Kingdom of Ash

of the journey as a swift, red-tailed hawk, he’d
shifted this morning into an ordinary crow.
Flocks of them circled Morath, their caws
as plentiful as the ringing of hammers on
anvils throughout the valley. Even with hell
unleashed in the north, there was still more
camped down here. More troops, more
witches.
Dorian followed the example of the other
crows and gave the wyverns a wide berth,
flying low as coven after coven went about
their scouting or reporting or training. So
many Ironteeth. All waiting.
He circled Morath’s uppermost towers,
scanning the keep, the army in the valley, the
wyverns in their lofty aeries. With each flap
of his wings, the weight of what he’d hidden
in a rocky outcropping ten miles north grew
heavier.
It would have been madness to bring the