The massive Joining leading the others halted before Decado, its great head hanging down, its tongue lolling. Decado looked up. Holding the image in the beast’s mind, he saw the sorrow in its eyes. It knew. Its taloned arm came up and tapped its chest. The long tongue rolled around a single word that Decado could only just make out:
‘Baris. Me Baris!’
The beast turned and ran back screaming towards the Templars. Other Joinings followed it and the Templars stood rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend what was happening. And then the beasts were upon them. But not all the Joinings were former Dragon and scores of them milled in confusion until one focused on the silver-garbed warriors.
It ran forward, followed by a dozen of its fellows.
In their trance state The Thirty were defenceless. Only Decado had the power to move . . . And he did not. The Joinings fell upon them, snarling and lashing out.
Decado closed his eyes and his pain ended.
The Templars fell in their hundreds as the beasts rampaged through the camp. The giant Joining that had been Baris, the Lord of the Dragon, leapt upon Maymon as he tried to run. With one bite he tore the man’s arm from his shoulder. Maymon screamed, but a lashing blow from a taloned paw tore away his face, drowning the scream in blood.
Baris lunged to his feet and ran at the tent of Ceska.
Darik hurled a spear that took him in the chest, but it did not penetrate deeply and the Joining pulled the weapon clear and charged on.
‘Legion, to me!’ yelled Darik. Archers peppered the beast with arrows, but still it came on.
All over the field Joinings were collapsing, screaming in their death throes.
Still Baris pushed on. Darik watched in amazement as the giant Joining seemed to shrink before his eyes. An arrow pierced the beast’s chest and it stumbled, then Darik ran forward to plunge his sword into the Joining’s back. It tried to roll over . . . And died. Darik turned it with his foot. The beast quivered and he stabbed once more. Then he noticed that the movement had nought to do with life – it was reverting to human form. He turned away.
All over the plain the beasts were dying – all but the small group ripping at the silver-garbed warriors who had brought this chaos upon them.
Ceska sat within his tent. Darik entered and bowed.
‘The beasts are dead, sire.’
‘I can make more,’ said Ceska. ‘Take the wall!’
*
Scaler gazed down at the dead Templar. Two Sathuli warriors ran ahead to catch the dead man’s horse, while Magir ripped the arrow from the man’s throat and stuffed a cloth into the wound, staunching the blood.
Hastily they unbuckled the man’s black breastplate, pulling it clear. Scaler wiped spots of blood from the straps. Two warriors carried on stripping the Templar as Scaler opened the leather pouch hidden inside the breastplate. Within it was a scroll, sealed with the sign of the Wolf. Scaler pushed it back into the pouch.
‘Hide the body,’ he said, and ran back into the haven of the trees.
For three days they had waited for a messenger on the lonely road through Skultik. Magir had downed him with a single arrow – it was fine marksmanship.
Back at the camp Scaler examined the seal. The wax was green and marbled; there was nothing like it among the Sathuli. He toyed with the idea of opening it, then thrust it back in the pouch.
Sathuli outriders had brought news of Tenaka Khan. He was less than a day from the fortress and Scaler’s plan had to be put into effect immediately.
Moving to the armour, Scaler tried on the breastplate. It was a little large. Removing it, he pierced the leather strap with his dagger point, tightening the buckle. Better.
The helm was a good fit, but Scaler would have been happier had the man not been a Templar. It was said they could communicate mind to mind. He hoped there were no Templars at Delnoch.
‘When do you go in?’ asked Magir.