Lord Regor stood on the rim of the valley, head up, broad shoulders back and feet firmly planted. Everything must go smoothly, he thought, so that he could avenge Kiril. As he watched the workers setting up the campsite, he rubbed his cheek. Though a year had passed, the scar caused by a dragon’s claw still itched. 

      A young lady visiting at Fallgard Castle had told him that the scar made him look distinguished. Inwardly, he was surprised and pleased.

      He had always considered himself rather plain. At fifty-five, he still retained all his hair, but it was now darkened to a light ash-brown. Below his hair, ordinary features gathered together, forming an unremarkable face. 
 Even after all this time, the high-pitched voices of his childhood tormenters rang in his mind. “Puke face. Moon eyes. Commoner. Commoner. You’ll never be anything else.”

       Well, he had shown them. He had become a duke.

       Of all the noble-born boys who had picked on him, only Yaley had succeeded to a title yet. He was just a baron, and his holding was a small island.

       Now Lord Regor could leer at all of them, if he wished. But they weren’t worth the effort. 

       He watched workers pounding in tall poles at the edge of the camp and heard the thuds of their stone sledgehammers. The sounds brought back memories of happier times.

       Kiril had always accompanied him as he inspected construction sites for new camps. Lord Regor remembered the sound of his son’s laughter and the ready smile that lit up his face. Kiril’s ash-blonde hair always rippled in the wind while they walked together around the new walls and buildings.

       An image of Kiril’s laser rifle sputtering as it lost power intruded. Before he could dodge, the dragon pounced, its razor teeth cutting through his arm as if it was tissue paper. When the beast had released its grip, Kiril’s blood had sprayed like a fountain. 

       Shaking his head, Lord Regor gritted his teeth. He could not let his emotions take over, not when he had so much to do.

       A warm wind ruffled his clothes and brought the scent of roasting meat. The whole camp bustled with activity and noise. The workers at the edge of the camp finished. They gathered the remaining stakes, and trudged up the steep slope towards Lord Regor. 

       He scanned the area. This was a good site. The valley bottom would provide cover once the camouflage nets were up. It would also provide protection from the wind. A dry wash snaked through the valley and ended at one large pool of water.

       “Do you really think your plan will work, Bay,” asked Will.

       Lord Regor looked up at his wife’s brother. The Duke of Cambridge stood beside him, lean and poised on the balls of his feet, a falcon ready to strike at a moment’s notice. He was a pale falcon, with light-blonde hair and eyes like the bottom of a fair-weather cloud. 

       “Of course it’ll work, Will. Somehow, the dragons now know when we’re inbound. We need a new tactic.”

       “But trucks?” Will’s forehead furrowed.

       Lord Regor thought about the return of the last hunting party. After the Lord Benefactor had finished yelling at the hunters, he took several deep breaths until his face regained its normal color.

       He turned. “Duke Regor, you will lead the next hunt.”

       “But...”

       “No buts. I want a list of the materials you will need on my desk by the end of the week.”

       “Yes, Excellency.”

       The Planetary Director had shipped the trucks and other supplies without complaining about the cost. 

       Now Lord Regor looked at Will. “The plains are dry, so the trucks won’t get stuck. They’ll carry the air ships close enough that the dragons can’t get away.” 

       “What makes you think this flock won’t hear the trucks and leave?”

       “This flock hasn’t been hunted before. And they’re totally oblivious.”

       “Oh?”

       “They don’t even put out sentries.”

       Lord Regor turned towards the warm breeze. The delayed hot season was finally taking hold, and temperatures were rising. He also felt the slight tingle in the air that signaled the awakening of the unknown energy sources located far underground, beyond the reach of the deepest drilling equipment. This was much too soon. The mysterious generators were bad enough during their normal season. What had made them turn on so early? 

       When the work teams reached the rim, the squad leader bowed to Lord Regor and Lord Rockingham.

       “Carry on,” said Lord Regor.

       “Yes, Your Grace.” The squad leader turned and yelled at the workers. “Move it.” 

       “What’s the hurry,” asked Will. “Why can’t the camouflage nets be put up after the camp is finished?”

       “The dragons will soon be sending scouts looking for the herds. If a scout sees us, they’ll flee.”
 

© 2004 Cathy Brunson. All Rights Reserved.
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