80

(Murmux)

Cry Havoc

The Necromancer Queen's arrival at Angarrack was gratifyingly spectacular. The Gathering was in full swing and Borlowen's entrance atop the giant skeletal rock-wolf was greeted with consternation and flame. She waited, seated on the broad ivory back, a fragile speck of white floating in the sea of darkness, while the overstuffed reptiles screamed and cursed at each other. Fire blossomed from one hundred enraged snouts, and Murmux was, for once, glad to stand at his Queen's side.

"A historic moment," murmured the bitch with a dreamy smile. She crossed one ankle over the other and inspected the nail on her index finger as she waited for the chaos to abate. Murmux resisted the urge to huddle closer to the giant rock-wolf. The sight and sound of so many angry dragons was, he admitted privately to himself, intimidating. And it was unsurprising the snivelling serpents were in such a foul mood. Besides the presence of a Necromancer in their hallowed halls, the Rock of the Evernight had suffered from Candle's brief visit. Battered and smoke-stained, the tower that housed the gallery was in ruins, and large chunks were missing from the roof. Several walls had caved in. Of course for dragons, foul was the default state, but right now the brutes seemed ready to tear chunks out of each other.

To distract himself from the tension of the moment Murmux sought Asher amongst the throng. Eyes roaming the lines of dragons, he soon spotted him, standing between Zebulon and Orin near the base of the cliff-like amphitheatre. A look of shock was plastered across his fat, beautiful face. Murmux had been fairly sure Asher had been clueless as to Candle's origins but now he was certain. Part of him wanted to laugh out loud, but he pushed it down into the pit of his stomach where he hid all his emotions.

Asher’s mother, Hezekiah, the self-designated leader of the dragon clans, and possessor of dubious taste in wall decorations finally managed to bring some semblance of order to the proceedings by sheer force of domination. Either by that or with the power of her sulphurous breath, Murmux couldn't quite decide which. At length, the dragons quieted enough for Hezekiah to approach his Queen. Borlowen was dwarfed by her presence, despite being astride the giant rock-wolf. The reptilian menace was, Murmux had to admit, intimidatingly large, but his queen showed no sign of being cowed. To the contrary, she looked up at the dragon with something like disdain.

"Your spy was successful?" Hezekiah demanded in ringing cadence. Borlowen inclined her head, all ice and dignity, while the matriarch of the dragon clans drew in a hiss of excitement.

"I have the location." Her apparent boredom was a discordant counterpoint to the rush and crackle of dragons.

"What is the meaning of this?" An emerald scaled beast in the topmost tier spoke out, his voice thick with outrage. Hezekiah's head snapped towards the sound, her eyes narrowing into molten slits. "Why is this Necromancer filth sullying our halls?"

She hissed. Steam rose from between her fangs and flame licked at her nostrils as she whipped back her tail. Lightning fast, she was on the offending speaker, felling him with one staggering blow. He struggled to right itself, then stopped moving as the great dragon stepped casually on his neck. Murmux suppressed a shudder as he heard bones crunch. The emerald dragon stopped moving.

"Brothers and sisters," Hezekiah continued as if nothing had happened. "The Day Nation is within our grasp. The gate has been located."

There was a moments silence, and then a fresh wave of conversation swept the cliffs. Hezekiah turned back to Borlowen, expectantly. A solitary Dawn spirit bobbed through the air between them. Borlowen caught it between disinterested fingers, squeezing the tiny creature and watching its frantic golden body buzz and hum against her skin.

"Somewhere," she said, "the sun is rising."

Murmux could practically smell Hezekiah's impatience, but the scaly matriarch contained herself with obvious difficulty. The Necromancer Queen regarded the tiny spirit for a few more moments, before squishing it flat, and flicking the remains away. "East of the Night Spear," she said, at last. "In a cave halfway up the mountain, behind a curtain of vines. I travel the gate in three hours."

"That does not give us long to prepare."

Borlowen shrugged.

"You are not necessary," she said. "I tell you this information as a courtesy. There are only humans on the other side. They will be easily subdued."

Hezekiah opened her mouth but was interrupted by a dull boom that shook the rocky floor. Murmux staggered and fell, catching himself against the skeletal rock-wolf. Somewhere at the base of the cliff something shuddered and moved, and the earth shifted with it. Dry scales rustled against rough stone. Golden eyes filmed with white flickered open, shining like beacons in the deep shadow. An ancient dragon crawled out into the starlight, his hoary sides tipped with frost, his scales battered and cracked with age.

"Father," said Hezekiah, bowing her head.

A ripple of bobbing dragons rushed along the ledges as the clans genuflected. Murmux swallowed. Thuras of the Black Dawn, the first dragon, the old king of the dragon clans himself, lumbered forward, and such was the size of him that his footsteps shook the very ground. He was immense. His bat-like wings were folded along the ridge of his back but fully extended they would shelter half a mountain beneath their span.

Murmux resisted the urge to flee, though it took every ounce of self-control. Here was an apex predator, every instinct screamed at him. Thuras would crush Murmux as easily as Borlowen had crushed the tiny Dawn spirit. But Thuras had no reason to look at Murmux, his gaze was focused on the indolent form of the queen.

"Consider our bargain fulfilled," she murmured, as if one dragon was just the same as another. Perhaps in her eyes, they were. "The Day Nation will soon be back where it belongs. There are only humans. I do not expect a fight."

"There are two dragons," said Thuras, his words rumbling around the cavern. "My son, and the half-breed."

Borlowen's mouth quirked up.

"Even so," she said, and lightly touched one of the bones that hung from her horns. Thuras flicked his tail, his great golden orbs narrowing.

"My grandsons will accompany you. To make doubly sure the conquest goes as planned. And to represent the claim of the clans."

"As you wish," said Borlowen, but the ancient king had already turned his back on her, lumbering back into the shadows. Borlowen shifted her gaze to Hezekiah. "Three hours. Be ready."

She clicked her tongue and the skeletal rock-wolf turned and strode out of the amphitheatre, the dry bones clattering on the rock. Murmux and his brothers scurried after the queen, leaving the rising wave of noise behind them with some relief.

Once they were well away from the Gathering, Borlowen slowed and then came to a halt.

"Ronove," she said. He came to her and bowed her head. "Go and mobilise the stone men."

"What about the mountain king?"

"Do not concern yourself. He is powerless."

Ronove took to the sky in a flurry of lightning and scattered feathers, his face eager.

"Leonidas," she said, gesturing to another impundela. "Go and inform my courtiers they are needed."

"Yes, my lady."

"Akon, gather the flocks."

"Yes, my lady."

She watched them go, tapping one long finger against her cheek.

"What have I forgotten? Oh yes – Murmux."

He went and stood before her, eyes lowered, waiting for his instructions. Her scarlet lips curved upward as she handed him a sharp silver dagger, her eyes glittering like polished obsidian. Murmux looked down at it with some perplexity. The blade had iron runes etched across it, and the hilt was cold in his palm.

"Go and find your beautiful little half-breed." Borlowen paused, regarding him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Tell her you love her, and then stab her through the heart with this. Then you may return to me."

"Yes, my lady."

He went.