The darkness grew lighter, as if sunlight had found its way below ground. He smelled fresh air and other smells that were distinctly human, some good and some bad, and he was reminded forcibly of the city they had just left. Sounds reached Ven’s ears— sounds of a great many feet moving in unison, with rhythmic march and stamp; sounds of shouted orders and unified responses.

The sounds were loudest and the smells strongest at a four-way intersection of tunnels that formed a crossroads. Here Draconas halted and raised his hand.

“Wait,” he whispered and he peered down the tunnel that smelled strongly of men. “Good,” he added, after a moment. “No one’s around. We can cross.”

The child darted across the intersection and into the other tunnel. Ven did the same, then he looked back, puzzled.

“It sounds like there’s an army down here.” No need for silence. The noise of the stamping and shouting echoed throughout the corridors.

“There is,” said Draconas.

“Impossible.” Ven was scoffing, dismissive. “This is another dragon illusion.”

“I wish it were,” said Draconas. “Unfortunately, it’s all too real. Take a look.”

They had reached the same tunnel Draconas had walked the night before, coming upon it from a different angle. Motioning Ven to accompany him, Draconas led him to the ledge that overlooked the vast chamber. Ven gazed down in astonishment.

Far below, drawn up in row upon shining row, was an army of humans. Except that this army was like no human army Ven had ever seen. Sunlight, filtering down through shafts carved into the cavern walls, gleamed on armor that had a strange and beautiful iridescent quality. At first, Ven took the armor for some sort of chain mail. The soldiers moved in the armor with far more ease than soldiers could move in chain mail, however, no matter how expensive or finely made. The mail coats that covered them from head to toe seemed to weigh almost nothing, for the soldiers wheeled and shifted and lunged with as much ease as if they were wearing homespun wool cloth. Ven looked from the armor down at his own scale-covered legs, and he thought he understood.

“You have judged right,” Draconas said, seeing the direction of his gaze. “The armor these soldiers wear is made of dragon scales. It is lightweight and strong—so strong that I doubt if any weapon forged by human hands can penetrate it. Such armor will turn the sharpest sword.”

Ven watched the soldiers drill, watched them wheel and turn in unison, and he was puzzled.

“What sort of weapons are they using? And why do they fight in pairs?”

“That is the genius of it. Think of what you know of the dragon-magic—”

“Not much,” Ven muttered.