From the centre of the dust storm, deep within the earth, screams echoed. A roar of pain. The earth shaking. Voices shouting.
A figure burst from the smashed-open doorway, spinning through the air, rising high and then falling, crashing to the ground a hundred paces away from Elvar and rolling, coming to a standstill. A winged woman. She was red-haired, rust-feathered wings draped around her; her body was wrapped in a coat of mail that glittered like fish-scales, a scabbarded sword at her hip. She groaned. Elvar just stared at her, open-mouthed.
A roar burst out from the shattered door, rolling across the plain, filling it until Elvar put her hands over her ears, a fresh cloud of dust roiling out. The hint of something huge moved within that dust cloud, and a darker shadow emerged from the earth.
And then Lik-Rifa, corpse-tearer, dragon, last of the dead gods, burst into the air.
Elvar lay on the ground, slowly took her hands from her ears and sat up, staring.
A stench rolled across the plain, of something long dead, of death and destruction and age-old corruption. Lik-Rifa beat her tattered wings, the turbulence of their motion buffeting Elvar and all those around her back to the ground. The dragon’s body was thin and emaciated, ribs stark through pallid scales, almost white and translucent with dark patches of rot and weeping yellow pus. Her jaws were wide and razored with teeth longer than spears, pale horns rowed and curling upon her head. Maniacal eyes blazed red with feverish intensity, like a forge-lit fire.
It was hard to tell how big she was, up there in the sky, but when she spread her wings she blotted out the wan sun that gleamed behind the clouds. Small shapes dangled from her wings and body, snagged and snared upon her scales. Elvar realised they were corpses, flesh-rotted and putrefying.
Two smaller figures burst from the ruin of the broken door, both winged, like the woman who had crashed to the ground close to Elvar. One had golden wings and blonde-flowing hair, a spear in her fist; the other had white-feathered wings and silver-bound braids in her hair, a nocked bow in her hand and a sword at her hip. They beat their wings and spiralled up after the soaring dragon, the white-winged woman loosing arrow after arrow. They speckled the dragon’s side, small eruptions of white flame where they pierced her, and the dragon roared her pain, tucking a wing and looping in the sky. Her huge, razored tail lashed out but the winged figures soared around it, continued to stab and pierce the dragon’s hide with spear and arrows.
The golden-winged woman screeched like an eagle and flew at the dragon, raked her spear along Lik-Rifa’s belly, scales and blood raining down. The dragon let out an agonised roar and twisted in the air, head snaking out on a serpentine neck, jaws snapping at the woman, who veered. There was a spray of feathers as dragon teeth snagged a wing and the woman crashed into the dragon, her spear plunging deep into the beast’s neck, blood sluicing. Lik-Rifa let out a scream that sent Elvar huddling back to the ground with her hands over her ears. The dragon twisted and spun in the air, one tattered wing slapping into the bow-wielding woman, sending the bow flying and the woman hurtling away. The warrior with the injured wing clung to the spear in Lik-Rifa’s neck and drew a long knife from her belt, then started stabbing into the dragon’s throat. Another screech and Lik-Rifa was spiralling and diving, speeding towards the ground. There was an explosion of earth and ash as she crashed to the surface, skidding and ploughing through a wagon, timber smashed to kindling, the horse bound to the cart thrown on its side, neighing wildly, legs broken. A great dust cloud rose up about the dragon and woman.
The white-winged warrior appeared in the air again and circled the cloud, drawing her sword.
Dust settled, the dragon rising from the ashes, the golden-winged woman standing before Lik-Rifa, long-knife in her hand.
The woman above tucked her wing and dived like a well-cast spear, slamming into Lik-Rifa’s back, her sword stabbing deep. Lik-Rifa’s head reared high with an ear-splitting scream. The woman on foot ran at the dragon, one golden wing hanging limp, long-knife glinting, and she leaped, her knife punching deep into the dragon’s chest, blood spurting. Another agonised scream from Lik-Rifa.
They are going to kill her, Elvar thought.
Figures moving, a blur and Ilska appeared, running into the fray, the hulking Drekr behind her. They both leaped at the golden-winged woman, sword and axe stabbing and chopping. Feathers erupted and the woman screeched and twisted, ripping her knife free of the dragon, who was bucking, throwing the white-winged woman from her back.
Drekr slammed into the golden-winged woman and the two of them crashed to the ground, rolled together and came to a halt. Ilska ran after them, hovering as the woman grabbed Drekr’s axe-fist and pinned him, raising her long-knife. Ilska hacked down, her sword chopping into the woman’s neck. There was a scream and a spurt of blood, Ilska’s sword rising and chopping again, the winged woman collapsing, blood spraying.