The descent of the war-wyvern through the southern train portal of Grand Central End-post sounded like a roof collapsing under a snow avalanche.
A blast of freezing mountain wind and foul, reptilian stench swept down Platform Road Three.
With an ear-splitting screech of claw against stone, the forty-foot beast touched down on the polished granite flat stone slabs. Its massive iron-shod talons skidded across the stone flags, carving white scratches into the sharpened stonework before catching traction.
Its sixty-foot wings folded against its armored ribs with a harsh clatter of brass-studded leather.
The beast snorted, releasing two plumes of acrid, rotten-egg vapor from its slotted nostrils. A wet, sickening thud echoed across the hall as the monster’s bowels voided half a ton of steaming, purplish dung directly across the steel rails of Track Three.
Clinging to the high handle knob of the dragon-saddle, Grand Inquisitor Malric Ostrander swung his long legs over the cantle. Then he dropped to the granite platform.
His silver chainmail jingled beneath his voluminous scarlet silk robes. In his right hand, he swung a massive, ball-shaped iron aspergillum that belched clouds of blue, choking incense.
Behind him, two nervous young acolytes in black cassocks scrambled down from the pillion saddles. He grabbed iron-bound books of excommunication.
