Katrin had known this moment was coming, and she’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t get angry. Instead she felt fear.

“There’s no other way?” she asked quietly. Corec had pulled her aside after he’d returned from touring the refugee shelters with Treya and Ellerie. They were late getting back. Apparently they’d been up to more than just looking at shelters.

“I was hoping there’d be help coming from Larso or Matagor, but there’s nothing. Maybe we could talk to Yelena or Varsin Senshall, and ask them to convince Duke Voss to convince the king, but by the time help arrives from Tyrsall, more people will die. And if there are hatchlings … it might be too late to stop them. Besides, unless Yelena and her bondmates come here themselves, I doubt Tyrsall’s forces are prepared to fight a dragon. We’re already here, and we can help.”

Katrin nodded. “When do we leave?”

“Not you.” Corec’s tone was firm.

“What?”

“Katrin, think about it. What can you do against a dragon? Bardic magic doesn’t work on animals, does it?”

“No, but—”

“And you promised that if it was too dangerous to come with us, you’d stay somewhere safe.”

“I said I’d consider it!” Katrin hissed.

“Then consider it now. What would you do if the dragon attacked?”

Katrin turned away. The worst thing was, he was right. She was worried about Corec and her friends, but she was also frightened for herself. She had no way to defend herself from anything like a dragon. She’d thought she’d come to terms with not always being able to help out, but this was a new low.

Corec gave her a moment, then spoke again. “I need someone to stay here in Four Roads. Leena can go back and forth, but if you’re here, you can keep up with news of any dragon sightings, and you can buy supplies if we need anything. Besides, someone has to watch over Harri and Ditte. If we leave them by themselves while the dragon’s still out there, I’m worried they’ll run again.”

Katrin nodded. The job was little more than a sop to her pride, but it was better than nothing. She wasn’t completely useless.

“Fine,” she said, “but you’ll need Shavala.” Of all of them, the elven woman was the most capable of dealing with large threats. “You said she’d find us here.”

“She’s on her way, I think. At least, she’s almost directly south of us. If we don’t see her soon, I’ll ask Leena to check on her.”

While they’d been speaking, Ellerie had been in a whispered conversation with Boktar. Treya had taken Harri and Ditte to Mama Wenna’s house.

The rest of the group gathered close by. Corec took Katrin by the hand and joined them.

“Ellerie, Treya, and I are going after the dragon,” he announced. “It’s getting closer to Four Roads, and even if it’s not likely to attack the town itself, that won’t matter if it takes over all the outlying areas. These folks can’t cope on their own, and Larso and Matagor have both refused to do anything. There are only a few knights in town, and that’s just not enough. We’re hiring mercenaries, but we’re going with them.”

No one looked surprised.

“You’ll need more than just the three of you,” Sarette said.

Corec nodded. “If anyone else wants to come, we’d welcome your help. Or you can stay here in Four Roads with Katrin. She’s going to make any arrangements that we need on this end, and watch over Harri and Ditte. Leena, I’m hoping you’ll stay here, but check in with us once each day to see if we have any messages or need any supplies.”

The Sanvari woman glanced at Ellerie, who gave her a weak smile and a nod.

“I will,” Leena said.

“How do we fight a dragon?” Boktar asked. “The last time one came to Stone Home, I was too young to pay any attention.”

“Siege weapons and magic,” Bobo said. When everyone looked his way, he shrugged. “According to the stories I’ve read.”

Corec said, “The Knights of Pallisur train to fight them without magic, but it’s dangerous. That’s why I want to help. I don’t think there are any wizards in Four Roads, or any other mages besides a few priests. We’re the only choice.”

“What sort of siege weapons?” Boktar said. “The figurines from Tir Yadar?”

“To start with, but mostly to use them as models to build new ones. The knights and I will train the armsmen on how to use them.”

“Who’s in charge? You or the knights?”

“We’re paying, so we’re in charge,” Corec said. “The squadron commander, Kevik, is an old friend, but if there are any knights who won’t work with mages, we’ll leave them behind. We’ll have to make sure we have enough crews to man all the siege weapons whether the knights are with us or not.”

“Can we really do it?” Sarette asked.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think we could do it safely. Back when I was in training at Fort Hightower, they made us read a dozen accounts of the knights defeating dragons. If it can be done without magic, then we can do it more easily with magic. To start with, a dragon is most dangerous when it’s flying … but how well can a dragon fly in heavy storm winds?”

A grin slowly grew on Sarette’s face.

#

Corec and his friends took over an abandoned wheelwright’s shop and its accompanying wagon yard for their recruitment efforts. While Boktar and Ariadne waited inside the shop to see if any volunteers would show up, Corec took his two guests around the back to show them the catapult and the cart-mounted ballista.

“This is what we need,” he said to Marl the bowyer. “We’ve just got this one ballista and three catapults. I’d like another catapult if possible, but I need at least six more ballistae first.”

The tall, skinny man leaned in close to the weapon and adjusted his spectacles. “I’ve seen drawings, but I’ve never built something this big before, or this complicated. It doesn’t look much like a crossbow. The limbs don’t have to be flexible?”

“No,” Kevik said. “The power comes from the rope coil.”

“We do need them mounted on a cart like this one, though,” Corec said. “On a pivot, so we can adjust the angle, both up and down and to the sides. And they’ve got to be sturdy enough that they won’t rattle apart on the road. How many can you get done in a week?”

“A week!” Marl protested. “It’ll take me a week just to figure it out!”

“Hire anyone you need. Smiths, woodworkers, cartwrights, other bow-makers.”

“It’s not just the number of men. This is complicated work. I don’t think anyone in town can make a ratcheting mechanism this large in a week. I’ve made small ones for crossbows, but for something like this, you have to buy it from an expert. Not a country blacksmith.”

“If you need something from Tyrsall, tell us what it is and we can get it here the next day,” Corec said. “Just try to keep it under fifty pounds—we’ll have to send a mage for it, and she can only take what she can carry.”

Both men just stared at him.

“I … uhh, I see,” Marl finally said. “It’s still a lot of work to get done in a week.”

“We’ll help,” Corec said, indicating Kevik and himself. “We’re not engineers, but we know how to assemble the pieces.”

Marl nodded. “I can’t promise it’ll be done as fast as you want, but I’ll do what I can. I’ll go hire some men, and bring them back here to look over what we’re doing.”

“If you’ve got any heavy crossbows lying around, I’d like those as well. Up to twenty.”

Crossbows probably wouldn’t do much good against a dragon, but Corec had a huge stack of crossbow bolts with fortisteel tips from Tir Yadar. They might come in handy. Could Ellerie create fortisteel tips for the ballista bolts? He’d have to remember to ask her.

“I’ve got ten or twelve, I think,” the bowyer said.

“I’ll take them. Don’t build any new ones, though—if you’ve got spare time, I’d rather have more ballistae.”

After Marl had left, Kevik closed in on Corec. “You just happened to have siege equipment with you, even though you only got into town two days ago? How did you transport the catapults?”

“Magic.”

Kevik raised his eyebrows. “Like the mage who can go to Tyrsall and back in a day?”

“No, different magic.” Corec peered up and down the street. No one was nearby, so he tapped the pattern Ariadne had taught him onto the side of the catapult, and it quickly shrank back down to its miniature size.

Kevik jerked back. “Bloody hell, Corec! You can do that?”

“We found them in an old abandoned city in Cordaea,” Corec said. He picked up the toy-sized catapult and handed it to the knight. “Be careful with it. If you break it, we can’t fix it.”

Kevik shook his head and handed it back, apparently squeamish about touching an enchanted object. Corec returned it to its original spot and repeated the tapping pattern in reverse. The catapult grew to normal size once again.

“As long as we’re talking about equipment, what did you and your men bring?” he asked.

“Nothing useful for hunting dragons,” Kevik said. “Just our standard gear—lances, swords and shields, maces and hammers, crossbows.”

“Come with me,” Corec said, and led his friend to the back of the shop. There was a shed attached to the building, and one of the group’s wagons was there. Nedley was busy bundling up weapons and armor to carry inside.

“Ned, this is Sir Kevik, one of the knights I told you about. Kev, this is Nedley, one of our armsmen. He’s been with us for a year now.”

“Hello, sir!” Nedley said, trying to bow and almost dropping the pile of swords in his arms.

Kevik grinned and greeted him in return.

“Nedley, let him see one of those arming swords,” Corec said, peering over the side of the wagon and shuffling pieces of armor around to find what he was searching for.

Nedley held his bundle out and Kevik pulled a sword from the top.

“What’s this metal?” Kevik asked, looking over the blade.

“It’s called fortisteel. It should be stronger than your own sword, and hold its edge better. We’ve got longswords, too, if you ever decide to give up your shield.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because of this,” Corec said as he found what he was looking for. He lifted out the cuirass to the largest set of full plate armor he’d found in Tir Yadar.

Kevik was a big man—taller than Corec and broader across the shoulders—and the only suits of plate left in Tir Yadar had been very large and very small, as if the more common sizes had been carried away already. Corec had kept a few of each.

“Silversteel plate,” he continued, digging out the greaves. “Half the weight of steel, and much stronger. I doubt it’ll stop a dragon, but against anything else, it works great.” He found the vambraces next, and then the helmet.

“Where did you get all this?” Kevik asked. He’d set the sword to the side and was holding up the breastplate. Kevik was wearing brigandine—better fitting than what he’d worn as a trainee, but nowhere near as effective as a suit of plate. Knights had to buy their own equipment, and it could take years to save up enough for good armor.

“From that same abandoned city in Cordaea,” Corec said. “We sold half of it, but I kept enough to make sure we’d be able to outfit some armsmen. I don’t have a full set of plate that’ll fit Trentin, but we’ve got plenty of mail and cuirasses for him to pick from.”

“What’s it all for? Are you working for that elven woman?”

“I worked for Ellerie for a while—that’s how we ended up in Cordaea—but we’re just traveling together now. I wanted to come back to Four Roads because I live here sometimes, but then the dragon showed up.”

Kevik shook his head. “Someday you’ll have to tell me the whole story.”

“Some day,” Corec promised. “But for now, have you spoken to your men yet?”

“I told them we’re going after the dragon, and that we’ll have to work with mages and mercenaries because there aren’t enough of us. They want to wait until the knights get here instead. They know I haven’t gotten a response back yet to my messages, but I didn’t tell them that the king turned down the mayor’s request. I may not be able to convince them to go.”

“We’ll have to make do with what we’ve got. I hope you can come with me, but if not, let’s at least get the men trained. If we manage to find any.”

#

“Here, take a look at this,” Corec said, passing a sheet of paper across the table to Trentin. “What do you think?” One end of the wheelwright’s shop was partitioned off into a separate room, and they’d set it up as a combined office and planning area.

“Are these … infantry formations?” the young man asked. “I don’t recognize the notations.”

“I couldn’t remember the real notations, so I made up my own. And it’s not just infantry, but everyone. At Hightower, most of the scenarios they showed us for fighting a dragon were for hunting it down in its lair, or defending a fortified position, but it’s a long way from here to the old keep. The dragon may attack at any time if it sees a big group of people on the road.”

Trentin nodded. “And we can’t keep the ballistae loaded all the time or they’ll break.”

“Right. So we need to give the ballista crews time to get to their carts and load their weapons. As soon as we see the dragon in the sky, we’ve got to move infantry around to face it and set their shields.”

“Tower shields aren’t going to be any good against a dragon. Even those fancy ones you’ve got.”

“A broken arm is better than being eviscerated,” Corec said. “And if we can keep everyone within fifty yards of her, Treya thinks she can extend her fire protection spell far enough to cover us all, but we’ll need the shields for that, too. The spell can only do so much. Silversteel doesn’t melt, so if it keeps the defenders out of the direct flame, the protection will last longer.”

Trentin shuddered. “I don’t like the thought of someone using magic on me. Even if she is a priestess rather than a wizard.”

Corec summoned a mage light in his palm and sent it floating up to the ceiling. “Get used to it,” he said. “There’s no way we can fight a dragon without magic. Not without a hundred more men.”

“I know, but … it’s magic, Corec. I swore oaths.”

“The oaths don’t actually mention magic anywhere.”

“No, but I swore to follow the precepts of the Order.”

“Look at it this way—magic is what’s going to keep you alive. The ballistae are actually our second wave of attack. The first wave is Ellerie and Sarette.” And Shavala, he hoped. “Their spells have a longer range.”

Trentin swallowed and nodded. “I’ve just never had to be around magic before.”

“It gets easier the more you do it.”

Ellerie came in the door and dropped a cloth bag on the table. It landed with the thunk of heavy coins. “Eighty-seven gold,” she said. “That’s the best they could do—and it’s all from donations and loans. Mayor Sammel only has the authority to levy taxes within the town itself, and the other councilors won’t vote for it since it’s mostly going to help people outside the town.”

“That’s blind,” Corec said. “Things are just going to get worse here.”

Ellerie hesitated for a moment, then said, “You offered to help pay for it. That gave them a way out without doing it themselves.”

“Oh.” Perhaps he should have thought through his plan a little better.

Ellerie shrugged. “Anyway, we also got this.” She set a coin purse next to the bag. “Fifty gold from the Senshall Trading Company.”

“How did you manage that?”

She grinned. “If the dragon is gone, the Old Road can be reopened—a direct route from Tyrsall to Matagor that doesn’t require going the long way around. It’ll cut weeks off their travel time, and they won’t have to pay import taxes to Larso.”

Corec nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. This will be a big help.” Taken together, the two bags of gold wouldn’t cover even half of the bonuses—much less the wages, supplies, and equipment—but it might just be enough that Corec and his friends could afford to pay for the remainder.

“And I’m going to try to get a message to my mother,” Ellerie said. “Opening the road will be good for Terevas, too.”

“Do you think she’ll help?”

“I don’t know, but the southern route’s longer, and passes too close to ogre territory. The Old Road would be safer if the dragon was no longer an issue. And I know Duke Lorvis in Matagor—he might help. Nobody was willing to deal with the dragon themselves, but if they can pay a small amount to have it taken care of for them, they’ll certainly take advantage of it.”

“Do you think they realize how bad of shape the road is in?” Trentin asked.

Corec chuckled. “Let’s take one problem at a time.”

And dealing with the first problem suddenly seemed a lot more feasible.

#

“Transfer orders for Bertram of Tyrsall,” Razai said in a gruff, masculine voice. She was disguised as a member of Rusol’s mercenary army, in the black brigandine armor they all wore. She flashed the badge she’d stolen, a black, eight-pointed star that the mercenaries used to identify their members.

It was her third attempt to get a message to Nedley’s brother. The first two times, posing as a civilian courier and then a messenger, the guards on duty had refused to let her pass, insisting she hand over the message to them. Something about their attitude bothered her, though, and she’d refused, skeptical the letter would ever reach its intended recipient. And Nedley had asked her to speak to his brother in person if she could, since Bertram couldn’t read.

After the two failed attempts, Razai had needed to come up with a new plan. She could have snuck into the barracks easily enough, either disguised or invisible, but she didn’t know what Bertram looked like or where to find him. Spying on the comings and goings around the barracks had given her an idea.

The guards glanced at each other. She’d made sure to wait for a different pair than the ones she’d spoken to previously.

“Bertram?” one said. “You sure? He’s in the new special unit. I thought they were all staying together.”

“I just go where they tell me,” Razai said. “He’s being transferred to the palace company. Order came down from Captain Wesson himself.” Wesson was in charge of a new detachment being formed to supplement the royal guard stationed around the palace.

The guard shrugged. “Go ahead,” he said, waving her through. They didn’t ask to see any written confirmation. Bertram wasn’t the only soldier who couldn’t read, and outside the officer ranks, the mercenary army delivered orders verbally.

“Where can I find him?” she asked. They gave her directions.

Each barracks building was designed to hold four squads, or twenty-eight men total. Five of the six buildings in this company block showed the normal signs of soldiers at rest. Men were bundled up against the chill in the air, taking advantage of the break in the weather to get outside rather than staying cooped up indoors. There was gossip, laughter, and good-natured shouts to friends across the yard. Men were drinking or playing cards at small tables they’d brought out with them. The more industrious among them were washing laundry in metal tubs.

Bertram’s building was different. Pairs of men sparred against each other while others watched and waited their turns. One squad was practicing group shield maneuvers, four men keeping their shields grouped tightly together while three others braced pikes over their compatriots’ heads. Something about the men seemed familiar, but Razai couldn’t say why. She’d never seen them before.

One of the mercenaries pointed out Bertram for her. Her quarry looked a bit like Nedley, but taller and with a gaunt face and scraggly whiskers. He’d just finished a sparring match and was taking a seat on a nearby bench.

Razai approached him. “Soldier Bertram? I’ve brought a message for you.”

“Yes?”

“It’s a personal message.” Razai tilted her head toward the barracks building.

Bertram grunted and followed her. They stopped just inside the door, far enough from the others to not be overheard. Close up, the sensation of familiarity grew strong enough that Razai could almost smell it.

She passed the sealed letter over. “It’s from your brother Nedley. He’s on his way from Tyrsall to Four Roads. He wants you to join him.”

Bertram scowled at her. “Nedley’s dead.”

“No, he’s not. I spoke to him myself. He found a good job as an armsman for Corec Tarwen, the son of one of the Black Crow barons. There’s a spot for you, too.”

“Keep your voice down,” Bertram hissed. “I don’t want the others thinking my brother was a deserter. Whoever you spoke to was lying. Nedley couldn’t write.”

“Someone wrote the words for him,” Razai said. Actually, Nedley had written the letter himself, with some help, but perhaps the lie was more believable.

“Oh?” Bertram said. “And if he’s in Tyrsall, how did you speak to him?”

“I’m new here. When I told Nedley I was going to sign up, he asked me to bring you the message. He might already be in Four Roads by now for all I know. Don’t go there just yet, though—that dragon in the free lands is making trouble. Wait until someone takes care of it.” Four Roads wouldn’t be able to fight off a dragon themselves. They would likely have to send for help from Larso or Matagor, which could take a while.

Bertram stared off into the distance. “If Ned’s alive, that’s good, but I have a duty to my king,” he said. “I have to stay.”

His king? He was from Tyrsall, not Larso. And shouldn’t he have been happier to learn his brother was alive?

“You don’t want to see him?” Razai asked.

“I can’t, and he shouldn’t come here. His unit never returned from … wherever it was they were sent. If the officers find out someone survived but didn’t report back, well, I don’t know what they’ll do to him.”

“Do you at least want to send a message back to him? I can … I know someone who’s heading that way.”

“Tell him good luck, and maybe we’ll meet again someday.”

Bertram was still staring at nothing. The whole conversation seemed off. Razai wasn’t even certain if he truly believed Nedley was alive, or if he was just trying to get rid of her. The familiar scent—that wasn’t actually a scent—was stronger than ever.

Tainted, the whispers told her.

Razai kept her face expressionless. That explained it—Bertram was under the effects of a compulsion spell. Razai had never met any of the red-eyes, as her traveling companions referred to them, and Nedley didn’t speak about his time among them, but the magic affecting Bertram didn’t seem as crude as her companions had described. Either Rusol’s skills had improved or he’d recruited another demon-blooded mage.

Best to end the conversation quickly, before she did or said anything that might trigger a compelled response.

“I’ll pass the message along,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”

She gave him a brief nod, then left out the door and back into the yard. The tainted feeling was emanating from all of the men in front of Bertram’s building. She hurried through them on her way back to the gate. It took effort to not look back to see if they were following her.

Delivering Nedley’s message was supposed to have been just a quick side jaunt, but now Razai had more questions than before. She had no intention of spying on family for Corec, but she’d continued on to Telfort anyway, even after her conversation with her father. She wanted to know more about her nephew. Why did he feel the need to compel his troops? Razai had snuck into the palace twice since arriving in the city, but so far she hadn’t managed to make it to the royal quarters. She needed to try again.

Her father’s orders had been troubling. As annoying as Corec could be, he hadn’t done anything to deserve death. Even Vatarxis seemed ambivalent about the idea.

Could Razai convince Rusol that Corec wasn’t a threat? Corec was still angry about the deaths of the red-eyes’ victims, and even of the red-eyes themselves, but he was also practical. If Razai could prove there would be no further attacks, Corec wouldn’t put more lives at risk by launching one of his own.

Razai approached the guard post. “You were right,” she said on her way out. “I had the wrong man. There must be another Bertram around here somewhere.”

It was time to find a way to speak to her nephew.