Edward was careful not to look at Marcus. Those knights who had been lingering nearby glanced at each other, rolled their eyes, shook their heads, and walked off. The king told the messenger to come inside. Marcus followed more slowly and, when he arrived, he found the messenger and the king bent over a map.

“His Highness chose this position, Your Majesty. If enemy troops were to cross the river, we deemed this to be the likeliest place. He sent scouts across the river to search for some sign of an enemy, and we found nothing. We went upstream and down and I swear on my father’s beard, Your Majesty, that there is no city there. There is no army threatening to attack us. There is naught but trees and brush and deer coming to the water to drink.”

Marcus sat in a chair in a corner. His father glanced at him from time to time, as if inviting him to speak, but Marcus kept silent. He knew quite well what the scouts had seen, for he’d seen it, too—until Grald had lifted the magical veil of enchantment.

Edward said that he would like to see for himself the lay of the land and how the troops were deployed. The messenger offered to escort him in the morning.

When the man had been dismissed, Edward turned to Marcus.

“I know you are tired from the long journey, my son, especially after everything you’ve gone through. Perhaps you would like to remain here and rest.”

His offer was well intentioned and kindly meant, and it fell on Marcus with the force of an iron anvil dropped off the top of the castle wall.

“I will come with you, Father,” he said coldly, and he turned his back and walked off before Edward could say a word.

33

“DEATH AHEAD OF YOU. DEATH BEHIND YOU. DEATH ABOVE YOU and death below. No escape, King’s Son. There is no escape.”

Crouched on his little stool, in his own little room, Marcus spent the night listening to the dragon’s voice hissing through the keyhole. Over and over. Death ahead of you. Death behind you. Death above and death below. No escape, King’s Son.

The tone was harsh, meant to frighten and weaken. And it succeeded.

Marcus rose from his bed with the dull, stupid feeling that comes from fatigue. He looked out of the castle’s slit windows to see the east reddening with the dawn. The castle’s other inhabitants were already awake, for the king had ordered them to ride at first light. The voice of the dragon lingered. Marcus closed his eyes and pressed his throbbing head against the chill stone wall.

The words “death ahead, death behind, death above, death below” had been laid in his brain like some sort of evil eggs, and now, hatching, the dread portent of the warning squirmed and crawled around inside him.