DASH SIGNALED.
The guards at the sentry post waved him and his companions forward.
Dash, Gustaf, and Talwin had trudged along the road for three days, not catching sight of anyone, save for what they took to be a roving bunch of bandits late the second afternoon. Duko had pulled back his forces to just outside of Krondor, so the patrols that had caused the brothers so much difficulty just a few weeks earlier were now nonexistent.
The nearest soldier said, “Who goes there?”
Dash answered, “I’m Dashel Jamison, Baron of the King’s Court.”
Gustaf and Talwin exchanged surprised glances at that, but said nothing. They knew something odd had gone on while they were prisoners of the Mockers, and that Dash had spent time alone with their leader, but beyond that they only knew the young man was leading them away from captivity and toward what they hoped would be a warm meal, clean bedding, and employment.
“Gar!” shouted the first soldier to the second. “Go get the sergeant!”
The second soldier started up the road at a trot, toward the distant lights of the Kingdom’s forward encampment. Dash and the others halted before the first soldier. The man stood in awkward silence a long minute, then said, “If I might ask, m’lord …”
“What?” said Dash.
It was obvious the soldier was curious how a noble of the Prince’s court could end up in such disreputable attire with questionable company late in the day on the wrong side of enemy lines, but he restricted himself to asking, “Would you like some water?”
“Yes, thank you,” answered Dash.
The soldier passed over a water skin and Dash drank, handing it to Gustaf, who then gave it to Talwin. Dash said, “I think I’ll sit,” and he moved over to the side of the road and sat.
His companions joined him. They sat in silence, ignoring the curious sentry.
A short time later a group of riders approached from the Kingdom camp, leading three horses. A sergeant jumped down from the first horse, handing the reins to the sentry, and said, “Baron Dashel?”
Dash stood up and said, “That’s me.”
“Captain von Darkmoor is at the forward location and is waiting for you and your companions, sir.”
The three men rode with the escort a scant mile up the road to Erik’s camp. He was waiting outside his headquarters tent and said, “Dash! Your father will be pleased to hear you got back in one piece.”
“What of my brother?” asked Dash as he dismounted.
“He arrived about a week ago; he and Owen hurried off to see the Prince and your father. Come inside.”
Erik gave instructions to a soldier to find a place for Gustaf and Talwin to spend the night, and once inside his command tent said, “Hot food is on the way.”
“Good,” said Dash, sitting heavily in a camp chair next to a large map table. He glanced at the map and said, “Getting ready to assault Krondor?”
Erik shook his head. “We may not have to, if your brother’s message from Duko is not some sort of lie.”
“Message?”
“Jimmy got himself captured and was turned loose by Duko, bringing an offer to Patrick.”
“What sort of offer?” asked Dash.
“Duko wants to change sides.”
“You could have fooled me,” said Dash. “I was stuck on a work detail for a few days and he’s rebuilding Krondor as fast as he can.”
An orderly arrived with two wooden bowls filled with hot stew, simple by any standard, but the smell of which set Dash’s mouth to watering. Behind him came two other soldiers, one bearing cheese and bread and the other two large mugs of wine.
Dash set to, and after the soldiers left, Erik said, “You’d better fill me in on what you saw.”
After a few chews and a swallow, Dash said, “I got caught by Duko’s men and put to work in a gang.”
Erik said, “Interesting. They caught Jimmy coming into the city and took him for questioning.”
Dash said, “I was already in the city and looking like a rat catcher, so they must have assumed I had just avoided capture for a while. I don’t know, but that would make sense. For all that Duko’s doing there, it’s still pretty confusing in places.”
Erik nodded. “So you were in a work gang.”
Dash took a sip of wine. “Yes, until I got out with three other men. We slipped into one of the sewer culverts under the outer wall and headed into the city. That’s when we got grabbed by the Mockers.”
“So the thieves still control the sewers of Krondor?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘control’ as much as that there are some places Duko and his men haven’t found yet, and they have a couple of safe ways in and out of the city.”
Erik took a drink of wine and said, “That would have been a blessing if we were going to assault the city.”
“You think he’s sincere about wanting to change sides?”
“I don’t know,” answered Erik. “Your brother seemed to think so, and he convinced Greylock, and if I know your father, they’ll all convince the Prince.”
Dash shook his head. “That creates a problem for the Mockers.”
“What?”
“I promised them some sort of amnesty or pardon if they helped get us into the city during the coming attack.”
Erik rubbed his chin. “With Krondor in ruins it does seem a little trivial being worried over a man’s past before the war. I mean, should we hang someone for cutting purses two years ago while we pardon a man who burned down parts of the city last year?”
“Politics,” said Dash. “Fortunately for you and me, we don’t have to make that decision.”
Erik’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t discount your own counsel too much, Dash. I’m sure your father and the Prince will want your opinion on the matter.”
Dash sat back, swallowed another mouthful, and said, “I have one idea. Just pardon everyone inside the walls and get on with it.” He motioned with a fork over his shoulder. “I have no illusions about those mother-killers back there, and even fewer about the Mockers, despite my grandfather’s wonderful stories. Most of those invaders would be rioting within weeks if they were forced to play garrison soldiers, and the thieves will be cutting purses or throats within a day of being pardoned.” Speaking around a mouthful of food, Dash shook his head. “No, the only difference between having the Mockers help us to get into the city or having Duko open the gates is me keeping a promise.”
Erik raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“Only if the Mockers decide I forswore my promise and put a death mark on me.”
Erik nodded. “Let me know if I can help.”
Dash said, “I will. Though I suspect Father and Jimmy have persuaded Patrick to do whatever it is that Patrick is going to do.”
“Well, do you want to wait here and see if they’re heading our way? I could send word you’re alive. Or do you want to ride on to Darkmoor?”
Dash yawned. “Right now I just want to sleep on something softer than a pile of straw on a stone floor.”
Erik gave him a rueful look. “Then you might do well to ride on tonight. We don’t have a lot of down-stuffed mattresses in camp.”
“I know,” said Dash, pushing himself back from the table. “I was just expressing a desire. I’ll take a soldier’s pallet if that’s what fate provides. I’ve slept on the ground with this tattered cloak wrapped around me for the last three nights.”
“Well, we’ll get you some better clothing,” said Erik. “We have spares, though you’ll be back in uniform.”
Dash shrugged. “As long as they’re free of lice and fleas, I won’t complain about fashion.”
Erik laughed. “You can always hang your rags over the campfire.”
“A dog soldier’s washing,” said Dash. “Yes, I’ve heard of that approach; then your clothing stinks of woodsmoke for days. I’ll settle for a uniform and you can burn these.”
Erik laughed. “You can have the extra bedroll over there and bunk in with me tonight. I’ll try not to wake you when I turn in later.” He moved toward the tent flap. “I have to check on some things before …” He turned and saw that Dash was already on the pallet and asleep. Moving outside, Erik turned his mind to the tasks at hand, though for a brief moment he considered how odd the situation before him was becoming.
Well, he decided, he’d leave it to the Prince and Duke to decide if Duko was being straightforward or not, and then, as always was the case, he would follow his orders the best way he knew how.
Pug reined in and the leader of his escort shouted the order to halt. The patrol heading toward them was decked out in the black of Krondor’s Crimson Eagles, the special unit founded by Calis, Erik von Darkmoor’s predecessor, and at their head was a familiar face from the last winter at Darkmoor.
“Nakor! Magician!” shouted Jadow Shati, Lieutenant of the company. “What brings you this way?” He signaled behind him and his patrol also halted.
“We’re up to see Captain Subai and then on to see if we can sort out this mess with the Saaur,” said Pug.
Jadow’s brilliant smile suddenly fled. “Man, ask Nakor. We’ve faced them Saaur, down across the sea. Tough and fast. Takes three of us for each one of them unless we’re heavily armored. What do you think the chances are of the Prince sending the Royal Lancers this way, magician?”
“I’m hoping that I can convince the Saaur that fighting us is a waste on both sides.”
“Well, that would be novel. From what I’ve seen of them, peaceful isn’t the first word that springs to mind when thinking of them.” He glanced over his shoulder, then said, “Ride on another hour and you’ll hit our main camp. I’m out for a couple of days, so perhaps I’ll see you on your way back.” He looked at Nakor. “How’s your new religion going?”
Nakor sighed theatrically. “Being good is difficult, Jadow.”
The good-natured former Sergeant laughed. “You state the obvious, my little friend.” He waved his patrol after him. “Let’s ride.” As he passed the leader of the patrol from Krondor, he accepted their sergeant’s salute with a wave and nod.
Pug said, “Let’s go see the Captain.”
Nakor said, “Let’s go eat. I’m hungry.”
Pug laughed. “You’re always hungry, my friend.”
“You know,” said Nakor as they rode along, “I had this odd notion—”
“Really,” said Pug, interrupting. “You’ll have to tell me of it some other time.”
Nakor laughed. “No, I mean really odd.”
“Definitely some other time,” said Pug.
“Very well,” Nakor responded.
They rode in silence as they approached Captain Subai’s camp. It was set up in a clearing near the base of some foothills rising steeply to the west. Pug could see the road rose sharply beyond the camp, and judged this to be the northern boundary of the area considered secured from invaders. To further reinforce that impression, he could see a heavy breastwork had been constructed across the road on the northern side of the camp. Glancing around, Pug could see why this location had been picked for the headquarters camp. There was ample room to the south for the area to be quickly reinforced, but to the north the terrain rose sharply on the west; to the east of the road, the bank was almost a cliff face, and below it any soldiers coming down along the base of the hills would be trapped in a narrowing defile. A pair of archers could hold off anyone coming along that way.
Soldiers hurried along to take Pug and Nakor’s horses. The men were dressed in both the garb of the Royal Pathfinders and the Crimson Eagles. Pug and Nakor dismounted, and Pug asked one of the soldiers where Captain Subai’s tent was located. The soldier indicated a large tent in the very center of the camp, and Pug gave his thanks.
Pug turned to the Sergeant leading his escort, and said, “Thank you, Sergeant. Rest tonight, then lead your men back in the morning. We’ll be fine here.”
The Sergeant saluted. He turned and gave the order to dismount, and asked the second soldier where his men could care for their mounts. As the soldier directed the Sergeant, Pug and Nakor walked toward the command tent.
There was a single soldier sitting in a camp chair outside the tent. As they drew near, Pug saw that it wasn’t a lazy sentry, but rather the Pathfinder Commander himself. He was hard at work oiling up a leather harness. Pug had heard that Pathfinders tended their own equipment and didn’t relegate anything to the army’s usual cadre of blacksmiths, tanners, and armorers. Erik had once commented to Pug that they took very good care of their horses, an area in which Erik was an expert. He glanced up and recognized the magician.
“Duke Pug,” he said slowly as he stood and saluted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
Pug said, “To Prince Patrick’s instructions, I’m afraid.”
The Captain, a gaunt man with prematurely grey hair and a face and hands the color of tanned leather, stood. “What orders?”
“I’m to venture down to the flatland to the east of here, then strike up into the Thunderhell Steppes, find the Saaur, and convince them not to attack our forces again.”
The Captain raised an eyebrow in his most expressive reaction since Pug had first encountered him in Krondor. “Good luck to you, m’lord.” He put down the harness and said, “Will you be needing anything from me or my men?”
Pug said, “I regret to say I must impose on you for an escort. The Prince thought it necessary.”
The Captain smiled. “From what I’ve heard of you, I find that difficult to believe. Still, if the Prince commands, we obey. I’ll have a patrol ready to accompany you at first light. Until then you’ll have to make do with a rough camp. I’ll have a couple of my men double up in a tent, so you and your friend here can share one.”
“Thanks,” said Pug. He glanced at Nakor. “You’ll sleep alone tonight, my friend, as I plan on staying another night with my wife.”
“Going to flit back down to Darkmoor?”
“No, Miranda’s at Sorcerer’s Isle, and I want to see her again.”
Nakor grinned. “I remember what it was like to be in love.” He sighed. “That was a while back, though.”
Pug took out a Tsurani transportation orb and said, “This is the last one. I’m going to have Miranda teach me the trick of getting around without one of these things.” He started looking around the landscape. To attempt to use the orb to go to a destination not well known to the user’s mind was almost certain death. “Let me take a few minutes and get the location of this camp fixed in my mind so I can find my way back here in the morning.”
“By all means,” said Nakor. “But don’t break it,” he added with a laugh. “It’s going to take her a while to teach you, and somehow I don’t imagine you’re going to start learning tonight!” Pug ignored Nakor and wandered off, looking intently at the surrounding landmarks. Nakor turned to Subai. “Things quiet around here, Captain?”
Subai nodded. “The invaders hold the other side of the northern passes, but they’re not trying to cross the ridge of the mountains. Our patrols can get within a few hundred yards of their positions before they come swarming out, but they only chase us a little way. They seem content to stay where they are.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Nakor. “They’re fortifying defenses before every avenue of attack.”
Subai nodded.
“I suppose you’ve found a few ways over the mountains they haven’t found out yet.”
“A few. Mostly goat trails and footpaths. There are a couple of places we might infiltrate a squad or two, potentially put men at their back as we drive north, but no place we could stage on the other side for a major offensive.” The Captain glanced westward, as if seeing through the mountains to where the enemy was on the other side. “Over there, just a week’s ride if it were a straight path, lies Sarth. If we could somehow get inside there, seize the old abbey above the town, and stage there, we could launch a flank attack in support of any forces coming from the south and clear out the invaders in a few days, rather than the weeks it’s going to take.”
Nakor said, “Maybe there’s a way.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked the Captain.
“I’m trying to remember a story Duke James told me a long time ago.” He was silent a while, then said, “I need to send a message to Duke Arutha. Do you have something I can write with?”
“In my tent,” said Subai.
“Good,” said Nakor, heading inside.
Subai looked up to see where Pug was now, and saw that the magician had vanished.
Miranda looked up and saw Pug standing there. She jumped up, hurried to him, and threw her arms around him. “I missed you.”
Pug echoed the sentiment. They hadn’t been apart since the end of fighting almost six months earlier, and it had taken him almost a week to reach Subai’s camp in the mountains.
“How are things around here?” Pug asked after their embrace.
Miranda said, “Much as we left it. Gathis conducts the daily business of the island in an exemplary fashion and it seems Robert d’Lyes has become something of an organizer around here. He’s taken to reestablishing the class schedule that lapsed with your last departure.”
Pug smiled. “Good. I’ll have to speak to him before I leave in the morning.”
She kissed him. “But not until after dinner. I want you to myself for the next few hours.”
He smiled and said, “Not until then.”
They spent the next two hours alone, then sent word to have supper brought to their quarters. After dining, Gathis appeared outside the door as servants were removing the dinner trays.
“Master Pug,” he said in greeting. The tall goblinlike creature was always formal when addressing anyone, from Pug to the most menial of servants. Though, even the most menial of servants on this island was a student of magic, from one end of Midkemia to the other, and from distant worlds.
“Gathis,” Pug acknowledged. “How is everything?”
“That is why I wished to speak to you. I fear something is amiss.”
“What is that?”
“It would be better if you and Mistress Miranda were to accompany me.”
Pug and Miranda exchanged glances, but said nothing, nodding to Gathis, who turned and led them out the door and along the long hallway which separated Pug’s personal quarters from the rest of the large central house that dominated Villa Beata – the Beautiful House as it was known in the ancient language of Queg.
He led them outside and across a meadow, and instantly Pug knew where he was leading them. As before, when he reached a grassy hillside, Gathis waved his hand and a cave materialized. They entered and again Pug saw the small altar upon which rested the statue of Sarig, the lost God of Magic. Miranda gasped. The first time they had seen the statue, the features upon it resembled those of her father, Macros the Black. “The face is blank!”
“Yes, mistress,” said Gathis. “I came here a few days ago and saw what you see now.”
“What does it mean?” asked Miranda.
Pug said, “The gods are waiting.”
“For what?” she asked, touching the statue.
Pug’s voice was soft. “For Sarig’s new avatar, his new human agent on this world.”
Miranda said, “Does this mean you?”
“No,” said Pug. “When I lay near death in the healing glade of Elvandar, when Lims-Kragma spoke to me, I was given three choices. Death was the first.” He looked at Miranda. “I could not leave you.”
She smiled.
“The second choice was eternal life, but the price was becoming Sarig’s next avatar. I would have replaced your father.”
“I don’t think I would have cared much for that.” Then she looked at Pug. “What was the third choice?”
Pug said, “Nothing I care to talk about.”
Anger flared up in Miranda’s voice as she said, “Tell me!”
“I will die someday.”
She moved around to stand directly before him, between Pug and the statue. “You’re not telling me something. What?”
“Only that at the end of my life I will know … hardship.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “What have we known already?”
“That was how I looked at it. If we can get through what we’ve already survived, what more should I worry about.”
Coolly, she said, “Are you telling me everything?”
Pug shrugged. “I’m probably forgetting something.” With a light tone he said, “Remember, I was almost dead at the time I had this conversation.”
Gathis said, “The future is not fixed, though it can be difficult to change if events gain enough momentum.”
Pug nodded, and Miranda said, “I have no idea what that means. What are you hiding?”
Pug said, “Only that in exchange for a very long life and a great deal of power I will have to eventually pay a high price.”
Miranda said, “There’s no ‘only’ about that.”
Gathis said, “We all have prices to pay.”
Pug changed the subject. “You’ve been the keeper of this shrine for ages, Gathis. What do you think this means?”
“I think a time of change is upon us, Master Pug, and soon someone will present himself to fill the void left by Macros’s death.”
Pug said, “I think you are right. Perhaps it’s one of the students.” Pug remained silent a moment, then said, “Someone will find this shrine.”
Gathis said, “I have evolved a very subtle but powerful spell to disguise it, Master Pug.”
“I know. I lived on this island for decades and never suspected it was here, but whoever is fated to become Sarig’s next tool will somehow find this place.”
Gathis pondered that observation, and said, “I think that is a likely possibility.”
“We will await that day. In the meantime,” he said to Miranda, “let’s return to the house. I want to see a little of how things are running here, then I want to rest before returning to Subai’s camp in the morning.”
They returned to the house, and as they crossed the center courtyard, they encountered a group of students sitting around the fountain, enjoying the quiet spring evening. As Pug approached, they all respectfully rose, save for a Brunangee Fire Singer whose snakelike lower body made it impossible for her to do more than raise her roughly humanoid upper torso in an approximation of a slight bow. Pug waved them all back to where they had sat.
Robert d’Lyes said, “Pug, it is good to see you again.”
“How have you found life on our tidy little island?” asked Pug. He had brought the young magician along with Miranda to the island during the winter. Robert had resigned as a member of the council at Stardock and had nowhere else to go. Patrick seemed indifferent to the idea of a court magician, so Pug decided to employ him at the island.
“It’s a wonderful place,” said Robert. “I’ve learned more about my arts in the last month than I did in the previous two years at Stardock.”
Miranda and Pug glanced at one another. “That’s impressive,” said Pug, motioning for Gathis and Miranda to sit on a nearby bench. “You were the youngest member of the council and rose faster in the learning of your craft than any student we had at Stardock. And you’re learning even faster here?”
Robert smiled. He had chosen to affect a beard in imitation of Pug, a flattery Pug didn’t find appealing, but which he chose not to comment upon. “It’s astonishing. What I find even more wonderful is that with practitioners of magic from other worlds I’m learning things Chalmers and Kalied never would have dreamt of.”
Pug was now genuinely intrigued. “Oh, really? Care to give me an example?”
Robert nodded, his youthful enthusiasm clearly evident. He turned to the Fire Singer and said, “Takkek showed me something a few days ago that I’ve been practicing.” He moved away from the group and started to sing. It was a faint sound, as if half-whispered, but clearly singing. The words were impossible to understand, as if the mind refused to grasp them and they were forgotten as soon as they were heard. Yet there was a pattern to them, a mildly hypnotic rhythm that caused Pug to glance around at the other students. They were sitting and watching with rapt expressions as Robert continued his song.
A flame appeared in the air, a foot or so before Robert’s face. It was the size of a baby’s finger, but clearly it was a flame. It flickered and danced in the wind, then suddenly went out. Robert looked tired, but elated, as he said, “I’m just now starting to understand a little of what Takkek has shown me, but give me time.”
“I am impressed,” said Pug. “Under the old labels used by the Tsurani Assembly, that’s Lesser Path magic, and should be close to impossible for you to perform.”
Robert laughed. “I’m convinced Nakor was right: there is no magic, just tricks, and if we open our minds, we can learn anything.”
Rising, Pug said, “Well, enjoy the evening and don’t set fire to the house. Miranda and I are off. Oh, Robert,” said Pug, turning to face the student.
“Yes, sir?”
“Gathis says you’ve been doing a good job in my absence. Continue to help out, if you would, please.”
“It’s my pleasure,” said the student.
Pug and Miranda returned to their quarters. As they reached the door, Pug said, “That really was quite remarkable.”
Miranda laughed and pushed him through the door. Playfully she said, “I’ll show you something remarkable.”
She shut the door.
Nakor glanced up as Pug popped into view. A soldier carrying a bundle of wood dropped it when suddenly there was a black-robed man standing where there had only been empty air the moment before. “Hello!” Nakor called happily.
Captain Subai was close by, talking to a young officer wearing the black tabard of Krondor’s Crimson Eagles. A few Pathfinders could be seen around camp, but their numbers were few. Pug knew that the majority of them were high in the mountains to the west, scouting the enemy and ready to return with reports on any movement of Fadawah’s forces. Their reputation for tracking, scouting, and stealth in the woodlands was legendary, rivaling that of Kesh’s Imperial Guides and the Rangers of the Free Cities of Natal. Only the elves were said to be better.
Subai said, “Lieutenant Gunderson will lead the patrol accompanying you.”
Pug saw that the Captain was providing an escort of a dozen men. One, a trailbreaker Pug judged, was a Pathfinder, and he started riding ahead, while the others waited for Nakor and Pug to mount their horses.
Subai pointed at Nakor. “I’m pleased to see that one go. I don’t know what’s more irritating: his constant preaching on the subject of ‘good,’ or his luck at cards.”
Pug laughed. “I have a hunch which was more irritating.”
Subai said, “We’ve packed provisions for two weeks.”
“I’ll find them in less time than that,” said Pug as he hiked up his black robe and climbed into the saddle.
“Just make sure you find them before they find you. By all reports they come out of the grasslands like a wind and are over you before you even hear them coming.”
Nakor said, “I’ve seen them. You can hear them coming.”
Subai smiled, and Pug said, “Any other advice?”
“Don’t get killed,” said the Captain without a smile.
Pug nodded. “I have other plans.” He nodded to the Lieutenant and the order was given to ride off.
Nakor said, “I was talking to the Captain about some trails over the mountain. As soon as we get back from this nonsense, we have to get back to Darkmoor and find Greylock and Erik. I think I have a plan that could shorten the war.”
Pug turned and said, “Tell me about it.”
Nakor outlined what he had thought of as they rode down a small trail leading into the woodlands below.
For five days they rode, and except for one sighting of a band of riders who veered off at the patrol’s approach, the journey was uneventful. They had left the foothills the day before and were riding across grasslands, heading toward the southern entrance to the Thunderhell Steppes, a broad break in two ranges of hills, less than five miles across.
They reached a point near signs of a large old campsite, and the Lieutenant ordered a halt. “This was our reserve camp. There were wooden walls, a dirt outer barrier, a drop gate. They overran it and killed everyone.” He motioned with his hand. “They staked the heads in an arch starting here.”
Pug said, “Then this is where we will part company, Lieutenant.”
The young officer said, “I though we were to accompany you until we found the Saaur.”
“A reasonable assumption but incorrect,” said Pug.
Nakor said, “Honestly, Lieutenant, we can take care of ourselves and having you along might cause us some extra trouble, trying to keep you all alive.”
The Lieutenant said, “Then may I ask why we’re here at all, sir?”
“Because I didn’t feel like arguing with your Captain, if you must know,” said Pug.
“Do you mind if we wait, sir?”
“Don’t bother,” said Pug. “If I don’t get killed, I’ll be traveling back to Darkmoor a lot faster than you can get there.”
The magician’s reputation was widely spread throughout the army, and he was also a Duke, so whatever reservations the young officer might have felt were kept inside. He merely saluted and said, “Very well, m’lord. Have a safe journey.”
“You, as well,” replied Pug.
Nakor said, “Well, then, let’s get there.”
Pug nodded and urged his horse forward.
They had traveled less than a mile when Nakor said, “Do you hear it?”
Pug said, “Yes.”
In the distance, like the sound of distant drums, the thunder of the hooves pounding across the plains carried to them. Pug knew and Nakor had seen those horses, twice the size of the sturdy cavalry mounts they rode. Astride each would be a Saaur, twelve feet tall, reptilian warriors.
Soon dust could be seen in the distance.
Pug turned to make sure the Kingdom patrol was retreating and was pleased to see it was almost out of sight.
“Let’s wait here,” said Nakor.
Pug nodded. “They’ll be here soon enough.”
They waited, and in the distance they could see riders on the horizon. The Saaur were coming.