As we neared the gatehouse, Yvette reached into her saddle pack. She produced my golden circlet and handed it to me.

  "I had a feeling you might need this today," she said with a knowing smile. "If you are to speak as a King, you should look like one."

  I placed the gold over my brow, feeling the weight of it. "What would I do without you?"

  Yvette’s cornflower blue eyes sparkled with mirth. “Miss me terribly?”

  “No doubt.” Even though we had only been together for a short while, I couldn’t imagine life in Avalon without my smart and beautiful Queen beside me.

  “Shall I announce your presence?” Graxion asked as he surveyed the walls. Occasionally, a head would peek over for a moment before quickly disappearing again.

  “Tell them I want to speak to whoever is in charge.”

  Graxion’s voice rumbled across the city. “People of Knocklong, King Roman of Avalon wishes to speak to your leader. No harm shall come to anyone during this parley.”

  The heavy iron portcullis creaked upward just a few feet, and a small, trembling delegation emerged. At the head was a man dressed in fine robes, flanked by two guards.

  The guards wore simple leather jacks and carried spears with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. The two men didn’t have the look of regular soldiers. I guessed that they were members of the Town Watch or Constables.

  "I am the chief steward of Knocklong. You... you are trespassing on the lands of Duchess Miranda!" the steward stammered, his eyes darting between the massive red dragon at my back and the gleaming gold on my head. He was sweating profusely despite the cool breeze.

  "Who governs this city?" I asked, my voice calm but resonant.

  "The... the Baroness Ramona," the steward replied, wiping his brow. "But she is not in residence at the moment, my Lord."

  I looked up at the walls. Emboldened by Graxion’s promise of a truce–they were now jammed with curious onlookers. Commoners, merchants, and children were all peering down to take a look at the King and his dragons.

  I didn't see the glint of any armored soldiers on the ramparts, only a few more of the nervous Town Watch. Turning my gaze to the steward, I could see he was trembling with fear.

  "The Baroness has no doubt gone with the Duchess to Haltrock," I said, a small smile playing on my lips. I gestured to the sparse guard. "And it seems she has taken her soldiers with her."

  The steward’s resolve finally buckled. He fell to one knee, his head bowed. "Please, my Lord! Spare our city! We have no quarrel with you, and we have no army left to fight you."

  I looked up at the crowds on the wall. The people were nervous as they waited for my answer. I raised my voice so it would carry to as many people as possible.

  "I am not here to sack Knocklong!" I declared. "I am Roman, King of Avalon. I am traveling to Haltrock Castle to defeat the goblin horde, just as my dragons and I broke their army at Nander's Pass!"

  A stunned silence followed, then a single cheer erupted from the battlements, quickly followed by dozens more. The fear that had gripped the city began to dissolve into hope. They weren't being invaded by a conqueror- they were being visited by a savior.

  The steward looked up, his face filled with profound relief. "What... what do you require of us, my lord?"

  Yvette urged Garryn forward, her regal poise settling the air. "The army will camp outside your walls tonight. We require no tribute and no blood. We only ask for safe passage for our wagons and cavalry through the city in the morning. That is all."

  "Of course! Anything!" the steward cried, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the road. "The gates will be open at dawn!"

  The sun had barely crested the eastern peaks when the great iron-shod doors of the south gate swung wide. My army moved with the rhythmic precision of a veteran force, the steady clack-clack of hooves on the paved North Road echoing against the stone buildings of Knocklong.

  The Avalonian cavalry rode at the front of the column. The lead rider held the Avalon banner high, its red and gold silk snapping in the crisp breeze. Next came the Mersylvanian horses followed by Gromlin and his Companions.

  The wagons were able to move two abreast as they trundled down the wide street. Despite being laden with infantry and supplies, their powerful draft horses maintained a quick pace. Logak’s fifty horses brought up the rear.

  Shadows flickered across the city as my dragonriders flew overhead.Then came the shadows. Graxion led the flight, his crimson scales reflecting the sun’s rays like a forge-fire against the royal blue sky.

  A rhythmic thunder rolled across the city as ten pairs of massive wings beat against the air. The citizens of Knocklong, who had spent the night huddled behind barred doors, spilled out onto balconies and into the streets, their heads craned upward in a mixture of terror and absolute wonder.

  "Look! The Red one!" a child’s voice shrieked from a second-story window, a small hand pointing toward Graxion. "It’s the King's dragon!"

  The reaction was a wave that moved through the city. It was like a breathless, collective gasp as the sheer scale of the beasts became apparent. The shadows of Bakaan’s black wings and Kiyomari’s unique, elongated sea-dragon form swept over the town square, briefly eclipsing the sun. As the people accepted the fact that the dragons weren't diving to burn, but soaring to protect, the atmosphere shifted.

  Old men stood on their porches, leaning on canes and nodding with grim respect at the sight of such power. Women held their children aloft, wanting them to see a sight that would be sung about for generations. On the city walls and gatehouse rooftops, members of the Town Watch lowered their spears, their expressions shifting from wary suspicion to wide-eyed awe.

  Graxion landed on the central keep as the other dragons circled above. The red dragon moved to perch on the edge of the battlement, between a pair of royal blue and gold banners of the crowned mountain lion that gently waved in the morning air.

  Below us, a group of children began to cheer. The sound was infectious, rippling through the crowds until the entire city was a roar of approval.

  "Long live the Dragon King!" a voice cried out from the throng, soon joined by dozens of others. Graxion responded with a short, sharp burst of flame that caused a few onlookers to jump back in startled laughter.

  Kiyomari landed near us. The sea dragon shimmered like shards of the ocean in the morning light.

  Kiyomari opened her jaws and let out a resonant, melodic hum that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the city. The people below stood in silent awe at the beautiful sound. Noree smiled at me. “The people love you, Roman.”

  I chuckled. “I think they love the fact that I am not here to burn their city.”

  My mergirl tilted her head as she regarded me with her beautiful aquamarine eyes. “If they get to know you, they will see how easy you are to love.”

  Her words touched me. Before I could reply, Kiyomari leaped into the sky again. I looked back down at the cheering crowd.

  For not the first time, I wondered at the strange turn my life had taken. I had found a new purpose and a family. My life was amazing here.

  As the last wagons rolled through the gate, I saluted the people of Knocklong. Graxion snapped his wings as he jumped off the keep’s roof. Wheeling around the city, we caught up to the other dragons.

  In the far distance, I could see the mountains where Haltrock waited. The dark clouds gathering there were a stark reminder that obstacles remained. This new life had given me new opportunities, but there were also new threats and dangers to overcome.

  44

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The road continued its steady, relentless climb. As we moved north from Knocklong, the horizon seemed to lift with us, the rolling hills of the south giving way to the vast, windswept high plains of central Tallwyn.

  Cowherds paused to gawk at us as we passed pastures filled with cattle. Interspaced between the pastures were fields of wheat and another plant that I thought might be oats.

  Bard Kashko rode at my left, recounting his past travels through Tallwyn. The elf looked as comfortable in the saddle as he did on a tavern stage, his lute secured tightly to his back. When he told the tale of how he had drunk so much he fell out of the hayloft while sleeping, even Graxion let out a rumble of laughter.

  "You see that gold on the horizon, King Roman?" Kashko asked, gesturing toward the endless fields of wheat that swayed in the breeze. "That is the lifeblood of the high plains. Tallwyn’s wheat is prized across Avalon for its hardiness. But don't let the grain fool you- the Duchess has a sweeter side. In the sheltered valleys further east, the orchards produce pears and cherries so succulent they’re often served at wealthy nobles’ tables throughout Avalon."

  “How is the wheat so tall already? Summer has barely begun.” Compared to the oats, the wheat was easily three times taller and already starting to turn a golden brown color.

  Kashko grinned. “It is winter wheat.”

  “I frowned as I looked at the plants again. “I don’t understand. How can it be winter wheat if it looks ready to be harvested soon?”

  The bard chuckled. “The hardy variety grown here is planted in the autumn. They say it goes dormant in the winter. When spring arrives, the crop awakens and drinks deeply from the melting snows. This process allows it to be ready faster than other wheat varieties planted in the spring.”

  I looked out over the landscape. It was a rich territory, well-maintained and prosperous. "It’s a land worth defending," I noted.

  "Indeed," Kashko agreed. "But the real wealth isn't under the sun… it's under the stone!" The bard paused, waiting to see if I understood his meaning.

  "You are referring to metal ores?"

  "Indeed, King Roman! I knew you were more than just a boorish gladiator!" Kashko’s eyes glittered with mirth.

  Yvette, astride Garryn on the other side of Kashko, laughed. "I tell you truly, Bard Kashko, I was impressed to find out Roman was more than just muscles and a handsome face!"

  The elf bowed his head towards the queen. “Yes, indeed, my lady. Yes, indeed.”

  Kashko pointed towards the distant hills. “The mountains to our north hold the deepest iron and silver mines in the region. The silversmiths of Highfield and Dram are not merely craftsmen; they are skilled artists. Their filigree work is famous even beyond this island, sought after in the furthest reaches of Faewyn. If you see a Duke in a distant land wearing a silver signet of perfect detail, it likely began its life in a Tallwyn forge."

  "And what of the capital?" I asked. "Dram?"

  Kashko’s eyes softened with a genuine traveler’s appreciation. "Ah, Dram. It sits upon the shores of Lake Mirren—a body of water so clear and blue it looks like a fallen piece of the sky. The city’s white stone towers reflect in the water at sunset, making it look like there are two cities, one of stone and one of light. It is a beautiful place, Roman. A pity the Duchess has such a sharp temper; it sours the scenery."

  The next day, the ground began to rise again. As the afternoon began to wane, the landscape grew more rugged. The golden wheat fields were replaced by outcroppings of jagged stone and stunted pines. The road wound through a series of natural rock corridors, the earth beneath us turning from brown soil to a hard, grey shale.

  Then, emerging from the mountain’s shadow like a slumbering beast, Highfield appeared.

  Highfield was a city of the foothills, perched atop a steep, prominent hill that guarded the entrance to the higher passes. It sat directly astride the North Road, its grey stone walls following the natural contours of the rise.

  To the east, a wide, rushing creek cut a deep gorge into the earth, the water white and frothing as it tumbled over rocks. To the west, a dense forest of ancient pines crowded the base of the hill, their thick trunks and tangled undergrowth creating a natural barrier.

  The city’s walls were taller than those of Crossroads. Highfield lacked the multitude of defensive towers of that city further south, but it was a formidable obstacle, nonetheless. For a column of wagons and cavalry, there was no easy way around; the only path forward lay directly through the city gates.

  “I don’t see many farms.” We had only passed a few barns and farmhouses.

  Kashko held his hand out towards the ground. “The soil here is rocky and unforgiving. There are many goat and sheep herds, but few actual farms. The city’s true wealth comes from the mines.”

  As we drew closer, I saw two sets of banners snapping in the wind. The Crowned Mountain Lion of Tallwyn was prominent, but flying alongside it were black banners featuring a silver hammer embroidered with exquisite detail.

  "Those are the banners of Countess Calista, ruler of Highfield," Sizuna explained, her blue dragon walking closer so the Countess could join the conversation. "She is as iron-willed as the swords her smiths forge. Do not expect her to be as easily swayed as the steward of Knocklong."

  I halted the column within shouting distance of the city’s gatehouse. A pair of metal shod doors sealed the entrance to the city. I could see the heavy lattice of a portcullis had been lowered to further protect the gates.

  Unlike Knocklong, there were no curious faces peeking from the battlements. Instead, I saw the disciplined formations of armored soldiers and the glint of crossbows. Atop the defensive towers, the heavy wooden arms of the mounted ballistae were tracking our every move. The air here was sharp with the cold tension of a city prepared for a siege.

  My gut told me that the city wasn’t going to let us pass without a fight. Highfield was not going to be another Knocklong.

  I felt the ripple of unease through the ranks behind me. My soldiers felt the tension. As Bakaan drew closer, I saw Monica’s hand tightening on her spear. Everyone could sense that Highfield was a gateway that was firmly shut, and the silence from its walls was more telling than any shout.

  The bard eyed the closed gate. “It seems they are expecting you.”

  “It’s my fault, really,” Bakaan rumbled. “I tried to blend into the scenery, but apparently, a mountain-sized shadow of pure, terrifying obsidian is a bit of a giveaway. My perfection is simply too inconvenient for clandestine travel.”

  Graxion let out a dry, rattling snort that sent a spray of sparks dancing into the crisp afternoon air.

  "Perfection? You confuse 'majesty' with 'nuisance,' Bakaan," the red dragon rumbled, his deep voice vibrating in the very earth beneath our horses' hooves. "They aren't closing the gates because they’re intimidated by your 'obsidian shadow.' They simply saw you coming and realized that if they didn't lock the doors, they'd be forced to listen to your boasting until the next solstice. Even a goblin horde is a quieter guest than a Black dragon with an audience."

  I could hear many of the soldiers chuckling at the dragons’ banter. My lips cracked a smile. Partly because of Graxion’s humor, but also because the joke was just what the troops needed.

  “Yvette,” I nodded to my wife before turning to the black dragon. “Monica. Let’s go introduce ourselves.”

  45

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The three dragons—Graxion, Garryn, and Bakaan—strode forward, their shadows stretching long across the rocky incline leading to Highfield’s South Gate. We stopped at a wary distance, well outside the optimal range of the massive, iron-tipped ballistae that sat upon the battlements.

  Monica and Yvette were on either side of me, their expressions grim. We didn’t need a herald to announce our presence. Graxion drew in a deep breath before letting out a roar that echoed across the city.

  “Just in case any of the children of the ground were not paying attention,” Graxion said quietly before continuing in a loud rumble. "People of Highfield! King Roman of Avalon requests a parley with Countess Calista!"

  For a long minute, there was no movement. Then, a man appeared at the top of the gatehouse, framed by the black and silver hammer banners. He didn't descend to meet us on the road as the steward of Knocklong had. He stood behind the safety of the stone merlons, looking down at us with a cold, detached air.

  "I am Lord Hain," he called out, his voice thin but carrying a sharp, practiced arrogance. "I speak with the voice of my niece, Countess Calista, and the authority of Duchess Miranda. You are to depart these lands immediately, trespasser, or face the wrath of the armies of Tallwyn."

  "We have no quarrel with Highfield," I replied, my voice steady. "We seek only passage. The goblins and their troll allies have besieged Haltrock. We are marching to break that siege and save your Duchess. We passed through Knocklong without incident; let us do the same here."

  Lord Hain let out a short, mocking laugh. "If you passed through Knocklong, it is because of that fool of a steward who trembles at the shadow of a pigeon. Highfield is made of sterner stuff. We do not open our gates to foreign upstarts. If Haltrock is in danger, the Duchess’s army will handle it. You have no authority here—return to Avalon City."

  “The armored trolls are no joke. They almost overran the fortress at Nander’s Pass before we drove them back.” The pompous lord was starting to piss me off.

  Hain waved his hand dismissively. “If a ragtag army such as yours can defeat the goblin horde, Tallwyn’s warriors will have no difficulty in doing the same.”

  "The goblins are a threat to all Avalon, Lord Hain," Yvette interjected, her voice ringing with royal authority. "By denying us passage, you are effectively signing the Duchess's and your niece’s death warrant. Is that truly what you wish?"

  "My service is to the security of these walls," Hain countered, his eyes narrowing. "I have my orders. Depart by sunset, or we shall see how well your dragons fly when their wings are pinned to the earth by our bolts."

  The arrogance in his tone snapped my patience. I urged Graxion a few steps closer, the dragon’s low growl vibrating through the saddle.

  "Listen to me, Lord Hain," I said, my voice turning to steel. "I am going to Haltrock. I would prefer to go through your city as a friend. But if those gates are not open by dawn, I will take them off their hinges. I will destroy this gatehouse, and I will ensure you are buried under the rubble."