The dragon moved, his vanes stirring. “Is it your wish that I carry you, Liliasss? Far away? To Sstaccia, with itss ice and sssnow?”

Uncertain, she drew back. “Is there such a place, where no one could find us?”

“Yesss.” The dragon’s eyes glowed with regret. “And no. For a time, Liliasss. Only that. In the end, they will always find usss. Is it your wish?”

Walking away, she stood with her back to him, gazing down the mountain. There were dozens of campfires burning at its base. The evening breeze carried the faint strains of revelry and shouting. Inside the wall, Gergon’s warders paced the perimeter, or hunkered around braziers and gnawed half-rations, keeping a watchful eye out for assaults. How many, she wondered, would live to see the end of this? They were her people. For generation upon generation, Lilias had bound them to her service. Her actions had brought this fate upon them. It was too late to undo what was done, and yet, if she could do nothing else, at least she would not abandon them.

She would stand or fall with Beshtanag.

It was not much, but it was all she had to offer.

“No,” she said. “I will stay.”

EVEN FOR THE GULNAGEL, IT was difficult.

Throughout the day, Speros watched them with wide-eyed astonishment. Fjel were meant to delve, not to climb.

Still, they managed it. They worked in shifts, shucking the straps of leather armor that held their weapons. One would crouch low beside the pool, bending his back to make a broad surface, boosting up his fellow. And up the other would go, plunging his yellowed talons into the smooth surface of the rocky cistern, forging hand- and footholds by dint of brute strength, stone giving way beneath their blows.

None of them could last more than a few minutes, that was the problem. Their own body weight was too great, threatening to crack their talons the longer they hung suspended. It was Speros who got them to form the base of a pyramid around the pool, arms outstretched to catch their fellows as they made the precarious descent. And they did it. Working without complaint, hour upon hour, they scaled the cistern.

Foot by torturous foot, the Gulnagel forged a ladder.

“Oof!” The last volunteer descended, helped onto solid ground amid the jests of his companions. He rested his hands on his bulging thighs, fighting to catch his breath. “Reckon that’s about done it, boss,” he said cheerfully, regaining his voice. “Few feet from the lip, any mind. You want to go on up?”

Grabbing a handy shoulder, Speros leaned over the deadly pool and craned his neck, gazing upward. Faint stars twinkled in the distant circle of sky, emerging on a background of twilight. “What’s up top?”

Exchanging glances, the Gulnagel shrugged.

“Hot,” one said helpfully. “Gets hotter the higher you go.”

“Nothing living, don’t think,” another added. “Quiet, if it is.”