Part 38 (2/2)

Sha-Kaan swept round to face the hillside. Nos-Kaan was hovering, waiting for him. Below, hidden by the curve of the slope, a dozen mages. Nos hadn't seen them and they were casting.

Sha-Kaan bellowed in rage and arrowed down towards them, pulsing alarm at his Brood brother.

Fly! They are below you. Fly!

Nos-Kaan moved as the mages cast their spell. An orb of fire thirty feet across raced from their position, catching Nos-Kaan's left wing on the downbeat and rolling along its length to scour his back. Flame ate at his scales and burned the wing membrane. Nos roared pain and, smoke trailing from his savaged wing, spiralled into the sky, heading for the quenching ocean.

Sha-Kaan powered on, Sytkan forgotten in his claw. The Xeteskian mages could not react fast enough. The huge dragon landed just upslope and slid down on them, his great hind claws tearing up the ground as he came, his wings beating again, his weight shuddering the earth. His head launched forward, his fangs slicing through human flesh, jaws snapping open and shut to crush puny bodies. His claws scythed through torso and limb, dug up stones and dirt and flung them down.

With the next beat of his wings he took to the air again, banking sharply to check for any survivors. One was running, the rest either dead or dying. He powered in again and seized the running mage in his other foreclaw before chasing out to sea after Nos-Kaan.

The dragon's entry point was clear and the smell of burning scale and membrane hung in the air. Sha-Kaan put Sytkan to his eye once again, seeing the mage shaken but still just conscious.

'Weak am I? Pray to your false G.o.ds that Nos is still alive. Pray that your lungs can hold and your body does not break.'

With that he dived into the ocean, tucking his foreclaws in to protect the mages from the impact. He might have need of them. His eyes pierced the clear blue waters easily and he didn't have to swim deep before he saw Nos-Kaan struggling to the surface, his left wing dragging him back, his tail stroking weakly.

Nos-Kaan, I am here.

Sink the s.h.i.+p, Great Kaan. I will survive. But his thoughts were feeble. They must not escape.

They cannot outpace me. I will be back.

Sha-Kaan stormed back to the surface and broke into the air. In his claw Sytkan gasped a lungful of air. The other mage hung limp. Sha-Kaan discarded him. He flew towards the s.h.i.+p, which still lay at anchor, keeping high to avoid the spells. On deck he saw two groups of mages crouching together, spells no doubt on their lips.

'So anxious to get on board,' he said, Sytkan once again large in his vision. 'Let me help you.'

He threw the mage down, watching him cartwheel as he fell. The human prayed he hit the water. His G.o.ds did not hear him. Sha-Kaan turned from the splayed mess far below on the deck and dived back after Nos-Kaan.

The wounded dragon was close to the surface now. Sha-Kaan swam under him and pushed him from below, moving him fast towards a nearby island with a beach on which he could rest. He could feel the pain through Nos-Kaan's mind. The dragon, who had never fully recovered from attack by Dordovan mages out in the Southern Ocean two seasons before, was dreadfully injured.

He heaved Nos-Kaan from the waves. The stricken Kaan laid his neck out on the sand, leaving his tortured burned body in the salty water.

Tell me, Nos. Your injuries, can they heal?

But he already knew the answer. Nos-Kaan's wing lay on the surface of the sea, outstretched, membrane ruined in so many places. And the scales along his back were puckered and oozing.

It has been a great adventure, Great Kaan. And I would have loved to rest back in our Brood lands, but it was ever a dream I feared I would never realise.

Then rest now, my brother. Rest now. You will be avenged.

But Nos-Kaan couldn't hear him.

Sha-Kaan rose up on his hind legs, beat his wings and bellowed grief, rage and torment. Birds took flight and lizards scattered on the beach. Back at anchor, the Xeteskian s.h.i.+p lay waiting. He decided not to keep them any longer.

But even as he rushed into the air to revenge himself upon them, a voice sounded in his mind. It spoke reason and sympathy and it took the edge from his rage. It told him that he must live. That the Brood Kaan would wane without him, that there were other places to fight the battle. It told him it loved him and that it would see the research into the hands that would help.

The voice was that of Hirad Coldheart, his Dragonene, and it surely saved his life.

Chapter 35.

Dystran, Lord of the Mount of Xetesk, was in excellent spirits. He had enjoyed his lunch enormously and took the remains of his wine out of the dining room he had shared with the rest of the Circle Seven into the Corridor of the Ancients. Looking along the impressive line of portraits in the brightly lit corridor, he reminded himself to organise his own. Every other master on the walls was very old. A dash of youth would be just the job.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned. Ranyl was walking slowly towards him, pain obvious on his face but defiantly upright despite the natural desire to stoop to try and relax the pain from the cancer in his stomach. He smiled as he approached.

'My Lord Dystran, I have more news,' he said, 'concerning the search on Calaius.'

'Really?' Dystran's pulse quickened slightly. 'Good I hope?'

'I would welcome a seat and a gla.s.s of whatever it is you have.' Ranyl smiled.

Dystran raised a hand. 'I'm sorry, my manners.'

He led the old and dying master back to the dining room, where they sat at the end of the cavernous chamber away from the inquisitive ears of the rest of the Seven. Servants were clearing plates and gla.s.ses from the long rectangular table on which seven candelabra supported strong white flames. In the wood-panelled room, voices echoed loud so Dystran lowered his voice as he poured wine and sat down with his adviser.

'You'll be glad to hear, old friend, that our key researchers are even now returning to Balaia from Herendeneth. There was trouble with the Kaan dragons but they escaped intact. They'll land in approximately nine days and be in the college inside twenty. Fifty Protectors are with them. The answers are close, Ranyl. Very, very close. If we can hold our borders for just that little bit longer.'

'Well, Heryst's caution still plays into our hands though Rusau's unfortunate demise was regrettable. Intelligence indicates he is mobilising his forces. His strength could yet be pivotal. We should consider talks of some kind,' said Ranyl. He smiled as he drank from his gla.s.s.

'About what?'

'It hardly matters,' said Ranyl. 'As long as it stops any concerted invasion for long enough. Why not discuss the dispersal of the Herendeneth research? It won't stop Vuldaroq but it might give Heryst pause, and that is all we need to see our people home.'

'The timing will be important,' said Dystran, a warm feeling creeping into his bones as he saw the sense of Ranyl's plan.

'Indeed. We should act as soon as possible. You might try personal Communion with Heryst. Soothe his pain, so to speak.'

'My dear Ranyl, I will never find another to replace you,' Dystran said, and squeezed the old man's free hand. 'But this isn't what you wanted to tell me about. Calaius.'

'Ah, my Lord, the G.o.ds are organising everything to speed your ascension,' rumbled Ranyl through a cough. 'I have had Communion from our fleet. They are on their way back from Calaius. They have the writings we need.'

'Are you sure?' said Dystran. He felt elation rush through his body.

'It was a difficult operation. We lost many lives but both Erys and Yron survived. Erys is as sure as he can be that what they have is the text you had in mind.'

'How difficult?'

'We lost almost one hundred and ninety people,' said Ranyl quietly.

'What!' Dystran's voice echoed across the dining room and stilled the hum of conversation from the remainder of the Seven. His next words were an angry whisper. 'What in all the h.e.l.ls happened? Did they run into a storm or something?'

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