by Mark Piggott

Alyssa and Malcolm Seger—a Dragonkin Oracle from Drogon and a human Magi-Gunner from Fawleen—were soldiers who fought together in the Endless War between their two countries. Their time together gave them love and hope for a new life after the war ended. That changed the night Malcolm died from exposure to Dragon Dust, a deadly Drogon poison. As an Oracle of Delphis Kai, Alyssa used her magic to summon a willing spirit from another world across the River of Souls to merge with his and restore Malcolm’s life. Reborn as a man with two souls in a strange, new world, Malcolm became Deputy Marshal of Fairhaven, a thriving community on the border of Fawleen and Drogon. He hoped to put the war behind him and make a better life for himself, Alyssa, and their children. However, the specter of death follows warriors, both young and old, until they fight their last battle.

* * *

Winter in Fairhaven was bleak and quiet. The thriving farming community stepped back during the cold weather months, waiting for springtime to begin again. The taverns were warm and vibrant, but not today. Today, black curtains were draped over all the windows as a city mourned its fallen leader.

Sir Aleister Cornwall, the Lord Marshal of Fairhaven, someone many considered a true leader and a war hero, was dead. He was a member of the legendary “Bloodfist Brigade” of the 5th King’s Praetorian Guard. Their exploits against the Dragonkin during the war were brutal. While some saw their actions as necessary, others called them genocidal. Aleister lived with the guilt of their activities as the sole survivor of his unit. He bore the weight of their atrocities against the Dragonkin.

Ultimately, he found peace and purpose as the Lord Marshal of Fairhaven, but fate had other plans. He was killed answering a call for help while traveling on the Helena Road. This main thoroughfare between Fairhaven and the capital city of Croft Aerie was one of the most traversed roadways in Fawleen. Sir Aleister crossed this road throughout his duties as a soldier and as the lord marshal. He knew this straightaway with undo familiarity, but unfortunately, it caught him off guard this time.

No one knew what happened—a carriage ran off the road on a stormy night. The lord marshal stopped to render aid, but the unstable carriage rolled over on top of him. It appeared to be nothing more than a tragic accident, not the warrior’s death most soldiers longed for, but it was honorable, nonetheless.

As Deputy Marshal of Fairhaven, Malcolm Seger traveled to Croft Aerie to escort the lord marshal back home. Sir Aleister did not want to be buried in the capital amongst the commanders and other soldiers who died during the Endless War with Drogon. He wanted to be buried in Fairhaven, in the church crypt, among the people he swore an oath to serve and protect.

The snow drifted quietly to the ground from the gray sky above. Alyssa walked through the desolate streets of Fairhaven, her son Henry strolling by her side and newborn daughter, Serene, swaddled in her arms. The children were half-breeds—half human, half Dragonkin—but you could barely see that in the heavy coats, boots, and fur-lined cloaks covering them. Dragonkin were quite susceptible to the cold temperatures as the frosty air of winter chilled them to the bone. Alyssa went out of her way to protect her children from this extreme environment.

Alyssa rarely let Henry out in the snowy weather, except at his father’s urging to make something ridiculous called a snowman. To her, it looked nothing like a man, and yet Malcolm insisted on building the ungodly monstrosity with twigs for arms, buttons for eyes, and a carrot from her root cellar for a nose. Then, the two proceeded to have a snowball fight, something Alyssa remembered her comrades in the 55th King’s Musketeers doing during breaks in the war to relieve battle stress. They even drew her into the fight when Henry smacked his mother with a snowball, laughing it off with glee. And just like her comrades-in-arms, little Henry caught a cold, sick with fever and the sniffles. Alyssa wanted to be angry with her derelict husband for starting this debacle, but Henry loved playing in the snow. She could not stay mad at him for making her little boy so happy.

Malcolm had been gone for nearly a week in his mission to bring the lord marshal home to Fairhaven. The journey was taking longer than expected due to the recent inclement weather. Malcolm had to travel on horseback instead of his reliable Etherzine Land Cycle—a mechanized motorbike drawing magic from the ether in the air to power the engine. Driving in these slick conditions was too dangerous, so the trip took longer than necessary. Alyssa expected him home any day now.

 Alyssa only came to town to pick up a few supplies from the store for the week ahead. She desperately wanted to return to her cart and take her children home. However, her concern disappeared with the somber sound of church bells ringing through the snowfall. The heavenly tones from the Cathedral of Saint Sebastian the Righteous echoed through the empty streets. The toll of the bells drew her toward the Gothic cathedral.

This temple of prayer had become a place of solace and comfort for the Lord Marshal. He was often found inside, praying for redemption and peace for those he had harmed during the war. With his death, the town of Fairhaven gathered on this hallowed ground to pray for his eternal soul.

Alyssa made her way up the icy granite stairs and quietly slipped into the vestibule. The church pews were filled with the citizens of Fairhaven, either in solemn prayer or quiet contemplation. Some even used this time to discuss the future of their community without the Lord Marshal to protect them. Alyssa walked through the crowds of parishioners respectfully, wanting to speak with Father McDougal.

Father Ian McDougal was affectionately known as the “Fighting Chaplain” of Fairhaven. Unlike many of his fellow priests, he served on the front lines during the war, praying for the humans of Fawleen and the Dragonkin of Drogon. In his opinion, all were equal in God’s eyes and needed his help toward salvation in the desperation of war.

He became close to the lord marshal during his tenure, making Father Ian one of the few who knew about Sir Aleister’s pain. There were only a handful of people Alyssa was completely comfortable around, and the father was one of them. And like her friends, Anthony and Lily Tomlin, the parish priest welcomed Alyssa and Malcolm into the community with open arms. Alyssa rushed up to the priest, exhausted as she dragged the children along.

“Father Ian, do you have any news from Croft Aerie or Malcolm?” she asked breathlessly.

“No, I’m afraid there’s nothing new, Mrs. Seger,” he said, exacerbated as he wiped his balding head with a handkerchief. The stress of these past few weeks bore down on him as much as it did on Alyssa. “They left the capital over a week ago but may have been slowed down through Bertram Pass. The weather there is treacherous at this time of year, especially for such a large procession on the Helena Road.”

“Large procession? I don’t understand, Father. I thought only Malcolm was escorting the lord marshal back to Fairhaven.”

“No, Mrs. Seger, the king insisted that Sir Aleister receive the proper rites of a knight of the realm. A cadre of the 42nd King’s Cavaliers is accompanying them to Fairhaven.”

Alyssa breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that Malcolm would not be traveling alone, but then she became concerned about another issue. She knew about the 42nd King’s Cavaliers from the war. They were assigned under the command of Lady General Celeste Augustine LaPorta, supreme commander of the armies of Fawleen.

“And do you know who is commanding the escort regiment?” she wondered, but before the priest could answer, a burly man thrust himself between Father Ian and Alyssa. He reeked of alcohol and musty dirt as if he had forgotten to bathe for weeks. His unkempt appearance and ill-fitting clothes showed how little he cared about his appearance. He snarled at Alyssa, curling his lip as he slurred his words.

“What are you doing here, newt? Your kind isn’t welcome among humans!” he sassed. Alyssa protected her children while Father Ian pushed the unruly man away.

“That is not for you to say, Thomas Bluefield. All are welcome in the house of God, including Alyssa Seger and her children. How dare you—”

“Me? How dare you, Father, side with this Dragonkin and her half-breeds over regular humans. We lost our lord marshal because of the likes of them. It was Dragonkin rebels that killed Sir Aleister. That’s what I heard. We don’t need them stinking up our home or our church.”

“The only thing that smells in here is you, Mr. Bluefield. I suggest you find the godliness between soap and water to alleviate our senses of your foul odor.” Alyssa’s quick wit drew a few chuckles from the parishioners and the ire of Thomas Bluefield, especially when little Henry stuck out his forked tongue for his rude behavior.

The drunkard fumed in an alcohol-fueled rage when he suddenly grabbed the little boy by the arm, yanking him out of his mother’s grasp. “I’ll teach you some manners, you little freak!” Alyssa could do nothing to stop him with her baby girl swaddled in her arms. Father Ian grabbed his arm when he reared back to smack Henry, but Thomas overpowered him and flung him aside with a shove.

“Let go of him!” Alyssa screamed, trying desperately to get between them, only to be shoved next to the priest on the floor. Serene cried at the commotion bustling around her. Thomas reached back again, ready to strike out at Henry, when a powerful hand grabbed his forearm, stopping him abruptly. Thomas spun around and was about to strike back but became immobile as fear swept over his face. He found himself overpowered, staring into the eyes of Malcolm Seger.

“Get your filthy hands off my son!” Malcolm shouted through gritted teeth. His grip on Thomas’ arm caused the drunkard immense pain as he finally released little Henry. The boy quickly ran behind his father for protection, peeking from around his legs. He stuck his tongue out again, but not before his father swatted him lightly for his rude behavior as he tried to quell the situation.

The deputy marshal was covered in thick furs dripping with melting snow. His long hair and beard were equally matted with ice as his goggles pushed them back off his face. His eyes bulged in fury at the sight of this drunk assaulting his wife and children.

“If you touch my wife or children again, Thomas Bluefield, I will gladly take off this badge while you and I step outside to settle things, man to man.” He pushed him aside and stormed past the drunkard as Father Ian helped Alyssa to her feet. She jumped into her husband’s arms, ignoring the wet and cold ice falling off his body. “Are you all right?” he asked, checking over Alyssa and his baby girl.

“Yes, we are, now that you’re home.” Malcolm kissed his wife lovingly before kissing his daughter on the forehead. Henry insisted that his father pick him up, jumping up and down incessantly with his arms raised. Finally, Malcolm picked him up and kissed him on his cheek, but not before the little boy wiped away the melting ice from his father’s beard.

Thomas’ fear turned to rage at the sight of the happy family reunion. When someone tried to help him, he shoved their hands away and pulled himself up by the pew railing. “You get off, Malcolm Seger!” he shouted. “Who do you think you are? You’re not the law here, not anymore!”

“Until a new Lord Marshal is appointed, I am still the deputy marshal of Fairhaven, like it or not!” Malcolm’s fury pushed Thomas back, but only momentarily.

“I’ll be damned if you’re still allowed to be deputy over us,” Thomas argued. “You have no say in that, Seger, no say at all.”

“But I do!” Lady General LaPorta walked down the aisle, her voice ringing throughout the cathedral. A magnificent cloak of white fur flowed around her armor—a combination of chain and plate mail—adorned with her coat of arms. Her beauty was unmatched by her fierce countenance as a warrior and a leader. Her raven black hair contrasted against her gold and silver colored armor braided in a traditional war bonnet with a tiara adorning her head.

Thomas cowered in fear at the sight of the supreme commander. She casually approached him, pulling back her hood without shaking off the snow and ice. “Show me your arms,” she demanded of Thomas. “Your forearms, bare them, now!”

Her stern voice intimidated the drunkard as he fumbled with his sleeves to roll them up and show her his arms for some strange reason. He twisted them around to show there was nothing there. Satisfied, Celeste said no more to the drunkard as she moved down the aisle, brushing her nose to fend off his foul odor.

“Father McDougal, could you please assist in bringing Sir Aleister to lay in state here in the cathedral?”

The priest bowed in reverence to the Lady General. “Yes, of course, General LaPorta. It would be my honor.” Father Ian took off toward the doorway while Celeste turned her attention to the congregants.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise as the lord marshal is brought in. Afterward, I must ask you to leave while we prepare for his funeral. The cathedral will reopen tomorrow to allow you all to pay your respects to Sir Aleister before his funeral service.”

“What about them?” Thomas said, pointing toward Alyssa and her children. “Will you allow those newts to sully the lord marshal’s funeral? After what they did to him?”

Malcolm lunged toward Thomas for using that racial slur on his family, but the calm hand of the lady general stopped him in his tracks. Her face remained stern yet fierce. She slowly stepped toward him, causing goosebumps in everyone around her, especially Thomas.

“And where did you hear that? In some tavern gossip?” she inquired. Thomas rapidly nodded, too scared to answer her directly. “Let me tell you something about the Segers. They served with distinction during the endless war and continue to do so in this community today. Secondly, I assure you that Dragonkin did not kill the lord marshal; it was no accident. He was murdered by human brigands who placed a well-laid trap for him. I solemnly vow to all of you that we will find these murderers and bring them to justice.”

Thomas hung his head in shame for his reckless behavior. Celeste said nothing more as the lady general returned to the altar as the procession began. Knights of the King’s Cavaliers carried the coffin of the Lord Marshal of Fairhaven, draped in the flag of Fawleen. His sword lay across the casket as they slowly marched down the aisle. Father Ian led the way, praying while swinging incense from a censer.

The bearers laid the coffin upon the altar, straightening out the flag and the sword before taking positions of vigilance to honor the fallen knight. They stood at the four corners, backs to the coffin, heads bowed. Here, the members of the King’s Cavaliers would stand and watch over him with respect to Sir Aleister Cornwall, Lord Marshal of Fairhaven. 

Alyssa had fought with Malcolm for years about his friendship with Sir Aleister. She wanted to forgive him for his atrocities as part of the Bloodfist Brigade but never did. Now, she would never have the chance.

She remembered a poem of forgiveness she wrote during the war. It was how Alyssa forgave those who died in battle, both humans and Dragonkin, living a life of hate instead of seeking redemption for what was in their hearts. She thought it was the only way to properly say goodbye to a man who sought forgiveness, especially from her.

She walked over to the casket, swaddling her baby in her arms. The knights tried to stop her, but General LaPorta waved them off. Alyssa laid one hand on the casket and recited the poem like a prayer for the lord marshal.

Stones we throw,

shatter our own windows.

Glass littering the floor,

like sweat sticking to skin

during those August heat waves—

unannounced and unbearable.

Trap ourselves in nets

set for the enemy.

Watch worlds burn to ash

at our feet just to prove a point.

The weather is changing.

She is revolting against our sins.

Hearts were not molded to break.

Blood rushes to our center,

pushes us to love thy neighbor,

urges us to forgive, if not forget.

As the congregation exited the cathedral, Celeste turned her attention from the rumors toward her friends. She reached out to Alyssa, taking her by her free hand. “Alyssa, it’s wonderful to see you again and your darling family,” she said, adorning the children with love, pinching their cheeks, and stroking their heads. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“As do I, Lady General, but I am grateful for your intervention with Thomas Bluefield. He is one of the few residents of Fairhaven who see me and my children as a threat.”

“Thomas and I will have a few words, or maybe not so many, once he sobers up,” Malcolm added.

“Now, Mal, he’s never been violent toward us before. I’m sure it’s just a combination of grief with drunken stupor.”

“Still, I would watch him closely, Deputy Marshal Seger. They might try to recruit him to their cause.” The Lady General’s comments confused Alyssa.

“They? Who are they, my lady?” Celeste considered telling her the details but decided this was not the right time or place.

“Alyssa, I have some things I need to tend to right now, but might I call upon you and Malcolm in your home this evening? There are a few things we need to discuss.”

Alyssa was never one to argue with her superior officer, so she nodded politely as Celeste went about her business. Malcolm took hold of his family as they headed out of the cathedral and home, but it still bothered Alyssa.

“Who’s THEY, Mal?” she asked again, but her husband would not answer.

“Not here, Lyssa. There are too many ears listening. We’ll talk about this later with General LaPorta. Right now, let’s get home.”

* * *

The Seger homestead on the outskirts of Fairhaven grew significantly from a dilapidated farmhouse to a working family farm. Malcolm spared no expense in building a proper home for his ever-expanding family and Alyssa’s expanding business. He built her a large barn, expanded her garden, and even added a greenhouse so she could keep working on growing her medicinal herbs during the long winter months.

Their home expanded to two floors, with bedrooms for the children and a workspace for Alyssa. Malcolm claimed the old barn as a garage for his Etherzine Land Cycle, with everything a tool or mechanical part needed to keep the engine running. Alyssa once heard him call it a “man cave,” but to her, it was nothing more than a dirty grease pit to make her husband happy. 

Scattered about the house were pictures and mementos from their time together in the war and building a new family. Celeste admired the images scattered around the fireplace mantle and the living room. Looking at the memories of war-torn friendships mixed in with family beginnings, she envied Malcolm and Alyssa. They found peace and happiness after the endless war while Celeste continued to fight on multiple fronts.

Alyssa carried a tea tray with cake and biscuits as Malcolm followed close behind with a book in hand. “Sorry, General LaPorta, but Henry always tries for ‘please Daddy, one more story’ at bedtime,” he explained, putting the book away. Alyssa carefully set out the tea service on the table and began pouring out the tea.

“No need to explain, Malcolm, and please call me Celeste. We are not in the field or around subordinates. When you’re amongst friends, titles are unnecessary.”

“Aleister was the same way,” Malcolm said. “We were always official with each other in public, but he was very informal and friendly in private. I see you’re both cut from the same cloth.”

“The lord marshal and I came up through the ranks together,” Celeste stated as she accepted Alyssa’s tea before sitting in a plush chair while Malcolm and Alyssa sat together on the sofa. “We disagreed on many issues, including bringing the Oracles of Delphis Kai into our ranks, but we remained good friends. It wasn’t until after the incident at Sgothan Heights that he realized the error of his ways.”

Sgothan Heights was where the “Bloodfist Brigade” met its final fate, but not at the hands of Drogon but by one of their own. When they arrived at the village on the border of Drogon and Fawleen, they found a peaceful settlement of Dragonkin, not the Drogon reconnaissance scouts they were led to believe. The bridge commanders decided to take their frustration out on the Dragonkin, killing innocent villagers and raping their women. Seeing this, Aleister snapped, killing his entire brigade for their brutal and unnecessary tactics. He coordinated with the surviving Dragonkin from the village to cover up the incident, leaving their mountain home behind to begin a new life on Dawntree Island, the Dragonkin home in Fawleen.

“Your poem in the cathedral was lovely, Alyssa,” Celeste interjected. “You should look into getting published. We need good prose to help people deal with life after war, outside the usual propaganda.”

“Thank you, Gen . . . Celeste, but I’m afraid that once people discover their reading poetry written by a Dragonkin, they will ignore whatever feelings or meaning they get from it.”

“Don’t waste your time, Celeste. I’ve been after Lyssa for years to publish her poetry,” Malcolm joked. “She prefers to keep it amongst family and friends.”

A subtle kick in the shin from Alyssa told Malcolm he had gone too far with his casual prodding. She handed Malcolm tea as he sat back, keeping his mouth shut about publishing her poetry. Celeste chuckled slightly over their banter. Even with all their teasing, she knew a strong marriage when she saw it.

Alyssa sat beside her husband with her tea and finally broached the subject from earlier. “So, milady, you were going to tell me who ‘they’ are and why they killed the lord marshal.”

Celeste took another sip before setting her cup down. She needed all her wits to explain things in detail to Alyssa. “The war may be over for most of Fawleen, but there are some for whom it never ended. In their minds, the war with Drogon rages on. These are nobles, former soldiers, and even ordinary people who lost someone in the war.”

 “But I don’t understand, Celeste,” Alyssa countered. “Most of the Drogon forces were forced back beyond the forbidden veil, diminished in strength and numbers without the Oracles of Delphis Kai. We brought balance to their chaos magic. Without us, they cannot properly wield their dark power as it slowly consumes them. They are, for all intents and purposes, powerless.”

“We know that because of our involvement in government, both locally and in the capital,” Malcolm interjected. “These people either don’t believe it or choose not to.”

“Choose not to? I don’t understand.”

“These people don’t believe that the Drogon forces are as powerless as you say,” Celeste explained. “They see the Dragonkin in our cities, forming communities of their own across Fawleen, and they fear they are setting us up for another war and possibly defeat.”

“That’s ridiculous. The Dragonkin settling in Fawleen are not the warmongers from Drogon. We are all peace-loving people, wanting only to live alongside . . . or with our human friends.” Alyssa looked over at Malcolm and smiled when she said that. He took her hand and kissed it lovingly.

“Well, not everyone can be like you, Alyssa dear. It seems that rogue elements have formed an underground rebellion dedicated to returning Fawleen to a war footing through guerilla tactics, blaming Dragonkin for these assaults and murders.”

“I’m sorry, general, but what are guerilla tactics?”

“It is a phrase your husband taught me when I first spoke to him about it, and it’s an appropriate term. It means they hit their targets before slinking back into the shadows.”

“These rebels are targeting people like Sir Aleister, who supports integrating Dragonkin into society,” Malcolm interjected. “They’re not only getting rid of their opposition, but these bastards are blaming it on ‘Dragonkin spies’ to grow discontent amongst the people.”

“But who are they? Where do they come from?”

“They call themselves DDD or D3. It means ‘Death Descends on Drogon’ or something equally sinister,” Celeste explained. “They are organized into small groups, spread over the entire continent. We’ve only recently discovered their true existence because of the tattoos.”

“Tattoos?”

“Once an individual joins DDD, they are tattooed with a number three interlocking the letter D. It’s a rather obtuse and indistinguishable design. That’s why I asked Thomas Bluefield to show me his arms. I wanted to see if he was part of their organization.”

“And this D3, they murdered the lord marshal?” Alyssa asked. Celeste sighed audibly, bowing her head in despair over her failure to save her friend.

“Yes, they did, and damn me for being a blind fool. Aleister came to Aerie Croft to warn me about DDD, but I didn’t believe him. I told him I couldn’t take it to the king without proof, and that came at the cost of his life. By murdering Aleister, they exposed themselves as the degenerate traitors they truly are.”

“You couldn’t have known, Celeste. Sir Aleister kept this investigation close to his chest not to target others, especially me,” Malcolm said. “He brought you into it because he trusted you to see this through.”

“Do you suspect one of these groups in Fairhaven? Are we in danger? Are the children?” Alyssa asked, her voice quivering with concern for her children’s safety.

“No, I have found no elements of DDD in Fairhaven,” Celeste assured her. “They kept their activities away from Aleister until he started extending his investigation to the border villages. This was their opportunity to strike back and stop him from getting the crown involved. Unfortunately, they were too late . . . as was I.”

“So then, what can we do? Do you need me to continue the lord marshal’s investigation?” Malcolm wondered.

“No, Malcolm, I would not dream to ask you that. The last thing I want to do is endanger you and your family. No, I am taking the lead on this and putting the full resources of the military behind exposing these rebels for the traitors they are.”

Celeste set her teacup down as she reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a letter and a badge—the badge of the lord marshal. “However, because you served Fawleen during the war and the people of Fairhaven for the past five years, the king has seen fit to appoint you as the new Lord Marshal of Fairhaven.”

Malcolm could not shake the shocked look when he took the letter and badge from her. He broke the king’s seal and read the official appointment made by the king, declaring him as the lord marshal.

“General, I appreciate the confidence both you and the king have in me to be the lord marshal, but—” he paused, looking over at Alyssa, “I don’t know if all the people of Fairhaven will accept me in that role. Being deputy is one thing, and I know plenty of nobles who will not agree with a commoner, let alone one married to a Dragonkin, becoming a lord marshal in this province.”

“But they don’t have a royal decree signed by the king,” Celeste interrupted. “Besides, you were Aleister’s recommendation.” The Lady General stunned Malcolm into silence. He spoke with Sir Aleister privately many times, but they never talked about him as a replacement for the lord marshal. His only thought about being a deputy marshal was to protect Alyssa and his family from harm.

He looked over at Alyssa, worried about what she might be thinking, but he saw pride in her eyes instead of fear. She reached over and placed a comforting hand on his, gripping his quivering hand tightly.

“Malcolm, you don’t need to worry about me or the children. I know you will always be there to protect us,” she assured him. “Plus, you were the lord marshal’s choice. Put aside your doubts and believe in yourself as he did—as we do!”

Malcolm loved his wife. She knew exactly what to say to push him past the self-doubt he constantly placed on himself. However, there were still some questions he needed answered. “Have you spoken to Mayor Singleton about this? Do I have his support and that of the town council?” he asked Celeste.

“That’s where I’ve been for the past several hours. They were not happy at first,” General LaPorta began to explain. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. They are thrilled with the work you do as a deputy marshal. Their concern is Fairhaven losing the prestige and influence of having someone from a noble house appointed as their lord marshal.

“However, once I explained the king’s position in appointing Malcolm and read Sir Aleister’s letter of recommendation to the council, they all relented,” she concluded. “You have their full support.”

“Can we still live here in our home, or must we move to Fairhaven?” Alyssa wondered.

“No, you can remain here. Malcolm’s land cycle makes it easy for him to move between here and the city. Besides, I think the council would prefer it that way. They seemed overly anxious, agreeing to let you stay on your homestead. I recommend hiring a reliable deputy to live in the city, perhaps someone from a noble family. That might ease the tensions with the council.”

 Malcom’s mind started going through the choices for potential candidates. He knew a few young men who would make excellent deputies. These were third or fourth sons in a noble family, nowhere in line to inherit a title or land. They needed to earn their place through duty and service, making them perfect candidates. Plus, since most of them never served in the endless war, most remain unbiased against Dragonkin.

“I will accept the king’s appointment, Celeste, but under one condition. I want to help you with the investigation into DDD,” Malcolm insisted. “They killed my friend and threatened my family. I can’t sit idly by while they run rampant in the countryside around Fairhaven.”

He could see the worry flush her cheeks, but a quiet nod from Alyssa told Celeste that she was all right with those terms. “Very well, but you will not act upon any leads without my permission. Is that clear, Lord Marshal Seger?”

Malcolm agreed as he carefully folded the king’s letter before he pinned the badge to his shirt. Alyssa leaned in and kissed him, showing her approval of his decision. Celeste warmed to it with a smile as she toasted the new Lord Marshal of Fairhaven.  

* * *

  After three days of lying in state within the cathedral, the final memorial service was held for Sir Aleister David Cornwall, knight royal of the kingdom of Fawleen, Lord Marshal of Fairhaven. The service was respectful and honorable, recounting his years of tireless service to the country. Yet, throughout the entire service, all the citizens’ eyes were on someone else instead.

Malcolm and Alyssa sat with various town elders and nobles in the front pew. They squirmed in their seats, having to share a prestigious position in the chapel with a commoner and a Dragonkin, but submitted to their discomfort out of polite courtesy.

Malcolm wore his military dress uniform with all his medals and honorariums. It still smelled of mothballs, fresh from the old cedar chest at the foot of the bed. The collar strangled him, as tight as he remembered, as Malcolm tugged on it to catch his breath. One addition hung on a bright red sash draped across his jacket—the badge of the lord marshal.

Alyssa sat beside her husband, beaming with pride as she held tightly onto his arm. The fears and worries seemingly washed away as she shined as the spouse of the new lord marshal. Many in the congregation stared at them in awe, while others glared with disdain, but none would say it openly. It was known that the king and Sir Aleister chose Malcolm, and no one would broach that supreme authority.

However, two glum individuals looked down on the proceedings from the balcony, hidden within the shadows of the vestibule. Their frustration and anger boiled over, but the two men held it in so as not to cause a commotion. Watching the Segers sitting in a place of honor stirred the vitriol deep within their bowels.

“I told you we should have waited to kill the lord marshal. This has only made matters worse. Now the military is involved, and that bastard and his newt whore have been elevated by the king himself!”

“Calm yourself, Kelvin. We anticipated the military involvement in our affairs and accounted for it. I just never thought that Lady General Portia would lead the charge. This complicates things even more.”

“We have several assassins ready to go, good people capable of taking down Seger!”

“Are you mad? Do that, and this entire area will be under a military jurisdiction with a brigade or more scouring every village for DDD members.”

“Then what do we do, Lord Geoffrey?” Kelvin asked. Lord Geoffrey Canterwahl drummed his fingers repeatedly, carefully gauging the situation.

“For now, nothing. Have our new recruits in Fairhaven watch Malcolm Seger like a hawk. He’ll slip up sooner or later, and when he does, I’ll be there to step in and take over as the new lord marshal. That will bring us one step closer to wiping out the Dragonkin from existence. We will cleanse our world of their filth, leaving only humans as the dominant species.”

THE END