Chains and chains and chains to bind-
A bony hand closed on his shoulder and dragged him back.
Snarling, Draconus half turned. ‘Let go, damn you! I will stand with them, Hood-I must, can’t you see that?’
The Lord of Death’s hand tightened, the nails biting, and Hood slowly pulled him closer. ‘The fray,’ the god said in a rasp, ’is not for you.’
‘You are not my master-’
‘Stand with me, Draconus. It’s not yet time.’
‘For what?’ He struggled to tear free, but a Jaghut’s strength could be immense, and barring the bloody removal of his entire shoulder, Draconus could do nothing. He and the Lord of Death stood alone, not twenty paces from the motionless wagon.
‘Consider this,’ said Hood, ‘a request for forgiveness.’
Draconus stared. ‘What? Who asks my forgiveness?’
Hood, Lord of the Dead, should have been the last to fall to Dragnipur. Whatever the Son of Darkness intended, its final play was found in the slaying of this ancient god. Such was the conviction of Draconus. A mad, pointless gamble, the empty purchase of time already consumed, at the wasting of countless souls, an entire realm of the dead.
As it turned out, Draconus was wrong.
There was one more. One more.
Arriving with the power of a mountain torn apart in a long, deafening, crushing detonation. Argent clouds were shredded, whipped away in dark winds. The legions pressing on all sides recoiled, and the thousand closing paces so viciously won were lost in an instant. Dragons screamed. Voices erupted as if dragged out from throats-the pressure, the pain, the stunning power-
Chaos flinched, and then, slowly, began to gather itself once more.
No single force could defeat this enemy. Destruction was its own law, and even as it devoured itself it would devour everything else. Chaos, riding the road of Darkness, ever to arrive unseen, from sources unexpected, from places where one never thought to look, much less guard against.
The sword and all within it was dying, now, at last; dying.
Hood’s hand had left his shoulder, and Draconus sagged down on to his knees.
One more.
And, yes, he knew who was now among them.
Should he laugh? Should he seek him out, mock him? Should he close hands about his throat so that they could lock one to the other until the descent of oblivion?