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In hatred for all mortal flesh, Kralkatorrik destroyed the monsters it had made.

Scabrous backs bristled into heaps of stone. Heads shriveled to black nubs. Flesh melted, and creatures died, and the dragon winged on.

Eir and Garm crawled from beneath the stone beasts.

The world had been transformed. From the northern horizon to the place where Eir stood, the land had been blasted and fused and crystallized. Hundreds of minions of the great beast now stood as statues.

Eir hoped that Caithe and Rytlock and Zojja had found cover, but of course, the most important question was—had Snaff survived?

The dragon’s ravening power had roared through the whole of the sanctum, crystallizing everything. Even Big Snaff had turned to stone.

But within the belly of the golem, Little Snaff hung unharmed. Gemstones flashed around his head.

Snaff was deep within the dragon’s mind now. He had sunk past its consciousness and delved into the recesses of the lizard brain. This was the reptilian place beneath all that crystalline thought. It was a place of breath and blood, hunger and lust.

Here, Snaff was not just a maddening idea. He was an irresistible itch bedded deep in the spine of the beast.

Lungs, forget to breathe.

Heart, forget to beat.

Wings, fold.

Eyes, close.

The lizard brain battled back. It struggled to regain control.

Dragon, fall.

Eir drew more exploding arrows from her quiver, nocked them, and drew back her bow as Kralkatorrik approached for another pass.

But something was different this time. The dark center of the storm where it flew had begun to twist. Sand and wind and blackness knotted themselves around it in a churning ball. Lightning raked out from it and split the sky and lashed the ground. The crackling thunder gave way to an omnipresent roar.

Still, the wyrm turned, twisting the storm tighter and tighter around it. Here, a wing tip slashed through the black shroud; there, a claw raked free before being swallowed again. Golden beams of ravening light flashed all around that whirling core.

Then the Elder Dragon seemed to ignite. Fire roared out from it, the heat melting the sands, destroying the minions that raced along below.

Eir fell back into the archway, shielding herself.

Kralkatorrik shot by overhead, eating up the air. Its flaming form caused the stone walls of Glint’s sanctuary to explode with heat.

A moment later, the burning dragon plunged toward the desert beyond.

Kralkatorrik fell like the fist of a god.

It smoked.

It roared.

It plunged into the sands.

A white-hot shock wave swept out, leveling any beast it struck. From the point of impact, a vast plume of sand hurled skyward, the particles catching fire as they flew. Still, the massive beast plowed through the ground, ripping a long furrow in the desert. Pyroclasts rolled out all around it. The world shuddered as the beast tore it open.

Then, at long last, the shaking stopped, and the fires flared out, and the cloud of debris lifted. It revealed a deep crater torn through the desert floor, a black and smoldering scar. At its farthest point thrashed an Elder Dragon. It was on its back, giant wings pounding the tortured ground, but it could not right itself, could not rise.

“Kralkatorrik is down!” shouted Eir. “Kralkatorrik is within reach!”

“I’ve got to go!” Rytlock said, lifting the crystalline lance.

“Then go!” Caithe replied. “The dragon has thinned the ranks for me.”

Hundreds of dragon minions had been turned to stone, but dozens more clambered across the desert toward the south gate.

“You can’t guard the gate alone!” Rytlock said.

Caithe’s eyes blazed. “I have to! Go!”

The charr nodded and ran. In his claws, he carried the crystalline lance.

Before him, the glassy ground sloped away into a great black crater, wide and deep. Rytlock bounded into it and ran down the ragged rift. Crystals cracked beneath his claws as he went. Ahead, at the terminus of the great scar in the ground, lay the mountainous monster.

Kralkatorrik was upside down, thrashing with