Prologue

The dry hilltops danced with fire.

Throughout the heart of the Zharahdian foothills known as the Dragonclaw Mountains, great bonfires had been kindled atop the ridges overlooking the Justland River Valley. Thousands of warriors gathered, goblins and hobgoblins of all shapes and sizes, bugbears in savage armor, worgs black as night, giants and ogres, and…other things. For time immemorial, the people of the Justland River Valley had ignored the threat to their east, as the goblin and hobgoblin tribes were more a threat to each other than to the people of the Valley. There was the occasional raid, but never a concerted destructive invasion. Tonight, though, hated enemies stood shoulder to shoulder, united under a common banner and with a common cause, and above all, with a leader strong enough to bring them together.

"My lyudi drakona!" they screamed. "Nikto ne mozhet stoyat' pered name!" We are the People of the Dragon! None can stand before us!

Then they began to quiet. One by one, the tribes silenced themselves, staring expectantly at the Mesto Govorya, the Place of Speaking. Soon, the only sound was the creaking of armor and the crackling of flames. Even that seemed to still as a single figure, dull blue scales covering his body, ascended the mount. The banners beneath him – black as night, but for the large red hand marking this warlord's sigil – flapped in the hot breeze. Slowly he turned and raised his arms.

"Vy Narod Drakona!" he cried, in a voice like thunder. The very flames of the bonfires seemed to leap at his words. "I ya Syn Drakona! Ni odno drugoye imya mne ne nuzhno, ibo pod etim imenem my budem sokrushit' vsekh, kto stoit na puti mogushchestvennoy Krasnoy Ruki!"

You are the People of the Dragon! And I am the Son of the Dragon! No other name need I, for it is by that name we will crush all who stand in the way of the Red Hand!

The gathered hordes howled their approval. Spears and blades were raised once more, and celebratory dances began around the roaring fires. Lifting his voice once more, Syn Drakona cried, "Piruyte khorosho segodnya, potomu chto zavtra my idem na voynu!" Feast well tonight, for tomorrow we march to war!

The burning hills were to small to contain the war cries of the gathered horde of the Red Hand, and far below, in the Justland River Valley, the inhabitants stirred in their sleep.

CHAPTER I: AMBUSH

Far below the foothills of Dragonclaw Mountains, in the vast expanse of wood known as Nocte Silva, the Woods of Night, five figures trudged along a narrow dusty path towards the town known as Stanlow's Ferry. Were there anyone to see them, they would be a strange sight. The leader, a human clad in blue and white under his burnished steel armor, was tall and well-built, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He strode purposefully along the path, eyes constantly moving, hand ready always to go to the greatsword at his back or the mace at his side. His immediate companion was shorter than he, with brownish-blonde hair pulled back. She wore the colors of the forest under her polished wooden armor, and the focus of her soft blue gaze was on the black bear at her side.

Behind these three, struggling to keep up, were two much shorter figures. Only half the height of a human, if that, these two were an odd pair. The male had hair the color of rust and was clad in plain travelling clothes but for a bright blue vest and maroon travel cloak. His companion was clad entirely in black, dark hair twisted into four braids that tied together at her shoulders. He carried no weapons; she carried a bow and two wicked curved daggers. He smiled constantly; she had a look that could freeze stone.

They were a strange company to the eye, but the bonds between them had been forged in fire many times over. An observer would not know to look at them, but they had lived and worked in crisis after crisis throughout the continent of Vayrd. From the frozen wastelands of the Westland to the humid jungles south of Luth'ion to the Great Eastern Desert, they had been tried again and again. And now they marched through the Nocte Silva towards Stanlow's Ferry.

John of Avenguard rolled his neck, the stiffness of his muscles relaxing somewhat as he did. Marching all day in armor was never easy, no matter how many years he'd worn it. They'd been days since they'd seen so much as a shack, much less an inn to rest, and out here in the wilds, it was always best to keep one's guard up. Besides the threat of goblin raids from the mountains, these woods were said to be home to Leijona Keep, long abandoned and, if the tales were true, now haunted by the spirits of the dwarves that had once called it home. He didn't much care for the undead, particularly not the short bearded kind.

"Tired already?" asked Meghwyn, who strolled beside him. John looked down at her and smiled. Heavens, she is beautiful, he thought, then caught himself. Time for those thoughts when they were safe at Stanlow's Ferry.

"Nah," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Just blasted hot. It's Tesh-chavadish, not Shev-chavadish. It shouldn't be this warm."

Meghwyn nodded and pursed her lips. "I noticed that, too. We are well into autumn. Snow will already be falling in parts of Avenguard. But I guess this far south…"

From behind them, Květ Noci, the dark-clad halfling, spoke up. "I've been in these parts before," she said. "By now, there should be a chill in the air. This is unnatural."

John frowned. Their mission this time seemed simple – meet with Lord Wesley Vos of Everton City at the far end of the Valley and offer their services to clear out the goblins that had been raiding the border villages. But something gave him a funny feeling that all would not be that easy.

Beside him, Meghwyn laid a hand on her bear Phillip's back, feeling the sweaty fur. "Phillip already has his winter coat. We may have to rest soon if this heat keeps up."

The final member of their party, the halfling mage Volající Tvorů, groaned. "I wanted to sleep in a bed tonight!" he complained. "If your bear makes us camp one more night on the open ground, I'll turn him into a toad."

Meghwyn raised an eyebrow at Volající. "You will not either," she said firmly.

"Besides," commented Květ, "I don't think you can actually do that."

Volající huffed. "I could too. But I was just talking. I wouldn't actually hurt Mr. Phillip. He's a good pet."

Now Meghwyn raised her other eyebrow. Volající quickly corrected himself. "Uh, friend. I mean friend." Meghwyn nodded and resumed her walk.

John chuckled as Volající mimed wiping sweat from his brow. The exchange was in good fun, but he knew Meghwyn had a huge soft spot for animals, particularly her bear. If someone, even Volající, ever tried what he'd just suggested…

"How much further is it to the town?" asked Květ. "I don't want to be out in these woods more than I have to."

Meghwyn glanced at the sky, then said, "Even with a stop, we should make it by nightfall. It's not too much further."

As she spoke, Phillip stopped and sniffed the air. Meghwyn laid a hand on John's arm, stopping him as well. "Wait," she said.

John stopped and frowned. He glanced at Phillip, who was swinging his shaggy head side to side and sniffing, and his hand went to the sword at his back. "Trouble?" he asked, eyes warily scanning the trees. They'd just come over a small rise into a large, shallow dell. Through the woods, he could just make out what looked like an abandoned farmhouse a short distance away.

Meghwn narrowed her eyes. "Not sure," she said. "I think…"

She was interrupted by a howl from both sides of the road. Armored hobgoblins burst from the trees, arrows nocked to bows and drawn. John drew his sword, moving quickly towards the enemies to their right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Květ draw and loose an arrow in one smooth motion, taking one of the hobgoblins through the eye. It staggered and fell. Phillip charged next to him, mouth opened in a snarl of rage at those who would dare attack his friends. Meghwyn snatched a javelin and threw it, taking out another of the creatures, before she grabbed up her spear and charged herself. Behind him, he heard Volající begin an incantation. Then all was a blur of steel and yellow skin as his blade met that of a hobgoblin.

His opponent drew first blood, cutting a gash across John's exposed arm even as his own sword clanged off a heavy shield. A quick spin, though, and he brought his sword down like a hammer, cleaving through the creature's helm, head, and upper torso. Without pausing, he whirled to face the next enemy, whose sword was already descending. They met in a flurry of blows that lasted several seconds before John, who had taken a slash across his cheek, managed to decapitate his foe.

As the second hobgoblin fell, John surveyed the battlefield. Phillip had raked his target twice, then crushed its head with his strong jaws, taking only a superficial wound in return. On the other side, Meghwyn stood victorious over a dead hobgoblin, her body surrounded in glowing luminescent armor, and the final hobgoblin had fallen to another of Květ's arrows. Volající had completed his incantation, and a glowing badger was charging down the road towards another band of the creatures.

"Reinforcements!" John shouted, pointing towards the new attackers. Without waiting for a reply, he launched himself off the incline and down the road, sword ready for another confrontation. As he moved, though, he noticed two dog-like creatures rush out in front of the hobgoblins, eyes red and flame gushing from their mouths. "Hellhounds!" he screamed even as he attacked.

Hellhounds were large – almost as big as Phillip – and they had a nasty disposition. Volající's badger didn't stand a chance; one of the creatures casually snapped at it as it rushed past, breaking its back and sending it back to wherever it had been summoned from. Thank the heavens, John thought, that summoned creatures aren't entirely real. Meghwyn would have a fit if a real badger had been killed like that. Then there was no more time for thought, for the enemy was upon them.

Phillip crashed into the first hellhound in a flurry of muscle and claws, both beasts upon on their hind paws as they whirled. The creature tried to sink its teeth into Phillip's flank, but the bear shrugged it off and tore a huge patch of flesh away from the hellhound's flank. Moments later it was over as Phillip ducked his head under the fiery jaws and ripped open the creature's throat.

John found himself with a harder time of it, as his hellhound ducked under his sword strike and sank its teeth into his leg, biting through his armor and into his flesh. The red-hot teeth of the hound cauterized the wounds, but he stumbled backwards, pain racing like fire through his leg. He remained on his feet, sword whirling to ward away the creature while he regained his balance. Then he stepped forward in a series of attacks designed to injure an opponent and heal an ally simultaneously. As his blade came down on the creature, healing energy flowed from the blade through his body, dampening the pain in his leg and closing the wound. Ah, he thought as he kicked the creature away from him, much better. Another strike, and he drove his blade deep into the creature's chest, piercing its heart.

Then the hobgoblins were on him, and he was once again fighting for his life.

Volající Tvorů, halfling mage extraordinaire, frowned as the hellhound snapped his badger almost in half. Je nám líto, příteli, he thought as it disappeared. As John and Phillip crashed into the hellhounds, the halfling turned his attention to the onrushing hobgoblins. "Nemůže mít jdeš příliš blízko," he muttered, then began another incantation.

Beside him, Květ Noci, the Flower of the Night – what an appropriate name, he thought, not for the first time – suddenly disappeared into shadow. He smiled – she'd be popping up somewhere near the enemy rear now, ready to do what she did best. She really was quite amazing, that Květ. Whether you needed someone to break into a noble's house or cut their throat, she was the best.

Not now! he told himself. Now there was a battle to win. He quickly calculated distances in his head, then finished his incantation with a loud, "Lefalich ta hograz hachailakleik!" as several large puddles of black grease appeared just in front of the charging hobgoblins. The first three went down with shouts of surprise, while the remaining three slowed to make their way around the obstacle. Behind them, Volající saw two more hobgoblins approaching, one carrying twin blades and the other what appeared to be a symbol of the goblin god, Razrushitel. Well, looks like a challenge, he thought contentedly, and he began another incantation.

Meghwyn rushed forward, eyes on John and Phillip as they held off the hellhounds. She stopped just behind them, then cried out an incantation to guide John's blade and Phillip's claws and teeth to their targets. That completed, she rushed past and launched herself at the lead hobgoblin, spear a blur of wood and steel as she struck at him. It blocked the spear strike, but it couldn't block her foot as it took the creature full in the face, snapping its head back and sending it stumbling. She ducked the return blow, then stabbed her spear deep into its leg. It howled, the cut off suddenly as another thrust took it in the throat.

As the creature fell, she whirled and ducked another blade that had been sweeping towards her throat. Kicking out, she doubled the creature over with a foot to its gut, then rolled forward as another of the creatures attempted to stab her while her back was turned. She spun and struck, her hardwood spear meeting the steel of the creature's blade and knocking it aside, then she was up and attacking again. She slashed her spear across one hobgoblin's face, then ducked aside as the other creature's blade whizzed by overhead. Her luck did not hold, though; at that moment, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder and cried out as the first creature yanked its sword out of her body.

Stumbling back, she eyed the two creatures, switching her spear to her left hand and feeling her shoulder. The wound was deep but not debilitating; it would keep. She growled, almost a feral growl, then launched herself forward again, kicking at the unwounded creature as she stabbed her spear deep into the second's gut. It fell with a gurgle.

Then Phillip was there, his massive black body crashing into the third hobgoblin, claws and teeth shredding it despite its armor. By the time he was finished, there wasn't much left for her to stab. She smiled and sighed, patting his shoulder. "That'a'boy, Phillip. Thanks."

Květ watched the remaining three hobgoblin soldiers charge John and shook her head. They really should know better, she thought. They're already dead. Ignoring them for the moment, she eyed the other two hobgoblins closely. Interesting, she thought. Commanders?

Wrapping herself in shadow, she moved quickly towards them, confident in her ability to remain unseen. And unseen she was, until she was right behind them. Even as Volající's latest summoned creature – a spider the size of a dog – appeared in front of them and spat a web onto the sword-bearing hobgoblin, she switched her stance to that of the tiger and struck with both daggers, plunging both of them into the hobgoblin priest's back. It screamed and whirled, backing away…right into the spider's mandibles. A quick bite, and the hobgoblin screamed as the spider's poison raced through its veins. He flailed for a moment in the spider's grip, then went limp, his life consumed by the spider's deadly poison.

By this time, the other hobgoblin had disentangled itself from the spider's web and was advancing on Květ. She smiled, a cold smile that had no mirth in it, and spun her daggers, ready for him. He advanced, both blades whirling, in a stance she recognized as Rankaisemaan, designed to deliver quick, heavy blows, but leaving him open to counter-attack. She backed away slowly, considering. It might only take one of those blows to end her, so she had to strike fast. Rushing forward, she dived under his swords and rolled past him, her left hand coming up in a strike intended to hamstring him and knock him on his rear. As she did, he stepped forward, and her dagger made only the slightest of cuts on his calf.

The hobgoblin whirled to face her as she stood. A wicked smile crossed his face, and he raised his blades to move forward again. His grin grew into a snarl as she backed away, and he brought his blades together. "Ty smeyesh' mne litsom?" he asked, then rushed forward. As he did, a puff of dust appeared in the air in front of his face – sparkling, glittery dust. He threw a hand up to his eyes, but it was too late. Stumbling, he cried out, blind. Květ glanced at Volající and smiled, and he nodded in return. Then she moved forward to finish the kill.

John found himself surrounded by the three remaining hobgoblins, the ones Volající's spell had slowed. He backed slowly, keeping his blade between himself and them as they tried to encircle him. The one to his left suddenly charged, and he responded with a rapid strike that sent the creature's head rolling to one side. The other two took advantage of his distraction, moving forward simultaneously and raining blows on him, but he managed to dodge or parry them all. A quick moment's examination showed a weak point in one's armor, and he skillfully sent his blade stabbing into it. It gurgled and fell, thrashing on the ground for a moment as its life drained away.

The remaining hobgoblin's eyes went wide with fear. John smiled, and it turned to flee, only to be stopped by an arrow from Květ. It fell, wounded. As John approached, it turned on its back and swung its sword, which John parried easily. A moment later, his sword entered its chest, and it breathed its last.

"What a waste," John said, shaking his head and staring at the dead hobgoblin. "I would not have killed you if you'd surrendered."

"But I would have," said Květ, sauntering up. "No use leaving it alive. We'd have to feed it and drag it along with us, and we don't have the time or resources for that."

Meghwyn approached, attempting to tie a bandage around her wounded shoulder. "We don't kill prisoners, Květ. You know that. If they surrender, we honor it. It's the right thing to do."

Květ shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. I just don't see the point."

John shook his head. I don't think I'll ever completely understand Květ, he thought. She fights well, but I could never murder a prisoner, even out of necessity. It would turn my stomach. Even thinking about it bothered him. "Well," he said, "doesn't matter now. They're dead." He removed his helm and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Though what hobgoblins are doing this far out of the mountains – and with hellhounds to boot – I don't know." Pausing, he ran a hand through his dark hair and frowned. "Something's not right here."

Květ shrugged, then knelt next to the body and started going through the creature's pockets. "No idea. Might be related to the job this Lord Vos has for us?"

John closed his eyes and shook his head. Ugh, he thought. How does she do that? "Květ, do you really have to go through…"

"Yes," she interrupted, not looking up. "Besides the fact that we have expenses, you wanted to know why they were this far west. Well, best way to find out is to search them. So unless you want to dig through their pockets…"

John shook his head. "I'll pass. Just…try to be respectful, okay?"

"Sure," she said as she casually cut the hobgoblin's belt off. "Whatever you say."

He shook his head again and turned away. "Everyone else alright?" he asked.

Volající nodded as he approached. "Not a scratch here. A bit tired, but I'm good to go."

Meghwyn winced as she pulled the bandage tight. "I'll be alright. I'll heal us up when we get to Stanlow's Ferry."

John nodded. The wound in his leg barely hurt now, and his arm would keep. He nodded to the bear, who was happily munching on what appeared to be hellhound guts. He shuddered, then asked, "And the bear?"

Meghwyn nodded. "Phillip is fine. Superficial wounds only, and they'll heal up nicely. As long as we don't try to take his food, he'll be okay."

"Boss?" called out Květ. "You might want to have a look at this."

John glanced back at where the halfling had been to find her gone. He frowned. "What is it, Květ?"

"Here, in the farmhouse," came the reply.

John glanced at the others and shrugged, then pushed his way through the woods to the abandoned house, pausing only to notice the rough tents and bedrolls set up outside. Apparently this group had been here for some time. He ducked through the doorway – the door had apparently been removed – and wrinkled his nose. Something smelled off. Rounding the corner, he stopped, mouth agape.

Five bodies lined the west wall. Květ stood over them, frowning. "Apparently we weren't this party's first catch of the day," she said calmly.

John stepped forward and examined the bodies. "Looks like a merchant and some bodyguards," he said. "And this…a farmer, maybe, from the Valley?" He shook his head. "Savages. No need to kill a farmer."

Květ shrugged. "Well, wrong place wrong time, I guess."

"Well," John said, standing, "I feel better about finishing them off now. The hobgoblins, I mean," he added quickly. He frowned. "Any indication why they were here?"

Květ shook her head. "Seems like just a raid. They took a good bit of change off that merchant, it seems." She held up a bag that jingled. "Other than that, nothing."

John nodded. "We'll need to keep an eye out for others. Even if this is just a raiding party, it's too small to be this far into the Valley without support. Come on, let's get the others and get moving. I want to be at the Ferry by nightfall."

Chapter 2: Stanlow's Ferry