Wait…

  “It faces the sea,” Aefric said.

  “It does,” Ser Micham said. “If your grace wishes to climb the skeleton, I can show you the route I took.”

  “You don’t understand,” Aefric said. “The dragon’s skeleton faces the sea.”

  Ser Micham frowned, perhaps still not understanding.

  “Your grace refers to the legend,” Ser Beornric said. “That the dragon was dying as it flew, and crashed here, digging out the chasm in the process.”

  Aefric nodded.

  “Perhaps it tried to turn?” Ser Micham suggested.

  But Ser Yrsa’s eyes widened in understanding. She looked back down the chasm, then at Aefric.

  “You don’t think…” she said.

  “I hope not,” Aefric said. “A dragon that could do all that. What could kill it?”

  Ser Beornric looked down the chasm, then back at Aefric.

  “You think the dragon made the chasm? With its breath?”

  “Some of it was probably the dragon’s cave,” Aefric said, looking around. “But maybe. Big enough dragon, letting loose everything it had in a final death blast. Maybe.”

  “What could kill a dragon like that?” Ser Yrsa said. “For that matter, what could survive the blast? Not like there’s another skeleton here.”

  “Just a theory,” Aefric said.

  “Could be that the breath was enough to incinerate the great drake’s killer,” someone else said.

  And Aefric knew that voice.

  “Kainemorton?”

  “Of course,” Kainemorton called down from atop the dragon’s skull. Even from there, Aefric could see the old mage’s periwinkle eyes twinkling. “Who else?”

  Aefric flew up to meet him.

  “Good to see you,” Aefric said.

  “And you, your grace,” Kainemorton said with a wink. Kainemorton was the only person on Qorunn who knew that Aefric had once been Keifer McShane. But then, it was Kainemorton who’d taken Keifer here to become Aefric.

  Aefric still didn’t know how exactly that worked…

  “You seem to be settling in well,” Kainemorton said. “Making friends with borogs, and enemies with pirates. Plenty of rich, lovely women vying for your hand in marriage.”

  Kainemorton’s gaze grew penetrating then.

  “How fare you on that front?” he said softly. “Ready to marry again?”

  “I think so,” Aefric said, just as softly, with a nod. “It’s what Andi would want, which helps.”

  “Good,” Kainemorton said, then nodded at the skeleton. “You weren’t thinking of taking a bone or claw, I hope.”

  “Considered it,” Aefric said.

  “Leave it be,” Kainemorton said. “You don’t know what purpose it serves here.”

  “Purpose?” Aefric asked.

  “Ah, lad,” Kainemorton said. “You’ve learned so much, but have so much more to learn. When you figure out how to sense beyond magic itself into the very essence of Qorunn, you’ll begin to understand features like this skeleton, and the sacrifice this dragon made for us all.”

  “Sacrifice?” Aefric asked.

  “Of course,” Kainemorton said with a chuckle. “A dragon like this majestic wonder doesn’t die just because something tries to kill it.”

  Aefric chuckled. “First lesson you ever taught me. Look beyond the obvious.”

  “In all things, my dear Aefric. In all things.”

  Aefric scoffed. “You’re talking about my marriage prospects, aren’t you?”

  Kainemorton didn’t answer, though his eyes twinkled a little harder than normal.

  Aefric looked away down the Dragonscar toward the Risen Sea, which was so distant now that Aefric couldn’t even smell the sea on the nonstop wind that whipped through the Dragonscar.

  He turned back to Kainemorton, but the old mage was gone.

  “I hate when you do that,” Aefric grumbled, and flew back down to the ground.

  “So what would your grace prefer?” Ser Beornric asked. “A tooth or a claw? I’m not sure it can be done, but if anyone can loosen one enough to remove it—”

  “Neither,” Aefric said, looking back up at the great skeleton. He shook his head. “Let it remain intact, as a monument to the wondrous beast it once was.”

  “I thought your grace wanted a souvenir,” Ser Micham said. “I couldn’t manage it myself, but surely with your grace’s magic—”

  “No,” Aefric said. “The most important thing was seeing it. Taking a moment to admire the creature that those bones once formed.”

  All four of them took some time then to gaze up at the dragon’s skeleton, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “Come on,” Aefric said, finally. “I have a castellan to pick, and a duchy to run.”

  And with that he summoned his magari and they took to the air, heading back for Water’s End.

  Preview of Book Three: The Gift Castle

  Chapter One

  A half-dozen warships guarded the harbor of the port city of Kivash. All of them great, three-masted beasts, and armed with ballistae. Soldiers in chainmail on their decks, with spears and swords, standing ready if needed.

  And all of these warships flew two banners high and proud: the flag of the kingdom of Armyr — a golden oak tree on a field of forest green — and that of the duchy of Merrek — a gauntleted fist rising on a field of crimson.

  From his relaxing wooden chair on the afterdeck of his two-masted schooner, the Duke’s Hand, Aefric Brightstaff smiled at the sight.

  Good to see that Duchess Ashling had been rebuilding Merrek’s sea might, in the wake of the Godswalk Wars. If she could afford to keep six warships guarding this harbor, surely she had more than enough to see her trading vessels safely around the Risen Sea.

  With Aefric on such good terms with the duchess, that meant more protection for his own ships as well. All to the benefit of Armyr.

  “Six,” Ser Beornric Ol’Sandallas said from a canvas chair, to Aefric’s right.

  Ser Beornric, captain of the Knights of the Lake — the elite of Aefric’s personal guard — had seen close to forty summers, but most of his bulk was still muscle. He had the rough features and old scars of a man who’d served as a soldier and knight for most of his life, but his black hair and bushy mustache were liberally sprinkled with gray.

  He wore his full plate armor more often than not, though today he wore a dark red cotton doublet over a dark yellow tunic, dark brown breeches and new boots of strong leather.

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Ser Yrsa said, from her canvas chair to Aefric’s left.

  Ser Yrsa Azenai, Aefric’s general, was somewhere about a decade older than his own two-dozen summers. She was even taller than Aefric, and easily the strongest woman he’d ever met. Especially her hands and wrists. In battle, she made her twin huge, ridged maces cut the air like willow switches.

  Her tightly braided blonde hair had red undertones — unlike Aefric’s loosely worn locks, which were sandier in shade — and she never said or did anything to dissuade the rumor that the red in her hair came from the blood of her enemies.

  As though her major scar wasn’t intimidating enough on its own.

  All knights and most soldiers had their scars. Aefric himself had picked up several during his adventuring days. But few had a scar so distinctive as the one on Ser Yrsa’s face.

  It began in the middle of her forehead, and slashed down through her left eye, all the way to her chin. A healer had saved her eye and her vision, but now that eye was red. Dark red for the iris, and pale red where most eyes were white.

  A clear contrast to the dark gray of her right eye.

  On some, that scar might’ve been repulsive. But with her strong features and deep confidence, Ser Yrsa wore the scar as comfortably as she wore her full plate armor.

  She wasn’t in armor today, either. They weren’t expecting any trouble in Kivash. She wore a light brown tunic over dark brown breeches, along with her old campaign boots. Leather things that came up to her knee. They were heavily scuffed and scarred, but she swore she moved better in them.

  “And what is it you’re both seeing when you see those six warships?” Aefric asked.

  “Duchess Ashling’s expecting trouble,” Ser Beornric said.

  Ser Yrsa nodded.

  “From Malimfar?” Aefric asked.

  Up until this past spring, Kivash had belonged to the kingdom of Malimfar. But then Malimfar had tried to invade Armyr through the Indecisive River Valley, before being stopped by Aefric by means of a spell that almost killed him in the casting.

  The single largest magical working of his life, stopping more than twenty thousand soldiers cold — literally, for he used ice magic — and the skalds had named the event the Battle of Frozen Ridge.

  Frozen. Ridge.

  Aefric supposed it could’ve been worse. But he wasn’t sure how.

  Either way, King Colm, working with Duchess Ashling, had gone on to march down the river valley and take Kivash from Malimfar, as both compensation and punishment for the attempted invasion.

  “Possibly trouble from Malimfar,” Ser Yrsa said. “No doubt they’ll want to retake the port, when they can. But Duchess Ashling could also be worried about Nelazzi.”

  Nelazzi. The so-called pirate queen. Aefric would dearly love to go after her, especially since he’d recently proven that she was expanding her crimes to include slavery.

  But the king had been most explicit. Aefric was not to hunt down Nelazzi without permission.

  And that permission would not be forthcoming anytime soon. Not after those recent assassination attempts on Armyr’s royal family.

  Attempts that had not come from the obvious source: Malimfar. The crown’s investigation was ongoing, and Aefric hadn’t heard the latest—

  No. Aefric had to stop himself there.

  This trip was supposed to be vacation time for Aefric. A little break, and a chance to see about his gift from Ashling. Part of her thanks for the effort that stopped Malimfar.

  Somewhere in this city, on a hill not very far from the port, sat a castle that she’d given to Aefric. Along with everything inside, and the hill beneath it.

  Exploring a castle again. The thought made him smile.

  Karbin should be with him for this. How many old keeps and ruins had they explored together, back when Aefric was Karbin’s apprentice, and traveling with Karbin’s adventuring party, the Last Sons?

  Dozens at least.

  But now Karbin was Aefric’s court wizard. And he remained behind at Water’s End to help Aefric’s seneschal, Kentigern, get the new castellan, Ser Garnotin, acclimated to his duties.

  Sers Yrsa and Beornric continued to discuss which was more likely to cause trouble at this point in the year: Malimfar or Nelazzi.

  It was getting late into the summer, after all. The beginning of autumn was only three aetts away. And that seemed to imply something different to each of his two knight-advisers.

  Knowing they could go on at length on this topic without resolving anything, Aefric tuned them out. Instead he watched as the warships waved both his ships — the Duke’s Hand and the Swift Wave — past their line and into the harbor proper.

  They weren’t waving everyone past. Some ships got stopped and at least questioned. Possibly searched.

  But then, those other ships weren’t flying the banners Aefric’s ships flew. Both Armyr’s flag and his own Deepwater flag: the image of Lake Deepwater, with a sword sticking out, hilt first, on a background of navy blue.

  What was more, the Duke’s Hand also flew his personal standard — a staff with twin lightning bolts rising up from it, one to the dexter and one to the sinister, on a background of navy blue — indicating that the duke was aboard.

  Busy place, the harbor. Some thirty ships of various shapes and sizes were either heading into port, out of port, or waiting for permission to dock.

  And that didn’t count the ships passing the port entirely and heading up the Indecisive River to some other destination.

  Once upon a time, Kivash had been the only city here at the mouth of the Indecisive River. But before the Godswalk Wars had started, Merrek had been building up a town on the north bank — traditional Merrek territory, for the river had been the border between Malimfar and Armyr.

  But now that Ashling controlled Kivash, she’d been visibly trying to blend her new city with her developing town.

  The differences between the two sides, though, were still glaringly obvious.

  To begin Kivash on the south side was easily five times the size it was on the north bank. Perhaps larger.

  On the north side, the docks were small and made of beechwood. Aefric counted a half-dozen piers, only three of which saw current use.

  On the south side stretched wide docks of bleached greenwood, with close to forty piers stretching out into the harbor. And nearly all of them busy with ships.

  Beyond the docks, the north side and south side varied just as much.

  The north side was mostly wooden construction, with few buildings taller than two stories. The only stone construction Aefric could see from the harbor looked to be a small, brown keep, somewhere about the center of town.

  The south side, though, had a good deal of white stone in its buildings, some of which stretched as many as four or five stories.

  And that wasn’t counting the three castles, the freestanding tall, wide tower, the several temples. And of course, the series of domes off toward the far south, near the wall, which was also of white stone.

  The north side looked like an afterthought. Which it was, really. Though no doubt Ashling was hunting for white stone to make both sides match.

  She had her work cut out for her.

  Aefric was about to call down, to see how long the wait would be, when a single-masted sailboat pulled alongside the Duke’s Hand.

  “Ahoy, Duke’s Hand,” someone called from the sailboat. “That old sea dog Sikel still your captain?”

  “Who else?” Captain Sikel called back in a voice as big, rough and weathered as the captain himself. “Some sea devil spawn like yourself, Reyor?”

  The two captains laughed. Captain Reyor looked to be even older than Captain Sikel, and maybe twice as roughly handled by the years and the weather.

  “Not sure whose ass you kissed, Sikel, but I’ve got orders to let you skip the line. Follow me to the docks.”

  “Swift Wave’s gotta come with us,” Sikel called back. “Duke’s men and all that.”

  Captain Reyor tugged on his thick, gray beard while he considered his answer.

  “Don’t have any orders about a second ship.”

  “So you think his grace is going to abandon his men?” Sikel said. “That sound like what you’ve heard about Duke Aefric Brightstaff?”

  Captain Reyor frowned into his beard. “Swift Wave take orders from you, Sikel?”

  “I’m flying the duke’s personal standard. What do you think?”

  “I think I need to hear an answer.”

  “Then scrape the barnacles out of your ears, Reyor. The answer’s yes.”

  “Good enough for me,” Reyor said, then raised an amplifying cone to his mouth and called to trailing ship. “Swift Wave, follow the Duke’s Hand in.” He lowered it and turned back to Captain Sikel. “I’ll need you to sign something to that effect, once we dock.”

  “You gone remora, Reyor?”

  “Tell you over drinks. Let’s get you docked.”

  As the Duke’s Hand was led through the harbor, Ser Beornric went down to the main deck to have a word with the six Knights of the Lake under his command.

  He returned shortly and nodded at Ser Yrsa, who nodded back.

  “Why do I feel as though you two are planning something?” Aefric asked.

  “Because we are,” Ser Yrsa said. “Does your grace wish to assert personal control over every aspect of his arrangements? Or would he rather display trust in his advisers?”

  It was comforting to see amusement inside the challenge in Ser Yrsa’s eyes as she asked that. It meant she really was coming to trust Aefric.

  They hadn’t gotten on well together, in the spring. What with his calling his forces to war and assigning Countess Faenella to lead them without so much as informing his general, let alone consulting her or offering her command.

  The fact that he hadn’t met Yrsa, or even known he had a general, was probably the only reason she hadn’t either quit her post or tried to murder him…

  Aefric gave her the answer she knew she’d get.

  “Obviously I prefer to trust in my advisers,” he said with a nod.

  She cocked an eyebrow. Naturally, she chose the one split by her scar, emphasizing her red eye.

  “And I trust your grace won’t go flying off, leaving his guards behind?”

  “I haven’t done that in … at least two aetts now.”

  “And when it’s been at least a season, I’ll ask less often. But I’ll continue asking until at least a year passes between such incidents.”

  “Fine,” Aefric said, raising an open hand in hopes that conceding the point was enough. “I am trying to move past my old adventuring habits.”

  “And we do appreciate it,” Ser Beornric said, giving Ser Yrsa a meaningful look.

  She nodded.

  Oh, they were planning something all right.

  Meanwhile, the Duke’s Hand and Swift Wave weren’t just guided to any old docking spots. They were guided to prime spots at the very foot of the pier nearest the river, with only one other ship — another two-master, though larger than Aefric’s ship — between the Duke’s Hand and the wharf itself.

  From the way Captain Sikel raved, they must’ve been given a docking position second only to the duchess’ own ship.

  Which suggested that Duchess Ashling was here in Kivash…

  The deckhands were tying off the Duke’s Hand, and lowering the gangplank when Ser Yrsa took her turn to head down and see to arrangements.

  Aefric stood and took the Brightstaff in hand, ready to head down himself.