CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE

HAELAN

Haelan ran, faster than he had ever run before.

He was back inside the draig tunnels, sprinting down a long passage. Behind him he heard the roar and rumbling thunder of draigs.

They were chasing him.

Because under his arm a draig’s egg was tucked tight to his body.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Not so much, now, though.

His lungs were burning, each ragged breath a desperate clawing for oxygen.

He’d tied Shadow and Pots in the tunnel, didn’t need them with him. The thought of one of them taking the wrong turn and getting eaten by a draig was too much for him to bear. Then he’d climbed back down the root-hole into the draig tunnels. When he reached the chamber with dung mounds in it he’d thrown himself into one, gagging and retching as he carried on to the egg chamber.

He’d crept in, grabbed an egg from the pile, turned and run. Not many heartbeats later he’d heard draig claws tearing up the earth behind him. He could hear the rip and tear of long talons, the grunting, rasping breath, and knew that he was almost finished.

Turning a corner, he saw the root of the oak tree and felt a rush of hope. Another dozen paces and he was hurling the torch over his shoulder, swinging and climbing, hauling himself up onto the ledge. As he scrambled higher through the crumbling tunnel he felt the root beside him shake; the draig below was ripping and tearing at it, jumping and shoving its jaws into the hole.

Then it roared.

He almost fell back down to the red maw of its open jaws, almost dropped the egg, wanted to cover his ears, but he climbed on, reaching the passage where he’d tied Pots and Shadow. They were crouched together, ears back; Shadow was growling. Haelan slashed the rope he’d used to tie them and carried on running, Pots and Shadow following.

A great thumping boom shook the tunnel, rippling up from below, staggering him into a wall as earth was shaken loose about him. He righted himself, heard a ripping sound, the terrible tearing sound of draig claws, and then earth was collapsing in the tunnel. He looked back and saw a draig appearing out of the root tunnel.

It’s literally digging its way after me.

As I hoped.

He turned and ran, down the passage, into a beam of daylight, up the slope and burst out of the hole into the courtyard.

It was empty, the sound of battle distant and eerie.

Haelan ran, Shadow and Pots speeding along beside him, Pots with his tongue hanging out, looking like the happiest dog in the world. There was a muted crash behind Haelan, then a rumbling thunder. The ground rippled under his feet. He ran on, desperation fuelling him.

The ground shook, a wave began beneath the oak tree at the centre of the courtyard, throwing him from his feet. He clung desperately to the egg under his arm as he rolled and sat up, looking back into the courtyard.

Flagstones were exploding outwards, a fountain of earth and stone and root.

And then the first draig appeared, shoving and clawing up from the bowels of the earth. It hauled itself onto even ground and shook, a great cloud of dust billowing out from it. Then another draig was rising from the ground, followed immediately by a third.

The three of them stood there, tongues flickering, heads turning on thick necks, tails swishing. Then they scented their egg, and claws were scrambling on stone, bowed legs pumping, and they were after him.

Haelan jumped to his feet and ran.

The streets of Drassil were deserted. Haelan hurtled down the centre of streets, heedless of anyone or anything, his legs pumping faster than he’d ever run before. Past Cywen’s old gaol and hospice, through the alleys, closer and closer to the courtyard and main gates. Battle roared louder and Haelan glimpsed strange shapes in the air, but he didn’t dare spare a moment to study them. The thunder of the draigs behind him was growing louder.

Too close. They’re going to eat me.

And then he was at the courtyard. Even this was mostly deserted, the great gates open, no one manning them now. Drassil had been emptied.

He ran on, past rows of stables, Pots barking excitedly, Shadow loping as silent as her name.

The draigs charged into the courtyard behind him.

Haelan burst out through the archway and onto the battlefield, saw a chaotic confusion of battle and skidded to a halt, feeling his stomach turn to water as he realized the shapes he’d seen in the sky were winged warriors, seemingly on opposing sides, dark wings and light wings, looping in a swirling dance of aerial combat. It was hypnotic to watch them in their beautiful flight of death.

Get a grip on yourself. You’re about to be trampled to death by three wild draigs.

To his horror he saw that the draig dung was peeling off of him, falling away in chunks, leaving great patches of his skin exposed.

The draigs will be able to smell my scent!

I need to get rid of this egg.

He sucked air into his burning lungs and looked at the battlefield.

To his right, the north of the battlefield, all he could see was warriors on horseback, a sea of black and gold, though as he stared he saw Edana’s grey as well, herded back towards the western fringes of Forn.

To the south-west stood a great block of eagle-guard, inching their way ever deeper into a melee of battle, killing as they went. Haelan saw Vin Thalun that way, a few giants standing tall in the crowd. And Nathair, sitting astride his draig.

That sealed it for Haelan.

That way, then.

And he was off and running again.

The draigs burst through the archway behind him and out onto the field. They, too, paused for a moment, their flickering tongues tasting the air, and within heartbeats their flat-muzzled heads were fixing upon their egg, and then they were breaking into a lumbering charge.

Haelan could see the rearguard of the eagle-guard ahead of him now, a line of black leather and chainmail, iron-shod boots drumming on the ground as they marched in close-packed discipline. Haelan was a hundred paces behind them, and he could hear the thunder of the draigs behind him.

Faster, run faster.

Seventy paces behind the soldiers, the pounding of the draigs filled Haelan’s whole world.

Forty paces and he thought about doing it now, but he knew it was too far.

Just a few heartbeats more.

A draig roared behind him, jaws snapping, a cloud of foetid breath.

Ten paces, and faces turned to look back, saw the draigs.

Haelan hurled the egg, high and arcing, over the back ranks of the eagle-guard, the egg spinning, dipping, falling now, disappearing into the eagle-guard, fifteen or twenty rows deep. Haelan swerved left, skidding, one last burst of speed, and he was veering away from the eagle-guard, Pots and Shadow with him, running into open space, diving, rolling.

And behind him, a concussive slap as three draigs slammed into the marching eagle-guard.