Aefric thrilled to finally be guiding a magari of his own through the air. He wasn’t sure even Karbin knew the spell to call one.

  Of course, Aefric didn’t know the spell either. But having an item that would let him do it was almost as good.

  High over Lake Deepwater and into the morning skies they soared. Wylyn whooping with pleasure. Ser Beornric shaking his head and hanging on tight. And Ser Yrsa watching every direction at once, as though they might take catapult fire at any moment.

  They flew over Lachedran, and its farms and foothills. And over the lands north. The groves of trees. The waystations Ser Yrsa had set up for the quick relay of information between the Dragonscar and Water’s End.

  At one point, Wylyn even swore he saw his daughter, riding along at speed. Aefric had to remind him that they really didn’t have room for one more.

  It was midmorning when they at last approached the Dragonscar and Aefric began the magari’s controlled descent.

  Lots of activity on the southern ridge. There were two trebuchets, launching missiles at hastily assembled towers on the north side.

  The towers never stood a chance.

  There weren’t that many soldiers up on the north side. Couple of hundred, perhaps. Not as many as Aefric was expecting.

  Easily four hundred on the Deepwater side of the Dragonscar, funneling around the likeliest route down for troops trying to move with speed and safety.

  Shouts came. People pointed at the magari.

  Aefric steered for descent into the Dragonscar itself. Which got them targeted by arrows from Silverlake bows.

  “Damn your eyes!” Wylyn shouted loud enough to hurt Aefric’s ears, though he wasn’t sure how far Wylyn’s voice would carry over the brisk winds. “You’re shooting at your own duke!”

  The arrows fell short, though, into the Dragonscar itself…

  …where the action seemed to be halted.

  Hundreds of dead bodies on the hard stone ground. Some from wearing Deepwater tabards, but many, many more wearing Silverlake colors.

  Deepwater seemed to control the ground down there. Aefric could see Silverlake prisoners — perhaps two score — but the free soldiers seemed to be all his.

  And they were all gathered around a south-side cave mouth.

  That was the cave Ge’rek and Po’rek had gone into, when Aefric left them here. Had the Silverlake forces retreated into that cave? If so, what had become of the borogs?

  Aefric landed and dismissed the magari.

  “Deepwater!” Ser Yrsa yelled. “Your duke is here!”

  The soldiers parted. Some of those closest to the cave looked uncertain, but they all raised their right fists high in salute and bellowed out, “Deepwater!”

  “Report!” she next yelled, and a half dozen soldiers — undoubtedly officers, trotted over.

  Ser Beornric drew his sword and positioned himself to guard Aefric’s back.

  “I’m going to check on my people,” Wylyn said to Aefric. “What do you want as ransom for my prisoners?”

  Aefric shook his head, while Yrsa took the officers to one side and spoke with them in low voices.

  “I have to ask for something, don’t I?” Aefric asked.

  “That’s how it works,” Wylyn said.

  “Then consider this a show of trust, Wylyn,” Aefric said. “Assess the prisoners. You know their worth. But I want that ransom paid by Mountain Home.”

  “Believe it,” Wylyn said, then shook hands with Aefric.

  Aefric whistled over a soldier.

  “This assault was done without the approval of Duke Wylyn,” Aefric said. “He is not our prisoner, he is a guest. Escort him anywhere reasonable that he wants to go, and by my order, see to it he isn’t hassled.”

  “Yes, your grace,” the soldier said with a bow, then turned and escorted Wylyn away.

  Aefric and Ser Beornric stepped over to where Yrsa was taking report.

  “What’s the situation?” he asked.

  “Unclear,” Ser Yrsa said, and she was angry enough about it that her long scar was purpling and the red of her left eye had darkened at least two shades.

  “What’s clear is this,” she said. “Silverlake brought miners down here late last night. Lots of soldiers, too. They didn’t head for the north side cave, though. They headed for the first cave they came to on the south side.”

  “Ge’rek and Po’rek’s cave,” Aefric said.

  Ser Yrsa nodded. “They’d figured out we were here and watching. Created a diversion to hide their descent. A mock signal fire.” She glared at one of the officers. “At least, we’re assuming it was a mock signal fire.”

  “No reinforcements have been spotted inbound,” the officer, an older man with drooping mustaches, said. “And we’ve had the scouts watching for them.”

  “Which was why they missed the move into the Dragonscar,” Ser Yrsa said. “They didn’t find out until they heard the sounds of battle.”

  “Battle?” Aefric said. “How much fighting could there have been?”

  “Sounded like a lot, your grace,” that officer said. “Could have been the echoes, though. This place echoes unto madness. Might only have been a skirmish, but it sounded like out-and-out war.”

  “Our soldiers hurried down,” Ser Yrsa said. “Made the most organized assault they could.”

  “It was like Silverlake was fighting on two fronts,” the officer said. “That’s when we found out we had a problem in the cave.”

  “What problem?” Aefric asked.

  The officer hesitated.

  “Answer your duke,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “Well, your grace,” the officer said, wincing as though in pain. “The scouts told us that was the cave your borogs were in. And we’re certain as we can be that no one else snuck in there.”

  “How is this a problem?” Aefric asked.

  “Well, your grace,” the officer said, still looking pained. “We were given clear orders not to harm those borogs. So we couldn’t just charge in there, weapons in hand. They’d attack us, my people would defend themselves, and your grace would be short a pair of borogs.”

  “You’re suggesting that Ge’rek and Po’rek … what? Slaughtered a bunch of Silverlake soldiers by themselves?”

  “No, your grace,” the officer said, tugging on his mustaches with one hand. “Based on the testimony of our prisoners, at least two hundred Silverlake soldiers went into that cave, along with at least a score of miners. No way two borogs did all that. Borogs were that tough, we’d’ve lost the wars.”

  “So you think someone else is in there,” Aefric said.

  “Someone or something, your grace,” the officer said. “Seems to me that those mining borogs must’ve dug out something that did ’em in. And whatever it was, it’s tough enough to take down a company of soldiers, too.”

  “Your grace,” Ser Yrsa said. “Don’t.”

  “She’s right,” Ser Beornric said. “An adventurer would go in there, but a duke wouldn’t.”

  “Thing is,” the officer continued. “We didn’t have any orders about a situation like this. Our last orders were to leave that cave alone, because your grace’s borogs were in there. And I didn’t want to issue any orders against that. Even though those borogs have to be as dead as those Silvelake soldiers and miners.”

  “So you and your troops have been holding the line at the cave mouth,” Aefric said.

  “That’s right, your grace,” the officer said. “And if I may say so, we’re mighty glad to have your grace and our general here to make the call.”

  “We need to send in scouts,” Ser Yrsa said. “Smart ones. Good runners. Have them move in a dozen feet at a time. Slow. Cautious. Overlapping. Ready to break at the first sign of trouble.”

  “That’s one approach,” Aefric said nodding, then began striding toward the cave.

  “Your grace, I object!” Ser Yrsa said, falling into step beside him.

  “I agree, your grace,” Ser Beornric said, keeping pace. “Going into that cave would be completely irresponsible of you.”

  “You’re right,” Aefric said cheerfully. “It would. Which is why I have something else in mind.”

  Elsewhere it was likely a warm summer morning. But there in the Dragonscar, the whipping wind made the air almost feel like autumn.

  But though it may have felt like autumn, it smelled like blood and death. Too many had needlessly lost their lives that day.

  There was nothing Aefric could do about that. But there might’ve been something he could do to prevent more death.

  All around Aefric, his soldiers buzzed with wonder about what their duke was doing. Perhaps wondering if he’d lost his mind. Or perhaps just hoping to see the kind of miracle he’d pulled off at Frozen Ridge.

  A thought that made Aefric grit his teeth. Even he was starting to think of that day above the Indecisive River Valley, the magic he’d wrought against thousands upon thousands of Malimfari troops, as Frozen Ridge.

  The skalds always won in the end, it seemed.

  Ser Yrsa, walking on Aefric’s right, quietly fumed. Doubtless at what she thought was her duke’s idiocy.

  Ser Beornric, walking on Aefric’s left, was watching all directions, as though expecting sudden attack.

  Both knights had their weapons naked in their hands. Much as Aefric had the Brightstaff in his.

  Aefric stopped at the cave mouth.

  The sunlight didn’t stretch very far inside. The angle was wrong. But even so, Aefric could see at least another dozen dead. Eight of them soldiers, bloodied Silverlake tabards over their chainmail, and four poor souls in simple roughspun.

  Probably some of the miners Baron Leofstan had sent down here.

  Aefric thumped the butt of the Brightstaff on the hard rock, and caused the sound of thunder to echo up and down the chasm.

  “Ge’rek! Po’rek!” he called out in Borog. “Clan chief call you.”

  At first, there was no noise but the wind, and the hushed conversation of Aefric’s soldiers.

  But a borog silently stepped forward, just to the edge of visibility.

  A borog who wasn’t either Ge’rek or Po’rek. This one was larger than Po’rek, but smaller than Ge’rek. And this one had a heavier jaw, and smaller nose horns.

  This borog was also armed. Held a large iron maul in one hand.

  “Who say chief call?” the borog said in a grinding voice.

  “Chief say,” Aefric said, and stomped the ground hard. “You challenge?”

  The borog snorted. Narrowed his eyes — at least, Aefric thought this one was male. The borog looked long and hard at the Brightstaff. Snorted again.

  “You thunder stick?” the borog asked.

  Aefric stomped his foot. Caused another thunderclap with the Brightstaff, and in the process let white lightning play along its length.

  “Chief,” the borog said, ducking his shoulders in submission. He turned back into the cave. “Thunder stick. Chief call.” He turned back to Aefric ducked his shoulders again. “Ge’rek and Po’rek come.”

  “Check me on this,” Ser Beornric said softly. “When we left the Dragonscar, we only left two borogs behind. And that isn’t either of them.”

  “No,” Ser Yrsa said, frowning. “That’s a borog we don’t know.”

  Minutes passed. Silence from within. The new borog simply stood there, waiting.

  Finally, Ge’rek and Po’rek emerged.

  Each of them carried a hollowed out brown rock two feet wide, and at least that deep.

  And each of those hollowed out rocks were filled with gold nuggets.

  A nearby soldier whistled appreciatively.

  Ge’rek and Po’rek set their rocks full of gold on the stone ground in front of Aefric.

  “God metal for chief!” Ge’rek shouted.

  Po’rek answered, and wasn’t alone.

  Many, many more voices echoed the sentiment from within the cave. And unlike Ge’rek and Po’rek, all those other voices were speaking Borog.

  “Us bring more,” Ge’rek said, and started to turn.

  “Wait,” Aefric said, which seemed to puzzle them, so he switched to Borog. “Stop.”

  Ge’rek and Po’rek turned back.

  “Clan grows?” Aefric asked.

  Ge’rek and Po’rek both snorted and stomped and scraped their feet along the stone.

  “Clan Thunder Stick now eight twenties strong!” Ge’rek shouted, and from inside the cave came the thunderous sound of many borog feet, stomping.

  “More come,” Po’rek said, in the common tongue. “We call. More come.”

  Aefric could hardly believe it. He’d been worried that Silverlake soldiers would kill the borogs, but it seemed the borogs could more than take care of themselves.

  “Who was it who said they’d run off to look for others of their own kind?” Aefric asked. Shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Looks as though they’ve called their own kind here, instead.”

  “Chief pleased?” Po’rek asked, suspiciously.

  Aefric did his best to snort as they did, and stomped his feet noisily. “Many pleased!”

  More stomping and snorting.

  Aefric moved his soldiers back then, and had the whole of Clan Thunder Stick — a clan of which he was evidently the chief — come out to meet him.

  If anything, Ge’rek’s count was a little short. Aefric thought there were closer to a hundred seventy borogs who came out of the caves. Every one of them armed. Some with axes or mauls, others with short swords or broadswords.

  But every single one of them carried a weapon. All except for Ge’rek and Po’rek.

  And those borogs brought out a lot of gold to offer Aefric.

  Then it was just a question of organizing things.

  Ser Yrsa handled how the gold would be taken back to Water’s End.

  Ser Beornric took care of having the Silverlake dead collected and readied for return.

  Aefric explained that the borogs were now free to mine all the gold on the south side, but needed to call down an engineer explain about the hundred-foot limit into the north-side cave.

  That took a while. In the end, the engineer gave them a hundred feet of cord, and Aefric explained how to use it as a guide for where to stop.

  He could tell that they didn’t understand why they had to stop digging the god metal after a cord length into the north-side cave walls. But they would obey their chief, and for now, that was good enough.

  Other than that, Ge’rek and Po’rek explained that things had been pretty quiet for them, up until the Silverlake invasion that morning. That they’d just been digging and, whenever they opened into an existing tunnel, put out the call for borogs to join their clan.

  Slowly at first, then faster, more and more borogs had answered the call.

  It seemed that there had been as many borogs as humans displaced by the Godwalk Wars.

  “All right,” Aefric said, once they were done talking. And after Ser Yrsa had joined them, to help clarify some of the points where Aefric didn’t know enough Borog, and Po’rek didn’t know enough of the common tongue.

  “Me need chief hand,” he said to Ge’rek and Po’rek in Borog. Pointed back and forth between them. “Which?”

  Po’rek ducked his or her shoulders at Ge’rek.

  Ge’rek snorted.

  Po’rek stomped.

  Ge’rek turned to Aefric. Thumped his chest.

  “Excellent,” Aefric said. “Humanway I name you Ler Ge’rek. Borog way me call you chief hand.”

  “Chief hand!” Po’rek bellowed, and stomped.

  “Chief hand!” the other borogs echoed, and stomped.

  “You weren’t kidding about the borogs,” Wylyn said, walking up, then stopped and stared slack jawed at all the gold. “They dug this?”

  “Us dig god metal for chief!” Ge’rek said proudly, and stomped.

  The nearest borogs also stomped, but most of them were heading back into the caves. Likely to get back to their work.

  “I get it now,” Wylyn said, shaking his head. “I thought you were going mad, but I get it.”

  “Everything straightened out?” Aefric asked.

  “Baron Leofstan took off as soon as it was clear his side was losing,” Wylyn said, and spat. “I’ll have to dig that bastard out of his castle.”

  “His soldiers should yield to you,” Aefric said. “You are their overlord.”

  “And the Ol’Laerallan family has been running Mountain Home since long before I was born.” Wylyn shook his head. “Might not be easy.”

  Aefric smirked. “You’re looking forward to it, aren’t you?”

  Wylyn grinned wide enough to double his wrinkles. “Are you kidding? I haven’t gotten to break into a castle in years. Plus it’ll be great experience for Okelai.”

  “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Aefric said, clapping Wylyn on the shoulder.

  “Yeah,” Wylyn said. “Oh, and I gave Beornric here my estimate of the value of your prisoners, and my sworn statement that I’ll pay it.”

  “They’re yours then,” Aefric said.

  “Good, thanks,” Wylyn said, then grimaced as he looked over his dead. “I want to get as many of them home alive as I can.”

  He sighed. Shook his head. Clapped Aefric on the shoulder.

  “Until next time,” he said.

  “Next time,” Aefric said.

  Wylyn trotted off, yelling orders at his troops.

  Ser Yrsa watched him for a moment, then said, “He’s a bad influence on you.”

  Aefric snorted. She was probably right.

  But it was nice to have someone else to talk to. Someone who knew what it was like to go adventuring.

  Ser Yrsa volunteered to stay behind in the Dragonscar and handle getting the gold safely and securely back to Water’s End.

  Aefric suspected she was also going to make sure there were no misunderstandings between the borogs and the humans. A matter that would be helped by her command of Borog, which was stronger than Aefric’s.

  He’d have to ask her sometime how she came to speak their language so well.

  So Aefric was joined only by Ser Beornric on the magari flight back to Water’s End.

  The big knight didn’t seem to enjoy flying as much as Aefric did. He clung to the chariot the whole way, and looked slightly pale. He didn’t even take advantage of the trip to harass Aefric about marriage issues.