first few steps down the empty slope. ‘We are not home yet.’
The journey downslope was far easier than the ascent, and the further they got from the gates of Ghenna the faster they moved, ignoring the dead landscape around them The silver pavilions were empty, though Mihn thought he could sense some presence in the air that he assumed was the Mercies. Isak, feeling it too, lowered his head and tightened his grip on Mihn’s arm, but they passed freely, finding themselves a step closer to the Land. Ghain itself appeared abandoned, for they walked a different path to that of the dead, and if there was pursuit, it was far enough behind to leave no trace.
They stopped once, after all of the pavilions were behind them, when Isak began to huff and whimper like a frightened dog. He kept his head down, staring blindly at the ground, but a swirl of wind wrapped around them and he looked increasingly pained and fearful.
Mihn hauled him onward, until he saw the reason for Isak’s terror and dread descended over him too: there, on the horizon, stood the vast black doors of Death’s chamber, set in a huge, weathered stone frame attached to nothing. A great darkness hung above it, black as pitch.
What if I open that door and there is nothing but Ghain’s wilderness on the other side? He shook the thought from his head and upped their pace, his own sheer determination overriding Isak’s shaking reluctance. As he neared the gate Mihn saw the darkness above it start to shift and a loud clanking of chains rolled out across Ghain like discordant temple bells.
‘Now would be a good time,’ Mihn muttered under his breath, ‘assuming you aren’t too tired after insulting every daemon in existence.’
A clap of thunder came as response and Xeliath flashed into existence, appearing at their side and walking in perfect time, as though she had been with them the whole journey.
‘They needed a reminder of how things are,’ Xeliath commented lightly, spinning an ivory glaive in her hand before letting the weapon rest upon her shoulder.
Mihn looked at her. The chestnut-skinned girl was as heartstoppingly beautiful as when she’d spoken to him in his dreams. The visor on her crystal helm was raised enough for Mihn to see a contented little smile on her face.
‘Grandiose insults and the prospect of violence,’ Mihn commented. ‘Bloody white-eyes.’
Xeliath’s grin widened, but any further conversation was cut off as an enormous shape fell to the ground in front of the gate with a crash. They all staggered as the earth quaked underfoot, but not even the cloud of dust was enough to hide the huge dragon now blocking their way.
Mihn faltered, stunned by the monstrous size of the beast. He had never seen a dragon up close before - they were rare creatures in the Land; he’d only ever seen the beasts flying high in the sky. In the Elven Waste he had seen war wyverns go into battle, but they were lesser cousins; this dragon was as powerful, as terrifying, as any that had ever existed.
Measuring more than fifty yards from tail to snarling nose, the dragon was a sooty-black colour. Its torn, ragged wings looked as much smoke as membrane. The wings were crookedly raised, as though shading its body from the sun, and Mihn, remembering the stories of its enslavement, realised the beast could no longer furl its wings properly. Death himself had shattered the bones, and the deep scoring on the stone doorframe indicated it was forced to climb to its perch.
A curved horn rose from its long snout, and grey tusks swept back from the lower corners of its mouth, past its eyes and over its head. The dragon’s muscular body was ungainly, its limbs twisted and misshapen, and its thin tail, curled like a scorpion’s, finished in a long crescent blade.
The chained beast roared its defiance and Mihn clapped his hands over his ears even as he gagged at the foul stench on the wind: the stink of decay that emanated from the dragon.
Xeliath kept on walking, her arms raised to ensure the dragon’s attention was on her alone. Her hand burst into spitting green swirls of magic and white light flooded the plain. The dragon reared, spreading its torn wings as best it could and beating at the air as though trying to retreat - causing the light to falter until Xeliath snarled and intensified the surging coils of magic around her hands.