Thrall - Christie Golden [85]
Kalecgos nodded, believing him completely. “What was this vision?”
Thrall shook his head. “It is not to be shared with you, not yet. It is for Alexstrasza’s hearing before any others’. And this is why I think perhaps I may be able to bring her back to herself. And with the Life-Binder and her reds at your side—well, I think Chromatus might just start to feel a bit uneasy.”
And they grinned at one another.
The Twilight’s Hammer cultists were being kept busy.
Chromatus had been given the spark of life, although his body remained abhorrent and decaying. He had fought fiercely and triumphantly even while still weak and new to this life. Now he lay on the snow outside the temple, ravenous and demanding, and they brought in flesh for him to feed upon, each set of jaws feasting greedily.
The Twilight Father stood beside him, almost giddy with victory. Deathwing surely could find no fault with what had transpired this day. Blackmoore had destroyed the disappointment that was Arygos, utilizing that dragon’s rare blood to serve the cause in a way the blue dragon had failed to do in life. Additionally, one of the twilight dragons had reported that Thrall had fallen from atop Kalecgos’s back, and Blackmoore had set after him in case he had somehow survived. The twilight dragons had rebuffed the blues, and most importantly of all, Chromatus had been given life. And even newborn, as it were, he had defeated the best the blue dragonflight, led by its new Aspect, Kalecgos, had to throw at them.
Chromatus had been largely silent for the last hour as he fed upon the carcasses of snowfall elk that had been hunted and brought to him. But now he paused and lifted his enormous black head.
“I will need more,” he said perfunctorily.
“You shall have all you need, Chromatus,” the Twilight Father assured him. “We will bring you flesh until and unless you prefer to hunt it yourself.”
“I will, soon,” the black head said in its deep voice, more felt than heard. “The closer to living it is when my jaws crunch upon it, the sweeter the taste.”
“Such a thing is always true,” the Twilight Father agreed. Chromatus dropped the black head to resume feeding, but lifted the red one. He kept the head in profile but rolled one massive eye to stare down upon the human.
“The dragons are not turning up their throats for me to crunch upon quite yet,” he said. “They will try again.”
The Twilight Father did not quite catch the warning in the voice. “They would be fools to do so, and I think them too broken even to be foolish,” he said. “Ysera is missing, and her flight is at a loss. Nozdormu might have been found, but he has yet to stir himself or his flight to come to the aid of his fellows. Alexstrasza is sobbing her heart out like some human girl, and her flight apparently cannot even perform basic functions without her. You have shown the blues how powerful you are, and their Aspect is too softhearted to lead them well. Their supposed hero Thrall is either dead in a snowbank or will soon be speared on Blackmoore’s broadsword. I think you may recover at your leisure, my friend.”
The dragon’s red head glared at him balefully with glowing purple eyes. “I am not your friend, Twilight Father,” he said softly, but with an edge that made the human’s heart stop beating for a moment. “Nor am I your child or your servant. We both serve the mighty Deathwing, whom my father made me to serve, and that is our only commonality.”
The Twilight Father did not show fear, though he suspected the dragon smelled it. He took a moment to make sure his voice did not quiver.
“Of course, Chromatus. We both serve with perfect loyalty.” The great eyes narrowed, but Chromatus did not pursue the point. “You are not a