“Thurvishar!” Kihrin said.
“I’m not joking, Kihrin. I’m leaving now—with you or without you.”
Ninavis clapped her hands over her head. “All right, people, we’ve practiced this. Everyone through the gate, right now. We’ll regroup on the other side.”
Dorna ran toward the stable, yelling, “Arasgon! Talaras! Lead the others. It’s time to say goodbye. Palom—Star, help me out here.”
Kihrin saw even Relos Var looked bemused at Thurvishar’s reaction. Janel and Qown’s story had certainly implied that he and Senera had the opportunity to know each other, but this seemed to indicate a deeper relationship. Kihrin found himself wondering if they’d been something other than casual associates.3
Everyone must indeed have practiced this, because they cleared out with a speed and efficiency that struck Kihrin as militarized. Arasgon and Scandal trotted down the ramp, leading the horses, while Talaras was last to catch any stragglers who balked at traveling through the gate.
Finally, the only people left were Kihrin, Janel, Thurvishar, and Relos Var.
Janel turned her gaze to Kihrin and Relos Var with obvious concern. “Don’t be foolish, either of you,” she warned. “We need both of you right now.” She stepped through the portal.
“After you,” Relos Var said to Kihrin.
“You should tell Aeyan’arric she doesn’t need to sit watchdog over this tavern anymore,” Kihrin said.
“She’ll figure it out,” Var replied.
“Why are you really doing this? You don’t care if Morios is dead or not, and I really don’t think you give a damn what happens to a quarter million people either. What’s really going on?”
“Can we please hurry?” Thurvishar snapped.
“One moment,” Relos Var said. He turned back to Kihrin. “Let there be no lies between us. You’re right. I don’t care what happens to Atrine, and my feelings toward Morios are at best ambivalent. I’m doing this because I care about fulfilling the prophecies. I also care a great deal what it will mean when Janel stops Morios.”
“That’s right. You need to replace Duke Kaen as Jorat’s rebel ruler, don’t you? Janel’s the backup plan.” It was almost refreshing to hear Var admit he didn’t care. The wizard only ever helped when his goals temporarily aligned with others. Var wanted to see some Hellwarrior-related prophecy fulfilled—helped along by Janel overthrowing Duke Xun, by killing Morios. The population would interpret her victory over the dragon as proof of her right to rule them. Which put her one step closer to smashing the empire. And that was what Relos Var wanted. As always, he played the long game.
Var smiled. “By the way, if you break Janel’s heart, I will make your life a living hell.”
Kihrin felt himself flush with anger. “Seriously? You’re giving me the father talk?”
“I don’t see Qoran Milligreest stepping up to do it.”
Thurvishar cleared his throat. Kihrin hadn’t realized someone could clear their throat angrily before. Thurvishar looked like he was seconds from closing the portal on them both.
“Let’s go kill a dragon,” Relos Var said.
Kihrin walked through the portal.
55: THE DRAGON OF WAR
Atrine, Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin asked questions to which he already knew the answer—actually, forget this one: that could be any day in the past twenty years
When Kihrin looked back, he realized Thurvishar hadn’t followed. He suspected the mage had opened a second gate, in a far more dangerous location, somewhere inside Atrine. Kihrin shook his head. Senera wore the Name of All Things—and as far as Kihrin knew, any Cornerstone protected its wearer from casual scrying. Which meant Kihrin had no idea how Thurvishar intended to find Senera in a city that size, let alone help the woman if she proved to be in jeopardy.
Of course, given what Kihrin had been told about Senera, he also wouldn’t have prioritized her rescue. Thurvishar clearly had differing opinions.
Then a deafening roar made the ground shake, and Kihrin put his hands over his ears, wondering how anyone closer could possibly stand it. When the sound quieted, he looked to its source, toward Atrine.
Since Thurvishar had placed them at the end of the east bridge, Kihrin had a reasonably unobstructed view of the city itself, rising too tall to be obscured by the bridge’s shanties and slums. As sunrise fast approached, the sky had begun to lighten in anticipation of dawn. He could now see what perched on top of the highest towers of the city—presumably the fast crumbling remnants of the duke’s palace.
“Taja save me,” he whispered.
Steel and iron, drussian and shanathá—every metal, a thousand metals, all twisted together in sharp swordlike tangles to form the dragon’s body. It resembled a porcupine warped into nightmare, formed by an insane and malevolent god. Morios’s wings seemed less like tools for flying than weapons to scour and excoriate, lash and annihilate. Nothing about the dragon spoke to any purpose other than slaughter and mayhem.
Morios raked and gnawed and chewed on the stone towers and walls, the duke’s palace’s spires, akin to a dog with a favorite bone. The ancient granite provided little resistance, crumbling and falling to ruin under his weight. His thrashing tail smashed buildings, and his claws left deep and horrifying grooves through entire neighborhoods.
The first time he’d seen the fire dragon, Sharanakal, he’d wondered how anyone had ever thought they could kill a creature like that. Sharanakal hadn’t seemed alive as much as an animated force of nature, a volcano brought to life.
Morios was worse.
Janel shoved Kihrin’s shoulder. “Snap out of it. Our priority is evacuating as many people as possible. The Atrine main gates aren’t designed to let more than a few people through at a time.” She pointed to the bridge, where panicked people were running from the slums.
Kihrin felt his gut twist. He remembered Janel’s description of Atrine—a place designed to trap and kill horses. It seemed to him it would do just as fine a job of trapping and killing people. The Marakori forced to live outside the city could run, but Joratese wouldn’t be able to escape quickly enough.
“How are we going to—?” Kihrin started to ask.
The firebloods trotted over.
“We’ll direct people to this side of the bridge.” Janel grabbed Arasgon’s saddle and pulled herself up. “Relos Var, follow us. I want you to pull down the wall when we reach the east gate, and open a portal leading to safety. We’ll herd people to you.”
Relos Var blinked and slowly smiled. “As you say.”
Arasgon turned and called out something to the rest of the crowd.1
“On it,” Sir Baramon responded as he mounted Arasgon’s fireblood brother Talaras. Everyone was following suit, because this was Jorat, and of course everyone had their own horses. Brother Qown had a horse. Even Star had managed to find a horse of his own from somewhere.
Kihrin felt something shove him from the side. He almost raised his sword before he realized it was Scandal, pushing him with her nose.
“Hurry!” Janel yelled. “You have ridden before, haven’t you?”