Lynis, decorated lancer of the Royal Guard, Lord Luffin, and known throughout the kingdom as the Bloodhorn, stood, illuminated by the coals of a dying fire. He lifted his dripping knife in one hand as he used the other to hold his target in place. Deftly, he brought it down and smiled with satisfaction as it cut the flesh beneath to the bone.

"I'll never understand why you enjoy all of this so much."

He turned and his smile grew, now tinged with genuine warmth. "You've never had to scrape and scrounge to make field rations edible."

"And what if your legions of admirers could see you now, wearing an apron and covered in chicken blood?"

Lynis looked down at himself and considered for a moment.

"I'd invite them to dinner, and maybe have them join us upstairs tonight."

He was nearly fast enough to dodge the wash towel aimed for his head. Nearly. But it caught on the little jog at the end of his left horn as he ducked. The damp cloth snagged and whipped around, wrapping itself across his snout. Blinded, he stumbled and only a nearby wall kept him from falling on his tail.

The room's other two occupants - both retainers on kitchen duty - laughed uproariously as the decorated hero scrambled to clear his vision. They were used to Lord Luffin's antics, although he was careful to present an appropriate facade whenever not surrounded by those he trusted.

Meanwhile, Norvinia - Lady Luffin - looked down at her mate with a haughty expression.

"Are you ever going to learn proper respect?"

"Nope," he cheerfully answered, and the laughter redoubled. Eventually, even Norvinia relented and cracked a smile.

"Why do I put up with you, Lynis?"

He actually seemed to take the question seriously, considering for several seconds as he picked himself up. "Well, short of the god Itova taking a liking to me, I really have no idea."

"That makes both of us, then," she said with a shake of her head. "What are you making, anyway? I thought you'd be helping to wash up?"

"Remember that book of recipes that Reed brought me last fall? I found one for slow cooked clay pot chicken. So I thought I'd throw it together for a midday snack tomorrow." Lynis pointed to the nearby cooking implements, chopped vegetables, meat, and spices. "And I still have some of the wine she brought, too."

That last was accompanied by a suggestive raise of his eye ridges and flick of his ears.

"Ohh, aren't you sweet," she said, and there was just the barest hint of a purr in her voice. "But do you know what else you can do for me?"

"Anything you want. Just say the word."

"Well..." Norvinia let the word trail off and her mate leaned forward, only to be met with a tired sigh. "Actually, I need you to go and check on Stonar."

Lynis's face fell, but his earlier expression was quickly replaced with concern. "Is there something wrong?"

"Something he ate, I think. He's apparently been crying since dinner ended and no one can get him to stop."

"Poor little guy." He winced in sympathy. "And the kid doesn't eat enough as it is."

"I know. I'd go down to the nursery myself, but we're expecting the first spring trader any day now. The stack of winter reports is almost taller than I am, and I have to have them ready to send back to the capital."

"No, I've got him," he told his mate. "You get to work, this should just take another few minutes and I'll head straight down."

"Thank you so much."

Lynis's grin returned, and he started to step forward. "You can thank me later."

"No!" Her command stopped him in his tracks. "You are not getting chicken blood and dishwater all over this outfit!" She grabbed a clean towel from a rack and tossed it to him, more gently this time.

Her mate snatched it from the air and wiped off his snout.

"Better?"

"Much better." And she closed the distance to give him an affectionate nuzzle.

She didn't have to lean far. They had sometimes joked about being a matched set, what with her being shorter than average for a female dragonette, the Bloodhorn's stature brought him nearly eye to eye.

"See you tonight?" he asked as they reluctantly separated.

"I guess we'll just have to see."

Lady Luffin flicked an ear at him and then strode out of the kitchen, leaving her mate to finish his preparations. It mainly consisted of dumping all of the ingredients he had prepared into a big clay pot and adding a few spoonfuls of spices. In the morning, he'd put it in the coals and the chicken would be done by noon.

It never got particularly cold during the day this far south - and thank the gods for that - but nights could be downright chilly. On an early spring night like this one the chicken would have no problem keeping overnight.

He set the heavy clay lid on the pot and unbarred a window to slip the whole thing onto the cooling ledge. After that it was just a matter of cleaning up and he was ready to do his fatherly duty.

The kitchen might be reasonably well lit, but this late in the evening the halls were a different matter. Lynis lit an oil lamp from a nearby candle and used it to light his way to the nursery.

It was still hard for him to believe that after all those years, he would end up as the lord of a keep. Lynis, son of just another of the thousands of lower class workers who made up the capital's workforce, first a royal guardsman and then a noble.

'At least mom lived to see the first. Even if she was worried sick about me being a lancer.'

The lancers had been about the only ones willing to take him, given his background. Considering that any lancer called on to actually fight a dragon would be almost guaranteed to die in the attempt, they couldn't afford to be as picky with recruits as the rest of the royal guard.

While he had never been called on to perform the duty he had been trained for, lancers were often deployed throughout the kingdom. Usually to garrison vital locations or to support other units of the guard when hostile dragons could be involved. Over the years, those assignments had given him ample opportunity to distinguish himself.

And to meet Norvinia.

That thought never failed to make him smile, and he hummed contentedly as he walked up a flight of stairs.

Luffin keep was large. It had been expanded several times over the years, sometimes in ways the original designers had never foreseen. That was why he had to climb up a level just to descend down into the nursery at the base of the keep. But after almost six years living there, the path was second nature.

He had traveled that path for his firstborn daughter Zara. And for Suuie. And now for his son, Stonar.

His eyes drifted to the hatchery door as he passed. The small room beyond contained all the eggs laid last fall. Including one that held his next child. It was still hard to believe that in just a few days or weeks, he would have one more reason to walk this path.

Just down the hall from the hatchery was the nursery. Buried deep in the keep for protection, its location in this section of the keep gave the adults a modicum of privacy from the often manic children.

The doors opened silently on well oiled hinges, revealing a dimly lit room covered in soft rugs. Toys overflowed from haphazardly filled chests and various bits of undersized furniture were scattered around. No one was inside, but he could see light and hear noises coming from one of the sleeping chambers.

"Oh, thank the gods that you're here," Jira whispered as Lynis entered. She was the minder tonight, and the woman was obviously worn ragged trying to settle the fussing hatchling. "See, Stoney, your daddy is here."

"Daaaadddd!" the boy moaned and reached up towards his father.

"Hey there, son." Lynis reached down and let Stonar grab his hand. The boy immediately pulled him closer, strong despite his small size.

"Go ahead and get some rest," Lord Luffin told the watching Jira. "I'll stay with him until he falls asleep."

"Can't sleep!" Stonar insisted. "Belly hurts!"

The other dragonette wasted no time in extracting herself from the situation. With barely a nod of acknowledgement, she slipped out the door and shut it gently behind her. There were other children to check on, after all, and it was getting late.

That left Lynis alone to take care of the sick four year old.

"Well," he began, settling onto the bedside stool, "what do you think would make it feel better?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing, huh? So you've tried everything, then? None of it worked?"

The hatchling got this betrayed look on his face that almost sent Lynis into a fit of laughter. Years as a soldier and eventually a lord had given him the discipline to keep a straight face as his son shook his head.

"Maybe we should try some things, huh? For me?"

"...okay." The permission was given reluctantly, at best.

There was a pitcher of water next to the bed and a cup nearby. Lynis filled it up and held it out to the boy. "How about you try drinking some of this. It will help." At the disbelieving look, he added, "I promise."

Stonar took a few sips, which was something at least. But that was it.

"Didn't help!"

"Give it a little while. Healing takes time. The wait is worth it."

The boy scrunched up his face in denial. "Isn't!"

"It is. Waiting to heal is how I met your mommy. Did you know that?"

"You had belly hurt?"

"No," Lynis said. "I broke my wing fighting bad dragonettes. But some of them got away and my friends had to chase them, so they left me here to heal."

"How long?" Stonar loved stories about his days as a lancer. With all the bad parts and most of his adventures while in garrison left out, of course.

"Oh, weeks and weeks. Almost forever."

He hadn't actually broken his wing in battle. It had been a screw up on the way to an assignment. A poorly secured line that slipped and caught around the lancer's wing when their dragon hit an unfortunate crosswind. The break had been bad enough that the commander of the expedition had ordered him left behind at their next stop.

Lynis hadn't been unfamiliar with keep life. Far from it. It wasn't uncommon for lancers to get deployed to strategically important keeps. But in the past, he had always been with his wingmates. They had drilled and patrolled and generally kept busy throughout the assignments.

After two decades spent either on duty or living out of a barracks in the big city, the prospect of leaping into the distant sea had almost seemed more appealing than a month or two healing in a frontier keep. At the time, at least.

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His son apparently agreed. "That's a long time."

"It was. And I couldn't fight or fly for any of it. It was terrible! I had to work in the kitchens all day long!"

"You still do that," Stonar pointed out.

"Yeah, but I don't do it all the time, now. And I do it now because I want to. I was stuck doing it back then."

It always amazed Lynis how many of his fellow lancers thought he was crazy for learning how to cook. Not to mention that more than one visiting trader or noble had been shocked over the years to be served by the Bloodhorn himself. But it was something he always enjoyed, even before he joined the guard.

He just didn't like to be forced to cook, day after day, week after week. Well, not forced, exactly. No one was forcing him to do anything. But if there was one thing he hated more than monotony, it was standing by while someone else did work.

Instead of explaining all of that to his son, Lynis had simplified things.

"Now, your mom had only been Lady Luffin for a little while back then." Norvinia's mother and father died in a tunnel collapse when touring the mines a few years before he arrived, leaving their eldest daughter to inherit much earlier than anyone expected. "So she was very busy with learning how to run the keep. But she made time to visit me while I worked."

She had made time for more than that. As a lancer, he was used to having no shortage of willing women. A noblewoman was new, but he hadn't complained at the time. It had been... fun.

"We... well, the two of us had a lot of meals together." Also true. There had been a lot of private meals. "We liked each other a lot."

And hadn't that been a surprise? Both that she enjoyed his aggressive wisecracking, and he found himself more than willing to listen to her explain the intricacies of running a keep and the local politics that came with it. Norvinia was even willing to tolerate his tendency to flirt with anything that had two legs, two wings, and a pulse. As long as flirting was all he did.

"So when my wing was healed and my friends returned, I told them that I'd be staying here, with your mom."

They had tried to stop him, of course. But he had served his time and then some. And it helped his case that a certain noblewoman was more than happy to write up a petition for his discharge.

He had also insisted that they stay long enough to witness the marriage ceremony, although he was pretty sure most of them enjoyed the feast that followed a whole lot more.

"And I've been here ever since," Lynis finished. He had to take a deep breath. Leaving his old wing had been the only really hard part of the decision to quit the royal guard. A bunch of bastards, every one of them, but gods did he miss them. It still hurt, just a little, remembering the melancholy expressions on their faces as they left him behind on their way back to the capital.

He forced himself to smile for Stonar's benefit and asked, "So, how are you feeling now? Any better?"

"A little," the boy replied. It seemed that the story had taken his mind off the pain long enough to settle down a little.

"Tired?"

He got a shaky nod in response. The drooping eyes were a dead giveaway.

"Think that you can get to sleep now? I'll stay with you until you do."

"I'll try."

The hatchling curled up into a little ball and wiggled to get comfortable. Lynis pulled the blanket up to cover him, humming the melody from a song his mother used to sing to him. He didn't dare to do more than that. His singing voice had started too many bar room brawls for him to have any illusions about his ability to carry a tune.

Stonar's breathing had just started to even out when a clatter from outside sent him jerking awake.

"Daddy, what was that?"

"Probably nothing. Go back to sleep, Stoney."

But the boy shifted around, nervously. "I'm scared."

"You want me to check on it?" He got a quick nod in response. "Alright, you stay here. I'll be back in a minute."

'After I ream whoever's out there a new one.'

Grumbling silently to himself, Lynis made his way quietly out of the nursery and into the hallway beyond. There was definitely someone around the corner. He could hear shuffling and see the light from their lamp.

Actually, there was a lot of light, and it was flickering far more than any lamp or candle ought to. Almost like they were carrying torches. But no one would risk a fire in the keep by doing that.

He frowned as he turned the corner and came face to face with a corridor packed with black skinned darklings.

He stood there, staring stupidly at the sight before him. But it only lasted for a bare moment before he hurled his clay lamp at the crowd and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "GUARDS! DARKLINGS IN THE KEEP!"

The improvised incendiary shattered at the feet of the lead darkling. It hissed and leapt back, but there hadn't been much oil in the reservoir to begin with. The flames did little more than singe its talons and the corrupted dragonette rushed forward.

Lynis was wearing nothing but his tunic and a pair of pants. He had a small dagger at his belt, which he drew on reflex, but that was his only weapon. The monster charging him wore light armor and carried a warhammer. It should have been no contest.

Except, these darklings were facing the Bloodhorn.

He had fought darklings before. Many times in fact. And while the odds had never been quite this bad, he had other advantages over the unthinking servants of corruption.

The first strike was aimed at his left shoulder and would have splintered the joint and driven its remains into his chest. Except Lynis wasn't there. He had ducked and sidestepped, before darting forward well inside the guard of the overbalanced darkling.

None of the invaders had a chance to react as the Bloodhorn immobilized his attacker's arm with one hand while driving his dagger into the unprotected armpit with the other. He tried to grab the warhammer as it slipped from suddenly limp fingers, but a spasm sent it clattering against a wall.

A spear came jabbing forward, faster than he should have been able to dodge. Lynis managed to just barely slip aside, batting the shaft away with a forearm. As it passed, he caught the weapon and yanked forward. The darkling holding it, already off balance from the lunge, tumbled forward to tangle among the legs of its fellows.

It all happened in slow motion to the Bloodhorn. His magic allowed him to slow his perceptions, turning the frantic melee into a series of deliberate moves and countermoves. It was an ability that had served him well over the decades of combat.

Only two darklings were on his side of the pile of squirming bodies. The first was a sword-armed former female judging by its height. Just behind her, his original attacker struggled to wield its recovered warhammer off-handed.

Shouting a wordless warcry, Lynis darted forward to meet the pair. Once more, he called on his magic and slipped past a strike that should have put a gash in his side, twisting around the blade and stabbing into the darkling's leg. The fountain of blue blood that followed told him that the strike had severed an artery. She fell, still trying to get at him, but unable to put weight on her wounded leg.

Something slammed into his side. Lynis's yell ended in an oof as the breath was driven out of him. The warhammer-armed darkling was trying to wind up for another swing. Luckily, the first strike had been off center and lacked the force of a proper strike. There would be a bruise, but nothing more.

This time, the Bloodhorn went for the kill. Dodging the clumsy follow up strike, Lynis had no trouble coming around on the darkling's injured side. A single slash from his dagger opened its neck wide open. Despite the mortal wound, it still tried to swing the hammer one more time. The Bloodhorn grabbed the shaft and wrenched it from weakening hands, getting a spurt of blue blood to his face for his trouble.

Having gained a weapon and a little breathing room, Lynis took a moment to survey the situation. It... wasn't good.

There had to be dozens of them packed into the hallway.

'How did they...?'

But the answer was obvious. A broken sally port. He had made sure there was a guard posted there while they waited for the blacksmith to finish new hinges. But no doubt her presence had served to highlight the weakness to a hidden watcher.

Falling back was an option. There were more defensible points in the keep. The stairway, for one. He could easily hold that until the guards arrived. They should be scrambling his way with half the keep right behind them.

"What's going-"

"Get back in and bar the door!" he roared to Jira, who had just poked her head around the corner.

The minder obeyed immediately. The heavy nursery door slammed shut behind her.

It also settled things. Whatever happened, he could not let the darklings take that door. Or the hatchery just beyond it.

By this point, the mass of darklings was pushing forward once more. Not as an organized unit, thankfully. Had they formed a wall of shields and spears and advanced in lockstep, there wasn't much Lynis could have done. Instead, they threw themselves at him as soon as they had a clear path to the lone defender.

A hammer wasn't his preferred weapon. That would be a lance or a spear. Something with a bit more reach than the arm length wooden haft. At least the back tapered into a nice, sharp point.

'If that darkling had hit me with that side, bad strike or not, I'd be bleeding instead of bruised right now.'

He held the hammer in one hand, his dagger in the other, and met the oncoming darkling rush.

They came two at a time, without anything in the way of tactics. Unfortunately, the front pair both had spears, as did one of the group immediately behind them. Even with magic, he couldn't find an opening and was forced to give ground. First one step. Then another.

The stone floor was slick with the lifeblood of the two dead or dying darklings. It was enough for one of the two frontline attackers to lose their footing. Just a minor stumble. A bare moment of vulnerability.

With Lynis's enhanced perception in play, the darkling might as well have fallen headlong to the floor.

He exploited the momentary opening, rushing forward to bring the pointed spike of the warhammer down on the darkling's helmeted head. The thin steel sheet did nothing to stop the impact and it instantly dropped in a boneless heap.

Unfortunately, the hammer remained lodged in the helmet. It came free with a yank, tip smeared blue, but that delay almost proved fatal as the rearmost spearman thrust forward.

Even magic had its limits. There was no way to dodge the incoming strike, but the Bloodhorn managed to turn just enough for the tip to graze his side rather than impale his gut.

The pain sent him stumbling back, and the darklings took the opportunity to press forward. They were hampered by the bodies of their own dead and dying, but their corrupted souls held no loyalty save to their masters. The wounded were just obstacles to be avoided.

An attacker with a hand-ax outpaced the others, probably due to its lack of armor. The ax was more of a tool than a weapon. Even reeling from his wound, Lynis caught its clumsy overhand swing with his hammer and stabbed into the darkling's belly. Its scales resisted the thrust, but the hardened steel punched through. Once. Twice, Three times. A swift kick set the corpse-to-be stumbling back into its fellows and briefly hampered their advance.

It couldn't last.

The one that took its place wore leather armor and carried a short sword. Probably a converted trader escort from the look of it. But together with the two remaining spearmen, they kept him at bay.

Every time he got inside the spear points, the sword was there to drive him back. There didn't seem to be any path to close the range. Not one that could avoid all of that sharpened steel.

Lynis's side was dripping blood as he dodged and parried. It wasn't a mortal wound, but it was slowing him, and the blood loss would quickly mount. The fight had gone on for no more than a minute so far, and he was already panting for breath.

They pushed him to the intersection. He stepped left, towards the nursery, in hopes that maybe the darklings would spread out through the other passages.

They wouldn't find much. Storerooms and crafting halls, mostly. The handful of bedchambers on this floor were behind him, past the nursery and near the stairs.

But he had no such luck. Either the darklings had been ordered to kill anyone they saw or - more worryingly - they had a specific target in mind.

It was no more than a handful of steps to the nursery. There were noises from above, now. Thumps and crashes from up the stairs. Help was coming, but how soon? He didn't dare look back to check. Not when he was already devoting every bit of concentration towards blunting the darkling rush.

And they still kept forcing him backwards.

'Too far... Can't... I can't... NO FURTHER!'

He roared. The sudden noise failed to intimidate his foes but it filled him with determination. His hurled hammer whipped between the vanguard to smash point-first into the spear-wielder behind them. It was followed an instant later by the Bloodhorn, still screaming defiance.

The charge took the attackers by surprise. He barreled into the front line. His dagger severed the tendons in the swordsman's hand while his free hand flashed out to gouge the other's face. An eye popped under his talons and he followed up by bringing his blade into the armored gap around its wings.

Steel grated across ribs as he twisted and yanked. The darkling stumbled away, blood bubbling from the punctured lung.

Lynis's berserk scream took on a higher note as white hot pain shot through his left side. A darkling armed with a torch was winding up for another strike. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the converted guard raising its sword with its remaining hand. And more darklings were massing.

Choosing the more dangerous of the two enemies, the Bloodhorn feinted for the torch-armed darkling before darting towards the other. His magic-fueled reactions let him raise his arm in time to deflect the thrust. Blood immediately welled in the shallow gash, and pain threatened to overwhelm him.

But accepting the wound had allowed Lynis inside of the darkling's guard. He brought a taloned foot up under the leather armor and hooked into the soft flesh of the darkling's thigh. Wet blood soaked his foot as he drew back, taking a gasping breath.

A torch flew past his head, followed by the clawing hands of its former owner. The Bloodhorn spun and slammed his head slightly. He once again earned his name as the sideways bend in his left horn scored a deep gash in the darkling's neck. He followed up with a strike from the hilt of his dagger and was rewarded with the satisfying crunch of breaking vertebrae.

Turning, he found himself face to face with his next opponent. This one wore a full helmet, only its coal black eyes and gray horns visible from behind soot-darkened steel. Chain link covered its arms and chest, and it held a battle ax in its blackened claws.

Lynis barreled into the darkling and slammed it into the corridor wall. Too close to bring its weapon to bear, it tried to flail, but that did no good. The Bloodhorn drove his dagger straight through one of the eye slits and twisted.

The strain was too much for the trusty blade. With a crack, the steel snapped. Lynis was left holding nothing but its leather wrapped hilt.

Like an oncoming thundercloud, the darklings descended on the wounded and disarmed warrior. Spears and swords stabbed down. Taloned feet rent his flesh. He curled into a ball and the blows landed on his wings. The thin bones snapped like twigs and the agony drove away the last bit of conscious thought.

Time passed. Seconds? Hours? Days? It was impossible to tell.

Dimly, he could hear the sounds of battle. Clashing steel and slamming bodies. Cries of pain and triumph.

'Darklings... don't yell...'

His thoughts were muzzy as the world turned to a blue haze. He tried to move, but his limbs refused to answer. He... he couldn't lift his neck. Even his eyelids were too heavy. Far too heavy.

Something distant pounded away, louder and louder. Faster and faster. Fainter... and... fainter...

High above, a distant star pulsed softly as the Bloodhorn exhaled a final, shuddering breath.