“Then have each member of the Quorum collect their Matei staff and come up here at once,” K’yeran ordered. “We are hunting dragons this dawn.”
CHAPTER 28
Siege
DRAKIS LEANED FORWARD on the back of the dragon Marush, trying to see what was happening below. The beating of the enormous wings straining forward to scoop the air regularly prevented a view of the ground but what he did see during the interval when the wings swept down and back had him worried.
The forward lines of the Army of the Prophet, so clearly and neatly drawn the night before on the map had dissolved in the chaos of battle. Drakis could see that the manticores in the center and northern forces were already charging toward the wall yet the southern group had not begun their run. Worse, the charging manticores were suffering under a withering bombardment of spells of every kind cast down upon them from the city wall—a wall that looked to be manned shoulder to shoulder with defending warriors, Impress Warriors and Proxi mages. Eruptions of flame and smoke, lightning flashes and cyclone winds cut across the approaches to the city, obscuring the devastation they were certainly wreaking all along the still charging manticore line. Counter spells from the few mages of Group North flashed toward the city. Those spells were powerful but inaccurate, often falling short enough to endanger their own advancing warriors and more often still arching beyond the city wall and bursting within the city. Smoke from several fires inside the city, especially one large conflagration on the northern side of the central city, billowed upward, marring the clear sky and filling the interior of the city with a hazy pall.
He glanced back. Urulani was there off to his left riding her dragon, Kyranish. Seated behind her was Braun, clinging tightly to the harness. To his right, perhaps two wingspans away, flew Jugar on the back of Pyrash followed closely by Ethis astride Wanrah.
Already, Drakis could see the flash and crackle of folds opening up behind the lines of Group North. The Rhonas warriors were emerging there, moving against the rear of his army’s formations.
The ground attack had launched too soon, Drakis realized with a grim shudder. They were running out of time.
Braun has to invert the Devotions and invert the Well, Drakis thought. Once he does, it’s over. Once he does, I’m free.
Now in the dawn of a dreadful day
Into the city of death
North and south flying
Great cities dying…
Marush banked toward the left with Kyranish following him into the turn. Drakis watched as Pyrash and Wanrah soared away from them to the right.
Two dragons from the north and two from the south, Drakis thought. We find the central Well and leave Braun to his work. It’s a good plan. Stick to the plan…and I’ll be free.
Jugar knew he had two advantages over his companions. The first was that he already knew where the Aether Well of the elves was located in the city. The dwarves of the mountain knew its location and were able to provide it to him before he left the mountain.
The second was that he knew their plans whereas they knew nothing of his.
Jugar reached down with his wide hand, laying it against the neck of Pyrash. Dawn vanished into sunset. He could still see the armies arrayed below but they looked like moving toy warriors. The fires flared inside the city on the northeast side but strangely he could no longer see the smoke.
“Plans have changed, dragon,” Jugar said to the monstrous winged beast. “We fly straight for the wall of the city as fast as your wings can bear us. Do you see that curved bit directly ahead of us?”
“Yes, dwarf, my sight is quite good,” Pyrash answered.
“Take us directly over the outermost point of that wall. There will be a field beyond and then many elf buildings. Continue on directly to the west and you’ll see a park—a green space. Fly to the left there and follow the road around as it curves northward. That’s where we’ll find our prize.”
“And what is our prize, master dwarf?” Pyrash asked.
“A tall, floating building of the elves,” Jugar answered. “Black-and-white marble gilded with silver trim.”
“And what do we do once we find it?” Pyrash continued.
“At all cost, we must get me to the Aether Well beneath it,” Jugar said. “And we must do so before anyone else follows us there. So, fly, Pyrash…fly as I have told you, as fast as you can!”
“What is the dwarf doing?” Urulani pointed as she yelled back at Braun.
The cerulean-blue-and-violet dragon to the north was beating its wings furiously, pulling quickly away from its black-and-rust companion, Wanrah. Ethis was urging his dragon onward but already Pyrash was well away and driving straight toward the wall.
“I don’t know,” Braun yelled back. “Perhaps he sees something we don’t.”
“Do we go after him?” Urulani asked.
“No, we stay with Drakis,” Braun answered. “If the dwarf can find the Wells for us before we cross into the city then so much the better. Follow Drakis and we’ll be fine.”
Urulani nodded and looked up and to her right. Drakis continued flying Marush to the southwest. They were supposed to cross into the city above what Belag called the “Manticore Gate—” a smaller and far more modest opening in the southern wall than the Emperor’s Gate farther to the west.
K’yeran and her Quorum of Iblisi rose from the balcony platform, their Matei staffs glowing with power. They drifted into the smoke-hazed air above the Vira Planesta. Below them were the shouting, panicked crowds of Tjarlas’ citizens, trying to push their way toward the Emperor’s Gate. The thunderous sounds of magic coming from the Old East Wall and the dark, thick columns of smoke they could see rising from the northeast quarter of the city had pushed the elves and their Impress slaves around the center of the city. Yet with Legions moving westward along the southern city wall, the Emperor’s Gate was now sealed and the only avenue left for escape was the Emperor’s Fold.
“I’ll bet you that Occuran Foldmaster is wishing he were somewhere else right now,” Indexia Wheton remarked as he floated next to K’yeran, pointing toward the Emperor’s Fold. They could barely glimpse the platform and fold between the towers of minor avatria but it was evident that the fold was being overrun by the terrified and near-rioting mob.
“And I’ll bet you that we all will be making that same wish before the day is done,” K’yeran said in return. “Jak’ra and Phagana…you’re with me over the Old East Wall. Wheton, you take Uchari and Gushai with you above the Northreach Gate. Chik’dai, you take Qi’tos and Meratsoi above the Emperor’s Gate. The dragons will most likely be attacking along the wall, either trying to make a breach or to clear the way for the warriors on the ground. Either way, we are the only ones here who can meet them in the air.”
“But how can we bring them down?” Assesia Qi’tos asked.
“I’ll let you know after I’ve killed one,” K’yeran replied. “Stay out of the way of magic and arrows from the ground and I’ll meet you back here when it’s done. Now GO!”
Ghenetar Praetus Betjarian looked out over the Northreach Gate from the balcony of a most displeased Third Estate patron by the name of Clydis Sha-Tupukt’s House avatria. The patron had been living a relatively peaceful and lucrative life until earlier that morning when the door of his subatria was unceremoniously broken down and his entire home—whose upper levels afforded a rather splendid view of the Northreach Gate and the steppes beyond—was confiscated in the name of the Emperor and by the Emperor’s Will. So it was that the patron found himself, his family, and his Impress slaves standing on the Vira Gardalis outside their own palace while the War Council of the Army of the Imperial Vengeance hastily set up their command in the master bedroom suite, throwing the large bed and several interfering pieces of exquisite and antique furniture over the balcony railing in order to make sufficient room for the war-mages.
Below and before him was spread the chaos of war. The city wall to the east of the Northreach Gate was of newer construction
than the Old East Wall and not nearly as well fortified. It had been rebuilt there following the Northern Conquests and its practicality as a defense had been secondary to esthetics. By that time, no one had expected the new wall to ever see an invading army let alone have to repel one. The Army of Drakis had managed to breach the wall east of the gate through the use of some infernal magic of their own but three Centurai had been rushed forward from where they had been placed in reserve in the Stadia Emperious. Three attempts by the manticores to breach those lines had been repulsed but the losses among the Centurai there had been heavy. The Proxis along the top of the wall were also suffering casualties from the mystical bombardment flying from the secondary lines of the attacking army. The residential district directly north was in flames but there was little he could do about that except leave it to whatever local authority still existed. He knew to be careful in the use of his reserves, since he thought they were outnumbered more than three to one but he was about to change all that.
“Tribune Ngiu’kah!” the general snapped. “Did you dispatch the runner up the Northreach Folds?”
“Praetus!” Ngiu’kah answered. “The runner was dispatched with your orders for the army to answer your call to battle here in Tjarlas. He left thirty minutes ago.”
“How long before the Army arrives?” Betjarian asked.
Ngiu’kah was a veteran Tribune having fought in a number of campaigns in Lyrania before joining Betjarian’s command a season before. Still, he hesitated to make his report. “The Army of Shebin’s Vengeance has been moving steadily north in pursuit of what they believed was the main force of the rebellion. Our own Legions may by now be as far northward as the Mournful Mountains…possibly beyond…”
“How long, Tribune?”
The Tribune swallowed before answering. “The first elements are not expected to return for two days, my lord. The core of the army may be expected in four days given open access to the Northreach Folds and a forced march.”
“Then we have to hold out for two days on our own,” the Praetus nodded grimly.
“Yes,” answered Tribune Ngiu’kah, unable or unwilling to venture any further opinion.
“Tribune Gaeus!” Betjarian shouted. “Why do we not have more warrior displacement to the rear of the enemy?”
“Praetus!” the Tribune responded at once. “The war-mages tell me that they are having trouble propagating the folds. Something is interfering with the Aether behind the lines. We are getting some Octia placed behind the lines. They are engaging the enemy with success but we cannot get sufficient numbers of Octia there to establish a foothold against their rear elements.”
The avatria shook violently. Plaster from the exquisite crown moldings crashed to the marble floor.
Betjarian leaned against the doorframe as the avatria steadied itself. “Then find a way to get them there! Impress every Occuran in the town and put them to work on the front lines establishing folds. We have to break the back of their army if we’re going to…what are you looking at, Tribune?”
The Tribune pointed through the archway out beyond the balcony.
Two enormous monsters out of his worst nightmares flew above the battlefield, their leathery wings beating the air with power and speed. Both seemed to be rushing directly toward the Ghenetar Praetus. Their shapes were the stuff of legend, their scale-covered bodies flashing in the morning light.
“Dragons!” Betjarian breathed. “War-mages! Direct all the Proxis to…wait!”
Four black shapes streaked through the haze around the avatria, rushing toward the Northreach Wall.
Betjarian’s face split into a savage, sharp-toothed grin. “The Iblisi! Remind me to pay a call on the Keeper when I get back to the Imperial City. Her Inquisitor lackeys would seem to have some uses after all. The Iblisi will have a clear shot at that beast once he turns to attack the wall, then we’ll…”
Betjarian stared in amazement.
The dragon did not turn nor even slow. It plunged through the floating Iblisi, banking slightly as it passed the avatria and the astonished Praetus. The elven commander caught the impression of someone riding on the back of the blue-and-purple dragon, flashing by in a blur of motion, followed moments later by all four of the Iblisi flying after it into the heart of city. Then, to Betjarian’s shock, a second dragon—bearing different markings and a taller rider—flashed past his balcony, following the Iblisi with its own meteoric speed.
“The battle’s out there!” the Praetus shouted after the Iblisi tearing after the dragon. “Where do you think you’re going?”
CHAPTER 29
Dragonflight
JUGAR’S EYES WERE WIDE despite the wind and the smoke.
Pyrash drove with determined speed across the city wall of Tjarlas and plunged between the soaring avatria that made up the inner city. The dragon had misunderstood the dwarf’s directions and now was banking first left, then right to avoid collisions with the buildings that floated around them like a forest of stalagmites threatening to spear the sky above them on every side.
Beneath them, the panic that had gripped the citizens of the city erupted into blind terror as they passed close overhead. Jugar knew that dragons had long been the fabric of cautionary tales told by the elves to their children. He enjoyed the idea that he and Pyrash were a nightmare incarnate to the elves below.
He would have relished it more, however, if he were not so terrified himself at the moment.
The various avatria of the central city speared the sky all around them. One of them, a spindle-shaped tower of jade contoured like a spiral of reeds loomed directly in their path. Pyrash banked hard to the left, his wings almost vertical to the ground, pressing the dwarf hard down into his saddle harness as the dragon turned.
Abruptly, there was a flash and a deafening clap of thunder. The dragon rocked under Jugar as the dwarf instinctively turned toward the sound.
Lightning was still crackling around an enormous, charred hole in the side of the reed-shaped avatria behind them. A ball of heat and smoke drifted upward from the gaping scar as flames took hold of the interior structure of the avatria and began burning furiously. Unexpectedly, Pyrash dropped out from under the dwarf, diving toward the ground. Jugar remained with the dragon only by virtue of the harness that connected him to the saddle. He reached forward in a panic, grabbing the tanned leather straps with a white-knuckled grip. He could hear the screams of terror from below mixed with the rising rush of the wind as together the dwarf and dragon plunged down the face of a large theater building, turning sharply to the right and pulling up just above the now rioting elves of Tjarlas packed into a long plaza below them. The dragon soared at enormous speed over the heads of the elven families and their Impress slaves, its foreclaws pushing off several statue columns in the center of the plaza.
Thunderous explosions sounded twice more behind Jugar. The dwarf twisted around in his saddle, looking back between the beating wings of Pyrash and past his long, barbed tail. Fire, stone, dirt, the dead and, worse, the injured blasted upward from the plaza twice in succession where moments before the dragon had passed. The crowd below was running madly, mindlessly, in their desire to be anywhere but the plaza. Jugar could see a number of bodies lying still on the cobblestones in the wake of the insane stampede.
Then he saw them rushing through the air behind his dragon. Elongated heads and black, lifeless eyes, black robes, Matei staffs—the Iblisi!
“The Inquisition wants to play, eh?” Jugar sneered. “More sauce for the feast.”
He had little time to enjoy the thought, however. Pyrash banked right again and plunged back into the thicket of shining elven towers floating just above the center of the city.
“Where are they?” Ethis shouted in frustration.
“They are before us,” Wanrah answered. The dragon was rushing through the central section of the city. The reed-shaped avatria before them was nearly engulfed in flames. “Pyrash’s trail seems to be clearly marked.
“Keep goin
g,” Ethis urged, craning his neck forward. There were more fires in the plaza ahead. “We’ve got to catch up with Jugar.”
“Do you think the dwarf needs our assistance?” the dragon asked.
“No,” Ethis answered. “I think he needs to be stopped!”
Searing light tore through the air just below Kyranish’s right wing. Drakis heard the sizzle of its passing moments before the thunderclap of it slamming into the onion-shaped avatria ahead of them. The force shattered the structure, breaking it in two large sections and several smaller ones. The subatria held below it, however, and the pieces of the building, flames now igniting in various places, remained floating before them.
Urulani grimaced as Marush, flying just three dragon’s lengths ahead of her, pulled in both his wings. The dragon counted on his momentum to carry him through the debris with Drakis on his back. Kyranish rolled over the top of the shattered avatria, righting herself and dropping again to follow behind Marush.
Still the black shapes behind them remained in fanatical pursuit.
“Who are they?” Urulani yelled across the wind and tumult from the back of Kyranish.
“An Iblisi Quorum,” Braun answered, clinging to the harness. “Rather impressive, don’t you think? They seem to be adapting quite well in the face of the impossible.”
“If we survive them, then I’ll be impressed later,” Urulani said as Kyranish banked suddenly left and then right again. Twin bolts seared the air, rushing past them and out over the city wall. Urulani could see the Legions under Hegral beyond the city wall, shifting westward as they moved toward the Emperor’s Gate. The bolts fell over Hegral’s Legions, cascading forks of lightning down among the warriors below. Urulani noted the elven warriors, in full battle armor, as well as their Impress Warriors filling the top of the city wall, shifting westward with the movement of the invaders on the plains beyond.
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