No, came a whisper in his thoughts, a whisper that came in his own voice. Naggarond must stand. He ripped his gaze from hers and ducked backwards, breaking the deadlock briefly before their weapons re-joined.
A slaughterbrute bounded across the debris, snorting and bellowing in fury. Corded muscles rippled beneath its hide and saliva flecked its jaw. It towered over the figures struggling on the walls, its crimson-skinned bulk studded with spines and the hafts of broken weapons. Its head was the size of a cart and sported a face that was an unnatural cross between canine and reptile and a wide maw studded with rows of jagged teeth. Valkia shrieked in frustration at yet another interruption, but turned the creature’s charge in her favour. She nimbly moved to the side, leaving its thundering passage clear. It charged up the rubble, bloodied saliva flying from its mouth and Darkhand was struck temporarily motionless as he stared at it bearing down upon him.
As the creature came closer, he braced himself to receive the charge.
He was robbed of his chance to kill it by a nest of serpentine heads striking outwards from the city side of the rubble. A hydra, bleeding from a score of wounds and enraged beyond control, rushed the approaching brute, sinking both teeth and claws into its hide. The impact was tremendous, breaking bones and crushing flesh in an instant. The beasts rolled and struggled, biting and clawing at each other. Darkhand embraced the moment of distraction and leaped with grace onto a ruined section of rampart. Valkia hovered there, her wings working slowly in the hot wind, fanning the drifting cinders and ash.
‘Everything you know will be as ashes,’ she hissed and stared at him. ‘Blood and ashes.’
Darkhand did not reply. His gaze was fixed on a point somewhere over Valkia’s right shoulder where he had seen a sight that filled him with grim resolve, awe and a sense of impending victory. He looked at the red-armoured daemon and a slow smile spread across his face. It gave him intense satisfaction to see a look of momentary distrust... confusion, even, in her smouldering eyes.
‘Centuries from now,’ he said, ‘my city may fall to ashes. But it will not be today.’ The daemonic woman halted her attack and stiffened as a marrow-curdling scream tore through the mists. She turned her head in the direction of Darkhand’s gaze and curses spat forth from her perfect lips. Darkhand felt a surge of joy at the sight before him. The timing was superb and even though he had be sure, in his heart, that he would witness this turn of events, he was still glad enough that he was right. Darkhand’s eyes settled upon the huge creature that had hoved into view. He had seen this beast’s arrival on countless occasions but it always took his breath away.
Its name was Seraphon and its bulk was enormous, the vast wingspan eclipsing the wan light from the north. Its gnarled, scaled flesh was harder than iron or stone and with powerful beats of its wings, the dragon descended from the clouds like a stygian god. Darkhand gripped his halberd and drove his gaze upwards to seek out the beast’s rider.
Seated high between the dragon’s shoulders rode Malekith the Witch King. Black lightning played around his fingertips and a nimbus of shadows danced at his brow as he cast his burning gaze over the marauder horde.
Seraphon swooped low and a huge blast of acrid breath crumbled the remaining siege tower, eliciting a great cry of defiance from the defenders of Naggarond. Acid-eaten bone and decaying wood collapsed in splinters, crushing warriors and blocking the approach. Seraphon swept the length of the wall, its claws and breath scouring the rubble of life and butchering marauders by the score.
Valkia’s gaze turned upwards. Her breath hissed out slowly through her fangs and the muscles in her neck tensed. She flicked a furious glare at Darkhand and then, with a few beats of her wings, took to the air in pursuit of the dragon.
Malekith kept the battle tight, Seraphon’s wings easily keeping him steady, hovering just above the city, allowing its rider the ability to focus on his opponent. Forced into the position of a bystander, Darkhand clenched his hands into fists as he observed the encounter. Archers on the walls were loosing their projectiles at Valkia as she drove herself upwards with tremendous force. Each arrow fell shy of its mark, falling to the ground and peppering the ravaged grounds before the city.
Valkia soared to a great height and then, at the peak of her ascent, dove downwards, leading with the tip of the spear, screeching a promise of death. She landed on the dragon’s back and her cursed spear drove through the thick skin of Seraphon’s haunches. Most normal weapons could not hope to penetrate the armouring of dragonhide, but then Valkia’s spear was anything but normal.
Malekith turned in his throne and howling bolts of darkness sprang from his fingertips, scorching the air but failing to find the lithe, swift form of Valkia. Seraphon roared in pain and fury and ceased holding his position. He took off into the city, his sinuous body winding between the spires and towers of Naggarond as he sought to dislodge the unwelcome passenger.
Valkia dragged her weapon from the dragon’s flesh and turned her attention to the throne ahead. Malekith had turned in the saddle and Darkhand could see from the flickering light at his fingertips that he was preparing another spell. Black flames sprang from his fists but before he could release the magic, Valkia hurled Slaupnir towards him.
The barbed head of the weapon punched through the back of the riding throne and emerged from the other side. The Witch King was faster than she had anticipated and he twisted aside at the last moment, avoiding being skewered by inches. Roiling balls of fire left his hands in the same instant and Valkia was forced to block the attack with the head of Locephax. The blast dislodged her from the dragon’s back and she tumbled in the air for a few moments before righting herself. Seraphon flew his sinuous body around the nearest tower, and once turned, descended after Valkia, snapping hungrily with his cavernous jaws.
She beat her wings, lifting clear of the dragon’s path just as his maw snapped shut. Darkhand felt a wrench of disappointment. The spectacle had arrested any further attempts he might have made at fighting and all he could do was watch as Valkia’s momentum carried her over Malekith’s head and beyond his throne. She wrenched Slaupnir free without breaking her stride and kicked off into the air. Dragon and daemon wove between the towers of the city, the dark magic of the Witch King clawing at her but never quite finding its mark, sending shattered stone raining into the streets below.
Unable to land a killing blow on the dragon, Valkia looped beneath the beast’s jaws and onto his head. Seraphon bucked and heaved, but the winged warrior kept her footing, lunging once more towards the seated figure of the Witch King. Malekith turned the spear aside with his own jagged blade and backhanded Valkia with an armoured fist. The blow would have crushed the skull of a lesser being, but she simply turned with the impact and used the momentum to drive a thrust at the Witch King’s heart. Malekith caught the haft of Slaupnir with his free hand only a few inches from his ancient breastplate.
Daemon eyes locked with those of the Witch King. From his vantage point atop the rubble, Darkhand could hear the final exchange.
‘These lands are mine.’ Malekith’s voice hissed from deep within the grotesque helm. He held Valkia’s spear at bay, but the tip wobbled as it crept its way towards his armour. ‘You will never take them.’