Free Dream of Legends by Stephen Zimmer Page A

sensations of flight. The Trogen propensity for enduring physical hardship, and being able to withstand the highest altitudes far easier than humans, had sealed the choice of who would accompany the Darroks as their attendant crews. That choice had now been sorely abused, as the overconfident human Viscount Adhemar had left them so vulnerable.
    Tragan’s face had clouded with the blackest of rages as he had described in visceral terms what he would do to the viscount if he ever encountered the Avanoran. Dragol knew that it was best that the viscount remain in Avanor, as he literally would be torn limb from limb if Tragan ever got the man in his grasp.
    Finally Tragan proceeded to the reasons for his summons of the two Trogen chieftains. As Dragol and Goras had perceived, their summons to Tragan’s tent involved the changes that would be taking place in the wake of the debacle with the first Darrok raid.
    For Goras, Tragan’s wishes were not all that disruptive. Dragol, on the other hand, had to fight against mixed emotions churning within, as he listened to the orders from Tragan. A part of him was firmly bound to duty, and well pleased that the viscount’s error in judgment on the first raid was being resolved with Trogen self-determination. Another part of him met the words of Tragan with chagrin, as he did not wish to be separated from Goras, and the other Trogens in Saxany, so close to the great battle.
    “Dragol, you will take your warriors with you to accompany the Darroks, and defend them in their next raid upon the Five Realms. Other chieftains will join you with further sky warriors. No others among this alliance will respect Trogens. We must take control of this task by ourselves, fools that we were to think otherwise,” the Trogen commander iterated acidly, his iron gaze fixated upon Dragol. “This is no order of the Lord Generals … It is mine, and they are not about to disagree. We will see that our brothers receive protection … this time.”
    The last words of the Trogen commander were strained and spoken through sharp, clenched teeth. Veins stood out along his thick neck and broad head, as Tragan continued to seethe.
    Dragol had seen few Trogens so utterly livid as Tragan had been towards the unescorted mission that had resulted in so many slain Trogens. It had taken all of Dragol’s might, and that of a few others, to restrain Tragan from going to assault one of the Lord Generals who was residing in the nearby Avanoran camp, shortly after the news had reached them.
    It pleased Dragol greatly that initiative had been taken by the older Trogen commander, declaring an escort force irrespective of Avanor’s desires. Like many of the higher-ranking Trogens, Dragol had felt scathing discomfort at following orders that he knew had originated from the Unifier’s men.
    He also felt deeply honored that Tragan had selected him for the task of protecting fellow Trogens serving upon the great Darroks. There would be no lack of resolve on his part to ensure the safety of the Trogen crews.
    Tragan then turned towards Goras, and exclaimed in a thunderous voice. “The attack into the woods begins very soon. You must not allow any enemy to drive our scouts away. You must sweep any defenders from the skies, and you must be the eyes of the ground army. There can be no surprises. We must win this battle fast, so that the army can move through.”
    He raised his massive right hand and tightly clenched his fist, his eyes glaring at Goras. “We are to take no prisoners. The enemies of the Unifier are the enemies of us all. This is a war that will gain our land’s long-desired freedom, and the liberation of so many of our brethren held all too long in bondage. For the freeing of our homelands, and our kind, go forth, now! Show them the strength of the Trogens!”
    Both dismissed from Tragan’s presence, Goras and Dragol nodded their heads deferentially, and swiftly strode from the inner tent. Outside of the tent,