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I called out to the adjutant waiting in attendance.

‘Tell the Lord Marshal to rest the men, then deliver this message to my brother. If you can’t find him, tell the dragon commander I want only one rider patrolling tonight,’ I said, turning back to the castle.

‘What about you, Sire?’ he asked, taking the parchment.

‘I still have plans to make, so bring my meal here.’

He nodded, leaving me to my thoughts, which drifted to Sana. The pillars were still active; my communication mage’s pained expression and constant puking proved it. That rendered summoning the battle mages unwise. I could deal with this obstacle, but I couldn’t stop worrying over her safety.

She’s alive, and closer than she was before. Cinared answered my unasked question.

Can you talk to her? Hope was a bad advisor, but I couldn’t stop myself.

No, only feel her presence more. That’s all.

Hope was a bitch, and once summoned, it refused to go away. I massaged my neck to distract myself from thoughts of Sana and focus on the problem at hand. How many of my men would die if I attacked Tangra’s camp without exposing the dragons to the long-range ballistae from both Tivala’s castle and Tangra’s armada?

Losing even one was too much.

The long afternoon of observing the enemy’s camp gave me an idea. I had to draw the Tangrian army beyond the range of the lethal bolts. But that task seemed as impossible as pulling a burning cart into the deathly embrace of the ice wraiths in the forest village.

The moment the thought crossed my mind I shouted, hoping the adjutant could still hear me.

‘Get Ivar here. Now!’

Fifteen minutes later, Ivar was breathing hard beneath his armour, bent in half after running up the hill.

‘Who helped Tova create the green fire that saved us from the wraiths?’ I asked. He frowned, his eyes drifting to the side as he tried recalling their names.

‘Mostly men from the scout unit. They’re due back later today,’ he answered.

‘Good. Find them, and have them recreate the concoction, but secure the ingredients in sacks or crates.’ Ivar’s blank face prompted me to explain further. ‘The dragons can drop it from a safe distance and ignite it in the air.’

‘And you want to drop it on the ships? The castle?’ he asked, straightening.

‘The rear of their camp. Fire there would push the army towards us and out of range of the ships’ ballistae and arrows. Then our army would only have the castle’s defences to avoid. Ideally, I’d like the Tangrians driven away from those too, but I doubt we’ll be that lucky. I’ll need Gniev’s riders to distract them with a feint against the front lines before the aerial attack starts.’

I smiled, the plan coming together.

‘I’ll see to it.’ Ivar saluted and headed towards the camp with a spring in his step.

With orders to issue, I headed to my tent to study the large map of Tivalaran Castle, spread over two foldable tables.

If I wiped out the camp, the next step would be to lay siege to the citadel. After capturing the castle, we could use its weapons to chase off the galleons, or save them to use for any of the scum left on Dagome soil.

If, at that point, the Gate were still standing, I’d aid Roksana in destroying it. For now, only the first part of the plan was set, but I had options.

My adjutant coughed on the other side of the tent flap, drawing my attention.

‘Sire, a delegation is here, wishing to see you.’

I frowned. It was late, and I wasn’t expecting anyone at this time. Worse, the plan of attack was on full display behind me.

‘Tell them to wait. I’ll be out in a moment,’ I answered, reaching for my sword belt.

The glow of the bonfires made me squint as I walked out. When I blinked to adjust to the light, two Tangrian men stood before me, contempt etched across their faces.

‘You came to surrender?’ I asked, recognising the Praetor Minor and Clericus insignias.

The first wore full-plate armour like a paladin; the other wore orange robes bearing the insignia of Svarog, God of Fire.

‘Surrender?’ the Clericus scoffed. ‘We outnumber your army, our ballistae can slaughter your dragons, and your mages are still beyond the pillars. We know your weaknesses, King of Dagome.’

‘If not to surrender, then why are you here?’ I asked, unwilling to participate in their power play.

‘To give you this.’ The Praetor passed me a scrap of fabric, and I glared at him. ‘You have three days to leave Tivalaran and surrender the southern province to Tangra. That is the only offer His Holiness the Hierophant is willing to grant you.’

I looked at the pair and raised my eyebrow at the ludicrous demand.

‘And if I refuse?’ The Praetor gestured towards the white scrap. I unfolded it, revealing a woman’s white shirt.

‘Refuse, and she’ll die. Then you will watch as Svarog’s fire consumes every soldier under your command.’

I could barely hear him through the rush of blood in my ears while the sky burned above us in an earth-shattering roar.

The shirt I held was made from the finest spider silk, and it had two vertical slits on the back where the fabric overlapped.

Perfect for wings.