But I can avenge the deaths of my brothers and sisters.
She was camped three days from the bound body of Lifestealer. Three days from the one weapon capable of matching the Otataral Dragon. Icarium. I will awaken you. If the Eleint fail – if they do not come in time – I leave Korabas to you.
The two would seek each other out – they could do naught else. The dragon is negation. But Icarium is an open wound into Chaos itself. When his self shatters, when his so-called rage is unleashed, he is but a conduit, a portalway. This is why he cannot be stopped – he is not even there. Shall you do battle against chaos itself? Impossible.
They will clash, and that battle shall destroy the world.
Good.
Even Sister Reverence does not understand: there is more than one path to justice.
She set out.
Beneath her feet, the earth’s screaming now reached her senses – she could feel the tremors of the assault being inflicted upon it. The sudden blighting, the eruptions of dust, the vast fissures opening below Korabas. Where she passes, there shall be no life. Where she passes, all that is living shall die.
Eleint, find Korabas. Kill the Otataral Dragon. That is all I ask. And then we can bargain, for I shall have Icarium – I shall have a force of chaos to match your own. We can strike a perfect balance, in a world scoured empty of meddling gods … imagine what can be achieved!
We can give the inheritors true freedom, and by their each and every deed we can watch them hang themselves. No gods to blame, no excuses to build up, no lies to hide behind. Such a glorious world it will be! Such a righteous place – a place where justice never blinks.
We can share such a world, Eleint.
Climbing a slope to a ridgeline, she found two figures standing in her path.
T’lan Imass.
Ancient rage flared incandescent in Calm, and once more panic rattled through her, just as quickly crushed down. ‘You would dare this?’
In answer they readied their stone weapons.
‘He is mine!’
‘He is no one’s, Forkrul Assail,’ said the female. ‘Turn back.’
Calm barked a laugh as she quested with her power. ‘I sense no others in this soil, nor on the winds – there are just the two of you. You must be fools to think you can stop me. I held the Stone Stairs against hundreds of your kind. I ended their war.’
The two T’lan Imass stepped out to the sides, the huge male hefting a flint-studded bone mace, the female shifting her grip on a stone spear.
Calm moved with stunning speed, lunging at the female, her torso writhing to evade the thrusting weapon. Her hands snapped out, one plunging into the undead warrior’s chest amidst shattering ribs, the other lashing at her face – catching the lower jaw and tearing it off.
She twisted past, evading the downward swing of the male’s weapon, and with one hand now gripping the spine, she spun the female round, lifting her off her feet and flinging her into the male’s path. Even as he stumbled, he swung the mace in a diagonal slash. The Forkrul Assail stepped inside the attack, blocking the bone shaft with her wrists, turned to face him and thrust upward with the heels of her hands, catching each side of the warrior’s lower jaw. The strength of the blow exploded the vertebrae of his neck, launching the skull into the air.
As the huge, headless warrior toppled, Calm closed once more on the female, who was feebly trying to regain her feet. Grasping her right arm, the Forkrul Assail tore it from the shoulder socket. Using the arm as a weapon, she swung it hard into the side of the female’s head. The ball of the humerus punched a hole in the warrior’s temple.
The T’lan Imass staggered to one side.
Calm struck again. Plates of the skull splintered, broke away. A third blow crushed the woman’s face. She fell. The Forkrul Assail stepped forward and with one booted foot rolled the T’lan Imass on to her back. Then she swung the arm down repeatedly on what was left of the face and skull. The ninth blow split the arm bone. Calm flung it away in disgust and used the heel of her boot.
Long after the wretched spirit of the female warrior had left the remains on the ground, Calm continued battering at that hated face.
Some time later, she resumed her journey.
Such a glorious world it will be.
Kilmandaros fled. She could not even remember when she had begun running, or when she had breached her way into the first of innumerable warrens. The landscape she now crossed was bleak, colourless, the ground underfoot hard uneven clay that had been chopped up by thousands of hoofs. Two small moons tracked the night sky.
Half a league ahead, she saw hills of red sand, rippling as they climbed to the horizon. No places in which to hide – no caves, no forests – she would have to leave this realm soon. And yet – Kilmandaros glanced back over one shoulder.
A storm of darkness, boiling to consume half the sky.
Close! Close! Her breath tore at her throat. Her hearts pounded like the thunder of clashing stormclouds. She stumbled on torn, bloodied feet, her muscles burning like acid.
Where? Where to hide?
‘I’ve done a terrible thing. And now I will pay – it was all Errastas! All his fault, not mine! I did not want her freed – I swear it!’
The slope of the nearest hill loomed before her, a sweep of red sand – how she hated this place!
‘A terrible thing. A terrible thing!’
Darkness foamed up on either side. Crying out, Kilmandaros staggered to a halt, wheeled round, lifting her hands—
He struck from the sky.
Wings like flames of night. The blaze of argent reptilian eyes. Talons lunging down, impaling her shoulders, snatching her from the ground.
Kilmandaros shrieked, fists closing to smash upward into the dragon’s ridged chest. The sound the impacts made was thunder.
And then, trailing ropes of blood, she was falling.
His shadow passed over her, a wheeling, plummeting presence, looming huge – jaws snapping out from a head above a lashing neck. Fangs sank into one thigh and she was thrown upward once more. Spinning, she saw gleaming bone where the muscles of her left thigh had been – saw blood spraying out from her leg. Howling, she fell earthward once more.
This time, he left her to strike the ground. She landed on her feet with the sound of exploding trees. Bones snapped, splinters driving up into her pelvis and torso. The impact threw her forward. On to her chest, and then over. Lying stunned, helpless, Kilmandaros stared upward to see Draconus descending.
Not fair.
A soft hand settled against her cheek. Blinking, she found herself looking up into her son’s face. ‘No! Leave here! Beloved son – flee!’
Instead, he straightened, drawing a sword.
Kilmandaros heard Draconus speak from only a few paces distant. ‘Where is Errastas, Sechul?’
‘Gone,’ her son replied.
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know. Into hiding, of course. You won’t find him, not any time soon. Shall I caution you against uttering any vows, Draconus, or would the sting of that prove too much?’
‘You always were chained to his ankle, Sechul Lath, but if you are determined to oppose me here, I will kill you.’
‘I will defend my mother.’
‘Then you will die with her.’
She saw his sad smile, his lopsided shrug. ‘Draconus, I have nothing left. No one but her. If you will kill her this day, then … there is no reason for me to go on. Do you understand?’