His dream self calmly watched the argent tendrils quest towards him. He didn’t move. Something was there with him, something unseen, but a comforting presence all the same. The tendrils latched onto his feet, and quickly flowed over his entire body, covering him in a silver filigree web. The web pulsed. It was alive.
The vein-like strands swelled and ran together until he was completely encased in a shining metallic skin. I’m not afraid. On the contrary; he felt safe, unassailable within his new, steel skin. It rippled and flowed, distended and hardened into layers and plates of gleaming metal; a suit of impossible armour more fantastical than any real harness ever could be. He raised his hand; saw the reflection of a scarlet flame burning atop the inhuman helm. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t recall what it was.
This isn’t right, this isn’t me. As soon as he had the thought, the armour flew apart like rose petals caught in a storm. The silver skin rippled. He looked at his new form. Yes. This is right, he thought, and flexed his claws.
Kilner woke with a start. His heart felt ready to burst from his chest. He was filled with an overwhelming sense of urgency, a need to act that was more pressing than anything he’d ever felt before. He didn’t panic. He knew what he had to do; the Other had shown him—opened his mind to all that was possible. The mage closed his eyes, freed his spirit from his body and plunged into the essence flow. For the first time in his life, Kilner wasn’t afraid.
At the first touch of the slumbering elemental his courage faltered. There was so much power! He would be consumed, destroyed before he got close enough to—
The Other was with him.
It didn’t speak, but its presence alone was enough to reassure him, to hold him to his course. He hovered on the edge of the maelstrom, just a little closer and he would be gone. It wasn’t too late to pull back; nothing was forcing him to proceed. The Other had only shown him the way. But if he did go back, they would never stop. But what if it doesn’t work?
The elemental was a shadow of what it had once been, and held together by nothing more than a vague memory. There was a mind somewhere within the mass of energy, a consciousness buried deep within the furnace, and only one way to reach it. He had to let go. It was all he’d ever had to do…and finally, he did. Kilner let go of his essence and became one with the elemental.
As the pattern of his spirit began to unravel, he visualised what he wanted, and drove the vision like a knife, deep into the slumbering creature’s mind. A heartbeat later, Kilner Reese ceased to exist.
Rayna checked the picket line for the third time in an hour. She’d lost her good sword and the wound in her shoulder ached like the Void, but it was thinking about Big Janni that darkened her mood.
She kept seeing him snatch the shaft from his neck, unstoppering the wound that fountained blood over both of them. She’d reached out—snagged a link of mail, but she lost him, and he fell back, into the stinking cess pit of a moat. And then he was gone. Just like that, the putrid water swallowed him. She’d miss Janni, miss his company on cold winter nights, and miss his laughter…Bastard archers.
She slumped down against a boulder and cursed the day she’d signed up for this ill-starred venture. The pickings had been slim, and the fighting too hard. The sooner they were done and away the happier she’d be. Rayna closed her eyes; if nothing else, sleep was free. The horses would wake her if anyone came near.
The dense forest dulled the din of battle and soaked up the spiky sharpness of metal striking metal, but the screams of the wounded and the dying scratched at her consciousness and kept her awake. The trees had an odd way of distorting noise; they made it sound like the fighting was getting closer. She opened her eyes. Maybe it was. Maybe reinforcements had come to save the Steelskins. She sat up; palms flat either side of her. The ground was trembling.
She scrambled to her feet; that was no army—it was an earthquake. The ground heaved beneath her. The terrified horses ripped the picket line out of the ground and galloped into the forest. The mercenary tried to run but the ground was shaking so violently that she fell. A nearby hillock cracked and split, throwing up dirt and rocks as it erupted.
The shaking was so powerful that a pair of beech trees started to slide down the flanks of the shattered mound. She scuttled back on her arse; the ground flowed around her like water. The beech trees trembled and creaked ominously, branches snapped and crashed down around her.
She yelped as a thunder-loud crack ripped the air and the trees split along their entire lengths…and snapped open like a pair of giant fans. Pulpy fibres within the trunks swelled like the veins in the wings of a new born butterfly… No. Not like wings—they were wings. While she struggled with the stunning realisation, a massive bony head shook itself free of the clinging earth at the base of the hill.
As grey as stone and crested with jagged scales that were veined and flecked like marble, the head looked like that of a giant lizard. The scales ran down the back of the huge skull and formed a ridge along the length of its muscular, earth coloured back.
Rayna wanted to run, but her legs were trembling so much she couldn’t take a step. The huge head swung in her direction, a breath of dirt bathed her face. It opened its eyes. Dappled gold and green, like sunlight shining through leaves, the great orbs held no pupils, but were a constant hypnotic swirl of colour. It blinked and tilted its head from side to side, as though trying to decide what she was. Rayna was quite certain she knew what it was.
The dragon’s dream was over. It arched its back, and spread its wings, flexing each spine like a finger. One at a time it heaved its massive feet free of the earth and took its first steps in a millennium.
A small but insistent thought had roused it from its slumber and given it purpose for the first time in a long time. It couldn’t remember the name it once had, but there was a memory buzzing on the edge of its thoughts, like a…something it couldn’t remember.
It lurched forward, trying to recall how to move and how to keep its spirit within the rock and earth that with every passing moment, was turning into its body. It had been a long time since it had existed in the world of flesh and bone, an age since the Other had shaped its pattern.
It stopped and tried to catch the tail of a long forgotten memory. There were great trees reaching up to an azure sky, and the shining people worshipping their Shining God. It was a pleasant memory, it wanted to see more and almost slipped back into the dream, but the tiny buzzing thought stung it again, as angry as a wasp.
I remember.
For the first time in a long time it had a task to perform. It also remembered that it wanted to travel.
They were deep in the shit, and the bridge was a hundred angry warriors away. Alyda could see the Black Lancers in the distance. Faithful Guards to the last, they were fighting to hold the bridge and keep it open for them, but there were just too many Guthani. Rann hacked his way through to her; he was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but still had the colours and was grinning like a demon.
“Well, Captain, it looks like the time’s come t’pay the butchers’ bill!” he bellowed over the din.
“I’m not ready to settle my account just yet!” Alyda yelled back and touched her spurs to Lyco’s flanks. The snorting destrier plunged into the mass. She wasn’t about to give up, but trapped as they were, she had to admit this might indeed be their last ride.
Although she was a warrior, she’d never much thought about dying, when she had, this was how she’d imagined she’d go. If today was the day, so be it. No one could have asked for a better life or finer career. Her only regret was that she hadn’t met Talin sooner. These thoughts flashed through her mind in an instant, but their impact was profound. The battle was raging bloody fury all around, but she had found the calm eye of the storm. And if death wanted her, it would damn well have to fight to take her.
The Lancers scythed down the living and ploughing under the dead, but for every Guthani they killed, two more took their place. Cassian had to order the
retreat before they were overwhelmed. There was no way they could hold the bridge, not now that the Guthani had rallied. And yet, the scarlet banner still flew above the swarming mass on the road. Guards do not abandon their own. Beria would never understand, but he hoped she would forgive him.
Lyco lashed out with his iron-shod hooves and barged warriors aside with his massive shoulders, but the press of bodies was closing in around them. A mercenary grabbed his bridal. Alyda hacked a warrior in the face, as another speared her in the thigh. She heeled Lyco in the flank, bringing him face-to-face with the warrior clinging to his bridle. She slid her foot back, heeled the destrier again—hard. He kicked out. There was a loud crack, the warrior fell screaming. Lyco reared and plunged, the warrior didn’t get up.
She swept her sword around and struck the spear wielder across the head before he had a chance to stab her again. He fell back clutching his bleeding face. A sharp pain ripped through her thigh. A wave of nausea washed over her, her vision blurred. The noise of battle grew distant…
A peel of thunder tore through the forest. Lyco ripped the reins from her hands and tried to bolt, almost throwing her. The trees on the edge of the woods by the road exploded, and unbelievable though it was, a dragon stepped from the shadows of history and onto the battlefield.
The massive creature casually surveyed the bloody field until its eyes lit on the trebuchets. It threw back its head, let out a deafening roar and pounced on the machines, its massive wings flattening trees and warriors alike. The destriers’ prey animal instincts finally overcame their training and when the dragon leapt, they bolted in the opposite direction through the awestruck Guthlanders and back towards the Arth.
Thorgulsen had never seen a true dragon before. He might have appreciated its grace and majesty a little more if the fucking thing wasn’t killing his warriors in its haste to destroy Trenham’s engines. Worse, its arrival had given the Steelskins a chance to escape. First Beth, now this. He’d had worse days, but he couldn’t remember when.
Thorgulsen ordered his hirths to attack the dragon. Those Irregulars who were able had scattered when it had leapt at the trebuchets. They now gathered outside Trenham’s command tent. Many were in shock, a few were wounded. The rest were putting on armour.
“I knew this was a bad contract,” Kiri muttered. She flopped down; a long, arrow-thin splinter was sticking out of her forearm.
“You might have mentioned that before we signed up,” said Trenham, as he slammed more arrows into his quiver.
His Lieutenant gritted her teeth and pulled the splinter from her arm. Blood teared down her wrist. She bound the cut with her torn sleeve. “You’re not thinking o’having a go at that with a bow are you, sir?”
“Yes!” He dashed the quiver on the ground. “No. Fuck! I should just aim one at myself; put me out of my misery.”
Kiri shook her head and wiped her bloody hands on the grass. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you. Tha’ way your luck’s runnin’, you’d miss.”
Everyone dived for cover when the dragon ripped the throwing arm off one of the trebuchets and hurled it. Trenham watched his profits tumble end-over-end, across the field before it slewed onto the road and smashed a group of hirths into oblivion. A knot of scarlet-clad knights took advantage of the chaos and charged towards the Arth. He wasn’t sure, but he thought one of them was Ali Stenna.
A dozen Guthlanders paid with their lives for every foot of ground the Black Lancers gave. It just wasn’t enough.
By the time the dragon arrived the Lancers had been driven back into the shell of the ruined gatehouse. Then all fighting stopped. Deadly enmity was momentarily forgotten as all combatants fell under the dragon’s spell, and stared in open-mouthed disbelief at the mythical creature come to life. Something stirred in Cassian’s blood, a memory, a sense of familiarity. Kinship. He shuddered, dragged his gaze from the beast.
The Guthani cavalry were being rallied by a warrior in a dragon crested helm. He raised his spear and quite unbelievably, charged at the beast. The attack on the gatehouse faltered, impetus fleeing with the horse warriors who followed their leader. Strength and hope renewed, Cassian gave the order to charge.
When his innate belligerence overcame his instincts, Alyda was able to steady Lyco’s wild gallop. Dozens of Telvier’s mercenaries were fleeing the field. Many of the Guthani seemed to have forgotten the Antians and were instead running to attack the dragon. Alyda didn’t know if they were brave or stupid. Whichever it was, she was grateful. Hope had sprung from a most unexpected source, but they weren’t out of trouble yet. Not all of the Guthani had broken off the chase, and several groups continued to pursue them up the road.
“Typical heavies, always late.” Cassian shouted when the Hammer joined up with the Lancers on the bridge.
Alyda answered, but her words were lost when, having finished destroying the trebuchets, the dragon noticed the humans attacking it. The beast let out a sky-splitting roar, and swept dozens of Guthani aside with a casual flick of its tail.
Alyda and Cassian ordered their knights inside while they waited by the ruined gatehouse for stragglers. Rann was one of the last to make it back. He came charging up the road, covered in blood, a swarm of Guthani in his wake the ragged banner of the 1st clutched in his hand. Alyda thought he looked like Ataghenach, the Tamalak war god, and on a day like today such a visitation would not have surprised her.
“D’you have any idea where our saviour came from?” Cassian asked as the knight thundered past them.
Beyond the rubble-strewn ruins, the Guthani paused to lock shields, mindful of the archers on the wall.
“Not the slightest, but as long as it’s attacking them and not us, I don’t care if it came from the Void.”
“I’m with you there,” he said, just before a spear split the difference between them.
“Time to go I think,” said Alyda, and kicked Lyco on.
As the knights turned for the Arth, a flaxen-haired hirth darted from behind the shields. Yelling a war cry, she hurled her axe. A moment later she was dead, feathered a dozen times before she hit the ground. The axe continued on its deadly path and struck the left hind leg of Cassian’s horse, snapping bones. The horse let out a scream and crashed to the ground. Cassian rolled clear and was quickly on his feet. He drew his sword, took a two handed grip, and dispatched his crippled mount.
Emboldened by his comrade’s reckless bravery another hirth came from cover and cast his spear at Cassian. He too was rewarded with a swift death, but not before he threw his weapon. Alyda shouted a warning. The Captain of the Lancers raised his sword to block. His breastplate lifted a few treacherous inches. The spear sparked off his sword blade and buried itself in his gut. The archer’s redoubled their efforts and loosed a blizzard of shafts at the Guthani. Cassian fell to his knees, clutching the spear. Alyda turned back and put Lyco between the Guthlanders and the wounded knight.
“Cass! Take my hand,” she yelled, reaching down to him as spears and arrows laced the air around them.
The pale knight yanked the spear out and stared, dazed and confused, at the bloody blade in his hand.
“Captain Vorsten!” Alyda bellowed. “Give me your fucking hand!”
Cass blinked, refocused. He dropped the spear and reached up. She grabbed his wrist just before he passed out.
The unconscious knight’s weight threatened to drag her from the saddle. Alyda wrapped her legs around Lyco. Her injured leg burned, but she managed to haul Cassian up, and over the saddle.
“I’ve got you Cass, I’ve got you,” she said and was about to turn for the gate when a spear flew from behind the shield wall and struck Lyco in the chest.
No! The warhorse reared. Alyda threw herself across Cassian. The Guthani cheered and closed in for the kill. Lyco’s blood bathed the cobbles. Alyda bellowed her rage and frustration. So close, so damn close! Cassian groaned. She couldn’t give up. Summoning what strength she had left, Alyda reined Lyco around and dug her spurs in his flanks, hatin
g herself for doing so. The destrier snorted foamy blood, but put his head down and ploughed towards the Arth.
The air sang as archers loosed volley after volley into the Guthani. Something hit her helm. The ringing impact lit stars before her eyes. She drove Lyco on, willing him to stay on his feet. The warhorse stumbled, but he did not fall; bloody—minded determination keeping him moving. Alyda could feel consciousness starting to slip away. The gates opened. She wrapped the reins around her fist and locked her other arm around Cassian. The world grew dim and distant…
Talin led the charge out of the gate, but was quickly overtaken by Bear. The great black horse staggered towards the barbican, blood pouring from its chest.
Jamie led a group of yelling squires past Talin. Rann Lacgarde was still mounted and charged past them and slammed into the Guthani, smashing a hole in their shield wall that the archers took full advantage of. For the second time, Bear broke her vow. Snarling, the woman became a beast and followed Rann into the knot of Guthani on the bridge. The pursuit slowed.
Before he could take the reins from Alyda, a hirth charged him. Talin stabbed him in the chest and kicked him over the side of the bridge. Another took his place. The black horse stumbled past them.
“Hold on, Captain!” Jamie shouted as Lyco staggered towards the barbican.
“Jamie!” A strangled voice shrieked in terror. He spun round. It was Hedden. His fellow squire was under a ferocious attack from a Guthani with an axe and shield. Jamie wanted to help the Captain, but Hedden was no match for the Guthlander he was up against. Cursing, Jamie fought his way through the press toward his fellow squire. Just as he reached him, the hirth beat down Hedden’s defence and hacked him in the gut. Hedden fell.
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