Keep of Dragons: The Azuleah Trilogy, #3

By Daniel Adorno

The resurrection of Kraegyn has emboldened the enemies of Aldron and brought the war in Azuleah to a tipping point. Lucius, armed with the magical Requiem Sword, is prepared to take on the challenge of defeating the dragons and their minions once and for all. But the secrets surrounding his family's past threaten to divert his mission and imperil the lives of his friends.

Keep of Dragons is an epic fantasy series filled with action, adventure, and intrigue. Fans of C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia and John Flanagan's Ranger's Apprentice will feel right at home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lost Coin Press
• Release date: Oct 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386097747

Book preview

Prologue

THEODORE GREIMANE RUSHED to the end of his small shop and grabbed unguents and potions from the shelves. He accidentally dropped one of the rare elixirs, spilling its contents all over the wooden floor. Cursing under his breath, he grabbed another bottle on the shelf more gingerly than before. Then he hurried to the other end of the room where a wooden chest was quickly filling with various contents including vials of the most expensive perfume in Azuleah. He gazed around the room, searching for any more items of considerable value that he could pack into the already overstuffed suitcase.

A knock came upon the green door of the shop, startling Theodore. The hour was late—just after supper time. He had closed the shop early today after he’d received word that an imminent attack would come to Sylvania. Although he would never turn away a customer who might buy his high-priced goods, he didn’t need any distractions right now. He ignored the knocking and turned his attention back to the suitcase, struggling to think of what else he might need on his trip. Another round of knocking at the door caused him to lose his concentration. He gritted his teeth angrily then faced the door once more.

We’re closed for the day. Come back some other time if you wish to buy potions for your stock, he said, trying to keep his tone civil.

My lord, it is Jarvis, your coachman. Are you ready to be taken out of the city?

Theodore stepped toward the door and swung it open. Outside, he saw the blanch face of a young man in his twenties. He wore a blue coachman’s uniform which had many dirt stains from the constant riding the man’s profession required. Beyond the coachman, Theodore spied a dark carriage with a pair of chestnut mares tied to the front. The horses stamped the dirt with their hooves, eager for their next journey.

Just give me a few more minutes! I’m almost done packing, Theodore said. He shut the door on the coachman before the man could reply. There was no time to bandy words with a commoner.

As he pondered what else he should bring, Theodore strolled into the storeroom and gazed around absently at the vast assortment of elixirs and potions organized inside. He sensed a presence behind him and spun around. There in the doorway of the storeroom was Lumiath, the elf seer who lived upstairs with him for quite some time. Theodore furrowed his brow in annoyance.

What is it? Theodore asked.

Why are you still here, Theodore? I told you to leave hours ago, Lumiath said. The elf gripped his oak walking cane and thumped it on the ground twice. This was a common gesture of his frustration at Theodore. He had tried to ignore the annoying thumping over the years, but the elf wouldn’t stop unless Theodore halted whatever spurious behavior he engaged in.

I know, I know. But I am a merchant I must have my goods! There is no one as proficient in the medicinal business as I.

Lumiath’s gaze turned deadly serious. His hazel eyes bore into the man before him. A dragon approaches as we speak. The city will burn in a matter of minutes. You must go.

All right, Theodore said resignedly.

The shopkeeper walked past the elf and turned back to his large chest on the floor. Beside it, an iron strong box held the majority of his profits from the store. The rest of his earnings sat inside three coin purses hanging from his belt. His ample belly shook the purses, causing the coins to clink noisily with his every step.

Where do you plan to go? Lumiath asked.

The Sangre Isles, of course. My brother lives on Rolen’s Island—a veritable treasure cove for merchants. There's more competition in the port city, but I might turn a good profit.

No, that will not do. You must go to Aldron first. I have a letter which you must deliver, Lumiath said as he reached into his robe and procured a sealed envelope.

Am I a courier now? Theodore asked incredulously.

You will take this letter to Helmer Silverhart, the seer said, ignoring Theodore’s protest. He will likely be staying at Gilead Palace. It is of utmost importance that this gets to him. Now get out of here, Theodore. The dragon is here.

Before Theodore could reply, the entire shop shook violently. A strong gust of wind rattled the door and outer walls. The building creaked and swayed like a vessel rocked by turbulent waves. Outside, he heard cries of panic and a deafening roar that made his blood run cold.

Is that–

Yes! Now take this and go, Lumiath said, shoving the letter into Theodore’s hand.

Theodore nodded and took it. The coachman suddenly barged inside the shop. His face was ashen, and he looked as if he had seen a banshee. My Lord, there’s—there’s...

A dragon? Lumiath asked absently.

The young man nodded, eyes wide.

The chest and the strongbox! Load them onto the carriage! Theodore snapped.

Without hesitation, the coachman grabbed the items and hauled them out of the store quicker than a bandit. Another roar outside set Theodore’s teeth on edge. He turned to Lumiath who was now ascending the staircase to the upper floor.

Aren't you coming?

No, my home is here, Lumiath replied.

But you prophesied this entire city would be burned to the ground. Please Lumiath, there's no need to be a martyr!

Lumiath turned to face him on the steps, a faint smile touching his lips. My time has come, Theodore. Even elves cannot live forever. Not on this plane of existence, anyway. Deliver the letter. It is my dying wish.

You're not dying, you fool! Come with me.

My lord! Your effects are all stowed. We must leave — I see flames spreading in the southern corner of the city, the coachman yelled from outside. He was already sitting on the buckboard, clutching the reins of the two agitated horses.

It is Yesu’s will for me to stay. And for you to leave, Lumiath said, continuing up the stairs. Goodbye, old friend.

You are a fool, Lumiath!

Theodore turned on his heel and strode out of the shop. He jumped into the carriage and the coachman immediately snapped his whip to get the horses moving though they hardly needed the motivation. All around them there was the shrill sound of women screaming and men shouting orders to the city watch. Sylvania was on fire and burning wildly. Theodore held onto his strong box, fearful of looters who were taking advantage of the chaos surrounding them.

Ride fast and hard! Get us out of the city—away from here as fast as possible, Theodore ordered the coachman.

The horses broke into full gallop as the coachman flicked his whip at their backsides once more. A rush of wind swept past them. The dragon flew low overhead, allowing Theodore to glimpse the winged beast. Golden scales covered the creature’s massive body. Its large wingspan allowed it to glide effortlessly through the air. Theodore gasped when he saw its yellow eyes darting in every direction, searching for its next target. For a moment, Theodore feared this would be his end. He imagined the fire pouring forth from the creature’s mouth and setting the carriage aflame. But the dragon flew beyond them, unleashing another breath of fire into the Scarlet Quarter. The flames licked the rooftops of several buildings, including his former store. He swallowed hard when he realized Lumiath was still inside.

You stubborn fool. Theodore whispered.

He felt a stinging sensation in the corners of his eyes. Throughout his lifetime, many had called him a greedy, vain merchant—a man who valued money more than compassion or friendship. He couldn’t dispute such accusations. He'd spent his whole life seeking profit and easy living not caring who he might've hurt in the process. That is until he met Lumiath, the outcast of Evingrad. There were no two people in Azuleah less inclined to find friendship than he and the elf seer. Though he was loath to admit it, Theodore esteemed Lumiath highly. The elf was his only friend. And now as they rode away, avoiding the masses of people struggling to escape the onslaught, he realized too late just how much he cared about him.

In a few seconds, they were clear of Sylvania and the dragon’s pyre. His shop in the Scarlet Quarter became indistinguishable from the other buildings engulfed in the flames. Large tongues of flame lit up the night for miles around. The carriage sped away while Theodore watched and sobbed. After a time, the fire became a tiny speck of light in the distance. Then it was no more.

Chapter 1

LUCIUS NOSTRA WALKED down the cobblestone path toward Seacliff Temple which sat on the jagged cliffs overlooking the Sea of Lagrimas. A gentle breeze swept through the area, tousling his hair and filling his nostrils with the salty smell of the waves crashing below. He wrapped his wool cloak around him tighter as he ascended the steps of the temple. The winter thaw was nearly underway, and the air had less bite than in previous weeks. Water dripped from the icicles hanging on the eaves and most of the snow covering the temple’s rooftop had melted.

He stepped up to the door, knocked several times, and waited. A wind chime hanging nearby played a haunting melody as he sat on a bench next to the door. Siegfried entered his thoughts for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. Over the last few months, Lucius had tried in vain to meet with the king of Aldron, Silas Dermont, and formulate a plan to rescue his elf brother from Arkadeus. But the aftermath of fighting both Allesmeade and the insurgent faction of elves from Numa had overtaken Silas’ time. Aldron’s forces were regrouping during the winter for the next phase of the war. Ambitious defenses were being constructed to protect the royal city from any further attacks from either dragon or Draknoir.

Lucius hoped to at least join a scouting party to Arkadeus. But Avani reminded him that the bitter winter would thwart any efforts to scout the Draknoir fortress or free Siegfried.  Now with the imminent thaw, Lucius planned to redouble his efforts, with or without Silas’ help. Though he was an ensign in the Drachengarde now, he had no qualms with defying the king's orders. His brother was in dire need and if their places were reversed, Lucius knew Siegfried would not hesitate to find him.

The door of the temple creaked opened and the gaunt face of a bald monk peered outside. It was Claude, one of Elendon’s proteges.

Oh, hello Lucius, he said, a smile on his face wrinkled the corners of his eyes. You're here to see Brother Elendon, I presume?

Yes, Claude. He sent me a letter yesterday saying we should meet.

Claude nodded. Indeed. He is holding a prayer vigil with some of the brethren, but do come inside. You may wait in his office.

Lucius followed the monk inside the temple and they walked through a dimly lit corridor. After they descended a short stairwell, Claude opened a door at the end of the short hallway. Inside, three stained-glass windows allowed a myriad of light to pour into the small room. A short table sat in the middle of the room with stacks of books, scrolls, and vellum placed upon it in a disorganized mess. In a corner was a washing basin and a simple wicker chair. Another large stack of books were on the seat of the chair, nearly reaching Lucius in height.

I will go fetch brother Elendon for you. Please make yourself comfortable until he arrives, Claude said, then walked out of the room.

Lucius looked around the humble study and saw no other chair where he could sit. He thought about moving the stack of books on the wicker chair, but he thought better of it, not wanting to cause any offense by touching Elendon’s belongings. Thankfully, he didn't wait long before Elendon strode into the room and looked somewhat surprised to see him there.

Lucius? I didn't expect to see you so soon, Elendon remarked. He quickly glanced around his office and a look of shame passed over his face. I'm sorry. I should have cleaned up before you arrived.

Oh, it's no trouble. My father, Helmer, has a similar habit of collecting books and failing to organize them. Lucius realized too late the veiled insult in his statement. That is, your study is not unorganized—what I meant to say, is that men of studious nature tend to have many books to care for and catalog. If you catch my meaning.

Lucius grimaced. He was probably better off not speaking any further. Elendon smiled and made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

Do not worry, Lucius. I know you meant no offense. We clerics are quite disorganized. It's all the solitude. I don't have many visitors, save for my fellow clerics. And their rooms are just as chaotic as this one. So the precedent for organization is lacking.

Lucius allowed himself a grin.

Please, move those books and take a seat won't you?

Lucius placed the stack on the floor and sat. The cleric pushed a few scrolls off his desk then propped himself up on the makeshift seat. He pulled a small pipe from a hidden fold in his robe. On the desk, he procured some sweet-smelling pipeweed from a tin and stuffed it into the mouth of the pipe. Elendon took a few puffs after lighting it then released a stream of smoke from his nostrils. The pungent odor was reminiscent of incense.

Do you mind? Elendon asked, lifting the pipe. I find it helps me think and form the right words in my mind.

Not at all, Lucius replied, trying to breathe through his mouth to avoid the strong smell. So, I'm here. What did you want to talk about?

Elendon frowned, but more to himself than at Lucius. He looked hesitant to speak. After another drag on his pipe, he placed it on the desk and folded his arms.

Do you remember the first time you came here? He asked.

Of course, I came to learn more about Yéwa and Yesu.

Yes, yes you did, Elendon said. And since then we have met several times. You've had more questions about Yesu. I must admit I’ve learned more about him after your... death and revival. But I’m always eager to answer whatever inquiries you have.

Lucius furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but he could sense Elendon was hiding something.

Is something wrong, Brother Elendon?

Elendon swallowed hard. There's no easy way to say this so I'll just be blunt. I've been keeping a secret from you for quite some time now, Lucius. Since you first arrived here and revealed you were a descendant of Cervantes, I knew your identity almost immediately.

I'm not quite sure I understand.

I knew your father, Simeon Nostra. He came to me many years ago.

Lucius stood from his seat, his eyes widened.

Elendon raised a hand, motioning for him to remain seated. Please, let me finish and you will have a chance to ask whatever questions you wish.

He sat back down and waited intently for the priest’s next words.

"Your father was desperate to leave Aldron and protect your mother and his unborn child from harm. So like others before him, he came to the temple for help. We strive to help the helpless and provide refuge for the oppressed. He knew the Draknoir were hunting him, and spies were likely tracking his movements.

Knowing the danger he was in, I offered sanctuary for a few months. But he caught wind of a spy asking questions at one of the inns nearby. He knew they could not stay. I did my best to convince him to lie low and have patience. But Simeon—Yesu bless him—was not optimistic. They left when your mother was very close to the birthing month. He told me he desired to go to Und, but I imagined he would not get there before your mother would be in labor. Several weeks after he left, I sent a letter to a colleague who resides in Und. I wished to know if they had arrived safely. But the reply confirmed what I had feared. Your parents had not made it to the city and had likely perished," he said sadly. Elendon picked up his pipe and took another puff before releasing the smoke into the air.

Why are you telling me this?

Because I’m a priest and I lied to you—such a thing is abominable to Yéwa. But I’m also telling you because I received another letter recently from a small village in the Kroshen Wastes. Our order has clerics throughout Azuleah—itinerants who seek to do good in all parts of the world. One such cleric, Galeon, told me Simeon was rescued from bandits by a nomadic group. The curious thing about this group was their leader. A man who fit your father's description.

Lucius’s heart raced at the revelation. He had known from his encounter with his mother in Caelum that his father was alive. Of course, he didn't know his whereabouts and planned to seek him out when the war was over. He felt a sudden dizziness and realized he hadn’t exhaled since Elendon began speaking about his father.

I’m sorry that I kept all of this from you, Lucius. Please forgive me. I feel a deep sadness for your family and wished I had done more to keep you all safe, the priest said. A solitary tear slid down the old man’s cheek. He wiped it away quickly, perhaps hoping Lucius hadn’t seen it.

Elendon, thank you for telling me all of this. Though I do wish you had spoken earlier, Lucius admitted.

Elendon nodded several times. Yes—forgive me, I’m an old fool. I thought I was protecting an old friend... and a new one.

Lucius smiled. I understand. Unfortunately, matters at present keep me from seeking out my father. Perhaps when things settle down, I will go to Kroshen.

Indeed. Though you may need a guide. It is a horrid place to travel, Elendon said, shaking his head. Claude appeared in the doorway of the study. Elendon turned to the monk and raised an eyebrow. What is it, Claude?

Begging your pardon, Brother Elendon. But a page from the royal palace is here with a summons for Lucius, Claude said.

Lucius frowned. He'd never received a summons when he was outside of the castle. Either Dudley needed his assistance in the training yard or something was amiss in the royal court. He suspected the latter would be the case.

Excuse me, gentlemen, Lucius said, bowing his head slightly at them.

At the foyer of the temple, a ruddy boy with a felt cap stood admiring one of the tapestries hanging from the wall. The page quickly snapped to attention when he caught sight of Lucius. He grimaced, still not used to the deferential treatment the pages and squires of Gilead Palace were showing him these days.

At ease—I'm only an ensign. What is your message?

My lord, King Silas wishes you to attend a meeting with the nobles and generals immediately. Some distressing news has reached the court, the boy said.

What news?

I do not know, my lord. My job was only to inform you. The king will share everything once everyone is assembled.

Lucius nodded. I have some matters to tend to here first, but I’ll head back soon.

Er, that will not do, the page said. The boy looked visibly uncomfortable at his interjection, but he pressed on. My orders are to bring you back now, Ensign Lucius. There is a carriage out front.

I see, Lucius said, trying to hide his annoyance at the page’s insistence. Very well. Let’s go see the king.

Chapter 2

THE LAST VESTIGE OF winter gripped the lands surrounding the fortress of Arkadeus. The melting snow and sporadic tufts of grass springing from the cold ground signaled the thaw had finally arrived. Ravenmane stood at the tower window inside her small, cramped bedchamber, watching with mild interest as barn swallows flitted about in the gray skies above. She pondered what it must be like to fly, far from the troubles of the world. High above the gray clouds she might see the sun again and no longer dwell inside the darkness of this fortress.

For months she had contemplated her true parentage and the haunting portrait of her mother in Gilead Palace. It was clear that the portrait was of Queen Reina. And logic led her to believe the girl on the queen's lap was the Princess Rebecca Dermont. The princess perished with her mother in a dragon attack at a young age. Though her knowledge of the attack was sparse, the age of the princess and the location of the assault matched details of her own memories. The enemy was different—Aldronian soldiers had killed her mother and not a dragon. But somehow, in her heart, she knew this was a falsehood. Memnon had altered her memories and enlisted her to do his evil bidding for all these years.

Ravenmane had killed and spied on the enemies of Nasgothar just to please Memnon. The thought of it sickened her now—she was just a pawn for the Draknoir to manipulate at their leisure. Six months ago this was an acceptable arrangement for her. For a human to even be useful to the Draknoir was an honor and privilege she coveted. But one simple portrait had changed her mind on the matter. Now she needed to uncover the truth. She had to know how and why Memnon had deceived her.

It would not be an easy task. He'd be suspicious once she asked the question, which meant she’d have to kill the Draknoir leader to survive. She had no qualms about that since Memnon had proven to be less than the loving mentor she imagined. Months ago, he had enlisted her to assassinate a sovereign ruler—a mission she was uncomfortable with—and placed Brandewulf in charge of the entire operation.

The result? Abject failure.

The headstrong ruler of Allesmeade faced defeat on a grand scale. Brandewulf's coup came to nothing and he would spend the rest of his days exiled on a barren island in the southern sea. Although Memnon's plot to kill King Alfryd had succeeded, Aldron still stood strong and defiant.

She ironically found comfort in that.

The Draknoir intended for her to be the dutiful assassin who was easily expendable. But not anymore. She would pry the answers from Memnon and avenge her mother. Her plan was simple. Memnon had agreed to meet with her in the courtyard this afternoon—a perfect opportunity to kill him. She asked the elf, Siegfried, to find a suitable spot along the rampart where he could release an arrow into the sorcerer’s heart. The conversation would likely be brief. Once Memnon reveals the information about her memories, she planned to give Siegfried a subtle signal to shoot. She knew an elf could not miss a shot in the open. And on the rare occasion he might, Ravenmane could kill the Draknoir sorcerer herself.

A knock came upon Ravenmane’s door and she quietly crossed the room, placing an ear on the door.

Who is it?

It's Siegfried, the elf said. Ravenmane unlocked the door and allowed him inside.

Siegfried strolled past her and sat on a wooden chair, looking rather exhausted. It took a laborious amount of persuasion on Ravenmane’s part to convince the Draknoir to spare Siegfried's life so he could become her slave.  She had verbally abused him in front of the guards and even slapped the back of his head on occasion. The ruse worked for the last few weeks. The elf was probably tired of the act. But his role was integral to the success of her plan and she reminded him of the fact at every opportunity.

Did anyone see you? She asked.

No. I was very careful to stick to the shadows along the ramparts as you instructed.

She nodded. Will the rampart be too far of a distance for you?

Distance is never much of an issue. I’m more concerned about the wind from that height, it might cause my aim to be off by a few centimeters.

A few centimeters. Will that really make a difference? She scoffed.

Definitely. Wind resistance is a real issue for archers. Granted, I am an elf so it should be no problem. But when I’m aiming for someone like Memnon, whose reflexes are impeccable thanks to that cursed gauntlet—a few centimeters could be problematic, Siegfried replied, crossing his arms.

I see, she said.

She ran a hand through her hair and paced the room for a moment. Her meeting with Memnon was only a few hours away. If she backed out now, he would either become suspicious or never make time to meet again. The sorcerer busied himself with various plans to topple Aldron's grip in the South. Normally, she could gain an audience without much effort. But ever since the failed coup in the winter, Memnon had become a total recluse. Whenever he came out of his chambers, he only wished to meet with his generals or descend the lowest parts of the fortress to speak with the Black Dragon.

Ravenmane hated that beast.

All the scaly flying monsters residing here unnerved her. She wondered if the fear and dread were traces of a repressed memory involving her mother’s death. A memory Memnon had erased, but that still lingered in the back of her mind like a banshee hiding in a gray forest. She pushed the thought aside and focused on the discussion at hand.

Well, if you miss I could always stab him in the heart. I will be close enough for it, she said finally with a smirk.

Siegfried frowned. I've seen what the gauntlet can do to the wearer. It grants unnatural power and strength. I'm not sure that your dagger will do the trick.

We don’t have a choice. The meeting is set and we will have to cast the die, whether it falls in our favor or not, only Yéwa knows.

The sun dipped just above the ramparts of Arkadeus as Ravenmane paced the length of the courtyard, expecting to see Memnon appear at any moment. Arkadeus' main courtyard was a large rectangle situated between the keep and the southern entry gate. In one corner of the yard lay a pile of rubble where workers had labored most of the day to rebuild the outer wall of the keep. Carts filled with supplies and buckets of mortar also sat near the pile. The Draknoir were working hard to repair the broken segments of wall in preparation for any attacks from their enemies. Ravenmane knew little of Arkadeus' history save for the legendary battle between Cervantes and Kraegyn long ago. The details of that long-fought war were scant, save for old tales told by elves or written in lost tomes. She never considered herself much of a historian, so such battles mattered little to her. But the Draknoir considered that event a defining moment for their race. All the hopes of conquest and subjugation of men hung on a single sword stroke that brought about the Black Dragon’s demise. Memnon had obsessed over preventing a similar defeat this time around. Becoming a master in necromancy and acquiring the Gauntlet of Iniquity made him as formidable as Scipio, his predecessor. But his obsession with the grand scheme had caused him to neglect small details. He hadn’t counted on her discovering his secret manipulations. And she hoped that would be his eventual undoing.

Ravenmane glanced for the hundredth time at the ramparts. A handful of guards patrolled the battlements above. Siegfried was hidden in a shallow enclave cut into the eastern wall. The guards did not bother to walk by that section of the wall, so Ravenmane exploited the oversight. Although the shooting distance was quite far, Siegfried assured her that he had a clear line of sight. Elsewhere in the courtyard, a few Draknoir warriors were sparring and practicing combat maneuvers. The area was large enough for them to train while also leaving a generous amount of space for others to walk about. Above her, the sun finally disappeared behind the walls leaving orange and pink streaks of light to illuminate the gray clouds.

Ravenmane, a familiar voice called out to her.

She turned around and saw her former mentor approaching with arms outstretched. It was an uncharacteristic gesture for the Draknoir — warm and somewhat fatherly, which unnerved her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. The dull purple gauntlet covered his right hand and reflected the fading light overhead.

Memnon smiled at her. We seldom have a moment to chat these days. Tell me, Ravenmane, what did you wish to speak about? You're not feeling left out of my grand plans are you? It's been a while since I've sent you off to bring me the head of some traitor or political sycophant.

I only wished to discuss a single matter with you, my lord. I won't trouble you for long.

Memnon tapped a finger to his lips then glanced at the warriors training with a faraway look in his yellow eyes. I see. I'm sorry we can't have a lengthy a discussion, my dear. But as you are aware, the advance of our kingdom is at hand.

I've heard rumors of another planned attack on Aldron. Is this true?

Memnon nodded. Indeed. The Aldronians must be taught a lesson for our recent setback. I confess I put too much stock in the Duke of Allesmeade. The man's reputation clearly preceded him, but he couldn’t get the job done. I hated having to depend on a human — and those despicable elves! But our plans are still in motion. I have the Gauntlet of Iniquity and the dragons will soon be ready for a full assault of that wretched city. We have already destroyed Sylvania. Aldron will be next then Tarshish and Allesmeade. And then Azuleah will be ours.

Ravenmane swallowed hard at the mention of Sylvania's destruction. I had no idea about Sylvania. I did not think they posed a threat.

Memnon laughed. Everyone is a threat to us, Ravenmane. You of all people should know. The humans, the elves, and the dwarves—they are all our enemies. It is why Nergoth desires the Draknoir and the dragons to rule them with force. They resist his will even though it is inescapable. And to that end, Kraegyn decided to increase his brood in Ghadarya.

What do you mean?

Kraegyn desires an army of dragons for this war—enough to dominate the skies and crush all opposition. But their numbers have dwindled in the years since his banishment. He and the other males will breed in the Maguna Mountains. The handful of dragon wives residing there will be adequate to raise a brood of dozens of whelps. Before summer is past, they will be mature enough to aid our plans. The peoples of Azuleah will not resist any longer. They will either be killed or enslaved before long, Ravenmane.

Ravenmane felt her stomach tighten at the thought of a massive dragon army. When she first became passionate about serving Memnon years ago, the sorcerer only desired to see Aldron bow to the Draknoir's will. But over time, the sorcerer's ambition had grown beyond avenging his ancestors. Now that she knew his ultimate aims, she felt foolish for her participation in his plans. He had filled her head with the promise of vengeance for the murder of her mother—a crime he had likely sanctioned. Now she felt a sickening guilt when she imagined him and Kraegyn ruling over the world. Compassion and mercy would be forgotten under such a dark regime. She'd rarely experienced such values in her life, but she understood their necessity. Though she couldn't fully explain it, upon learning of her true