Through Blood and Dragons: Epic Fantasy (The Forged and The Fallen Book 1) by R.M. Schultz

Author:R.M. Schultz [Schultz, R.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sky Sea and Sword Publishing
Published: 2023-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

27

CYRAN ORENDAIN

Kingsknights in glittering gold and silver armor with red capes, court attendants in embroidered tunics, and dragonguard filled the audience hall of Castle Dashtok. Cyran marched beside Sir Kayom and behind Sir Paltere. Guard and noblemen and women parted as Paltere strode through their ranks along the carpeted walkway toward the throne.

A nobleman in yellow stood before the king, reading from a scroll. The king’s orator, Riscott, waited on the king’s right, his fingers tapping at the side of his robe with impatience. Two adolescent girls whispered to each other from their seats near the king, and a young man sat between them.

“We at Progtown have kept an eye on the Rorenlands as well as any could ask of us,” the man addressing the king said, “but the traders have been passing by—”

The king stood when Paltere stepped beyond the line of kingsknights, and Igare’s gray-streaked locks fell over his ears. The speaker from Progtown fell silent. A hush rolled through the chamber, causing the shuffle of feet and a cough to ring loudly. The queen—a voluptuous woman with curly brown hair and a red dress with gold trim—slowly rose beside her king.

“What is it?” King Igare’s expression turned grave, as he likely sensed the urgency in Paltere’s manner. Igare held a rolled-up parchment, one small enough that it barely extended beyond his clenched fist. His knuckles were blanched, and the edges of the parchment were crumpled and frayed, as if he’d been clutching it for days.

“There’s been an attack on Nevergrace, milord.” Paltere stepped aside and allowed Kayom to escort Cyran closer. Murmurs and whispers roamed around the chamber. “A dragonsquire from the Never has come to report the event to his king.”

Cyran stepped up and stood beside Paltere.

“Speak, boy.” Riscott stroked his goatee and strode one step down the dais.

“Nevergrace was attacked, milord.” Cyran’s gaze flashed around. All eyes were locked on him. The king’s conjuror shifted and rubbed her fingers together, and her white locks rolled around her shoulders. The young priest of the nine and the king’s nyren both stood from their chairs. “At night. By dragons from the north.”

“Pray tell us how many—” Riscott began, but the king cut him off with a grunt and a wave.

“Dragonsquire of Nevergrace.” Igare stepped down the dais. “How grave is the matter for the brave soldiers and lord of the Never?”

“The outpost has been taken,” Cyran said, and rumbles of astonished conversation arose from the court attendants.

Riscott frowned. “Then we must assume that every one of our men and women there are dead. The north does not take prisoners.”

The sensation of a kick to the gut landed on Cyran.

“Did any others escape with you?” Igare asked.

Cyran shook his head while trying to curtail thoughts about what might have befallen Jaslin and his friends. He absently toyed with the merchant ring on his finger.

The orator paced back and forth across the step, knitting his fingers together before resting his hands against his thighs. “And please, will you expound

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