The Draconian lifted his head. One eye was swollen shut, the other blazed like a furnace. ''Abandoned?''
A laugh tore out of him, ragged and wet with blood. ''Archer the Great never abandoned a single soul who carried his colors. He pulled my village out of famine when your kind taxed us into the dirt. He broke the slavers' chains in the south and hanged their lords from their own gatehouses. He gave widows pensions and orphans schools. He walked into plague tents with his own hands when your priests locked the doors and prayed from afar. He stood in the rain with us, shoulder to shoulder, while you counted coins in your warm halls.''
The duke's face hardened. ''Pretty words for a dying empire.''
The Draconian smiled then, a terrible, bright thing that made the nearest rebels step back. ''Kill me, Leonard. Cut me down right here on the bones of my men. It changes nothing.''
