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‘Fare well, Kanyn Thrall.’
‘And you, Ardata.’
Even after she left the dusty chamber, he felt her presence. His fever had hatched a thousand spider eggs beneath his skin, and the creatures now swarmed. Let us not call this love, then. But still, woman, it seems your touch is eternal. Ah, bless me.
* * *
They heard the shrieking before they came within sight of the ruined temple. Scabandari glanced at K’rul. ‘Is this expected? Are we about to come upon some dread sacrifice to a long-dead god?’
Ahead, wild firelight flared and flickered, limning in light the ragged lines of the temple. Above this, something vast and ominous hovered in the air, dull and throbbing crimson.
In answer to Scabandari’s questions, K’rul sighed. ‘She hesitates. Not because her victim shrieks his terror at the fate awaiting him, but because she senses me and Skillen Droe.’
In that moment two huge winged shapes lifted into the air, rising up to flank the suspended wound.
Skillen Droe clacked his jaws and opened his own wings, but K’rul turned to his companion, one hand lifting. ‘A moment, assassin, if you please. Yes, they scented you, and know you for who you are.’
If the demonic reptile made reply, Scabandari could not hear it, but he saw K’rul shrug.
They continued on, approaching the temple grounds. Scabandari stared up at the dragons. Skillen Droe was not as large as they, and yet he sensed their fear and alarm. K’rul had named the creature assassin, after all. Yes, I can see that. In the southlands of the Forkassail there dwells a wasp that preys on spiders the size of my hand. Size means less than the venom of the sting, and I think now that Skillen Droe is a most venomous foe. ‘K’rul, you spoke of conversation with dragons, not battle.’
‘I did.’
‘Yet you bring this … companion.’
‘Yes. I need those dragons to listen to me.’
‘They are more likely to flee!’
K’rul gestured again at Skillen Droe, as if dismissing a silent complaint. ‘No, that is not likely, Scabandari. Dragons have little comprehension of retreat. They tend to stand and fight, even when death is inevitable. A sound measure of their arrogance.’
‘More sound the measure of their stupidity!’
‘Yes, that too.’
Something in that shrieking voice gnawed at Scabandari, and when it abruptly stopped he involuntarily quickened his pace. Reaching the first of the toppled columns, he saw before him a large bonfire. Beside it was a tall woman, her hair fiery red, her skin the hue of alabaster. At her feet was a huddled, weeping form.
Scabandari flinched as Skillen Droe sailed past him to land heavily close to the woman.
Breathing hard, K’rul came up behind Scabandari. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘unfortunate.’
‘That man at her feet,’ said Scabandari, ‘is the man I came to find.’
‘I surmised as much. Alas, my friend, his soul is destined to seal the gate of Starvald Demelain.’
Baring his teeth, Scabandari drew his sword. ‘I think not.’
‘You cannot stand against this,’ K’rul said. ‘If the gate is not sealed, more Eleint shall come, not by the score, but by the thousands. This realm shall be destroyed in their senseless fury, for those dragons will war one upon the other. And should the Storm of the Mother manifest—’
‘Enough dire prophecy,’ Scabandari snapped. ‘That is the only son of Lord Urusander. His father needs him, if only to be reminded of the world to come. But more than that, Kurald Galain needs him.’ He moved forward, directly towards the red-haired woman, who had at last turned to face the newcomers. Something avid in her gaze made him stop in his tracks.
She offered him little more than a flicker of attention before unveiling a glare at K’rul. ‘You! Ah, now I see. This sorcery is your doing. Idiot. How does it defy me?’
‘You are Azathanai,’ K’rul replied. ‘My blood is not for you.’
‘You have interrupted me,’ she said then, with a momentary glance directed at Skillen Droe. ‘And you! I told you I never wanted to see you again!’
The look the reptilian assassin sent back at K’rul seemed somehow plaintive.
