Thrall - Christie Golden [77]
“Never!” screamed Kirygosa, her mind almost unraveling at the horrors she had been forced to behold. “The blues will never serve you! Not with Kalecgos leading them!”
She expected a hard jerk on the chain and steeled herself for the sharp, bright pain. Instead, the Twilight Father laughed. “Do you not yet understand? And I thought the blues were intelligent!”
She didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to understand. But she found her lips moving in the question: “Understand what?”
“What he was made for!”
Kirygosa forced herself to behold Chromatus. She saw a hideous chromatic dragon, more horrible than others because of his five heads, which—
“No,” she whispered, as comprehension struck her like a physical blow. “No. …”
“Now … now you see,” purred the Twilight Father, his voice gleeful. “Glorious, isn’t it, this coming doom in all its inevitability? It doesn’t matter if the blues now have an Aspect. It doesn’t matter if Ysera is awakened, or if Nozdormu is found, or even if the Life-Binder herself returns.” He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, as if sharing the most intimate of secrets, “Chromatus lives … so that the Aspects will die.”
Kirygosa lost whatever grip she might have had on control. She launched herself at the Twilight Father, screaming and clawing and biting, her simple, human attack no match for his magic—or the power of the chain. She kept screaming a single, futile word, as if that could avert the coming catastrophe.
“No! … No! … No…!”
“Silence!” cried the Twilight Father, violently jerking on the silver chain. Kiry fell hard, convulsing in agony.
“Nay, nay,” continued the black head of Chromatus. This one’s voice was silky, sibilant, cold. Chromatus rose slowly, but his movements were starting to become more and more graceful as he discovered how to control his body. “Let the little blue prattle. It will be all the sweeter later. She will—”
The red head interrupted the black, turning toward the west. He shifted, still slightly uncomfortable with his body. “They come,” the head cried in a clear, strong voice. “I am not fully recovered! What have you done, Father?”
And Kirygosa started laughing. She heard it in her own ears, knew it to be hysterical, but it kept coming, bubbling out of her like a suddenly uncapped spring. She lifted a shaking finger, pointing at the twilight dragons flying full tilt toward the temple, with her own brave blue flight not far behind them.
“You miscalculated!” she cried. “The great Twilight Father, with all his wonderful plans! But your dragons turned tail too soon, and my flight comes to destroy them, your abomination, and you! What plan do you have now, O wise man?” The Twilight Father was so enraged he didn’t even bother using the chain. One gloved hand cracked her cheek hard, jerking her head to one side. Still, Kirygosa laughed, waving her arms.
“Kalecgos! Kalec!”
And there he was!
Her heart soared. His wisdom and compassion had prevailed. He flew, the Aspect of Magic, larger than any of the others, limned in a shining light with a small figure atop his back. All that power, after far, far too long, was being wielded not by a mad mind, nor by one bent on revenge or betrayal. Tears filled her eyes, and she sobbed with joy.
He would not fall, nor would any of the other Aspects. They were striking now, before Chromatus had reached his full devastating potential.
Below her, Chromatus threw back his heads and bellowed, all the voices—hissing, strong, melodic—blended into a terrifying symphony. Then the monster leaped into the sky. He faltered, but just for a moment; then his wing beats grew stronger, and he began his attack.
Kirygosa had had nightmares, particularly in the last several months when she had been held prisoner, tormented daily, locked into a human form and thinking that the only respite would come with death. Yes, she had had nightmares aplenty.
But nothing like the dreadful reality she beheld now.
He moved jerkily, like a puppet, a thing that ought never to have existed.