“What’s going on over there?”

“It’s nothing, Tim. Don’t worry.”

Torren put a hand on his little brother’s head and tousled his hair.

The campgrounds were riddled with boot prints, hastily deconstructed tents and spilled preserves. Several men had come by a few hours ago to corral the citizens and confront the Eadenfros soldiers who stood guard at the edge of the forest. Many had gone with them, and even from this distance they could hear the shouting from the mob. A confrontation of some kind had happened not too long ago— or at least that was what Torren guessed.

Just then, he heard a rustling from the underbrush.

“Jerg!”

“What the hell is goin’ on up there?” Lester cried out.

Jerg shook his head.

“We need to get out of here. Now.”

A clamoring of metal and the shouting of men came suddenly from several yards ahead of them.

Lester knew what the sound meant and he stood immediately.

Harold stirred nervously at the tension in the air.

There was another clanging of metal.

Then the sound of shouting and screaming.

“Torren, what—”

Then the entire forest was filled suddenly with an unholy sound.

Everyone flinched and covered their ears as a terrifying shriek came from the direction of Viemen. There was silence for a few minutes. Then, there came the stinging scent of ash and flame. A shocking realization soon came over them.

“Go,” Jerg commanded. “Run— now!”

Torren grabbed his brother and took off through the woods, followed closely behind by the rest. Behind them, hundreds of terror stricken townsfolk ran toward the river. Their cries turned to a roar of incoherent sound as they trampled over each other to escape the dragon’s wrath. The group stole through the forest, weaving between trees and over twisting roots. The faces of the fleeing men and women became visible as their groups merged. Ash covered and sick with fear, they tore passed one another with reckless abandon. A haze of smoke was beginning to fill the wood; it stung their lungs and burned their eyes.

“What’s happening!? Hey!”

Lester tried to stop one of the men who approached him; but he did not slow down, and Lester had to move out of the way to avoid being tackled.

Another beastly roar soared above the throng, instilling a new wave of terror.

“It can’t be—”

Lester stared blankly toward the direction of the town. Lingering below the screaming and shouting was a predatory rhythm— the beating of two great wings.

“Les!”

Jerg snapped Lester out of his stupor with a forceful grip on his shoulder.

“We need to move.”

“Jerg, look!”

Torren pointed behind them toward the path they had taken. A small company of armed men were fighting with a group of citizens. The conflict erupted and in a few swift movements the soldiers had cut down their offenders.

“Why are they killing them!?” Torren shouted as he grabbed Timmy closer to him.

“I-I don’t know,” Jerg stammered.

A harsh breeze carried more of the smoke into the forest. Between the wisps of black, Jerg made eye contact with the company men.

“Run. NOW!”

The group took off sprinting through the forest as the soldiers gave pursuit.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Boots pounded hard against the dirt and their lungs burned. Then Jerg heard a sickening snapping sound and a grunt of pain.

“Help!”

Jerg braced himself against a tree to stop his momentum and turned over his shoulder. Harold was lying on the ground, gripping his ankle in pain.

“Harold!”

Lester grabbed at Jerg’s shirt and pulled him.

“Jerg, we have to go!”

Jerg shoved him off.

“You three go. I’m going back for him.”

“Are you mental!? You’ll never make it!”

Jerg gave him a fierce look.

“Take those kids to safety, Les.”

“Please,” Lester asked one final time.

“I’m not gonna leave him, Les.”

Jerg shoved him once again.

“GO!”

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Lester bit his tongue and turned away from Jerg. Together Torren, Lester, and Timmy continued running south along the river.

Jerg ran to Harold’s side.

“Hey, buddy. Can you stand?”

Harold shook his head and sniffled at the pain.

“It’s alright. I got you.”

Jerg wrapped Harold’s arm over his shoulder and lifted with all his might.

“Halt!”

Jerg started down his nose at sword that was pointed toward him. Seven men in leather armor and maroon cloth had surrounded him. They were all of them Millner’s men.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the man said.

“Why are you doing this?” Jerg asked with an obvious tone of disdain. “You were sent here to help!”

“Help?”

The man laughed.

“You think anyone can fight that thing!? No. We have our orders.”

The men all drew their swords and held them at the ready. Jerg could feel Harold pulling away from him in fear and his blood began to boil. He had done his time serving this country, always believing that he was doing something righteous by protecting people. Just looking at them made Jerg sick with vitriol.

“What orders?”

The man looked around at his armed companions and then back to Jerg. He flashed a devilish grin. “If the dragon should attack? We are to seize Viemen by any means necessary.”

Jerg was stunned.

“On whose authority!?” he shouted in a rage.

“That is none of your concern.”

The men held their blades ready and began to approach.

Harold whimpered with a mix of pain and fear.

“Its alright,” Jerg lied to him as he patted his arm, “It’ll be alright.”

Jerg’s mind was racing. If they came at him one at a time he might be able to disarm them and put up a fight— even with his one hand he could do that much.

But could Harold get away?

One of the men stepped forward then broke into a charge.

Here he comes!

Jerg let go of Harold and braced himself; Harold stumbled a bit and fell against a nearby tree.

Come on you son of a bitch!

Jerg’s hand twitched with anticipation—

A ferocious motion caught Jerg’s attention from the corner of his eye. The man before him was knocked clean off his feet as an ax embedded itself in his side. He grunted and landed on the ground. A massive figure then sauntered through the brush and up to the body. He bent down and pulled the ax from the dead soldier and looked disappointedly at its blunt and chipped edge.

“This things a bit dull,” he lamented as he flipped the ax over in his hand. “Sorry, but, you’re gonna die painfully.”

The man looked over at Jerg and then to Harold.

“You. Take your friend and keep heading south. My men will meet you by the river. You’ll be safe there.”

Jerg looked around him.

“Are you insane? There are six of them?”

The man raised his eyebrow and genuinely pondered Jerg’s words. Then he turned to the soldiers and looked them up and down.

“Six?” the man said with a wild grin. “They’ll need at least ten.”

The soldiers gritted their teeth at the insult.

“Men!”

The remaining soldiers assumed formation and began to approach.

“I thought I told you to leave,” the man said as Jerg appeared beside him.

“It wouldn’t be right to leave you here alone,” Jerg answered. In his hand he held the sword of the dead soldier.

“Hmph. Suit yourself.”

“My name is Jerg.”

The man eyed him curiously.

“Julius.”

With a motion of their leader’s hand, three of the men rushed forward. Before Jerg could react, Julius darted forward into the fray.

“Wait— !”

The three men surrounded him— two strikes from above and one from below.

Julius gripped tightly to the handle of his ax, stomped his foot against the ground for support and swung his arm violently in a circle. Jerg watched as Julius’s ax tore right through their armor with such force, cutting deep into them. His strength was inhuman.

As Julius ended his attack, he whipped his body around a final time and hurled his ax toward another soldier. It impacted him hard; cutting right through his leather helmet and sinking into his skull.

The four men crumpled to the ground and lay dead; pools of blood gathered beneath them.

The two remaining men stared blankly at their dead companions. Julius cracked his knuckles then took off running toward them with incredible speed. The two men fumbled with their weapons, then charged in after him. Just before contact, the two men dashed sideways to flank Julius. He stopped suddenly and braced himself to intercept.

The first strike came at waist level; the man chopped through the air, aiming to cut into Julius’ abdomen.

Clang!

Jerg met the attack with his own. He maneuvered quickly and disarmed the man. Julius turned away from them to face the last attacker. The soldier had drawn up his sword to attack from above, attempting to swing down on Julius. But that delay was his undoing. A massive hand reached out and grabbed his head. The last thing he felt was an unstoppable pull on his neck as Julius slammed his face down against a rock. The man’s legs twitched a few times and then he was still.

The remaining soldier, unarmed and terrified, dropped to his knees and began to beg.

“P-Please! Don’t kill me! I swear, I was only following—”

Julius’ sword ran clean through the man’s chest and sank down to the cross-guard. He then shoved the man away and his body fell backwards onto the ground.

“Why did you kill him!?”

“What, you got a problem with killing now?”

Julius began to rummage through the men’s pockets.

“We should have heard what he had to say.”

“No thanks.”

Julius pulled out a waterskin and began to drink what was left.

“We could have gotten information,” Jerg sighed as he rubbed the ride of his head.

Julius wiped the water from his chin and chucked the waterskin into the forest.

“What would you have done? Made him some porridge? Sang him a song?”

“Put him in jail to start.”

Julius shook his head.

“No Viemen jail cell can resist the Magistrate.”

“What did you say…?”

Julius laughed to himself.

“Forget it. Go, Jerg. Follow the river south. You’ll find your friends there.”

Julius bent down and started examining the weapons from the fallen soldiers, trying to see if there was anything of use.

“What of you?” Jerg asked, putting his suspicions aside. “Will you go to town and help Sir Perry?”

Julius’ booming laughter filled the forest.

“You’re joking right!?”

“I am not.”

Jerg stared with resolute eyes. Dark smoke clouds still billowed up from Viemen, accompanied by the shouting of a hundreds of terrified voices.

“Relax,” Julius said, “They don’t need me.”

“You can’t be serious!?” Jerg cried out. “It’s a dragon.”

“Trust me,” Julius insisted, “You don’t know what that man is truly capable of.”

“But Sir Perry is just one man.”

Julius flashed a wry grin.

“I am not speaking of Sir Perry.”