“Your majesty!”

Azazel started as the dark figure appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, on his right side. “Koshek!” he scolded. “Don’t do that!”

The dreila hung his head. “I apologize. I thought you knew I was there.”

Beyond the eastern mountain ridges, the blue sky of a new day just started to chase away the night’s darkness. Azazel stood uphill of his army, a massive force spread out behind him, some on foot and others on horseback. On his left side stood a large, iron-plated carriage with spider-like, automaton legs. Through the barred window, Azazel saw Lady Calimei gazing back at him, clad in her armored dress.

Azazel turned back to Koshek. “Is everything in place?”

Koshek bowed. “Indeed, sire. The barrels are well-hidden, and the scouts have taken positions where they should have a good shot at them when the time comes.”

“Good,” said Azazel, forcing a confident grin. “Then we should move out.”

Three taps on the bars of Calimei’s window drew the king’s attention to his lady. She mouthed the word, “Speech,” to him.

“Speech?” Azazel scratched his head. “Oh, yes! A king always makes a rousing speech before leading his soldiers into battle.” His heart fluttered with nervousness, but his hands remained still and his back straight. He walked a few paces up the path, then turned to face his army.

Countless eyes peered at him, some from behind visors, others under cheaper helmets. Every face he could see gazed upon him as he’d seen so many look upon altars of the gods. Such hope and reverence in those eyes. How could he ever live up to everything they needed him to be?

“Beloved citizens of Tir Shazelle,” he began, but his voice cracked and wheezed. He coughed, pain shooting through his vocal cords at his attempt to project. The faces of those in the first row turned from hope to pity, and those in the third row leaned forward and inclined their ears toward him, as if straining to hear. Azazel peered out at them, wondering how he was to deliver his speech with his throat scarred inside as well as out.

One of the lords on horseback trotted forth, reached inside his shield, and produced a brass speaking trumpet. He held it out to Azazel and nodded his head.

“Thank you,” Azazel rasped. He took the megaphone and raised it to his mouth. “Beloved citizens of Tir Shazelle…” it was a little louder this time, but still not enough.

Lady Calimei pointed her wand at the speaking trumpet. Silver dust flew from between her fingers and the megaphone vibrated in Azazel’s hand for a moment.

“Beloved citizens of Tir Shazelle,” Azazel spoke again. This time, his voice reverberated across the crowd, loud enough for all to hear. “Up in these mountains is a fierce evil that threatens us all. An affront not just to the gods, but to all living creatures, whether they be angel, human, or beast. Even demons have declared this wickedness to be too far. For too long the people of Tir Shazelle have lived under this threat. For too long this... Demon King has raided our villages, kidnapped our people, and forced them into slavery. This day, we declare that his reign is over! We will be free of this terror, and our children will sleep safely tonight!”

Azazel drew his sword and raised it high. “On, to battle, warriors of Tir Shazelle!”

Silence followed Azazel’s speech, and he feared that he’d failed to stir up their spirits. His ears burned with shame, and he began to lower his head.

A cry rang out from within the crowd, “For King Ozz!”

Azazel dared to allow a smile to take its place on his lips.

“For King Ozz!” shouted another soldier, and soon many others followed, until it became a chant.

Azazel raised his head and pulled his shoulders back. He glanced over at Lady Calimei, who looked upon him with pride in her eyes.