The Tiger Lords were on the move. And it fell to Kassil Aldori to stop them.

  Apparently, Hannis Drelev, the reclusive baron of Glenebon, was not doing a terribly good job of maintaining a buffer state against threats coming from the west, and Kassil's forces were already stretched thin. He had to hold the line along the East Sellen against the river pirates (or, technically, against Pitax), and at the same time provide troops to keep Varnhold Town under Nightvale control. Baroness Guelder's Sending had not detailed her plans in the east, but if she'd decided to override the provisions of the treaty and annex the lands of her allies, it was not Kassil's place to argue. The most likely reason was that Baron Varn had fallen victim to an unknown misfortune, along with his staff, and the treaty could not be upheld anymore. Nonetheless, a garrison in Varnhold Town would stop the barbarians from flanking either Nightvale or Restov, which seemed to be a real danger based on Guelder's and Jamandi's messages.

  If only Kassil could come up with a plan that didn't require him to remove troops from where they were needed.

  In fact, he had an idea. One he'd conceived in his mind long before the Nightvale–Varnhold summit, and further reinforced after his mysterious and horribly painful victory against the crag linnorm – a victory he increasingly believed was real. Two hundred years after the Battle in the Valley of Fire, it was time for the Aldori to turn the tables. That battle had been proof that whoever had dragons had victory. If Kassil wanted to discourage the Tiger Lords from attacking Nightvale or Brevoy, all he had to do was rally a dragon to his side. Tame it, compel it, seduce it, ride it, whatever the situation demanded.

  Conveniently, the Branthlend Mountains to the west of Glenebon had an undoubted dragon presence. Just across the border of Drelev's territory, there lived an ancient black dragon of fearsome reputation, known by the name Ilthuliak.

  To get close to a dragon, Kassil's best bet were kobolds. The pint-sized reptilians of the Stolen Lands had undergone serious culling during the Troll Troubles, partly thanks to himself and his fledgling army, but there had to be some pockets, nooks and crannies where they could still be found. One of those was located in the Pale Hills at the river Murque: a fascinating kobold burial site with a sacred statue of a dragon's head built from gleaming white kobold bones. Guelder had left the place intact after her visit and issued a protective decree on it, so there was some chance that the kobolds were still using it for ritual purposes.

  This was the reason why Kassil was now standing on the high bank of the Murque, the cool canopy of the forest above his head, blocking out the late spring sun, spray coming up from the angry froth of the rushing water below. Ahead of him, the narrow log connecting the two banks was precariously bent under the weight of Sarami Aldori, one of his four aides. Sarami was a thin, wiry human lady, barely heavier than the gnome Nangatrad Aldori, who'd been first to pass through and was now shouting encouragements from the far bank. Her footwork was flawless (otherwise she would never have earned the Aldori name), but her overly careful moves betrayed her fear, even though she was holding onto the rope Nangatrad and Kassil had stretched out above the river, parallel to the log, to serve as a makeshift railing. Still, she soldiered on, until she reached the far bank without harm and beamed proudly at the General. Kassil smiled back.

  "I'll go next," he announced.

  The rest of his honour guard, Sotha and Thopros Aldori, exchanged a look.

  "General," said Thopros, contracting his bushy eyebrows. "That thing almost broke under Sarami. Why the hell do you think it will hold a half-orc?"

  "If it goes down, we still have the rope," said Kassil, doing his best to radiate confidence. "A true duellist has no issue walking a tightrope across a river, right, Thopros?"

  "Eeehh," said the dwarf, scratching the nape of his neck. "Just because we can, doesn't mean we should."

  "Then you can use your arms to get across. Or if you're a wimp, you have my permission to walk upstream until you happen upon a ford, then walk back downriver, find our tracks and follow them."

  Of course, neither of them was a tracker, but Kassil was not a forestwalker, either. Guelder and Hazel never ceased to criticise his way of moving through wooded terrain, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. In addition, Guelder usually gave him hell for existing too noisily in the forest, while Hazel praised him for scaring the bears away, and he couldn't tell which one was teasing him. The baroness sometimes called him the Wild Boar of Nightvale. Kassil actually liked that title. He even had the tusks to go with it.

  Flashing his best smirk, Kassil casually rested one hand on the rope, using the other to balance, and stepped on the log. He proceeded with caution and precision, his gaze fixed on the far end, imagining he was practising his lunges on a beam in Lady Jamandi's private training grounds. He didn't even need the rope to keep his balance, just for...

  ...eventualities like this. The damned log gave out halfways, snapping in two with a loud crack, and its two pieces plummeted into the river. Thanks to his quick reflexes, Kassil didn't follow all the way down. He managed to grab the rope just in time. The only problem was his considerable muscle mass he had to hold with one arm only. It took some very un-gentlemanlike swearing and awkward thrashing mid-air to find the rope with his other hand as well. Then it was just a matter of momentum and abs to swing his legs up and cross his ankles over the rope, imitating the position of a fawn carried on a pole. It was not the most elegant way of crossing a river, but still a lot better than a whitewater swimming lesson or a skull cracked on the rocks. At least that was what he told himself.

  This was not something he'd ever practiced while preparing for his Aldori exam, or before, surviving the streets of Restov as an urchin. Self-improvement was all well and good, but hanging precariously above a chasm, the weight of his bottom pulling him down, Aldori pride keeping him up, was not the way he'd imagined it. Crawling towards the far bank at a snail's pace, he couldn't help but growl some disrespectful curses at the baroness and her ancestors. Was there a reason why she still hadn't built a bridge over the Murque, like a normal ruler? Was it because of another far-fetched environmental concern? Or was this her way of ensuring the safety of the remaining kobolds? Anyway, with Ilthuliak by his side, Kassil would easily convince Guelder about building more infrastructure... or else his big friend would start turning things into puddles of sizzling acid.

  The Battle in the Valley of Acid. He liked the sound of that so much that he had to chuckle.

  He was getting reassuringly close to his destination when he heard some commotion from the south bank. Sotha was screaming Kassil's name and something else. It was hard to hear through the roaring water and the blood hammering in his ears.

  Then he was falling, the rope slipping out of his grip. That stupid knot. Kassil could never be bothered to pay attention to Hazel's lectures about knots. Anyone could tie a rope. Unless it was a poor quality rope, like this one.

  He caught it in the very last moment to avoid ending up in the river, but too late to stop himself from slamming into the high bank. His leather gear and his left shoulder took the worst of the impact, and his outfit collected a deplorable quantity of mud and dirt, but that was an acceptable price to pay for survival. And now to struggle up the rope...

  Finally on the north bank, he was greeted by Sarami and Nangatrad, and they collected the rebellious rope dangling into the river. It was in perfect condition, albeit a bit wet, but that didn't help Sotha and Thopros on the south bank. Those two had to set out upstream to find the ford. Kassil could only hope they wouldn't have to depart from the river, as their only copy of Hazel's map was in his pocket.

  Not waiting for the two stragglers, Kassil and his two aides set out on the trail lined by small pyramids made up from kobold bones polished to the point of shining. Somehow he didn't feel like appreciating the artwork, and not even the birdsong in the canopy did anything to soothe his apprehension. He wished he'd brought along a druid or a ranger, just in case – but alas, the Embeth Travellers had laughed at his brilliant idea, attributing it to an excessive alcohol intake, and as to Sable and her druids, they'd outright refused to obey anyone but Guelder personally. Which left him with Sarami as a sorry excuse for a rookie ranger. She was decent with the bow, but she was a city girl through and through, as were most of the Swordlords he'd invited in from Restov with the promise of a career in the Nightvale military. In fact, it was quite unheard of that a General needed professional forestwalkers for travelling the land he was supposed to defend. One would have expected a lot less shrubbery and a lot more civilisation by the second year of a ruler's reign. What a silly hope.

  He was still ruminating over the poor state of things in Nightvale when the first arrow hit the ground in front of him, its feathers trembling from the impact. A not-so-subtle warning, indicating that they were close to their destination. Thankfully, Kassil was prepared for such a turn of events. All he had to do was use his recently acquired mastery of the Draconic language. (The Tuskdale book purveyor lady really didn't know the meaning of the word "impossible.") Thanks to his excellent skills in diplomacy, he didn't even have to draw his sword to get himself and his companions escorted to the chief of the kobolds – even though said escort giggled disrespectfully at his pronunciation.

  All went just as smoothly as he'd imagined it would. The chief received him in front of the marvellously detailed dragon's head – and yes, it was unmistakably the one who named himself Tartuk. The scaly little guy was distinguished from the others by his bright purple neck frill and a painted animal skull worn as a helmet, with colourful feathers sticking out from behind it. The purple was the exact same shade as Tartuccio's hair used to be. Which meant Kassil could finally switch back to Common.

  He looked the kobold chief up and down, without even moving his eyes.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "Tartuccio," he said. "Long time no see."

  "That name isss dead," hissed the chief. "Asss isss itsss owner. What bringsss you here to our sssacred place, Kasssil Aldori? Did your baronesss backtrack on her promissse?"

  "I want to warn you and offer my help. Have you heard about the Flayer?"

  As Lady Jamandi used to say, everyone and everything had its use. Even Morhalan, the mad tailor of Tuskdale.

  The kobold paused, deep in thought, then shook his skull-covered head. "What Flayer?"

  "A ruthless serial killer who murders reptilian humanoids and makes luxury clothing out of their skins. Alas, he is still on the loose, and although he is being hunted, there is no telling where he would pop up next. It would be a shame if your nice purple neck frill ended up as a nobleman's collar."

  "Wasss that a threat?" Several arrows were nocked and shortbows creaked among the trees surrounding the little clearing.

  "Of course not," said Kassil, making a soothing move with his hands. "As I said, I can protect you and your people, woefully decimated in the Troll Troubles. I can send out units of rangers to patrol the neighbourhood and keep you safe. I only ask one favour in return."

  "And that isss?"

  "Lead me to Ilthuliak."

  "WHAT?" shrieked Tartuk, almost regaining the annoying, shrill voice he'd had as a gnome. "One doesss not sssimply walk into mighty Ilthuliak'sss lair uninvited!"

  "Well, if you can make her invite me, all the better. Anyway, I need a kobold who knows his way around dragons and is also capable of navigating Pitax, if the need arises. If you do this for me, not only will I ensure your people's safety from the Flayer but also put in a word with Baroness Guelder for them. Just imagine. You and your people will become full-fledged citizens of Nightvale, instead of mere entries in a bestiary. Just like the kobolds and mites of the Old Sycamore."

  In a normal country, that would have been a very bold promise. In Nightvale, it was just another Toilday. Guelder had projects in place to integrate the goblins (thank Abadar that Kesten Garess hadn't lived to see that) and even the boggards into Nightvale society. She'd set Hazel and Valerie on the task of organising trade with those semi-sentient creatures, and Kassil would have sworn that Hazel's gorgeous, thick black hair lately sported quite a few strands of silver.

  "Think it over, Tartuk. Tomorrow morning I'll be waiting for your answer at the ford of the Murque."

  Next morning, in the five Aldori's little camp near the ford, Kassil was awakened – not by the dawn choir or by Sarami rolling over and nesting her head into the crook of his neck. It was an uncomfortable scratching at the back of his mind that startled him at least half awake. A Sending.

  Kassil carefully wiggled out from Sarami's embrace and fumbled into his shirt before letting the message into his mind. Father Ezvanki Keeg's wizened, balding face appeared in front of his eyes, making it clear that the Sending came from Lady Jamandi.

  Barbarians in Glenebon. Brevoy under threat. Marching out to stop them. Make Guelder deliver on her duty and join us. See you there. Love, Mother.

  He had less time than he'd thought, then. Crossing Glenebon wouldn't be as simple as he'd thought, either, which was another reason to choose a path through Pitax. Tartuk had better agree to lead him there, otherwise he might have to flay the wee purple toad himself... or, more likely, have Jaethal do it.

  I won't let you down, Mother. You can count on me and the baroness, too.

  He was tempted to share his genius idea with Jamandi, but then he thought better of it. He would hold off on divulging his plans until the last stage of implementation. The fewer people tried to dissuade him, the better.

  Allowing Sarami a little more time to wake up, Kassil got dressed, counting words in his head all the time, then went to find Thopros. The dwarf had the last shift of guard duty, keeping watch from a self-made blind between the branches of a thick mountain ash. Besides being a duellist, he was also a cleric of Torag, and as such, he had access to Sending (and kept a spool of copper wire in his pocket at all times, as a General's staff member should).

  "Nothing to report, General," he said, scrambling down from the blind using the accursed rope. "A boring watch. So boring that I braided my entire beard three times, just to keep myself busy."

  "No trace of the kobold, then?"

  "None whatsoever."

  This was bad. Now that every moment counted, his contact left Kassil hanging. What else should he have promised? What did a bunch of kobolds need from a baroness?

  "Anyway," said Kassil, "I need you to do a Sending to Guelder. The text is as follows: General here. Tiger Lords in Glenebon, threatening Brevoy. Lady Jamandi calls upon you as her –"

  Another Sending was clawing at the back of his brain, vying for his attention. This one was from the High Priest of Nightvale, a little less wizened but even balder than Father Keeg. Was the entire church of Erastil out hunting for Kassil this morning?

  Bloom events reported from Candlemere Isle and the Temple of the Elk. The rangers need reinforcements to cull the monsters, as soon as possible.

  Kassil swallowed a curse. Jhod Kavken was practically ruling the barony on his own, what with the baroness, the Regent and the Treasurer being busy in Varnhold, the Councillor having run off to join them, and the General chasing useless kobolds in the Narlmarches. He must be overwhelmed, making a mountain out of an anthill. What did "Bloom events" even mean? Monster attacks? People exploding? An epidemic with flu-like symptoms? Big flowers? Fey portals? Anyway, Jhod would have to handle this without help from the army. Every soldier was needed exactly where he was, and Kassil himself had more important things on his plate. Even though he was the General of Nightvale, he was first and foremost an Aldori, Lady Jamandi's adoptive son, and his loyalty belonged to her. Thankfully, Guelder's loyalty also belonged to her, so this was not a problem.

  Contact Ekundayo, Sable or Guelder, for all I care. I can't deal with this right now. I have an incoming barbarian invasion on my hands.

  He realised too late that, by redirecting Jhod to Guelder, he was running the risk that the baroness would prioritise the Bloom instead of the Tiger Lords. He had to be quick to get his own message delivered and call dibs on Guelder's attention.

  So Kassil returned to Thopros in a hurry, formulating his message again. To his surprise, he saw a small, purple, lizard-shaped figure in his full feathers-and-bones attire, idling by the embers of the campfire.

  "Tartuk isss here," announced the newcomer. "At your ssservice."

  The message had to wait.

  "There is a change of plan, Tartuk," said the General. "Time is of the essence. Does your people know about any shortcut to reach Ilthuliak's lair without needing to hike through either Glenebon or Pitax?"

  The kobold didn't answer immediately.

  "There is sssomething we can try," he finally said. "There is a hillock in the ssswamp that touchesss the Firssst World. Perhapsss we can find passsage to the feet of the Branthlend Mountainsss, where mighty Ilthuliak dwellsss."

  "Lead us, then. I'll give out the command immediately to fulfil my part of our agreement and keep your people safe. The rest I'll discuss with Baroness Guelder later."

  He hoped Thopros had brought enough copper wire.