And Gruntle saw then, finally, the anguish that gripped Toc Anaster, the bone-deep fear and dread. He saw how the man’s warning was in truth a cry to a friend, from one already lost, already doomed.
Quell must have sensed something of these fierce undercurrents, for he then bowed to the three riders. ‘I shall deliver your message. To all the pilots of the Trygalle Trade Guild.’
The ground seemed to shift uneasily beneath Gruntle’s boots.
‘And now you had better leave,’ said Brukhalian.
The hill groaned — and what Gruntle had imagined as some internal vertigo was now revealed as a real quaking of the earth.
Master Quell’s eyes were wide and he held his hands out to the sides to stay balanced.
At the far end of the range of hills, a massive eruption thundered, lifting earth and stones skyward. From the ruptured mound something rose, clawing free, sin shy;uous neck and gaping, snapping jaws, wings spreading wide-
The hill shivered beneath them.
The three riders had wheeled their horses and were now barrelling down the slope.
‘Quell!’
‘A moment, damn you!’
Another hill exploded.
‘Be quiet!’
The portal that split open was ragged, edges rippling as if caught in a storm.
The hill to their right burst its flanks. A massive wedge-shaped head scythed in their direction, gleaming bone and shreds of desiccated skin-
‘
‘Go! I need to-’
The dragon heaved up from cascading earth, forelimbs tearing into the ground. The leviathan was coming for them.
They emerged at twice the height of a man above the sandy beach, plummet shy;ing downward to thump heavily in a tangle of limbs.
Shouts from the others-
As the undead dragon tore through the rent with a piercing cry of triumph, head, neck, forelimbs and shoulders, then one wing cracked out, spreading wide in an enormous torn sail shedding dirt. The second wing whipped into view-
Master Quell was screaming, weaving frantic words of power, panic driving his voice ever higher.
The monstrosity shivered out like an unholy birth, lunged skyward above the island. Stones rained down in clouds. As the tattered tip of its long tail slithered free, the rent snapped shut.
Lying half in the water, half on hard-packed sand, Gruntle stared up as the creature winged away, still shedding dust.
Shareholder Faint arrived, falling to her knees beside them. She was glaring at Master Quell who was slowly sitting up, a stunned look on his face.
‘You damned fool,’ she snarled, ‘why didn’t you throw a damned harness on that thing? We just lost our way off this damned island!’
Gruntle stared at her.
There was a tension in his stance that she had not seen before. He faced east, across the vast sweeping landscape of the Dwelling Plain. Samar Dev gave the tea another stir then hooked the pot off the coals and set it to one side. She shot Karsa Orlong a look, but the Toblakai was busy retying the leather strings of one of his moccasins, aided in some mysterious way by his tongue which had curled into view from the corner of his mouth — the gesture was so childlike she wondered if he wasn’t mocking her, aware as always that she was studying him.
Havok cantered into view from a nearby basin, his dawn hunt at an end. The other horses shifted nervously as the huge beast drew closer with head held high as if to show off the blood glistening on his muzzle.
‘We need to find water today,’ Samar Dev said, pouring out the tea.
‘So we will,’ Karsa replied, standing now to test the tightness of the moccasin. Then he reached beneath his trousers to make some adjustments.
‘Reminding yourself it’s there?’ she asked. ‘Here’s your tea. Don’t gulp.’
He took the cup from her. ‘I know it’s there,’ he said. ‘I was just reminding
‘Hood’s breath,’ she said, and then stopped as Traveller seemed to flinch.
He turned to face them, his eyes clouded, far away. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Spitting something out.’
Samar Dev frowned. ‘Yes what?’
His gaze cleared, flitted briefly to her and then away again. ‘Something is hap shy;pening,’ he said, walking over to pick up the tin cup. He looked down into the brew for a moment, then sipped.
