The ground around them began to shake, and a series of huge cracks ran down the Sea-Glass Road like the lightning that had brought down the Citadel.
‘She’s coming,’ said Frith. ‘We have to get out of here.’
‘What is
she
?’ cried Wydrin. The rubble began to churn, throwing pieces of rock and stone down at them as something huge began to push its way up from below. There was another roar, turning Wydrin’s blood cold. It was the roar of something that ate creatures her size as an appetiser. And she couldn’t drag her eyes away from it.
An enormous reptilian head pushed through the ruin of the Citadel. It was covered in shining scales, each as deep a blue as the ocean. Its huge yellow eyes were full of fire, and when it opened its mouth a belch of greasy flame shot forth. Y’Ruen pulled herself free of the rubble and flapped a pair of leathery wings, each as big as the sails on Wydrin’s father’s largest ship.
‘A dragon,’ said Wydrin weakly. She could feel all the strength draining from her legs, despite her brain’s frantic instructions to
run
.
‘A dragon, a god, what does it matter?’ Frith was next to her, and as Y’Ruen turned her huge fiery eyes upon them he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. She had a second to notice that he already had hold of Sebastian by the remains of his cloak before the desert sky began to distort and twist.
‘What are you doing?!’
‘Taking us away. Now hold on.’
Before they vanished from the Sea-Glass Road, Wydrin twisted her head for one last look at the monster they had unleashed. Distantly she could hear screaming as the city of Krete awoke to its long-neglected guest.
Y’Ruen roared, blue scales winking in the sun, and the city began to burn.
PART TWO
Children of the Fog
13
The Thirty-Third walked down the cobbled road, her bare feet silent against the stones. Across the way she could just make out the slim shape of her brood sister, the Ninety-Seventh, crouched over something twitching on the floor. It was making noises, and she could feel her sister’s pleasure as a warm space in her mind. The Thirty-Third smiled, tasting smoke on her tongue.
They had no names, the brood army, but the Thirty-Third knew where she had been spawned, and when. She had grown in the cold and dark over many long years, nestled closely to her sisters, tasting their minds all around her until she knew each of them without needing to look at their faces. There were those who were before her, and those who were after, and that was all. And Mother, of course.
A small shape came careening out of an open doorway, skidding to a halt in front of her. Its eyes were wide with panic, and immediately the Thirty-Third was in pursuit. There was no need to think; the creature was small and warm and terrified, a thing of prey. It made the mistake of turning and running back into the darkened household, and the Thirty-Third followed.
The family had gathered in the parlour, and were now huddled together around the remains of the dining table. The Thirty-Third could see the vestiges of relief on the mother’s face, relief at the return of her son who had so foolishly run away. The Thirty-Third watched as the tatters of this emotion were replaced with flat terror. It was fascinating, really. The mother gathered her son into her arms, pressing him to her skirts.
‘Hello,’ said the Thirty-Third. It was interesting to speak. Each word was a new flavour.
‘Get out.’ The father was a skinny man with a shining bald spot poking through the wisps of brown hair on his head. He was crooked from a lifetime of pushing carts and she could see from the glassy look in his eyes that he’d never needed to be brave before, but now here he was, doing it anyway. She grinned. ‘Get out and leave us alone,’ he said again.
The Thirty-Third drew her sword. It was made of blue crystal, and it hummed as it slid against the golden scabbard. The family shuddered as one at
‘She’s coming,’ said Frith. ‘We have to get out of here.’
‘What is
she
?’ cried Wydrin. The rubble began to churn, throwing pieces of rock and stone down at them as something huge began to push its way up from below. There was another roar, turning Wydrin’s blood cold. It was the roar of something that ate creatures her size as an appetiser. And she couldn’t drag her eyes away from it.
An enormous reptilian head pushed through the ruin of the Citadel. It was covered in shining scales, each as deep a blue as the ocean. Its huge yellow eyes were full of fire, and when it opened its mouth a belch of greasy flame shot forth. Y’Ruen pulled herself free of the rubble and flapped a pair of leathery wings, each as big as the sails on Wydrin’s father’s largest ship.
‘A dragon,’ said Wydrin weakly. She could feel all the strength draining from her legs, despite her brain’s frantic instructions to
run
.
‘A dragon, a god, what does it matter?’ Frith was next to her, and as Y’Ruen turned her huge fiery eyes upon them he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. She had a second to notice that he already had hold of Sebastian by the remains of his cloak before the desert sky began to distort and twist.
‘What are you doing?!’
‘Taking us away. Now hold on.’
Before they vanished from the Sea-Glass Road, Wydrin twisted her head for one last look at the monster they had unleashed. Distantly she could hear screaming as the city of Krete awoke to its long-neglected guest.
Y’Ruen roared, blue scales winking in the sun, and the city began to burn.
PART TWO
Children of the Fog
13
The Thirty-Third walked down the cobbled road, her bare feet silent against the stones. Across the way she could just make out the slim shape of her brood sister, the Ninety-Seventh, crouched over something twitching on the floor. It was making noises, and she could feel her sister’s pleasure as a warm space in her mind. The Thirty-Third smiled, tasting smoke on her tongue.
They had no names, the brood army, but the Thirty-Third knew where she had been spawned, and when. She had grown in the cold and dark over many long years, nestled closely to her sisters, tasting their minds all around her until she knew each of them without needing to look at their faces. There were those who were before her, and those who were after, and that was all. And Mother, of course.
A small shape came careening out of an open doorway, skidding to a halt in front of her. Its eyes were wide with panic, and immediately the Thirty-Third was in pursuit. There was no need to think; the creature was small and warm and terrified, a thing of prey. It made the mistake of turning and running back into the darkened household, and the Thirty-Third followed.
The family had gathered in the parlour, and were now huddled together around the remains of the dining table. The Thirty-Third could see the vestiges of relief on the mother’s face, relief at the return of her son who had so foolishly run away. The Thirty-Third watched as the tatters of this emotion were replaced with flat terror. It was fascinating, really. The mother gathered her son into her arms, pressing him to her skirts.
‘Hello,’ said the Thirty-Third. It was interesting to speak. Each word was a new flavour.
‘Get out.’ The father was a skinny man with a shining bald spot poking through the wisps of brown hair on his head. He was crooked from a lifetime of pushing carts and she could see from the glassy look in his eyes that he’d never needed to be brave before, but now here he was, doing it anyway. She grinned. ‘Get out and leave us alone,’ he said again.
The Thirty-Third drew her sword. It was made of blue crystal, and it hummed as it slid against the golden scabbard. The family shuddered as one at
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