A smile flickered on the ashen, blood-stained lips and then Reynard grimaced, his body shuddered. He gave a little gasp. The hand Edward was holding, already cold, went limp.

The king placed the young man’s hand over his bloody breast and closed the staring eyes.

“Father,” said Wilhelm quietly. “There is trouble.”

“The enemy is attacking?” Edward asked wearily. He felt suddenly tired and old.

“No,” said Wilhelm grimly. “I wish they were. The enemy has vanished.”

Edward stared out across the grassy field and saw nothing. No sign of the warriors who, only moments before, had been flinging deadly darts and spewing fire from their fingertips. He saw the wind ripple the grass and the sun shimmering off the armor of the dead knights. And he could hear, like a buzzing of locusts, terror spread among his troops.

“How clever,” he said softly. “How damnably clever!”

He could imagine what his men were saying to each other.

“The demons could be anywhere. They could be sneaking through the grass right this very moment!”

“Or slipping up behind us to slit our throats . . .”

“Or light us on fire, same as they did the knights.”

“How can you fight an army you can’t see?”

“How can you fight an army sent by the devil?”

Fear was contagious. His own knights were nervous and uneasy. Some drew their swords. Others peered over their shoulders. It took all Edward’s resolve not to do the same. He, too, could feel the prickles at the back of his neck, and he couldn’t help but picture one of those fell warriors sneaking up behind him.

“We’re going to start losing men,” said Wilhelm. “There!” He pointed to a group of soldiers who had thrown down their weapons and were running for their lives into the forest. Officers threatened and cursed, but they didn’t sound very confident themselves.

A presence at his elbow made Edward start.

“Sire,” said a young lad, “your son asks to speak to you.”

Edward hastened over to where men were lifting Marcus onto a wagon, preparatory to transporting him back to his brother’s castle. Marcus lay on the litter, half in and half out of his mangled armor. His eyes were open and clear, though shadowed by pain.

“He insisted on talking to you, Your Majesty. Wouldn’t budge otherwise.”

“My son,” said Edward, with a smile, “I am glad—”

Marcus interrupted him. “You have to pull back, Father!” he said, white-faced. “Retreat! You can’t fight what’s coming!”

Edward bent over his son and clasped his hand. Edward had made the mistake of not trusting Marcus once. He would not do so again.

“What is coming, Son?” he asked.

It was at that moment someone spotted the dragon.

“Death from above,” answered Marcus.