Dragonfly

the portcullis rope with one mighty stroke. Before the commander could give an order, the

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shutters on the houses flew open and missiles rained down on the riders.

They were caught in an ambush.

"Ride on!" shouted the commander, knowing he had to get his men out of this deadly valley. The horses clattered along the street, men falling from their saddles sprouting arrows from their

backs. They rounded the corner to come face to face with a barricade bristling with pikes and

sharpened sticks.

The commander tried to force his way through but his mount perished, driven onto a spike, and

the commander was trampled where he lay.

The massacre was soon over. Melletin grimaced as he surveyed the results of his plan: it had

worked perfectly but the aftermath was ugly. Horses scattered in riderless panic until caught by

rebels and quickly led away. The bodies of the men with scarlet threads in their beards and the

mounts that had perished were dragged off the streets to be buried later.

"First win to us, I think," Melletin said to Gordoc. "Take word to Ramil. Tell him Fergox is going to be really mad now."

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Fergox had no commander to punish for the fiasco as not one of his elite troops returned. He'd

underestimated the slaves, he admitted to himself.

Someone knew what he was doing. This put Fergox on his mettle. He still had nearly two

thousand men and knew the city well. He was not really concerned.

"Commanders Horg and Finuil, take your men and enter by the East Gate; Minol and Kay, yours

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is the West Gate. I will lead the rest by the North Gate, making straight for the palace. It appears

this rebellion has a thinking head; we have to cut that off before it can be crushed."

Fergox gazed up at his beautiful palace, home of his wives and younger children. The slaves had

probably killed them already as they had made no attempt to bargain with the lives of their

hostages. He had already decided that he would not treat with the rebels. He had grown-up sons

in his army--

enough to ensure his succession. Though it angered him to lose any child of his blood, he knew

they were a weak point if he allowed himself to become sentimental. As for wives, they were

replaceable.

Fergox crushed his reins in his fists. I'm angry, he thought in surprise. He had been in command

so long, used to people doing his wil without question; he had not been defied for years and

now it had happened twice since Midwinter. The strength of feeling reminded him of the early

days when his reckless passion for conquest had driven him to turn himself from small bandit

lord to ruler of the known world. He relished

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the merciless rage for a moment, like a rider enjoying the speed of a galloping horse, before

giving his commanders a chilling smile.

"What are you waiting for? I want the heads of all the rebels at my feet by nightfall, but make

sure you save the Dark Prince for me."

King Lagan watched from outside the walls of his city as Fergox's sister, the Inkar Yellowtooth,

led her troops from under the cover of the trees. His spies had reported their numbers, but

seeing the rank upon rank of men march onto the green meadows of his land, he felt his heart

constrict in his chest.

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He had delayed them as long as he could, sacrilicing many of his wardens in desperate

skirmishes in the forest, but now the invaders were here.

Lord Taris with his son behind him, both in full battle armor, rode up to the King.

"We are ready, Your Majesty," Taris said.

"It's going to be tough," Lagan replied, wiping his brow with his leather gauntlet.

"Yes, sir. But without Fergox's cool head to guide them, we have a chance."

"Not much of one."

"No, but stil ."

Lagan smiled.

A helmeted man on horseback, followed by twenty others, trotted forward from the city. His

armor was in the old style, embellished with swirls of bronze inlay.

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He paused before the King and bowed, then flipped his visor up, revealing an old face with fierce

blue eyes.

"Lord Egret and the Brigardian exiles reporting for duty, Your Majesty."

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"Ah, so you're Lord Egret," said the King, touching swords with the man in greeting. "May I say that your wife is a treasure?"

"You may, sir. And I'm here to defend her and all those of our nations who ca

Lagan thought the old man looked as if his fighting days should be over too, but there was a

steely glint in Lord Egret's eye that forestalled such comments.

"You are a very welcome addition to our forces. Take your orders from Lord Usk, please, and fall

in on our right flank."

The Brigardians trotted away with the Prime Minister's son in the lead.

Lagan paused to admire his army spread out across the field: so many young lives and brave

hearts about to plunge for the first time into the messy horror of battle. It was one small mercy

not to have to worry about Ramil being among them.

The Empire herald galloped across the battlefield with a white flag. He reached King Lagan and

bowed.

"The Inkar Junis wishes to parley," he said briskly. "She wants to offer terms."

"I'll hear her, but the only terms I'll accept are unconditional withdrawal,"

Lagan replied.

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The herald nodded and turned his horse to take the message back to his mistress.

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"Are you coming with me?" Lagan asked Taris.

"What? To see your old sweetheart?" The Prime Minister chuckled. "I wouldn't miss this."

The two men rode forward to meet the Inkar halfway across the meadows that separated the

two armies. She approached them alone, making a fearsome sight as she galloped towards

them, the feathers on her helmet fluttering in the breeze.

"Junis." Lagan bowed as soon as she reigned her horse to a standstill. "It is always a pleasure to see you. But why come in such warlike fashion?"

The Inkar frowned, disliking what sounded very much like mockery.

"Surely two old friends should not meet like this?" continued Lagan. "If all my men hadn't been so busy defending my nation, I could have thrown you a nice little ball. I seem to remember you

liked dancing."

Junis bared her yellowed teeth at him. "I danced with your son at Midwinter, did you know

that?"

Lagan smiled grimly. "No, I did not know he had that pleasure."

"And where is the stinking horse thief? I'll make him dance when I've killed you and all your little fighters and flushed him from his hiding place. You've not a hope against my army. You're

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outclassed and outnumbered."

"Outnumbered, perhaps," said Lagan, stroking his beard. "But not outclassed. I see that your diplomatic skills are still as strong as ever, Junis."

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She snapped her fingers at him. 'That to diplomacy. I do my business by the sword."

Lagan sighed and looked at the skies as a relief from her vindictive face. A strong wind blew in

from the sea, and the clouds were moving rapidly like hosts of white soldiers driven to assault

the land. Junis had betrayed the fact that Ramil had not been recaptured, another good thought

to cherish on this terrible day. This desperate battle did not seem so hopeless if Ramil survived

somewhere in the Empire.

"Your herald mentioned terms," he prompted her.