In the Shadow of the Dragon King by J. Keller Ford

chest.
    “You’re not going anywhere, lad, except back to the castle and into the care of the surgeon.”
    A young boy limped toward him, a horse clomping behind him. “Your steed, my lord.”
    Eric shook his head. “No. I have to go to the forest. Trog is waiting for me.”
    “The matter is not open for discussion.”
    The man swept his hair from his eyes and glanced around. “Of all that is good in heaven, how could this happen?”
    “Blast the heavens, Gowran,” Crohn said. His black eyes bulged from behind the curtain of straggly black hair. “God’s eyes were turned from Gyllen this night. Where were our sentries? Why didn’t they sound the alarm? So help the wretched soul that fell asleep on watch for if I find him alive, he will wish Einar had killed him first!”
    “Settle down, Crohn,” Farnsworth said. The eldest knight’s blood-and-sweat-soaked tunic adhered to his torso like a second skin. “Look around you.” He worked the strands of his ashen hair into a frizzed plait. “This slaughter is not their fault. That beast caught us with our trousers off. He knew what he was doing.” He adjusted the sword on his back and knelt beside Eric. “Son, I need you to tell me the last place you saw Their Majesties.”
    Eric swallowed. “They were with Trog at the entrance to the passageway leading to Hammershire.”
    “Did they go through?”
    Eric shook his head. “I don’t know. Everything got crazy. We were separated.”
    Farnsworth pressed his palm to Eric’s forehead, the expression in his eyes tender. Fatherly. “It’s all right.” He glanced up at Gowran. “Help me get him on the horse.”
    Pain spiraled up Eric’s spine as they lifted him on the animal. Gowran climbed behind him, his arms on either side to keep Eric upright.
    “Take him to the surgeon and stay with him,” Farnsworth said. “We’ll meet at sunset in the upper courtyard.”
    Gowran guided the horse toward the castle. Sorrowful moans and sobs drew Eric’s tired eyes to the bodies strewn about the hillside like broken dolls. The lifeless faces of the jobmaster, Flint, and the cordwainer held his gaze. A tear fell. “I know them,” he said.
    “There will be many you know who no longer breathe,” Gowran said. “Might I suggest you put on blinders? Take everything you see, hear, and smell and store it somewhere in the recesses of your mind. There will be a time to revisit them later and mourn for what is no more. For now, you need to stay awake until I find the surgeon and get that wound stitched.”
    Eric shook his head. “No. You’re going the wrong way. I have to find Trog. Must go to the forest.” His head lolled to the side.
    The horse picked up its pace. Eric groaned, his body angry at the increased bouncing. “Stop. I have to get down. I have to find Trog.” His skin crawled with sweat. His bones burned.
    The horse’s hooves clomped over cobblestones. “Home,” Eric muttered, half asleep.
    “Yes. Home,” Gowran said.
    Eric’s nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell?”
    Gowran paused, and then said, “War.”
    The horse slowed to a stop.
    A girl yelled out beyond Eric’s gaze. “Edgar, I need help over here. Now!”
    Large hands reached for Eric as Gowran slid to the ground.
    “Where is the surgeon?” Gowran asked.
    “Inside,” the girl said.
    The men lifted Eric onto a litter and carried him into a room that smelled of tinctures and antiseptics. They rolled him belly down from the carrier onto a table covered with white cloth. Men spoke to him while hands tugged and pulled at his shirt.
    “What happened?” the surgeon asked.
    “Dragon caught him.”
    Eric groaned as the doctor’s fingers probed the wound. “It’s deep but fixable. Emelia, fetch me some ground redweed, comfrey tea, horseradish and fox’s clote.” Soft footsteps scurried away “Edgar. Gowran. As much as I love looking at your handsome faces, get out of my sight.”
    “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a seat along the