The bronze dragons faced east.
Six of them sat around the great vessel, their mouths open, each one aimed toward a different direction of the empire. Beneath them waited bronze toads with open mouths, polished by decades of careful cleaning. The whole device stood taller than a man, a great urn of cast bronze decorated with clouds, dragons, mountains, and script from the oldest dynasties of Yi Ti.
Lu Feng had watched over it for twelve years.
In all that time, he had seen it move only once.
That had been during the great tremor in the northern provinces, when a dragon on the eastern side of the vessel had released its bronze ball into the mouth of the toad below. Because of this, many lives had been saved.
The eunuchs assigned to the Hall of Tremors mostly treated it as punishment.
Lu Feng did not mind.
The hall was quiet, and quiet places were useful in a palace.
He stood beside the device, hands folded inside his sleeves, while another eunuch named Shen Yi watched the lamps being trimmed by a young servant.
Shen Yi waited until the servant left before speaking.
“He met with the shadow man again tonight.”
Lu Feng did not look away from the bronze vessel. “You should not call him that.”
“What should I call him? Honored guest? Wise counselor? The emperor’s new beloved monster?”
Lu Feng’s mouth tightened. “Lower your voice.”
Shen Yi smiled without humor. “The walls here are old and thick.”
“The walls are not what concern me.”
That made Shen Yi glance toward the door.
No one stood there.
Still, he spoke more softly when he continued. “The emperor is too enamored with the foreign dog from the west.”
Lu Feng said nothing at first. In the court of Yi Ti, silence was often safer.
Shen Yi moved closer to the device. “He spends hours with that warlock. Time he should be spending ruling the Golden Realm. The ministers wait. Generals wait. Governors send petitions that go unanswered.”
Lu Feng finally turned. “The strengthening of magic has caught his attention. He has always been a curious man.”
“That is what frightens me. Temple idols weep blood. Strange reports tell of gods awakening from long sleep, and even stranger reports come from Asshai and beyond the Five Forts. The world is changing, and His Radiance has sequestered himself away when the realm needs him.”
Lu Feng’s expression hardened.
Shen Yi held his gaze.
After a long moment, Lu Feng looked back toward the bronze dragons. “His brother is a capable general.”
Shen Yi’s smile faded.
“Yes,” he said carefully. “A very capable general.”
Lu Feng reached out and wiped a speck of dust from the side of the bronze vessel. “It would be unfortunate if loyal servants of the palace were forced to choose between obedience to one man and service to the empire.”
“Very unfortunate.”
“The ministers would need reassurance.”
“They would have it.”
“The palace guard would need to be...”
“I believe that could be arranged as well.”
Lu Feng nodded once.
Before Shen Yi could speak again, the device clicked.
Both eunuchs froze.
A deep sound rang inside the bronze vessel, low and hollow. All the dragons trembled, and the balls held within their mouths dropped.
They fell into the waiting toads below with clear metallic notes.
Lu Feng stared at them.
All of them, he thought with horror.
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Shen Yi whispered, “All of them. What does that mean?”
Lu Feng was already running, and even before he reached the door, the world shook.
========
Aegon Targaryen stood over the map and felt anger settle inside him like a hot blade.
The map spread across the table showed Essos from the Narrow Sea to the Bone Mountains. Small carved markers showed armies, fleets, supply points, and cities still defiant. Tyrosh was his. Myr was his. Pentos was his.
Only Lys and Volantis remained among the great slave powers of the south.
After that would come the next stage.
Norvos and Qohor to the north. Then perhaps the Dothraki Sea, where the horselords still raided as they pleased. Slaver’s Bay would come in time as well. Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen, all would fall to the new Freehold. His Freehold.
The Valyrian Freehold would be reborn.
Not as it had been.
Better.
Stronger.
With the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen above it all.
His gaze then drifted south and west.
The Stepstones.
The carved markers there mocked him.
Half the islands belonged to the Freehold. Half to Harald Stormcrown and his Ironborn dogs. The arrangement was practical, Visenya had said. Necessary, even. She had spoken of the false dragon’s power, of the fear he had inspired in Vhagar, of the danger of fighting him without all three dragons and proper preparation.
Aegon hated every word of it.
The islands should have been his. The bridge between Essos and Westeros. The chain that would let him control the Narrow Sea. Now that chain had been split by a man who should have been nowhere near them.
“You are staring at those islands again.”
Rhaenys’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Aegon did not look up. “I do not like it when I fail, sister.”
“They are just rocks in the sea.”
Aegon finally looked at her.
Rhaenys stood near the balcony doors, wearing loose red silk, her silver hair unbound over one shoulder. She looked amused.
She crossed the room and stopped beside the table. “How long will you obsess over the Stepstones, brother? What was Visenya supposed to do against the false dragon? You said it yourself. All three of us will be needed to defeat him.”
“She could have put up a fight before giving away what was mine.”
Rhaenys’s expression changed.
“Aegon.”
The warning in her voice made him fall silent.
“Vis did everything right,” she said. “She returned with half the islands, a working arrangement with Dorne, and even Stormcrown himself.”
“We could not have known he would be there,” she added.
Aegon looked back at the map.
He said nothing.
Rhaenys sighed and moved closer. “It was wrong, how you reacted when she returned.”
His jaw tightened.
He had gone too far. She had stood there while he accused her of weakness, of yielding, of allowing the false dragon to humiliate them. She had looked at him with cold fury. Then she had told him that if he wished to challenge the Dragonborn over the Stepstones, he could go do it himself.
After that, she had left.
The next morning, she had taken Vhagar and flown south to prepare the assault on Lys.
Aegon exhaled slowly. “Perhaps I was wrong.”
“You were.”
He looked at her.
Rhaenys gave him a small smile. “Do not look so offended. You know I am right.”
Aegon’s anger faded, though not fully. “She promised to take Lys on her own.”
Rhaenys stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back. “Apologize when she returns.”
“I know.”
“We cannot let our enemies divide us. Not Stormcrown. Not Lys. Not Volantis.”
Aegon placed one hand over hers.
He was about to answer when the palace shook.
At first, it was only a tremor beneath his feet.
Then the walls groaned.
The map table shifted violently, markers sliding across Essos. A bronze cup fell and struck the floor. Somewhere beyond the chamber, pottery shattered. The balcony doors banged open as the building lurched.
Rhaenys stumbled.
Aegon caught her.
The floor rolled again, harder this time.
“Earthquake,” he said.
He lifted Rhaenys into his arms and moved at once.
“Aegon, I can walk.”
“Not now.”
He carried her toward the doors as guards rushed in, their faces pale.
“Out,” Aegon commanded. “Everyone out of the palace. Clear the lower halls. Move!”
The guards obeyed immediately.
The palace shook again, stronger than before. Cracks spread along one marble pillar. Dust poured from the ceiling. A servant screamed somewhere down the corridor. The sound was joined by others until the whole palace seemed full of panic.
Aegon moved quickly, Rhaenys held tight against him. Around them, guards formed a protective ring with their shields. They passed nobles, scribes, freedmen officials, and servants fleeing toward the courtyards. Some carried children. Others dragged old men by the arms. One priest of R’hllor clutched a brazier to his chest until a guard struck it from his hands and shoved him onward.
Outside, Pentos was shaking. Walls cracked. Bells rang wildly from towers. People screamed in Valyrian, Pentoshi, Braavosi, and half a dozen other tongues as they poured from homes into the open squares.
A distant tower collapsed with a sound like thunder.
Rhaenys gripped Aegon’s shoulder.
“Aegon,” she said.
“We are safe, love. It is just an earthquake.”
The dragons roared in the distance.
Balerion’s voice came first, vast and furious, rolling over the city from the fields beyond the walls where he rested. Meraxes answered a moment later, full of alarm.
In the main courtyard, Orys Baratheon was already shouting orders.
“Get them away from the walls!” Orys roared, dragging a fallen guardsman to his feet. “Move, damn you! You, take men to the eastern wing. If anyone is trapped, pull them out before the roof comes down!”
He looked up as Aegon emerged with Rhaenys.
“Brother,” he called. “The whole world is shaking.”
Aegon set Rhaenys down but kept one arm around her as the ground trembled beneath them again.
Beyond the palace walls, Pentos cried out in fear.
In the distance, Balerion and Meraxes roared once more.
========
Prince Barthogan Stark rode through the Wolfwood with his brother beside him.
The last light of day was gone, leaving only moonlight and torchlight to guide them through the forest paths. The hunting party moved in a loose column, guards riding ahead and behind while servants carried the day’s kill on packhorses. It had been a good hunt. Three deer, a boar, and enough smaller game to feed the castle staff for several days.
Barthogan should have been pleased.
Instead, his mind remained on other matters.
“My visit to the Dreadfort was fruitful,” he said, glancing at his brother. “If Bolton was planning rebellion, he will not now.”
King Edric Stark hummed.
Barthogan waited for more.
Nothing came.
He sighed and continued. “The Boltons are dangerous, but they are not fools. Considering what happened between Serena and the Bolton boy, they know they are being watched.”
Edric hummed again.
Barthogan looked at him.
The King in the North sat comfortably in his saddle, wrapped in a thick cloak, looking more interested in the dark trees around them than in the state of his realm.
“We may need to reinforce the Wall,” Barthogan said. “I do not like this talk of a king beyond the Wall. The reports are too consistent to ignore. There are also confusing messages from the Lord Commander. Some speak of wildlings gathering in numbers not seen for generations. Others claim the clans are fighting among themselves. Either the Watch does not know what is happening, or someone is making sure we do not know.”
Edric hummed again.
Barthogan stared at him. “Has the King in the North lost his voice?”
Edric laughed. “No. I only do not know why you are telling me this, Bart. You are the one doing the ruling. I thought that was the agreement between us.”
“You are still king,” Barthogan said. “You should know what is happening in your kingdom and your castle.”
“I know enough.” Edric adjusted his gloves. “But that is not what concerns me now.”
“Winterfell has too few Starks,” Edric said. His voice was still light. “I will not have children. Brandon has two daughters, and after us there are cousins. Shall we hand Winterfell to lesser branches of our house?”
Barthogan looked away.
Edric continued. “The Dustins might be suitable. Alys Dustin is said to be quite pretty.”
“I do not need to marry now.”
“Then you are a fool.”
Barthogan’s hand tightened on the reins.
Edric did not soften his tone. “Our family is at its lowest point in living memory. Father is dead. Brandon is at the Wall. You are the only Stark with the sense and strength to keep the North together.”
“As soon as you marry and have an heir, I will abdicate. I have not changed my mind on that, brother.”
Barthogan was about to answer when his horse tossed its head.
The animal snorted, its ears pinning back.
Around them, the forest changed.
Birds burst from the trees in a black rush, cawing wildly as they fled into the night. Deer crashed through the underbrush. Somewhere nearby, wolves howled, not in hunger or warning, but in fear. The packhorses began pulling against their leads, and one servant cried out as he was nearly dragged from his saddle.
“My prince,” one of the guards said, his voice tight. “We should make haste.”
Another horse reared.
Then the earth shook. Trees groaned. Snow and dead leaves fell from branches. Several riders were thrown from their saddles. One packhorse bolted into the dark, dragging its load of game behind it.
Barthogan dismounted before his horse could throw him.
Edric did the same, less gracefully but quickly enough.
The ground shook again, harder this time. Barthogan spread his feet and grabbed the nearest tree to steady himself. The trunk trembled beneath his hand. Somewhere in the distance, a tree cracked and fell with a heavy crash.
The guards shouted to each other. Horses screamed. Men stumbled in the dark.
Edric stared at the ground in disbelief.
“Earthquake?” he said.
Barthogan looked around the Wolfwood, at the ancient trees swaying under the moon.
“Earthquakes don’t happen here,” he said.
The ground answered him by shaking again.
=========
Edmyn Tully stared across the dark distance toward the campfires of the Valemen.
King Artys had placed his army at the mouth of Widow’s Pass, the only practical route through the Mountains of the Moon down toward the coast and Saltpans.
They had planned to give battle tomorrow.
They should have been resting, but the gods had decided not to grant them that. The earthquake had begun shortly after midnight and had not truly stopped since. It came in intervals. Some tremors were minor, little more than a shiver through the ground. Others were strong enough to send horses panicking and men losing their balance. After the last one, Edmyn had thought the ground would break apart and swallow them whole.
Their own camp had been fortunate. It stood on open ground south of Saltpans, away from cliffs and steep slopes. Some supplies had spilled, and a few horses had broken their tethers, but little serious damage had been done.
The Valemen had not been so lucky.
A scout knelt before Edmyn. “My lord, part of the mountain above their camp came down. Not all of it, but enough. They are trying to restore order, but the shaking keeps coming.”
Lord Damon Darry stood at Edmyn’s side. His lands lay close enough that any failure here could bring the war to his own castle.
“We should attack now and end this,” Damon said. “They are shaken and disordered. If we wait, we give them time to recover.”
Lord Bracken shook his head. “They will march down soon whether we attack or not. They cannot stay there with the earth moving beneath them. The kinslayer will be forced into the open.”
Edmyn looked toward the dark shape of the mountains.
Bracken was right.
The earth had been shaking all night, and the tremors were growing stronger. Even the sea south of them had begun to behave strangely. Waves struck harder against the shore. The tide pulled and returned with unnatural force, as though the ocean itself had been unsettled.
“An attack in darkness risks confusion,” Edmyn said.
Darry opened his mouth, but Edmyn raised a hand.
“But we prepare now. Artys will march down soon, I am sure of it.”
He turned to one of his captains. “Have the staff wielders prepare themselves.”
The captain bowed and ran.
Edmyn looked back toward the enemy camp.
“The moment they are in range, we burn them.”
He thought of Queen Sharra and her sons, of Artys naming himself king over their corpses and then marching on the Heartlands as if gods and men would simply accept his treacherous and heinous deeds.
“It is time,” Edmyn said, “that we ended the kinslayer’s reign.”
========
The mountain was breaking.
Palo had no better word for it.
He ran barefoot over stone and dirt, lungs burning, throat raw from screaming. Behind him, the village where he had been born was gone. Half of it had been buried when the slope above it tore loose. The rest burned.
His wife had died there.
His children too.
His little girls.
He had seen the roof come down. He had heard Mara scream once, then nothing. He had tried to dig. Gods forgive him, he had tried. But then the ground split, and stones began falling from above, and old Bellen had grabbed him and shouted for him to run.
Bellen was dead now too.
A rock had taken his head not fifty paces from the village.
Palo kept running.
All around him, the Red Mountains shook themselves apart. Cliffs cracked. Boulders thundered down slopes. Dust filled the night air so thickly that the moon became a pale smear above the peaks. Men and women stumbled through the darkness.
Another tremor hit.
Palo fell to his knees.
The path ahead split open. A woman slipped into the crack and vanished. Her husband jumped after her without thinking. The earth closed partway, and his scream was cut short.
Palo crawled backward, sobbing.
He saw a cave nearby. It might collapse. It might become his tomb. But the open slopes were death, and stones were falling like rain.
He ran into it.
The cave shook around him as he pressed himself against the wall, arms over his head, muttering prayers to the Mother and the Father.
Then the sky outside flashed green and gold.
Palo looked up.
At first, he thought it was lightning.
Then he saw them.
Two figures fought atop the mountain across the valley.
One was a winged beast of gold, shaped like a dragon from old tales. Its wings cut through the dust clouds, and its mouth burned with fire.
The other was a man glowing red, blue, and gold, fighting against the beast on a peak that cracked beneath their battle.
Palo stared, unable to breathe.
The gods were fighting.
That was the only explanation his mind could hold.
The dragon struck the mountain.
The man answered with a shout that shook the valley.
The peak broke apart.
A whole section of the mountain split and fell, carrying trees, stone, and fire into the darkness below. The sound swallowed every scream in the valley.
Palo screamed anyway.
.
.
.
Harald crashed into the mountainside hard enough to break it. Stone split around him. The cliff face caved inward where his body struck, and cracks raced through the red rock in every direction. For a moment, he was buried in dust and falling stone, his back pressed into the shattered mountain, his ears ringing from the impact.
Urrax had caught him with its tail.
If not for his armor and the Dragonhide spell he had forced over himself moments before, the blow might have broken half the bones in his body. Even with both protections, pain tore through him from shoulder to hip.
The brass dragon came for him at once.
He kicked away from the cliff just before Urrax reached him.
The brass dragon slammed into the mountainside where Harald had been. The impact broke another section of rock loose.
Harald fell.
As he dropped through dust and tumbling stone, he twisted his body and drew in a breath.
“YOL TOOR SHUL!”
Fire Breath struck Urrax from below, washing over its neck and chest as it tore itself free of the cliff. The flames clung to the brass plates, heating them bright orange and forcing the dragon’s head back. Urrax roared, more in rage than pain, and the sound shook loose another rain of stones.
Harald was seconds from hitting the ground.
“FEIM!”
His body turned ethereal before impact, and he landed safely.
He pushed himself up and raised one hand, calling his axe.
He had lost it nearly an hour ago when Urrax dragged him through the sky and hurled him across half a mountain range.
The fight had gone on for hours.
The sun was beginning to rise along the horizon. They had fought through the entire night and had destroyed everything in their path. The Red Mountains could hardly be called mountains here anymore. At least a quarter of this region had been carved into broken canyons by their battle.
Harald’s heart tightened as he looked across the devastation.
There had been people here.
Farmers. Shepherds. Miners. Their families and children.
And now many of them were dead.
Because of him.
Because of the dragon.
He did not have time for grief, but the grief came anyway. It settled beneath his anger and made it heavier.
Urrax rose above him, one wing damaged and half-repaired, its body rearranging itself even as it flew.
“FUS RO DAH!”
Urrax’s shout thundered down toward him.
Harald answered with his own.
“FUS RO DAH!”
The two shouts collided, and the mountain shook under the impact. The ledge beneath Harald broke apart, and the slope around him collapsed in great slabs of red stone. He lost his footing as the ground dropped away beneath him.
He caught himself with telekinesis for a few seconds, forcing his body upward through the storm of falling rock. The effort strained his mind, already pushed hard by hours of spellcasting, but it bought him enough control to turn.
“FEIM!”
He became ethereal again as half the mountainside came down, then landed on a narrow shelf of stone, already forming wards around himself. Rock and debris hammered into the glowing barriers.
Above him, Urrax roared.
The brass dragon descended through the dust, claws reaching down.
At that moment, Harald’s axe reached him.
It came spinning through the air from behind, cutting through dust and shattered stone before slamming into his open hand.
With all the strength left in his body, he swung upward as Urrax reached for him.
The axe struck the side of the brass dragon’s head with a force that rang across the valley. The blow turned Urrax’s skull and drove the whole creature sideways. Its claws missed Harald by inches, and its body crashed into the cliff beside him, breaking more stone loose as it slid across the slope.
Harald stood on one knee, panting. His arms shook. His lungs burned. The sky above them was darkening again with smoke, dust, and clouds gathering unnaturally around the battlefield.
Urrax recovered quickly.
It planted all four claws into the broken mountainside and turned its head toward him. Its throat began to glow as it prepared another shout.
Harald did not give it time.
He raised both hands and unleashed Firestorm.
The spell detonated against Urrax and drove it backward. The brass dragon’s claws tore through stone as it tried to hold on, but the ledge gave way beneath it. Urrax fell with half the cliff, roaring as the mountain collapsed around it.
Every time Harald increased the power of his shouts, Urrax increased its own. It had adapted to his spell use too.
He could not hold back anymore. He needed to use his full power.
Harald closed his eyes for a breath and drew upon the full depth of his strength.
“Mul!”
The word shook the air.
“Qah!”
Dragon Aspect surged around him again, stronger than before. Light gathered around his limbs and helm. The ethereal wings behind him expanded.
“Diiv!”
The final word hit the mountains like thunder.
Harald rose from the ground. The wings carried him upward, and for the first time in hours, he felt the battle shift.
Below, Urrax tore itself free from the debris. It looked up at him, red eyes burning. Then its wings opened, and it followed.
Harald hovered above the broken peaks.
He reached for a shout he had never used before. He had learned it by observing Alduin, and it was not something he wished to use, but he had no choice.
He opened his eyes.
“YOL!”
The clouds above him lit from within.
“STRUN!”
The sky began to turn.
“KEST!”
The final word left him in a low, powerful roar.
The heavens changed. Dark clouds spread across the morning sky. Embers burned within them, first faint, then bright, until the clouds glowed with veins of orange and red. The air grew hot. The pressure dropped. Wind tore through the peaks and carried ash with it.
The first meteor fell.
It came down like a burning stone from the heavens and struck the mountainside below Urrax, exploding in fire. The sound echoed across the Red Mountains.
Another fell.
Another.
Fiery meteors rained down across the battlefield, smashing into the mountains below. Each impact sent up plumes of flame and stone. The mountains shook beneath the bombardment. Urrax banked hard through the storm, one meteor clipping its wing and tearing away a line of brass metal before exploding against a cliff behind it.
Harald raised one hand and seized the nearest burning stone with telekinesis.
The meteor fought him with its speed and mass, but Harald dragged it off its natural path and hurled it toward Urrax.
The burning rock struck the dragon’s side.
Urrax roared as the impact drove it downward. Fire burst across its body, and the damaged metal began to shift and heal again, but Harald was already pulling another meteor toward him.
He threw it.
Urrax dodged this one.
Harald flew north.
Urrax followed.
They cut through the sky together. Harald used his telekinesis, pulling meteors from their paths and hurling them like weapons. Some struck Urrax and nearly destroyed its brass body. Others missed as the dragon dodged them.
The world below them became a line of explosions. It looked as if the seven hells had come to the Red Mountains.
Harald threw another meteor.
Urrax met it with a shout.
“FUS RO DAH!”
The stolen Voice shattered the burning stone before it struck, sending fragments raining across the mountains. Harald flew through the debris, warding off the larger pieces, and hurled his axe through the smoke. It struck Urrax in the chest, just above the soul gem, and bounced back into his hand.
Harald cursed under his breath and banked away as Urrax’s jaws opened.
“YOL TOOR SHUL!”
Green-gold fire tore through the sky where he had been a moment before. Harald twisted around the edge of the blast, his Dragon Aspect wings straining as heat rolled over him. He answered with frost.
“FO KRAH DIIN!”
The frost struck Urrax’s left wing, slowing it as another meteor hit him, then another.
The last meteors from Harald’s shout fell through the clouds, and Harald used telekinesis to redirect them all at Urrax, who was now close to breaking apart from the strikes.
“FUS RO DAH!”
Harald’s shout struck Urrax in the chest and drove it backward.
“FUS RO DAH!”
Urrax answered, and Harald barely crossed his arms before the force hit him. His ward cracked under the impact, and he was thrown through a cloud of ash and embers. He came out the other side with blood in his mouth and rage burning through his exhaustion.
“YOL TOOR SHUL!”
His Fire Breath hit Urrax’s already weakened side.
Urrax roared and surged after him.
The two of them collided, and Harald caught one of the dragon’s horns with his left hand, then drove the axe into the side of its neck with his right. Urrax twisted violently, trying to tear him loose, but Harald held on long enough to shout directly into the joint beneath its jaw.
“IIZ SLEN NUS!”
Ice burst across its throat. Urrax’s roar became a grinding snarl as frost locked part of its neck. Harald kicked off its chest and dropped below it, using the opening to dive toward the soul gem.
Urrax began to fly erratically.
It twisted, rolled, and climbed, throwing its body through the air in sharp, violent motions. Harald’s fingers nearly slipped from the brass plating. The dragon’s wings beat harder and faster as it shot upward again, leaving the burning mountains below.
Harald held on.
His axe came down toward the soul gem.
The blade struck the protective brass frame around it. Sparks exploded. Urrax screamed in pain.
Harald struck again.
The axe bit deeper into the housing around the gem. The crystal flared, and the trapped souls inside pressed against Harald’s senses in a wave of terror and hope.
Release us.
Please.
Urrax folded its wings and dropped suddenly, then snapped them open and climbed again, trying to use the violent change in motion to throw him loose. Harald held on with one hand and raised his head toward the gem.
“RII VAAZ ZOL!”
Soul Tear struck the soul gem, and the cracks in it widened.
A scream tore from Urrax’s throat, joined by thousands of other voices trapped within the gem. Pale light burst through the fracture.
Urrax threw itself sideways too fast for Harald to hold on. He lost his grip. He was flung from the dragon’s chest and spun through open air.
Below him, the land had changed.
They had passed beyond the Red Mountains.
The broken peaks were behind them now, giving way to the Stormlands. In the distance, Harald saw a large castle.
Urrax fell after him.
Both of them dropped toward the earth. Harald tried to spread his Dragon Aspect wings, but exhaustion and the last impact made them too weak to use. Urrax was damaged too, one wing half-ruined, its chest cracked around the soul gem.
It could not fly.
The ground rushed up.
“FEIM!”
His body turned ethereal before impact.
Urrax hit moments later.
It used the same shout.
Harald pushed himself to his feet as rain began to fall around them. It poured down over the battlefield, hissing where it struck Urrax’s heated body and running in streams along Harald’s armor.
Lightning flashed nearby.
Thunder followed a breath later.
Harald and Urrax faced each other across the torn field.
The brass dragon lowered its head, red eyes fixed on him. The crack in its soul gem glowed, leaking thin strands of pale light. Its damaged wing dragged for a moment, then shifted as the metal tried to repair itself again.
Harald raised his axe and steadied his breathing.
His body wanted to collapse. His magicka was strained. His throat burned from too many shouts. His bones ached despite every protection he had layered over himself.
Lightning struck behind Urrax and lit the field white for an instant.
Harald looked toward the distant castle, then back at the brass dragon.
He hoped Argella was nowhere near.
.
.
The People of The Red Mountains that night.