Chapter Sixteen
The world scrolled by beneath Tamara, fields and forests visible through gaps in the clouds. The dragon’s monstrous wings slashed the air, impelling it forward with every stroke. The wind rushing past and the rise and fall of the great beast on every beat gave her a sense of motion. At this height, it was difficult to gain any sense of the distance covered from the movement of landmarks.
The chill bit into her bones. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm her. She took another chew of witchweed, and the drug trickled energy into her bones. Instinctively she glanced over her shoulder but she was alone in the sky save for the clouds and the sun. There were no signs of pursuit.
Surely she must have outdistanced it by now. She had passed over the Kharadrean border long ago and had taken a weaving flight path to confuse any dragon-riders that might have been after her. She could not rule out the possibility that the Brotherhood might have tracked Ironfang using scrying spells but still she doubted they could overhaul her now. Ironfang was a powerful ancient dragon and there were few in the world now to match him for speed and endurance.
She reached down and stroked his scaly neck lovingly. He could not feel the physical caress but the mental one would reach him through the link they shared. He responded in kind, sending her a wave of encouragement. His happiness at being airborne illuminated her mind like sunlight.
For a moment exultation touched her. She felt like a goddess and not even the knowledge she bore could bring her down. Beneath the dragon’s excitement she sensed hunger and the beginnings of fatigue and that brought her back to reality.
Below her a massive army marched, the formations so slow and strangely organised that she decided to get a closer look, even if it meant risking being shot at from the ground.
Down, she told Ironfang.
The dragon altered the flexion of its wings, and swooped lower. The earth seemed to rise to meet them. She had a sudden dizzying attack of vertigo as it came closer with fantastic speed. Beneath her an army stretched to the horizon. Massive wyrms towed huge gun carriages. Squadrons of cavalry raised clouds of dust. Regiments of purple clad soldiers marched in ordered ranks. Noticing the direction she had come from, and assuming she was friendly, they sent up a ragged cheer.
She was so low now that she could make out individuals. She waved to them as they blurred past. A few of the Terrarch officers waved back. They most likely assumed she was a scout or a courier. She nudged Ironfang in the direction of the things that had first drawn her interest.
What she saw staggered her.
Massive crowds of undead creatures marched in ragged rows to the beat of a dismal drum, rotten flesh hung from their bones, their corrupt stink rising to assault even the heavens. Dead eyes traced her path across the skies. There were thousands and thousands of them, and more streamed to join them from every direction. Something about the beat of those drums attracted them. As far as she could tell they were not armed, and they wore no uniforms, but they would not have to. The walking dead could tear a man apart with their bare hands and feast on his flesh.
She reined back and Ironfang began to climb, far slower than he had made his descent. She sensed the great dragon’s confusion and the instinctive revulsion he felt to the unnatural creatures below them. His emotions amplified her own.
The Brotherhood was gathering an army of the dead to invade the West by the power of its magic. The sheer scale of it was staggering and she knew that the size of the horde would grow with every battle. Even those who the plague did not kill would carry its spores in their blood and if they died would rise again. Spells of domination compelled them to flock to the Sardean banner. The longer the war went on the more unstoppable that army would become. The things she had seen were just the first small stones in an avalanche of undead flesh that would eventually overwhelm the world.
Not for the first time since she had set out did she wonder if she was wise to flee to her father’s ancient enemies. It was entirely possible that the West would fall beneath the power that Xephan had unleashed. There might be no escape there. Maybe the smartest thing she could do would be fly Ironfang to the uttermost West of the Ascalean continent and take ship across the Western Ocean. The chances were that it would not save her. In the end, if the Brotherhood won, they would conquer the entire world and there would be no escape from their grasp.
That was the curse of being a Terrarch, she thought sourly. If you lived long enough things caught up with you, and the chances were that she would have a long life.
Something of her anger touched the dragon and he screamed with a sound like a huge blade dragged down a giant shield. She did not want to run. She wanted to fight. She began slow breathing exercises to calm herself. One of the disadvantages of riding a dragon was that emotional feedback occurred. Her anger would stoke the dragons and its increased rage would feed back into her, forging a cycle of wrath that might eventually drive her berserk if she did not control it.
She urged her mount on, knowing that she would have to find a place beyond the reach of the Army of the Dead’s scouts if she was escape the clutches of the Brotherhood. Somewhere up ahead must be the army of the West.
Tamara circled over the Talorean army. There was no doubt it was them. They were heading East, the red dragon banner fluttered above many units though there were far fewer of them than there were Sardeans to the East. The trick was going to be reaching the army’s commanders without getting herself killed. Even bringing the dragon down to within hailing distance risked being peppered with fire by the Talorean Skywatchers.
Was she doing the right thing? She might get herself killed down there. There was a war on, and many would suspect her of being a spy. Their suspicions would be more than justified by the fact that until recently, that was exactly what she had been.
It would be easier to set down out of sight and join the army by stealth but that would mean abandoning Ironfang to his own devices and that she was reluctant to do. Without a rider, he might easily go rogue and in the coming struggle a full grown war-dragon was far too potent a weapon to lose. Besides that she had become fond of the old monster. A bond had been forged between them in more than the magical sense. They had shared fears and thoughts and emotions. He was her last link to her old life, and she was reluctant to give him up.
She continued to circle certain that someone down there had noticed her. She needed to come to a decision soon. It would not be long before a flight of dragons was sent to intercept her. She was not sure she wanted to face a trained dragonrider and his long-time mount, let alone a whole squadron of them. Even a beast as powerful as Ironfang would be torn from the skies by lesser dragons in sufficient numbers.
A plan formed in her mind. No time like the present, she thought, and ordered her mount down to land. She aimed for a point well to the fore of the oncoming army and prayed that no one would do anything stupid before they found out who she was.
Ironfang settled on the ground atop a small hillock, giving her a fine view of the oncoming army. An onrushing cloud of dust told her that she had been spotted, and that scout’s were coming to meet her. She forced herself to remain calm as they approached, removing her helmet and goggles so that they might see her face.
The Talorean scouts stopped at hailing distance. They were dragoons. A group of them dismounted and raised their carbines to cover her. Ironfang arched his neck and hissed a warning. Tamara had a dreadful sense that it was all about to go terribly wrong.
She put a smile on her face, even though they probably could not see it and shouted, “I am an Emissary from the East. I wish to speak to the Lady Asea.”