Book 4: Chapter Twenty-Three

“A baby?” Rusol said. “A baby.” He sat down with a thump, his knees suddenly weak. He was going to have a child.

“Yes,” Yassi replied. “Kolvi says it’ll be seven months.”

“What do we … ? Why are you up? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’m fine, Rus. My mother will know what to do, and we’ll find a midwife.”

Rusol nodded, barely listening. “He’ll be the next king.” A new prince, coming so soon after the coronation, would be taken as a good sign. Rusol’s branch of the family would retain the crown and control of House Larse, promising stability for another generation.

“It could be a girl,” Yassi pointed out.

“Oh. Yes, of course, but a girl would still prove we can continue the line. We can keep trying.” He ignored the look of disgust that crossed her face. He’d grown accustomed to it, and surely things would improve now that they were having a child together. She would finally come to care for him. She had to.

His thoughts kept flitting around. He was going to be a father.

If there was a child coming, he couldn’t risk being at war against the wardens. Not now, at least. They hadn’t been the ones to kill Rikard, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t strike into the palace if they realized someone was hunting them.

Luckily, Leonis was dead, and the First didn’t know what Rusol had been up to. None of the others had any idea who he was.

The shadow creature wanted him to kill the other wardens, but it had seemed to think he’d make that decision himself. If so, it would have to wait.

Besides, defeating Leonis had been more about luck than skill. The man had grown overconfident after years of fighting weaker elder witches, and hadn’t been prepared to face Rusol and Kolvi at full strength. And he hadn’t been aware of Rusol’s own divine magic, negating Leonis’s biggest advantage.

But Rusol was under no illusion that he was ready to face a fully prepared warden. Rather than risking outright confrontation, he could take a more prudent approach. Wait and watch, and learn.

Yes, with the immediate threat from Leonis over, it made sense to proceed with caution. His family’s safety had to come first, and then he would bide his time.

#

“This is Corec of House Tarwen,” Kevik announced to the assembled knights. “You know who he is, and I don’t want to hear any complaining. He’s leading the town’s assault against the dragon.”

Corec stepped forward, then stopped and looked each man in the eye before speaking. He was wearing King Argyros’s armor for the first time. It was made from the same dull, brownish-gray metal as the maul, and his attempts to polish it had failed, but the unusual appearance drew the knights’ attention anyway.

“You heard him,” he said. “I’ll tell you now, I don’t much care what you think about me. I’ve got a job to do and I need men who can handle themselves.”

The oldest of the knights, with graying hair and a gut that stretched his mail to its limit, spat on the ground. “We don’t deal with traitors, wizard.”

“I didn’t betray anything,” Corec said. “I never took the oaths. But I’ll overlook your lie and your insult for now, Sir Georg. Dealing with the dragon is more important than challenging you to a duel over what little remains of your knightly honor, and Kevik tells me you have a fine eye for siege weapons.”

Corec was walking a fine line in goading the man, but he hoped to push one of the knights into issuing a challenge of their own. It would reinforce to the others that he was their equal. He’d brought his old spare sword from Mama Wenna’s attic in case he needed it. His new weapons were too likely to kill his opponent.

After debating the matter with Kevik, Corec had decided to try to recruit all four of the remaining knights. While he himself could teach the new armsmen to load and release the ballistae, there wasn’t enough time for them to truly master the weapon. The knights could serve as spotters, estimating windage and distance to give the bolts a better chance of reaching the target.

If they didn’t accept his leadership, though, they’d cause more problems than they were worth. A challenge might resolve the issue, proving to them he could still act as a knight.

Georg scowled and opened his mouth to reply, but another man spoke first.

“Oaths or not, you’re still a mage,” Sir Osbert said. He was tall, with a clean-shaven head, and he wore a full set of plate armor. He’d been stationed at Fort Hightower during Corec’s first year there, before being transferred back to Telfort. Apparently he’d returned. “If Four Roads wishes to allow magic within their borders, that’s their business, but I won’t have anything to do with it. We don’t need your help. We’ll wait until the Order arrives.”

“The Order isn’t coming,” Kevik said, then paused to let that sink in. “The message arrived this morning. Our brothers aren’t coming, but since we’re already here, we’ve been told to help out in whatever way we can. So, either the six of us try to hunt down a dragon by ourselves, or we can work with Corec and the rest of the Four Roads expedition. Unless, of course, you want to abandon our duty entirely, Osbert.”

Trentin’s lips had tightened into a thin line while Kevik was speaking. It was a lie, then. There hadn’t been any orders.

The rest of the knights exchanged worried glances. Clearly they’d been expecting support from their own people. The Order of Pallisur prided themselves on their ability to handle threats no one else could face, and whatever problems Corec had with the knights, it was clear that this small group hadn’t intended to abandon Four Roads to its fate.

“The people in town say you killed a drake!” exclaimed a young knight with freckles and curly red hair. From Kevik’s description, that had to be Willem. He was only a year or two older than Nedley.

“Two, but I had help,” Corec said. “Just like I’ll need your help with the dragon.”

The boy nodded, his head bobbing up and down.

“Why is the seaborn woman wearing armor?” asked a man with sandy blond hair. He had on well-maintained plate armor of his own, and his look was speculative rather than judgmental. As the only one left, he had to be Sir Cason, who Kevik said had trained at Fort Hightower.

Ariadne had remained silent until then, but now she came to stand beside Corec. “I’m no seaborn,” she said. “I am Ariadne, of the Mage Knights of Tir Yadar.” They’d worked out an introduction for her that didn’t require mentioning the Chosar. She preferred to leave her past a mystery.

Sir Georg barked a laugh. “Shiny armor doesn’t make you a knight, girl.”

“My order existed long before yours, son of Pallisur,” Ariadne said, staring him down. “I swore the oaths to my people, and was raised to knighthood in the presence of The Lady herself.”

Corec had coached Ariadne on what to say, but he hadn’t heard that last part before. She’d rarely ever mentioned the new gods in all the time he’d known her.

She waited, and it was Georg who looked away first. He wouldn’t challenge her—women in Larso weren’t seen as fighters.

“Mage Knights?” Osbert said. “There’s no such thing.”

Ariadne tilted her head to the side. “Would you like me to prove it?” she asked. She and Corec had talked about how to handle this part of the conversation. A show of magic from either of them—at least without warning the knights about it first—could potentially provoke all four men into attacking them. Even if they managed to defeat the knights without killing any of them, it would be pointless to try to recruit them after that.

Osbert swallowed. “Mages can’t be knights,” he insisted.

“You’re showing your ignorance, Osbert,” Corec said. “Not all knights follow Pallisur. You can’t fight a dragon unless you have magic or an army, and I don’t see your army anywhere.”

“We can’t—“ the knight started.

Corec interrupted him. “I’ll tell you what. If you’re too much of a coward to travel with mages, you can go on ahead. After the dragon kills you, the rest of us will deal with it. If you’d like, we’ll even cart your body back to Larso and dump it at the border.”

Trentin grimaced and shook his head, trying to catch Corec’s attention.

Corec continued, “Of course, it would be safer to travel with the larger group. Besides, that’s the only way you’re getting paid.”

“You’re paying us?” Sir Cason asked.

“You’ve heard the offer, haven’t you?”

“Ten gold to kill the dragon.”

“Ten gold each if we kill the dragon, and five silver a day until then.” It was a substantial amount, even for a knight. Unmarried members of the Order could claim free room and board when they were off duty, but they were only paid for days they were on duty. The gold alone might match what a knight earned in a quiet year.

Cason’s expression didn’t change, but Willem started grinning.

“You think you can convince us with money?” Osbert asked.

“Do you need to be convinced to do the right thing?” Corec said. “How many people have died already? How many more will die if we don’t stop that dragon? I’m not your enemy, Sir Osbert. I volunteered for this job because someone’s got to do it, but I need your help.”

Osbert didn’t reply, but Cason gave a small nod.

Kevik stepped forward. “We start training the recruits on the siege weapons this afternoon. I expect to see you all there.”

He dismissed them after that. Georg and Osbert still weren’t happy, but Kevik’s lie about the orders had countered any argument they could have made. As the knights left to go prepare their gear, Willem regaled the others with a description of the new horse he was going to buy with his bonus money.

Kevik waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “Were you trying to get them to attack you?” he asked.

“To challenge me, yes, but it didn’t work,” Corec said. “Why did you lie about the orders?”

“If the rest of the knights were coming, I’d have heard something by now,” Kevik said. “You’re the one who thinks we need the whole squad, and this was the fastest way to convince them. If there’s a tribunal, I’ll testify that I was the only one who knew the orders were false. There’s no reason for any blame to be laid on Trentin. Or you, if it comes down to it.”

Corec sighed. “We lied to them, bribed them, bullied them, and insulted them. We’ll be lucky if they don’t decide to come after us rather than the dragon.”

#

Katrin dumped all of the clothing out of her saddlebags into a big pile on the floor, then stared at it as she debated what to do. It should have been hung up in the closet or folded and put away, but she’d been on the road for too long—everything she owned needed a good wash, and most of it needed ironing as well. She’d have to ask one of the Sisters where to do that.

There was a forlorn sigh from Ditte, who was staring out the window. “Where’s Harri?” the girl asked. “He already fed the horsies.”

“I’m sure he just went out to visit the others again,” Katrin said.

When the new ballistae started arriving, Corec had taken the weapons south of town. They were too dangerous for the recruits to practice with in town. After two days of going back and forth, he’d set up a camp at the practice site and moved his entire little army there, so they wouldn’t have to spend so much time traveling.

Rather than taking the children to the armed encampment, or continuing to camp out in the cold in Mama Wenna’s garden patch, Katrin had at first moved into the wheelwright’s shop her friends had been using for their preparations. There was no kitchen there, though, so Treya had found room for Katrin and the two children at the Three Orders chapter house. It was just the three of them. Leena had decided to go south with the rest of the group, Traveling back each day for messages and supplies.

“When’ll he be back?” Ditte asked. “I’m bored.”

“We could sing some songs,” Katrin said. “I’ve still got lots more I haven’t taught you yet.”

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“I don’t wanna sing no more!”

“Well, what about reading, then? They’ve got lots of books here.” The library here was the largest Katrin had ever seen, other than the big libraries in Tyrsall and Circle Bay—and Treya had said this was one of the smallest chapter houses of the Three Orders. What were the larger chapter houses like?

“Don’t know how to read,” Ditte said with a pout.

That wasn’t a surprise. Most people considered the hillfolk to be uneducated, but even in the city, some of Katrin’s friends had never learned to read. She’d been lucky in that her mother had known how, and had taught her and Barz.

“I’ll show you,” Katrin said. “Come on, let’s see if we can find Nallee or Liese.” Those two women were Treya’s friends from back when she’d lived here, though Nallee was only at the chapter house during the day. She was a concubine, and stayed with her patron and his wife at night in the attic of a local blacksmith’s house while they waited for it to be safe to return to their own home.

Katrin took Ditte by the hand and led her to an alcove outside Mother Yewen’s office, where Nallee had installed a desk for herself, working on whatever Yewen needed help with on any particular day. There seemed to be no shortage of tasks. Most of the Sisters who lived at the chapter house were busy with their normal duties of raising and educating the orphan girls who lived there, but Mother Yewen was heavily involved with taking care of the refugees as well, and the additional work fell on Nallee and a few others.

After Katrin explained what she wanted to do, Nallee led the two of them to a large walk-in closet near the library.

“These are the primers here,” the concubine said, pointing to row after row of what appeared to be many copies of each of several different books. “Eastern, Western, trade tongue. We’ve still got Old Matan primers but we stopped teaching it years ago. The southern chapter houses teach Sanvari, but we don’t have much call for that around here so the scholars keep those books under lock and key. We don’t have enough copies to let the girls take them out without approval. After the primers, the girls move on to the easy readers,” Nallee pointed to more shelves, “and then the practice readers. Once a girl can handle the hardest books in here, she’s allowed to take books from the library.”

Katrin found herself staring at all the shelves. “There are books just for teaching someone how to read?”

“Of course,” Nallee said. “How else would you do it?”

Katrin’s family hadn’t owned any books at all. She’d learned to read on a slate, her mother painstakingly writing and rewriting letters and words and sentences in chalk. She decided not to answer.

Instead, she said, “The kids speak Western, so I guess that’s what I need.”

Nallee pulled two identical books from a shelf. “Two Western primers, then. When you’re ready to move up, let me know and I can help you find the next books. And we’ve got paper, pens, and ink when you need them.”

“Thank you.”

By the time Katrin and Ditte made it back to their room, Harri had returned and was trying to brush mud from his only pair of boots.

“Where have you been?” Katrin demanded, though she suspected the answer already.

“I had to take care of the mules at the camp,” the boy said.

“No, you didn’t. Corec wants the men to handle the mules themselves. You only need to worry about our horses here. And Flower and Boy and the donkeys.” Corec had insisted that the horses be left behind, saying they’d run away if they saw the dragon. He only planned to take enough mules to haul the carts and wagons—but he’d left Boy, his pack mule, behind without comment. Katrin was trying hard not to read too much into that.

“But I wanna help!” Harri protested. “Corec said I could.”

Katrin rolled her eyes. “He did, did he?” Corec had had a very different upbringing than her, growing up in Larso and becoming a knight trainee when he was only ten, but allowing a twelve-year-old boy to spend time in a war camp still seemed wrong. “And what did Treya say about it?”

Harri got a shifty look on his face. “She didn’t know I was there.”

“You hid from her because you knew you weren’t supposed to be there. She asked me to watch out for you, so no more going to the camp. They’ll be gone soon anyway.” Katrin tried not to let any fear creep into her voice. Once the children were asleep, she planned to go out to the camp herself, to visit Corec and her friends one last time before they left. “From now on, you’ve got something better to do when you’re not taking care of the horses—I’m going to teach you how to read.”

“I don’t need to learn that,” the boy said.

“Everyone needs to read,” Katrin told him. He didn’t look like he believed her, so she added, “If you want to keep working for Corec, you’ll have to learn. Nedley did, so you can too.”

Harri idolized Nedley. He gave a sullen sigh, but finally nodded.

#

“Weapons loaded?” Corec called out.

Answering shouts came back in the affirmative. They’d received the last of the ballistae he’d requested, and, after nine days of training and preparation, all of the crews could now practice at the same time. He would have liked more weapons, but the ones they had now would already put them at the limit of what Treya’s fire protection spell could cover.

He yelled again. “Ballistae Five through Seven, same target as before. Release!”

Four ballista bolts launched into the air.

“Damned fools!” came Kevik’s voice. “Did he say Three? He said Five to Seven!” The knight was serving as spotter for Ballista Three.

Corec just shook his head. “Ballistae One, Two, and Four, release!”

The last three bolts were loosed, rising at a steep angle before falling back to the earth far in the distance. The aim was improving as the knights grew familiar with the weapons’ capabilities, and as the recruits learned to follow their instructions.

“All weapons clear?” Corec shouted down the line. He checked to make sure that Ballista One, which he was spotting for, didn’t have a bolt loaded.

A moment later, the responses came back.

“Ballistae Five through Seven clear!” Sarette yelled.

“Ballistae Two through Four clear!” Ariadne called out.

It took Boktar longer to check his weapons because he had to peer into the buckets. “Catapults clear,” he said, standing near enough that he didn’t have to shout.

“Ballista crews, go find your bolts!” Corec said. “All of them! They’re expensive!” They had enough ammunition for six volleys before the bolts had to be retrieved. Some of the wooden shafts would have shattered on impact, but the fortisteel tips Ellerie had crafted would survive the practice attempts.

The catapult crews relaxed, talking and joking with each other. Corec was about to call Cenric and Nedley over to discuss infantry formations when he noticed Treya making her way toward him. She was accompanied by a dark-haired man with a beard, wearing rusty mail and carrying a spear and shield.

“Corec,” Treya said, “this is Priest Conley of the Church of Pallisur. He’s offered to come with us. He’s a healer, and he knows some protection spells.”

Corec clenched his jaw, biting down his immediate angry response. It was priests of Pallisur who’d kicked him out of the Order, and it was a priest of Pallisur who’d allowed his mother to die from an infection that could have easily been healed.

“Are you sure this is the place for you?” Corec asked the man. He held his hand out to his side and the war maul, which he’d left nearby, flew into his grasp, the binding sigil on the shaft aligning with its twin on his palm. A yellow glow spread across the weapon as it began to hum. “You’re going to be surrounded by mages. In my experience, priests of Pallisur don’t handle that sort of thing very well.”

The catapult crews went quiet, watching the altercation.

“Corec!” Treya said, her eyes widening in surprise.

Conley swallowed, but stood his ground. “I’m not from Larso,” he said. “I attended seminary there, but I was born and raised in Four Roads. I’m just here to do whatever the town needs.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Corec said. “Four Roads isn’t known for magic. Have you been around mages before? Can you travel with them? Take orders from them?”

“I’ll take orders from whoever you need me to take orders from.” The priest met Corec’s gaze, not looking away.

After a moment, Corec nodded. “I want your promise that you won’t cause any trouble.”

“You have it.”

“Fine,” Corec said curtly. “Ned, take Priest Conley here and go get him some better gear.”

The boy was standing nearby. “Sure, Corec,” he replied.

As the two men left, Corec turned back to Treya, who was staring at him with a hurt expression on her face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not mad at you. I just wasn’t expecting …” He paused. “I have a history with the Order.”

Treya gave a slow nod. “You’ve told me, but I thought it was just the priests in Larso you had a problem with. I’ve never seen you react like that before. You’re not that way with the knights.”

“The knights are different.” Under other circumstances, the knights would have been his brothers. “It had to be him? You couldn’t find someone else?”

“He was the only one who volunteered,” Treya said. “The priests here, they’re not warriors. They’re the ones who haven’t been asked to serve at a larger temple. Besides, he’s stronger than the other healers in town. A bit, anyway.”

Corec took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. The priest who’d allowed his mother to die had been unblessed … and too stupid to recognize that he didn’t know what he was doing. Conley didn’t have the first problem. Hopefully he wouldn’t have the second.

#

Sarette strode through the brown prairie grass, leaving the road itself for the carts and wagons. They’d left Four Roads two days earlier and were still on the well-maintained portion of the Farm Road, with enough space for two carts abreast. It was unlikely they’d need to make room for oncoming traffic—everyone who wanted to evacuate the area had already done so.

The armsmen were grumbling about the chilly winds and the light flurries of snow, but to Sarette, it felt like spring. And soon, the air would grow even warmer, with the snow turning to rain over the next two days. She suspected the complaints would increase once the road got muddy.

But complaining was normal; it was what a soldier did. If they weren’t complaining about the weather, it would be something else. Weather was safe. It meant they weren’t complaining about the leadership, or about the task at hand. There were hints of fear when they thought no one was watching, but the training Corec and the others had put them through seemed to have convinced them they could actually do what they were setting out to do.

Sarette’s task was to watch over Ballistae Five through Seven, along the east side of the road. Ariadne was on the west side with Two through Four.

Ballista One was the figurine from Tir Yadar, carried in miniature form by its crew at the head of the column, along with the three catapult figurines. It was easier to carry the small versions around than to spend money on four more mule teams, and if the expedition was attacked by the dragon, those four crews could quickly position themselves where they’d do the most good. Sarette’s ballistae were less maneuverable, and only their pivot mounts would allow them to be useful if attacked from an unexpected direction.

Sarette wasn’t sure her oversight of the ballistae was necessary, especially since she and Ariadne wouldn’t be with their crews during an actual attack. The knights could have just as easily kept an eye on things—and, interspersed as they were among the siege weapons, were probably doing so already—but Corec had limited their official duties to commanding individual ballistae during an attack, and to backing up the infantry if it became necessary. He hadn’t explained his reasoning.

Sarette slowed her pace so she could check on her crews again. The first two carts looked fine, but when Ballista Seven caught up to her, only one of the men was present, leading the mule team on foot. The carts didn’t have seats.

“Trooper Dorsin!” Sarette shouted, looking for the other man, then saw him jogging back from a stand of scraggly trees. Corec hadn’t given the armsmen any ranks, other than Cenric as sergeant for the infantry and Nedley as his corporal, but Sarette found herself falling back on her own experience. Trooper was the High Guard’s lowest enlisted rank. “Why aren’t you at your post?” she demanded as Dorsin drew close.

The young man’s eyes goggled. “I, umm, I had to …” He pointed to the trees, his face turning red.

“If you have to take care of the necessary, then get someone to cover your position!” Sarette said, keeping her voice loud enough for others nearby to overhear. “One of the knights, or a soldier, or me. Someone!”

“Yes, miss,” Dorsin said. “Sorry.”

“That’s Lieutenant, Trooper,” she said. The High Guard planned to discharge her once she returned to Snow Crown, and she wasn’t supposed to use her rank in the meantime, but what could it hurt? The recruits needed more structure.

Corec and Ariadne thought and acted much like the knights who were accompanying them—individual elite warriors who could command the troops, but weren’t really a part of them. Boktar had been a fighter for decades, but always as an armsman for hire rather than a soldier. Sarette’s time in the High Guard had been brief, but she’d grown up with the knowledge of what a well-trained force could accomplish when everyone worked together as one.

No outside army had ever conquered the Storm Heights, and that was only partly due to the stormrunners and the weather. The High Guard trained and practiced for mountain fighting, and the scouts and watchtowers allowed them to communicate rapidly and keep an eye on the entire region. It was an advantage no outside force could match. The humans in the surrounding lands might fear the stormrunners, but it was the High Guard that had defeated them time and time again.

This ragged band of troopers wasn’t an army, but they’d have to learn to act like one if they were going to face a dragon.

“Umm, sorry, Lieutenant,” the boy said. “Nothin’ was happening anyway.”

“The weapons have to be manned at all times. We have no idea when the dragon will show up.”

Just then Corec’s voice came down the line. “Form up for drill!” he shouted. “South by southeast!”

“Or that,” Sarette said to Dorsin. “Get into position!”

Dorsin rushed over to Ballista Seven. His partner, Bili, was driving the mule team ahead to their designated position while Ballista Six—Sarette’s most experienced crew—made room for them by driving off the road. To get everyone under Treya’s fire protection spell, the expedition had to bunch up in a roughly circular shape rather than remaining stretched out in a long line. Staying close together was a danger of its own, but Corec figured the men were more worried about burning to death than about the dragon landing in the middle of the group.

Once the cart was in place, Bili stopped the mule team and detached the iron hook that linked them to the cart’s tongue. He led the mules away from the road while Dorsin climbed up onto the cart and pulled the oiled canvas off of the ballista.

Sarette checked that all three of her crews’ mule teams were facing away from the carts. The drills didn’t include time to unyoke the animals from each other, so if they fled in fear, they’d have to run in tandem or risk injuring themselves. It was an unfortunate part of the plan, but the first priority had to be protecting the people and the siege weapons.

While the infantry ran to the first freight wagon to grab their pikes, Treya leapt up on top of the second.

“Catapult Four!” she shouted. “You stopped too soon, you’re outside my range!” Catapult Four, the only catapult that wasn’t a miniaturized figurine, was mounted on a wagon at the end of the procession, facing rearward in case of an attack from behind. The crew had detached their mule team already, and scrambled to bring them back. Treya called out to them again. “There’s no time for that! Priest Conley will have to watch over you!”

That would pull the priest of Pallisur away from his normal position just behind the front lines, so the catapult crew would get a lecture once the drill was over. Conley, now clad in silversteel mail and carrying a staff-spear, jogged back to the rear of the procession to practice his own fire protection spell.

Sir Georg had arrived to take command of Ballista Seven. “Go,” the portly knight told Sarette, his voice gruff.

She nodded, then sprinted for the front lines, where the infantry was setting up a pike-and-shield formation south by southeast of the siege weapons.

“We’ve got it down to two minutes,” Corec said to her as soon as she arrived. “Do you think you can hold the dragon off that long?”

“I’ll try. We really need Shavala.” Without the elven woman, Sarette would be dependent on the weather. If it was a clear day, could she summon a storm out of nothing by herself?

“Leena says she’ll reach us in a few days,” Corec said.

Sarette nodded. “With the two of us, I think we could manage two minutes, but only if we see it before it gets close. Once it’s close, I won’t be able to do much to slow it down.”

“We’ll have to assign people to watch all directions as we go. And from now on, let your crews handle the drills on their own. I need you up here as soon as there’s a sighting.”

“My men still need more practice,” Sarette said.

“Work with them in the evenings. Ask Kevik for help. But you won’t be with your crews during an attack, so they need to get used to doing it on their own.”

Sarette nodded. “Where’s my target?”

Corec pointed. “A mile out, and high in the sky. I want a five hundred yard range for the ballistae. We won’t be accurate at that distance, but we might get lucky, and if you can hold it back long enough, we may have time for a second volley before it reaches us.”

Sarette nodded. Her job was to slow the dragon down, interfere with its flying, and, if possible, take it out of the sky entirely. The trick was to strengthen the storm at a distance, while keeping the winds to a minimum within range of the ballistae.

She turned her attention to the dark clouds in the distance. Soon, a bolt of lightning flickered in the sky, and then another.