I gripped my lance one-handed, couching it against my side like a medieval knight. The trick with aerial jousting was timing.

  Karn’s two-foot-long lance head gleamed in the mountain sun, aimed straight for my chest. At the last second, I twisted my lance up and across, deflecting his thrust with a sharp crack of wood on wood. The impact nearly tore the weapon from me, but I held on as we flashed past each other.

  The watching, soaring riders roared their approval.

  We wheeled our beasts, climbing for altitude. My mount was breathing harder than Karn’s, the days of travel showing yet again. His beast looked fresh, eager even, its head fin raised aggressively.

  “Not bad, boy!” Karn shouted. “But you’re only delaying the inevitable!”

  We flew at each other again.

  This time I saw his adjustment. He was aiming lower, trying to catch me under my guard. I dropped my lance point to meet his, but he rolled his pterodactyl at the last second, his lance head scraping along my saddle as I barely managed to pull my leg up in time.

  Again, we separated, circling. The mountain peaks surrounded us like an arena of stone and snow.

  With the third pass, Karn came in differently. He held his lance loosely, almost carelessly. Warning bells went off in my mind. As we closed, his left hand moved in a blur.

  The throwing dagger spun through the air, a perfect throw that would have driven through my throat. But I shifted at the last second. Instead, the dagger slammed into my shoulder. The leather padding and metal plate underneath stopped it, the blade clattering off to fall toward the mountains below.

  “So it’s daggers now?” I shouted. “That’s fine with me!”

  I said that so others would realize what Karn had done. Forkbeard bellowed, pointing at the glittering knife tumbling toward the ground.

  Yet even though Karn had thrown a dagger, a loophole by the way he’d spoken earlier, I didn’t think I could use my javelins. Too many of his men would cry foul, would see it as bringing foreign weapons into an honorable challenge. Karn had thrown a traditional Pterodactyl Rider’s weapon. My javelins were something else entirely.

  Karn whirled around as he snarled, bringing his black beast toward mine again, but this time he pulled his lance back at the last moment. His pterodactyl’s talons extended, reaching for my mount’s wings.

  The move caught me by surprise. I’d expected another thrown dagger.

  The two beasts collided in midair with a thumping sound. Talons raked against scales, wings buffeted against wings. My pterodactyl was exhausted from days of flight and couldn’t match the fury of Karn’s fresh mount. We were driven down, spinning, his beast’s talons scoring bloody lines across my pterodactyl’s chest.

  I hauled desperately on the control straps, and my beast broke free with a painful shriek. We separated, my mount laboring now, drops of blood spattering the air beneath us.

  Karn laughed, wild and triumphant. “Your beast weakens! Soon you’ll be falling, and I’ll watch you splatter on the rocks below!”

  He was right. In a prolonged fight, his fresh mount would destroy mine. I needed to end this now.

  Did that mean I should use the javelins? It seemed like the right move. Killing him and living would be better than dying—if I could hurl true. And yet, I needed all the Pterodactyl Riders if I wanted to smash the Crimson Talon Horde for good and its Ophidian allies.

  We came at each other yet again, lances leveled. But as we closed, as I saw him beginning to angle his lance for a killing thrust. He was going to try to murder my beast.

  Then a thought blazed through my mind. I wouldn’t hurl a javelin. No. Instead, I would hurl the lance as a javelin, as I’d practiced for months to do.

  I was stronger than any normal man on Mu. Earth’s heavier gravity had given me denser muscles, and Mu’s lighter gravity meant I could do things that would be impossible back home. I could do things no Mu warrior would expect.

  At twenty feet apart, instead of bracing for impact, I stood in my stirrups, drew my lance back like a javelin, and hurled it with every ounce of strength I possessed.

  The lance flew like a ballista bolt.

  Karn’s eyes widened in shock, and he tried to bring his own lance across to deflect mine, but he was too late. My steel lance head punched through his chest plate, through his chest, and burst out his back in a spray of blood.

  For a moment, Karn sat there in his saddle, looking down at the wooden shaft protruding from his body with an expression of disbelief.

  Then he toppled backward off his pterodactyl, the saddle belt holding him snapping at his weight. He tumbled toward the white peaks below.

  The mountains fell silent. Every rider, Karn’s and mine, stared at me in shock. I doubt any of them had ever seen a lance thrown like that. It shouldn’t have been possible.

  Forkbeard was the first to recover. “The King is victorious!” he bellowed. “Karn the Red is dead! Who disputes the outcome?”

  The silence stretched. Then, one by one, Karn’s riders began to raise their lances in salute to me.

  I had won. As unbelievable as it might seem, all the Pterodactyl Riders were mine.

  -5-

  The combined armies of Zangabal, Kovia, and Theros marched across the desert like a bronze serpent, spear points glittering in the afternoon sun. Eleven thousand men moved in three distinct columns, each maintaining the dignity of their city-state while traveling as one force. Given this proximity to Tsargol, I considered it a wise precaution.

  The baggage train followed, throwing up even more dust. They were mostly young men, pulling heavily packaged two-wheeled rickshaws.

  I reflected, from my pterodactyl saddle, that this was the first time in many years that the forces of several cities of Mu marched together in alliance.

  My pterodactyl rode the thermals five hundred feet above the army. From up here, I could see the full scope of what we’d assembled. The men of Zangabal marched on the left, their black and gold banners snapping in the wind. They were mostly spearmen, with bronze discs on their chests and leather kilts. Kovia held the center with their traditional blue shields and longer thrusting spears. On the right, Theros marched in looser formation; their soldiers carried shorter spears and curved, cutting swords—better for mobile fighting.

  Behind me flew the massed Pterodactyl Riders in loose formations. Most carried the traditional fire-sacks, leather bags filled with alcohol and sealed with wax. Still others carried torches, unlit at the moment. On the day of battle, they would keep them under jars, like Gideon’s 300 did in the Old Testament. I’d managed to convince about sixty riders to carry bundles of javelins; they grumbled about the foreign weapons, but had complied.

  Forkbeard pulled his massive beast alongside mine. “The scouts have returned, Sire. They await you in your command tent.”

  A few of the oldest riders had flown ahead and already pitched the tent.

  I nodded and began my descent, my pterodactyl adjusting to the dive.

  We made camp earlier today, as tomorrow would be the final march to Tsargol. There awaited the reptilian host, which had already begun the siege.

  The command tent was Roman in its efficiency—something Suvorov had insisted upon. Maps covered the central table, weighted down with stones.

  My commanders had assembled, the rickshaw drivers having hurried the leaders of the spearmen. There was Strategos Valmic of Zangabal, a squat, scarred veteran aged fifty, the oldest among us. There was the tall Commander Thon of Kovia, and finally the muscled War Chief Krator of Theros. He’d earned his position years ago by killing three Ophidians in single combat.

  Suvorov stood apart, studying the maps with his usual intensity. The Russian had adapted well to Mu, though he still wore his Earth military jacket over local garments.

  “Report,” I said to the lead scout, a young rider named Tarl.

  “The reptile-men are massed on the Tsargol Plain around the city as expected, Lord King. The Draconians have three camps. Their raptors are penned separately.”

  “That’s new,” Forkbeard said.

  Suvorov nodded, muttering under his breath. He’d been saying something was different about the enemy—not that he knew from direct experience, but because he studied the histories more than anyone else I knew.

  I nodded for Tarl to continue.

  “The Ophidians are separate from the Draconians, camped to the south. We counted ten thousand of them. They have priests in red robes moving among them.”

  “What kind of banners did you see?” I asked.

  “Two of the Draconian camps flew the flags of Red Sarus. The third camp flew a variety of banners.”

  Suvorov muttered yet again.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “That suggests Sarus has defeated other hordes, as I’ve been saying, and has incorporated the remaining riders into his greater force,” Suvorov said.

  I thought about that before turning back to the scout.

  “The Ophidians all flew the Twin Serpents of the Dark Citadel,” Tarl said.

  Strategos Valmic spat on the rug, saying, “I bet the red priests declared victory when Sky Island left.”

  “No doubt,” I said, more testily than I should have, while staring at Valmic. “But we’d never have our array of united spearmen if I hadn’t flown here.”

  Valmic grunted, nodding, looking down.

  “What about the positions relative to Tsargol?” I asked.

  Tarl traced lines on the map. “They’re here, about three miles from the city walls.”

  The area in and around Tsargol was well known and mapped in detail. Tarl indicated a wide plain with some rocky ridges on the flanks but mostly open ground.

  Forkbeard leaned over the map to get a better look. Then he grinned at me. “That’s perfect ground for us. It’s wide open, with nowhere to hide from our fire-sacks.”

  I studied the map. Could the Draconians and Ophidians be ignorant about the extent of our force? Surely, outriders had spotted us. We’d seen Sarus’s scouts and picked off a few, but not all. They must know that they faced more than Tsargol’s paltry thousand spearmen. Didn’t they realize we had eleven thousand warriors and massed pterodactyls? Yes, they had far more in numbers, but against our air cavalry, this was going to be a rout.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, “this is how we’ll deploy tomorrow.” I placed carved pieces on the map. “Kovia will hold the center with their long spears. Zangabal will be on the left. That leaves Theros on the right. Both wings will be angled back as we’ve practiced, refusing the flanks.”

  “Are we still expecting encirclement?” Thon asked.

  “I doubt the Draconians will try a frontal charge against the long spears. That means their likeliest move will be to try flank assaults. And that’s exactly what we want. The Pterodactyl Riders will swoop down from above, breaking them with our fire-sacks.”

  “What about the Ophidians, Sire?” Krator asked.

  I’d read a ton of military history and loved studying ancient battles. I was certain I knew how this would play out, as we were facing barbarians. Historically, barbarians could be ferocious as they charged. But in extended fights or once they lost their initial rush, they panicked badly. I would make them panic tomorrow, and then the slaughter would begin.

  The key would be making sure my men kept their discipline.

  “I expect the Ophidian host to march behind the charging Draconians. No doubt, the serpent-men will struggle to keep up with the sprinting raptors. Later, the Ophidians will surely break when they see the Draconians burning and fleeing from the field of battle. The Ophidians are fierce but not stupid. I expect the Draconians to flee once enough of them are burning, leaving the Ophidians. If the serpent-men form up against us, we will crush them from all sides and from above. If they flee, we will harry them until the last Ophidian drops dead.”

  Valmic nodded slowly.

  Was he not convinced?

  “Half the Pterodactyl Riders will pursue the fleeing Draconians,” I said. “Once the dino-riders are running away, terror will ensure they don’t return. That means we’ll have numbers and surprise against the Ophidians. I plan to wipe the second group out completely. In the meantime, our air will whittle down the Draconians, but I doubt we’ll kill more than a third, if that. The final defeat of the Raptor Riders will take longer, but it will happen after this crushing victory on the Tsargol Plain.”

  Valmic looked at me, nodding. “As you say, Sire, so it shall be.”

  I could feel it. This was going to be a great battle, a turning point in the ongoing war against the reptilians of Mu.

  -6-

  The Tsargol Plain spread before us like a dusty game board, and from five hundred feet up, I could see all the pieces. The reptilian host had formed—the Draconians in three distinct warbands, with the Ophidian infantry massed behind.

  What struck me was their discipline. The Draconians waited in strict formations, their banners at regular intervals. Red-robed priests stood among the even stricter Ophidians.

  “Those are tight formations,” Forkbeard shouted to my right. “I’ve never seen the reptile-men hold discipline like that.”

  I nodded, irritated, working to keep my focus on the battle plan. The reptilians could be as disciplined as they wanted. In the end, they were still barbarians, good for the initial rush and then panicking when things didn’t go their way. It would be like Gauls against Caesar.

  Below and behind me, eleven thousand spearmen marched in their three columns. Their spearheads glinted with banners streaming. The warriors of three cities, united for the first time in who knew how long, were about to deal a decisive blow against the others.

  My spearmen marched past the city of Tsargol, with thousands watching from the walls. They cheered on my men. Once the reptilian host broke, I had no doubt warriors of Tsargol would march and fight with us. After this was over, I was certain I could add the desert city to my list of allies.

  Ah! The Raptor Riders had begun to move, with the Ophidian host following behind. This was it.

  Horns blew. The spearmen began to form up, moving into the positions I’d outlined the day before.

  That took time.

  Finally, I raised my lance—the signal. We swept around in a great arc, using the sun at our backs to blind any watchers below. The pterodactyls knew their business, their wings beating for our attack run.

  “Ready the fire-sacks!” I bellowed.

  Flags waved, relaying the command.

  Hundreds of riders reached for the leather bags hanging from their saddles. Inside sloshed the refined alcohol we used for aerial bombardment, sealed with wax that would break on impact.

  We dove at the rooster-strutting raptors as they maneuvered for their harassing strike. The riders saw us now. A few broke, the raptors racing away. The bulk remained, however. That was surprising, but all the better for our fire-sacks.

  The ground rushed up with that familiar falling sensation that never quite left my stomach, no matter how many times I did this. At two hundred feet, I could see individual Draconians pointing up at us. Others just stared.

  In seconds, fire-sacks tumbled through the air like deadly rain. They burst against the ground, splashing alcohol everywhere—on raptors, riders, and equipment.

  The riders behind us lit torches, and as they swooped lower, dropped them into the spreading puddles.

  The effect was instantaneous and horrifying.

  Flames erupted. Raptors and Draconians shrieked as fire engulfed them. The inferno spread faster than men could run, turning that part of the Draconian host into chaos.

  Now, the dinosaurs fled.

  Upon seeing this, the beasts from the other columns shrieked and bellowed.

  We pulled up hard, pterodactyls laboring to climb away from the heat. I looked back to see burning raptors running wild, spreading panic and fire. They scattered in all directions—well, not toward the formed ranks of human spearmen.

  They made me think of elephants. In the ancient world, elephants had often proved to be a two-edged sword to those who employed them. When the giant beasts panicked, they often trampled their own soldiers, spreading death and mayhem to their side.

  “There, Sire, look!”

  I glanced where Forkbeard pointed.

  That was strange. The Ophidians weren’t reacting as expected. Instead of milling in fear at their allies’ destruction, they were moving forward with purpose, spreading out into a crescent formation. The red-robed priests stood on elevated platforms carried by others, using signal flags to direct this movement.

  Did that matter? Without raptor cavalry to support them, the Ophidian infantry couldn’t stand against our combined assault from the ground and air.

  At my direction, a second wave of pterodactyls dived.

  They struck at the Draconians trying to maintain cohesion in the face of all this, dropping more fire-sacks and torches into their midst. Dinosaurs and warriors fled in all directions.

  Red Sarus’s largest banner, a crimson talon on white, toppled and burned in the sand.

  Our spearmen were advancing now, their chants giving them the cadence as they maneuvered toward the chaos. Strategos Valmic commanded the left wing moving faster, possibly trying to envelop the scattering Draconians. Commander Thon held the center steady, a wall of spears advancing inexorably. War Chief Krator’s soldiers on the right were almost running, eager for combat.

  This was going better than planned.

  I led my riders, preparing for another run. We had plenty of fire-sacks left, and I wanted to hit the Ophidian formations before our spearmen engaged them. If we could break the Ophidians now, the battle would be won before it truly started. Then the slaughter could begin.

  That’s when the first pterodactyl began to fall.

  One moment, Krill the Crazy was flying thirty feet to my left; then his pterodactyl was tumbling through the air, wings limp, the rider still in the saddle. They hit the ground with a wet crunch.