The Citadel

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From the deck of the Harpy, General Marcus Cadrio, his thinning gray and brown hair plastered to his head and shoulders by the choppy sea, watched as the Northern Ergothian port city of Gwynned appeared tantalizingly at the edge of the horizon. The slim, clean-shaven commander lowered the magical device and stared again. Now he was unable to see even a trace of Gwynned, much less the rest of Northern Ergoth. The weather had turned foul with more vehemence than either he or his staff had anticipated. It was yet another strike against his forces in an already desperate war. He needed a victory soon if he hoped to stake his claim among the survivors of the Dark Queen’s commanders.

“Orders, sir?” a subordinate dared to ask.

Cadrio turned toward the fool, briefly eyeing the stylized dragon design on his ebony breastplate. All his officers wore the same design, a fierce five-headed monster that represented a cause now lost. The thought further chilled the already cold tone in his voice. “And what orders would you like, Timinion? Have you some suggestions, perhaps?”

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