Moonlight falls in the City of Death

As three men face their greatest test.

Hawk burst out into the moonlit stableyard in time to see Captain Sirannor leap astride a horse and charge out into the street. He sprinted over to the stablehand, who had run out into the yard and was shouting angrily after the departing horse, and shouted breathlessly: "Have you got any other… horses saddled?"

The stablehand turned and gave him a confused look.

Hawk grabbed him fiercely by the shirt. "Answer me, man! This is important!" He wished fleetingly that he possessed Sirannor's commanding tone, but fortunately, his uniform was just as effective. Catching sight of the insignia on his sleeve, the stablehand nodded quickly.

Hawk released him at once, and the two of them ran to the stables.

Hoofbeats echoed loudly off the white stone buildings as the horses pounded through the silent, shadowy streets. Lights came on in windows and Watchmen jerked awake as first one – then several minutes later, two more – dark shapes thundered past.

Hawk was forced to push his horse hard to keep up with Sirannor's flying steed, but he was not hard to track, the sound of their chase could be heard through most of the city. Several times, Hawk was seized with the urge to call out to his fellow soldiers for help, but caught himself, realising the danger of such an action. He knew Sirannor Vandaris; at least, as well as it was possible for anyone to know the enigmatic man. When he was driven to do something, he never let anything stand in his way, and Hawk did not want to be responsible for whatever the Captain might do in the heat of his raging emotions.

He had just been betrayed, his Freeroamer companion murdered in cold blood. Hawk could not help but picture what he himself would do if he found Carmine's throat slashed.

He decided that he would want a friend nearby who could still think and act rationally.

Rounding a corner onto the main thoroughfare, he saw Sirannor's horse come to a rearing halt at the closed main gates. The Captain shouted something at the guards on duty. One of them gave a short reply and pointed north-east. Sirannor tore off before the guard had finished speaking, his sword glinting sharply in the moonlight.

Hawk took a sudden detour through a side alley, swearing out loud. He knew exactly what the guard had pointed to, and wondered if this night could get any worse.

There was only one way out of the city in that direction – and it led straight through the Old Quarter.

The gate was wide open. There were no guards patrolling here: there was no need. Not even criminals dared venture into the Old Quarter, unless they were desperate, or insane.

Or in this case, Hawk thought bitterly, both.

Sirannor spurred his horse through the arch without a moment's hesitation. Hawk – now right on Sirannor's tail thanks to several shortcuts – felt a wall of terror so solid it was almost tangible crash over him as he passed the threshold.

It took all his willpower not to turn his horse around and gallop straight back out. Instead, he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the mind-numbing fear.

It was as though they had passed into another world: a world created by magic and death. Everything was ancient and decayed. Moonlight streamed through gaping holes in the buildings. White sand, as fine as dust, blanketed the streets, sat in drifts against the ruins, and puffed up in glittering clouds at the horses' feet. The air was dry and stale, neither warm nor cold, though the sweat on Hawk's skin was sending shivers down his spine. There was no sign of the puddles and dampness that lingered in the rest of the city from the previous night's storm, as though even the weather had forgone this eerie place.

The tracks of Cimmeran's horse stood out clearly, chips of grey shadow on the pristine white sand, disappearing into the broken city.

Sirannor and Hawk followed them for endless minutes, leaping over fallen masonry and through shattered walls, the panting of the horses and their muffled footsteps the only sounds to break the strange serenity. Deeper and deeper into the city they galloped. If it weren't for the reassuring position of the moon to the west, Hawk would surely have lost all sense of direction.

The trail turned suddenly to the left, and Sirannor went with it. Hawk rounded the corner, a few paces behind, only to find that the Captain had vanished. The trail continued down the street, a single line of hoofprints.

Hawk skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust. He looked around, listening for the sounds of a racing horse. Perhaps Sirannor had veered off down a side street?

Silence.

The sand was undisturbed, save for Cimmeran's trail.

Panic flooded through Hawk. He turned to look behind him and saw, with disbelief, that the sand had blown over the trail, obliterating all evidence of their passing.

Erasing the way back.

"What the hell?" he said aloud. Heart pounding, he tried calling out Sirannor's name, but he already knew, with a terrible feeling of dread, what the response would be.

Nothing.

He looked back at Cimmeran's tracks. Having no better option, and after much cursing, he followed them.

Sirannor's horse pounded the sand mercilessly.

Vaguely, he was aware that Hawk was no longer following him. Perhaps the soldier had given up, decided to let him be. Sirannor did not care.

He rode one-handed, Hawk's sword gripped tightly in his right hand. The pain burning in his chest and shoulder from his wound did not concern him. In fact, he welcomed it, relished it. He focused on that pain because it was far more bearable than the grief that had split a yawning chasm in his soul. He let the pain fuel his anger, forging all his thoughts into one single, white-hot spear:

Find Cimmeran.

He did not know exactly what he would do when he caught the servant, only that he would tear the world apart to find him. He had to know why he had done it, what had possessed him to kill Aari.

Something appeared on the road ahead. Sirannor caught his breath in shock, and pulled his horse to a jerky halt.

It was Aari.

He stood in the middle of the road, barefoot, bare-chested, wings bound at his back, bright orange tips trailing in the sand. Blood shimmered on his throat and trickled down his chest, staining the bandages around his waist. His dark eyes were sad as he looked up at the Captain.

"You killed me, Sirannor," he said.

Sirannor could not move, could not speak. He just stared.

"You're angry with Cimmeran," he went on, "but you were going to let me die, too, weren't you? You preferred to sit and watch my life fade away than let the healers save me!"

"I…" Sirannor's grey eyes glimmered. He felt pieces of his heart falling away with every word. "You would… not have wanted to live without your wings," he whispered. "You would have lost your identity as an Angel. You would have resented me for the rest of your life–"

"How do you know that, Sirannor?!" Aari cried suddenly, accusingly. "How do you know what I would have wanted?" Tears spilled down the Angel's cheeks. "Commander Trice sent you to look after me, but you failed! You left me! You left me alone with a murderer!"

Sirannor closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was shaking. "You are dead, Aari," he said. "You cannot be here. You are some kind of deception."

He opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. The look of hurt on Aari's face shattered him. "A deception?" Aari said in a small voice. "Is that how little you think of me? You never cared about me, did you? Commander Trice thought of me as a son–"

"ENOUGH!" Sirannor thundered, his voice echoing off the ruins. "YOU CANNOT BE HERE!" Filled with anger once more, Sirannor spurred his horse towards the Angel.

Aari stood where he was, crying, his face in his hands.

Almost, Sirannor turned aside. Almost, he let his doubts decide his actions. Then his horse plunged into Aari…

… and the Angel disappeared.

Relieved, but shaken, Sirannor continued after Cimmeran.

However, the shards of Aari's words remained lodged in him, as though he had thrown a handful of glass.

Ardance fled through the deserted streets, a piece of shadow with a life of its own, rippling the moonlight-curtains that settled across her path. Cimmeran clung to her back, his face strangely calm. Perhaps it was shock at what he had done or the fact that he had finally achieved his aim: he was free.

But that was a falsehood, Cimmeran knew in his innermost heart. He would never be truly free again. He had killed someone; deliberately. The knife, the symbol of his freedom but also his damnation, was stuck in his belt, still smeared with blood. The Angel had not stirred, not made a sound as Cimmeran had drawn it across his neck. It had been so easy to take his life.

But he could never give it back. He had stepped down a black path, the same path that his hated master had followed…

He felt numb.

Then he rounded a corner, and fear returned in a painful jolt.

He screamed.

A Muron sat atop a fallen pillar directly in his path.

Waiting for him.

Ardance skidded on the sand as Cimmeran jerked on the reins, trying desperately to turn her in the narrow alley. He galloped back the way he had come, but…

… a second Muron dropped lazily onto the road, blocking his escape.

"NO!" Cimmeran wailed. This can't be happening! he thought deliriously. Not again, after everything I've been through…

It was too much.

Ardance was jumping around, skittish with fear. Cimmeran could not control her, and was thrown to the ground. The horse turned and ran down the alley, towards the first Muron.

"No!" Cimmeran cried. "Ardance…!"

One slash of the Muron's claws was all it took. The spray of blood seemed to hang horribly in the air, before Ardance fell heavily to the ground.

Cimmeran collapsed into the sand, curled into a ball and sobbed uncontrollably, overcome with despair.

The trail seemed endless, twisting and turning, though remaining on a steady north-eastern course. But the dusty buildings around Hawk appeared unchanged; he swore that tower on his right had not moved since he had started out, nor had the jagged silhouette of the SOMS, hazy in the moonlight, off to his left.

There was still no sign of Sirannor or Cimmeran, and the trail continued to disappear mysteriously behind him, as though neither he nor the servant nor the Captain had ever passed this way.

Beneath his armour, his tunic was damp with sweat, and his nerves were becoming increasingly strained the further he rode. "This is crazy," he muttered to himself. This place was surreal and unnatural, no place for the living or sane. And it was playing with him, he was sure. It was testing him, to see how long he could follow Cimmeran's never-ending tracks until his mind broke…

He had almost convinced himself to give up the trail completely and strike out in a different direction, when he passed beneath an overhanging arch and emerged into a wide, circular open space.

Hawk slowed his horse to a stop, gazing in awe at the scene before him.

He had definitely not passed through here before.

He was standing at the edge of an immense plaza; perhaps it had once been the city green, although the grass had long ago withered and turned to dust. The plaza was empty and barren, a striking contrast of white moonlight and black shadow. But what caught his gaze and pinned it in place was the gigantic thing that stood in the very centre of the space, upon a weathered stone dais.

It was a life-sized statue of a Dragon.

Frozen in bronze, it crouched upon its platform, wings half-spread, hindquarters bunched, sinuous neck extended, great blank eyes focused forward as though poised to lunge at Hawk. Each of its claws was as long as Hawk's horse.

Fear crawled over his skin. It was only a statue, but a terrifyingly realistic one. He could not conceive how, or why, anyone would create a monument to a Dragon in the middle of Sunsee.

Hawk tore his gaze away with an effort, words from a still vivid past whispering in his head, in Lieutenant Vandaris' voice: Never look directly into a Dragon's eyes, for you will not look away again…

He turned his attention to the ground instead, to see where the tracks led.

He groaned.

"Of course," he said through gritted teeth. "Of course they lead to the big, creepy statue…"

He hesitated, debating his next course of action. The tracks carried on until they were lost from sight in the statue's inky shadow. Neither the servant nor his horse was anywhere to be seen. Every grain of common sense in his soul was warning him not to approach the statue any closer.

There was something not right about it…

A flicker of movement on the right edge of his vision caused him to turn his head.

Someone else had just emerged into the courtyard.

For a moment, Hawk was so surprised to see another living person that he just stared. The figure was too slight of build to be Sirannor, and not lanky enough to be the servant. Then he gave a sudden start of recognition. His eyes widened.

He scrambled off his horse and ran forward to get a better look.

"Carmine?!" he said incredulously.

"Devan?" the young woman called across the open space, sounding just as surprised as he. "What are you doing in here?!"

Hawk gaped. "What am I doing in here?" he yelled back. "You're supposed to be in Sel Varence!"

"I have some important news to tell you!" she shouted.

Hawk frowned. "Well, why didn't you send a courier?"

"Because it's important!" she replied, hurrying around the circumference of the courtyard. "And I couldn't take the chance that it would be intercepted! And besides, you wouldn't have believed me in writing!"

Hawk watched her approach with confusion on his face. He felt as though reality had galloped off while he wasn't looking and left him behind. He shook his head to clear it. "Why did you come through the Old Quarter?" he said.

"The main gates are closed!" she answered in annoyance, as though the answer was obvious. Then, suddenly, her face broke into a beautiful smile, and she threw her arms around his neck. "I missed you!" she said.

Hawk felt a little of the trepidation trickle away as the warmth of her body seeped into him. He hugged her back. "I missed you, too," he replied softly. Her blood-red hair shimmered in the moonlight, beneath the hood of her cloak. An image of the murdered Angel appeared with unpleasant clarity in his mind. He felt queasy.

Carmine pulled back, took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. Then she stopped and stared at him, frowning slightly. "Is something wrong?

Hawk's heart was pounding again, though he didn't quite know why. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, everything is wrong…" He stared at her. "Carmine… why didn't you wait until morning?"

She rolled her eyes, and sighed. "I told you—HAWK!"

Hawk whirled at her scream, and gasped. He leapt backwards so fast that he knocked her over.

The Dragon – the statue – had come alive. Like a snake in slow motion, its enormous head lunged towards him and snatched his horse up in its jaws. The sound of crushing bones filled the silence.

Hawk pulled Carmine to her feet and dragged her out of the way. "I knew it!" he yelled. "I knew it!"

The Dragon swallowed the horse whole, and then turned to stare at the two Humans.

Hawk and Carmine froze.

For long heartbeats, neither of them moved nor spoke. The Dragon watched them. Then Hawk said quietly: "Car, did you bring any weapons with you?"

"Only a knife," she replied. Hawk was amazed, and slightly envious, of the calmness in her voice. Occasionally, she sounded just like her father.

"No good, no good," Hawk muttered. A knife was laughable against something that huge. He might as well throw sand at it.

He licked his lips nervously. "Maybe I could… reason with it?" he voiced his thoughts aloud.

"Reason with it?"

"Yeah…" Sirannor had talked to one, once, before he'd slain it. He was the only person known to have killed a Dragon and escaped with his life, and all body parts, intact. But as much as Hawk aspired to be, he was not Sirannor. Not even close. And he didn't have a handy quarter-ton ballista with him.

He had nothing.

"Devan," Carmine sighed. "It's a statue."

Hawk was silent for a moment. "Uh… yeah… that's a good point…"

"We'll have to split up."

"No way," Hawk said at once.

Carmine turned her head slightly and glared at him out of the corner of her eyes. "It might hesitate!" she hissed. "It's our best chance of getting away! Its reflexes are slow…"

It doesn't need quick reflexes, Hawk thought unhappily. It could cross this courtyard in two steps…

He took a deep, steadying breath. "Alright," he conceded. "On the count of three, okay?"

Carmine nodded.

The Dragon continued to stare at them, looming against the night sky, as motionless as it had been when they had first entered the plaza.

"One," Hawk said, "t–"

Carmine broke away from him and sprinted off to the right.

"CARMINE!" Hawk screamed.

The world seemed to turn into a dream. He watched Carmine running, her brilliant red hair flying behind her, a splash of colour on a landscape of light and darkness. Then the Dragon was moving, almost effortlessly, shifting its weight, its massive head swinging across the courtyard, jaws opening…

Hawk was barely aware that he was running too, faster than he had ever run in his life. I have to reach her in time, he thought desperately. I can't let her die…

Then Carmine turned, knife in hand, to face the Dragon, a cloud of ghostly sand drifting up as she skidded to a halt. She looked at Hawk, racing to reach her, and there was terror on her face.

"Dev–" she started to cry… and then she was gone.

The sound of crunching bones knocked Hawk to the ground.