Satisfied that they were in retreat, the rider turned his mount with extraordinary skill until it faced the three fugitives. They had been watching events in amazement, stunned to silence by the appearance of this formidable creature.
Cellester was the first to gather his wits. Pushing his companions behind him, he faced up to the towering reptile and its rider. It was Aarnamor, who leaned forward, only his serpent-like eyes visible in the darkness.
“The boy! Send the boy to me!” he called, his voice like a whisper of distant thunder.
Vaddi drew back. This rider had rescued them at Voorkesh, but again he asked himself, what was it? Who did it serve? He dare not put his trust in such a creature.
Cellester turned to face Vaddi, a look of bemusement on his face, as though he was unsure of himself for once.
“Quickly!” came the rider’s hiss. A clawed hand reached out. “Time is short!”
Overhead there came what they took to be a crack of thunder, though the skies had been clear, with no hint of a storm. Cellester, Vaddi and Nyam instinctively dropped to their haunches as if a great hand was about to reach down and sweep them from the span. They turned to look back up at the elf tower. A searing flash of light lit its upper ramparts and for a second something was silhouetted there. From out of the blinding light, a zigzag of white fire tore down at the bridge, sizzling and crackling. It struck Aarnamor in the chest with a detonating crash. Everything was caught in the blinding flare of the explosion. The three fugitives were thrown flat to the ground and felt the bridge shuddering, as though it would tear free of its foundations and collapse into the abyss below, but it held.
No more than a few yards in front of him. Vaddi saw the lightning strike Aarnamor again, seemingly disintegrating him, for after the glow subsided, there was no sign of him. Too dazed to scream, the soarwing reeled back along the bridge until it lost its footing. As it fell, it unfolded its wings, curved in mid-air and flew back up the gorge. It was swallowed by distance in a matter of moments. Behind it, Caerzaal’s warriors had regrouped in silence, watching the bridge and the tower beyond.
His head ringing, Vaddi rose to his knees, blinking away tears as he fought to see clearly. Across the bridge, he saw the vampire lord. For the moment Caerzaal and his minions were holding back, wary of another bolt from above.
“To the tower!” said Nyam, spitting dust and shaking a tiny cloud of it from his hair and beard.
Vaddi and Cellester followed him. They reached the end of the bridge and the first steps that led up to the tall door. It had creaked open.
From beyond it, a voice came to them. “Who are you?”
Cellester, trying to see into the shadows, replied, “I am Cellester, a cleric and servant of House Orien. This is Vaddi d’Orien, son of Anzar Kemmal d’Orien and Indreen of the Dendris family.”
“The family of Dendris? It is known to me. Pass within.”
Cellester led his companions to the steps.
“Who is this other?” snapped the voice, taut as a wire.
Nyam pulled up short. “I am nothing, good sir. A mere peddler. Just a wayfarer in these troubled lands.”
“Pass inside. Quickly now. The maggots of the Claw will not be contained for long.”
Someone moved out of the shadows beyond the door, almost too quickly for the eye to follow, then lithely climbed the stairs, turned a corner, and was out of sight. Vaddi and his companions followed. They heard the groaning of machinery as behind them the huge set of doors swung into place, closing off the bridge. As they shut with a loud thud, silence fell over the tower, a deep silence, as if the company had suddenly been rendered deaf. But as they paused on the stair, chests heaving, they heard again the voice of their rescuer.
“Come up! Taeris Mordel must be properly secured. The night has not yet finished spewing up its evils.”
The stairs were ancient, but not dust-choked, as if they had recently been swept clean. The walls of the tower were similarly polished, as though this place was inhabited and no forgotten ruin. At the top of the stair was an area open to the stars, ringed around by a number of huge statues. On seeing these, Vaddi gasped, for they were all of dragons. Each of the statues had been cut from a single block of polished obsidian. They gleamed in the moonlight, so life-like and real. The eyes were cut from emeralds the size of a human head and appeared to study the intruders. Immense wings folded back behind the statues, their working incredibly intricate and delicate. The masons who had created them must have laboured a lifetime to attain such perfection.
Beyond the circle of dragons was a raised balcony that looked out across the Endworld Mountains, the highest points of which were touched with moonlight. On either side of the balcony two larger dragon statues looked out over that vista, as though studying what it contained. Light from a number of cold fire lamps gently fell upon them and the others in the silent ring.
Vaddi, fascinated, was studying the circular inlay of the floor, which itself was polished like glass, apparently impervious to the weather, for there was no roof to Taeris Mordel. There were numerous symbols here, clearly elven work linked to dragon motifs.
Cellester seemed more concerned by the presence of the beings that had rescued them. He waited while they saw fit to reveal themselves. From beside one of the looming dragon statues, a solitary figure stepped into its light. Slightly taller than a ten-year-old child, dressed in tunic and trousers of typical elven design, it was an elf girl, who looked no older then Vaddi. She held a bow in her hand and a quiver of arrows was swung over her shoulder. Her dark hair was cut just below her ears, her features narrow, almost human, but with something more than that—prompted by an arrogance, perhaps, a touch of haughtiness. Vaddi studied her, mesmerised.
She moved with the ease and silence of a huntress, her delicate hands at her side. One word out of place here and Vaddi sensed that those slender fingers would have nocked an arrow and let it fly before anyone was even aware of it.
“We owe you our thanks,” said Cellester, inclining his head.
“So you are a cleric,” she replied tersely. “I am not sure you are welcome. This ground is sacred to my people.” She came closer, studying each of them in turn. “I can see elf blood in the boy.”
Vaddi felt himself flushing under her stern gaze. Boy! Surely he was no younger than she was! But he was unable to frame a retort, instead glad to find himself out of that imperious gaze as the elf turned her attention to the cleric.
Cellester allowed the girl to weigh him for a moment then said, “It was a timely intervention on the bridge.”
“The spells that bind the walls of Taeris Mordel repel the undead. But I wonder why they are here in such great numbers.”
She came again to Vaddi. He had been looking at her, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide, since she had first shown herself. Nyam nudged him with his foot, but it had no effect.
“You are the son of Indreen,” said the girl, as if the fact was of great interest to her. “Vaddi.”
As she spoke his name, Vaddi blinked. “Yes, I, uh, I am. You’re an elf.”
Nyam nudged him again.
Her expression hardened, not quite into contempt. “Very observant of you. I am indeed. I am Zemella of Pylas Maradal. Why does Caerzaal, vampire servant of the Emerald Claw, seek you?”
Vaddi found himself wanting to blurt out the whole story, hypnotised by her eyes, but Cellester stepped in before he could speak.
“House d’Orien has long sought to root out the agents of the Claw. Anzar thwarted their intrigues once too often. They stirred up a rabble army and Marazanath has fallen. Anzar and his family died.”
“Our spy network, as you would know, is very thorough. The Claw’s agents are abnormally active in these mountains,” Zemella said. “They seem intent on wiping out the whole of Anzar’s family. Caerzaal is no menial servant.”