Page 37 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
The casual way he said it, the matter-of-fact acceptance, made something twist in my gut. How many families had been destroyed by war? How many more would be before this was over?
"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.
He shrugged, but I saw the flicker of old pain in his eyes. "It's the way of things. Soldiers die. Their families adapt or they don't."
Marcus finished securing my pack and straightened. "We should get to the main courtyard. They'll be calling formations soon, and you’ll need to prepare Sirrax."
As we made our way through the Academy, I was struck by how different everything felt. These halls that had been my home for months, the training grounds where I'd learned to fight, the dining hall where I'd shared meals and stories with my fellow recruits—all of it seemed smaller now, less significant. Like a childhood toy put away forever.
I'd barely seen Jalend these past few days. Our paths had crossed briefly in corridors or during formation drills, but he'd seemed distant, distracted. The few times we'd spoken, he'd looked tired, haunted even, with dark circles under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that spoke of sleepless nights. I'd wanted to ask what was troubling him, but something in his manner warned me off. He was bottling something up, something that was eating at him from the inside. I told myself it was just nerves about the coming campaign, but the hollow look in his eyes suggested something deeper, something more troubling.
The main courtyard was a sight to behold. Hundreds of recruits stood in perfect formation, their armour gleaming in the morning sun. Beyond them, I could see the veteran legions—row upon row of hardened soldiers who moved with the fluid precision of long experience. Dragon riders sat mounted on their magnificent beasts, the creatures' scales catching the light like jewels.
It was beautiful and terrible at once. The sheer scale of it, the organized power—this was the might of the Empire made manifest. No wonder we'd conquered half the known world.
I headed straight for the stable, not wanting anyone to harness Sirrax but myself. Any sharp eyed stable hand might spot theiron collar was wired open instead of locked, and I couldn’t take the risk they might order a new collar before we left.
Sirrax was waiting for me, his golden eyes bright and fierce.
We go to war, Little Warrior?
I sighed, checking his collar and strapping on the leather saddle.
“We do. Gods help us, Sirrax, I don’t know what to do. How do I fight for a cause I know is wrong, is evil?”
Do not.
I frowned. “But how can I-”
"Recruits, form ranks!" Legate Cassius's voice boomed across the courtyard. Out of time, I led Sirrax from the stable, a model tamed dragon, obedient and submissive, and we hurried to take our positions. I found myself in the second row, behind Valeria. Marcus and Antonius would be somewhere behind me with the other attendants. My heart hammered as I stood at attention, waiting.
Other instructors took their places on the raised platform at the front of the formation. I recognized most of them—grizzled veterans who'd spent the last months teaching us everything from sword work to field medicine. Today, their faces were harder than usual, their expressions grim with purpose.
Legate Cassius stepped forward, his scarred face set in harsh lines. When he spoke, his voice carried clearly across the assembled ranks.
"Today, you cease to be students and become soldiers of the Empire," he began. "Today, you take your place in a glorious campaign that will secure our borders and our future for generations to come."
A cheer went up from some of the recruits, but I found I couldn't join in. Something cold was settling in my stomach.
"For too long," Cassius continued, "we have tolerated a cancer on our northern borders. A pestilence that raids our settlements,steals our children, murders our citizens in the dark of night. The Talfen have shown their true nature time and again, but never more clearly than in the recent attack on our own capital."
The festival. He was talking about the festival attack, painting it as unprovoked Talfen aggression.
My blood ran cold. He was feeding them the Emperor’s lies, turning the tragedy my friends had barely survived into a rallying cry for genocide. I wanted to scream, to shout the truth for everyone to hear, but my tongue felt welded to the roof of my mouth. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and for a second, the world swam.
"These creatures"—his voice dripped with disgust—"masquerade as people, but make no mistake. They are animals. Worse than animals—demons wearing human faces, driven by an insatiable hunger for violence and destruction."
I thought of the Talfen refugees I'd seen in the city, the hollow-eyed families fleeing south with everything they owned loaded onto carts. They hadn't looked like demons. They'd looked like people who'd lost everything.
Another legate took the stage, one I didn’t recognise. “I’ve fought these monsters on the frontier for fifteen years," he declared. "I've seen what they do to captured soldiers, to innocent civilians. They are a blight upon the world, a disease that must be cut out before it spreads further."
More cheers from the recruits, louder now. I could see the effect the words were having—young faces hardening with righteous anger, hands tightening on weapon hilts. They were being transformed from uncertain students into instruments of war, and it was happening right before my eyes.
"They steal our children in the night," the legate continued, his voice building to a crescendo. "They corrupt them, turn them into more monsters to send against us. Every Talfen left alive is a threat to every Imperial citizen, every Imperial child. There canbe no mercy, no hesitation. This is a war for the very survival of civilization itself."
The words washed over me like poison.
I stood rigid, my knuckles white where I gripped Sirrax’s reins, the leather creaking under the pressure. The lies were so potent, so perfectly crafted to prey on fear and ignorance. Beside me, Valeria was practically vibrating with patriotic fervour, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. All around me, recruits were nodding, their jaws tight with grim determination. They believed it. They were swallowing the poison and calling it medicine.
