Chapter 133: TOO LATE

RAIGORO’S POV

At eighteen, Raigoro won the northern battle.

People remembered that part incorrectly.

They spoke of the victory as though winning had been enough.

The Ashen force struck three settlements before dawn with corrupted hounds, stonebacks, and carrion drakes. By midday, the pressure against the outer relay ward had forced engineers to begin shedding nonessential load.

The attack was real. People would have died if Raigoro had ignored it.

Years later, he refused to turn the northern battle into a mistake simply because of what happened somewhere else.

Toren commanded the ground line while Raigoro and Vharos moved between breaks.

Vharos burned the largest concentrations where dragon fire could actually change the fight. Raigoro did not chase scattered targets.

Toren had cured him of that.

Infantry rotated. Engineers held the relay. Civilians moved south along the protected road.

At midday, a stoneback reached the outer support wall and opened a breach wide enough for ash hounds to pour toward the engineer line.

Raigoro did not send Vharos straight into the opening. Too many Blackharrow soldiers were already there.

He ordered the infantry to split the pressure and waited until the hounds followed the moving shields away from the engineers.

Then Vharos came across the exposed ground.

Dragonfire crossed empty stone instead of Blackharrow backs.

The hounds caught inside it went down.

The stoneback survived the edge of the first pass, but Vharos turned and struck again. Corrupted plates cracked along its shoulder, giving Toren’s spear line the opening it needed.

The relay held.

By afternoon, the last civilian wagon was moving south along the evacuation road. A runner reported all three threatened settlements clear of nonessential households.

People were alive because Blackharrow had defended the north.

Raigoro remembered that whenever grief tried to convince him he should never have gone.

Near sunset, the northern pressure finally broke.

The retreat signal sounded from the enemy side, and Blackharrow’s soldiers answered with a victory horn.

People cheered.

Raigoro turned toward the southern horizon.

Vharos did too.

Something had changed through the bond.

Restlessness.

Raigoro turned to the command runner.

"Citadel report?"

The boy looked confused. "None since midday."

"Why?"

"Relay delay, my lord."

"Weather?"

"No."

Toren heard and came closer.

"Last confirmed message?"

The runner checked. "Outer roads clear. Citadel normal."

Hours ago.

Raigoro looked south again.

A beacon flashed on the far ridge.

One.

Pause.

Three.

Citadel distress.

Internal defensive breach.

Raigoro was already moving.

"Citadel."

Toren moved with him. "Your reserve."

Raigoro stopped.

He was taking Vharos with him. The northern line had held, but the Ashen force had only just broken, and the Dragon Host element under Raigoro could not simply lose its commander and strongest dragon without warning.

He named the officer who would take his place.

Toren nodded once. "Give him what he needs."

Raigoro did.

Current reserve positions. Engineer condition. Wounded-company strength. Evacuation progress. Which Dragon Host pairs remained combat-capable and which routes had to stay protected if the Ashen force turned back.

Nothing more than necessary.

Every word cost him another moment.

When the officer repeated the handoff back correctly, Raigoro turned toward Vharos.

Then Raigoro mounted.

Vharos launched before the ground crew had completely cleared.

They flew south fast enough for the cold to cut through every layer of Raigoro’s clothing.

The next beacon showed the same pattern.

Citadel breach.

After that, no beacon appeared.

Raigoro leaned lower against Vharos.

"Faster."

Vharos was already giving him everything.

Raigoro knew.

He hated himself for asking anyway.

Mountains, roads, forests, and relay towers passed beneath them.

Every mile kept Blackharrow out of reach.

When the Citadel finally appeared, smoke covered the western wall.

The northern attack had been real.

Someone had also benefited from having Vharos, Toren, and Blackharrow’s strongest field force far from the Citadel.

The Citadel had not been undefended.

Vaerigo commanded the inner garrison under Laurent. Senior officers remained. Guards remained. The wards remained.

Someone had known where the defenses left behind were weakest.

Vharos descended into smoke.

The outer court was full of wounded. Part of the western gatehouse had collapsed inward, and bodies lay beneath blankets near the wall.

Raigoro dismounted before anyone reached him.

"Father?"

The first officer looked away.

Raigoro grabbed his shoulder.

"Where?"

"Inner command hall."

"Vaerigo?"

The officer said nothing.

Raigoro ran.

He found Vaerigo before he found Laurent.

His brother lay near the inner stair where the second defensive line had formed after the western gate failed.

Someone had covered his body.

One hand remained visible.

The same hand had fastened the twisted clasp on Raigoro’s field coat that morning.

Raigoro could not make the shape beneath the covering belong to his brother.

A healer crossed between them.

"Your Highness."

Raigoro looked at her.

"Father?"

"Alive."

Raigoro moved.

The inner command hall had become a treatment station.

Laurent lay on a field cot beneath Blackharrow’s own battle maps, blood covering one side of his clothing.

Raigoro reached him.

"Father."

Laurent opened his eyes.

Recognition came slowly, then settled.

His gaze moved over Raigoro’s armor.

"North?"

Raigoro’s throat closed.

"Held."

Laurent closed his eyes briefly.

"Good."

Raigoro took his hand.

"Vaerigo is dead."

Laurent already knew.

His fingers tightened weakly around Raigoro’s.

"He held the inner stair."

Raigoro looked toward the door.

He had returned too late for his brother.

"Who attacked?"

Laurent’s breathing changed.

"Later."

"Father."

"Later."

Command priority.

Even now.

Laurent found his eyes.

"Do not empty the house."

Raigoro listened.

The words barely carried.

"Whatever calls you out."

His father drew a painful breath.

"Leave someone who can hold it."

Raigoro understood.

The northern attack had demanded strength. The Citadel attack had depended on that strength being somewhere else.

Laurent’s grip weakened.

Raigoro leaned closer.

"Father."

No answer came.

The healer moved in, checked him, and waited before lowering her hand.

Raigoro remained beside the cot.

He had been home less than ten minutes.

Vaerigo was dead.

Now his father was too.

Someone spoke behind him.

"Your Grace."

Raigoro did not move.

"Your Grace."

The title belonged to him now.

The ducal title passed by blood. His father’s Warden authority did not.

A runner stood at the entrance with blood on one sleeve.

"Your Grace. Western lower ward is failing. Three hundred civilians are still inside the inner shelter line."

Laurent had been dead perhaps one minute.

Blackharrow already needed an answer.

Raigoro stood.

His knees nearly failed him.

"Engineer status?"

"Two teams available."

"Reserve?"

"One company."

"Civilian route?"

"South track."

"Capacity?"

"Half the main road."

Raigoro turned to the map.

"Wounded first. Families with children next. Supply carts after the shelters clear."

The runner wrote.

"One company holds the south track."

"And the western ward?"

Raigoro checked the engineer marks.

"Abandon the outer section if it cannot be repaired without losing the team."

The runner nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace."

He left.

Another officer entered before Raigoro had time to think about the title.

Then another.

Blackharrow kept moving.

Raigoro answered because people would die if he stopped.

Near dawn, he finally found Vharos in the damaged upper court.

The black dragon lowered his head.

Raigoro put one hand against the familiar scales.

He had won the north.

He had done what Blackharrow needed him to do there.

His brother and father were still dead.

No correct decision could shorten the flight he had already made. Victory could not return the hours between the first distress beacon and his arrival.

Years later, Raigoro would leave Daric behind when he rode to war. He would insist on reserve command and refuse to strip the Citadel merely because another battlefield demanded everything Blackharrow could send.

People would call it caution.

Some would call it distrust.

Raigoro remembered Laurent struggling for breath beneath the battle maps.

Do not empty the house.

He remembered Vaerigo’s uncovered hand beside the inner stair.

Raigoro had believed there would be time to reach the people he loved.

There had not been.