Relma and Aren scurried through the halls as quickly as possible, worrying they might be too late. Coming to a door, Aren flung it open and marched into a long hall. There were many beds upon which wounded lay, and healers were there. But many were looking on in horror at several satyrs wearing bloodied bandages. Even now, they shambled toward the door.

"What goes on here?" asked Aren.

"Undead, Lord Arengeth!" cried a woman. "The corpses of the dead satyrs have risen from the grave!"

The corpses shambled past Aren, making for the door with a groan. Relma stepped to one side and realized what was happening. "They aren't attacking anyone. They're just trying to get out."

On they went, and Aren followed after the creatures and out to the gatehouse. As they exited the doors, they found many more walking dead. The creatures were all satyrs, gathering before the gates in great ranks. They pushed against them as men looked on with bows and arrows.

"What is happening here?" said the brown-bearded man from before. Though he walked with a crutch and a drawn sword.

"Quickly open the doors," said Aren.

"What?" said the man.

"Open the doors and let them out of the fort," said Aren.

"You think they'll just leave?" asked the man.

"Do it now," said Aren. "Before they become violent."

The doors were swung open, and the bodies of the dead marched on out by the hundreds. How many had died to make such an army? How many would die to them before they were destroyed? What was the good of all this blood, really?

Beyond the walls, Relma saw many other bodies rising from the fields. In ranks, the dead marched toward the entrance of the pass. Some of the bodies were blackened and charred from dragon fire. It gave her chills, and she was glad she was not fighting them.

Aren sighed in the longsuffering tone of one who had seen it all before. Which, of course, he had. This is what Pandora described. The dead rising again. I haven't seen anything like this since the last Age of Withering."

"Where are they going?" asked a man.

"Toward blood and death before the end!" cried Shren, coming forward. "Go, my brethren! Tear the servants of dragons apart! Let this blood water these parched lands!

"Who are we fighting anyway?"

"The Dragon Empire, a nation ruled by the Red Dragon Flight," said the man.

"Why would humans follow dragons?" said Shren.

"I don't know," said the man. "Nobody knows anything about the Dragon Empire. Few people who pass through these gates ever come back." Then he looked up to see De Cathe emerging through the gates. "Cousin, it's been a long time!"

"Tren, you've grown since last we met," said De Cathe. Relma wondered how they knew one another beyond blood relation. "How is life in the Dragon Watch?"

"Reasonable," said Tren. "I'm at my third year, so one more, and I'll be able to move on." So you had to serve the Dragon Watch for four years at least. Useful information to remember if Relma ever wanted someone out of the way.

"You could stay longer. It is an honorable profession," said De Cathe. And one not easily dropped at that.

"I don't want to," admitted Tren, and Relma did not blame him there. What she'd seen so far had been bloody. "The endless raids do little to help my temperament. And now that House Endorean is bending the knee, there should be peace."

"You still hold feelings for Isara?" asked De Cathe.

"I do," said Tren. "When things have settled down, I hope to marry her. What of your quest for the sword? Any regrets?" Relma decided she ought to help him and began working to heal his body from a distance. It was difficult, and the focus made it all the harder.

"I travel in the company of the Heir of Kings, Tren," said De Cathe. "That is honor enough. In truth, I sought to draw Lightning Trail because a dream drew me there. House De Cathe is said to have a distant relation to Anoa II, so I thought we might qualify.

"Instead, Estela, Ronald, and Relma found it."

"What do you think of King Tyus' decision?" asked Tren.

"I believe it could have been handled better," said De Cathe. "King Tyus is a hard man with little in the way of sympathy. Yet he didn't even acknowledge her accomplishments."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Well, whether he did or not, it's better if we aren't at war with Endorean," said Tren. "I remember my first battle. I fought a militiaman in a skirmish, one of those who worked for the Endorean Lords. He tried to take me prisoner, even though we both knew he didn't stand a chance.

"I remember I stabbed him in the chest, and he screamed and screamed.

"Then and there, I never want to fight another Escorian again. We should be brethren, as all Harlenorians are." Relma wasn't sure such romantic notions had much basis in reality. If the Tournament of Kings was any indication, rivalry persisted. But a sense of brotherhood among Harlenorians seemed like something worth working toward.

Yet how to do it? Relma would have difficulty moving about and consolidating control. Let alone moving hearts and minds. Estela would be absolutely critical here. Relma had no hope of working with Escor without her as a friend, which would weaken her in Antion and Haldren. No, she needed all three nations for this.

"And what of those you fight here?" asked De Cathe.

"They aren't really human," said Tren quickly. "Yes, they have the shape of one, but you can tell from how they move that nothing is left inside. I don't know what the Dragons did to these people, but these things are worthy only of death.

"I've seen them eat men alive. They're like animals."

"You realize that is a compliment, don't you?" said a low growl.

Tren jumped, dropping his crutch and finding himself able to watch. Ajax had slipped through the gates and was crouching behind him. His mouth was stained with blood, and his hair was more messy than usual. He looked in a truly foul mood.

"What the..." said Tren, raising his sword. "What the devil is that!"

Ajax said nothing, merely facing him down as though daring him to try something. Tren kept his sword up, and a long silence ensued as the two matched.

"Stay your blade, Tren," said De Cathe, raising a hand with a laugh. "This is Ajax, one of our company. Ajax, I did not see you during the battle. Where have you been?"

Ajax stood up and wiped his mouth. "Scouting. I slipped out into the wilderness during the retreat and spoke with the local wolves. Got a look at the enemy army, though it was a near thing.

"I did get a particularly fat rabbit, though. I found them in a farmer's cage."

"What are they doing?" asked Aren.

"Feeding the wounded to the dragons for one thing," said Ajax. "The wolves tell me they do this all the time."

"All the time, what do you mean?" asked Relma.

"According to the wolves, when a baby is born who is disfigured or flawed, they are fed to the dragons," said Ajax. "When someone is permanently injured, feeding yourself to the dragons is tradition. Every year, a festival is where the most beautiful women in the region are fed to the local dragon.

"Also, criminals sentenced to execution are devoured by dragons. In fact, most crimes are punishable by being eaten by a dragon."

"That's monstrous," said Tren.

"You do realize that you leave the flawed babies in Escor to the wolves, don't you?" asked Ajax deadpan. "Or at least you used to. Good times. My packmates tell me they taste good."

"You didn't really," said Relma.

"Of course not." snapped Ajax in irritation. "I'm part human, so I'm not allowed to eat human babies. The other wolves never let me hear the end of that."

"I believe he meant the fair maidens being devoured," said De Cathe.

"Why would the people ever stand for this?" asked Relma.

"Well, they believe that the greatest of them will be reincarnated as dragons," said Ajax. "Or reincarnated as part of the upper class, the nobility who aren't subject to being eaten by dragons."

"How have you learned this much so quickly?" asked Aren, sounding curious.

"Father sent wolf scouts through into the Dragon Empire when he had holdings in Escor," said Ajax. "The Dragons scorch any human caravan or force that gets past these mountains. But wolves generally go unnoticed.

"And I'm good at finding my way through places without being seen. Though I had one or two close calls here, it happens in unfamiliar territory."

"How is it possible that nobody knows anything about the Dragon Empire until now?" asked Relma. It seemed like a tremendous oversight to make. Especially given how long hostilities had been fought between them. Then again, Escor had been in chaos for a long time, even before the Escorian Civil War. And before that, there had been the Haldrenian and Babarassian raids to contend with.

"As the wolfman said, the Dragons burn anyone who tries to head through our part of the pass," said Tren. "They tell us nothing about themselves. The last time we got a messenger from them was, I believe, two hundred years ago."

"Two hundred years?" asked Relma. "And you've been fighting all this time."

"More or less," said Tren. "Sometimes we get the idea of trying to invade, but the Tharatan know this land well and ambush them. And if it's not the Tharatan, it's the Dragons."

"But surely they must have tried to contact you when they got through the pass," said Relma. "Aren, haven't you ever talked with them?"

"I have, once or twice," said Aren. "But honestly, the border with the Dragon Empire has always been a lower priority for me. Two hundred years ago, I did speak with Queen Vanessa, but a lot could have changed in that time.

"As for negotiations, they seized cities and killed or enslaved the entire populace. Those who weren't fed to the dragons were worked to death in mines or, if lucky, taken as house slaves."

"They don't try to learn our language; all of those who spoke with us were imbued with the will of Vrengar," said Tren. "They never surrender, nor do they offer terms of surrender."

"How do they plan to conquer anything if they can't negotiate peace?" asked Relma.

"Perhaps you could ask them," said Tren. "If you want to brave the pass and talk to the Dragons. Assuming they don't destroy you."

"No, I can't do that," said Relma before getting an excellent idea. "But I know someone who can. Aren, I need your help to send a letter to Adrian Wrynncurth in the Dusk Lands."

"To what end?" asked Aren.

"Wrynncurth and his children are the descendants of Smyngoth. And Smyngoth was the mentor of Vrengar. Vrengar is the God of the Red Dragon Flight." said Relma. "Or at least he ascended into Godhood. So maybe they'll listen to him."

"Well, it may be worth the effort, though I doubt we'll stop centuries of war," said Aren.

"What will you tell Shren if peace does break out?" asked Ajax, eyeing where the satyrs were beginning to hack up some Tharatan corpses.

"Um... well... I'm sure I can figure something out," said Relma.

"You might want to do that now," said Aren. "Satyrs are not known for their forethought."

Some ways away, the satyrs began to feast on the bodies of the dead. Relma averted her eyes and tried to come up with a backup plan. She had the feeling she would need one badly and soon.