Pelmaran forces from three of the five sitting Regents, a contingent of Vedasian knights, capable Midlanders—and, oh, worst of all was the Host of the Ellylon, the Rivenlost with their piercing beauty and their keen swords. Back and forth they rode, pacing the circumference of the granite wall, needing neither sleep nor nourishment to sustain them in their quest.

Only one thing did they require: The Lady Cerelinde.

“I don’t like this, Gergon.” On her balcony, Lilias regarded the enemy encampment and shivered in the summer’s warmth. “There are so many of them.”

“We can hold.” Her Ward Commander’s face was grim. “As long as you hold the wall, my lady. Our stores will last another seven days, if need be.”

“Seven days,” she echoed. What a paltry amount!

Gergon glanced at her. “The Banewreaker’s army should be here in less. They are coming, my lady, are they not?”

“Yes.” She made her voice firmer. “Yes. They will be here.”

At the base of the mountain, a distant figure stepped forth, clad in shining armor. He was the herald of the Rivenlost and he bore a staff from which flew the standards of both Ingolin the Wise and Elterrion the Bold—the argent scroll and the Crown-and-Souma. As he did three times a day, he lifted an Ellylon horn to his lips and blew, the silvery tone echoing from the sides of Beshtanag Mountain. His voice rang forth, clear and carrying. “Sorceress! Surrender the Lady Cerelinde, and your people will be spared!”

“Ellyl arsehole,” Gergon muttered, adding, “your pardon, my lady.”

Midway down the mountain, a line of kneeling archers loosed their bows, sending a shower of arrows aloft. Sharp shouts came from sentries posted in the trees, and those of Haomane’s Allies in reach crouched low, raising their shields above their heads. Arrows arced above the granite wall and fell, clattered uselessly onto warding shields and the loose scree. The Ellyl herald stood contemptuous, watching them fall, before turning to retreat untouched.

“Too far, too high.” Gergon shook his head. “Sorry, my lady.”

Lilias sighed. “Tell them not to waste their arrows.”

“As you wish.” He paused. “If it came to it, my lady, there is one weapon they could not withstand.”

“No!” Her reply was sharp. “Not Calandor.”

“It seems a folly—”

“Hear me, Ward Commander.” Lilias fixed him with a steely stare. “This is Shapers’ business, and dragonkind is all but vanished because of it. Calandor will not give battle. Put it out of your thoughts.”

“My lady.” Gergon bowed, unhappy with her answer. “As you order. I will report again at sundown.”