that much. What a mess,’ rumbled Roztov in his deep dragon voice. ‘It’s like
a rookery after a hawk has passed over. Viewed from this distance I mean.’
They watched
for a while longer, looking down on the melee below. The smoke was being blown
inland by a stiff sea wind. The bravest and biggest of the dragons were flying
close to the top of the tower and fighting with the undead, but more were
coming up to the relative safety high above the city. Roztov had never seen as
many dragons as he was seeing now, it was as if every dragon of Stovologard was
airborne.
A dragon
glided down from above and slowed its pace to draw along beside them. It was
Lorkuvan.
‘I saw you shape
shift, Roztov,’ she said. ‘So it is not only rock lizards you can change into.’
‘Yes,’ he
admitted.
‘What do we
do?’ she was terrified. ‘They are destroying my city. How do we stop this?’
‘This is new
to us too,’ he replied. ‘Blood magic. Necromancy. We’ve heard of it, but never
seen it.’
They flew
on, gliding on the wind, wing tip to wing tip.
‘This could
be the end of Stovologard,’ cried Lorkuvan. ‘The end of Tanud! What can you do
to help?’
Ghene, the
only one currently looking down and watching the battle interrupted them. ‘The
Spire dragons attack the portal!’
They watched
as Mordran and the other white dragons started their attack with fireballs and
lightning bolts, slaying hundreds of undead and clearing the tower top.
More undead
were coming through the portal, but one of the dragons held them at bay with a
magical barrier while the others attempted to close the portal. Arcs of magic
flew between the dragons and the portal, but other than that nothing seemed to
happen.
A skeletal
dragon, crashing down from above, landed and breathed a jet of darkness at
them. One of the white dragons died, its flesh stripped from its bones before
the others destroyed the skeleton with fireballs, its bones blasted high into
the sky. More skeletons flew in, attacking, overwhelming the white dragons and
killing them one by one until all were slain. Mordran was the last to fall,
smothered by hundreds of undead creatures as they once again poured out of the
portal.
Roztov let
out a long low sigh. Lorkuvan roared in fear and frustration.
‘Roztov,’
said Ghene, tapping at Roztov’s scaly neck. ‘You are always the one with the
plan. What do we do?’
‘We have to
close the portal, it’s the only way. If Old Bones conquers Tanud, then he has
east and west. Nillamandor will be next. We have to defeat him here.’
Ghene rested
his head against Roztov’s neck and closed his eyes. He thought for a few
minutes.
‘I think I
might have a plan,’ he said eventually.
‘Let’s hear
it then,’ said Roztov.
‘Well, back
on Nillamandor, we druids know how to work the ancient stone circles. We have
an understanding of them. We cannot work them, but we have an understanding of
how the Hyadnian pyramids function.’
‘Right.
Right.’
‘Mordran
tried to close the portal, but he was trying to close it from this side. Our
druid stones work very differently from the pyramids, but the pyramids, well
I’ve never seen them, you have, but it’s my understanding they can send the
traveller to any destination as long as it has been marked by a wizard’s
spell.’
‘That’s
right.’
‘The power
is in the pyramid then and not where it sends its user to. The Dead Gate could
be the same.’
‘Yes, I get
you, it’s being held open from the other side.’
‘Get me to
the portal then Roz, I’ll go through and close it from the other side.’
‘That’s
suicide,’ groaned Roztov. ‘Even if I get you there, how do we know you can pass
through it? And on the other side, how will you know what to do to close the
portal?’
‘I admit
it’s not the best plan.’
‘We both go
then.’
‘No,
Roztov,’ said Ghene. ‘I can turn into a bird and sneak through. You can’t
change back from a dragon. Even if you could change into something less conspicuous,
your aspect is all wrong, you’d just hold me back with all your human
blundering. Besides, someone has to go and tell the others.’
‘You’ll die on your own though!’ cried Roztov.
‘I hope
not,’ replied Ghene calmly. ‘Besides, if I can sneak through the Spire
undetected, don’t you think I can sneak about on the other side of the portal?
And think of it, a scout right in the heart of Old Bones’s territory. Think of
the knowledge I’ll bring back with me.’
‘It’s
madness.’
‘Madness?’
said Ghene with a hint of anger in his voice. ‘This is all madness Roztov. This
time last year I was part of a Great Forest Council meeting to decide where to
plant this year’s parsnip crop. Now I’m riding around the sky on your back
while the hordes of Garumuda invade the city of dragons. The fate of the world
hangs in the balance Roztov, just get me to the portal!’
‘Right, keep
your wig on. Right!’ yelled Roztov. He looked over at Lorkuvan. ‘You hear any
of that?’
‘Most of it,
I got the gist of it. How do you plan to get to the portal?’
‘I’ll manage
that don’t worry. Let’s gain some height first, we’ll need it for when...’
He stopped
talking when Lorkuvan turned her head. ‘A chasm dragon approaches.’
Roztov
turned to look also. ‘Oh, its fine. It’s Shumakkak, she’s a... friend.’
‘I scented
you, Roztov,’ said the green dragon as she glided in beside them.
‘Hello.’
‘Blavius
attacks the city dragons. He goes too far. If Stovologard falls then the Chasm
will also fall. This seems clear to me.’
Part of
Roztov enjoyed, for a second or two, the sensation of flying in formation, with
a dragon on either side of him, as they circled the tower.
‘We are
going to try to close the portal,’ Roztov said to Shumakkak. ‘Can you help us?’
Shumakkak
sniffed the air, then looked around.
‘Just the
three of us?’ she asked. ‘The Spire dragons tried and failed.’
Roztov
looked down. It seemed that the undead fully controlled the square on top of
the tower now. There was still a lot of fighting going on in the air above, but
the attackers were being pushed back by dozens and dozens of skeletal dragon.
It was
impossible to see what was going on in the streets below from this great
height, but Roztov realised it would probably not be long before the undead had
cleared out the tower and then moved into the greater portion of the city.
‘I see my
king,’ said Lorkuvan gesturing with her head. ‘He organises the forces that
remain to him.’
‘Will he
attack?’ asked Roztov.
‘Undoubtedly.
At this moment he must realise he is all that stands between the city and
destruction.’
‘Very well,’
he replied. ‘We’ll wait and see what he does.’
The
completed another full circle of the tower, assessing the top of the tower as
best as they could while also watching as Primus gathered more dragons into a
force that now numbered over a hundred.
‘Even if you
do get through, how will you ever get back?’ asked Roztov while they waited.
‘Just head
west I suppose,’ replied Ghene. ‘Listen, let’s just go. Let’s do it now.’
Roztov
looked down. This mass of dragons was directly below them now and Roztov was
keeping station above them as they looped around the tower.
‘A little
patience,’ said Roztov. ‘King Primus has mustered as big a force as he can now.
I think they are going to attack. When they dive, we dive.’
Lorkuvan was
positioned to Roztov’s left, Shumakkak to his right. King Primus roared and the
formation he was leading swooped down directly towards the tower top, beating
the clouds of smoke up into zephyrs as they descended. They dove together, with
him and his war-dragons as the tip of the spear.
‘Hold on
tight!’ said Roztov before angling into a dive.
Below them,
ahead of them, the Stovologard dragons met the squadrons of undead circling the
top in a clash of fire and bones. Skeletal dragons exploded in flames while the
swarms of black bats swooped and weaved between the flames. As the two sides
met in midair, living dragons began to fall too, either clawed by the skeletons
or hit by jets of darkness, or set upon by hordes of bats and pulled away,
falling down to the city below.
The three
dragons above the main attack dove down through the clouds, the cinders and the
falling bones and it wasn’t long before they entered the melee, ducking and
diving between the fighting, avoiding everything, aiming only for the portal.
As they plunged
through the aerial battle, Lorkuvan was hit in the side by a skeleton that
grabbed her around the neck with its claws. She spread her wings and checked
her fall so that she could get her head round to bite at her foe. Roztov only
glimpsed this as she was swept up and away from sight amongst the smoke.
Roztov and Shumakkak
continued to dive, until they were finally so close to the tower top that they
had to spread their wings or slam into it. The main battle continued over their
head, showers of bones and dead dragons falling all around them.
There were
skeletal dragons flying everywhere, dozens of them still and Shumakkak did her
best to fight them, but she too was pulled away by one and together they fell
down over the side of tower in a burst of flames. There was an explosion of
bones as she destroyed the dragon that had grasped her, but three more fell on
her from above and they all fell down past the side of the tower and out of
sight.
Through
clouds of bats and past the grasping claws of the skeletons Roztov found he
could get no closer to the portal. He flew up again, to escape the enemies
below, gaining some height as he used the speed from his dive to circle the
square as fast he could. Looking around he could see that the king’s attack was
over. As he flew along the edge of the tower he saw the king himself, dead, lying
with a wing missing, his body handing off the crenulations. The attack may have
ended in failure, but had bought Roztov a few valuable seconds of respite.
‘I’m going
to try something Ghene!’ he shouted over the noise of the undead. ‘If it works
then that’s the only chance you’ll get!’
The air
around Roztov began to glow blue, then yellow. After a few moments, as he flew
through a cloud of smoke, two dozen dragons appeared, green like Roztov but
somewhat smaller.
These new
foes took the undead by surprise, springing as they did from nowhere. They
surrounded Roztov, protecting him as he dove the last hundred yards to the slates
of the tower top. Whenever one of the summoned dragons was killed by the
skeletons it merely popped out of existence and when all the other dragons were
gone, with Roztov as close as he could get to the portal, Ghene turned into a
hawk and flew at incredible speed towards it.
A skeletal
dragon blocked his way, but he flew straight through its rib cage and out the
other side. He spiralled around a cloud of bats, angled himself to swoop along
the ground for twenty yards and then as fast as an arrow he shot through the
portal.
With no more
magic left and the portal still producing undead Roztov tried to flee. Avoiding
a skeletal dragon he flew straight into a cloud of bats that nipped and clawed
at him. He rolled, but his wing clipped a skeleton and he fell towards the square.
Two dragon
skeletons dug their claws into him and together they fell onto the slates.
Roztov managed to twist around to land on one of the skeletons and it
disintegrated underneath him. He pushed the other one aside and breathed fire,
rearing up and roaring, bathing the monster in flames and it exploded in a
shower of bones. Roztov was far from safe though, as the smaller, earthbound
undead moved in on him. He reared again, ready to bathe the area in fire, but
just as he did another skeletal dragon crashed into him from above. Stunned,
Roztov fell backwards into a pile of bones and dragon bodies. He scrambled and
fell again, behind one of the burnt and half-collapsed pavilions. As he tried
to rise an undead giant swung a ten foot long club at him and battered him to
the ground.
The giant
raised its club again, but was distracted by something that was happening in
the centre of the tower top. Roztov raised his head with what little strength
he had left and saw that the portal was imploding. It was giving off a low droning
sound as it shrunk. No more undead where coming out of it. With a sudden pop
and an inrush of air it vanished completely.
The giant
lowered its club and looked up at the sky. Dragons, two cautious or cowardly to
join any of the previous attacks, seeing that the portal was gone, dove back
down towards the tower.
Roztov was
exhausted and badly injured, he could barely move. He watched as the dragons,
with new found courage swept the undead from the sky and the square with fire
and claw. The fighting over, black dragons landed on the tower top. When one of
them approached through the bones and bodies Roztov groggily raised his head.
‘Traitorous
scum!’ snarled the dragon, judging Roztov to be from the Chasm. ‘It’s execution
or the mines for you, a fate you’ll richly deserve.’
The dragon
walked past though, otherwise ignoring him, and Roztov waited. Half an hour
passed, but it seemed that, without their king, the Stovologard dragons were
leaderless and confused. Some other black dragons came and picked through the
wreckage, finding and helping any city dragons they found alive. Men began to
cautiously appear at the top of the stairs, but they were in no hurry to do anything
other than stare at the destruction in astonishment. Roztov, exhausted and
beaten, closed his eyes.
When he
opened them, it was getting dark. He could hear the sound of seagulls. There
were a few handfuls in the sky and some were even landing amongst the carnage.
The few dragons that were on the square, picking through the battlefield,
ignored them. One of the seagulls hopped over to where Roztov lay and stretched
out a wing to touch him on the head. He felt healing magic being to course
through his body.
After a few
minutes he was strong enough to fly again, and when no one was looking in his
direction, he stood and made his way to the side of the tower as quietly as he
could. He then flopped over the crenulations and fell for a while, before
opening his wings and gliding out over the city, heading north.
It was too
dark and there was too much smoke for him to see how much damage had been done
down in the streets of Stovologard. The sun was setting behind him, turning the
clouds above him red.
The seagull that
had healed him swooped down beside him, calling angrily. It jerked its head,
clearly trying to indicate that Roztov follow it. Together they flew over the
city, over the harbour and towards the fog barrier. There was a ship anchored
there on the wine dark sea. The seagull flew towards it and Roztov followed.
