He refused to let that happen this time. Though half blind with tears and sheer agony, he kept moving and jabbing.

Until the topaz wyrm pivoted and darted a few strides, distancing itself from him. He started to pursue, and its lashing tail whirled out of nowhere and bashed him broadside.

The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the ground, the throbbing in his skull replaced by a general ache down one side of his body. He tried to lift himself up and was relieved to find that he could. The impact might have cracked a rib or two, but it hadn’t completely shattered any bones.

The topaz dragon was still trying to kill Perra. Khouryn wished she’d retreated. But either she’d never really had the chance, or she was as disinclined to do so as a dwarf noble would have been.

At least she wasn’t battling alone. Sellswords had formed into two squads and were fighting as Khouryn had taught them to fight something huge. One team jabbed with its spears, assailing the dragon while still maintaining a little distance. When it oriented on them, they fell back and the other group took advantage of the creature’s distraction to attack.

Standing right in front of the wyrm’s snapping jaws and raking foreclaws, depending on his skill with sword and shield-as well a nimbleness unusual in a dragonborn-to keep him safe, Balasar cut, blocked, and dodged. Other Tymantherans ran out of the fog to assault the dragon with the same reckless daring.

Surely all that skill and courage ought to count for something. But the topaz dragon feinted a strike with one foot, then slashed with the other. Balasar still managed to catch the claws on his targe, but the raw force of the blow hammered him to the ground. Then the wyrm spewed more of its breath weapon. Caught in the spray, half a dozen warriors fell, and afterward there was nothing between the dragon and Perra. It gathered itself to spring.

Vigilant dived at the dragon. The griffon had evidently been circling overhead, waiting for another chance to catch the gigantic reptile by surprise.

Once again the wyrm somehow perceived the threat. It jerked its head aside and so saved its eyes. But Vigilant compensated and at least managed to slam down on the dragon’s neck just behind the skull. Her talons stabbed deep into the leathery orange-yellow hide. Her gnashing beak tore away chunks of flesh.

The dragon gave an earsplitting scream. It whipped its neck back and forth but failed to dislodge Vigilant. It clawed with a forefoot. Still clinging to her perch, the griffon shifted sideways and dodged the stroke.

It looked to Khouryn like the dragon was finally in real trouble, and he wanted to help Vigilant make the kill. Gritting his teeth against a fresh stab of pain, he scrambled to his feet and charged.

But before he could close the distance, the dragon flopped over onto its side. Its fall shook the earth, and he staggered. Then it rolled around, grinding Vigilant beneath its bulk. When it drew itself back to its feet, the griffon wasn’t holding on to it anymore. Crumpled in the dirt, her wings folded in the wrong places, she wasn’t doing anything at all. Not even breathing, no matter how intently Khouryn peered at her and willed her chest to rise and fall.

The topaz wyrm twisted toward Perra. Khouryn sprinted past a hind leg and cut at its flank. “Moradin!” he bellowed.

Maybe the god heard and saw fit to help, because the axe head all but vanished into the dragon’s dense flesh. And when Khouryn heaved it free again, the blood sprayed out and spattered him from head to toe.

The dragon ran, unfurled its wings, leaped, and soared up into the air. It disappeared into the fog almost immediately.

Khouryn stood panting, peering, and listening, waiting to see if the creature had simply decided to continue the fight from the air. Apparently not. Coming on top of its other wounds, especially the terrible ones Vigilant had inflicted, his final stroke must have convinced it to run away.

It was only when he was sure it was gone that he remembered its minions. The greater threat had driven the lesser right out of his head. But they must have all died or run away as well. He didn’t hear any fighting anymore.

He hobbled to Vigilant and looked down at the broken, flattened husk that was all that was left of her. Grief welled up in him, and he clenched himself to hold it in.

Next he checked on his men, and there the news was better. The sellswords hadn’t sustained too many casualties, and even a couple of those scorched by the dragon’s breath looked like they might recover.

Then he turned to his new friends. Plainly the wyrm hadn’t seriously injured Balasar, because he sat holding a leather waterskin to the supine Medrash’s mouth. The paladin guzzled, and his friend took the container away.

“Just a little at a time,” Balasar said.

“Once I get a little strength back,” Medrash croaked, “I can heal myself. Then I can heal others.”

“Well, you won’t get it back by making yourself puke.” Balasar looked up at Khouryn. “I’m sorry about your steed and the men you’ve lost.”

“As I’m sorry for your losses,” Khouryn said.

“By the first egg!” Balasar exploded. “I would have understood if the stupid Chessentans had ambushed us. Or if the accursed genasi had come after us. But what in the name of Arambar’s arse was that?”

Khouryn shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

“Just a random attack?” Balasar persisted.

“No,” Khouryn said. “The dragon wanted to kill Perra specifically. When it decided it needed to take an active part in the fighting, it went straight for her.”

Soolabax was no city, but it was a fair-sized market town. Nor was it an impregnable fortress, but it did have walls. The combination made it the linchpin of Shala Karanok’s border defenses and obliged Aoth to deal with Hasos Thora, baron of the place and its environs.

Tall and muscular with a long-nosed, imperious face, swaggering around his own keep in half armor even though nothing in particular was going on, Hasos appeared yet another embodiment of the Chessentan martial ideal. Aoth might have expected such a paragon to rejoice at the arrival of reinforcements. Yet that didn’t appear to be the case.

“No one told me you were coming,” Hasos said.

“That’s unfortunate,” Aoth said. “But the war hero didn’t decide until a few days ago, and then no one could bring word faster than we griffon riders travel ourselves.”

“How much meat do those beasts eat?” the baron replied.

“Lots.”

“And is it true they need to be stabled away from horses?”

“That depends on how fond you are of the horses.”

The baron scowled. “And then, when the rest of your sellswords arrive, I have to house and feed them as well. Winter’s just ended. Food is in short supply. I-”

Aoth tipped his spear so it leaned over the table between them, casting its shadow on the maps and documents there. He drew a little crackling flare of lightning from the point. Startled, Hasos flinched.

“I don’t need you to remind me of the time of year,” said Aoth, “or that your people have the same needs as mine. Together, you and I will see to it that everyone has a full belly and a roof over his head.”

Hasos made a spitting sound. “It’s easy to give assurances, often hard to follow through.”

Aoth took a deep breath. “Milord, I’m not sure why you’re giving me such a cold welcome. Maybe because I’m a mage, or a Thayan. Maybe just because you’re used to being the only one giving orders inside these walls. But I don’t care why. I don’t need to. You’ve seen I carry credentials from the war hero, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll honor them.”

He wished those documents gave him complete, incontrovertible command of the local defense. They didn’t. They ordered Hasos to provide food and shelter for the Brotherhood, but beyond that merely urged him to cooperate with Aoth.