Imladrik watched all the while. None of his companions said anything; they sat erect in their seats, their faces calm. Of all of them, Caerwal looked the most uneasy, which surprised him. Salendor’s hostility, for the moment, had been replaced by curiosity.
Eventually Morgrim leaned forward again. His expression, as much of it as could be read under the ironwork of his helm, had not changed.
‘We are not stupid,’ he said. ‘Nor are we blind. We know that you have your divisions. Perhaps we did not appreciate how deep they ran.’
Morgrim didn’t bother looking at or addressing the others; he spoke to Imladrik alone.
‘But you cannot think this is enough. Halfhand was slain by your own Phoenix King. The blood has been bad for too long to wave away with half-truths.’
Imladrik bristled. ‘They are not half-truths.’
‘Then prove them.’
Imladrik was about to ask, wearily, what would satisfy him when Morgrim shot him a rare look, one almost reminiscent of the way he used to be before, free of the patina of bitterness that now clouded his every move.
‘But neither let it be said that the dawi do not know their own laws,’ he said. ‘You are right about the Dammaz Kron.’
He still didn’t smile, though. Perhaps he was no longer capable of it.
‘So tell us more about the druchii.’
Drutheira brought Bloodfang around for another pass, thundering towards the devastation that had once been Kor Vanaeth. The dragon had exceeded her expectations — once given a channel for its misery it had poured the full measure of woe on to its target, ravaging the asur settlement as if the place were somehow responsible for its life of torment.
The defenders had done their best. Some had even managed to loose a few bolts from eagle-shaped launchers atop the citadel’s central tower. One had sheered close, nearly punching a fresh hole in Bloodfang’s already ragged wings, but that was the best they had managed before the dragon had razed the rooftops, sweeping the whole rabble of artillery pieces from their places in a single, scything run.
After that the battle was ludicrously one-sided, something Drutheira took an exquisite pleasure in. The dragon’s columns of flame ripped roofs clean from walls; its raking claws tore deep into towers and bulwarks, collapsing masonry into clouds of spiralling rubble. Arrows clattered uselessly from its armoured hide, igniting as they shot through the waves of flame that swathed the beast.
Drutheira hung on tight throughout, clutching the bone-spur before her one-handed and enjoying the violent swerve of the plunging attack. Her other hand brandished her staff, but aside from adding a few aesthetic touches she left the destruction to the dragon.
Magnificent, she thought, lurching to one side as Bloodfang shouldered aside another watchtower, crushing it into clouds of flaming dust. Truly magnificent.
By then little remained of Kor Vanaeth aside from its crudely fashioned central citadel. Shattered walls and dwellings lay smouldering and stinking. Whole streets had been demolished in the rush of claws and fire, their inhabitants roasted as they scampered for sanctuary. A porcine smell of cooked flesh hung over the sorry remnants, sweet and cloying and utterly delicious.
‘The fastness,’ Drutheira snarled, cracking her staff over Bloodfang’s writhing neck.
The dragon roared its hatred, twisting its long jaws around and snapping at her, but the defiance was all for show — Drutheira dominated the creature entirely now, like a kicked cur goaded into the hunt. Bloodfang rolled awkwardly in the air, twisting its sinuous body and powering towards the citadel.
The survivors of the first attacks had barricaded themselves in there, trusting in its thick walls and heavy-beamed roof. Retreat had been the only strategy open to them, but it hemmed them in and sealed their doom. Bloodfang threw itself at the citadel’s smoke-darkened flanks, hurling cascades of fire across the stonework. Narrow windows exploded as raw dragonflame washed across them, showering the ruins below with blood-coloured glass. The dragon reared up and slammed directly into the walls, latching on with all four claws and grinding into the stone.
Drutheira was nearly thrown from her seat by the impact and had to scrabble to hold her place. ‘Not so clumsy!’ she cried.
By then, though, there was no stopping it. Perched halfway up the steep citadel walls, the dragon started to tear its way towards the soft interior, ripping the thick shell open and sending stone blocks thudding to earth.
A buttress collapsed, sending cracks racing across the reeling fortifications. A huge sandstone lintel dissolved into debris as Bloodfang’s tail slammed into it, further weakening the structure. Drutheira heard muffled screams from within.
They would be cowering now, huddled in the deepest recesses and praying for deliverance. That was fine — it was what she wanted them to do. To turn those screams into aethyr-born echoes was the most trivial exercise of her art. The preparations had already been made, the blood-sacrifices performed. The death of Kor Vanaeth would echo in the hearts of any who cared for it.
Bloodfang grabbed a mighty block of wall-section in its jaws, ripped it free and flung it to one side. The heavy chunk of stonework sailed through the air before thumping down amid the destruction, rolling twice and toppling into the skeletal frame of some burned-out dwelling.
That left a gaping wound in the citadel’s outer fortifications. Drutheira could make out torchlit movement within — a score of desperate defenders with what looked like long pikes, backing up in the face of Bloodfang’s bludgeoning entry.
Drutheira couldn’t help but laugh. It was like watching ants rush to staunch the breaches in their nest. She ran her fingers along her staff, pondering about adding some agony of her own to Bloodfang’s relentless assault — perhaps they would be more amusing to watch with their skins pulled inside out.
‘Burn them,’ she ordered, her eyes going flat with delight.
But Bloodfang did not obey. The dragon pounced clear, dragging half the wall-section with it. The sudden movement caught Drutheira off-guard, and she rocked in her seat, nearly slipping for a second time.
‘What are you doing?’ she shrieked, snatching her staff up to strike the creature’s flesh.
Bloodfang climbed fast, pulling away from the burning wreckage, its huge lungs wheezing from the sudden effort. Drutheira felt a shudder pass through its body, like a ship turning too rashly in a hard swell. She twisted around, scanning the rapidly tipping horizon for what had got the creature spooked.
It didn’t take long. She wondered how she hadn’t sensed it earlier.
‘There she is,’ she hissed, projecting witch-sight into the north-west.
Still far off, half-lost in the gloom of the dusk, a scarlet dragon was tearing towards them, burning up the air around it in its haste and fury. The creature came on fast. Terrifyingly fast.
Drutheira felt a sharp thrill of excitement shudder through her. A real dragon, not the ruined, sorcery-spoiled monster she had charge of. This should be interesting.
‘Away,’ she ordered, seizing control again, swinging around and into the south-east. Bloodfang responded, weeping fire and anguish, its silver eyes rolling with battle-madness. Together they raced from the ruins, out over the forest and towards the Arluii.
Drutheira looked over her shoulder. She no longer needed witch-sight to see the blazing dragon on her tail — it devoured the air between them, racing along hungrily, its wings a smoke-clouded blur.
Come to me, then, thought Drutheira greedily, watching the dragon rider’s vengeful progress. The last time you pursued me I was alone, but now I have such delightful toys.