The Paragor Knights carried the screaming prisoners quickly through the catacombs and tunnels deep within the mountains of Paragory. Aidan followed them at a distance, all the while trying to remember the twists and turns so that he could find his way back. The enemy came to a sudden stop, and Aidan ducked behind a ridge of stone that projected from the tunnel wall and quietly drew his sword.
He peered out from behind the rock and saw that the tunnel ended in a kind of cliff overlooking a vast cavern. The prisoners shrieked and screamed. They struggled and fought—even trying to bite their captors. Aidan heard several distinct snapping sounds, and he knew the prisoners had broken their own bones trying to escape. But the knights outnumbered their captives two to one. They were much stronger and wore cruel spiked armor. They shrugged off the frantic blows and dragged a prisoner to the edge. Then, as if the prisoner were a sack of grain, the Paragor Knights tossed him over the edge and far into the cavern. He screamed a terrible, half-choked desperate scream. The scream was cut ominously short.
The Paragor Knights continued hurling the wretched prisoners over the edge, replaying the same scene. And yet Aidan had not heard even one of their bodies hit the ground.
Aidan wept in his hiding spot. He desperately wanted to come to their rescue, but there were too many guards. To rush out there now would be suicide and would condemn Antoinette to neverending captivity in the holds of the enemy.
So Aidan watched in stunned silence until the Paragor Knights had finished. When they turned and sped back up the tunnel, Aidan had no thought for himself. They could have easily seen him crouching there, but they didn’t. They marched right by without even a glance.
At last, Aidan shook off the shock-induced paralysis. He stood, took a few timid steps toward the edge of the cliff—but could not see what lay far below.
The knights had spoken of feeding the Ancient One. But who or what is the firstborn? Aidan shuddered, thinking of some hideous creature snatching bodies out of the air. Aidan knew he should run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. But something drew him closer to that horrible cliff.
He slid slowly toward the edge and saw the serrated black crest of an enormous beast. He was not close enough to say yet what it was. But its back was armored with dark, glistening scales, and it seemed there was a ripple of muscle that churned beneath the scales like a wave of convulsions. Suddenly the creature loosed a terrible frightening cry—a wailing shriek that deepened and became a guttural roar. Aidan fell backward and clutched his ears. It seemed the whole cavern shook.
After what seemed like a painful eternity, the roar ceased. He heard a sound of wrenching metal and an echoing thud, and then a protracted grinding. Aidan rolled over onto his stomach and crawled to the edge to see what had happened. The cavern had two tall arched doors—like to the Gate of Despair, but slightly smaller. And these doors were opening. Aidan could see the icy wasteland beyond.
Aidan crawled a little closer, and at last he saw the beast in full. It was a dragon four times the size of the ones Aidan had ridden before, filling the cavern with its immense girth. It seemed to be sleeping, for its eyelids were clamped shut. But the creature continued to convulse. Then it opened its jaws and heaved as if it would vomit, but no flame or filth came forth. Instead, dark vapors spewed out—just tendrils at first but then a torrent of darkness. Aidan watched with sick fascination as the liquid shadow flooded out of the creature’s jaws and flowed like a dead river onto the Grimwalk. Aidan started to back away, but suddenly the dragon’s eye opened. It was a smoldering blood-red, and Aidan felt it could see him prone on the cliff. He backed away as fast as he could, got to his feet, and sprinted back up the tunnel.
After a half-dozen wrong turns later, Aidan emerged from a tunnel into the smoky cavern where the torture cages hung high among jagged stalactites. The Gate of Despair was thrown open, and wide columns of knights issued forth from it. Teams of stocky blackhorne were hitched to siege engines and catapults, and they too were in motion. The dragon riders went to the pens and groomed their steeds for flight. The stronghold of Paragory was emptying.
Aidan saw that beyond the gate the Grimwalk was shrouded in a thickening blanket of darkness—the Black Breath of the red-eyed dragon. Aidan watched as the forces of the enemy marched into the murk and disappeared from view.
At that moment several things happened in rapid succession. Kearn appeared from a passage to Aidan’s right. He strode across the cavern floor, barked orders to several ranks of soldiers, and then vanished into a tunnel on the other side. Then the dragon riders began to walk their steeds out of the pens. But they did not go to the main gate, which was choked with massive siege weapons and legions of soldiers. Instead, they led their dragons into any one of a dozen arched gates not far from the passage Kearn had taken.
This is my chance! Aidan thought, and he sprinted across the cavern floor to the dragon pens. But because of the noise of the troop deployment, Aidan did not hear the Paragor Knight who was shouting at him from atop one of the siege towers. “Hey, Blarrak, what do you think you are doing?” Drang yelled. “We do not leave for another hour. You get yourself up here and help me fix this engine right now!”
Drang snarled, banged his fist, and then raced down the switch-back stairs of the tower to pursue the errant knight who had the nerve to ignore his commander. But Drang had barely set foot on the cavern floor when a tall knight stepped out from between two siege towers and stood in front of him. This warrior had two swords sheathed on his back beneath a long burgundy cape. The skin of his face seemed thin and stretched just enough to cover the prominent skull beneath. His sunken eyes emanated authority and peril. Drang reflexively stepped backward.
“L-Lord Rucifel,” Drang said. He bowed and then stared at the floor. He opened his mouth, but thinking better of it, snapped it shut. Drang knew it was better to speak few words around Lord Rucifel.
“The Black Breath has begun,” Rucifel said, his words clipped with anger. “My legions are ready to go forth, but the master sends me to speak to you, Drang. It seems there were some . . . problems . . . on your errand to Yewland. Perhaps you could explain. That is, if you have a moment to spare.”
Drang glanced at the dragon pens for a split second and then nodded.
Aidan found the dragon pens as busy as a hive. Riders and dragons were on the move wherever he went. They passed without so much as a glance in Aidan’s direction, but even so, he felt conspicuous among them. Aidan went from pen to pen, but could not find Blarrak’s or Galdoth’s dragon. He felt like he was wasting time.
Aidan looked up at the passage that Kearn had taken, and he wondered how far ahead Kearn had gotten. Aidan gave up looking for the two dragons he knew, but he needed an alternative. After some searching, he found two dragons near the back of the pens. He untied the first, a dark blue dragon with long yellow fangs and a forked tail. It sniffed at Aidan and refused to move. Aidan pulled on its reins, but that just earned him a threatening growl. Next dragon! Aidan thought, and he made his way quickly to the other pen.
He was about to give up when he spotted a jagged fence behind the dragon pens. A white wing flailed just above the fence line, then a tail. Curious, Aidan drew closer. As he did, he heard deep rumbling growls, followed by a pained yelp and several oaths.
Aidan walked up and peered tentatively around the fence. He saw four white dragons, their necks tied with cords to iron rings embedded in the floor. He also saw an angry knight walking away and rubbing the back of his arm.
“Uh, excuse me, sir,” Aidan said. “Whose dragons are these?”
Annoyed, the knight stopped and turned to Aidan. “They are for slaughter,” he said. “That is who they belong to!”
“Why?” Aidan asked.
“What, are you daft, lad?” the knight said. “These are some of the ones we took from the battle in Yewland. Swift as a high gale they are, but useless to us. The ornery things will not let me near them!”
That’s probably because they can’t stand the stink of you Paragor Knights! Aidan thought, but what he said was, “Could I try?”
The knight looked Aidan up and down. “Your armor looks sturdy enough. Have at it! But do not come crying to me if you get a finger nipped off!” With that, the knight stomped off into the crowds.
Aidan unlatched the fence gate and stepped in. The nearest dragon growled fiercely and bared its fangs at Aidan. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thought. Aidan looked around to see if anyone was watching. No one was, so he quickly removed one of his gauntlets and held his hand up for the dragon to smell. Aidan squeezed together his eyes as the dragon’s snout came close to his hand.
The dragon snorted, and Aidan jumped. But then, instead of eating Aidan’s fingers, it licked them. Aidan patted the steed on the snout, and it ducked its head shyly. He let one of the other white dragons smell his hand to gain its trust. He untied the two and led them out of the fenced-in area. He looked back at the other two, still tied down, and remembered the words of the knight. There could be no other decision. Aidan ran quickly back inside and loosened the cords so that the other two dragons were no longer tied down. “When you get the chance,” he whispered to them, “fly home!”
Aidan drew a few stares as he led the white dragons into the thick lines of dragon riders heading for the arched doors. Nice going! he berated himself. Way to stay undercover! But he knew he really had very little choice. Without the dragon steeds, it would be a long walk to Alleble. Soon enough, Aidan and his white dragons were immersed in the crowd and nearing the doors.
Drang staggered away from his conversation with Lord Rucifel. He was happy to still be breathing, having lied and sworn to escape Rucifel’s wrath. But then his thoughts turned to Blarrak. Wait until I get my hands around his thick neck! Drang raged as he scanned the dragon pens. Then a glint of white snatched his attention and there Blarrak was. Where did he get white steeds? Drang wondered.
Drang charged across the cavern floor but found himself stuck behind dozens of dragons far back in the line. Still, he watched Blarrak’s progress closely.
At last Aidan approached the arched passages. He watched as dragon riders split off and marched into their assigned tunnels. But at the last moment, Aidan drew his two steeds into the passage Kearn had taken.
Aidan waited briefly just inside the passage, hoping that no one had followed him. Then he led the dragons quickly up the wide torchlit hall.
Only a few moments later, Drang stumbled out of the masses of dragon riders and ran up to the tunnel that Aidan had entered. “What are you up to, Blarrak?” Drang wondered aloud as he drew a cruel-looking curved blade and raced inside.
Aidan followed the twists and turns of the passage. He knew that Antoinette was held captive in a high place, a tower perhaps, so he was relieved when the path went steadily up. But as the path steepened, it also began to narrow. After a few minutes the passage was nearly choked to the point where the dragons would not be able to continue. Aidan pressed on, but stopped when he felt a cold draft of air. The passage forked, and the wind seemed to be coming from the branch that curled down to the right and away. Aidan looked indecisively back to the left branch of the fork. I’ll never get the dragons up there! Aidan thought. So, hoping he could find some place to secure the dragon steeds, Aidan took the right fork. It sloped gradually at first and then became steep at the bottom. Eventually, the passage leveled out and continued through an ornately carved archway.
Aidan found himself standing outside on a vast railed balcony. He walked out a few paces, saw the dark mountains of the Prince’s Crown curling away to the left and the Grimwalk shrouded in a sea of darkness to the right. It was better than Aidan could have imagined—the perfect getaway zone! So, issuing a silent Thank you to King Eliam, Aidan quickly tied his dragons to the balcony’s iron railing.
Looking up, Aidan saw a dark tower. Roughly cut with a kind of brutal symmetry, the massive tower rose high into the turbulent sky until it was crowned with a collar of jutting black spikes. As far as Aidan could see, there were no windows cut into the tower. He thought there might be one small dark square cut into the very top, but it was very hard to see beyond the spikes and know for sure.
Nonetheless, it seemed a perfect place to keep a prisoner, and Kearn had evidently gone that way. Aidan dashed back up the passage from whence he had come.
From behind an arch, Drang watched Aidan tie the dragons to the railing and stare up at the tower.
So, Blarrak—or whoever you are, Drang thought, looking from the dragons to the tower. Do you think you will just make off with Kearn’s prize? Is that it?
Drang walked over to the white dragons. “Well, let us see how you do with no dragons to help you get swiftly back to Yewland!” He went to untie the first dragon, but it growled. Drang tried again, but it nipped at his hand.
“Filthy creatures!” Drang spat. “Well, then,” he said, “so you like to play rough. I can play that way. Just let me fetch some of the lads, and we will make a nice little surprise for Blarrak’s return!”
Two knights lay hidden in the clefts of rock in the bony foothills just on the western side of the Cold River. The sky was a turbulent mass of ashen gray, and an icy wind shrieked in off the Grimwalk. A thunderous roar rose above the wind, rising to an anguished cry spoken as if pain were its language. Stones shook free and the knights’ armor rattled.
“Vygant!” one whispered urgently to the other, who was much higher. “What was that?”
“I do not know, Alaric,” he replied, straining to see across the frozen wasteland. “It is a sound like none I have heard before.”
“It sure has Fledge spooked,” said Alaric. They could both hear the frightened creature’s squeals from the cove where they had left her.
“Forget the dragon,” Vygant said. “It has me spooked!”
“What do you see?”
“Same as before,” Vygant replied. “The Gate of Despair is open wide, and there is movement all over the mountains, but still no legions marching forth from within.”
“Even so, I do not like this,” Alaric said, clambering up next to Vygant. “We should flee at once and get word to Kaliam.”
“I am with you in heart,” Vygant replied. “But our orders are to watch for Paragor to begin his offensive. We must wait.”
“Something has begun,” Alaric argued. “I do not think we can afford to—”
“Wait!” Vygant yelled. “Do you hear that?”
“I hear nothing.” Alaric looked at him and shrugged.
“No, that is what I mean. The wind has stopped. There is no sound at all.”
They both stared across the Grimwalk. The clouds were still roiling. In fact, they seemed closer to the ground and even more disturbed than before. But it was dreadfully silent. Then suddenly, there was something there at Paragor’s gate, a bubbling dark mass.
“What is that?” Vygant asked.
Alaric did not answer. They both stared, entranced by the scene unfolding at the gate of the enemy. The mass began to spread almost as if it were liquid, spilling left and right of the gate and saturating the Grimwalk. In moments it became a black wave, surging forward and growing so high that the scouts of Alleble could no longer see the bulk of Paragor’s fortress. Silently the wave approached until it was nearly halfway across the Grimwalk.
“It is getting closer!” Alaric exclaimed.
“Okay, we have seen enough to report!” Vygant yelled. The two of them climbed down from their outpost and leaped recklessly the rest of the way down the foothill. Then, tripping and stumbling, they ran for the cove where they had tied their dragon steed. Just before turning the corner, they felt a presence behind them. They spun around just in time to see a wall of black creep over the ridge they had just abandoned.
Tendrils of darkness groped over the stone and reached out as it came. Alaric and Vygant ran, but it was too late. The wave of black washed over them, and they found themselves not in total darkness, but rather in a peculiar twilight. They could still see each other but only in murky silhouettes. And they felt like they were moving in slow motion, almost as if the shadowy air around them had a feathery texture that resisted slightly as they moved.
“What is happening?” Alaric yelled, though his voice sounded muffled and far away to Vygant.
“I do not know!” he replied. “Stay together! Get to Fledge!”
They ran as fast as they could, but the darkness made the landscape nearly impossible to recognize. They found themselves suddenly at the edge of the Cold River, somehow far from the cove and the dragon—their only means of escape. And it was too far to leap across at this point, so they began to follow the riverbank.
Vygant reached and grabbed Alaric’s arm, and they stopped abruptly. “Did you hear that?” Vygant asked.
“Listen to the wind howl!” Alaric called back to him.
“That is not the wind,” Vygant said. And then they saw eyes in the darkness. Large yellow eyes.
