‘And I don’t want another one to die, believe me. The barbarian—’
‘Where is he?’ demanded Sirendor.
‘Don’t raise your voice. Look, he’s in trouble,’ said the mage. There was movement in his cloak. A cat’s head appeared briefly at its neck then disappeared once more. ‘You’re Sirendor, aren’t you? Sirendor Larn.’ Sirendor, standing still once again, nodded. The mage continued. ‘And I am Denser. Look, I know what you’re feeling but we can help each other right now and, believe me, your friend needs help.’
‘What kind of trouble is he in?’ Sirendor’s voice was low too. He didn’t know why, but something about the mage’s attitude worried him. He should kill the man where he stood but he was obviously scared by something other than the prospect of death at a Raven warrior’s hand.
‘Bad. Very bad. See for yourself.’ He put a finger to his lips and beckoned Sirendor to him. The warrior moved forwards, never taking his eyes from the mage nor the slightly shifting bulge on one side of his cloak. Denser motioned Sirendor to look through the doors.
‘Great Gods above!’ He made a move to go in but the mage restrained him with a hand on the shoulder. Sirendor turned sharply.
‘Take your hand off me. Right now.’ The mage did.
‘You can’t help him by rushing in.’
‘Well, what can we do?’ hissed Sirendor.
‘I’m not sure.’ Denser shrugged. ‘I might be able to do something. You might as well get your friends. They won’t find anything out there and they could prove useful in here.’
Sirendor paused in the act of heading for the door. ‘Nothing stupid, you understand? If he dies because of you . . .’
Denser nodded. ‘I’ll wait.’
‘See that you do.’ Sirendor left the antechamber at a sprint, not realising he was about to confirm all of Ilkar’s fears.
Hirad would have run, only he’d come too far into the room, and anyway, he didn’t think his legs would support him, they were shaking that badly. He just stood and stared.
The Dragon’s head was resting on its front claws and the first coherent thought that entered Hirad’s mind was that from the bottom of its lower jaw to the top of its head, it was getting on for as tall as he was. The mouth itself must have been more than three feet across, the whole muzzle probably five in depth. Those eyes sat atop, and at the base of, the muzzle. They were close set, rimmed with thick horn, and the pupils were narrow black slits, ringed in a startling blue. A pronounced ridge of bone ran away over the Dragon’s head towards its spine, and Hirad could see the mound of its body behind it, huge and shining.
As he watched, it carefully unfurled its wings and the reason for the size of the room became all too obvious. With their roots at the top of the torso, above the front limbs, the wings stretched to what must have been forty feet on either side, and flapped lazily. With the balance afforded by them, the Dragon picked its head from the floor and stood upright.
Even with its slender, bone-edged neck arched so its eyes never left Hirad, it towered sixty feet into the hall. Its tail curled away to the left and was thicker than a man’s body even at its tip. Stretched out, the Dragon would surely have been well in excess of one hundred and twenty feet in length, but now it rested on two massive rear limbs, each foot carrying a quartet of claws bigger than the barbarian’s head. And it was gold, all over - skin glistening in the firelight and sparkling on the walls.
Hirad could hear its breathing, slow and deep. It opened its mouth wide, revealing long rows of fangs, and saliva dripped to the floor to evaporate on contact.
It raised a forelimb, single hooked claw extended. Hirad took an involuntary pace backwards. He swallowed hard, sweat suddenly covering his body. He was quaking from head to foot.
‘Fuck me,’ he breathed.
Hirad had always believed that he’d die with his sword in his hand but, in the moments before the huge claw dismembered him, it seemed such a futile gesture. A calmness replaced the instant’s fury that had itself so quickly followed his fear, and he sheathed his blade and looked straight into the creature’s eyes.
The blow never came. Instead, the Dragon retracted its claw, unarched its neck and moved its head down and forwards, coming to a stop no more than three paces from Hirad, hot, sour breath firing into his face.
‘Interesting,’ it said in a voice that echoed through Hirad’s entire being. The barbarian’s legs finally gave way and he sat heavily on the tiled floor. His mouth was wide, his jaws were moving but no sound came.
‘Now,’ said the Dragon. ‘Let us talk about a few things.’
Chapter 2
‘Who are these Dragonene, then?’ hissed Sirendor.
Ilkar turned to him. ‘All mages. They have, I don’t know, an affinity, you know, with Dragons.’ He gestured uselessly.
‘No, I don’t bloody know! Dragons don’t exist. They are just rumour and myth.’ Sirendor’s voice was still barely more than a whisper.
‘Oh yeah? Well that’s one hell of a big myth I can see in there!’ Ilkar’s ears pricked.
‘Does it really matter?’ The Unknown’s voice, though quiet, still carried all its power. ‘We only have one question that needs answering now.’
The Raven trio and Denser were all crowded around the partially open door to the Dragon’s chamber, animosity forgotten for a while. Hirad sat with his back to them, his hands on the floor behind his back, and his legs drawn half up. The Dragon’s head was scant feet from the barbarian’s, the huge mound of its body resting on the ground, its wings folded. It was the scale of it all that Ilkar found so hard to take in.
Never mind that he had only half believed the books and the teaching. He had still imagined Dragons and he imagined they would be big; but Hirad looked so tiny in comparison that he had to look away and back before he decided that Sirendor was wrong and they weren’t seeing an illusion. And he still didn’t really believe it.
‘He should be dead,’ muttered The Unknown, his hands tightening and untightening around the hilt of his sword. ‘Why hasn’t it killed him?’
‘We think they’re talking,’ said Denser.
‘What?’ Ilkar couldn’t hear a thing. As far as he was concerned they were just staring at each other. But as Ilkar watched, his powerful eyes giving the scene complete clarity, Hirad shook his head and straightened his back so he could use his hands to make a gesture. He indicated behind him and said something but the mage couldn’t pick out the words. The Dragon cocked its head to one side and opened its mouth, revealing the massed ranks of its fangs. Liquid dripped to the floor and Hirad started.
‘What do you mean, “we”?’ demanded Sirendor. Denser didn’t reply.
‘Later, Sirendor,’ said The Unknown. ‘We have to think of something to do. Quickly.’
‘What the hell can they be talking about?’ No one had an answer. Ilkar looked back to the unreal scene in the huge chamber and a glint caught his eye. For a moment he assumed it was a reflection off the Dragon’s beautiful scales but it wasn’t a golden colour, more a steel or a silver.
He stared hard, using all the range that his eyes afforded him, and there it was: a small disc, maybe a palm’s width across and attached to a chain which seemed to be caught around one of the Dragon’s large hind-foot claws. He pointed it out to Denser.
‘Where?’ asked the other mage.
‘Its right foot, third talon along.’ Ilkar pointed the way. Denser shook his head.
‘Those are good eyes, aren’t they? Hold on.’ Denser mumbled a few words and rubbed a thumb on either eye. He looked again and tensed.
‘What is it? Don’t try to—’
‘Just pray Hirad keeps it talking,’ said Denser, and he began mumbling again.
‘What are you talking about?’ hissed Ilkar. ‘What have you seen?’