Free Warlord by Robert J. Crane Page B

indisputably effective. Able to keep his cool in situations where Cyrus had seen others falter, Scuddar had proven himself more than capable in any number of actions, including holding the line of retreat across the Endless Bridge from Luukessia.
    Scuddar was also a man of terribly few words, which Cyrus found much to his liking, especially at the moment. It was the same reason he’d chosen Mendicant over Nyad when the time had come to pick a wizard to accompany them.
    “Everything seems so bloody dire,” Vara mused aloud. “The timing is peculiar as well, just as the north seems to have gotten its shite together.”
    “Outside of the sudden magical concerns, this threat of the titans has been a long time coming,” Cora said, fingers brushing their way through fat blades of grass that looked like they would not have been out of place in a swamp, though these were considerably larger. “They have hounded us since first our colonial forces came in contact with their patrols here on the savanna. Were it not for the dragons as a constant threat to the titans’ south, I imagine they would have made destroying us their greatest priority by now.”
    “Probably why they haven’t come north in great numbers, either,” Cyrus said, grunting as he stepped over a rut that Vara leapt with a loping grace that he felt certain he lacked without having a hand on Praelior. “Pull enough of their army off their southern borders and they’re vulnerable to that threat.” He ran his tongue over his teeth and found the taste of his breakfast still lingering there—eggs and bread fresh from Sanctuary’s ovens. “The dragons are not to be dismissed out of hand, I’ve heard.”
    “Indeed they are not,” Cora said, curiously muted about the subject. “We don’t see them north of Kortran very much, unfortunately. The titans have bows the length of their entire bodies, taken from the trees of the jungle and the mountains, strung with a twine so powerful it could hold up a hundred elves, and nocked with arrows the size of our northern trees.” She grew hushed as she spoke. “I have seen them issue a hail of them into the air, once, when I was spying within Kortran. They brought down a lesser dragon, piercing its scales as though they were hunting a simple bird.”
    “You’ve been in Kortran?” Cyrus asked, drawing a smile out of Cora.
    “Many times,” she said. “It used to be easy for the magically endowed to slip beneath the noses of the titans. Now I would not risk it, given their capacity for seeing through invisibility spells and all manner of illusions. Truly, this boon of magic for them has been nothing less than a curse for the rest of us.”
    “Hmm,” Cyrus grunted.
    “Have you thought of trying to strike up an alliance with the dragons?” Mendicant asked. Cyrus glanced down at the goblin, who looked at Cora earnestly while he waited for an answer. Cyrus suspected he knew what was coming, having a vague recollection of asking the question himself once upon a time.
    “Dragons do not treat with us lesser beings,” Cora said, “let alone consider us as worthy enough to be allies. Theirs is a strange mind, a slithering sort of reason that makes conversation difficult, even among those of their kind that speak our languages.”
    “I’ve spoken with one before,” Cyrus said, trudging along. The ground was growing stickier, a hint of wet dew sliding down to slick the dirt.
    “I heard about your experience with Ashan’agar,” Cora said. “We all did. I confess, I am surprised that you were able to bring him down.”
    Cyrus shrugged. “I took one of his eyes at our first meeting, and the second one when next we encountered one another. As I was on his back at the time, it was fairly easy to steer him into a collision with the ground that he could not survive.” He looked to his side and noticed Vara holding her breath almost imperceptibly.
    “Easy to steer a dragon?” Cora asked, seemingly amused by his humble