Page 2 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

“War that conquers, thunder that roars,

The final strike when kingdoms fall.

By debt unbroken, by promise bound,

Hear my voice and heed my call.

I summon thee to me… Queen Eudora of Morra Mist.

The light in her palms exploded.

Eudora squeezed her eyes shut as a fierce wind tore through the forest, whipping the cloak from her shoulders and sending it tumbling across the snow. Branches cracked. The earth beneath her feet trembled.

Then everything stopped and silence descended over the forest.

Eudora glanced around as though expecting three men to suddenly step from between the trees.

She shook her head.

Her grandmother had warned her it would take time. A few days, perhaps as long as a week, before the three arrived in Morra Mist. Time Eudora would need to prepare herself to deal with three men born like no others.

She walked to where her cloak had fallen, gathered it from the snow, and draped it once again around her shoulders. Then she turned toward the castle, rising in the near distance.

“I will not lose the crown our family has held for generations, Grandmother,” she said. “And I will see our lineage continue stronger than ever.”

Her chin lifted, her violet eyes fixed on the castle.

“For I, Queen Eudora of Morra Mist, bow to no man or myth.”

Chapter Two

Legion

“You are too late!”

The desperate cry barely carried above the clash of steel and the screams of dying men.

A rider urged his lathered horse toward the lone warrior who had just reached the crest of the hill overlooking the battlefield.

He reined in so abruptly that his horse danced sideways, nostrils flaring.

“You are too late,” the commander repeated, grief and frustration sharpening his voice. He swept an arm toward the valley below. “Look at them.”

The battle raged beneath them.

Steel crashed against steel. Horses screamed as they fell. Men shouted orders that vanished beneath the roar of combat. Smoke drifted across the blood-soaked ground, stinging eyes already blurred by sweat and exhaustion.

“Our eastern flank has fallen,” the commander said. “The west cannot hold much longer. We are outnumbered nearly two to one.”

The warrior remained silent.

He sat astride his powerful black stallion as though the battle below was no more than a passing storm. Tall and broad shouldered, he possessed the easy strength of a man who had spent a lifetime carrying sword and shield. Thick dark brown hair brushed his shoulders, stirred by the cold breeze. A face women found difficult to forget bore a strong jaw, straight nose, and a firm mouth that rarely smiled. His vivid green eyes studied the battlefield with quiet purpose and not an ounce of fear.

The commander searched those eyes, hoping to find reassurance. Instead, he found certainty.

The warrior continued to study the battle unfolding below. He saw what the commander could not. The enemy's center pressed hard, believing victory already theirs. Their left flank had advanced too far, leaving a weakness no ordinary commander would notice.

A weakness he intended to exploit.