Imladrik’s vision went blurry. He heard Draukhain’s strangled roaring behind him even as he sank to his knees. The broken hilt-shards fell from his hand, clattering in the dust.
Morgrim pulled his axe free, dragging a long sluice of blood with it. Imladrik fell forwards, catching himself with his hands.
That brought him level with Morgrim’s helm-hidden face. They looked at one another. Imladrik could feel the blood pumping out of him, draining his life away. Morgrim stared back, frozen rigid, as if suddenly shocked by what he had done. He could hear cries of alarm, the discharge of magefire and the groggy snarling of the dragon, still locked in the tangled detritus of its agony.
It was all strangely detached. All he truly saw was Morgrim. Everything else faded into grey.
He wanted to say something. He tried to blurt words out, but none came. Life ebbed from him like water from a sieve.
He closed his eyes. Morgrim was saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear it.
He felt the rain of Cothique against his face. He saw the tower of Tor Vael standing against a lowering sky, the light at its summit glowing warmly.
He tried to walk towards it, but even in his delirium he could not do so. The world folded up on itself in darkness.
The last thing he saw was the outline of a drake, high up over the sea, curving in flight out to the west.
He wanted to follow it, but could no longer move.
Liandra saw him fall.
She was running, sprinting with what remained of her escort, her robes and staff still wreathed in flame. The journey into the heart of the city had been horrific — a constant battle with hordes of dawi, all of whom had turned from their slaughter to waylay her. The swordsmen and archers around her had been cut down mercilessly, valiant to the last but wildly outnumbered. On another day she would have stopped to help them.
Not this day. She tore as fast as her legs would carry her, sending a wave of fire coursing out in front of her, burning and blasting any who stumbled into her path. Her desperation made her strong; not since Vranesh had died had she used her power so freely. Her whole body shimmered with it — it spilled from her eyes and mouth, as fierce as sunlight and as hot as coals.
For all that, she was too late. She careered into the courtyard, her boots skidding on the stone, only to see a vista of devastation open up before her.
Draukhain had been brought down and lay half-buried in wreckage on the far side of the square. Dwarfs were everywhere, hundreds of them, most arranged in a loose semicircle around the stricken dragon. Others streamed into the courtyard, attracted by the sights and sounds of combat.
Liandra looked about her. Only a handful of asur remained by her side, panting with exhaustion, their armour hanging ragged from their shoulders. In their expressions was bewilderment — she had led them through the heart of the battle to their deaths. At least at the tower they might have held out for a few hours longer.
‘Follow,’ she commanded, setting off once more.
Few of the dwarfs noticed her arrival — their attention was on the scene before them. Liandra powered through them, smashing them aside with blasts from her staff. Like a hot iron through water she forged a path towards the centre of the throng, raging words of power throughout, her copper hair flying about her face.
It was only then, right at the end, that she saw him fall. Imladrik collapsed forward, his silver armour dark with blood, his eyes wide with surprise. He didn’t see her. It didn’t look like he saw anything but the dwarf who had killed him.
Liandra knew who it was — she recognised the armour from a long time ago, though now it bled with the afterglow of unleashed magic.
‘Imladrik!’ she cried, rushing forwards, heedless of the dwarf arms that reached out to drag her back. The fires about her guttered out, extinguished as suddenly as they had been summoned.
Morgrim barked an order to his warriors. The fighting around her ceased, she was allowed through. Ignoring all else, she fell to her knees, cradling Imladrik’s head in her lap, barely feeling the tears that ran down her cheeks.
‘Imladrik,’ she said again, searching for some small flicker of consciousness.
He was gone. His bruised face was as pale as bone, his unseeing eyes still staring out.
Ahead of her, the vast form of Draukhain struggled to free himself from the wreckage. A foreleg emerged, crusted in dust. The dragon growled menacingly, his eyes flashing with fury.
The dwarfs backed away from it, crossbows raised. Liandra heard the clunk of bolt throwers being primed.
Morgrim issued another terse order in Khazalid, and the dwarfs stood down.
Liandra turned on him, half-blind with grief.
‘He was your friend!’ she blurted.
Morgrim looked uncertainly back at her, as if he’d awoken from some dream and no longer knew what it was he’d been striving for. The warriors around him held position, silent as statues.
Liandra turned back to Imladrik, smoothing his eyelids closed. Draukhain managed to drag himself half-free of the rubble, his long tail coiling. The dragon’s massive head lowered, dipping over Imladrik’s prone body, steam drifting from his nostrils. Even so badly wounded, the beast towered over all else in the square, a crippled leviathan amid the ruins.
Morgrim shook the blood from his axe, stared at it for a moment, then hoisted it across his back.
‘This place is ours now,’ he said grimly.
Liandra shot him a contemptuous look. ‘You could have had it. You could have had anything you demanded. He would have listened.’ She turned back to Imladrik. His blood ran across her robes, staining them deep. ‘You have killed the only one of us who would have done.’
Draukhain issued a low, grinding growl. The dragon was recovering some of his strength, and pulled another limb from the ruins. He was half-standing now, with only his hindquarters buried.
‘Order your beast back, or I will have it killed,’ said Morgrim.
Liandra glanced up at Draukhain.
Did you hear that? she mind-sang. He thinks he can have you killed.
He may be right, came Draukhain’s song, coloured with almost unbearable misery. There was no fight left in the dragon’s eyes. The creature stared moodily at Imladrik’s corpse, uncaring of the ranks of dawi about him.
Morgrim reached for a casket at his chest. He held it for a while, lost in thought. ‘My warriors wish to kill you, too.’
‘Do what you will,’ said Liandra dismissively, not looking up at him.
‘Will the dragon fly?’
Liandra glanced at Draukhain. He was terribly injured, but she had seen drakes recover from worse. ‘He might.’
‘Then take the body,’ said Morgrim.
Liandra stared at Morgrim for a moment. If anything, her hatred for him intensified. ‘Your grudge is settled, is that it?’
‘Far from it, but we are not animals.’
Liandra shook her head in disdain. ‘Caledor will come after you. All of Ulthuan will come after you.’
Morgrim nodded calmly. ‘We will meet them.’
Draukhain coughed a bloody gout of smoke from his jaws.
Let me bear him, feleth-amina, he sang. His place is not here.
Liandra smiled bitterly. She had never been quite sure where Imladrik’s place was. Perhaps he hadn’t been, either.
‘And the asur who remain?’ she asked, glaring at Morgrim again.
‘They will be held, once the fighting is over. You may go. For the others, I make no promises.’
Liandra glanced at the few soldiers who had made it with her to the courtyard. They deserved better. Surrounded by dwarfs, their blades lowered, they looked resigned to their fate.