The Dragons come, they see, they hear
They know one's heart and greatest fear.
Thunder rolled through the valley, trembling the stones, rising up from the deep, fiery bowels of Hell. A sharp crack from the clouds overhead answered it: sky and mountains growling as one. Smoke poured from the volcano, thick and dark.
An army of demon-wraiths could have hidden in it, Sirannor thought. Perhaps they do. Perhaps here, at the end of the world, they are pouring out of whatever ungodly place they come from...
The Dragon appeared slowly.
It was silent as a cat, and moved like one. It was huge, and old, perhaps the oldest Dragon on the island, and more impressive, yet more terrible, than the one Sirannor had killed. It was lean, emaciated: its ribcage stood out against skin that had tightened around its massive bones and hung loose in places. Its scales were a dark red colour, dull and worn, though here and there patches of shimmer revealed that it had once boasted a proud golden sheen, like the others. Black markings upon its face and horns gave an angry look to its already fierce head.
Its eyes were orange-red, burning with deep, deep fire and long-forged vengeance.
The hairs on Sirannor's neck stood up, and his heart beat faster. Yes! he thought fiercely.
This Dragon did not mean to lay down and die.
This Dragon meant to fight.
Slowly, purposefully, it stalked into the valley and came towards him.
It knows that the Aegis is failing, Sirannor thought. It knows…
Another crack of thunder split the air. Red lightning slashed bloody gashes in the clouds, though no drops yet fell.
Even the sky was waiting.
Sirannor smiled. Good luck, Dreikan.
The Dragon paused before him, its enormous body filling the entire valley, tattered wings folded at its sides. It seemed impossible that a creature so huge, so ancient, could be killed by anything. Even Dreikan's impressive black harpoons seemed mere pins in comparison.
Its eyes widened a little as it regarded him. It could have burned Sirannor to ashes with its stare alone, but he forced himself to hold its gaze.
“Dragon killer,” it said.
Its voice was nothing like that of a Muron's. It was deep as the rocks, languid as the rivers of molten magma flowing below them. It was the sound of the sky speaking, the proud, beautiful, vast voice of a God.
Sirannor stared up at its massive face, filling the entirety of the world, and dared to speak back.
“Human slayer.”
It opened its jaws and laughed.
This time, it was a laugh of amusement. It laughed as the Middle Isle shook around it, as though the whole of Arvanor trembled with its mirth.
“Indeed!” it replied.
“Are you aware,” Sirannor told it, “that you are walking into a trap?”
The Dragon stared down at him. “I am.”
“And yet, you came.”
“I came.”
They stared at each other, the Dragon and Sirannor Vandaris, Captain of the Freeroamers, ex-Lieutenant of the Darorian Army.
Sirannor could imagine General Dreikan's impatience, up on the bluff behind him. Could imagine him clenching his golden, gauntleted fist, fighting the urge to loose the harpoon himself.
Sirannor could imagine General Dreikan's impatience, up on the bluff behind him. Could imagine him clenching his golden, gauntleted fist, fighting the urge to loose the harpoon himself.
He wouldn't, Sirannor knew. Not yet. He wanted to see the Dragon take his hated nemesis in its mighty jaws.
Something passed between himself and the Dragon, then: a flicker of understanding; a shared moment. Perhaps something that had never been shared between Human and Dragon before.
The Dragon revealed all of its terrible teeth in what he assumed was a smile.
Sirannor smiled back.
Then he lowered his head slowly, respectfully, silver-white hair falling about his shoulders. Dark, porous rock littered the ground in front of him, probably the last thing that he was ever going to see. He wondered how much blood these stones had soaked up over hundreds of years of war, how many other eyes had dimmed staring at this blasted volcanic debris.
Too much. Far too many. And he wouldn't be the last.
At his back, his hands tightened into fists in their shackles.
He braced himself.
The Dragon was moving. It was silent, but he knew that it was lifting its great head above him, opening its jaws…
Sirannor closed his eyes.
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The end.
And then reality exploded, and everything in the world seemed to happen at once.
He heard the sound of the harpoon releasing, and a second later, the volcano erupted. Its deafening roar mingled with a sudden roar from the Dragon.
Sirannor chanced a glance upwards, and saw the Dragon rearing, the harpoon bolt lodged in the back of its throat.
Then the Dragon became a silhouette as an immense white flash momentarily blinded him. Sirannor thought it was a flash of lightning, but it lingered too long, and when it finally faded and he could see again, the sky was on fire.
Orange flashes swarmed and burned over his head, arcing over the mountain tops, as though the entire Aegis had caught alight. Molten lava streamed down the mountain opposite him, lighting up the gloom.
The Dragon thrashed and roared in fury. Dreikan had had the presence of mind to intertwine the harpoon rope with strands of moltmetal, so that it could not break or be burned.
Two other black, barbed harpoon bolts shot out of their hiding places, lodging in each of the Dragon's wings.
Then, with a mighty swing of its head, the Dragon ripped the first ballista completely off its moorings on the bluff.
Sirannor threw himself flat on the ground as the entire contraption sailed over his head and smashed into a thousand splinters on the nearby mountainside.
And suddenly, there were soldiers everywhere, clad in their impenetrable black armour, swarming into the valley like a thousand ants.
But, to Sirannor's astounded horror, not all of them attacked the Dragon. Many of the soldiers turned around and started fighting each other, for no apparent reason.
The surge collapsed into complete and utter chaos.
The Dragon spewed fire at everything in sight, trampled men and struggled to free itself from the harpoons.
Sirannor lay on the ground amid the madness, desperately trying to comprehend what was happening, and more importantly… why the hell he wasn't dead yet…
Somewhere, officers were screaming, or perhaps it was Dreikan himself, trying to regain some sort of control, but all orders were lost in the cacophony of death as soldiers were crushed, picked up and thrown against the rocks by the Dragon, burned, beheaded by their own comrades or were consumed by the lava flow now creeping along the valley floor.
And above it all, in the distance, came more roaring as the remaining Dragons took to the air.
Gods, Sirannor thought, horrified.
The Aegis was disappearing, melting away as he watched, the edges molten. Grey sky lay revealed for the first time in centuries. A few fat, cold droplets of rain splashed onto his face.
He regretted that he was still alive. He did not want to witness this…
Staring upwards, he felt strangely disappointed. He had been ready to die. Being slaughtered by a Dragon would have been so fitting…
There was an unexpected tug on his arms and Sirannor struggled to right himself, only to find his arms suddenly free. He pushed himself up to find one of the black soldiers standing beside him. With a sweep of his sword, the soldier brought his black blade down on the chain linking the iron ball to Sirannor's ankle.
It cut through cleanly.
Then the soldier reached up and pulled off his helmet…
Bright red hair spilled over the black armour, and Sirannor found himself looking into his own eyes… the face of his daughter…
“Hello, father!” Carmine said, smiling, her grey eyes sparkling in a way that Sirannor's never had.
Sirannor just stared back at her, too astonished to reply.
She reached down and grabbed his hand, and he let her pull him to his feet. “Let's go!” she said, and without another word, turned and started running.
Sirannor ran after her.
He was forced to dodge aside as the Dragon's massive foot came close to him. Immediately, one of the soldiers lunged at him from the left. Sirannor spun out of the path of the black blade, grabbing the soldier's hand as he did so, and smacking him in the face with the hilt of his sword. Wrenching it from the dazed man's grip, he hurried after Carmine.
“Hurry up, father!” she yelled at him, grinning. “You're too slow!”
He caught up with her and they raced into a narrow gully formed by the sheer side of the bluff on their right, and the steep, slippery, scree-riddled slope of the extinct volcano on their left. The sky opened up as they ran, pouring rain down as though attempting to drown them.
A group of soldiers appeared at the other end of the pass, and charged towards them.
Carmine clashed with the first. Sirannor kicked out and tripped the soldier that came for him, then spun and buried his sword in the back of the neck of the second, immediately whirling and beheading a third. His sword swept up to parry the blow of the fourth. They fought.
The sound of black blades clashing rang through the gully. Carmine dispatched two men; Sirannor finished off two more, then helped her with the last. Raindrops scattered with blood as the soldier fell.
Father and daughter stood staring at each other as they caught their breath in the downpour. “You needed help,” Carmine answered his unspoken question. “I came.”
Sirannor regarded her for a moment more, watching the rain stream down her young, brave, determined, beautiful face, then nodded in the direction of the valley, where the battle with the Dragon was still taking place. “Those soldiers,” he asked. “Your doing?”
Carmine shook her head, looking as surprised as he was. “No! I have no idea what's going on! They just went nuts!”
Sirannor frowned, looking down at the soldiers they had just slain. “It's this damned moltmetal,” he growled. “There is something… wrong with it.”
He stared at the black sword in his hand. The rain had washed it clean of blood, but a strange dark mist rose off the blade. An unpleasant prickling sensation passed through his hand, travelling through his body.
He threw the sword away.
“Let's get out of here,” he said, turning. “Get rid of that armour as soon as you have a chance.”
Carmine nodded.
They hurried onwards. The gully widened as they went, opening out into a sweeping, exposed space lashed by silvery sheets of rain. Above them, the clouds swirled, and a moment later, a Dragon descended, landing right in front of them.
They stumbled to a halt on the loose rocks.
It was not the same Dragon that Dreikan had attacked – this one had brighter streaks of gold across its scales, and lacked the black markings on its face.
But it was no less dangerous, or frightening.
“Oh, crap,” Carmine muttered in dismay.
The Dragon's huge eyes burned through the rain.
Carmine looked around desperately for an escape route, but Sirannor held the creature's gaze. There was no getting past it. They were pinned against the narrow pass, and the slopes on either side were slippery, unstable loose rock mixed with rivers of water.
Sirannor had no weapon. His hands curled into fists.
There was only one thing to be done.
But Carmine was staring at him. The girl barely knew him, had met him only once before; yet, somehow, she was able to read his thoughts.
Her face hardened.
Before Sirannor could move, cry out, do anything… she ran.
She ran straight at the Dragon, black sword held in both hands.
Sirannor managed to find his voice. “Carmine!” he screamed. “NO!”
A terrible memory flashed across his vision. Something that Hawk had told him. Something that had happened in the Old Quarter, in Sunsee…
He had come across Hawk lying in the sand, grief-stricken, having seen Carmine eaten by a Dragon. Sirannor had told him to get up, that it wasn't real, that the Presence was merely taunting him with his greatest fear…
But now he realised the devastating truth. It hadn't been an illusion.
It had been a premonition!
Sirannor had never panicked before, but an ocean of terror crashed over him, unlike anything he had felt before in his life.
He started running after her.
But there was nothing that he could do. He could only watch as the Dragon's jaws gaped wide, as his daughter ran to meet them, his red-haired child swinging her sword with impossible bravery as she raced into the very throat of Death…
All the air left his lungs, all the spirit left his body as the Dragon's jaws closed around her, clamping together with ghastly finality.
The Dragon's head lifted into the air, then its body after it as it flew away into the dark, weeping sky.
Sirannor fell to his knees, suddenly alone in the barren pass.
Alone, forever.
“No,” he choked into the rain. “It was supposed to be me!”
Water flooded over his face. “IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ME!” His scream was lost in the uncaring trickle of rivulets in the rocks, in the distant shrieks and sounds of battle, in the sodden sky.
“Noooooooo!”