It could not quite reach him but the two of them became progressively more entangled.

The other two riders charged towards Tyrion. Their beasts bellowed deafeningly. Tyrion watched the two massive monsters close with him, following the play of muscles beneath their scaly skin, readying himself to face them. A few hundred strides behind came a company of druchii soldiers.

An arrow whizzed out of the background and took the left-hand rider through the visor of his helmet. It was an awesome shot with an improvised bow.

The rider slumped in his saddle but his beast kept coming. Tyrion sprang, getting his foot into the stirrup of the dead rider’s saddle. He was just outside the range of the Cold One’s snapping jaws. He drew Sunfang across its throat, sawing with the blade so that even the cauterising effect of the magic could not seal the wound on its jugular.

As he did so, the last monster snapped at him and he just managed to pull his arm clear. Its teeth snagged on the sleeve of his jerkin and pulled him from the saddle. He twisted as the sleeve tore, dropping to the ground, facing the creature. Desperately he parried the rider’s attack. Steel clashed against steel as the blades met. The beast bit at him again and he jumped backwards, away from its snapping jaws.

Its rider applied his spurs to its flank and brought the Cold One jogging forwards. Tyrion noticed how slow its stride seemed compared to the distance it covered. Another arrow flashed past overhead, but this one was not so accurate or so lucky. It buried itself in the rider’s chest but was partially stopped by his armour. It put him off his stroke and enabled Tyrion to concentrate on avoiding his mount. He tried to hamstring the reptile but was too slow and merely scraped at its taloned heel. The Cold One buffeted him with its tail, sending him staggering backwards off balance. The strike hit him on his wounded side, and the pain was all but overwhelming. Sensing its advantage, the beast rushed closer, its jaws open wide, its foetid breath emerging in a poisoned cloud. Tyrion knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could barely move, so stunned was he.

Sunfang seemed to twist in his hand of its own accord until it was pointing directly at the onrushing Cold One.

Something sparked inside Tyrion’s mind. A connection was made with the blade. The flames blazing along its length intensified for a heartbeat, turning bright red and racing towards the blade’s tip, forming themselves into a sphere of fire. After a heartbeat, a fireball erupted from the sword, arced towards the Cold One and impacted in a huge explosion that sent the creature tumbling through the air to land in a fire-blackened heap.

Tyrion picked himself up groggily and stumbled over to Alarielle’s perch. She dropped lithely to the ground and raced over to him. ‘How did you do that? I thought you said you were no mage…’

‘It was not me, it was the sword,’ he said. ‘Some sort of spell was woven into it.’

The flames along the blade had died down now. They did not blaze with quite their normal intensity.