For they did not follow us willingly, bravely. . . . They were the Stormcrow's garrison, not our own, and we shall have no part of them. Let the girl die with them, and let us go to the east.
But now, dear Ember, let us raze this wretched castle.
The fire struck the tower battlements like a windstorm. Racing over the crenels and merlons, over the startled and doomed soldiers, the breath of the dragon burned hair and bone, wood and metal and stone itself.
The western tower exploded in a blaze, in the screams of the burning sentries. The southern tower as well was burning, flames snaking through the upper windows, the terrible smell of seared flesh on the air.
In the garden, Robert dragged Judyth, coughing, out of the path of a collapsing, burning vallenwood as the handiwork of a dozen gardeners withered in the dragonflame.
"Are … are you able to ride?" he shouted.
Judyth coughed, glanced at him bravely, and nodded.
"Then damn the garrison!" the old seneschal said. "Follow me!" Lurching into the bailey, he crossed open ground through flame and billowing smoke, Judyth close behind him.
But the stable was burning, its doors kicked open by the panicked horses who had rushed away, whinnying and shrieking, into the churning smoke. Alone, Judyth and Robert stood in the middle of the bailey, the wooden booths and outbuildings collapsing around them, and the granite walls of Nidus crackling with unnatural heat.
The dragon wheeled then, guided by the sure hand of Verminaard, and swooped for one last pass over the castle. Judyth gasped as Ember's glittering golden eyes fixed her in their gaze, and there, at the last of moments, she clutched the old man beside her as the dragon bellowed and the flames surged forth. Robert thought of the druidess and closed his eyes as the fire rained down and engulfed them like the Cataclysm come again.
It will be as I promised, Lord Verminaard, the Voice soothed as dragon and dark cleric passed over the castle, bound for the Khalkist Mountains and the fertile lands to the west.
Ember swooped low over the abandoned Solamnic camp. Then the great beast banked in the dark sky and rose, higher and higher, until the snow-covered peaks lay faint and white below him, and Verminaard rode alone amid the icy air and the indifferent stars.
Alone, but for the Voice. For the Lady continued to beguile and coax and vow….
I promise you a thousand castles-the last lights of the west
dwindling, guttering, consumed by the spreading dark. Above them, you will fly on the back of the dragon, its broad shoulders thick and striated with powerful muscles, the low, forgotten song of its heart beneath you. And all around you, there will be more . . . black and blue and green and red, in sweeping brilliant colors, glittering like moonlight on the blood-black mountains, the sky darkened by the sweep of dark wings….
And the path of their flight will cross over a desolate country, where only the dead walk, mouthing the names of dragons. And the men in the towers, surrounded and riddled by dragons, by the cries of the dying, the roar of the ravenous air, will await your unspeakable silence.
And with the night wind at his back and Nidus a dim flame on the eastern horizon, Verminaard abandoned himself to the Voice. He knew that the goddess breathed through him and that now he would engender destruction far greater than that at Nidus.
He would wear the mask forever-long after his face had healed. It would be his battle mask, he vowed, and it would protect him from mirrors, where his features would reflect as fair hair, pale eyes … the precise countenance of dead Aglaca. That was a face he wanted never to see again.
But that was behind him, below him. He steered the dragon toward the horizon. Before him, in his imaginings, a great chaos of crushed and defenseless fortresses would be the work of his own hand and heart and will.
And he would delight in the fierce, magnificent ruin.
Epilogue
L' Indasha lifted her eyes from the auguries of ice. She had lost the travelers in the shadows at the foot of the mountain, but she knew they would be here shortly. She did not need to augur their arrival.
Nor was she eager to see either of them.
For a brief moment on the night before, she had become troubled. In the ice, she had seen the dragon plummet, Robert and Judyth helpless in the bailey, miles from her spells and saving hand, but then she had remembered the pendant.
She smiled now to think of the accident that had brought the jewel into Judyth's hands.
"For protection against fire, Paladine said," she whispered.
And my helper, the girl-"
"Was wearing the pendant!" The voice behind her completed her sentence.
L'Indasha stopped and whirled around. The old man stood there, his threadbare robes replaced by a new white gown, his white hair shining like Solinari beneath his floppy, soft hat.
Beside him stood another man, a dark, powerfully built fellow dressed in forest green. He also wore a green cap, incongruously pinned with a paper butterfly.
"My lord . . ." L'Indasha murmured. "And you, sir. I believe I remember you…."
The old fellow with the soft hat, his silver triangle gleaming very brightly, grinned and raised a thin, gnarled hand in introduction of the man beside him.
"There's not a druid alive who hasn't heard of my apprentice gardener, Mort. Came to me about twenty years ago from Nidus. Too many hornets' nests down there to suit him, and they never gave him enough of an allotment to do a proper job on his roses. Been taking pretty good care of my place here, don't you think?" The old man circled his arm over the verdant hillsides, where every sort of alpine plant flourished. "He does a fair job at wardings, too. Kept the fire away from these. Mort's Magic, I call it."
L'Indasha smiled sadly. "I've missed you, Mort. And, of course, you are the unknown hand . . . that camp . . . and this hillside … all the signs laid out in the stones!"
Mort smiled and nodded, then extended his hand to her.
"Thank you for the gift, Lady."
The druidess looked puzzled but smiled back. "Don't mystify my only druidess, Mort!" Paladine ordered with mock seriousness. "If you'll hasten down the trail and greet our guests when they arrive, I would speak with L'Indasha alone."
The gardener bowed merrily and backed down the mountain trail, seating himself politely out of earshot.
Paladine was left standing with the druidess. He looked upon her, and his eyes shone with love. "You must choose again, L'Indasha."
The druidess knew what he meant and nodded. "It will be hard to lose Robert twice in the span of a day-once at Nidus, when I saw the fire engulf him, and now to know he will be here shortly, and that when he arrives I must bid him farewell forever."