Gahalatine strode forward again, only stopping when he stood directly before the walls of Dundrennan. She knew that he had a way of amplifying his voice. And she felt his well of magic writhing inside him, a bowl full to the brim with power. He unleashed it.

“My name is Gahalatine, Lord of the Distant Isles. I see you plainly, Andrew, son of Eyric, son of Eredur. You wear the hollow crown. I have come to take it from you, to conquer your people and assert my claim to rule these lands as your emperor and protector. Before the bloodletting that will result if I am forced to earn my right by conquest, I give you this chance to surrender the crown to me and spare many innocent lives. But if you feel your duty is to preserve your crown by right of arms, then so be it. I did not come to kill you. Only to humble you. What say you, Lord of Kingfountain? Will you kneel before me?”

Trynne felt magic gush from Gahalatine as he spoke. He was using his words to try to cow Drew into surrendering. Faced with such impossible odds, another might have buckled and capitulated to prevent the violence of war. But Trynne stood near the king, and the magic did not shake Drew’s confidence or his resolve to defy Gahalatine’s claim. She saw the king’s jaw clench and he leaned forward, putting one hand on a buttress of the battlements.

“Both of us worship and believe in the same Fountain, my lord. It was the Fountain that gave me the right to rule. And if it is the Fountain’s will that I surrender it, then I shall. Be it according to the Fountain’s will and not my own.”

He did not have a supernatural way of lifting his voice, but Trynne did not doubt that he could be heard below.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Gahalatine lifted his head high. “Well said, sir. You are an honorable foe. I will grant quarter the moment you decide there is no longer hope. I have prepared for a year to carry on what I started. Tonight, we finish it.”

“He’s overconfident,” Severn snorted under his breath.

“Rucrius, the gate if you please,” Gahalatine said with a gallant gesture toward the castle, as if he were inviting him to dine.

Rucrius’s smile was cold and humorless. He was gripping a different staff than the one Trynne had taken from him. It was black with a yellow-orange globe attached to the end. Trynne’s pulse raced as the Wizr pointed it toward the castle.

“Soontrybio!”