He veered into his draconean form. An enormous taloned foot closed about the motionless Silchas Ruin, and Scabandari Bloodeye rose into the sky, wings thundering.
The tower was less than a hundred leagues to the south, only its low battered wall enclosing the yard revealing that it was not of Jaghut construction, that it had arisen beside the three Jaghut towers of its own accord, in answer to a law unfathomable to god and mortal alike. Arisen… to await the coming of those whom it would imprison for eternity. Creatures of deadly power.
Such as the Soletaken Tiste Andii, Silchas Ruin, third and last of Mother Dark’s three children.
Removing from Scabandari Bloodeye’s path his last worthy opponent among the Tiste.
Mother Dark’s three children.
Three names…
Andarist, who long ago surrendered his power in answer to a grief that could never heal. All unknowing that the hand that delivered that grief was mine…
Anomandaris Irake, who broke with his mother and with his kind. Who then vanished before I could deal with him. Vanished, probably never to be seen again.
And now Silchas Ruin, who in a very short time will know the eternal prison of the Azath.
Scabandari Bloodeye was pleased. For his people. For himself. This world he would conquer. Only the first Andii settlers could pose any challenge to his claim.
A champion of the Tiste Andii in this realm? I can think of no-one… no-one with the power to stand before me…
It did not occur to Scabandari Bloodeye to wonder where, of the three sons of Mother Dark, the one who had vanished might have gone.
But even that was not his greatest mistake…
On a glacial berm to the north, the lone Jaghut began weaving the sorcery of Omtose Phellack. He had witnessed the devastation wrought by the two Soletaken Eleint and their attendant armies. Little sympathy was spared for the K’Chain Che’Malle. They were dying out anyway, for myriad reasons, none of which concerned the Jaghut overmuch. Nor did the intruders worry him. He had long since lost his capacity for worry. Along with fear. And, it must be admitted, wonder.
He felt the betrayal when it came, the distant bloom of magic and the spilling of ascendant blood. And the two dragons were now one.
Typical.