The White Song (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 5)

by Phil Tucker

  “No. He said it’s too late. He just hopes you and I die first so he can watch.”

  “Oh,” Kethe said again. “What do we do?”

  “Do?” Tharok rose to his full height, towering some two or three feet over her. She heard sinews creak and heard joints pop as he stretched his arms out wide as if to embrace death. “We go, we fight, we kill. What else?”

  “Fair enough.” Kethe took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fought for calm. It took a moment, but she found it, deep within her being: found the White Song and wrapped its essence around her. For a few seconds she hung suspended in its beauty, and then she opened her eyes and nodded. “Then, let’s go.”

  They didn’t run the last block. The buildings along the curving street had grown larger and more important-looking. They’d drawn close to the center of the city, where the river would have passed the old fortress and Empire Square. Their footsteps echoed off the walls. Blazing sword in hand, Kethe led the way, and after she finally reached the bend and rounded it, she came to a stop.

  Starkadr’s base lay before her. The ground had been shockingly buckled and shattered by its impact, and a towering berm of dirt and rock had risen around where the black stone had punched into the earth. Buildings had been demolished all around it, and were partially collapsed even a block away. The detritus of destruction lay strewn around the disaster site: a medley of broken beams, shattered clay tiles, dust and blocks, the innumerable dead, and fallen walls.

  But Kethe’s gaze was fixed on the demons that awaited them. They stood arrayed before a great crack in Starkadr’s gleaming side. Too many small demons to count — a hundred, perhaps more? A dozen of the larger, dog-headed demons. And in the center, looming high even over those, was a hog-headed demon with wings of ebon fire. The very sight of it caused Kethe’s throat to close up.

  The shamans behind them began to wail. Kethe could feel the kragh warriors hesitate, ready to break and run.

  Tharok raised his scimitar, and it incandesced in black fire. He swiped it viciously on the down diagonal, then held it before him with both hands, the muscles of his massive forearms writhing like snakes beneath his black skin.

  Demonic eyes flickered in anticipation. Maws opened, revealing rows of spiny teeth. Taloned hands flexed, and Kethe knew they wouldn’t charge her. The fell creatures would simply appear all around them, any moment now, and envelop them in attacks from all sides.

  Staying still was suicide. Taking a deep breath, she raised Tiron’s blade. “My soul to the White Gate!” she screamed, and then charged.

  Only to falter and come to a stop as a massive trumpeting roar sounded from high above her.

  The demons all froze and as one turned to look up.

  In the cerulean sky a dragon was flying, black wings extended, tail undulating behind it like a snake swimming through water. It was the most glorious, awesome, and overwhelmingly welcome sight Kethe had ever seen.

  Kethe tensed, ready for an attack, but none came. The ranks of smaller demons before her disappeared. The dog-headed demons went next, leaving only the massive, hog-headed aberration.

  Kethe bit her lower lip, ready for anything, but then it grunted, a low sound of pleasure and disgust, and smote the ground with its fiery blade. The earth parted before its blow, the force of which left a furrow laminated in a rough sheen of glass, and then it, too, disappeared.

  “Come!” said Tharok. “There is no time!” He ran forward, pounding his way toward the crack into Starkadr.

  “No time,” said Kethe, heart in her throat. “Yes.”

  She ran after him, the other kragh at her heels.

  The sound of battle began to filter down from above. Kethe wanted to do nothing more than to stop and watch. Instead, she raced up to Starkadr’s wounded flank and, taking a deep breath, sprinted into the riven crack and darkness.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tiron

  With a snap, Tiron appeared several hundred feet above Ennoia. The vast bulk of Starkadr dominated the sky before him like a wall of night. Draumronin floated on thermals, its huge wings extended, gleaming with the same lethal darkness as the stonecloud, its scales picked out by the brilliant sunshine, its huge shoulder muscles shifting beneath Tiron as the dragon made minute adjustments to its flight.

  Tiron bit down a defiant roar of exaltation. Riding a horse into battle would never thrill him again. This was the only way to enter combat, atop several hundred tons of impossible glory, high above the world.

  As if sensing his emotion, Draumronin churned the air so as to stop and hover, and then opened its jaws and emitted a thunderous roar that challenged the very heavens to combat. Tiron cried out; the crude leather harness he’d fashioned was creaking alarmingly as it held him lashed to the great spinal horn and the dragon’s neck.

  The dragon’s roar echoed faintly back from the grim face of the stonecloud, and everywhere demons froze in flight, turning as one to orient on them.

  Tiron’s jaw tightened as he took in the sheer number of their foes. Not hundreds. Thousands. Most of them had been spiraling slowly around Starkadr, drifting in a holding pattern like a great swarm of gnats, seemingly content to soak in the sun and their dominion of the city below. Many of them were but specks as they flew around the far curves of Starkadr or floated far above. Those close by were the stuff of nightmares.

  Genderless, lithe, bat-winged and sporting horrific gashes for mouths filled with needle teeth, they looked like twisted children, impossible and cruel. They had floated in swarms some fifty strong, but now they all hovered, wings beating slowly, staring at Tiron and Draumronin with wide, startled eyes.

  “That’s right, you Black-Gated fucks,” said Tiron, his voice rough with fear. “Time to die.”

  Skandengraur appeared off to his left, and then together Rauda and Flamska appeared to his right.

  A ripple went through the assembled ranks of demons, a shockwave of fear just as they were coming to terms with the appearance of Draumronin.

  Ramswold raised his blade, which caught the sun and gleamed brilliantly as if imbued with its own inner fire. “For the Red Keep! For the honor of the Order of the Star! For the Ascendant, the White Gate, and the Empire!”

  Maur roared her own battle cry, while Shaya elected to remain quiet, saying something to Rauda that caused the little white dragon to roll to the left and drop away, gliding down at a diagonal toward the lower quarters of the sky.

  Tiron had a great spear in one hand, a borrowed blade in the other. He lifted both into the air, thighs clutching tightly at Draumronin’s neck, and bellowed, “For Iskra Kyferin! For the Black Wolves! For wrack and ruin!”

  Draumronin roared again, and the world blinked away, slipped by, and they appeared high above Starkadr, where the air was perilously thin and cuttingly cold. The stonecloud was a mountain beneath them, and the highest of the demons was now a hundred yards below.

  HOLD, SER TIRON, rumbled Draumronin. HOLD TIGHT.

  So saying, the dragon furled its wings and dove. Tiron screamed, part savage yell of terror, part raw defiance at the world. Down they plummeted, the wind whipping tears away from his eyes and causing his stomach to plaster itself against his spine, down, faster, faster, a black thunderbolt cast by the Ascendant himself.

  Just before they hit the first cloud of demons, Tiron felt Draumronin heat up beneath him, a sudden flush that nearly burned his thighs, and then the black dragon opened its maw and unleashed a broad blast of flame as it punched into their midst.

  Tiron didn’t have time to react. They flew through the demonic ranks swiftly, crashing through in a blaze of fire that saw them emerge on the other side before Tiron could even swing his blade. Draumronin continued its dive, tossing its head to one side to throw a mangled demon into the air, releasing corpses that it had clutched in its talons as it did so.

  Down they fell, Starkadr rising to greet them, and now Draumronin angled to the left, spearing into the heart of another swarm. Tiron saw Skandengraur cutting its way
around the far curve of the stonecloud, a huge billowing cloud of flame presaging its attack.

  This time, Tiron was ready. They smashed into the demons, who looked up at the last second and shrieked their dismay. Leaning out, he cut at a demon as it sought to fly right up over Draumronin’s back, nearly losing his blade as it chopped into the demon’s shoulder and sent it spinning.

  They emerged through the other side of the demon swarm, but this time the next group was ready for them and disappeared seconds before they could dive into their midst.

  Tiron twisted about in his harness, seeking out where they’d gone, only for some twenty more demons to suddenly materialize around Draumronin, diving at the same speed. As one, they unleashed black flame, a sudden explosive crackling that was cut short as Draumronin slipped through space and appeared alongside the face of Starkadr, diving still, right into a new cloud of demons who were flying straight at Rauda.

  Down they sped and smashed into the demons, who flickered out of existence before they could do more than kill a half-dozen. Starkadr’s flank was speeding past them, a mere five yards away, and Draumronin slowly spun as it dove, the world revolving around them, the ground rushing up with terrifying speed, a chaotic wasteland of ruined buildings and shattered streets.

  Tiron snarled in primitive terror as they fell faster and faster, speeding like an arrow at the rocks and the earth. He wanted to scream a warning but knew it madness to warn Draumronin of the impending impact — the dragon knew, had to know, had to be doing this on purpose.

  A split second before they would have hit, the world slipped away and they emerged into the sky, flying at that same terminal speed so that they tore right into the side of a swarm of demons that was dropping upon Skandengraur. In seconds, Draumronin had slammed its way through, killing a dozen in that single pass, and as it did so, it threw its head back and let loose another earth-shaking roar.

  “Yes!” screamed Tiron, though he still felt as if his heart was about to give out on him. All around him, demons were falling from the sky, charred and rent asunder. He saw Rauda flicker into existence, torch a tight knot of demons and then disappear only for Flamska to dive straight down from above through the survivors and disappear in turn.

  “We’re winning!” Tiron cried, clapping Draumronin’s horn before him. “If we keep this up, we’ll have them slaughtered before they know what’s going on!”

  NO, said Draumronin. WE BUT CALL OUT OUR TRUE PREY.

  Tiron’s grin died on his face. They were gliding forward, but the swarms of smaller demons were hanging back, flitting back and forth as they sought to avoid being in any one place for longer than a few seconds.

  “True prey?”

  YES, Draumronin rumbled. HERE COMES ONE NOW.

  Tiron leaned over and peered down Starkadr’s slope at a monstrously large entity that was making its way up toward them. It flew with wings of burning darkness, its hideous, porcine face raised to watch them, its maw split open to reveal its fangs in a nightmarish grin. It was gigantic, some five times the size of a normal man, and its burning blade wept tears of flame into the air as it worked its way ever closer.

  IT HAS BEEN LONG SINCE I FOUGHT ONE SUCH AS THIS, said Draumronin. The dragon seemed content to continue gliding, watching as the demon approached. IT SEEKS TO TRICK US. PREPARE YOURSELF. ITS ATTACK COMES NOW.

  Tiron shifted in his harness, tightening his grip on his spear as he raised it to shoulder height. The boar demon was still some two hundred yards below, but then it vanished only to descend upon them with a scream.

  Draumronin’s reaction was instantaneous. It rolled over hard so that the horizon was suddenly directly beneath Tiron and fell away with a roar of its own, blasting flame back at where the demon had appeared, its blade passing through where the dragon’s neck had been a second ago.

  Tiron grunted, holding on tight, and then flinched as the demon opened its maw and spewed forth a deluge of crimson flames. A moment before they would have hit, Draumronin slipped away and appeared ten yards above the ground as it sped with curtailed wings around Starkadr’s base. The boar demon appeared a second later, right before them, and Draumronin opened its maw, unleashing a torrent of fire to match the boar’s.

  Where the flames collided, they exploded in spectacular fashion, shooting out in a plane as if each utterly repelled the other. Draumronin slipped away just before it would have hit this point of impact, and then they were high above Starkadr once more.

  This time, a dozen smaller demons materialized around them and latched on immediately to the dragon’s sides as the boar demon hurtled headlong into Draumronin’s flank.

  The impact was tremendous, and Draumronin was wrenched out of its flight path, slammed sideways so that Tiron jerked in his harness and nearly dropped his sword.

  The boar demon clutched the dragon by the neck and raised its flame blade high overhead. Shrieking, the small demons began to tear into Draumronin’s hide, gouging at the dragon’s flesh, splitting scales and drawing blood.

  Draumronin beat its wings furiously, fighting for height as it wove its head aside and dodged the downward blow. Turning in place, it brought all four legs to bear, slashing and tearing at the boar demon, who took horrific wounds but didn’t seem to care.

  The smaller demons continued to tear open their wounds, and watching them shriek their laughter and stuff gobbets of Draumronin’s flesh into their mouths caused something in Tiron to snap.

  Not thinking, he hacked at his harness, working the sharpest length of his blade along the thick leather, severing straps until it tore free. He sheathed his blade and got his legs up underneath him so that he was crouching. Draumronin jerked to the right, and Tiron’s legs flew out from under him. He clutched madly at the spinal horn, managed to hold on as the world spun around, and then Draumronin leveled and he got his feet back on the dragon’s hide.

  The incline was perfect. Suicidally so.

  Tiron clutched the huge spear with both hands, timed it just right, hiked his feet up against the great horn and then shoved off, executing his own dive down the length of Draumronin’s spine, small horns whipping past him as he sliced through the air.

  The first demon in his path looked up just in time to take the spear head in the eye. The spear punched clean through, snapped, and then Tiron was past it. The second demon was off below on the dragon’s ribs. Tiron allowed the spear to yawn out wide, caught the mangled tip in the demon’s throat, then released it altogether and went for his blade.

  Draumronin pulled away, and suddenly the space between Tiron and the dragon grew to five yards. Not caring, roaring his fury, Tiron arched his back, fighting to control his spin, and tore his blade free just in time to hack off a demon’s upflung arm below him.

  Then he was past, out into the sky, falling into the blue. Tiron cried out a curse and looked back up at where Draumronin was fighting the boar demon, its jaws clamped around the demon’s head.

  A demon appeared to Tiron’s side, claws rising to take a swipe, but Tiron laughed maniacally and lashed out with his blade, cutting an inch-deep furrow through the demon’s chest so that it flickered and disappeared.

  Another appeared behind him, but Tiron was spinning now, his swipe having knocked him off-balance, and more by accident than design, he slammed his blade straight down on the demon’s clavicle, shattered it and lost his blade as the demon vanished with it.

  Starkadr was rushing up to meet him with terrifying speed, but Tiron found that he didn’t care. He drew his dagger from his boot and opened his arms, embracing the wind, the fall, the impending impact with the stonecloud’s apex. He could make out human architecture at the very top, a mottling of glass like dragonfly wings, an out-flung turret encased all in glass. As the sunlight gleamed off, it he thought he could make out a person within, seated on a throne, staring up at him in surprise, but then Rauda was there, alabaster bright and plummeting alongside, and Shaya was reaching out to him, a scream torn by the wind from her lips.

&nb
sp; Tiron latched his hand onto her wrist, and she hauled him in with surprising strength, pulling him through the air to settle on Rauda’s neck behind her as the white dragon flared its wings, caught the updrafts and lifted up mere seconds before colliding with Starkadr’s peak.

  “What are you doing?” Shaya screamed over her shoulder. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Possible,” said Tiron, liquid fire and terror still flooding him along with disbelief over having survived. “We’re fighting on dragonback, girl! Are you going to stay seated the whole time?”

  Shaya twisted around to stare at him in a disbelief that his manic grin no doubt only exacerbated, but then Rauda slipped away and appeared just above Draumronin, who was now clawing the remains of the demon asunder, yanking huge chunks of flesh from its gutted frame.

  “Thanks for the catch,” Tiron said, and hopped up into a crouch.

  “What are you doing?” Shaya yelled, but Tiron didn’t wait. He leaped out into the buffeting wind and dropped toward Draumronin, who bathed the demon in a sheet of flame and cast the corpse aside so that it fell, unrecognizable.

  “Draumronin!” Tiron screamed into the wind. “Here I come!”

  The black dragon’s sinuous neck curved around just as Tiron flew over it, coming so close he could have reached out and shattered his hand and wrist on its scales. Instead, he plummeted head-first into open sky once more, but a moment later, Draumronin was there, flying down, wings furled, revolving and easing closer so Tiron could reach out and grasp one of its horns and pull himself in.

  Draumronin eased its fall and pulled up into a glide. Tiron felt gravity take hold of him, pull him down solidly onto the dragon’s neck, and with a gasp he clutched the horn with both hands.

  I HAVE ALWAYS LIKED THE MAD ONES, said Draumronin. THOSE WHO BY COURTING DEATH DRIVE IT BEFORE THEM.

  Tiron grinned and scanned the skies. “Was that the worst of them?”

  THAT WAS AN YSIL-ATHAMGR, rumbled Draumronin. NO. IT WAS NOT THE WORST.