That was helplessness. What Magnar spoke of was cowardice. She couldn’t stop the words from bursting out. ‘You’re the King,’ she sneered. ‘You could have stood up to the Shaman. How could you allow your own mother to be consumed by fire?’
Magnar’s face darkened. ‘You know nothing,’ he said angrily. He rose up from the bed and began pulling on his clothes.
Yllandris pushed herself up, reaching for her silk robes and the shawl that lay in a heap beside the bed. ‘What of Krazka?’ she asked, more quietly. ‘He raped her, didn’t he? Before she was brought back to Heartstone. How can you stand to look at him?’
This time Magnar’s anger was not so restrained. He grabbed her hair from behind and pulled her around to face him. His eyes were iron fury. ‘Krazka is the most powerful chieftain in the High Fangs,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘You think it’s easy for me to listen to his counsel? I want nothing more than to cut out his black heart. Were it not for the Shaman’s bargain and the risk of civil war-’
A sudden howling interrupted him, so loud that the walls of the bedchamber seemed to shake.
‘The Shaman’s bargain?’ Yllandris was intrigued in spite of the painful grip Magnar had on her hair. She could thrust him away with a brief unveiling of her sorcery, of course, but that would amount to treason — punishable by death. Fortunately the King seemed to realize he was hurting her. He let go and stepped away.
‘There are many things you do not know. It is best if you leave my presence immediately. You presume too much.’
Yllandris was about to give an angry curtsy and storm off when they both heard the shouts and screams from outside.
‘What is it?’ Magnar demanded. His guards had their hands on their weapons and were staring up at the sky as if their eyes could pierce the flurry of snow billowing from the dark blanket of grey above them. Yllandris stood beside the King, shivering. It was late afternoon, but it might have been the middle of the night for all the visibility the snowstorm provided.
‘We’re under attack,’ shouted a nearby warrior. He had a longbow pulled back and an arrow ready to loose at any moment. ‘It struck from nowhere. Pulled Varamus into the sky and tore him clean in half.’
‘It took my girl,’ a woman cried. She was on her knees in the deep snow, her head in her hands. A score of men emerged from the blizzard, all with arrows nocked and ready. The biggest of them approached; she recognized Yorn. His hands were covered in blood.
‘We’ve got a score dead already. The demon’s snatching up folk and scattering parts of ’em all over town. We can’t get a clear shot on the thing.’ He shook his head and spat. ‘It’s huge. Wings like a bat, with talons that can rend a man in half.’
‘Gather a hundred men,’ Magnar ordered. ‘Split them into groups, five men each. Have them patrol every part of town until the fiend is spotted. Yllandris, gather the rest of your circle. I want this demon blasted out of the sky.’
She did as she was commanded, hurrying off towards the small hill overlooking the west side of Heartstone. As it happened, Shranree and two other sorceresses were already on their way to the Great Lodge. They almost ran into her moving in the opposite direction.
‘Sister, what is happening here?’ asked Shranree, in between gasps for breath. She frowned suddenly. ‘You appear rather inadequately garbed for this inclement weather, I must say.’
Yllandris sighed. She had hoped the woman’s near-death experience at Mehmon’s trial might have sapped some of her hubris, but the leader of the Heartstone circle was already returning to her overbearing self. ‘We are under assault,’ she replied. ‘A winged demon haunts the skies above us. I believe it was the same monster that attacked the Brethren some weeks past.’ The same monster that was watching us at Frosthold. She decided to say nothing of that.
Shranree clapped her hands together. ‘Dastardly fiend! Does it seek to take advantage of the Shaman’s absence? Come, sisters. We will hunt down this demon and make it sorry it ever left the Spine.’
There was a shout from somewhere to the north. The four sorceresses hurried towards the sound. Along the way they passed the remains of a Highlander, his belly opened to reveal steaming entrails. Yllandris wiped snow from her eyes, squinting to catch sight of the men ahead of her.
Suddenly a body crashed down into the snow nearby. They rushed over, but the man was dead before he hit the ground. A massive wound almost split his torso in half.
‘It is above us,’ Shranree whispered. A band of men appeared, Yorn leading them. Thurva was with the group. She saw her sisters and hurried over to join them.
‘The thing is so fast,’ she said breathlessly. ‘My magic could barely touch it. The men’s arrows have little impact. If only the Brethren were here. Or the Shaman.’
‘They are not,’ said Shranree. ‘And so we must deal with it ourselves.’
The air rustled ominously. There was a dark streak in the sky far above and then the fiend was there among them, its taloned foot closing around the unfortunate warrior next to Yorn. The man screamed and spewed blood as those terrible claws sliced into his body.
Yllandris gasped, horrified at the sheer size of the demon. It must be twenty feet tall. Its wings were wider still. The head was part human and part reptilian. Three red eyes filled with malevolence stared out above a mouthful of pointed teeth resembling ivory daggers. A snaking tail whipped the ground with enough force to pulverize flesh and bone.
The warriors released their arrows. Most bounced off the thing’s black hide. A couple lodged in its scales to no discernible effect. The warriors threw their useless bows to the ground and drew their swords, closing to surround the creature, but with a single mighty beat of its gigantic wings it rose above them and they were left to stare up at it helplessly.
Shranree threw her arms into the air. ‘Sisters, link with me,’ she shrieked.
Yllandris closed her eyes and did as the senior sister commanded, feeling her magic drain into the older woman. Shranree gasped as the power filled her. Flame danced around her hands and then lanced towards the winged horror. The demon hissed as the fire wreathed its midnight form. With another beat of its great wings it took to the skies, dropping the lifeless corpse of the Highlander like a broken doll.
The fiend disappeared from sight almost immediately, swallowed up by the relentless blizzard, but Shranree was not done. Shrieking in ecstasy, she sent the dancing flame up and after the apparition. A couple of seconds passed and then, like a rope, the flaming lasso tightened.
There was an enraged hiss from high above them. With a tugging motion, Shranree yanked downwards and the black colossus was brought crashing to the earth, the chain of fire wrapped tight around its legs. It smashed into a tavern in an explosion of flaming debris. A loud cheer went up and suddenly Heartstone’s warriors were converging on the fallen demon, swords and axes bristling.
The fire wreathing Shranree’s hands flickered and disappeared. She sagged in exhaustion. Yllandris, too, felt drained to the point of collapse. The magic they had expended in bringing down the fiend had sapped the last reserves of her power. It was all she could do to turn and stare at the wreckage through the waning snowstorm.
The burning ruins of the tavern shifted suddenly. Somehow the fiend was still alive. It rose, staggered a few steps, and then beat its ruined wings. Dust and rubble exploded from its blistered skin. In a lurching run, it turned and fled north towards the main gates. Arrows rained down around it, but even with its grievous injuries the demon easily outpaced the pursuing warriors. Yllandris watched on, horrified. What manner of creature can survive such punishment?
The sound of horses caught her attention and she turned to see Magnar seated on his mighty stallion, the Six mounted behind him. The King raised his sword in the air. ‘I will hunt the demon down! Any man who wishes to join me is welcome. I want that bastard’s head above my hearth.’