desperate gallop toward companions in the open courtyard. Two standard-bearers rode abreast of Kydon’s horse, each holding a banner with the crest of a moon and river. Behind rode the Rivernauts, the daring raftsmen from the River Divide, from the walled city of Athfar. Shrilly horns blew above the frothy bits of charging horses. Forward came horsewhipping riders from the north, riders bringing clamor and uncertainty to the streets of Tharden.

Ethwin and his escort descended Dracon Wall, only to face a sea of soldiers pointing at the open road.
Young Hath, slender and elusive, slipped through the castle defenders. “Stand aside!” the youth waved desperately. “Make way for the king!”
A thin path opened in front of them. The royal family jostled their way through rows of defensemen and gained the north court. Darc left his father and two brothers and sprinted toward the open gate. A rallying cry erupted when the archer prince joined a team of bowmen

beneath the arched entrance.
Darc strung an arrow to a shellacked bow of red yew. “Prepare to loosen your bows!” he ordered to his archers. “Aim clear of the thoroughfare!”

Within seconds Kydon and his horsemen charged into the guarded confines of Dracon Wall. Thundering hoofbeats, cries of warning, and a thick sheet of dust engulfed the cobbled courtyard. The lead horseman, Lord Kydon, River King of Athfar, drew back the reins of his stallion and signaled his men into formation. A herd of Athfarian quarter horses neighed sharply and reared skyward under the pulling of reins, compressed together in one tight circle. Kydon and the Rivernauts dismounted in frantic disarray, swallowed by a tide of merging cloaks and descending dust. A hooded man of superior height, a man out of character and uniform, ordered calm to his weary men.

Few heard his command.