Their commander, Sir Troeven—the same who had termed Marcus “barking mad”—was a soldier by profession. He had won his title after saving the life of the former king, Edward’s father, in a fight with an outlaw band who had taken it into their heads that they owned the highway between Idylswylde and Ramsgate-upon-the-Aston. During the past few years, Sir Troeven had been abroad, fighting battles for other kings, since there were none to fight at home. A veteran of many wars, he swept aside all that was strange or confusing about the army in front of him to concentrate on one thing—his duty. His sworn duty was to his prince, and his prince was alone on the field of battle, surrounded by the enemy.

Drawing his sword, Sir Troeven cried, “To me!” and rode like thunder through the grass and the ranks of the enemy. One after another, depending on the quickness of their wits or the strength of their courage, the knights of the Prince’s Own galloped after their commander.

The dragon warriors had been assured by Grald that they and their magic would rule the field of battle.

None will be able to see you. You will sneak up upon them like the night and smite them like the lightning. You will fight at the time and place of your choosing, Grald had told them time and again.

Unmasked by Marcus’s attack, the veil that covered them unexpectedly lifted, the dragon warriors were caught completely off guard. Thirty armored and mounted knights were riding down on them, and neither magical illusion nor dragon-scale armor could protect them from the pounding hooves of the massive war horses that each weighed upwards of a thousand pounds. The dragon warriors had no time to ready their defensive magicks before the Prince’s Own smashed into their front ranks. Some had only seconds to fling themselves out of harm’s way. Others did not even have that. The gigantic horses knocked them down, trampled their bodies, and kept going, their hooves and forelegs and bellies splashed with blood and gore and dragon scales.

The dragon warriors recovered quickly, however, and began to shift into battle formation. They fought in pairs—one man, one woman—and they sprouted from the tall grass like some sort of deadly weed.