Black Dawn - Chapter 19: The Arrival

With Meineken left in Tusokan, Turim’s allies set down at Grendelock Keep to reunite with friends, and Grandmaster Strongthorn hears everything. Meanwhile, Steelbone’s raiders prepare to attack.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

[Alone] by Emmit Fenn, [Corona] by Alexander Nakarada, [Twilight Inception] by X, [Warm Light] by David Fesliyan, [Birth of a Hero] by Bensound, [Unfolding Revelation] by David Feliyan, [Leaving for Valhalla] by Alexander Nakarada, [Echo of Visions] by X, [Determination] by Storyblocks, [Happy Place] by Alexander Nakarada, [Nance] by X, [Shadows] by Storyblocks, [Broken Village] by David Fesliyan, [The Big Bang] by Alexander Nakarada, [The Great Battle] by Alexander Nakarada, [Break Through] by Storyblocks, [Orchestral Emotion] by X, [Sorrow] by Alexander Nakarada, [Borgar] by Alexander Nakarada, [Dark Shadows] by David Fesliyan, [Poisonous] by David Fesliyan 

Unfurling Paper.m4a by ForgetfulGardener, tdistant horns by DANMITCH3LL, war horn.wav by adharca, Distant War Horn.wav by bigmanjoe, Audioblocks Sound [See Previous Episodes for All Other Effects]

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth, Bartlett, and Darf Bloodshedder

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Breed, and Gulanis

Liam Taylor [Voice Actor] - Voices Grandmaster Strongthorn

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar and Aurthil

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

The Worlds Okayest DM [Voice Actor] - Voices Pond Grimslug

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot, Kithria Wraithchasm, and Ryuki Purplefist

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Voices Aldor Steelaxe and Dark Elves

Chris Bellinger [Voice Actor] – Voices Gundak, Percin and Dwarf extras

Alexander Doddy [Voice Actor] – Voices Rail Markrune

Callum Garner [Voice Actor] – Voices Gewurmarch Rottbone

Dio Kerr [Voice Actor] – Voices Dustorn and Hiryoto Dragonfright

Trent Michael Trachtenberg [Voice Actor] – Voices Evildrath Steelbone

Transcript

Chapter 19 – The Arrival

Turim saw the sudden pain on Meineken’s face and was reminded of his companion’s burials upon Ys.

With both hands still on Meineken’s shoulders, Master Purplefist’s sad face changed, showing a hint of a relieved smile. “You don’t know how good it is to see you safe, Master Shadowstar,” She then turned skeptical eyes to Turim and scanned over The Cloudracer.”

 “What happened? You found dark elves as well?” asked Meineken, still solemn.

Ryuki nodded, lowering her hands and meeting his eyes. “Perhaps we should summon Master Dragonfright and retreat to comfort.” Her voice was quiet and etched with concern. She glanced at Turim over Meineken’s shoulder again. “But first—where are the ninja who accompanied you?”

“It was a trap, just as Master Dragonfright warned us it would be. The rest have fallen to dark elf poisons and blades.”

Turim thought he looked ashamed.

“Each had honorable death. They defended me with their dying strength. We have much to mourn.” He paused, and his tone shifted. “But there’s a more pressing matter I’ve brought. It concerns us all.”

“Of course,” nodded Ryuki.

“My apologies.” Meineken turned to meet eyes with Turim. “Master Purplefist, this is Wing Commander Gliderlance.”

She gave a short bow, placing her fist into her palm. “Pleased to meet an ally of Master Shadowstar.”

Meineken gave a last nod to Turim, then turned to leave with Ryuki.

“Wait. Master Shadowstar, will you be alright?” asked Turim, concerned not only for Meineken’s loss, but for the Black Talon’s. The lack of their Elder Master would put the clan’s leadership into question. Likely what the thalui were counting on, he thought.

“Thank you, Turim,” said Meineken with another bow. “I will. Don’t worry for us, as you’re apt to do. The clan will handle its business. You just hurry home.”

With his own short nod, Turim finally turned towards the airship and made for the rope ladder. The others waved down their good-byes as he climbed.

As Turim looked back over the port side, he watched Meineken and Ryuki move towards the dojo, and the other ninja fall in around them. “Be safe,” he said.

He swallowed, feeling for and honoring another casualty in an ever-growing list of those to come. He’d not thought about Warran for days, but his loss came back to him now.

With that, he set his jaw and turned to the others. “The time has come,” he proclaimed. “Sinfa, let us depart, and with haste. We’re not free of time’s ever-waning course.” He sighed, taking one last look at the slowly setting sun, and breathed in the sea-soaked air. “Even in this place.”

The flight to Grendelock Keep from Tusokan was decidedly anxious. Droning, the sound of The Cloudracer’s rotors filled their ears again. The air grew colder as evening approached, and no one stood at the rail anymore—the wind there stung faces and hands. The blue line of ocean lay in the mist of distance behind them, blending into the land.

Turim was quiet. He stood some distance back, behind Sinfa, introspective, watchful. He didn’t say anything about the Elder Master to the others, but he could tell they were looking at him. He had many things to think and plan for—so that wasn’t unusual. Plenty of death was coming, and his own guilt stirred again for having brought all of these civilians here to the very center of the battle.

“What’s that blue ribbon of water down there?” asked Sinfa, stirring him.

 “That’s the River Itinerus,” said Turim. He took a calming breath and came up beside her. “It flows from the north behind Grendelock Keep and through the Lockwood Forest where my mother is from, all the way back to the Bay of Ixidor.”

Sinfa glanced over at him.

“Just keep following it, m’lady. We’re moments out.”

Before them, the line of land seemed to rise, jutting above the grasses of the plains. There they saw the Golden Ridge.

As Turim expected, when The Cloudracer approached the outer ring of the Knights of the Hawk’s skywatch, it wasn’t long before it came under scrutiny. He recognized the Wing, though it was only four dragons in Ferrier formation.

“Where’s Sand?” Turim muttered to himself. Fear gripped him as he rushed to the forecastle, waving.

If it wasn’t for Breed’s keen eyes, his own Wing probably would’ve attacked something so strange. But they didn’t, and in moments, Turim made a guess as to why they were out watching.

The dragons came along the port side of the airship, keeping a wing’s distance.

“Has Lieutenant Rocketblade returned!?” shouted Turim to his Wingmates.

Sir Breed Houndcryer gave an affirmative signal with his raised fist. “Yes, Commander! We were instructed to watch for your return on this—vessel. Lieutenant Rocketblade told everyone you’d disappeared from leave. Going AWOL on us, Commander?” he joked.

Several of the other companions came up beside Turim, their faces awestruck at the sight of the silver, bronze, and brass dragons, ridden by lance wielding Knights of the Hawk. The dragons’ scales glistened in the afternoon sun, their magnificent wings outstretched.

“I’ve lived maybe a hundred leagues southeast of here,” Turim heard Lala behind him. “I see them all the time in the sky. But never so close.”

Darf spoke, his tone unusually reverent. “They have such… strength. Such Power. I’ve fought some creatures in my days, but these dragons are… mighty!”

“That’s some truth,” agreed Aldor.

 “I can assure you, Sir Houndcryer,” returned Turim with a smile, “it wasn’t my intention to arrive late! Nor was it my intention to miss my ride! But I have a lot to explain to Grandmaster Strongthorn so I suggest you take us back quickly!”

Breed glanced over to Bartlett and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir!”

Bartlett saluted and shouted as they flew ahead. “Good to see you back, Commander!”

Waving his arm, Breed and the Wing drove their dragons onward towards the ridge. At the back, Turim noticed Artho and another rider he didn’t recognize. Warran’s replacement.

Lala actually laughed, looking up at Turim. When Turim looked back, everyone’s anxious eyes were on him. Now that he was this close to the keep, his confidence grew. He glanced east. No dragons. “We’re here,” he said with a smile.

Grendelock Keep drew into view before the sunset, and an awestruck bunch of traveling companions observed it with smiles and open mouths. The keep stood like a pinnacle of stone, blazing against the dusk sky. It was a bastion against the east and protector of the west.

Along the inside of the keep’s walls was a second line of inner walls, set back from the outer defense by twenty feet. It was sufficient space for soldiers to walk between them, but not wide enough for large monsters to fit through. At the tops of these inner ramparts were holes about ten feet apart.

 “What are those for?” Sinfa asked as they flew over.

Turim only answered, “There’s a reason our dragons know to fly high and land as centrally as possible inside Grendelock. I’ve never seen them used before, but I’m afraid we’ll see them soon enough.”

Tartara flitted to his side. “Well, that’s mysterious.”

As Turim’s Wing touched down on their own landing field, another turf was cleared for the airship. They waited, hovering above the keep, as bodies scuttled from one field to another. Finally, after some time, the field was prepared.

Turim saw the flag wave for them to land. “That’s our signal,” he said to Sinfa at the helm. “Set The Cloudracer down in the field where that stable boy waves his green flag for us.”

“Sir, yes sir,” said Sinfa smiling wryly. Then her voice was more serious. “You know, it’s good to see you in better spirits. You seem to belong in this place—with all your noble gestures and commands.”

Turim shook his head but cracked a smile. He couldn’t help but feel relief that they were back. But now the urgency would have to return. There was a lot to do. Readying the number of dragons they needed would take time they didn’t have.

The airship touched down slowly as several knights gathered around the landing field. They’d either heard Turim was returning, or saw the bizarre sight of The Cloudracer above the keep and came to have a look.

Turim looked out to see his Wingmates join Sand. Thank The God he’s okay,” he thought, relieved. Curiously, behind his friend stood several elves, men and women, all dressed in a fashion similar to Strevan, Jaffrine, and Tartara.

Turim strode towards their port side as Aldor’s arms heaved up the wound pile of rungs and rope and lofted it over the edge, sending it clacking against the wooden hull.

Tartara fluttered to Jaffrine and Strevan. “Piss!” she said. “You won’t believe who’s down there.”

Turim was first down, and one by one his companions gathered with him beneath the shadow of The Cloudracer.

“Welcome back, Commander!” said Sand as he and the others saluted their leader. “It’s so good to see you safe. For someone so rigid the roosters rise with you, you’ve no idea how much trouble you are to track down.”

Turim smiled and he and Sand clasped each other’s arms. It was good to see him again.

Sand leaned in. “As you can see, I ran into someone on Ys who wants to retrieve his rangers from you.”

Turim peered over his shoulder to Jaffrine and Strevan, who’d just finished climbing down the ladder. Their faces displayed obvious surprise. Jaffrine seemed like she was already trying to hide the feeble state she was in.

 “I certainly didn’t expect this,” grumbled Strevan.

Turim looked at this new bunch of rangers again and picked out a red-haired man he guessed was Rail. His face held an expression that said he wanted to scold them. But in a moment, he cracked a smile and seemed to be happy to see his rangers safe.

Jaffrine and Strevan stepped to Turim’s side facing Rail and Sand. The breeze was brisk. Evening settled over the keep. They all stood silent for a moment before Turim spoke.

“There’s lots to tell and little time for tale,” he said at last. “The Dragon Army is coming. They’re coming for Genova and they’re coming for Daltaria, whether we’re prepared for it or not. I must see Grandmaster Strongthorn at once!”

* * * * *

“Sir, Commander Gliderlance has returned from Ys,” said Grandmaster Strongthorn’s first advisor, Percin Storeward. “He states he must see you at once.”

The Grandmaster’s two advisors were assigned to him by the Council in the capital of Daltaria, and their first priority was always to keep Grandmaster Strongthorn informed of the desires of the Council of Races. In this duty, they were thorough and expedient.

Percin, a slender man, stood draped in an ocean of blue robes. He was shrewdly intelligent and completely loyal to the country of Genova. Dustorn Greyangle, the Grandmaster’s other advisor was also adorned in the blue robes, but as he’d spent time as a knight in the past, he also wore the Knights of the Hawk’s pauldrons and shining bracers on his forearms and wrists.

Percin and Dustorn stood to either side of the doors to the Grandmaster’s office.

The Grandmaster entered the open hall outside of his office to see Turim approach, escorted by guards. A wash of relief and happiness came over him, but he kept his features stone. When he’d heard Sand had returned without him, he’d been sick with worry. No one who witnessed could understand how much he cared for Turim. He still had times when he felt guilty for coaxing Rorin into joining the knights. But this—this promise he’d made to Thalissa—his promise was what mattered to him. He’d always honor his friend Rorin because of it.

“Commander Gliderlance,” he managed to get out, “it’s good to see you’ve returned. We were all quite concerned for your extended absence.”

Turim halted and gave him a sturdy salute. Still, the Grandmaster could tell the boy was glad to be back.

“Grandmaster, sir!” said Turim. “There’s much to tell, and little time. I suggest you send word around the keep immediately. Tell them to prepare for war. It’s coming now, even as we speak.”

Wasting little time for judgment—he had a good deal of trust in Turim’s own—Grandmaster Strongthorn ordered the two guards at Turim’s side. “Alert each Company Commander. Tell them to prepare for the defense of Grendelock Keep now.”

Immediately, the sentries turned and marched to end of the polished, stone-floored hallway, passing across warm pools of light cast by the torches set in the walls. The doors swung open. There was a draft of chill, and they were gone.

“Sir,” said Dustorn. “That was—”

“Come inside then, quickly Turim,” said Grandmaster Strongthorn. If it turned out there was some reason Turim was wrong—and like his father, he rarely was—then he’d call it a drill.

As Grandmaster Strongthorn retreated back into the confines of his office, he saw Percin and Dustorn shoot each other a brief glance. It was obvious they questioned his snap decision, but they remained silent nonetheless. He’d soon find out how rash he might’ve been.

Turim followed closely behind, Percin and Dustorn at his heels.

In Grandmaster Strongthorn’s office, chairs yelped across the marble as the four sat around a wide table. A map of Genova and its surrounding countryside was on it, its markings dark and written in thick, lustrous characters.

“I’ve always thought this map was a beautiful sight,” said Turim, staring down. “But right now, all I can see is it being overrun by what’s coming.”

“All right Turim,” spoke the Grandmaster, trying to ease the boy’s brooding. “Speak with all candidness. What did you discover on Ys?”

The room was completely silent, each stir of its occupants the only sound.

Turim cleared his throat. “The Black Division is stationed close. Perhaps even on Ys itself. I wish I had proof of that, but I saw several squads of Dark Knight cavalry in its woods. That should be sufficient cause for alarm, I think. An while I was there, a companion and I were pursued from Dwellinghearth, harried until our very departure—even beyond.

“In addition, we discovered an alliance between what we judge to be a large force of dark elves the Dragon Army has been using as scouts here in Genova. We suspect that with how long they’ve been here, they already know—and with great precision, mind you—what our defenses are. Walls. Entrances. Measurements. Numbers. I believe the Black Division has plans to eradicate us.”

Turim stood and began to point out locations on the map. When Grandmaster Strongthorn looked over to his advisors, they seemed to have grown an interest—and perhaps, a bit of shock. They leaned forward, listening intently.

Turim pointed to the southern border of Genova. “Here in Tusokan, we believe there will be a landing of ships in the Bay of Ixidor—ships filled with Dark Knights. There’s been an assassination of one of the Black Talon ninja Clan Masters, who’ve been operating in Tusokan. I think they intended to leave that city defenseless so we might be taken from the south as well. Fortunately, we were able to keep my friend, Master Shadowstar, alive, and return him to his home in Tusokan. His ninja and the city guard may be able to hold off what forces come through for a short time, but you can be sure they’ll need reinforcements if we’re to stop the Dragon Army’s assault from that front.”

Grandmaster Strongthorn evaluated the dangers. There were plenty. If they sent the cavalry off, they’d have to rely on their valuable dragon Wings to halt any of the Black Divison’s ground troops—not to mention the dark elves, if they intended an attack on the keep.

 “Why?” asked Dustorn. “Why would the assassination of a ninja master—and mind you the existence of a ninja clan in Tusokan is news to me indeed—make any change in the Dragon Army’s plans?”

Grandmaster Strongthorn wondered the same, though he could make several feasible guesses.

“With the dark elves’ help, the Dragon Army will march against Daltaria, simultaneous to the attack from that east that’s supposed to keep us busy,” Turim explained. He continued, detailing the reasons for Tusokan as the landing port, and how he learned of the dark elves from Master Shadowstar.

“I have to request that we send reinforcements to Tusokan to strengthen them against the Dragon Army’s assault.”

 “The gracious God, Turim,” said Percin. “These statements are rather rash, wouldn’t you say? And you’ve no more proof than the cavalry on the island?”

“I agree with Percin,” said Dustorn, templing his hands with his elbows on the arms of his chair. “You must understand our hesitancy.”

Grandmaster Strongthorn made no words. He looked towards Turim, trying to trust.

“I know,” said Turim, meeting his stare. “Surely it’s a whole lot to take in. But I wouldn’t have traveled across the sea to be chased through Ruma ‘Din, then been stolen and kept in cages by the dragonites, and all the while fought for my life against dark elves if I didn’t think this was the truth.”

The advisors sat silent, looking towards the Grandmaster, awaiting his decision.

Grandmaster Strongthorn ran his fingers through the snow beard. “I see there should be at least a company sent to Tusokan if it can be spared. But what comes to us here in Grendelock? Do you know that?”

Turim took a deep draw of air and let out a relieved breath. “As for further proof, according to the dwarves in Dunarg, the Black Division has already taken Karagard Keep on the eastern shores of Pebak’ Din. They’ve almost certainly set up an outpost there.”

Then Turim relayed a wild story of what had happened to him in the country of Pebak‘Din and told of refugees he’d delivered to Dunarg after the battle. “And so,” said Turim at last, “our enemy will be the entire Black Division of the Dragon Army. And if I use your theory, Grandmaster, no less than fifteen thousand in number—goblins, dragonites, possibly ogres. I also guess that all but those who ride dragons will come by sea, and march through Tusokan.”

Percin sat back in his seat with a start. “Fifteen thousand strong!” he exclaimed. “How can we possibly hope to defeat such a tremendous force? How did you even calculate such a number?”

“Always overestimate thy enemy,” said Grandmaster Strongthorn calmly. “I don’t think there have been enough folk drawn into the Dragon Army in the last handful of years to double our own forces, but we’ll prepare to be outnumbered. And yet, I hope for our sake that you’re grossly wrong, my boy.”

“So do I,” agreed Turim. “But they’ve been undetected for several years. They’ve had enough time to gather all they’ve needed for this moment. The dark elven raiders have been watching us; they likely have a good idea of our defensive strength. To overcome a force of ten thousand, how many more would you yourself gather before becoming impatient?”

“I see your point,” said Percin.

“We’ll notify Daltaria and the other surrounding cities of Genova then,” said Dustorn, speaking with certainty of what should be done. He sat forward in his seat, his robes falling into his lap. “Evacuation of the countryside is in order. Or at the least, we must do our best to warn all those in the path of the Dragon Army.”

“You and Percin get word to Daltaria as quickly as possible then,” commanded Grandmaster Strongthorn, “and to the homesteads and settlements on the Plains of Sirik. Split up. Each of you, take a squad of our fastest dragonriders and send messenger hawks to as many of our people as you can. Have them send word to the other cities and notify the Knights of the Saber at Lordaris Tower of our plight. Though I doubt they will be able to send aid fast enough, it won’t hurt us to make a plea. At the very least, they can mass their forces in Daltaria to hold it if we if break the assault. For that’s the Dragon Army’s final target any way you look at it.”

Grandmaster Strongthorn stood now, determination and fire in his chest. Candlelight graced the walls and tapestries of the room, and when he saw his shadow, he thought he looked like the warrior he once was. And though his age had crept onto him, he wouldn’t let it master him. Not before this last great battle.

With quick salutes, his advisors went, making their way into the hall and hastily shutting the doors behind them.

He looked on Turim with a smile, able to relax their formality finally. “I’ll have special word sent to your mother as well,” he said warmly. “We’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“Thank you. And to Sand’s father?”

“As you wish.”

Turim bit his cheek and let out another sigh. “There’s so much more to tell you. But there’s so much to ready for the assault, and I’ve yet to speak with Company Commander Wrengaze, and talk to my Wing.”

The Grandmaster chuckled at that.

“I’m not sure if we have hours or days,” Turim’s voice had grown grave, and he was brooding, deep in thought. “It’s been a handful of days since Karagard Keep was taken. We can hope they gather there a little while before making any move. They may have already started though.”

Grandmaster Strongthorn nodded. “That’s a great number of Wings, true. After they begin to make for us, they’ll probably stop at the Corleus River to rest before the remainder of the journey. But I doubt they’ll need long there either.”

 “I knew I could count on you to find something on that island,” sympathized Grandmaster Strongthorn. “I apologize you were sent there alone. I would’ve sent a unit to investigate, but I feared their detection. The island is tiny; any more than one was a danger.”

Turim seemed to be considering something. “Did you know of our peril?”

“No, my boy. I had suspicions, surely, but nothing like this—and not so soon. The waters about the Cornerian islands have been hazardous for anyone to travel. Few tidings have come to us from the area. Unfortunately though, we still don’t know the location of the Black Division’s fortress, and that’s what I’d hoped you’d find in going.”

Turim narrowed his eyes, then looked like he’d just been scolded.

That wasn’t what Grandmaster Strongthorn had meant. “Don’t worry,” he added. “You’ve brought us tidings. That’ll let us do all we can to defend our country. For that alone, you’ll be honored. Songs will probably be told of your journey, whether we live through this battle or not.” He stared into his thought again. He saw the battlefield that would soon be Genova, but kept on. “Once they begin their journey, we won’t have much time to watch for their approach. Now I wish we’d been able to finish that outpost at the eastern end of the plains.”

“We have to make due with the dragonrider patrols they tried so hard to disrupt,” said Turim. He seemed to be getting more clever by the minute. “Send our keenest-eyed elves east. They can watch for the coming of the dark swarm. Let them set themselves at the edge of the plains—they can give us a bit of warning at least. Ready every dragon. Keep the patrols running their normal courses.” He paused as if checking off a list. “We can’t prepare any more than that.”

The Grandmaster smiled, proud of how Turim had managed it all. It seemed like it was only yesterday that he’d delivered the fated letter to the Gliderlance farm. Turim had been about ten years old.

The loss of Rorin was a devastation to Turim and Thalissa, and to the farm itself. Even the sheep, dogs, cats, chickens, horses, and mules couldn’t help but feel compassion for Thalissa and Turim in their grief.

So they did their best to help out. Thanks to the animals, soon things on the farm moved forward. The wheat grew gold, the milk flowed, and the chickens laid eggs to fill more baskets than the Gliderlance family owned. They ended up all right in the end. Life went on. But the pain took a great toll on them both.

“You’ve grown wise, Turim,” said Grandmaster Strongthorn, coming out of his memories. “This keep owes you every bit of thanks it has. Indeed, many may owe you their lives.”

Turim didn’t reply. He stood to leave, but halted. “I forgot. We have several visitors. They’ve been my allies journeying home on the deck of the flying ship outside. I’d set them in high honor if it was in my ability to do so.”

The Grandmaster considered this, then nodded. “Yes. A flying ship? You do have tales to tell. In time, we’ll talk.”

Turim’s grim face moved on. “I’ll introduce you and tell you everything—if we’re granted our lives through this fight. Until then, take care. And may The God be with you in this, sir.”

Then Turim saluted.

“May The God be with you, Commander Gliderlance,” returned the Grandmaster proudly.

Turim departed, his boots sounding swiftly through the hall.

* * *

The rangers sat together in the mess hall. Until just a few moments before it had been crowded with many a hungry Knight of the Hawk. When a distant horn sounded the call to arms, that quickly changed. The knights clamored to life, bolting out of the mess hall, while Rail stayed behind to speak with the rangers. Rather, speak to the rangers.

He stood silent, staring at Jaffrine, Strevan, and Tartara, rubbing his gloved hands together behind his back. He tried to appear thoughtful, but in his eyes burned a fire of fury and—perhaps he could admit—fear.

At last, things quieted down. “What have you drawn us into?” he asked slowly, realizing his tone leaned toward fury. “Don’t you realize the danger we all face now?”

Tartara was the first to speak. “It’s a danger we can’t run from Rail. It’ll come to us right quick if we don’t stop it now.”

These three, and all the rangers, knew the danger he spoke of. It had been the subject of one of his most dire warnings. What he didn’t understand, was why they’d chosen to disobey?

“Our very presence with these Knights of the Hawk makes us a target for the Dragon Army,” he said. “Do you think we can hide in the forests of Ys forever without them coming for us now? And do you think a victory here will change anything?” He lingered on the last word.

Strevan looked like he was holding his breath. “We won’t return home before the attack comes,” he said to Rail, his voice filled with care.

Rail looked at Strevan. Even shy Strevan spoke against him? “You don’t seem to understand, my friend,” said Rail. “We can’t go home now. We’re trapped by the onslaught of dragonriders coming from the east. A wave of darkness from which this country may never awaken. A nightmare that tossing and turning can’t dispel, that screaming won’t make go away.”

“Then so be it,” said Tartara. “We shan’t run from the Dragon Army anymore. We’ll stand on a wall of defense or sail through the skies with these knights on their dragons. Either way, they stand against evil.”

“Jaffrine, even you?” Rail asked. “Tell me you spoke some wisdom into these two.”

Jaffrine eyed the other two. “As much as I understand our position,” she turned and said to him, “The Knights of the Hawk are all that lies before the domination of the Council of Races. If Genova falls, everything will change.” She looked down, her hand on her forehead. “We’ll be drug from our homes in the end, no matter what the outcome now. Events have been put in motion.”

Rail shook his head. He looked behind him to the rangers he’d brought with him. After all, the approaching battle was the reason they’d come along. He knew what was going to befall the keep, and came anyway. He’d also come for the love of these three though, who now stood in defiance against his words.

He cursed himself for thinking they’d be able to do anything but fight when they arrived.

“This is against my better judgment,” he hissed. “As I think I’ve stated quite clearly by now. But as the moments pass, I fear we have little alternative. We’ll stay and fight here, together. But I’ll talk with the three of you again when this is over. That is, if words can still pass from our lips.”

* * *

Far beneath the crisp, golden grasses and gentle breezes of the Plains of Sirik, lay the underground outpost of Steelbone’s Raiders.

Evildrath Steelbone stood alone, unmoving, unflinching, as he watched his tunnel raptor, Wormwood in the pen below. The stone overhang where Evildrath stood was lined with a crude railing made of rotting roots from ancient trees. They wound like snakes around the bowl in the earth before him, and behind him lay a long tunnel that bent to his left and led up to his own lodgings.

Evildrath leaned on the rail for a few moments before standing erect again. He folded his arms behind his back. The other raptors were penned and housed in a distant tunnel. He could hear them hissing and screeching, anxious at all the stirrings throughout the tunnel network.

Wormwood devoured the last of the carcass—Evildrath’s scout who’d brought the news from Tusokan. The last echoes of his screams still echoed off the cavernous walls. The kithkin ninja was back.

There was little that pleased Evildrath more than to watch his terrifying beast eat a living thing. But at that moment, nothing soothed the rippling anger that writhed inside him. He wasn’t sure that it was fear of what Gewurmarch Rottbone would do when they finally caught up with one another, or the simple fact that his mercenaries had failed to kill the Masters.

Still, he thought. We were able to eliminate the primary piece from the board. It would hopefully be enough to put them in disarray.

He’d handpicked his raiders for their skill and ruthlessness from those who left the cities far below the surface. Those that had left after the Malak ar Kil, the breaking of stone. Dithkanir had trained many of their assassins, and well. But if they’d failed, their adversaries were strong.

Evildrath heard Kithria walking down the tunnel that led from his abode. She was a powerful witch indeed, far superior to any who opposed her. She also had a sleek beauty about her. He trusted her more than any of his other followers.

“Lord Steelbone,” she said in their dark elven tongue. “Darkness has fallen on the surface. I have a few more things to put in order with the raiders. They’ll be ready soon. But are you?”

“Soon,” replied Evildrath. His voice resonated from his skull-faced helm. “You have my thanks. I trust you’re rested from your return journey?”

“Yes lord, rested and relaxed,” she smiled. “I had to wash the stink of stone griffon from my body though. Nevertheless, thank you for sending them. I didn’t want to miss the attack.”

“They were readied farther east for your return, regardless. Your raptor riders should be along shortly now too. But yes, that is the reason I sent them.” He paused, turning from the pen to face her. “We’ve some ill tidings though. The kithkin ninja master returned all the way to Tusokan, accompanied by a phek-ai.”

Kithria’s slender brows arched. “Resilient. I still cannot believe we failed to take him out on Ys.”

Evildrath waved his hand dismissively. The events were in the past. “Tell the others I’ll be there in a few moments. Wormwood and I are still holding counsel with one another.”

“Yes, my lord.” The witch’s steps softly retreated into the depths.

He leapt over the railing and dropped himself to the bloody pit below. Wormwood still gnawed on some thick cartilage as he fearlessly strode to him. The creature’s mind was simple. It thought about little except where its next meal came from and tearing things to pieces whenever he asked.

Evildrath wished for these simple thoughts. But right now he was far too busy crafting a plan of attack. Patting Wormwood on his plated neck, he leapt up to the saddle. No, there’s nothing left to do now, he thought. To redeem them from their mistakes, they’d have to make the attack immediately. The Dragon Army hadn’t planned for them to strike Tusokan—not formally, at any rate. But he would take his last chance at redemption. He had no choice.

This time, he was confident they’d tear through the Black Talon ninja and Tusokan’s pathetic city guard. They would slay women and children alike in the streets of the fishing village. “We will succeed, or die trying,” he said to himself decisively. “Or do so by the hand of the Dragon Army should we fail.”