The morning sun fought its way through the narrow windows of the council room, illuminating the dust motes that danced over the map of Mersylvan and the surrounding region. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of stale ink and the restless energy of commanders who had spent the night waiting for a battle that never came.

  I leaned over the table, my knuckles resting on the parchment. I leaned over the table, my hands braced against the worn oak surface. Around me stood the core of my growing kingdom: my wives, my advisors, and my military leaders.

  "The scouts found nothing," I started, breaking the silence. "The army that Baron Clark saw—five dragons, infantry, cavalry, wagons—is gone. I want your thoughts. Why would Duchess Miranda march to our border to pull back before the first bolt was even fired?"

  Around me, the voices of my advisors rose and fell in a tide of speculation.

  "The tracks don't lie, my Lord,” Monica said, pointing to the north road. "General Yvette and Garryn confirmed it. The trampled grass near the Tallwyn tower shows they were there in force. There are no tracks leading away from the fields. They must have retreated north."

  "But why?" I asked, looking around the room. "Why turn back after marching all that way?"

  General Logak was the first to speak, his brow furrowed as he traced the North Road with a weathered finger. "It smells like a feint, my Lord. She wants us to lower our guard, or perhaps she's drawing us out into a narrow pass where our superior dragon numbers won't matter."

  Gromlin crossed his arms, the links of his mail armor softly clinking against each other. "Perhaps they realized we weren't the easy target they expected. The Duchess must have sent scouts that saw your dragons. She decided a siege of Crossroads would be a meat grinder they couldn't win."

  The Countess gently tapped her fingers on the edge of the table. “Scouts, or more probably, spies from the surrounding villages. Miranda is wealthy, and it is not difficult to find people who willingly trade information for gold.”

  I glanced at the Countess. I had to keep reminding myself that Sizuna was my mother-in-law. The shrewd woman was definitely someone I wanted on my side rather than opposing me.

  “She must have turned tail when she found out about how many dragons we have.” It was the first time I could remember Marco speaking up in a strategy meeting. That was good– I needed the young baron to be a strong leader in Buckwood.

  Lady Agatha let out a sharp, cynical cackle. "Miranda isn't a coward, young man. She’s as proud as a peacock and twice as territorial. If she turned back, it’s because she has a scheme brewing that makes a direct assault look like child's play.”

  “Did she withdraw because she realized an attack would be useless, or did she withdraw because she wants us to follow her to a battlefield of her choosing?” Yvette mused as she stared at the map.

  “Perhaps it's a combination of the two,” Monica added.

  "Either way, her army is a threat as long as we don't know her intent," General Logak countered. "A retreating army is often just an army looking for a better angle of attack."

  Petal-Flower stepped forward, her copper colored eyes burning with an intensity that made the torches on the wall seem dim. "It is an insult! She brought her dogs to our door to bark at us. We should follow them and punish her! We should show Tallwyn what happens when you threaten King Roman."

  Countess Sizuna raised an elegant, bored eyebrow. "Such a delightfully bloody suggestion, Petal. But I suspect Roman is looking for a kingdom to rule, not a heap of smoking ash. An all-out war with Tallwyn serves no one but the Savonians."

  Yvette placed a hand on my arm. Her blue eyes were calm, but I could see the wheels of statecraft turning behind them. "She is right, my love. We cannot let the mystery fester, but we cannot burn the bridges we intend to cross. The Duchess has made her move—a confusing one, granted—but a move nonetheless. What is our response?"

  I stood up straight, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room. “I had planned to visit the Duchess with our dragons and invite her to a Dragon Truce. I had hoped she would see the logic of joining with me as Sizuna and Baron Rockhand had done.”

  My voice had a note of steel in it as I continued. “The plan is getting modified. We are bringing the entire army along. We’re going to march north, knock on her front door and ask her if she wants to talk or to fight.”

  No one offered an argument against my plan. They knew that Tallwyn was always going to be my next move. The Duchess showing up on our doorstep had only delayed the inevitable.

  "Prepare the supplies. I want the infantry, the cavalry, and the Companions ready to move. We march north this afternoon. We’ll take all ten dragons. If Miranda wants to see my strength, I’ll give her a front-row seat."

  ***

  The morning air was bitingly cold as we left the Crossroads border tower behind. The eight guards Commander Larkson had sent back to their post stood atop their battlements, waving as the shadow of ten dragons swept over them.

  They had reported the tower untouched—the Duchess hadn't even bothered to stop and burn it. I wondered if her army had even stepped foot on Mersylvanian soil before retreating.

  Graxion and the other dragons took turns flying ahead of our column. Two would take off, follow the road for a few miles, and then one would circle back from the east while the other circled back from the west, scanning for threats. The other dragons and their riders walked at the front of the column alongside the lead riders.

  An hour into the march, the Tallwyn border tower loomed on the horizon, perched like a fang on top of a rocky hill. Unlike our tower, this one was breathing. A thin trail of smoke drifted from the chimney, and the glint of sunlight off a helmet told us it was occupied.

  "Let’s take a look from above!" I said to Graxion and the mighty dragon leapt into the sky. Monica and Bakaan followed me.

  “A large force was gathered here,” Graxion said as we circled the tower.

  I could see where the grassy fields near the tower had been trampled by horses and wagons. The remains of numerous camp fires dotted the area. The only activity in the area was the lone soldier on the roof watching us warily as we circled above.

  “Let’s land. I’d like to have a word with the defenders.” Graxion and Bakaan banked around the tower as their wings spread wide to catch the air as a brake. We landed near the tower's entrance just as our lead outriders arrived. The scouts spread around the tower, keeping a watchful eye for any surprises.

  I stayed in the saddle, looking up at the narrow arrow-slits. "Graxion, give them a reason to be sensible."

  The red dragon drew in a massive breath, his chest puffing out with the effort. Instead of fire, he released a primordial roar that shook the very foundations of the tower. I could see the stones vibrating. The scout’s horses reared in fear from the sound, and one of the riders almost fell from his saddle as their mounts shied away from the dragon.

  "Defenders of Tallwyn!" Graxion’s voice rumbled over the tower, my voice amplified by the silence that followed the roar. "Surrender now and walk free, or stay inside and burn within the rubble of your tower!"

  “Show off,” Bakaan grumbled.

  The red dragon gave the black dragon a smug look. “Jealousy is a sign of immaturity.”

  I grinned. I didn’t know Graxion could roar like that. It was impressive.

  Minutes ticked by. The other dragons and the lead cavalry arrived at the tower. Finally, the heavy iron-shod door groaned open. Three figures stepped out into the light, blinking against the glare of the sun and the terrifying sight of ten dragons.

  One was a younger man, whose face was etched with exhaustion. He leaned heavily on a makeshift crutch, his left ankle wrapped in bandages. Behind him came two elderly soldiers, their mail shirts hanging loose on their thin frames. They looked less like a vanguard and more like a retirement home.

  With trembling hands, they laid their notched swords on the dirt and knelt.

  "Secure them," Captain Dagmar ordered. A squad of soldiers dismounted and moved in, binding their hands and quickly searching the tower. "It's clear, my Lord," she called out a moment later. "Just these three and some supplies."

  Monica and I dismounted and approached the prisoners. The younger one glared at us through a matted fringe of hair.

  "Where is the Duchess?" I asked, keeping my tone level. "Why did she turn her army around?"

  Tobin spat into the dust. "Go find out for yourself. We’ve nothing for you."

  "I have no interest in executing three men who can barely stand," I said, glancing at Monica. She understood the cue. Turning to Bakaan, she motioned for him to come closer.

  The black dragon stepped closer and lowered his massive head until his snout was inches from the face of one of the older soldiers. The dragon let out a low, vibrating hum, his hot breath ruffling the old man's white hair.

  "Bakaan hasn't had breakfast," Monica mused, her hand resting on her spear. "He finds older meat a bit stringy, but he’s not a picky eater."

  "Tell them!" The man shrieked, cowering away from the dragon’s glowing eyes. "Tell them about the goblins, Tobin! Maybe he can help her!"

  "Shut your mouth, Owen!" Tobin barked, wincing as he shifted his weight.

  I stepped forward, grabbing Tobin by the shoulders. The word 'goblins' had turned my blood to ice. "Help with what? Have the goblins attacked Tallwyn as well?"

  "Did they attack Avalon City?" Tobin countered, his voice cracking.

  "A massive force of goblins and armored trolls hit the fortress at Nander’s Pass," Monica answered for me. "They almost took the fortress before our dragons arrived and drove them back into the mountains."

  Tobin’s defiance flickered and died. He slumped in my grip. "Then you know about the armored trolls. I was stationed at Castle Dram, but I was left behind when the ankle snapped. We got word... a rider from the high pass. Haltrock Castle is under attack. goblins and armored trolls... more than they’ve seen in a hundred years. I volunteered to ride and warn the Duchess. I caught up to her army just after they reached the border."

  "Why did they leave you here?" Monica asked, her eyes narrowing.

  "Because I hadn't slept in three days," Tobin rasped. "I nearly fell off my horse five times just getting the news to her. The Duchess took the army and moved at a dead run. She left me and these two gray-beards to mind the tower because we couldn't keep the pace."

  I turned to Monica. "Where is Haltrock?"

  "It’s one of the oldest Avalonian strongholds," she explained, her expression grim. "It guards the high pass that leads directly into the Dwarven Kingdom of Uskvar. If Haltrock falls, the goblins will cut the trade route and have a clear road into the heart of Tallwyn."

  "Map! Now!" I shouted.

  As a soldier hurried forward with the parchment, Bard Kashko trotted up on a small, sturdy pony. I stared at him. "Kashko? Where the hell did you come from?"

  "I hoped you wouldn't mind if I tagged along with the supply wagons, King Roman," the elf said, adjusting the lute on his back. "History moves faster than my feet, and I’d hate to miss a verse."

  "Have you been to Haltrock?"

  "Of course," Kashko said, his playful tone vanishing. "A grim, dreary place carved right into the mountain shoulder. Safe enough to rest, but it feels like a tomb even when there aren't goblins at the gates."

  I squatted down and spread the map on the gravel path that connected the tower to the nearby road. Monica dropped to one knee as she pointed to a spot where the north road forked. “That is the town of Knocklong. The northeast fork leads to Dram.” Her finger traced the path to a city on the shores of a large lake.

  “The other fork is just the continuation of the North Road as it heads to Highfield and then Haltrock.” Her finger returned to Knocklong and then traced the road to Highfield. Another road ran diagonally from Highfield to Dram, forming a rough triangle that pointed eastwards.

  I straightened up. “How long will it take us to reach Knocklong?”

  Monica picked up the map and handed it back to the soldier. “At the speed our column is traveling–perhaps two days.”

  I glanced at Tobin. “I can’t risk our troops moving any faster. This may be an elaborate trap set by the Duchess.”

  Tobin shook his head. “No, sir. It’s the truth.”

  “Aye, m’lord, the Duchess was quite agitated that she had to turn back,” Owen added.

  “I’m sure she was,” Sizuna grinned from atop her blue dragon. “If the Duchess is occupied with these pesky goblins, Castle Dram will be sparsely defended. An easy fruit for you to pluck, King Rogan.”

  My face was stern as I turned to look at the Countess. I did not find an attacking goblin army amusing. “I’m not here to pluck any fruit. I am here to unify the kingdom. If the goblins take Haltrock and defeat Miranda, who knows what devastation they will cause to Tallwyn before we can stop them.”

  Yvette nodded approvingly. "A King protects his people. Even the ones who don't know they are his yet. Miranda will be desperate. If we save her lands, Miranda will see the benefit of aligning her interests with ours."

  Sizuna bowed her head. “Of course.” The countess was too shrewd to argue against the King and the Queen.

  "Release them," I ordered, gesturing to the prisoners. "Go back to your tower. Keep the fire lit."

  The three soldiers had shocked looks on their faces. “I am not here to destroy Tallwyn. I am here to save it.”

  I looked at my dragonriders as I mounted Graxion. "Change of plans. We aren't marching to Dram to fight the Duchess. We’re heading to Haltrock to fight goblins!"

  “Or maybe fight both,” the red dragon murmured.

  “Or maybe both,” I agreed.

  41

  Chapter Forty-One

  The night air in the hills was a cold, biting thing, but the heat from the campfires and the presence of almost four hundred soldiers made the darkness feel crowded. In addition to Penwyn’s 50 horsemen, Lady Agatha had insisted I take eighty of Crossroad’s soldiers with me. She and Commander Larkson were confident they could hold the city with the remaining defenders against any normal threats.

  We were camped in a shallow valley between the border tower and the fork at Knocklong, the gurgle of a nearby stream providing a soft rhythm to the evening.

  Kashko sat on a fallen log, his elven fingers dancing across the strings of his lute. The melody was low and soulful—a song about mountain pastures and pretty shepherd girls.

  Most of my dragonriders were gathered around the campfire. Monica stood to my left, her hand resting habitually on the hilt of her blade, her eyes scanning the treeline as if a goblin might jump out of a pine needle. To my right, Petal-Flower was a constant, warm pressure. She had claimed the spot closest to me, her reddish-brown eyes flicking toward Monica every so often in a silent competition of who could be the better shield.

  I felt like a prized stallion being guarded by two very territorial wolves.

  Across the fire, I watched Klara approach Liam. The rock mage was sitting on a stone, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames with that familiar, hollow look. He hadn't spoken since we left the tower.

  "Who is the big one?" Petal whispered, nodding toward Klara. "The one with the shoulders of a mountain-smith?"

  "That’s Klara," I said. "She’s a rock mage, like Liam. I’m hoping to find her a dragon of her own soon. She worked in a quarry before I recruited her."

  Petal gave Klara a slow, appreciative look, her warrior’s instinct sizing up the other woman. "I like her. She looks like she knows how to plant her feet. A woman like that would be useful in a fight."

  Klara didn't seem to notice our scrutiny. She stopped beside Liam, her hands on her hips. "You’re staring at that fire like it owes you money."

  Liam didn't look up. "It’s a fire. It does what it’s meant to do."

  "And a rock mage is meant to do more than turn into a gargoyle," Klara countered, her voice earthy and blunt. "The King says you’re bonded to a Brown. Dalk, right?”

  Liam’s jaw tightened. “Do I know you?”

  Klara stepped closer. She was facing him instead of the fire. “I am Klara.”

  Liam ignored her and continued staring into the fire.

  Klara frowned. “I am a rock mage. I used to work in a quarry until I heard the King was looking for mages.”

  For a moment, I thought Liam was going to keep ignoring her. Then he turned his gaze up to the brown haired woman. “Quarry work is hard.”

  She shrugged her powerful shoulders. “The pay was good.”

  Liam looked at her for a long moment. “My mother suggested I find work in a quarry or a mine. She didn’t like my profession.”

  Klara frowned and pursed her lips as she tried to think what his job might have been. “Mercenary?”

  “Wild boar hunter.”

  The former quarry worker grunted. “And you say my job was hard.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. My brother would–” Liam’s voice trailed off. He turned his eyes to the fire again.

  Klara watched the other rock mage’s face. She saw the pain just beneath the surface. “What happened to your brother?”

  "It’s a long story. Go away, Klara," Liam growled.

  "I’ve never been good at leaving things be," she said, sitting down on the dirt right next to him, completely unfazed by his hostility. "What is it like to bond with a dragon? What about riding him? Tell me, does he feel like the mountain when you ride him? Or does he feel like the landslide?"

  Liam finally turned his head, his eyes meeting hers. There was a spark of annoyance there—which was better than the emptiness. "He feels like both. And he’s a lot more patient than I am."

  "Good," Klara grinned, showing a row of strong, white teeth. "Take me to him. I want to meet a dragon who can put up with a man as stubborn as a granite shelf."

  Liam let out a long, weary sigh, but he stood up. "Fine. If only to stop your chattering. Dalk is resting by the wagons. Don’t blame me if he decides you look like a snack."

  "I’m too tough to digest," Klara laughed, following him into the shadows.

 

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