With back-slapping, shaking of hands and hugs and a long, lingering kiss between Erienne and Denser, the three pairs split to their respective dragons, allowing Vestare woodsmen to fit their ropes. As they climbed on to the dragons’ necks, laid flat on the ground, Hirad could feel the ire rise from the chosen Kaan carriers.
‘This is most uncomfortable,’ grumbled Sha-Kaan.
‘Yeah,’ said Hirad, ‘and not just for you.’ He adjusted himself behind Ilkar, feeling the rough scales against his trousers and stretching his legs around the broad neck. It was like riding a bull. ‘I’ll not father children after this.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Sha-Kaan.
‘Never mind,’ said Hirad. Ilkar looked around at him and shook his head.
‘You are quite unbelievable,’ he said.
‘Scared, Ilks. Very scared.’
The Vestare tied the ropes under necks, using nicks in bone and scale to provide anchor points. Hirad found he could move but, so far, not loosen the rope enough to slip. In front of him, a second loop of rope gave him something to hang on to.
Now astride Sha-Kaan, he felt a new sense of the immense power of the dragon. Breaths shuddered down his neck to fill his lungs; everywhere, muscles bunched and relaxed beneath his scales, rippling his entire body, and the rumblings and gurgles of the gargantuan internal system reverberated through his legs and up his back. Looking over his shoulder, Hirad saw the mound of Sha’s body arch up, blotting out everything behind him. He couldn’t even see its tail. Below and just to the rear of his feet, the roots of the wings sprang from the torso. They too twitched, the wings slapping quietly against his body. Sha-Kaan was a flying mountain and he was an ant tied to it. The notion didn’t bear close consideration.
‘Whose idea was this?’ he muttered. He looked across at The Unknown, who sat silent and pale as he was fixed to his dragon. ‘Hey Unknown!’ he called.
‘There’s nothing you can say that’ll make this better,’ growled the big warrior.
‘I’m looking forward to shaking your hand in Balaia,’ said Hirad.
‘What is it they say?’ said The Unknown, and then a smile flickered for the briefest moment across his features. ‘See you on the other side.’
‘Hirad Coldheart.’
‘Yes, Great Kaan.’
‘Are you and The Raven ready?’
Hirad took a deep breath. ‘Yes. We are.’
‘Then let me introduce you to the Skies.’ Sha-Kaan’s deafening bark ripped through the relative peace of the Broodlands. From the high ledges, Vestare called back before setting off to the plains. dragon calls answered the Great Kaan, flights of the huge beasts took to the air and Sha-Kaan lurched to his feet, sending Hirad’s stomach tumbling end over end. The dragon’s wings swept out and extended with a noise like a wave dragging on a pebbled shore. Hirad clasped Ilkar’s shoulder, the mage’s hand covered his and, with a beat of those wings, Sha-Kaan propelled himself into the air.
Barons Blackthorne and Gresse stood by one of the forward watch-fires as dawn crept across the sky. The cloud kept the day dark but they could now just about see the shapes of Wesmen moving about. With the injured helped or carried to a hiding place deep into the crags to the north-west, Darrick’s cavalrymen divided themselves into saddling their horses and appearing to be many more than they actually were.
‘Ever feel like you’ve been left out, Blackthorne?’ asked Gresse, taking a swallow of coffee in the chill damp of the morning.
‘I’ve been given more exciting orders,’ agreed Blackthorne. ‘But I think he’s right. I’m too old to run through the night.’
‘What do you think they’ll do?’
‘The Wesmen?’
‘Yes. Stand or come on?’
Blackthorne scratched at his immaculately tended beard. ‘Well, they’re too late to join the fight at the Manse today so if I was them, I’d make sure we were definitely all gone before I tried to join my colleagues. Then I’d go.’
‘So saddling up’s a good idea for us,’ said Gresse.
Blackthorne nodded. ‘But I don’t think they’ll chase us down. We need to be visible enough to be counted but out of range of arrows.’
Wesmen were around a hundred and fifty yards distant and spread from crag to forest. And while those visible numbered less than three hundred, Blackthorne had no doubt that the weight of Wesmen would be positioned not far behind. Had Darrick made it through? He had to assume so. No alarms had been raised in the Wesmen ranks and no one had returned with news of disaster.
With light growing, he knew they couldn’t maintain the illusion much longer and he was relieved to hear that the horses were saddled and ready. His heart beat faster. It was going to be an exciting first half of the morning.
Beside him, Baron Gresse had swept the dew from a stone and sat down, a refill of coffee in his gloved hand. Every man and mage was ready. Packs were tied to saddles, swords cleaned and scabbarded. They’d have to abandon the forge, the armoury and hundreds of yards of canvas but it didn’t matter. Equipment could be replaced. Able Balaian fighting men and mages could not.
‘Ready to run?’ asked Blackthorne.
‘Absolutely,’ said Gresse. He placed his mug on the ground and pulled off a boot, emptying out an imaginary stone.
‘Gresse, I will not hesitate to leave you to die,’ said Blackthorne.
Gresse laughed. ‘Everyone else in this war is experiencing tension and fear like never in their lives. I didn’t want you to feel left out.’
Beside Blackthorne, a cavalryman cleared his throat.
‘Yes, Captain,’ said Blackthorne. The man, mostly hidden under nose-fluked helm, heavy cloak and leather armour, bowed slightly.
‘My Lords, I believe we should be ready to move.’ He gestured towards the main trail which was rapidly filling with Wesmen. Shouts rattled across the whole front with answers bouncing back, the anxiety and urgency clear in the tones though the language was alien.
The cavalry still patrolled as they had all night, moving in and out of sight behind tents, making great play of stoking perimeter watch-fires and calling out that all was well each half an hour.
‘Gresse, get that boot back on,’ said Blackthorne.
‘Trouble with the lace, old friend,’ came the reply.
‘Gresse, your boots have no laces. Get it back on. This game of chicken is fast reaching a conclusion.’ He looked down to see Gresse take a glance at the opposition and ram his foot into his boot and stand up, his drink forgotten.
Wesmen were advancing.
‘Cavalry!’ called the Captain. ‘Ready the retreat. Eyes backward. Slowly!’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Blackthorne as they moved slowly away, the Wesmen taking ground cautiously. ‘If we can, let’s mount up, keep a respectful distance and HardShield ourselves. I’d like to talk to whoever’s in charge.’
‘What by all the Gods for?’ asked Gresse.
‘Just trust me, all right?’
Gresse shrugged. The cavalry Captain issued his revised orders.
Hirad had vomited his stomach dry well before Sha-Kaan levelled out to fly directly for the rip. They would arrive there in no more than an hour, such was their speed, Nos and Hyn-Kaan tucked in behind, the mass of the Kaan dragons either circling the rip or flying on ahead.
The roar in his ears of the wind whipping past his head dragged all sense from him and it had been a long time before he had been able to open his eyes more than slits. Below him, the ground was impossibly far away. It was a mass of colours and textures fogging before his nauseated vision and the confusion of Sha-Kaan’s banks and turns as he oriented himself left Hirad with no idea where they had come from. Only the size of the rip ahead gave him any sense of direction and even the sight of that was punctuated by the clouds that he knew worried Sha-Kaan more than anything.