The doors flew open and armored alfar stormed in. They held their traditional long narrow-bladed spears pointed at the dwarves.
Aiphaton stood motionless as a statue. “We have both changed since then, Tungdil Goldhand.”
“Not as much as it may seem.” Tungdil gestured to the window with his weapon. “Permit me to stand at your side in the battle. You will see the truth of what I say.”
The alf lowered his spear, and under his helmet Ireheart heaved a sigh of relief. “You may.” Aiphaton turned and left the hall with Tungdil at his heels, leaving Ireheart, Slin, Balyndar and the Zhadar alone in the throne room.
Slin lifted his visor. “What, by Vraccas, do we do now?” He took his crossbow in his hands and loaded it in readiness.
“We shan’t have to help those two,” said Balyndar, going over to the window to check on the kordrion’s whereabouts. Its shadow passed over Phoseon and a vertical sheet of white flame shot down in front of the embrasure. Screams rang out and stinking black smoke drifted up. “It got the black-eyes two floors down from us,” he reported.
“I don’t suppose they will have anything to counter an attack like this.” Slin touched his weapon. “The crossbow makes me feel a little more confident.”
Ireheart was trying to work out a plan. “Right, everyone off to the lift. I want to get up onto the roof of this weird place. I can’t see enough here.”
“Charming! I’ll be able to get a better aim at the kordrion up there.” The fourthling ran along at Boindil’s side, with Balyndar and the Zhadar following less enthusiastically.
The lift whizzed them up to the top and soon they were standing on the city’s gently sloping roof. From up there the city looked like a smooth plateau surrounded by unnaturally straight ravines. Dotted about were small square towers with vertical slits. Air blew through the spaces, causing a soft noise. Chimneys? Black sails made of linen had been strung up for food to dry. In other areas the alfar had stored huge leather sacks, also in black.
Ireheart presumed they were to let water be warmed by the sun. His jaw dropped when he took in just how big Phoseon was. “It must be a good… two miles long!”
Slin pointed out the firing towers on wheeled ramps ready to be maneuvered to the corners of the roof.
But those responsible for constructing this city had not reckoned with an enemy with the advantages of flight. Three of the domes were already manned and were hurling missiles at the monster. Too slow! If there had been a besieging army at the foot of the walls this hail of arrows and spears would have been an unbeatable defense system, with the projectiles traveling many hundreds of paces before hitting their targets. But with an attacker like the kordrion, although a few hits were landed, they were ineffective.
Slin regarded his crossbow. “My bolt is a bit on the small side,” he sighed.
“I expect your women say that all the time,” one of the Zhadar said, his comrades laughing in response.
The fourthling turned in fury, his crossbow raised. “It’ll be big enough for you and your filthy mouth!”
“What do you think he means?” joked the Zhadar. “Keep it. I don’t want it.”
“Shut up, you idiot gnome-brains! What on earth do you think you’re doing, winding each other up at a time like this?” Ireheart reprimanded them angrily, adjusting his helmet and fastening the chin strap until it was uncomfortably tight, but secure. “So, the kordrion is after me? Then it will be risking its life. I’m going to entice it over to the firing towers.” He instructed the Zhadar to inform the alfar manning the towers of his strategy.
“Brave,” said the fourthling. “But dangerous.”
“Oh, that’s nothing! I like a challenge.” Ireheart dismissed the objection and took firm hold of his crow’s beak. He bared his teeth. “Come on if you’re hard enough, you filthy creature! You want the murderer of your young?”
The Zhadar hastened between the firing towers. When they had passed the dwarf’s message to seven of them, it was time.
“It’s heading back,” warned Balyndar. “Heading straight for us!”
“That’s the way!” Boindil set off for a section of the extensive roof area that could be covered by fire from all seven towers. The kordrion’s wings swished and whistled in the air, giving Ireheart an impression of the speed of its approach-but it was not coming in his direction!
He stopped, gasping for breath and turned around. “Hey! You ugly bug-eyed monster!” He brandished his weapon to draw attention to himself. “Ho there! I’m the one who destroyed your nestlings! Are you blind?”
He watched in amazement as the huge, gray-skinned kordrion landed on the roof and slipped head first into one of the artificial ravines. Four feet like canine paws carried the weight of the hefty body. The ones in front were more like arms, with strong flexible claws. The barrage from the catapults did not seem to trouble it at all and the few spears and arrows that struck it were not inflicting serious injuries. The monster’s claws scrabbled for a hold on the stonework, leaving deep marks.
“No, no, no!” yelled Ireheart. “Come back here!” Stupid animal!
Slin and Balyndar came over to him.
“What’s it doing?” groaned the fourthling, watching the tip of the monster’s tail disappear.
Balyndar was holding his side in pain and gasped. “It’s crawling in like a bear into a beehive.”
They both looked accusingly at Ireheart. “Wasn’t it supposed to be attacking you?”
“Well, yes.” Boindil wiped the sweat from his forehead using the end of one his braids. “There must be something in Phoseon that’s more interesting than me.” Then he laughed. “Let’s go! We’ll do for it. If Vraccas is on our side the beast will get stuck down there and we’ll be able to cut it into tiny slices.”
He ran over to the edge of the ravine and saw that the kordrion was pushing its way past the hanging gardens, looking for a horizontal passage wide enough for its massive bulk.
“Follow me!” Ireheart leaped.
His flight was a short one. He landed in a blossom hedge that covered him from head to foot in white pollen dust. Now I look like a fairy, he thought, and grinned. A pretty little bearded fairy. He fought his way free of the hedge, sneezing, and made for the bridge that led to the level the kordrion was attempting to gain forcible entry to. What, by Tion…
Balyndar and Slin landed next to him, their fall broken by the dense black-leaved foliage of some small trees. They both crawled out of the tangle of branches, cursing, bits of leaf and twigs stuck in the gaps on their armor. No time to get rid of all that. They pursued the kordrion with utmost haste.
Ireheart had nearly caught up with the monster and could see it clearly.
The wings were folded close to its muscular body, with no room to extend them in these narrow corridors. One was a little shorter than the other, as if it had regrown after an injury, perhaps. It was using its sharp claws to move its long, gray, wrinkled body, measuring twenty paces high and sixty in length. It dragged itself along through Phoseon, pushing forward with its legs.
It had crouched down as flat as it could, like a cat stalking a bird. Its back scraped against the ceiling of the arcaded corridor, damaging the stonework and causing large cracks. The floor was also suffering under a weight load it had never been designed to bear.
Ireheart had reached the tip of the tail and was unsure how to proceed. Shall I overtake it and attack from below? Shall I hack at the tail tip and attack when it turns round?
Before he could come to a decision, the kordrion suddenly slipped into the next vertical shaft and disappeared.
“What are you looking for, Bug-Eyes?” Ireheart was now at the edge and could see the monster several levels beneath him, creeping back into the building. “You’re looking for something, that’s for sure.” He turned and found a long flag hanging from the wall. Pulling it away, he wrapped one end round a column and used it to climb down to the floor that the kordrion had selected. When he landed he took out his crow’s beak again. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”