Decado eased himself into a sitting position. His armour lay on a table to his right. Serbitar’s armour. The Delnoch Thirty.
Serbitar was said to have been filled with doubts and Decado hoped that at the end these had been resolved. It was so good to know. He wondered how he could have been so blind to the truth when the facts shone before him with such crystal simplicity.
Ananais and Tenaka, drawn together near the Dragon bar-racks. Scaler and Pagan. Decado and The Thirty. Rayvan.
Every one a link in a web of mystery and magic. And who knew how many other links there were of equal importance?
Valtaya, Renya, Galand, Lake, Parsal, Thorn, Turs?
Pagan had been drawn from a far country to save one special child. But who would the child save?
Webs within webs within webs . . .
Perhaps the events themselves were merely links. The legendary battle for Dros Delnoch conspired after two generations to create Tenaka Khan. And Scaler. And the Dragon.
It was all too vast for Decado.
The pain in his shoulder flared once more and he grunted as it washed over him.
Tomorrow the pain would end.
*
Three more attacks began with the dawn. On the last the line almost gave way but Ananais, wielding two swords, hurled himself at the invaders in a berserk charge, cutting and cleaving his way through them. As they were thrown back a single bugle sounded in the enemy camp and the Joinings assembled, five thousand of them.
The beasts loped forward and the men of the Legion moved back through their ranks, leaving the way clear for the Joinings to advance.
Ananais swallowed hard and gazed left and right along the wall. This was the moment of dread. But there was no give in these Skoda men and he felt a surge of pride.
‘There will be a warm fur rug for every man tonight!’ he bellowed.
Grim laughter greeted the jest.
The beasts waited as the Dark Templars gathered among them – pulsing visions of blood and carnage, inflaming their bestial natures.
The howling began.
On the wall Decado called Balan to him. The dark-eyed priest approached and bowed formally.
‘It is near the time,’ said Decado.
‘Yes.’
‘You will remain behind.’
‘What?’ said Balan, stunned, ‘Why?’
‘Because they will need you. To link with Tarsk.’
‘I don’t want to be alone, Decado!’
‘You will not be alone. We will all be with you.’
‘No. You are punishing me!’
‘It is not so. Stay close to Ananais and protect him as best you can. Also the woman Rayvan.’
‘Let someone else stay. I am the worst of you – the weakest. I need you all. You cannot leave me alone.’
‘Have faith, Balan. And obey me.’
The priest stumbled back from the ramparts, running headlong into the shadows of the trees beyond.
On the plain the howling grew to a terrible crescendo.
‘Now!’ cried Decado.
The seventeen warrior priests slid over the ramparts and dropped to the ground below, walking towards the beasts now some hundred paces distant.
‘What in thunder?’ said Ananais. ‘Decado!’ he bellowed.
The Thirty advanced in a wide line, their white cloaks flapping in the breeze, their swords in their hands.
The beasts charged, the Templars running behind them and spurring them on with mind-blasts of fearful power.
The Thirty dropped to their knees.
The leading Joining, a giant beast almost eight feet tall, staggered as the vision hit him. Stone. Cold stone. Shaped.
Blood, fresh blood, dripping from salty meat.
The beast ran on.
Stone. Cold stone. Wings.
Blood.
Stone.
Wings. Shaped wings.
Thirty paces separated the beasts from The Thirty. Ananais could watch no longer and turned his back upon the scene.
The Joining leader bore down on the silver-garbed warriors kneeling before it.
Stone. Shaped stone. Wings. Marching men. Stone . . .
The beast screamed.
Dragon. Stone Dragon. MY DRAGON!
All along the line the Joinings slowed. The howling faded. The image grew in strength. Long-lost memories struggled to surface. Pain, terrible pain burned in the awesome bodies.
The Templars pushed hard, sending searing mind-bolts at the beasts. One Joining turned and lashed out, his talons ripping a Templar’s head from his shoulders.