IX

It was the smell that assailed the senses first; mouldering earth, rancid meat, swine and sweat. It gradually permeated Findor Silverbark's trance-like state as he sat within the circle of stones upon a small and strangely rounded hill. The hill was the only vantage point upon the landscape of sweeping grassland. As his conscious mind opened to the world around him, his eyes slowly focused to the brightness of the morning. His gaze immediately turned to the northeast searching for the source of the smell and of the disturbance he had felt within the winds of magic. A dark smudge on the far distant horizon now came into sight, as, almost at the same time, he was aware of the noise which drifted to his keen ears; animalistic squeals, howls and grunts mixed with the guttural shouts of continual argument. It was then his mage-sense suddenly became aware of a magical abrasiveness disrupting the flow of Earth Energy that, as a Spellsinger, he was continually at One with. He waited just one moment longer to confirm his fears.

"Savage Orcs!" he murmured under his breath as he turned to mount the steed that had come to the request of his thoughts. "I must warn the Lost Kindred; although I fear it is far too late to avoid yet more conflict and bloodshed."

 

"I fear Findor is right," said Cerys Sunhair, concern written across her fair Elven features. "We knew the risks of crossing the grasslands and leaving ourselves exposed to attack and the worst has happened. We cannot move the entire Kindred at speed to escape the impending onslaught of the Orcs."

"Then they must die," Findrith Thornbranch growled simply in reply, his eyes shining like two points of diamond-white light. "Ready the Kindred."

 

The massed ranks of Glade Guard waited with grim resolve etched upon their features as the savage green tide swept towards them. Lord Barku's Dryad Handmaidens moved off to the left, their shape shifting forms turning from those of pretty young girls into their war aspect of thorny hags. To the right of the line of archers, Glade Riders awaited the signal from Thornbranch to move off towards the Savage Orc's flank. Lord Barku had positioned his Ancient Self here also and the two Wood Elf Spellsingers, Cerys Sunhair and Findor Silverbark sat upon their steeds a little way behind him.

The Savage Orcs moved as a disjointed rabble, the eagerness of the boar-mounted beasts outstripping the rest of their army and pulling away in front in an attempt to contact the Elven lines first. Just to one side, a rickety chariot bumped along at reckless speed, threatening on a number of occasions to overturn. As the distance between the boars and Wood Elf archers became less, the Orc charge seemed to suddenly falter. Two factions of riders began milling about randomly in some kind of argument. Their commander, a huge Orc with dark olive, almost black, skin, wheeled his snorting mount around and ploughed into the midst of them, his war axe swinging this way and that. Three Orc heads flew into the air on fountains of blood. Immediately the remaining Boar riders, fearing similar retribution, formed up again and followed their fearsome leader onwards towards the Wood Elf archers.

Findrith Thornbranch watched all this happen with grim amusement. "Hold your fire," he commanded the ranks of archers. Cerys and Findor, from their vantage point a little way behind, began to wonder if Thornbranch had left the order to fire too late, as the Orcs closed with such startling speed. With hardly a movement of the hand, Findrith signalled the archers to take aim. Bows creaked back under massive tension; strings touched noses, chins and cheeks depending upon the individual archer's style. With just yards until the Orcs were to collide with the Wood Elves, Thornbranch uttered a single word, "Fire."

The release of arrows sounded like a whip cutting the air. Every shaft found a target; heads, necks, eyes, torsos. Riders somersaulted over the heads of their mounts as their boar mounts collapsed to the sward under the steel tipped rain of death. From out of this carnage rode a single rider; the monstrous Black Orc boss.

Thornbranch darted to his right towards a cluster of boulders he had noticed, just as the Black Orc registered the Alter Noble as the one leading the Wood Elf missile attack. He yanked savagely upon his boar's reins to turn the animal in Thornbrach's direction. Findrith's unnatural speed had carried him to the cover of the rocks. He drew from the quiver slung across his back, an arrow with shimmering green fletching. As he drew back the bowstring to touch his cheek, he remembered Cerys had advised careful use of the charmed shaft as it could only be used the once. He uttered a simple prayer, "Isha guide me," and let the arrow fly from the bowstring. At once he knew he could not miss. A trail of green phosphorescent light streamed from it's strange flight feathers and, as he watched the arrow reach the zenith of its trajectory, it burst into a ball of incandescent white light from which flew not one but many arrows. In his blood rage, the Black Orc was oblivious to the sudden impact of the magical shafts, which hit with such impact; he was knocked from his mount into the dust. He did not move again.

Suddenly, before the Glade Guard had time to draw back their bowstrings again, the Orc Chariot ploughed into their line. Casualties could have been far greater had it not been for the quickness of the Wood Elves. A few of the Kindred took the full impact of the charge, but many leapt out of the way drawing their hand weapons. At that same moment, Dryad Handmaidens were suddenly upon the hapless chariot. The driver, panicking lest he become bogged down under the weight of clawing Forest Spirits, somehow managed to turn the team of boars to head across the field away from danger. The chariot passed the rocks where Findrith Thornbranch still crouched surveying the struggle of battle. All at once, Lord Barku was passing him in rage, the Venerable One intent on crushing the Orc chariot. Findrith leapt from his position to follow the Treeman arriving at the Ancients' side just as, with one swipe of a mighty knotty fist, Barku decimated the Orc machine.

The crackle of strong magic was in the air around the Treeman and Alter Kindred. Findrith could taste the metallic tang upon his tongue. He glanced behind to see Cerys Sunhair and Findor Silverbark struggling to dissipate the Orc spells, signs of fatigue beginning to show on the both of them. Turning back towards the field of battle, Thornbranch realised that a sudden push forward by the greenskins had isolated himself and the Treeman Ancient from the main body of Grey Elves. A unit of Savage Orcs broke away from the main charge heading towards the both of them. Findrith readied himself for combat beside Lord Barku but, for one instant, the Treeman Ancient seemed to hesitate.

A little way behind, Cerys Sunhair suddenly looked concerned. "Findor," she said, glancing at her fellow Spellsinger, "I feel all is not right with the Venerable One. It's as if ............ he is losing the will to fight on!"

 

As she uttered these words, both Spellsingers looked across the field towards the Treeman. He had waded into the ranks of Orcs striking out at the greenskins, Thornbranch at his side, his mighty great weapon whirling in an arc of death. Suddenly a slavering pack of Goblin Wolf Riders careered into the Ancient Ones' side. Again the Treeman seemed to falter before lashing out at this new assault. A few Goblins were swatted from the backs of their mounts but the green tide continued to press in. Thornbranch had taken a bad wound from a Savage Orc chopper, the enemy numbers beginning to restrict his movements. He was suddenly aware that the Orcs were pushing himself and Lord Barku backwards. Shock hit him as, without warning, the Ancient One broke from the combat, the Orcs howling their glee as they started to pursue the Tree Lord. Thornbranch backed off attempting to cover their retreat. Suddenly Lord Barku's Handmaidens seemed to appear magically to protect their Lord. The fury of the Dryads knew no bounds as they ripped into the Orcs. Glade Riders lent their support in driving off the Wolf Riders, their arrows a persuasive deterrent.

Cerys Sunhair turned her steed in the direction taken by Lord Barku. "Findor, I have to follow the Venerable One. I am sorry to leave you but I sense a turn in the tide of battle in our favour, despite our broken spirited Lord."

"Go quickly. Do what you can, Cerys," called Silverbark after the fast receding Spellsinger. Magic crackled in the air about him, again. With all his might he tried to ground the savage energy but it was becoming increasingly hard to do so. A tiny rivulet of blood began to run from his nostril as he summoned reserves of power he had never dreamt of using. Findrith Thorbranch saw Cerys Sunhair leave in pursuit of Lord Barku. Now he was no longer worried for the Ancient One. The Spellsinger would know what to do. He turned his attention back toward the battlefield. "Now you will pay most dearly, Greenskins," he growled under his breath.

Quair-eriel, circling above the battlefield, noticed with concern the mighty figure of a giant approaching the Kindred's left flank. At once he swooped down to harry the towering figure. The giant, slightly annoyed, stopped his advance to take a few swipes at the annoying bird. Dryad Handmaidens, taking advantage of the slight diversion, hurriedly moved through some light bushes to cover the flank of the Glade Guard who continued firing volley after volley of deadly arrows at the advancing Savage Orc foot troops. Suddenly, the giant was approaching the lines of archers, intent on wreaking havoc. The Dryads ran across his path in an attempt to divert the behemoth's attention. Seeing the nearness of the Dryads, the giant forgot about the wood Elf archers and charged into the Forest Spirits. The fight was savage, the giant swinging a huge club again and again at the Handmaidens, scattering broken bodies in all directions. More of the Spirits arrived to aid their sisters, their branch-like limbs thrusting into the giants flesh and their razor sharp thorny fingers rending and slicing until hundreds of cuts covered the behemoths body, the blood flowing freely from each one. Unable to take the continual punishment, the giant began to sway as his life began to ebb with the huge blood loss. The dryads leapt at the giant with renewed vigour finally succeeding in pulling the weakened gargantuan to the ground.

The Savage Orcs, their numbers diminished greatly, made one final push towards the Wood Elf archers. Again the arrows poured into the greenskin ranks with deadly accuracy. Findrith Thornbranch ran with all the speed he could muster towards one group of Orcs in particular. Glade Riders followed the Alter Lord, their swift Elven steeds barely able to keep up. As they converged upon the greenskins, magic crackled in the air around them. Thornbranch had realised from across the battlefield that it was from this rabble of Savage Orcs that the strong greenskin magic emanated and, as he now drew closer, saw indeed that they protected a figure in their midst with outstretched arms and surrounded by an aura of green light. The Savage Orc Great Shaman looked upon Thornbranch and the approaching Glade Riders with disdain. His eyes were two glowing emerald slits, his dark olive skin was covered in jagged tattoos and an animal skin hung around his shoulders in flapping tatters. The Shaman lifted a staff he held in his right hand pointing the gnarly stick hung with bones, shells and feathers towards the Alter Noble who now was but yards away. Energy hummed in the air as Thornbranch swung his mighty great weapon with consummate ease. "Enough!" his voice rumbled. The upward swing took off the Great Shaman's arm at the shoulder, blood gouting in an unstoppable flood. The limb somersaulted end over end up into the air, the Shaman's staff of power still gripped in its' hand. The green light in the Great Shaman's eyes immediately extinguished as the creature screamed in agony. Thornbranch reversed the swing of the great weapon. It thrummed through the air, a mere flash of silver light, this time taking the Savage Orc's head from his shoulders. All around the fury of the Wood Elves was terrible to behold. Glade Riders rode into the now buckling ranks of Savage Orcs, their bodies skewered upon the sharp spear points of the riders or broken as their steeds lashed out with iron-hard hooves. The fearsome Handmaidens of Lord Barku shredded the hapless greenskins upon the flank of the Shamans unit until not one was left alive.

Findrith Thorbranch looked across the field, his battle fury subsiding. At the sight of the Great Shaman's demise, the remnants of the Savage Orc horde had turned in all directions to flee the wrath of the Lost Kindred. Even now as he watched, a party of Glade Riders was riding down some fleeing greenskin stragglers.

"Show them no mercy," he growled to himself.

X

Rain as sharp as razors slashed the black-hole sky, the full, furious force of the howling gale battering the coastline with such ferocity that it seemed as though the end of the world had come. The sea, mountainous, seething and angry, heaved as though made entirely from the undulating backs of gargantuan sea monsters. Ponderous waves of such enormity, their curling crests whipped by saliva-like spume, pounded the shore, each crash of water erupting like an explosion, spraying Findor Silverbark with a million ice-cold droplets like a shower of pure white diamonds. The Spellsinger, crouched upon his haunches, his back resting against a twisted pine tree, stared intently at a point far out at sea in the middle distance. He knew he had not been mistaken, that his eyes were not deceiving him, but he had waited now for over an hour and, so far, the wait had been to no avail.

A gentle stirring of his magical senses indicated somebody approached from behind through the pinewood.

"Findor?" a voice came inside his head.

"Cerys."

"I grew worried when you did not return to the Kindred," the Spellsinger explained as she drew next to Silverbark. "I'm sorry to disturb your meditation. I will leave you as I see no ill has befallen you."

"No, it's all right," he said his eyes not leaving the sea. "Although I find this weather exhilarating, I was not now communing with the Earth Mother. I saw something. Stay here with me. Perhaps you will see it as well."

Cerys Sunhair looked at him curiously. Her fine hair, as red as autumn leaves, was plastered to her head by the downpour, her shimmering green robe clung to her slight frame and she shivered slightly with cold. "What is it you have seen?"

"I'm ... not sure," he responded after a slight pause.

Cerys regarded him, unsure what to say next. Although the Spellsinger sounded uncertain, he also gave the impression that he in fact knew full well what had attracted his attention.

"Just keep looking out to sea in the direction of the rocky islands we can see during daylight," Findor advised.

They both remained in silent expectation for a while, their eyes trying to penetrate the lashing rain and darkness. Suddenly, a flash of orange light rent the black distance.

"There!" exclaimed Findor as the flare of colour bloomed upwards briefly before vanishing. "Although, it seems nearer than the first time I saw it," he mused.

"That would indicate that whatever it is, seems to be coming towards us, Findor," said Cerys, wariness now in her tone.

"So it would seem ... and the orange light is, in truth, fire! Look!" Silverbark uttered these words as another orange plume slashed the night, the sudden nearness indeed confirming that the light in the sky was a column of flame. Scant seconds later, a huge dark form propelled by mighty slow flapping wings detached itself from the blackness of the night. The speed of the wings was deceptive and belied the amazing velocity with which the form travelled.

"Quickly!" Findor yanked Cerys by the arm, as air, even stronger than the wind, roared past their bodies and a shadow passed over them skimming the treetops, snapping the tallest branches into twigs.

Findor was running with all his might, Cerys trying to keep up, whilst at the same time being partly dragged along by her fellow Spellsinger. He wove a path through the thickest part of the pinewood, his sharp Elven eyes desperately searching for a place of concealment. He glanced upwards, knowing the look would lose them precious seconds of flight, to see the creature exhaling another fiery breath high above them upon the apogee of a turn. Without waiting to see the completion of the aerial manoeuvre, Findor cut through the undergrowth towards an outcrop of rock that loomed out of the night. It leant at such an angle as to allow the Wood Elves to frantically scramble beneath it, gaining shelter from above. No sooner had they pressed themselves into the confines of their hiding place, than flames lapped at the edges of the stone, the intensity of heat so incredible they could feel a warmth even through the rock at their backs.

"It knows we're here, Findor. It knows we're here!" It was the first time Findor Silverbark had seen any trace of fear in the eyes of Cerys Sunhair.

 

In the pale light of morning, the two Spellsingers tentatively ventured from their hiding place. Twice more during the night, the flames had lapped about the rock until eventually, they saw the glow of flames diminishing into the distance out at sea.

"I believe it came from the islands," Findor Silverbark reasoned before the assembled Grey Elves.

"But it cannot be. So far from Ulthuan?" There was incredulity in Celdris Shadowleaf's voice. "A dragon?"

"There is no other explanation." Said Cerys Sunhair.

"Then there is also a rider," growled Findrith Thornbranch.

All eyes turned to regard the Alter Noble.

"There cannot be one without the other." And the Lost Kindred knew he spoke the truth.

As late afternoon drew into early evening, a party of Glade Riders rode into the Wood Elf camp at such speed the Kindred instinctively began readying their weapons, even before the news the messengers carried was relayed to the Assembly of Elders. A short time later, Findrith Thornbranch strode from the council tent, great weapon slung upon his back and a look of thunder on his face.

"Ready the Kindred!" he growled.

 

Fearing that the return of the dragon would also mean the discovery of their camp, the Glade Rider scouts had been sent to patrol the shoreline whilst the Lost Kindred prepared for their departure. It was all too late now, for before the Lost Kindred, the Sea Elf Army emerged from out of the waves. Although recognisable as Elfkind, there were many differences that marked them out as being something else. Ranks of spearmen and warriors bearing tall ceremonial halberds marched up the beach; units of archers and a bolt thrower were assembling upon the Sea Elfs' left flank; Knights astride beautiful Sea-Horses advanced to the right, the sea weed strewn rocks appearing to be no obstruction to the strange steeds; majestic Sea Eagles were even now swooping in low across the waves. The Sea Elf Lord sat unmoving upon an intricate saddle worked with delicate silver wire, harnessed between the shoulder blades of a terrible Mer-Dragon. The ages-old beast grasped the top of a sea-stack that rose from the water, the waves far below the creature's perch breaking in white cascades against the jagged rocks.

"I believe this Elf's arrogance beats even yours, Findrith Thornbranch," said Cerys Sunhair.

"Prepare to die, traitors to Ulthuan; for the penalty of betrayal is death," the Sea Elf Lord proclaimed again.

High upon his vantage point, the Sea Elf Lord appeared haughty and detached as he surveyed all those far below. The words of the dragon rider burned into Thornbranch's mind, all speech being banished momentarily by a rising fury.

"As is having too much to say and you, My Lord, have said far too much," he finally growled back.

The Wood Elves had assembled their army a little way inland from the beach, the pinewood to their backs thus allowing a route of escape.

"Although Lord Barku is much improved in both body and spirit, I fear conflict may undo the benefit of our stay by the sea," Cerys Sunhair announced her concerns to the assembled Grey Elf Elders. "We must do all we can to protect the Venerable One from further harm before he is fully healed."

"Then our course of action is plain," said Findrith Thornbranch. "I will lead a force to distract the Dragon Lord and thus allow Lord Barku and a bodyguard to withdraw through the pinewood in safety. I suggest you and the Spellsingers accompany him, Cerys Sunhair."

"Agreed, Findrith," replied the Spellsinger. "Although, I believe my skills may be required to support you upon the field of battle. Findor Silverbark should therefore guide the Ancient One and I shall follow as soon as the battle allows," she continued.

The Sea Elves were now assembled in their battle order opposite the Lost Kindred lines. Findrith Thornbranch looked to his army's left flank; groups of Lord Barku's Dryad Handmaidens moved easily through the coastal scrub of gorse, broom and coarse grasses; Glade Riders dashed to outflank the Sea Elf Knights; a young Alter Noble, Gedril Willowstaff, stood at his side awaiting his commander's orders.

"At the first volley from our Glade Guard, we will move off to support the Glade Riders and Dryads ahead," Thornbranch told Gedril. "Let us pray to Isha the Sea Elf Lord pays close scrutiny to our assault upon this side of the field!"

As he spoke these words, the first arrows darkened the sky, arcing across the field towards the mass of Sea Elf Spearmen. Their reaction was swift and a wall of shields was immediately presented to protect them from the fast descending shafts. A mighty clang of metal striking metal resounded across to where the two Alter Nobles looked on. The Sea Elves' defence was impressive, for only a few of their number had fallen to the missiles.

Quair-eriel, the noble Great Eagle, suddenly swooped upon the Sea Elf Bolt Thrower from where he had been circling high over the pinewood, his cruel talons angled forward in attack. Even though the mighty bird had gained the advantage through a surprise attack, the Sea Elf war machine crew responded with such speed, they had thrust their weapons at the bird before he had contacted them. Quair-eriel twisted his tale, the automatic reaction saving the Eagle from the sweeping Sea Elf swords, as in one continuous movement, his claws closed around the neck of one crewman, tearing out his throat. The Great Eagle banked steeply, swinging around for a second pass. Again the Sea Elf's speed was amazing, the sword thrust taking off a few outer wing feathers as Quair-eriel hit the hapless Sea Elf full in the chest, the iron like claws sinking deep into the Sea Elf's broken body.

Watching this action unfold, Findrith Thornbranch was impressed with the speed and martial skill of these Sea Elves. His attention was then drawn towards a troupe of Wood Elf Wardancers, who seemed to be charging towards a clump of thick bushes in the centre of the field. As he looked on, the greater part of their number fell sprawling to the ground. Thornbranch suddenly realised the followers of Loec had fallen to arrow fire from within the thicket. As he continued to watch, Sea Elf skirmishers leapt out of the foliage engaging the Wardancers in a furious hand-to-hand fight. Again, the Sea Elves' speed rivalled even that of the Wardancers, whose diminished troupe was quickly overpowered. Even as he continued to watch, yet more Wardancers appeared running and leaping to avenge their brothers. This time the Sea Elves were not so fortunate, as their thrusts and cuts were easily avoided by their new assailants who, in a graceful dance of death, proceeded to kill every single Sea Elf.

High upon his sea stack vantage point, the Sea Elf Lord gazed upon the scenes of battle with cold, impassive eyes. It was time to unleash the awesome terror of the Mer-Dragon. His thoughts became the dragon's as, in one easy action, the creature pushed away from the rocky perch to glide towards the Sea Elf right flank from where numerous of the Wood Elf Forest Spirits could be seen approaching the Sea Elf Knights. With an effortless glide, the distance was covered in mere moments, the fury of the dragon unleashed upon the Dryads before they had time to react; every one of the party of skirmishers being rent and torn and broken so that not one was to rise again. All around the winged behemoth, more Dryads rushed to avenged their dead sisters.

As Findrith Thornbranch and Gedril Willowstaff broke through the cover of a hawthorn thicket, they too came upon the sight of the Mer-Dragon and its dispassionate rider dispatching Lord Barku's Handmaidens with ease.

"Quickly! They need aid," Willowstaff shouted above the noise of battle, seeing at once the Forest Spirits falling to the enemy.

"No, Gedril. It would mean our certain and needless deaths," Thornbranch yelled back the warning. "We cannot hope to overcome a creature of such awesome power as this. Our battle skills would be better deployed elsewhere. Gedril!!" Findrith now screamed the name, for after one brief incredulous look, the young Alter Noble had turned and charged into the carnage that raged all about the dragon. Findrith Thornbranch saw Gedril vault from the trunk of a fallen tree which lay half buried in the sandy soil; saw how the Alter Noble flew through the air, his great weapon poised, ready to strike; but then could not watch as the Mer-Dragon turned its head as if it knew of the approaching threat and closed its huge slavering jaws around the Wood Elf, catching the Noble in mid-air and tearing the body in half.

"No." Thornbranch growled. "May Isha keep you now, my brother."

 

Findrith was suddenly aware that the Sea Elf Knights were charging close by into more of the Handmaidens of The Venerable One. "You have come from the sea but, by Isha, you will not be returning this day," his voice rumbled, the battle fury rising within his soul. He hammered into the flank of the unit at full speed, the mighty sword a blur of whirling silver light. The Sea Elves again responded with such speed, Thornbranch found himself parrying their blows before he broke through the Sea Elf Knights defences, taking the first two from their steeds with a sweeping cut across their middles. The Dryads fought with renewed vigour, pulling riders from steeds to shred the soft yielding flesh with their thorny fingers, the air around them soon becoming a haze of red mist. Not one Knight was left to return to the sea. A second unit of Sea-Horse mounted Knights approaching the fight now began to slow their speed upon seeing the fate of their comrades.

"I am ready." Findrith Thornbranch growled, his bloody great weapon levelled, but the Knights were already wheeling their steeds and retracing their path towards the waves.

Looking across the field, Thornbranch could see the Mer-Dragon, the easy strokes of its gigantic wings now propelling the beast at enormous speed towards the massed ranks of Glade Guard. As he watched, with horror he saw the dragon suddenly exhale a column of flame towards the nearest group of archers. He could hear the anguished screams, even at the distance he was from them, and realised sickeningly that there was nothing any of the Lost Kindred could do against such a beast as this. The dragon flew onwards, now swooping in low with its huge talons outstretched, as the creature smashed into more of the archers, scattering broken bodies into the air as it ploughed through them.

"The time has come to leave this field," Thornbranch thought to himself, almost willing the decision through the ether towards the embattled Glade Guard units. Uncannily, the archers began to pull back, and, although now being hard pressed by the Sea Elf warriors armed with the long halberds, were managing to reach the edge of the pinewood and make their escape. As Findrith began to follow, he took one last glance at the Mer-Dragon, which was now pursuing a small party of Glade Riders far in the distance. He knew what they attempted, and so turned to make use of the precious time their diversion allowed, melting into the shadows of the pine trees and disappearing from sight.

Upon the evening of the following day, Cerys Sunhair sat astride her forest pony staring towards the distant sea, silver waves glittering in the late sunlight. Further up the gentle slope behind her, amidst the birch and pine trees, the Lost Kindred had pitched their camp for the night. With great difficulty the Grey Elf Spellsingers had led Lord Barku away from the conflict with the Sea Elves; for The Ancient One was inextricably connected to the life-force of his Forest Spirit retinue and had grown increasingly agitated as he sensed the slaughter of so many of his Handmaidens.

"The path is not too far now, Cerys." Findor Silverbark approached through the trees, his eyes too, drawn towards the horizon. "Soon we will rejoin the rest of the Kindred and perhaps live peacefully for a while."

She half turned her head, a faint smile crossing her mouth. "Perhaps," she echoed.

They watched the sun paint its evening picture across the sky, the far water reflecting the colour changes; gold to orange, then to red as though they looked not upon a sea of water but suddenly upon a sea of fire; and, as they looked, they swore a serpentine shape borne upon mighty outstretched wings momentarily paused in front of the sun before plunging into the shimmering flames.