*
Vulthian sheathed his sword and picked the dreamer up like a rag doll, slinging him over his shoulder. The silver claws were not diplomats, but even so Vulthian’s lack of tact was approaching intolerable levels. It was a matter he meant to take up when they returned to Fenngaard. The Prince had just started to look around for a way out when the roof of the cavern caved in. He looked up in shock as two large hands reached down into the cave, clasping Vulthian and the dreamer in one and the Prince in the other. As before, Balg-Miur’s grip was surprisingly gentle with its power. The Prince gasped as he was lifted at speed from the snowy dark of the cavern back up into the open air. A small mountain had appeared in the basin, the remnants of the giant snow-bear which undoubtedly fell following Vulthian’s execution of the three snow-elders.
What happened next seemed to go in slow motion for the Prince. A bruised but standing Balg-Miur was lowering them down towards the ground and he could see Kalwyn and Golgoleth circling overhead. Then he saw Cyra who landed just in front of the hole which the Prince had been pulled out of. His head pulled back and at first the Prince did not realise what was about to happen. As the dragons head came down the realisation came with it, the Prince shouted in protest at the dragon but could not be heard and a jet of flames powered out of the maw of the dragon down into the hole.
The burst was sustained and heavy as flames poured down into the cave where the Snowmen had wailed. When he finally stopped and lifted his head again there were no more wails, just the hissing of clouds of steam wafting up from the cavern.