Chapter 12: The Chain Was a Shelter

"I know what the song did," Saren said.

His voice was perfectly steady. Ellory, standing under his arm, felt the god's whole body shaking.

"It chained me," Saren said. "It took my sky and my fire and my life."

"Did it?" The Marshal tilted his head.

"Then forgive an old soldier his curiosity. Why would a witch-boy do that three days before my king's hunters arrived?"

Nobody answered.

In the thick mist, a horse screamed and a man cursed.

Somewhere a chain rattled as the villagers pressed together on the mud.

Brannoc's face had gone white.

"Marshal," he said. "This is not wise."

"Be quiet, headman." The Marshal did not turn.

"Serpent, your Stone holds the answer. My sappers have spent two nights trying to lift it."

"A Keeper's blood will open it, so the old books say, and there is only one Keeper left."

He nodded at Ellory.

"Open it. Tell me what it says. Or I will lift it myself at the end of the week, and the village will pay for every day I wait."

Ellory looked at Saren.

Saren's eyes had gone to the mist, far away.

"I want to know," Ellory said quietly. "I want to hear it. Whatever it is."

"It will be a lie."

"Then we'll know that, too."

For a long moment Saren said nothing.

Then he turned his back on the Marshal and the headman and four hundred riders, and said, "Climb on."

"What?"

"Climb on, boy. It is a long way."

The red scales flowed up over his arms, his legs lengthened, and the mist split in a rush of wind.

Ellory had only ever seen it pinned and dying.

The serpent was as long as the feast hall, with wings that folded flat against the ridge of his back.

He climbed up behind the great neck, holding on with both fists.

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