Moments later, with savage beats of its wings, the creature lifted higher into the sky. One of its companions swung close and then, as the first dragon’s jaws snapped the air in warning, away again.

A rider came alongside Spinnock, and he saw that it was Sergeant Bered. He shot Spinnock a wide-eyed look. ‘Nine!’ he shouted.

‘What?’

‘Nine of them! And then it closed!’

Spinnock twisted round, but at that moment his horse reached the high grasses and plunged into the mouth of the nearest trail. The tall, razor-edged stalks whipped and slashed at him. Spinnock was forced to drop his visor and keep his head down as his mount galloped deeper into the Fate.

The ground shook to a succession of concussions, and the wind redoubled, flattening the grasses on all sides.

Glancing back, he saw the first and largest of the waves pounding over the boulders, knocking many aside as if they were but pebbles.

The silver walls rushed across the dead ground, and struck the edge of the grasses.

A flash lit the air, blinding him. He heard shouts and then screams, and then his horse was tumbling, and he was spinning through the air, landing hard on the flattened mat of the grasses. Skidding, feeling countless blades slicing through his leather armour as if they were sharp iron, Spinnock kept his forearms against his face. He rolled and came to a stop.

He was facing the way he had come, and he stared in disbelief.

The Vitr thrashed against an invisible wall, delineated by the edge of Glimmer Fate, and there the silver water climbed and lunged, only to be flung back. Wave after wave hammered against this unseen barrier, and each spent its power in raging futility. In moments the sea began its foaming, churning retreat.

Spinnock sat up, surprised that no bones had broken. But he was slick with blood. He saw his horse stagger upright a dozen paces away, to stand trembling and streaming red from its wounds. On either side other Wardens were appearing, stumbling over the flattened grasses. He saw Calat Hustain, cradling an arm that was clearly broken between shoulder and elbow, his face cut open as if by talons.

Dazed, Spinnock looked skyward. He saw a distant spot, far to the south now, marking the last dragon visible in the sky.

Nine. He counted nine.

* * *

Hearing a horse upon the road behind him, Endest Silann moved to the shallow ditch to let the rider past. He drew his cloak tighter about him and pulled up the hood to send a veil of shadow over his eyes. Three days past, he had awakened alone in the historian’s room to find his hands bound with bandages, to take up the blood that had wept from them.

There had been a faint sense of betrayal in this, given Rise Herat’s promise to abide, but upon leaving the chamber and finding himself in a corridor crowded with half-panicked denizens, and learning of the frightening manifestation of darkness in the courtyard, Endest pushed away his disappointment.