The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) by Daryl Yearwood

continue.
    “There is something I need to tell you.” Valaron laid his hand on his uncle’s shoulder.
    Cortain waited, wiping at his eyes.
    “Thank you,” said Valaron.
    Puzzled, Cortain asked, “For what?”
    “Thank you for what you did for me. For me and my parents. You sacrificed everything to raise me, to take care of me. Thank you.”
    Cortain broke down and wept. His shoulders shook as he leaned against Valaron for support.
    #
    The villagers packed the meeting hall. Skarson was convinced that not another person could have squeezed through the doors. There were more outside, pushing to get a better view. Stalwort pounded on the podium again without results and throwing up his hands, he took his seat in frustration.
    Finally, there was a natural lull in the clamor of voices and Skarson spoke in his deep commanding baritone voice. “Listen! Listen!” he said. “There is much to discuss, and if you do not keep quiet we will be here all night.” He turned to the mayor and nodding, sat down.
    “Good folk of Frensville ,” the mayor began. “We face a choice set upon us by our circumstances.” He relayed the events of the last few weeks to the villagers in his most authoritative voice. Usually short and to the point, his new-found eloquence was not lost on his listeners. “And so, we are at fate’s door. If we follow Skarson in rebellion , we may all be killed. If not, we are sure to be destroyed, slowly strangled by the lusts of King Praelix or killed in our sleep by marauding Morts. We have already suffered dearly at their hands, and more attacks are sure to come.” He paused and looked around the room. “It seems to me that we have no choice but to raise arms.”
    Shouting broke out in the meeting hall. Some were stomping their feet while others yelled to be heard over the din. Stalwort held his arms in the air until order was restored.
    “This is not a forced issue and we are not here to debate. Skarson looks only for volunteers. No one will be compelled to fight and rest assured, none will be thought any less a man for staying behind. Some of you have families to care for. Others are too old or too young to fight. We ask only for those who would follow of their own free will.”
    A heavy silence filled the hall as many of the wives looked at the faces of their husbands and sons, trying to read their thoughts.
    “Where do we sign up?” shouted Galdor. “I will fight.” His next words were drowned out by the shouts of others raising their own voices in agreement.
    Skarson stood up and the hall fell into a hushed silence. “Make no mistake. What we do will be dangerous. Some of you may not even make it to Kalador as we are certain to run into resistance from the King’s garrisons. Any man who ride s with us should make preparations in case you do not return.” It was the husbands turn to look at their wives.
    “The King will not take kindly to a rebellion,” Skarson continued, “and news of Valaron’s dragon will soon reach the palace.” Murmurs spread across the hall and faces turned to look at Valaron as he sat beside the mayor. “Do not be fooled, my friends. Praelix is a ruthless man. He intends to be Emperor, and he will not stand any show of force.” Skarson looked around the hall at the faces of the villagers he had come to know over the years. “Make your decisions carefully. To survive, we must win!”
    The room exploded again in loud shouts as the Mayor tried to regain control. Skarson leaned close to Stalwort. “Let them hash it out without my interference,” he said. “They must make up their own minds.” The Lone Rider made his way through the throng of people and out into the night.
    He went to his house and gathered a few of the older books and placed them in a bag. He carried his load out to the field and set up camp far away from Valaron and the dragon.
    “I guess I have become accustomed to sleeping on the ground,” Skarson said to the approaching rider. “My bed