about to begin."
Korvin watched her fly for a moment, chest tight. Amity was all fire and
passion, sure of her path, her eyes bright and fierce. He had seen such fierce
passion before. The last time he had gazed into eyes so lustful for glory and
victory, he had been holding Beatrix in his arms.
He tightened his jaw. I will not let Amity take that path to madness.
I will not let her inner light burn her soul. He beat his wings, taking
flight. Amity will be queen of the Horde, but I . . . I must guide her path,
and I must keep her fire from consuming us all.
The two dragons glided down across the mountainside, heading toward the
sprawling tent city below. Amity dived near to the ground, leveled off, and
flew through the White Arch. Korvin followed; the arch was large enough to
dwarf even a dragon. A field of packed earth spread ahead, and a dais of giltwood
rose here, a throne atop it. A hundred soldiers in bronze breastplates, bearing
spears and round shields, surrounded the dais, and ten clerics stood at the
base of a stairway, kneeling as the dragons approached. A crowd of the Horde—women,
children, elders, and warriors—stood in the field. They cried out as the two dragons
dived down and landed on the dais.
As soon as Amity's claws hit the dais, she tossed back her head and blew
a shrieking pillar of dragonfire. The inferno rose into the sky, a beacon for
all to see, and Amity roared out her cry. "Come see me, Horde! Come see
your new queen crowned!"
The cry shook the stage, deafening. As the crowd cried out in response, waving
swords and axes, Amity released her magic. She shrunk in size, returning to
human form: a woman with short blond hair that fell across her brow and ears,
brown breeches and a tan vest, and a crooked smile on her face. A sword hung at
her side, and an axe was strapped across her back. She wore no gown, no jewels;
she was a warrior of the Horde, and the Horde cared for steel, blood, and sweat
more than silk or gems.
Korvin released his magic too and stood a foot behind Amity, hand on the
hilt of his own sword. Amity waved to the crowd, crying out wordlessly, basking
in the glory, but Korvin found himself scanning the perimeters of that chanting
crowd. Not all, he saw, were pleased at this display. Many men slunk at the
back, eyes dark, hands clutching their weapons, lips downturned.
Amity slew the old king, but our work here is not yet done, Korvin
thought.
Amity stepped toward a chest, opened it, and pulled out the withered head
of the fallen Abina Kahan. She raised the ghastly trophy high, displaying it
for the crowd.
"Here is the rotting head of your old king!" Amity shouted. "I
slew him, and I take his place as your leader. Under Kahan's rule, you rotted
like his head rots now. You lingered here in the south, living in the dirt, in
mere tents, polishing spears with no enemy to slay." She spat. "I
promise you war and glory! Under my rule, we will swarm north, crush the
Commonwealth, and send the Cured Temple crashing to the ground!"
The crowd cheered and Amity panted, teeth bared in a savage grin, chest
rising and falling. When Korvin looked at her, his belly soured.
He closed his eyes, and the memories resurfaced: himself as a young man,
only twenty years old, holding the woman he loved. He lay in her bed in the
Cured Temple, a mere soldier, a humble man she had taken into her life. She
stood before him, naked in the dawn pouring through the windows, a young
priestess with rising power, beautiful and strong and noble, heiress to the
world.
"When I'm High Priestess, the Horde will pay." Beatrix had clenched
her fist, grinning savagely, a grin that twisted her face into a blazing mask. "All
those who oppose me will burn in my fire. They will beg for mercy before I
crush them. I will slay all the enemies of the Spirit. I will slay every last
beast of the Horde, every last weredragon, every last heretic who resists me."
He had fought the Horde for her. As she preached in the light of
Korvin watched her fly for a moment, chest tight. Amity was all fire and
passion, sure of her path, her eyes bright and fierce. He had seen such fierce
passion before. The last time he had gazed into eyes so lustful for glory and
victory, he had been holding Beatrix in his arms.
He tightened his jaw. I will not let Amity take that path to madness.
I will not let her inner light burn her soul. He beat his wings, taking
flight. Amity will be queen of the Horde, but I . . . I must guide her path,
and I must keep her fire from consuming us all.
The two dragons glided down across the mountainside, heading toward the
sprawling tent city below. Amity dived near to the ground, leveled off, and
flew through the White Arch. Korvin followed; the arch was large enough to
dwarf even a dragon. A field of packed earth spread ahead, and a dais of giltwood
rose here, a throne atop it. A hundred soldiers in bronze breastplates, bearing
spears and round shields, surrounded the dais, and ten clerics stood at the
base of a stairway, kneeling as the dragons approached. A crowd of the Horde—women,
children, elders, and warriors—stood in the field. They cried out as the two dragons
dived down and landed on the dais.
As soon as Amity's claws hit the dais, she tossed back her head and blew
a shrieking pillar of dragonfire. The inferno rose into the sky, a beacon for
all to see, and Amity roared out her cry. "Come see me, Horde! Come see
your new queen crowned!"
The cry shook the stage, deafening. As the crowd cried out in response, waving
swords and axes, Amity released her magic. She shrunk in size, returning to
human form: a woman with short blond hair that fell across her brow and ears,
brown breeches and a tan vest, and a crooked smile on her face. A sword hung at
her side, and an axe was strapped across her back. She wore no gown, no jewels;
she was a warrior of the Horde, and the Horde cared for steel, blood, and sweat
more than silk or gems.
Korvin released his magic too and stood a foot behind Amity, hand on the
hilt of his own sword. Amity waved to the crowd, crying out wordlessly, basking
in the glory, but Korvin found himself scanning the perimeters of that chanting
crowd. Not all, he saw, were pleased at this display. Many men slunk at the
back, eyes dark, hands clutching their weapons, lips downturned.
Amity slew the old king, but our work here is not yet done, Korvin
thought.
Amity stepped toward a chest, opened it, and pulled out the withered head
of the fallen Abina Kahan. She raised the ghastly trophy high, displaying it
for the crowd.
"Here is the rotting head of your old king!" Amity shouted. "I
slew him, and I take his place as your leader. Under Kahan's rule, you rotted
like his head rots now. You lingered here in the south, living in the dirt, in
mere tents, polishing spears with no enemy to slay." She spat. "I
promise you war and glory! Under my rule, we will swarm north, crush the
Commonwealth, and send the Cured Temple crashing to the ground!"
The crowd cheered and Amity panted, teeth bared in a savage grin, chest
rising and falling. When Korvin looked at her, his belly soured.
He closed his eyes, and the memories resurfaced: himself as a young man,
only twenty years old, holding the woman he loved. He lay in her bed in the
Cured Temple, a mere soldier, a humble man she had taken into her life. She
stood before him, naked in the dawn pouring through the windows, a young
priestess with rising power, beautiful and strong and noble, heiress to the
world.
"When I'm High Priestess, the Horde will pay." Beatrix had clenched
her fist, grinning savagely, a grin that twisted her face into a blazing mask. "All
those who oppose me will burn in my fire. They will beg for mercy before I
crush them. I will slay all the enemies of the Spirit. I will slay every last
beast of the Horde, every last weredragon, every last heretic who resists me."
He had fought the Horde for her. As she preached in the light of
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