There was a glimpse of two short figures carrying something gray-wrapped and bulky—Cortindo's body—and then the dwarves were out onto the roof, and Donal was cursing.Even as he redoubled his pace, sprinting up the last thirty or so steps, he could hear not just the wind from up above but also a deeper grumble, a near-subsonic vibration of total power. It was the pterabat, coming in to hover above the top of the great skull.Come on.Donal's breathing was harsh and wheezing now.Push it.There was no possibility of silent pursuit as he clattered up the final steps and half-stumbled to the landing, stopping inside the doorway. Outside, the flat expanse of the skull's top reached for two hundred yards before curving down and beginning the sheer descent. The suspects were nowhere in sight.Donal ran as hard as he could—his legs felt like molten rubber—out onto the wet, slippery surface that was the top of the great skull. Rain was heavy in the gusting wind, and Donal had to squint to see the two powerful figures dropping their burden and scattering to either side as Donal raised his Magnus.“Desist or I will fire!”
