“The red dragon could have been Draconas,” said Edward in a low voice, taking Gunderson aside. “He must have changed his mind about killing humans. But it seems the warriors can protect themselves against him. What do you suppose is left of the city?”

“Rubble and ashes, Sire. And the dead,” said Gunderson.

Edward turned back to the messenger. “Others must have escaped, as you did. Do you know how many?”

“A handful maybe, Your Majesty. Most were too afraid of the demons to leave the city. Better to lose your life than your immortal soul.”

“They’re not demons!” Edward said sharply. “Stop saying that. They’re men, same as us—”

The messenger stared at him.

“No use, sire,” Gunderson advised. “He won’t believe you. No one will. The dragons are playing on every nightmare and superstitious fear we’ve ever harbored.”

“Thousands of people in that city . . . children . . . burning to death.” Edward closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand. “God help them!”

“One thing more,” Gunderson asked the messenger, who was on the verge of collapse. “How did you escape?”

“God’s grace maybe, sir,” the man replied weakly. “I don’t know. I didn’t expect to.”

Gunderson watched as his men bore the messenger away to be fed and doctored.

“The warriors let him go,” Edward said. “They let that man pass safely through their lines. ‘Always leave one survivor to tell the tale.’“

Gunderson pondered this, then said, “Aye, sire, I fear you’re right. They knew he would ‘tell the tale.’ They want us to hear it. Because we’re next.”

“At least we have the cannons,” said Edward. “I’ll wager the dragon warriors won’t be turning cannonballs into crows—”

“Father! . . .”

Feeling a hand clutch at his arm, the king turned. “Marcus! What are you doing out in the night air? You’ll catch your death!”

“Father!” Marcus said desperately. “You must not—Must not—

“Must not what?” Edward asked, for that was as far as his son went.

“I don’t know,” Marcus said, puzzled and anguished. He plucked at his hair with trembling hands. “I can’t catch it. It’s all unraveling.”

“He’s out of his head with fever!” Edward exclaimed, concerned. “Where is his servant? You, sirrah,” he said angrily as the man came puffing up. “What do you mean allowing your master out of his bed at this time of night?”

“I am sorry, Sire,” the man gasped. “He heard the commotion and was up and gone before I knew it.”

“Take him to his bed and summon the physician.” Edward put his arm around his son’s shoulder. He could feel Marcus’s shivering. “There’s nothing you can do, my son. What’s done is done. Go back to your bed.”

The servant had brought a blanket with him. He wrapped it around Marcus’s shoulders and, in wheedling tones, he tried to persuade the prince to come back inside.