‘Oh. That doesn’t sound good. It’s not good, is it?’

‘Not good. Another ledge. Another drop ... this one I think for ever.’

‘Judicious use of my warren seems appropriate at this point, don’t you think?’

‘Yes.’

‘A moment, then ...’

A dull sphere of light emerged, suspended above them, its illumination struggling in the swirling clouds of dust.

It edged closer – grew larger. Brightened.

Revealing all that was above them.

Lostara said nothing. Her chest had contracted as if unwilling to take another breath. Her heart thundered. Wood. An X-shaped cross, tilting over them, as tall as a four-storey building. The glint of enormous, pitted spikes.

And nailed to the cruciform—

—a dragon.

Wings spread, pinned wide. Hind limbs impaled. Chains wrapped about its neck, holding its massive wedge–shaped head up, as if staring skyward—

—to a sea of stars marked here and there with swirls of glowing mist.

‘It’s not here ...’ Pearl whispered.

‘What? It’s right above—’

‘No. Well, yes. But... look carefully. It’s enclosed in a sphere. A pocket warren, a realm unto itself—’

‘Or the entranceway,’ she suggested. ‘Sealing—’

‘A gate. Queen of Dreams, I think you’re right. Even so, its power doesn’t reach us ... thank the spirits and gods and demons and ascendants and—’

‘Why, Pearl?’

‘Because, lass – that dragon is aspected.’

‘I thought they all were.’

‘Aye. You keep interrupting me, Lostara Yil. Aspected, I was saying. But not to a warren. Gods! I cannot fathom—’

‘Damn you, Pearl!’

‘Otataral.’

‘What?’

‘Otataral. Her aspect is otataral, woman! This is an otataral dragon.’

Neither spoke for a time. Lostara began edging herself away from the ledge, shifting weight incrementally, freezing at every increase in the stream of dust slipping away beneath her.

Turning her head, she could make out Pearl. He had unveiled enough of his warren to draw himself upward, hovering slightly above the slope. His gaze remained fixed on the crucified dragon.

‘Some help down here ...’ Lostara growled.

He started, then looked down at her. ‘Right. My deepest apologies, lass. Here, I shall extend my warren . . .’

She felt herself lifted into the air.

‘Make no struggle, lass. Relax, and you’ll float up beside me, then pivot upright.’

She forced herself to grow still, but the result was one of rigid immobility.

Pearl chuckled. ‘Lacks grace, but it will do.’

A half-dozen heart-beats later she was beside him, hovering upright.

‘Try to relax again, Lostara.’

She glared at him, but he was staring upward once more. Reluctantly, she followed his gaze.

‘It’s still alive, you know,’ Pearl whispered.

‘Who could have done this?’

‘Whoever it was, we have a lot for which to thank him, her ... or them. This thing devours magic. Consumes warrens.’

‘All the old legends of dragons begin with the statement that they are the essence of sorcery. How, then, could this thing even exist?’