Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,3

loose.

Suddenly a whole section of the facade collapsed.

'Lord God, have mercy on us!' the sister murmured.

Around her, guards and mercenaries were locked in a confused mass, all of them speechless with terror.

A great black dragon emerged from the manor amidst a cloud of plaster and a cascade of debris.

Immense in size, it reared up and unfurled its leathery wings with a tremendous roar. A surge of power swept through the courtyard, a wave that churned the earth, toppling the men and causing the horses to bolt.

Only the Chatelaine, her white clothing flapping in the storm, managed to stay on her feet. Holding her black-bladed rapier in her right hand she spread her arms wide and began chanting again. The dragon seemed intrigued by the insignificant creature standing before it, somehow capable of summoning a power comparable to its own. It lowered its enormous head to peer at the sister, who continued her incantation without faltering. She chanted words in a language which found an echo in the dragon's brain — a brain dominated by brutal, primitive impulses, but not entirely devoid of intelligence.

Sceur Beatrice knew it was too late. She had failed. Now the Alchemist had recovered his primal form there was nothing she could do to vanquish — or even restrain — the most powerful adversary she had ever encountered.

But there was one last card she could play.

Looking straight into the terrible depths of the dragon's eye, she gathered her remaining strength and plunged into the huge creature's tormented mind. The effort she had to make was both colossal and perilous. But after several false attempts, she finally found what she was searching for. The vision struck her soul like a fist.

For the space of one brief, yet seemingly eternal, moment the Chatelaine could see.

She saw the cataclysm threatening France, both her people and her throne, a cataclysm that would soon become a reality played out beneath ragged skies. It left her terrified, awed and gasping, while the dragon — having been defeated in the very core of its being - screamed with rage before taking to the air and escaping with a few mighty beats of its wings.

1

Beneath the dripping boughs of a forest which, on this dark night, was being buffeted by the wind and downpour of a violent storm, two young dragonnets were playing. They squabbled as they flew, heedless of the weather, chasing one another, spinning and fluttering in mid-air, improvising virtuoso acrobatics among the branches. The little reptiles were fighting over a small vole they had hunted down together, whose mauled remains were snatched from one mouth to the other in the course of their unruly game. They were brother and sister, both born from the same egg and thus perfectly similar, sharing the same golden eyes, the same scarlet-fringed black scales, the same grey belly, and the same slender, elegant profile.

And the same intelligence, too.

Growing tired of their play, the twins finally settled on a knotty root where they were sheltered from the worst of the rain. They shook themselves, and then folded up their leather wings. Pulling from either side, they tore the rodent in two and devoured it peacefully together. The darkness lay thick around them and, when the thunder ceased, the only sounds in the forest came from the rain, the wind, and the battered foliage. Yet something interrupted the dragonnets' meal. Something only they could perceive. Something that made them rear up sharply and captured their complete attention.

They remained frozen in place for an instant, like a pair of small onyx statues gleaming wet from the rain. They had to be sure they were not mistaken, that there was no danger of misinforming their mistress, and thus risk incurring her anger or, worse still, losing her affection. But there was no mistake.

So they roused themselves and exchanged nervous growls before taking wing, the male vanishing into the shadows of the vast forest while his sister flew towards the source of their interest. She moved swiftly, weaving between the tree trunks and seeming to take pleasure in dodging them at the very last moment, only finally slowing when she recognised the sound of voices. She found herself a comfortable perch in the hollow of a tree . . .

. . . where she did not have very long to wait.

There were riders approaching.

There were three of them, following a muddy trail beneath the rivulets of rainwater cascading down through the forest canopy. Soaked to the skin, they plodded along in