The sun was setting and as the typhoon finally moved on down the east coast some of the stars became visible. High overhead the faint outline of a full moon could just be seen, its glow faint but the shield on Vorador's arm still resonated in response, the rare metal from which it was made pulling down energy from that full moon. He could feel its power building and the sensation was uncomfortable, conflicting with his own energies so much that his arm felt somewhat numb. Perhaps those who used such metal, like the Hylden girl Enlil and her Gáe Bolga spear, had to be specially trained in its use. It was certainly not something one could just pick up and use without consequence.
The cave opening was little more than a crack in the side of the mountain itself, perhaps only a few feet across but lancing up to a high cliff above. It was so overgrown with moss, vines, and other wall clinging plants that if Bane had not led them to it, the opening would easily have been missed. The Druid approached the concealed entrance with a flipping gesture of the tip of his staff, the pearl at its end emitting a pale glow. At once the plants which hid the cave mouth began to peel back, rolling in on themselves to reveal the narrow, irregular tunnel within.
The Druid went on inside without slowing his pace. Vorador was right behind him. William, after getting down from his horse, paused in cautious appraisal of the opening for a moment before starting in himself. The crack twisted and turned randomly for some distance, pushing deep into the mountain itself, dark and uncomfortably cramped. Bane lit the way with his luminous pearl and he moved confidently.
Soon the small tunnel came to an end and it widened out into a large cave. It was a rectangular space with a large curving ceiling, vaulted by large stone pillars on either side. Vorador stared hard at the style of the ancient architecture as Bane advanced towards the far end of the chamber. He had seen it often during his youthful instruction and training. He recognised it at once as the same used in the construction of the now reduced Serioli Fortress. Upon closer examination he saw that inscribed across nearly every surface were the various Vampiric symbols denoting the elements.
The Serioli were and always had been historically the keepers of the tradition of elemental mastery, the Order originating beyond even the start of the war with the Hylden. Even their modern members were not fully aware of the depths of their Order's history. Ajatar herself had made a study of it during his training years and even her work had not revealed much. Was this place evidence of primeval Serioli?
The chamber was lit, albeit unevenly, by a large collection of tall candles which were placed wherever there was room for them. It gave the ancient place an almost reverent, cathedral-like atmosphere. At the far end was a large raised dais with several curving spikes around the outside. Upon this was an engraved metallic seal. Approaching, Vorador could see that it was a hexagon in shape and coloured blue with an odd, esoteric symbol in gold directly in the centre. He didn't recognise it. There was no doubt in the Vampire's mind, however, that this was the gateway Bane had talked about, the only way for any being other than its creators to be granted access to the infamous Lost City.
-0-
"Finally. There were no more distractions, no more running hither and yon collecting whatever was needed to proceed to the next asinine journey. Before me was the entrance to a place of arcane legend, even amongst Vampires. The door need only be unlocked for me to enter. Despite the apparent success, however, a grim warning stirred at the back of my mind. Somehow, I felt that the worst of my journey might be yet to come."
-0-
With a grim expression he remembered the discarded skin he had seen down in the ravine below the cave entrance. There was no doubt in his mind, having been to see each one of the several primeval hidden ruins, that whatever had worn that shell had been one of the creators of the Lost City, the lone survivor of a race which had been forgotten by all the others. And unwittingly or not he had assisted in unleashing it upon an unsuspecting Nosgoth. The image in his mind, the picture of the final stage of that life cycle, kept trying stubbornly to force itself back into his awareness, but he firmly kept it pushed to one side. What it suggested was an absurdity and an impossibility both.
"At least you managed to get this." Bane muttered as they joined him at the foot of the dais. With one hand he gestured impatiently back for the Vampire to hand over the shield. Vorador was more than happy to give it to him just to regain some feeling in the arm. The Druid seemed not to be bothered by the energy galvanising inside the artefact and placed it on top of a secondary set of complex arcane markings around the platform, markings that seemed more recent and which Bane must have scribed himself. "With the creature loose in this world once more, it is imperative that we open the way as quickly as possible." He paused then and gave William a glance, as if truly noticing the presence of the man for the first time. Perhaps he had only just become aware, his mind automatically dismissing William of being of utterly no consequence so quickly it hadn't even registered on the conscious mind. "And just what is this self-important monarch doing with you?" He asked, giving Vorador a flat look. He seemed to know who William was by first glance at the very least. The Vampire returned his look with his usual irritated expression.
"He goes where he likes, irrespective of me." He replied sternly and with more than a hint of disquietude in his tone. "Get on with it, Druid. My patience has been stretched thin of late."
Back at the entrance to the chamber, there was a sudden and unexpected heaving grunt and the slithering sound of stones being knocked free from their usual places. Vorador turned quickly, one hand going to the hilt of Marrow at his side at the sound. In the flickering light of the candles, the huge white furred form of Remus was revealed as the massive alpha Werewolf pushed his way through the small gap. It took some effort, for the beast's sheer bulk did not allow for comfortable passage but eventually he burst into the chamber in a spray of dislodged dust and moss. Vorador kept himself alert. His last meeting with the alpha Werewolf had been somewhat less than cordial.
"You have barely been involved in this chaos for little over a few days." The hulking creature snarled, stalking forward with his eyes fixed on the Vampire. "I have been waiting hundreds of lifetimes for this moment, the chance to take what is mine and punish my brother for his greed." Behind him more of the white Werewolves began to arrive, coming one at a time out from the cave entrance. Very swiftly the space inside the hidden chamber dwindled as the gathering white furred pack numbered over a hundred, many pairs of watchful eyes kept firmly on him. Quickly Vorador realised what this was all about. The white Werewolves were assembling, gathering their strength for an assault on the stronghold of their darker furred rivals. Once Bane opened that gateway they would advance in force and a savage, bloody battle would begin.
"Of all of us here, you ought be the one most silent on the subject of patience." The alpha Werewolf added with spite, standing before the might of his assembling pack. More and more were coming in after their fellows. The chamber itself was large but it seemed their numbers would deplete its available space very soon.
"Now now, Remus." William said, wagging a finger at the Werewolf in an almost comradely fashion. He was leaning against one of the stone pillars, watching events unfold with a supercilious smile parting his lips. "If it wasn't for Vorador's efforts, this expedition wouldn't even be possible. I think we all owe him some thanks for that."
Remus turned his head to look at the young king, one side of his muzzle drawing back to expose the sharp teeth there. Despite his lupine face not being suited for displaying emotion he seemed to radiate displeasure at seeing the monarch.
"And just what interest do you have here, William?" He asked bluntly, coming forward from his assembling pack. William showed no fear at all at the presence of a being that could easily have torn his body limb from limb. The Werewolf alpha stalked past and came to stand nearer to Bane as the Druid worked, tracing his fingers over the symbols and patterns he had scribed into the floor. Remus then turned to look back at the king over his wide shoulder.
"I help you in seizing the crown, you send me your prisoners to change into new members of the pack for use in the feud with my brother. You are now king and rule all you survey." He said and then made a dismissive gesture with one clawed hand. "Our business is concluded." Vorador looked between them with a flat, resigned expression as the details of their arrangement were exposed. By now, however, Vorador was really beyond caring.
"Not quite." William said in a strange, intense tone of voice. His expression was almost eager, perhaps hungered. "There is one last loose end that I need to see to." Remus just snorted at the young king.
"And what might that be?" He asked derisively and without much real interest. William leaned out from the pillar and slowly reached up to grasp the hilt of the sword at his back.
"Vengeance." He said and drew the blade, holding it out before him. The weapon gleamed even in the irregular light cast by all the candles, like a slither of perfect marble. "Romulus will pay for the murder of my friend and defender, Barentein." William said and turned the weapon around so it was point down, his hand gripping the handle tight in another of his theatrical and dramatic gestures which seemed to be his largest personal quirk. "This sword, forged from his victim’s armour, I will plunge into his heart and the soul of my companion may find satisfaction in bloody retribution." Remus did not look all that impressed and turned his head away with another snort, his attention diverted to Bane's preparations. William lowered his sword but caught sight of Vorador looking at him. The Vampire had no readable expression but the disapproval was clear in his eyes. Feeling that censure, William glared back with heated resentment.
"Don't look at me like that!" He said with anger. It was the first time he had ever spoken to the Vampire with such fury in his voice. "I never claimed I was perfect and always acted with altruistic intent. I am as flawed as the next man." With that he turned away himself to watch Bane work. "That's the point."
Vorador watched him for a moment. Somehow in that brief time he saw William in something of a more charitable light. He saw a young man, radiating with passion, ideals, and convictions. Then his cynicism returned and he saw a manipulating tyrant who had had his family murdered so that he might seize power.
"Do as you will." The Vampire grunted.
Bane stood up and as he did, he got everyone’s undivided attention. The Druid gave his arcane, encircling pattern a final quick examination, then without any further ceremony raised his staff up high. Directly above in the ceiling, a concealing patch of moss and vines that Vorador had not even noticed began to peel back, moving aside on command. As they parted they revealed a near perfectly round shaft that seemed to lance up though the mountain itself. Down through the exposed opening came a pale and faint shaft of moonlight. It seemed to drift down almost lazily to settle onto the dais beneath and as it did the shield set in place seemed to draw in the light, absorbing it and making its own white sheen somehow even more intense.
Bane paused, watching the shield intensely as it gathered and focused the moonlight, soon becoming nearly incandescently bright. Then when it seemed to have reached its apex, Bane tapped the shield once with the butt of his staff. At that contact the gathered light burst out, running through the markings over which it laid like blood running through veins. Once the encircling design was alit, the light fed down into the dais and seal upon it. There was a flash of light as energies combined, and a strange crackling sound. Then the seal itself emitted a deeper noise, like the sustained peal of some immense gong and the air above it seemed to split down the middle.
The opening was small at first but widened with each passing moment, its outline a faint glow like moonlight leading into an even brighter interior. That sustained gong-like sound grew louder and deeper as the hole widened, eventually becoming a wide, circular entryway.
"It is done!" Bane declared and there was real triumph in his voice, his eyes aflame with jubilant revelry. He half turned to look back at all those assembled in the chamber. "This entrance, and all other such gates, have been forced open." With his staff he gestured to the encircling, magically glowing carvings which were still pulsing with their light. "With a full moon in the sky, the gates will permit passage. Nothing can change that now."
Remus beheld the pulsating opening before him for only a moment. Then he was running, galloping forward with his gaze fixed intently forward. Behind him his pack came surging forward as one mass of savage white furred ferocity. More of them must have been waiting outside the cave as their numbers simply did not seem to end. Their alpha male was the first to enter the opened gateway, plunging into the glowing depths and vanishing from sight. Vorador had to step backwards out of the way to avoid the onward coming pack which was more likely to cut him down where he stood in order to move on past rather than navigate around him.
William, who had prudently moved to one side, watched them gallop past while leaning on his sword. It was quite some time before the ranks of the creatures began to thin out and as they did, the young king hefted his weapon and walked almost casually over to the dais himself. Bane was still waiting there for a chance to enter the portal himself as the Werewolves monopolized the space.
"Then if it is all the same to you, Druid, I will take this." He said, gesturing to the shield which now lay dulled and useless, apparently not necessary to maintain the gateway. Bane shot him an irritated look for addressing them. William, undeterred, just smiled wryly. "A sword is never complete without a shield." He explained.
Bane grunted and watched as the last of his white furred allies galloped forward and plunged into the gateway without pausing.
"The gate is open, so take the trinket if you must, I care not." Without another look at the king, the Druid stepped forward into the portal and vanished. Vorador was moving quickly, his determination to finally do what he had been sent back to do driving him on with urgency. He strode past William as the monarch stooped to retrieve the shield and stepped without pause himself into that hole in the air.
The sensation as he passed through was very similar to one he had felt before. The Ancient Vampires had often used translocation gates that permitted travel across vast distances. Some had even called such structures Ward Gates. This felt almost the same, although alien at the same time, the energies that propelled him forward acting in the same manner but not of Ancient Vampire origin. He could feel himself being stretched to cover such a long distance, one foot at his destination and the other at his starting point. He had the fleeting impression of a tunnel, a vortex of light, and then he was actually there.
Reality burst back into his vision and for an instant he felt his senses so oversaturated that he could not focus. There were colours, smells, sounds, and all other impressions so intense that they blurred together into echoing chaos. Then with a sudden, startling snap, his mind cleared and he found himself looking at a plinth of curving red stone, a sculpted structure of some kind that tapered. Startled, he slowly began to raise his head to look up.
His gaze wandered up the structure in front of him. First he saw the massive, twisting body that curled around the central plinth, then he saw several clawed limbs which grasped together tightly, and above that were the intertwining serpentine heads and the gaping mouths of hungry serpents. He was standing before a colossal statue of four such reptiles, coiling around each other and rearing up together to offer their open mouths to the sky.
There were more such statues off to both his left and right, as well as other reptilian imagery left in rectangular murals engraved on the walls and floor. Slowly he turned and took in the entire panorama that lay before him. Finally he had arrived. The journey had been long but at last he was here.
-0-
"So this was the final place I needed to find. A hidden, secluded, and forgotten place so ancient that perhaps the application of age was erroneous. Standing here before its antechamber I felt like a trespasser. This place was not built for the likes of us. We were but insects scuttling on the floor made by creatures colossal in comparison."
-0-
The Lost City, for this could be no other place, was built on so bizarre a scale that Vorador could not really compare it to anything else he had ever seen. The walls were all dozens of times larger than  himself, so high that it was difficult to tell where they ended. The statues were built to near the same height, colossal and carved into pillars that were of the same magnitude.
Vorador stood before a courtyard of sorts, framed on either side by towering square buildings and at the far end by a pyramid of regular level terraces. Everything was made out of a strange red stone that he did not recognise either, set into regular square blocks across the floor and walls and every second one engraved with imagery. At first it seemed like they were isolated drawings but when he turned his head to survey them all he could see they were all smaller parts of a far larger, grander image.
All three buildings were huge and he could not see beyond them, but they were also enveloped by various displays of coiling serpents. There he paused and corrected himself. No, these statues were not snakes at all. He recognised the shape all too clearly. They were in fact colossal representations of the various parts of the life cycle of the creature he had seen freed from its container. There could be no doubt now of a connection.
High above, the sky was a strange pale orange. In fact, it did not even look like a sky. It had more of the appearance of a strange dome he was seeing from the underside, gleaming in the real light coming from outside. Occasionally flecks of red crossed over its surface, giving it the momentary illusion of cloud over. The dome distorted the light beneath it somehow and everything seemed blurry and less distinct.
Seeing it now, feeling its ambience around him, Vorador had the impression of latent power left dormant. This place, despite being so old and nearly forgotten, was not dead but rather simply sleeping. There was memory here, the very stones beneath his feet whispered of it, of great powers used here time and time again. But there was also something more, something hidden away. He could feel the edges of it, tantalisingly close and seemingly only to await his touch to awaken again. Perhaps just like the creature in that pearl-like container, awakened by his bloody handprint.
The portal had brought him onto the top of another raised dais and identical seal. A set of very wide stairs led down. In the flat courtyard below, itself large enough to hold a fair sided hamlet, the white Werewolves were spreading out. Remus was at their head, the alpha leading his pack into battle to begin the siege against their rivals which were surely here. Bane was further down on a lower step, looking around with a grim, sceptical expression; interested but wary enough to keep his staff at the ready.
Behind Vorador, William stepped through the portal after him. The young king looked pale and shaken, perhaps due to his never having experienced such a method of long distance travel before. He took a moment to collect himself and shook, emitting a grunt of displeasure.
"Well, that was…stimulating." He remarked and stepped down off the dais. Vorador ignored him, keeping his gaze fixed on the pyramid directly across the courtyard. It had more of the reptilian statues atop its various terraces but it wasn't the architecture which had caught his eye.
-0-
"My sense of anticipation heightened to such tenseness that it was overpowering. Something was coming."
-0-
He was interrupted in his train of thought by a sudden angry howl, a snarling bellow of indignant rage. The Vampire looked around sharply and saw that this place’s would-be tenants had come to defend their home and den. Black Werewolves were emerging out of the shadows around the courtyard, their numbers easily matching those of the invaders. Quickly they formed a semicircle to block off the advance of their rivals and the two sides, one light and one dark, faced each other, snarling and snapping, waiting for the order to engage.
A huge shape leapt atop one of the reptilian statues, standing on the end of its huge snout. It was Romulus, the alpha of the other pack. Vorador did not fully understand the nature of Werewolf biology or their supernatural gifts, but somehow Romulus had been able to reattach the arm which had been severed the last time he had seen him. The beast reared up and howled again, the sound of it echoing through the spaces between the towering structures.
"Remus!" He bellowed down at the invading pack. His snarling, gnashing voice kept changing pitch almost randomly in his educed rage. "This is my empire! MY capital!" He pointed the claws of the hand he had reattached down at his brother. "You are not welcome!" Remus reared up to his hind legs in response and glared up defiantly.
"I am merely here for what was due!" He snapped back, lashing his long tail and his pack growled behind him in support. "For what you promised me!" Romulus leered down and spat, the spittle falling some distance from his lofty perch.
"I will give you nothing!" The black alpha male replied with scorn. "Nothing, you spoilt child! NOTHING!"
William, the boy king, marched down past Vorador. His face was set into an expression of icy determination, his gaze fixed on the black Werewolf who had killed his friend. Sword in hand and shield in place, he approached.
"Capital." The Vampire heard him say. "It would not be satisfying otherwise."
And thus began the pointless battle. Werewolves clashed together with a savagery that was holy in its intensity, claws and fangs ripping through fur and hide. Blood was cast across the ground but as the stones of which it was constructed were already red, the entire chaotic melee had the illusion of being bloodless. The gore which both sides ripped from each other blurred into the coloration and seemed to disappear.
Romulus and Remus, brothers who hated each other so intensely, sought each other out and lunged, bringing their fight together finally. The way they fought it was as if they were trying to remove each other's skin with their bare hands, which was probably not far from their intended goals. William, it seemed, knew better than to go headlong into a mass of Werewolves which were trying to butcher one another. Instead he waited patiently, keeping anything that attacked him at bay with the shield he had taken as his own and then dispatching them with the sword. The weapon cut through any Werewolf’s body as if it were parchment, separating flesh, bone, and hide in one clean swing. Soon the out of control battle between Remus and his brother brought them to the edge of the struggling wolves and William intervened there, seemingly coming to Remus' aid by slicing Romulus across the back. The black Werewolf snarled and snapped back at the king, leaving him open to an attack by his brother in his moment of distraction.
Vorador, however, stood well outside the perimeter of the bloody and meaningless battle and remained there. Both sides could slaughter each other down to the last one if they wished, he cared little. Whoever owned this ancient place did not matter in the slightest. No one would remember this battle. No one would celebrate its outcome and whoever won, Remus, Romulus, or neither, would change absolutely nothing. It was a battle based on greed and injured pride. What mattered to him, however, was locating the Celestial Arrow, reputed to be hidden somewhere in this alien place, while Remus kept its denizens occupied.
"You're not going to assist your ally?" He asked the Druid, stepping down past Bane who was not paying the least bit of attention to the chaos. Bane gave Vorador a quick look of utter irritation as he passed by.
"Our partnership ended the moment we got here." The Guardian of Nature replied bluntly. "As has ours, Vampire." Vorador turned to give the man a look over one shoulder.
The bellow that shook the air around them then could not possibly have been made by any or even all of the Werewolves put together. The squared stones of the ground beneath their feet trembled in response, the entire ruined city seeming almost to jump and shiver around them. The roar was a sound Vorador had never heard before, deep and resonating and with a strange catch to it, almost like the songs of whales but nowhere near as musical. Alarmed, the Vampire drew Havoc and Malice and looked around.
In the courtyard, the battle between the two tribes of white and black Werewolves came to a sudden halt. Even in the midst of slaughtering one another, the beasts stopped to cringe from the terrible noise, looking around in wild panic, yelping and barking in their distress. Even the three-way battle between William, Remus, and Romulus ceased. It was as if the roar had banished the murderous intent of the combatants and they all stopped where they stood, looking around for the source of that awful noise.
For a moment there was near perfect silence. Bane was the one to break it.
“What new devilry…” He began in his normal irascible tone of voice but suddenly broke off and lapsed back into silence. Vorador happened at that moment to be facing the Druid so he could see the man’s face. Within an instant, Bane's face turned as white as the furs he wore and his eyes bulged as they locked firmly onto something directly behind the Vampire. His expression was a tortured mixture of shock, horror, and baffled confusion. In that same moment, a cold shadow swept across the large courtyard as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun.
Vorador began to turn and despite trying to move as quick as he could, the action seemed to take forever. He followed the Druid’s stunned gaze, up the side of a stone wall and to the terraces of the pyramid at the far end of the square. For a naive instant Vorador thought that what he was seeing was merely another of the reptilian statues blocking out the sunlight and that he had simply missed it, distracted by the confusion of the battle. Then it moved.
The creature that had erupted from the egg the Mandarins had mistaken for an exquisitely large jewel had achieved its full growth and was now immense; giant beyond belief. Its shadow hung over them all like the darkness cast by a mountain in the rising sun, a living column of flesh wrapped in orange scale. Its body was gargantuan, so large that even suspended atop the ruins a good deal of it was concealed from view.
Its body was built along greyhound proportions, with a large barrel chest the size of a coach and buggy, narrowing to slender hindquarters that tapered off into a long, whip-like tail. Bizarrely its hind legs seemed more developed than its front pair that grasped the edge of the pyramid on which it poised with paws that anatomically were almost identical to the cloven hands of the Ancient Vampires.
Its neck was not quite as long as the tail but was more muscled; the crested head arched up like an irritated snake. The head itself was long and almost equine, the chin at the end of the jaw quite pointed. From around the jaw line, running up to join the crest were large horn-like spurs that arched back almost like a crown. The crest itself was split in two from the forehead, curving up and out in a concave style and ridged with crisscrossing sections of bone and cartilage. Despite being many times larger, it looked almost like something easily seen on the head of a Hylden.
At points along its gargantuan body, starting behind the crested head, were large plumes of what looked like feathers. Behind the crest the feathers drooped and were downy, coloured a mix of black and shining silver. The same could be seen across its forelegs from the elbow to the paw, a veritable sleeve of downy feathers. The feathers sprouting around its hindquarters were much different, each proper, fully functioning feathers meant to catch updrafts of air, stretched out kite-like from the naval to the beginning of the tail. At the end of the tail a large tuft of feathers spread out almost like a fan but seemed under the creature’s control, spreading and retracting over and over.
But what caught everyone’s immediate attention were the wings, spread out wide from the huge, developed shoulders. They were not feathered but webbed like those of an immense bat, translucent skin stretched between long, slender digits. These were the exact same wings, on a much larger scale, that Tiamatu had forced her body to evolve and sprout.
Seen thus, the creature seemed a mix of reptilian, Hylden, and Ancient Vampire traits. But there could be no doubt what it was; its general shape was too well known in the eldest folklore for any mistake. The creatures which had built the Lost City, the beings described in the murals that Vorador had come across, the first species which predated even the Ancient Vampires and the Hylden and whose living representative loomed before him could only be one thing.
He tried to even think the name but it stuck in his mind, stubbornly refusing to emerge. The rational part of his brain, which had served him so well before, objected violently to him even considering the possibility. His eyes, however, kept recording the mounting evidence. Soon it was too much for even his sceptical rationality to deny.
The creators of the Lost City were creatures of myth and legend. The Divus had done their best to ensure they were forgotten, but tales of them had survived to rise once more in the imagination of generations of the storytellers of Mankind. The Mandarins’ mock empire, the Dogma, had even used their image as their standard, as had Vorador himself. Finally and with the utmost reluctance, the Vampire found himself finally and honestly thinking; Dragons. The sentient species to predate all others in Nosgoth had been Dragons.
Then the moment of stunned silence passed. The winged creature, the Dragon - for there was no use calling it anything else, was lunging forward directly at them all. Its jaws gaped wide, displaying two rows of curved, serrated teeth, a mouth that widened dramatically as it came forward. The massive body was almost on top of them in an instant, the creature, despite its size, shockingly fast and the panorama was near instantly filled with scale and feather.
The melee of the meaningless final feud between the two factions of the Werewolves was nothing compared to the chaos that came now.
Romulus and Remus disappeared. The Dragon caught them up in one swoop and they vanished, together, into his gaping maw. There was nothing of the two left behind at all, not so much as a drop of blood. The carnage was not limited to them. The creature was implacable and relentless, killing when it wished. The wolves were like nothing to it. Talons, each a foot long and curving sliced through both factions of white and black and sent their bodies crashing against the walls to break open into bloody pulp.
The creature did not land. It kept itself airborne, scooping up whatever it wished in its claws and its mouth. Sometimes it ate what it caught but for the most part all it seemed focused on was tearing its victims to pieces.
As it swung around through, preparing to come upon them again, Vorador could feel what it was doing. Ajatar-Cadre had trained him well in the Serioli elemental disciplines and he had mastered the element of Fire. The Dragon's head reared back on its long neck and the jaws began to gape open.
Vorador was saved only by age old instincts which had him moving long before his conscious mind even made the decision to do so. He bolted, running through the milling, confused and leaderless mass of Werewolves to the dubious safety of a large doorway on the far side of one of the square buildings.
He was just in time as the Dragon proved yet another aspect of the surviving folklore about them was true. Flames burst from its jaws, a thick and unrelenting torrent of heat which reduced anything caught in its path to cinders within minutes. But this was no supernatural skill. It was elemental control, the same as that taught by the Serioli, only on far more of a titan scale.
Pursued by boiling flames, cut off from the way out and hounded by a creature thought only to exist in the minds of Men, Vorador had no other alternative but to flee for his life into the Lost City itself.