The Schemes of Dragons

Epilogue

KERON SAT STIFFLY on his cushioned divan, high in the ambassador's minaret in the city of Tazh Tah, overlooking the once fertile plains of Simorilia. He saw a battlefield. The Dragon's army camped where crops should be growing, held at bay by local forces desperate to keep their capital out of enemy hands. Yet, morale was high in the city. Boisterous, drunken sounds of revelry wafted up the masonry of the minaret from the streets. The shah had broken the siege, partly as a result of Keron's strategies, and the army of the Calinin Empire was on its way. According to the latest reports, the first contingent of troops was halfway through Numaron, and would reach them in a fortnight.

Keron stood abruptly and paced, oblivious to the celebration. In his alcove, Treynaf stared into his globe, equally aloof. The king glanced once more at the battlefield. The first campfires of evening sparkled in the dusk, and their number confirmed the report that Val had just given him. The king turned and faced his son, who stood dutifully at attention, boots still dusty from his reconnaissance.

"I don't like it," Keron said. "It doesn't feel right."

"Do you think it's a trick?" Val asked.

"I don't know." He picked up his mug of hot wine and sipped. He scowled; the liquid had gone tepid. "It's not the time for the Dragon to withdraw a third of his troops. You say they're on a forced march back to the coast?"

"It seems that way. Perhaps he's worried about the emperor's army."

Keron set down his mug. "All the more reason to increase his strength. I expected him to try to take Tazh Tah before our allies arrive."

Val shrugged. Keron considered dismissing him, letting the boy share in the festivity. Whatever else, the Dragon's retreat meant a lull in the fighting, and Val had earned some relaxation.

"Perhaps this has something to do with the situation in Cilendrodel," the king mused. Word had recently come of Alemar's victory over the Dragon's sorcerer, and of the subsequent revolt. Keron pictured the withdrawn troops heading north.

Cilendrodel was a backwoods province. It did not have the means for a sustained fight against the Dragon's empire.

Toren would have arrived there by now. Keron's grandson would be born soon.

Disquieting energies thrummed down the haft of his scepter.

"Dragons!"

Treynaf stood up, knocking over his small table. The globe struck the flagstones and glanced off a wall so hard that, had it been ordinary crystal as opposed to a talisman, it would have shattered. Keron and Val jumped.

"Two dragons!" Treynaf cried. "To arms, cousin! March to Elandris! Do not wait for the dawn!"

Keron felt a cold, hard, satisfying knot in his gut. The scepter warbled. Two dragons? Time to sort the meaning later. For once, he knew unequivocally that his relative had seen with true Sight. Enough waiting. The time for action had come.

"Pass the order," he told Val. "We attack tonight."