that Fergis will arrive soon with the Mordumarc. We will need them to protect the city.”
“Yes, Captain,” Daryth said.
“We return home, men,” Kuros commanded. “Quickly now!”
A column of smoke rose from what used to be the city of Taryn. Fergis saw it from the eastern side of the forest. Now he was torn between returning to Morduin or investigating the burned out city. There was no indication whether the Southward group of Jindala had strayed from their path and attacked Taryn, or if this was a separate group altogether.
Either way, whatever had sacked Taryn would have to be large enough to defeat Kaelos’ cavalry, and his city troops together. With an army of over five hundred, Taryn was one of the most secure cities in the kingdom.
“Captain,” a soldier addressed him, “there are two sets of tracks here. Even our untrained eyes can tell them apart. One group came from the North and headed toward Taryn, and one group from the East. It looks like they crossed this area at different times, as the Eastward tracks look a few days older.”
“What do you think, Brynn?” Fergis asked the younger man.
Brynn thought for a moment. “If the Jindala sent an army large enough to destroy Taryn, then whatever is heading toward Morduin must be twice as large. I would prefer to fight them one at a time. I say we ride for Taryn. The rangers and the city guard can hold off the other army until we arrive. If we can eliminate this threat, the battle at Morduin will be less difficult.”
“Agreed,” Fergis said. “Mount up! We head for Taryn!”
The Mordumarc departed, riding West through the forest, uncertain as to what they would encounter at Taryn. Whatever had destroyed the fortified city was a powerful foe, and it must not be allowed to reach Morduin.
Eamon found himself in a round, extravagantly decorated room. There were twelve tapestries spaced evenly on the walls, each one depicting the Twelve Houses of the Sun. The roof was dome-shaped, with a large chandelier of familiar blue globes lighting it and casting a soothing blue glow throughout. There were windows, but their glass revealed only shadows beyond.
In the center of the room, standing silent, was a large man. Like Erenoth, and Eamon himself, the man was dressed in black. His armor bore the horns and scales of a dragon, with the helmet forged into the shape of a dragon’s head. Upon the forehead of the helmet, long spikes protruded upward, similar to the spires that once adorned the temple’s tower. On his breastplate, the symbol of the Order was depicted in silver. The pauldrons, gauntlets and grieves were also adorned with patterns of silver and each had fearsome looking spikes to accent their appearance. The whole suit of armor gave its wearer the appearance of a dragon, much like the depictions of the former Kings in the temple’s antechamber.
The man himself was heavily muscled and brutish in appearance. His hair was long and black, his eyes were cold blue, and his face bore the scars of thousands of conflicts. Despite these features, he still retained an air of nobility.
The man looked up at the Prince and slowly approached him. Eamon felt a sense of sadness rush over him, empathizing with the loneliness the man must feel trapped in this limbo. As he lowered his head, he could feel the man embrace him gently. Eamon nestled his head into the man’s arms.
“My son,” the Dragon spoke, “I have waited long for this day.”
Eamon allowed himself to weep, feeling the powerful bond between father and son that had been missing his entire life.
“I have been lost,” Eamon said. “I have lived my life not knowing who my real father was. Garret was the only father I have ever known.”
“Garret is a good man,” the Dragon said, looking into his son’s eyes. “I am grateful to him for making you the man you are. I see his strength in you. Strength that could only come from a man who raised you as his own. I have watched you
“Yes, Captain,” Daryth said.
“We return home, men,” Kuros commanded. “Quickly now!”
A column of smoke rose from what used to be the city of Taryn. Fergis saw it from the eastern side of the forest. Now he was torn between returning to Morduin or investigating the burned out city. There was no indication whether the Southward group of Jindala had strayed from their path and attacked Taryn, or if this was a separate group altogether.
Either way, whatever had sacked Taryn would have to be large enough to defeat Kaelos’ cavalry, and his city troops together. With an army of over five hundred, Taryn was one of the most secure cities in the kingdom.
“Captain,” a soldier addressed him, “there are two sets of tracks here. Even our untrained eyes can tell them apart. One group came from the North and headed toward Taryn, and one group from the East. It looks like they crossed this area at different times, as the Eastward tracks look a few days older.”
“What do you think, Brynn?” Fergis asked the younger man.
Brynn thought for a moment. “If the Jindala sent an army large enough to destroy Taryn, then whatever is heading toward Morduin must be twice as large. I would prefer to fight them one at a time. I say we ride for Taryn. The rangers and the city guard can hold off the other army until we arrive. If we can eliminate this threat, the battle at Morduin will be less difficult.”
“Agreed,” Fergis said. “Mount up! We head for Taryn!”
The Mordumarc departed, riding West through the forest, uncertain as to what they would encounter at Taryn. Whatever had destroyed the fortified city was a powerful foe, and it must not be allowed to reach Morduin.
Eamon found himself in a round, extravagantly decorated room. There were twelve tapestries spaced evenly on the walls, each one depicting the Twelve Houses of the Sun. The roof was dome-shaped, with a large chandelier of familiar blue globes lighting it and casting a soothing blue glow throughout. There were windows, but their glass revealed only shadows beyond.
In the center of the room, standing silent, was a large man. Like Erenoth, and Eamon himself, the man was dressed in black. His armor bore the horns and scales of a dragon, with the helmet forged into the shape of a dragon’s head. Upon the forehead of the helmet, long spikes protruded upward, similar to the spires that once adorned the temple’s tower. On his breastplate, the symbol of the Order was depicted in silver. The pauldrons, gauntlets and grieves were also adorned with patterns of silver and each had fearsome looking spikes to accent their appearance. The whole suit of armor gave its wearer the appearance of a dragon, much like the depictions of the former Kings in the temple’s antechamber.
The man himself was heavily muscled and brutish in appearance. His hair was long and black, his eyes were cold blue, and his face bore the scars of thousands of conflicts. Despite these features, he still retained an air of nobility.
The man looked up at the Prince and slowly approached him. Eamon felt a sense of sadness rush over him, empathizing with the loneliness the man must feel trapped in this limbo. As he lowered his head, he could feel the man embrace him gently. Eamon nestled his head into the man’s arms.
“My son,” the Dragon spoke, “I have waited long for this day.”
Eamon allowed himself to weep, feeling the powerful bond between father and son that had been missing his entire life.
“I have been lost,” Eamon said. “I have lived my life not knowing who my real father was. Garret was the only father I have ever known.”
“Garret is a good man,” the Dragon said, looking into his son’s eyes. “I am grateful to him for making you the man you are. I see his strength in you. Strength that could only come from a man who raised you as his own. I have watched you
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