The day they learned of the dragons began normally enough. For four days they had gone up the Dray River, and one by one, the villages—and even a town—had been intimidated or negotiated into submission. The swamps swarmed with insects and the bats that hunted them, much to the soldiers’ misery.

  The flow of recollection was broken by shattering thunder erupting from all the ships, cutting into the riverside vegetation and starting fires. Francesco’s voice rang out, magically amplified.

  “Good. And for the next round we’ll try actually hitting our targets.”

  Adarin smirked. Turning the conscripted enchanters into combat mages isn’t very likely to succeed, but as long as they are busy fumbling through evocation spells, they aren’t thinking about sabotage. Night by night they trained until they were drained of their magic and basically collapsed on their feet. That, and not-so-subtle dosing with melatonin and serotonin, kept them compliant.

  We’ll see what I do with them. Rüdiger probably has a plan. But they can’t get back to their city, not within a few years. Not before their guild’s influence has waned.

  Under steady oars the flotilla moved: two carracks in front, five merchantmen behind, a carrack mid-line, and two more carracks covering the rear. The river had grown wide and slow. The land was clearly rich and fertile, as confirmed by a divination mage and one of Ashfield’s adjutants. This used to be the breadbasket of the region.

  Now beavers had taken over the tributaries, and Adarin looked out over a wide, flooded swampland. The villages they had taken had all been built on stilts among the ruins of older settlements. Adarin breathed in the richly earthen air, almost too thick with life.

  Commodore Ashfield’s mage adjutant started frowning, and after exchanging a few words, the Commodore waved Adarin over.

  “Report.”

  Ashfield made a gesture, and a bowl filled with water flickered into an image.

  “The town we scouted yesterday. Well, large village. See for yourself.”

  Adarin studied the image. In the lower part, the first ship and the front half of the Magnolia, sailing in second position, could be seen. Two riverbends down lay the town—the first they had intended to take today.

  But bodies swam in the bloodied water. Several houses were on fire. On the raised platforms and piers, blood and guts had been spilled.

  Adarin whistled.

  “That looks nasty. We need more minds on this.”

  He reached out over the noospheric link.

  ‘Liora. Francesco.’

  He hesitated a moment, then shrugged.

  “And get Magus Cooper as well.”

  Francesco and the others acknowledged the order, and soon the trio joined the impromptu war council.

  Francesco frowned as he listened to the report.

  “So—Orcs attacked the town?”

  Adarin gestured at the chaos, and the navy mage brought the scrying sensor lower. He pointed at a human whose limbs had been torn out.

  “Looks like something powerful with massive claws tore them apart.”

  The non-magical adjutant looked around nervously.

  “A swamp monster?”

  Commodore Ashfield nodded.

  “Pass the orders out. The men with the depth charges should be prepared.”

  Adarin had to look it up in his databank. Depth charges—barrels with waterproof fuses that sank and exploded, meant to wound whatever lurked below. Archaic, yet painfully effective. Nearly every vessel carried them, given the creatures that lived on this world.

  Duchess Viola, having joined on her own, cleared her throat. Adarin and the rest of leadership had been ignored by her for the last few days. She was processing how Adarin had used her diplomacy for a coup poorly. Her face still held an angry glare, but she pointed to the projection.

  “If it was some swamp monster, why is everything dry? Shouldn’t it have left mud and water trails if it came from the swamp?”

  Adarin nodded.

  “Good catch, Duchess. But if it didn’t swim and didn’t come on a boat…”

  Francesco’s face hardened.

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  “Something flying?”

  He zoomed in on one of the corpses, its chest clearly cut open like a sausage by something large and clawed.

  “A flyer that size—that means problems.”

  Commodore Ashfield studied the carnage.

  “I think we’re dealing with more than one here.” He pointed to where groups of armed men had been torn to pieces. “I can’t quite visualize how this formation of the fallen would have come to be in a sequential battle. It must have happened in parallel.”

  Adarin’s expression hardened.

  “And how many creatures would you estimate did this?”

  The Commodore was silent for several long seconds.

  “At least three. At most eight. Would’ve been more chaotic if there were more than a dozen.”

  Adarin shivered, remembering burning oil and cracking crab shells at Timberport. Let’s not repeat that.

  He looked around the war council.

  “Any reason why it would be unsafe to sail into that town?”

  Commodore Ashfield chuckled.

  “Apart from all the blood attracting something nasty? Not really, sir.” He turned to Adarin. “I would suggest we keep ready watches of musketeers and mages on hand so we can defend against aerial attack.”

  Adarin nodded, overacting Liora surprising a shudder as she studied the projection.

  “Do it.”

  The war council dissolved until only one man remained: Magus Wolfgang Cooper. He looked from side to side, his beady eyes glinting, the twisting of his old beard making his displeasure very clear. Francesco had gone off to organize the real mages.

  Adarin nodded to himself. So everyone has an important job now, and he’s suddenly being left alone without a clue.

  Adarin turned to the old man.

  “What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  The magus’ beard twitched several times and the man gave off a noncommittal growl. Was he grinding his teeth? Chewing something? Finally, he spoke slowly.

  “There were rumors… of a breeding couple of wyverns in the region.”

  The magus’ words had tightened the dreadful tension that lay upon everyone as they came across the last bend in the river. They approached the riverside lake in which the destroyed town sat. Smoke and ash filled the air, blown over from the burning houses. The faint note of blood lingered.

  Despite the gloomy situation, Adarin smiled to himself. Using his spectroscopic analysis tools as a replacement for a sense of smell was working. The system agreed with him.

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  Adarin’s smile fell again as he closed in on the gangplank, listening to the musketeers and sailors. Their conversation caught his attention.

  “Tellin’ you, this reminds me of me dreams. Blood everywhere and the eyes that are always watching?”

  Adarin was about to ask, but they had reached the pier and the gangplank fell. He left the swaying surface of the ship and walked onto the not entirely steady—but definitely less swaying—surface of the pier.

  Francesco, Liora, Magus Cooper, and a dozen musketeers followed. They advanced until they found the first corpse. As Liora leaned over the body, Duchess Viola finally won the argument with the guard sergeant and joined their group. Her face was red with fury she was carefully controlling.

  Adarin pressed his lips together. Using her once was fine, but if I turn her into a permanent enemy… He gestured the Duchess forward, and she leaned over, critically observing Liora’s work.

  Liora began to speak.

  “Throat was torn out. See here.”

  She ran her hands through the bloody mess of the man’s throat.

  “Bite wound. Skull must be half a meter long at least.”

  Adarin whistled in appreciation.

  “And that tells us what, about the wyvern?”

  Surprisingly, it was Duchess Viola who spoke up.

  “Probably about twenty meters wingspan. Somewhere around three tons of weight.”

  Adarin visualized the creature they described: skin that adapted to terrain over the long run, razor-sharp teeth, pseudo-ceramic scales capable of taking the hardest blows. The only blessing was that a wyvern was not a true dragon. They did not spit fire.

  Well, a flying flamethrower… Adarin allowed himself a pained smile. Maybe I should start taking bets on how long it is until I run into one of those.

  They went deeper into the village, down the piers, dodging debris and burning buildings across a destroyed marketplace. They checked all of the wounded, but so far there were no survivors.

  “Why is everyone dead?” asked Magus Cooper.

  Liora gave a long sigh.

  “These creatures—their claws are the size of a human’s forearm. A single hit anywhere is either an amputation or a cut to the bone that’s nearly guaranteed to get an artery, or it opens your chest cavity. And we are late. This happened maybe six hours ago. Late morning. Everyone was just getting out of bed, but no one was yet fully alert.”

  She looked around.

  “The wyverns must have used the morning fog to attack.”

  “Fucking monsters,” Cooper murmured, his eyes carrying a deep sadness.

  A sudden yelp and splash made everyone tense up. A musketeer let loose a shot, and screams began erupting. Pattering footsteps could be heard somewhere close.