Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1)

Forge of Darkness (The Kharkanas Trilogy #1) Page 345

‘There are shapes within it!’ one of the Wardens cried.

Spinnock looked back up at the blazing conjuration.

The air cracked anew, with a force that staggered the horses and flung men and women from their saddles. Spinnock managed to remain mounted, fighting to keep his balance. A rush of sweet wind rushed out, lashing across the surface of the Vitr, revealing at last something of the distance out from the shoreline of this raging sun. The power of that gale, as it poured out from the emanation, lifted waves upon the sea.

It seemed that Spinnock was the first to comprehend the portent of that. ‘We must flee!’ he shouted. ‘Commander! We must retreat!’

He saw Calat Hustain, who had also managed to remain on his horse, swing round to stare at him, and then the commander began shouting. ‘Withdraw! Hurry!’

The horses that had unseated their riders had already fled the onslaught. Those Wardens now on foot were quickly gathered up by their comrades. The beasts were shrilling in terror, and the surface of the strand itself was shivering.

A third eruption sounded.

Spinnock glanced back.

Abyss take me. Abyss take us all!

Dragons emerged from the emanation, wings outstretched, their tails scything the air in their wake. One after another, Eleint were rushing out to lift on the air, like birds freed from a cage. Faintly, through the howling wind, came their piercing cries.

Upon the sea, a succession of monumental waves advanced towards the shore.

There was no need for further exhortations from Calat Hustain. The troop rode up from the strand in frantic retreat. Even the boulders did not seem proof to what was coming.

Plunging into the rotted tumble of crags and rock, Spinnock left his mount to find its own way. A massive shadow swept over him and he looked up to see the belly and translucent wings of a dragon sailing above them. The Eleint’s long neck curled and the head came into view, almost upside down as the creature flew on, and Spinnock saw how its eyes seemed to blaze as they looked down on him. Then that wedge-shaped head tilted, as the beast scanned the other riders who were just breaking clear of the boulders and beginning to cross the dead ground, towards the black grasses of Glimmer Fate.

The dragon’s talons spread wide, and then closed again.

Moments later, with savage beats of its wings, the creature lifted higher into the sky. One of its companions swung close and then, as the first dragon’s jaws snapped the air in warning, away again.

A rider came alongside Spinnock, and he saw that it was Sergeant Bered. He shot Spinnock a wide-eyed look. ‘Nine!’ he shouted.

‘What?’

‘Nine of them! And then it closed!’

Spinnock twisted round, but at that moment his horse reached the high grasses and plunged into the mouth of the nearest trail. The tall, razor-edged stalks whipped and slashed at him. Spinnock was forced to drop his visor and keep his head down as his mount galloped deeper into the Fate.

The ground shook to a succession of concussions, and the wind redoubled, flattening the grasses on all sides.

Glancing back, he saw the first and largest of the waves pounding over the boulders, knocking many aside as if they were but pebbles.

The silver walls rushed across the dead ground, and struck the edge of the grasses.

A flash lit the air, blinding him. He heard shouts and then screams, and then his horse was tumbling, and he was spinning through the air, landing hard on the flattened mat of the grasses. Skidding, feeling countless blades slicing through his leather armour as if they were sharp iron, Spinnock kept his forearms against his face. He rolled and came to a stop.

He was facing the way he had come, and he stared in disbelief.

The Vitr thrashed against an invisible wall, delineated by the edge of Glimmer Fate, and there the silver water climbed and lunged, only to be flung back. Wave after wave hammered against this unseen barrier, and each spent its power in raging futility. In moments the sea began its foaming, churning retreat.

Spinnock sat up, surprised that no bones had broken. But he was slick with blood. He saw his horse stagger upright a dozen paces away, to stand trembling and streaming red from its wounds. On either side other Wardens were appearing, stumbling over the flattened grasses. He saw Calat Hustain, cradling an arm that was clearly broken between shoulder and elbow, his face cut open as if by talons.

Dazed, Spinnock looked skyward. He saw a distant spot, far to the south now, marking the last dragon visible in the sky.

Nine. He counted nine.

Hearing a horse upon the road behind him, Endest Silann moved to the shallow ditch to let the rider past. He drew his cloak tighter about him and pulled up the hood to send a veil of shadow over his eyes. Three days past, he had awakened alone in the historian’s room to find his hands bound with bandages, to take up the blood that had wept from them.