Chapter 19

The western edge of the Terril Forest ended abruptly, the lands beyond having once been cleared for farming. Those fields were overgrown now, with weeds, brush, and small trees that had sprung up after the humans abandoned the area over fifty years earlier, but there was still a stark divide between the former crop lands and the tall tershaya lining the border.

Shavala peered up at the sky through the spyglass she’d taken from a dead mercenary at Tir Yadar. The tiny dot above her was certainly no bird, but it was difficult to track a moving target with the glass while simultaneously adjusting the lenses.

There was a faint brush of a footstep behind her, and she turned to find Dalanis, leader of one of the ranger patrols based at the western border camp.

“Is that it?” she asked him, pointing.

He glanced up. “Yes, it flies this way a few times each week. Meritia asked me to find you. The group that visited the human village has returned, so the elders are calling everyone together.”

Shavala nodded and followed him back to the large temporary camp that had been assembled under cover of the forest. The conclave had been gathering for two weeks, scouting the western border and discussing the problem in small groups, but this would be the first time they all met together.

Shavala herself had only been there for a day. She and Meritia had stopped in Terrillia along the way and waited to escort the final group of druid elders on the journey.

From Terrillia, they’d headed west, passing through the western border camp, then continuing on to the border itself. Now, eighty druids had gathered together in one location, including all of the elders who were capable of traveling. Over two hundred rangers had accompanied them, though most had been deployed along the border to watch for the dragon.

Back at the temporary camp, the elders had arranged themselves cross-legged on the ground in a loose circle. Younger druids were farther out and higher up, standing or sitting on rocks or fallen tree trunks so they could see what was happening.

Shavala joined them, climbing a tree and sitting on a low branch next to a young man whose name she didn’t know. She gave him a quick smile, but before she could introduce herself, Gylvaren started speaking. He wasn’t the most senior of the elders, but as the leader of the western border camp, he was the one who’d called the conclave.

“We all know why we’ve come together,” he started. “Some of you have had the opportunity to view the burned remains of the nearest human settlements. Others have seen the dragon with your own eyes. A threat has come to the Terril Forest, of a sort we haven’t seen in many years. The danger is only potential, not yet realized, but the dragon is now flying nearly a hundred miles into our borders on a regular basis. We must decide whether we will take action.”

“Has it made any move against the forest?” Elder Nariela asked, her graying hair tied in dozens of youthful braids.

“It sometimes lands in a clearing, and twice it’s been observed to take an unlucky deer. Usually, it just flies over. The tree canopy seems to prevent further incursion.”

“It’s a living creature. It’s not our place to stop it if it chooses to hunt a few deer. Even humans are allowed to hunt here as long as they stay beyond the outposts.”

“The dragon’s behavior suggest it’s seeking to expand its territory,” Gylvaren said. “What if it decides the western forest belongs to it? Already our rangers must keep a careful watch at all times in case it flies overhead. The next time it hunts, it may not be a deer that it takes.”

“In Cetos, the people live in balance with dragons,” said Zhailai, one of the more well-traveled druids, speaking out even though she wasn’t an elder. “Can we not do that here?”

Old Arvillin, who’d taught Shavala to call fire, made a curt chopping motion with his hand. “Cetos has beasts of great size for the dragons to hunt,” he said. “The dragons are drawn to the regions where those creatures make their homes. The people who live in that area understand the risks.”

“We’ve not all come together to fight back an intruder for hundreds of years,” said an elder Shavala didn’t recognize. “Not since the last time the humans tried to invade the forest. What we did then, I will always regret. I advise caution in our approach. A measured response.”

“But what if it sets fires?” someone called from the outermost circle, causing a discordant sensation within the tree bond. Up until that point, only the elders and the most senior of druids had spoken. “We can’t allow it to burn the forest.”

“It’s winter,” Meritia replied from where she was sitting with several other senior druids just outside the circle of elders. “The woods are too wet to burn, and we can summon more rain if we need to.”

“Can we convince it to leave the area?” asked another of the elders. “Or at least return to its original territory?”

“We can’t speak to dragons,” Gylvaren reminded the man.

“No, but perhaps someone from Cetos knows another way to communicate with it. Luring it away, perhaps?”

“I doubt luring it away will work if it’s expanding its range,” Gylvaren said. “It already returns regularly to its lair at the human’s trade keep. Where else could we convince it to go?”

The elder who’d pushed for caution spoke up again. “The dragon hasn’t attempted to harm the forest or our people. We must allow it to follow its natural law.”

“Natural law applies if it’s not harming thinking beings or unbalancing an ecosystem,” one of the senior druids protested. “What about the humans it’s killed in the free lands?”

“It’s neither our place nor our duty to protect the humans.”

The man sitting next to Shavala spoke up. “What about the elven villages in the free lands?” he called out. “Shouldn’t we protect them?”

Shavala had learned of the dorvasta settlements outside the forest from a leatherworker in Tyrsall, but judging by the quiet murmuring throughout the younger members of the crowd, it seemed not everyone knew. The elders went stone-faced.

“They chose to leave the safety of the forest,” Nariela said. “They’ve made it clear they don’t want our protection.”

“Most are to the south or east, to avoid drawing too much attention,” said Tovali, another of the elders, directing her comments to those who hadn’t been aware of the villages. “I don’t know of any to the west.”

“There was one once, but they relocated when the dragon first came to the free lands,” Gylvaren said in reluctant agreement.

As the newest full druid, it wasn’t Shavala’s place to speak up, but her friends were in the free lands already. They would be on their way to Four Roads. Did they know about the dragon yet? Were they in danger?

She ignored the tree bond’s urge to keep quiet. “Are human villages any less deserving of protection than our own?” she asked.

The elders kept their faces expressionless after that remark, but they couldn’t mask their unease from the tree bond. There was a moment of silence as uncertainty rippled through the crowd.

But then the man who’d argued against taking action spoke once more. “Within the forest, natural law is clear,” he said. “Outside the forest, the humans will protect their own kind. They’ve fought dragons before, and they wouldn’t welcome our intrusion into their lands.”

That was true enough, and the unease faded as consensus was reached. The discussion continued, with plans to position druids along the border to watch for fires or any sort of attack, but everyone knew a decision had already been made.

Gylvaren kept quiet. He watched the proceedings with a look of disapproval, but appeared unwilling to fight against the accord achieved within the tree bond.

What would Shavala’s friends do when they learned of the dragon? Would they continue on to Four Roads?

What should she do?

“We now have two thousand soldiers and fifteen hundred mercenaries deployed to the northern border, Your Majesty,” Field Marshal Tregood said. “Those numbers include our standard garrisons as well as the reinforcements. And, of course, there are nearly two hundred knights at Fort Northtower, though they run their own patrols.”

“Is there any news out of Blue Vale?” Rusol asked.

“Our scouts report that they’re still recruiting soldiers, but ... it’s Blue Vale, Your Majesty. They don’t have the numbers to attack south. We can block the pass at Northtower with just the knights and the local garrison, and if they try a different crossing, we’ll have time to move our troops around.”

That matched Yassi’s visions.

“What do you think they’re doing?”

“I couldn’t say, Sire.”

“If you had to guess?”

Tregood pursed his lips. “With Leonis dead, they might feel they need a stronger military to guard against the barbarian clans. They may not be looking south at all.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Lord Tregood, but let’s leave the reinforcements in place until we’re certain.” That sounded like a sufficiently kingly thing to say.

“Yes, Sire. Now, along the eastern passes...”

The field marshal continued to drone on about troop dispositions, but Rusol had heard it all before. He stared out the window, across the garden, to where stonemasons were working to repair the section of the ramparts that had been destroyed in the lightning blast. Rusol remembered swinging his blade, but he couldn’t remember if it had connected before the lighting bolt he’d accidentally called down had struck, hitting both him and Sharra. His divine protective spells had snapped into place just in time, protecting him from his own elder magic as well as from the twenty-foot drop to the gardens below. His mother had been killed instantly.

The royal guards on duty the day of the coronation were all part of the group that regularly watched over the family’s quarters. Over the years, Marten had influenced them to keep quiet about any magic they saw, and Rusol had reestablished his father’s fading compulsion spells in the weeks before the coronation. When the men from the nearest guard towers had rushed down to check on what had happened, it had been easy enough to make them forget Rusol had been on the battlements, convincing them his mother had gone up alone. Coming so soon after his father’s death, it seemed prudent to avoid any awkward questions that would come up if anyone knew he’d been present when his mother died.

So far, it was working. Most people seemed to believe Sharra was killed by a sudden and unexpected lightning storm. There was some muttering about bad omens, but no one had suggested the presence of magic—other than Kolvi, of course, who’d sensed the storm forming. Rusol had told her the truth, and Yassi, but he hadn’t decided whether to tell Merice. She deserved to know she wasn’t responsible for her husband’s death, but she’d still been duped into administering the fatal dose. The truth might just make things worse. And Merice wasn’t in her right mind; if Rusol told her what had actually happened, he’d have to put her under a compulsion spell to keep her from talking. He couldn’t do that to her—she was the last living member of his family.

His family. His father was dead, and his brother. His brother’s mother was half mad with grief. Merice hadn’t quite been a second mother to Rusol, but she’d always had sweets for him when he was growing up. There was little left of the woman he remembered.

And his own mother. He should have felt grief for her death, but instead there was only a yawning emptiness in his gut when he thought about her betrayal.

The wardens hadn’t killed Rikard. For five years, Rusol had believed the wardens had murdered his brother as a warning—coming so soon, as it had, after the First’s threats. But it had been Sharra all along.

Did it change anything, though? The First was a rambling lunatic, attacking Rusol in that strange dream, angered about a demonborn joining the ranks of the wardens. Leonis had been insane too, and mad with power. If his plan had worked, the Church of Pallisur would have ruled supreme throughout all the lands. He’d had to be stopped.

The wardens were dangerous, wielding too much power without any sort of oversight.

But they hadn’t killed Rikard.

A stray word caught Rusol’s attention. “Wait,” he told Tregood. “What did you say about a dragon?”

“The dragon in the free lands, Sire, at Matagor’s old trade keep. It’s attacking farther out than normal. Four Roads sent a formal request for aid, but I turned them down.”

“Shouldn’t we do something?” Rusol asked. “The knights are trained to fight dragons.” Though it had been over two hundred years since they’d last fought one, so the quality of that training was questionable.

“Yes, Sire, they are, but Sir Noris has looked over the old records, and he doesn’t believe there’s any way the creature will reach the kingdom. If it does, it’ll hit Fort Hightower first, which has sturdy walls and defenses—an excellent spot from which to face it. Most likely, though, it’ll stop somewhere in the hills.” Tregood smirked. “That should keep the hillfolk too busy to go on raids.”

“And Four Roads?”

The field marshal shrugged. “They chose to live in the free lands. Half of them probably ended up there on the run from the law. I don’t see any reason to spend the lives of our men to protect them. I’d advise that we allow Matagor to handle it. Its their keep.”

Rusol frowned. Wouldn’t that give Matagor more influence in the region?

Then again, Marten had always stressed that the king’s role was to protect Larso and its own citizens, not their neighbors. Currying favor with the free lands was pointless—it was the weakest region in the north, with no government larger than a town council. What could they offer?

Rusol nodded. “Very well. Let Four Roads fend for itself, but check with Sir Noris that the knights at Fort Hightower are making preparations in case the dragon does reach us. Ask him to send a detachment of a hundred knights from Telfort to join them.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Do you have any other news for me today?”

“No, Sire.”

“Then I have one last order for you.” Rusol laid his hand on the man’s shoulders and quickly layered in the levels of the newest hunter compulsion.

Rusol had made a mistake before. He’d taken control of every knight at Fort Northtower. Then, after learning that the newest warden had returned to Aravor, he’d created a new unit of hunters among the mercenaries so they’d be ready if he needed them.

But he’d gone about it all wrong. Even the strongest demonborn faced limitations on the numbers they could influence, and with the priests, the knights, the hunters, the royal guards, and the family’s servants, Rusol was rapidly approaching his limit.