The Schemes of Dragons

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Keron could smell the battle coming. Clouds brooded, promising a long, heavy torrent. Below him, the troops of both defending and invading armies stirred like angry ants, with only the width of the river to separate them. It will be now, Keron thought. The rains would bring floods, and winter would keep the channel swollen. If the Dragon was going to establish his foothold, it would happen before the storm broke, while his forces could still cross the ford.

"Hail, King of Elandris!" the herald announced as Keron stepped out of his pavilion. Two pikemen automatically fell into place at their sovereign's heels.

"Where is the crown prince?" Keron asked.

"At the observation post," the herald replied.

Keron strode off at a pace that his men had a hard time matching. In his mid-fifties, the king was lean and strong, with not a strand of grey in his hair. Wizard's blood, his subjects would whisper. The years flow slowly for the sons of Alemar. Yet now there were sharp lines in his face that had been faint traces less than four years earlier, when the Dragon's offensive had begun.

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