The king and his knights rode out from the castle walls at a gallop. They raised their voices in a mighty shout. Trumpets blared from the walls and drums rolled. The dragon warriors rushing down on the chariots heard the commotion at their backs and saw that they were about to be caught between the hammer of Seth and the anvil of the king’s men.

The enemy did not give up. They hurled wicked, deadly darts and blasted their foes with fire and lightning. Here a knight fell and there a warrior woman tumbled from her horse to lie bleeding on the ground. The commander of the Seth warriors urged her horse forward, shouting something to the woman who rode in the lead chariot, a woman whose robes were deep purple.

Clinging to the driver with her arm around her waist, the woman raised her other hand and pointed to the sword held by the commander of the Seth forces. Her sword burst into white flame. The commander brought it down in a fiery slash at a dragon warrior. The enchanted blade sliced through his armor and cleaved him almost in half. The commander did not waste time looking back to see her foe, but galloped on to the next.

The leader of the dragon warriors saw that his small force was about to be separated from the main body and surrounded. He had been trained to fight ordinary humans, not the female warriors of Seth, who, though they might not have possessed the dragon-magic, did possess the knowledge of how to use it and how to thwart it.

“Fall back!” he shouted, and his forces began an orderly retreat.

Some of the younger knights would have given chase, but the king ordered them sharply to return to the safety of the castle walls. The chariots rolled through the gates, their horses wet and foaming at the mouth. The knights and the women warriors galloped in behind them. The gates slammed shut.

Marcus was on hand to meet them. He searched frantically through the crowd, paying scant attention to the women warriors or the women in the chariots until he found the one he sought.

Ven was inspecting a metal dart that had lodged in the scales of his leg. Grimacing, he grabbed hold of the dart, yanked it out, and tossed it on the ground.

“Ven,” said Marcus warmly. “It is good to see you!”

The Dragon’s Son lifted his head.

Marcus held out his hand.

Ven straightened. He eyed Marcus with no change of expression. He made no move to take his hand.

Marcus flushed. He lowered his hand and started to turn away. Ven took a step forward, his clawed feet scraping on the ground. “Brother,” said Ven gruffly, and he embraced Marcus—gently, so as not to hurt his injured arm.

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