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in death.
    Just as Ayron was about to call a halt so that he and his men could partake in a small midday meal, Keroc flew excitedly at him, flapping his wings and screeching loudly. Ayron waited patiently until the little drakenhawk calmed down a bit. When Keroc seemed settled, Ayron asked him what he had seen. Almost instantly, the image of a black dragon filled his mind’s eye. Remembering that King Stefan’s cote-of-arms included a black dragon exhaling great crimson flames, he quickly called his men to attention and shared the news with them. He felt an urgent need to discover why Stefan’s men were on Silvendil land and to get them back across the border into Avrelan before the situation escalated. Silvendil and Avrelan had maintained an uneasy peace since Stefan’s rise to power. If his men were on Silvendil land, it was a violation of the treaty between them which could result in war. Ayron and his men rode through the thick forest as quickly as was safe for their mounts. He firmly hoped that Stefan’s men had been on patrol and accidently strayed onto their land. Everin was a very dense forest and it was sometimes difficult for even experienced soldiers to get their bearings.
    They hadn’t ridden very far, when they came upon a strange sight. Ayron was seldom struck dumb, but the sight of about twenty men in various stages of undress in the middle of Everin Forest on the Silvendil side of the border was the last thing he expected to see. Seeing Ayron and his warriors in full battle armor riding up caused the group to nervously freeze in place and raise their hands. There were no uniforms in sight, but Ayron knew better than to dismiss what Keroc saw. A tall gangly fellow with a swarthy complexion and unkempt hair approached him.
    “Hi, ma names Crawley: who are ya?”
    “We are soldiers from Silvendil on border patrol. Why are you here?”
    “We’re farmers n traders from the village ah Devonspyre. We’re on the way ta Tarlon. There’s a festival there ta’day and we thought we’d join em festivities and maybe drum up sum trade.”
    “Isn’t Tarlon on the coast of Unity?”
    “Yup tis. Why ya wanna know?”
    “Because right now, my friend, you are trespassing on Silvendil land. Tarlon is about two hours southwest of here.”
    “So sorry mista, we musta got turned round. Soon’s we finish changin inta clean clothes, we’ll be movin on. I’d preciate it if ya could point us in the right d’rection.”
    “By the way, why are you all here changing in the middle of the forest? I’m surprised you didn’t change at home before you left this morning.”
    “Ah, um we hadda work sum first, and wed not look verra good showin up for the pardy in dirty duds.”
    Ayron didn’t buy Crawley’s story for even a moment. There was no ring of truth in his words, and something about the group of men was making several of their mounts and the two drakenhawks that accompanied them very nervous. He’d learned a long time ago that, often the key to survival was a person’s willingness to trust in his or her own instincts as well as in the instincts of their companions. He had absolutely no idea what these men were up to, but it was obvious to him that this was not a casual band of villagers out for a day of frivolity. Having nothing better to do, he decided to play along with their story. He informed Crawley that he and his soldiers needed a rest from the rigors of a lengthy patrol and would be riding along with them, so they could enjoy the festivities as well.
    Ayron chuckled to himself as he watched Crawley squirm, trying to think of a way to get rid of him and his soldiers. Crawley attempted several different times to downplay the festival in Tarlon while his men finished dressing,.
    “Ya know, Tarlon’s a verra small village. Thar ain’t much there fer fine men, like yerselves, ta do.”
    “Oh that’s ok Crawley. My soldiers will enjoy the sea air and the fresh foods they can buy at the