Ilkar had walked back with his arm around the shoulders of the nervy barbarian, not saying a word all the way. Hirad felt him tense as they neared the tunnel. Just in the shadow stood Styliann, above the prone form of Denser and the kneeling Erienne.

‘Can’t that bastard go somewhere else?’ muttered the Julatsan mage. ‘His presence offends me.’

‘I don’t think he’ll hang around long after he’s heard what we have to say.’

Ilkar snorted. ‘Well, I’d like to think he’d take the quick way back to Xetesk, too. Unfortunately, we’re all going the same way.’

Hirad was quiet for a time. ‘You know, I was looking forward to joining the war against the Wesmen,’ he said after a while and just as they stopped at the fire. ‘It seemed like a return to the simple things. But this . . .’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Ilkar. ‘C’mon, sit down. I’ll check the pot.’

Denser had heaved himself to his feet and stood leaning against Erienne, expectancy and anxiety radiating from his pale features in equal measure.

‘I think you’d better come out here and listen to this,’ said Hirad. ‘That includes you, Styliann. Things aren’t so good.’

‘Define “not-so-good”,’ said Styliann, emerging into the sunlight and absently adjusting his shirt collar.

‘Let’s wait till we’re all gathered, all right?’ said Ilkar, handing a half mug of coffee to Hirad and sitting beside the barbarian. He nodded in the direction of the dragon’s body, from which Will and Thraun were coming. The Unknown hadn’t finished his examination. ‘I don’t want to report anything inaccurately.’

No one had dared even to reach out a hand to touch the dragon’s cooling corpse until The Unknown crouched by its head and heaved back a heavy eyelid. From another dimension, it might have been, but The Unknown knew a dead animal when he saw its eye and this one was dead.

He let the lid snap back over the milky white eye rolled up in the skull of the beast and leaned back on his haunches, appraising the dragon, which lay on its side. Close up, he could see its rust-brown colour was due to two distinct scales, one a deep red the other, less prevalent, a dull brown. He let his eyes flicker over the head, a wedge-shape about three feet long from the nostrils, which overhung the jaws, to the base of the neck. One fang was visible beneath folds of tough hide that served as lips. Another, broken, lay a few feet away. The shard was about four inches long. The Unknown picked it up, turned it over in his hands briefly and pocketed it.

The bony skull wedge swept back to protect an apparently vital area of neck beneath it. Inadequately, The Unknown decided, given the multiple puncture wound inflicted so easily by Sha-Kaan.

He leant forwards again and attempted to open the jaws, levering against the huge muscles in his arms. They parted slightly but sprang back together as he sought to look inside the mouth. He glanced up and caught the eyes of two of the thirty or so men and Protectors prodding at the carcass.

‘Give me a hand here, would you?’ he asked. The cavalrymen practically fell over themselves in their haste to aid not merely a member of The Raven but The Unknown Warrior to boot. Together, the three of them laid the dragon’s head flat on its side and, while Darrick’s men held the upper jaw, The Unknown levered down the lower and looked inside, gasping at the foul stench from within.

There was nothing too unusual about its teeth. Four large fangs, two up, two down, were the mark of a predator, as were the rows of shorter, conical incisors at the front of each jaw. Crushing molars lined up as the jaw went back but it was the gum below and inside the jaws that interested The Unknown.

He counted half a dozen angled flaps of skin, each covering a hole. Working at one of the flaps, he could feel the retractor muscle move and, as he did so, a drop of clear liquid spilled on to his palm, evaporating quickly. It was all he needed to understand about where the fire came from.

He nodded his thanks to the two cavalrymen and stood up, letting go the lower jaw which closed with a wet squelch. He looked along the dragon’s length and began walking slowly down it. Slightly kinked, the neck was perhaps eight feet long, letting into the bulk of its belly. It was an altogether more slender beast than Sha-Kaan, built for speed but, thought The Unknown, given the ease with which it was killed, inexperienced. Young. Elbowed forelimbs ended in small claws, an evolutionary trait that suggested a move towards a need for relative delicacy. Each claw was hooked and sharp and forged from bone, not a hardened material like nails.

Just above the forelimbs were the roots of its wings and The Unknown didn’t have to get close to see the immense muscle groups that powered the animal through the sky at such speeds. At another request, ten willing men dragged the free wing wide against the strain of its contracted muscles.

The outside arc of the wing covered a length of around thirty feet and was a flexible bone as thick as The Unknown’s thigh. A further twelve bones led from a complex joint at the end of the bone and stretched between them all was a thick, oily membrane.

‘Hold it taut.’ The Unknown drew a dagger and stabbed down at the membrane, drawing a scratch which yielded a little dark fluid. Not blood, more of the oil. He dragged a finger through it and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, feeling its smooth texture. ‘Interesting,’ he said. But the membrane, although perhaps only a half inch thick, would not tear. ‘Thank you,’ he said. And the men let it go. It snapped back against the body, a protective mechanism that transcended death, creating a breeze that kicked up more dust, merely emphasising the incredible power of the beast.

The length of its neck was a fifth of its main body. With the dragon on its side, its bulk was taller than The Unknown and he traced his fingers along the softer, paler underbelly scales, feeling the rasping roughness of those that armoured its sides and back. Again he drew a dagger, this time squatting by the belly. But again, his stabbing made no impact.

He frowned and turned his attention to the scorch mark along the flank which ran for twenty or so feet. Here, the skin was blistered and blackened, deep wounds showed in half a dozen places and a gory black ooze filled the tears and hard burns. But even this had not been a fatal wound. Not even the full force of Sha-Kaan’s breath could inflict that in one strike.

‘Gods, but you’re tough bastards,’ he murmured. The search for a weak point went on.

‘What the hell is he doing?’ asked Denser dully. The Unknown could be seen striding along the dragon’s upper flank towards the twenty feet of thin, balancing tail, poking his sword in here and there, striking hard in other places and always shaking his head.

‘Working out how to kill one, I expect,’ said Ilkar.

‘Fat chance,’ said Hirad.

‘So why does he bother?’ asked Denser, pursing his lips and lying back, his interest gone.

‘Because that’s what The Unknown does,’ replied Hirad. ‘He has to know, for better or worse, the enemy he’s facing. He says knowing what you can’t do is more valuable than knowing what you can.’

‘There’s sense in that,’ said Thraun.

‘This is all very fascinating,’ said Styliann. ‘But do we really have to wait for him?’

‘Yes,’ said Hirad simply. ‘He’s Raven.’ The Unknown was walking back towards them. He rammed his sword back into its scabbard, having first unlinked the chains that held it in place, hilt over his right shoulder, point below the back of his left knee, and dropped it at his feet as he reached them. He sat, frowning.

‘Well?’

‘Sha-Kaan was right. Even assuming we could get near it, the only soft tissue is inside the mouth and I can’t see it opening its jaws and showing off its throat to help us out. Our one chance is to dry out the wings. They secrete some form of oil and, without it, I think they might crack under heat. But again, covering the area they do, that much flame is only going to come from another dragon.’