Hafiz looked at the gray pile of dust, then back at the beautiful, terrifying woman standing over him. "And if I can't?"Velina smiled, but there was no warmth in it. It was the smile of a winter storm."Then I suppose I'll have to eat you," she said casually. "At least that way, a little bit of the sun stays within the palace. Now, get to work.""Right. Great. No pressure," Hafiz muttered, his heart doing a frantic tap-dance against his ribs. He looked down at the pile of ash. "Wait, you want me to do it here? On the floor? In a drafty throne room?""Is there a problem with the location?" Velina asked, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow."It’s a palace, not a greenhouse! If you want things to grow, I need to see where you’ve actually tried to plant stuff. Show me your garden."Velina glanced at Kael. The General gave a stiff nod and gestured for the soldiers to haul Hafiz up."Take him to the Royal Grounds," Velina commanded, turning back toward her throne. "And Kael? If he tries to

"He said," Velina interrupted, her voice dropping to a temperature that could freeze a soul in mid-beat, "that you are trespassing in my garden. And unlike the farmer, Malphas... I have no interest in keeping you alive."Malphas Varkas let out a jagged, barking laugh, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword that looked like it had been forged from a dragon’s ribcage. "Your garden? Velina, look at this place. It’s a pit of dung and dust. You’ve brought a human here to play with dirt while the Southern Crags are feasting on the last of the marrow. You’re desperate. It’s pathetic.""Desperate?" Hafiz interjected, wiping a streak of black grime across his forehead. "I’m the only guy here who knows how to make something that isn’t gray and depressing. You want to call it pathetic? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’re starving and all you’ve got to eat is your own ego."Malphas’s eyes flared with a sickly orange light. "You have a loud mouth for a creature I could crush with a th

Hafiz didn’t wait for a response. He was already halfway down the spiraling stone stairs, his boots thumping rhythmically against the obsidian. His mind was racing faster than the "cat" lizard Barnaby on a sugar rush."Kael! Don't just stand there looking like a gargoyle! Move!" Hafiz shouted over his shoulder.Kael caught up in three massive strides, his cape fluttering. "Hafiz, wait. A Holy War is not a 'pest problem.' You cannot simply throw limestone at ten thousand paladins.""Watch me," Hafiz snapped, reaching the bottom of the stairs and swinging the heavy iron doors open to the main courtyard. "Actually, don’t watch me. Help me. We’ve got, what, a week before they hit the border? Maybe two?""Ten days, if they march through the Shattered Pass," Kael estimated, his brow furrowed. "But why the urgency for the garden? We should be sharpening spears, not tilling soil.""Because, General, a hungry army is a cranky army, but a hungry kingdom is a dead one," Hafiz said, pointing towa

"Hold your positions!" Sir Raymond bellowed, his voice cracking with sudden, helpless panic as his magnificent destrier sank hoof-deep into a foul-smelling, bubbling slurry of black silt and fermented compost.Around him, ten thousand of the realm's finest holy warriors floundered like massive, iron-plated beetles dropped into a vat of porridge. The chemically enriched mud, a rich, nitrogen-heavy blend Hafiz had spent three weeks concocting, sucked at greaves and breastplates with vindictive suction. Fire-mages desperately tried to ignite their spells, only to find their tinder soaked through with nutrient-dense irrigation runoff that sputtered and died in clouds of sulfurous steam.High on the trench ridge, Hafiz wiped a smudge of dirt off his nose and hoisted a flour sack tied to a long oak rake over his shoulder."Don't shoot!" Hafiz shouted, casually strolling right down the embankment into the swampy mire, his leather boots squelching musically. "Or do, but honestly, your crossbo

Sir Raymond dragged the defiant farmer upward by his linen tunic, his heavy iron gauntlet digging into Hafiz’s shoulder with enough force to bruise. "Speak quickly, peasant. Why shouldn't I cut your throat right here in the muck and let your demon masters watch?""Because if you do, Commander, you'll never know what real butter tastes like again," Hafiz wheezed, not looking the least bit terrified as he dangled by his collar. He jerked his chin toward the canvas knapsack resting heavily against his ribs. "Go ahead. Check the bag. If you find a single cursed trinket or venomous blade, I'll carve it out with my own pocket knife."Raymond narrowed his eyes beneath the shadowed brim of his battered helm. "A trick.""Only one way to find out, big guy," Hafiz countered, his voice dripping with casual bravado. "Unless you'd rather go back to gnawing on your salted leather straps while your toes freeze off inside those shiny metal boots."The Knight Commander gritted his teeth, his grip tight