They came upon a maelstrom of unready soldiers, some unarmed, several blocking passage to the east corner of the castle. Ethwin’s group sped toward the towering barricade of Dracon Wall, a toothy granite facade that defied red dawn. They reached the railing, steps and mossy ramparts of the outer wall, returning to daylight, sidestepping archers and posted guards along a crowded walkway, braking hard below the lookout tower near East Gate. From the shade of their vantage point they surveyed a scramble in the walled courtyard, a scurry of castle-hands corralling sentry horses into the royal stables below. Ethwin and his men watched the Forest Ally and Royal Guard race over to North Gate armed with axes, slings, billhooks and longbows. The sight incited the king’s party to break into mad dash of their own. They turned the corner of East Gate and traced the last length of Dracon Wall. They were halfway to the main gate when booming horns shattered their ears and broke their

stride. Ethwin stopped, covered his ears and tried to orient himself. He peered between the notched crenels of the ancient wall and looked outward, beyond the green feet of Fenmuir, not far from the first streets of Tharden.

Something moved on the north horizon. Something marred the splendor of sunrise.

Ethwin focused his eyes on a large dust cloud that swept below pointed tips of pine. Urged by uncertainty, he led his subordinates along the last rampart and reached the turreted gateway. Below rang the voices of fear and terror in the thoroughfare, coming from panicked citizens that fled taverns, shops, cabins and cottages, all filling the street, all spilling closer toward the base of Dracon Wall.

At that moment an earth trembling roar shook the ground like distant thunder. A column of thirty horsemen emerged from the shaded woodlands, racing