Palemon looked from the reins to the dragon skeleton, still collared with a band of iron. He could only imagine how powerful the creature must have been in life.

His brow furrowed. This huge chamber was probably directly beneath the tower. The Aleutheans – it had to be them – had kept dragons here, dragons and reins.

Back in Necropolis, the magi had told fireside tales about dragons battling in the sky. Of course, they were always connected with the eldren, and their war with Palemon the First. But three hundred years had passed since the fall of Aleuthea, and history became distorted with the passage of time. Perhaps the eldren weren’t the only ones to command the sky . . .

He suddenly had a thought. Whirling, he turned to face Zara. ‘The statue. At the harbor.’

He and the sorceress exchanged glances.

Now Palemon was making strides so long he was almost running. Zara struggled to keep up with him as he left the strange stables behind, following the wide, high-ceilinged corridor – big enough for a dragon to navigate – and then sped out of the arched entrance, rushing away from the Sky Tower.

He barely noticed the city folk as he made a determined path directly for the harbor gates, where the statue of the god Helios barred entrance to the city from the sea. He was dimly aware that he had left Zara somewhere behind him as he strode along the broad avenue that led to the harbor. Finally the gates appeared ahead and he made all speed for the monument.

Panting, Palemon stared up at the statue. Both the dragon and the stern-faced man on its back were made of smooth marble, poised as if preparing to launch from the pedestal of dark granite.

He tilted his head back to examine the man’s features. He had a noble cast to his face, with long, flowing hair, but wore a fierce expression, cold and deadly – a strange face for a god. Palemon pictured him without the spiked golden crown that rested on his head, separate from the stone of the statue, something that could easily have been added later. He looked up at the statue’s hand, raised high, and mentally replaced the golden discus with a sword, a mighty blade to match the weapon he’d inherited from his namesake.

The statue was old. There was no doubt about that.

Inspecting the granite pedestal, Palemon suddenly had an idea. He knelt in front of the block, examining the stone. Grime and bird excrement covered its exterior. He climbed back to his feet, scanning the harbor until he saw some men scrubbing barnacles from a fishing boat’s hull.