This was not war as the princes of old had waged it. This was extermination from above, a waterfall of liquid fire that obliterated commoners and lords alike. Arsien ducked his head as the scalding heat washed over his ranks. Men and weapons flew from the path of the inferno, hurled by the sheer force of the shockwave. He shouted a command, but then the dragon shrieked in turn. The demonic howl burst ears, a painful noise like glass being shredded, and he grabbed his head in agony.

The Edu warriors charged through the broken formation ahead, charging over the glowing soil even as Aenean men’s bones melted in their bodies. Charred corpses were strewn across the front line, some men screaming as the flame stuck and burned on their bodies and arms. Iron blades flashed, and Arsien met iron with bronze. He was locked in combat with an Edu knight, his foe’s black hair streaming wildly, black eyes wide with fanatical bloodlust. The golden γ upon the knight’s breastplate gleamed, and Arsien kicked his foe hard. The Edu went down as a swift blow slashed his throat. Arsien panted, brushing a strand of sweat-slicked golden hair from his eyes

Then Arsien heard the rush of dragon’s wings, the clatter of exposed ribs and twisting vertebrae, and looked up. The dragon was wheeling around for another pass, serrated jaws trailing glowing vapor and dark ash. Arsien watched, calculated, and ran towards the descending beast. His men screamed at him to run, fleeing in the opposite direction, directly into the path of the demon.

The flames struck the earth nearly a hundred feet behind him, the shockwave throwing him into a confusion of sound and heat and wind.

Then he struck the earth and all went dark.

***

The first thing Arsien noticed was the smell of smoke. As his eyes struggled open, he heard the harsh sounds of Edu speech, and could dimly make out the shape of a man approaching him. He was helpless to defend himself as the warrior picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. Darkness claimed him once more, but not before he saw the charred remains left on the field. Most had already dissolved in the wind.

Again his eyes opened. A wet cloth was at his mouth, and he eagerly sucked the water from it. After a moment, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was in a low, hide-smelling tent, wrapped in furs, and the smell of incense was strong. A dark shape hung over him. A woman, he realized, dressed in the black and red and gold of an Edu priest. 

He writhed, hastily jumping back from the woman, and felt for his knife. It was absent. The leather sheath for it as well.

The woman hadn’t moved. Her pale grey eyes fixed on his own, a slight reassurance on her face.

“Have no fear,” she said in heavily accented Aenean. “Your life is not to be food for the God.”

That’s reassuring, Arsien thought. Instead of burning alive, I’ll suffer some other terrible fate. How wonderful.

He gestured for water, not trusting his voice at present. She nodded, and presented a cup from a small shelf. He poured the water down his throat, washing away the smoke and dust of the battle and the taste of dragonfire.

The battle. He’d been trusted with the flank, and ordered to keep the Edu forces from breaking through. That ought to have been simple, an ideal first command. Edu were notoriously ill-trained, despite their fanatical courage. It had gone well at first, with the Edu breaking against the massed spears of the finest soldiers Orm Archen could muster. Then they’d retreated like a tide, and the dragon had descended. 

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His throat dried again. Dragons were gone. Slain one and all over the passage of eons, their bones remaining as a reminder of darker times. And now the Edu had dragons once more, or at least one. And one was all that was needed, for dragons were unbeatable in open battle. The Battle of Burning Bay proved that, and the Slaughter at Caerlight. He turned to the priestess.

“What is going to happen next?” He asked. The priestess considered.

“You will be presented to the Prince, to have your fate decided, at his pleasure,” she said after a moment. “Come.”

***

Arsien was chained at the wrists and ankles, and led through the camp. The sky was clouded, rain threatening on the horizon. Firepits blazed in places, cracked bones littering the embers. He realized that he was being led to a huge tent of black fabric. A coiled dragon, crowned and clawed with gold was emblazoned on the entrance.

It was a poor likeness, but the coiling and snakelike aspect of the demon had been captured perfectly.

The guards snapped at each other, and then the tent was opened. He stepped through, mindful of an iron sword leveled at his spine. As he entered, he was struck by the lack of luxury. His own tents had been more elaborate than this bare space, the rug softer than the cured hides spread on the dirt. At the end of the tent, a black seat stood in shadows. A trio of braziers mounted on tripods were placed around the tent, the smoke rising to a small gap in the ceiling. The guards quieted as they approached the seat, which Arsien now realized was occupied. 

A soft voice gave what he presumed were orders, and the guards forced Arsien to kneel. Then they stood a step back. The seat shifted, and a boy Arsien’s age strode forward. He was dressed in a dark, elaborately tailored tunic, and an iron band sat upon his dark head. That wasn’t what surprised Arsien though. 

The boy’s eyes were an inhuman gold color, sharp as glass fire, a rich hue that offset his corpse-pale face and raven hair. Strange marks like burns marred the skin around his eyes, but they seemed faded. His jawline and cheekbones were refined, like a delicately cut gemstone, as was the rest of him. The impression Arsien had was of something young and predatory, exotic but dangerous.

He had a feeling about why this boy was so highly respected.

He stepped forward, eyes fixed on Arsien’s own mismatched pair. Then he knelt, a hand gently but firmly seizing his chin. Arsien almost moved, but decided against it. He would be skewered in an instant if he tried to run or fight. The Prince laughed briefly, made a remark, and stood. With a gesture, he was dismissed. 

***

Arsien sat in a small tent, nursing a bowl of hot stew. The guards outside his quarters were joking, if their laughter was any indication. He knew all the stories about the Edu. Their raids, the fanatical burnings, the violent wars they waged, and more. They didn’t normally take lowly, disgraced sons hostage. Daughters, but not sons. And the idea of a boy of seven-and-ten winters ruling that force was absurd. This army had broken  the might of Nalor, an entire Isle of the Nine, with comical ease. Boy kings didn’t have that sort of power over their men, the command needed to face and outfox Archon Suleuvus. 

The dragon. Of course, that explained it. This ‘Prince’ had control over the demon. How was not his issue. Now, he needed to escape and inform the forces at the Fist. But first, he needed to elude his guards.

Arsien fumbled through the dark of the tent until he found the edge. After finishing his soup, he quietly dug through the loose soil. It felt sandy, another reminder of their proximity to the sea. After an hour or so, he had a hole big enough to crawl through. After peeking out to ascertain the absence of witnesses, he slithered through the hole, ruining his undertunic. It had been a gift from… he quickly buried the memory. That wasn’t of any use here. 

He stood quietly, glancing around the encampment. A blaze roared towards the northern edge, seemingly most of the army gathered around it. He gazed longingly south, towards reinforcements and safety. But he had a feeling that the gathering was important for some reason, some useful reason. Maybe the dragon was there.

He stepped north. 

After no time at all, with almost nobody to avoid, he slid into the shadow of a tent. His eyes found the Prince, and noted the sheer size of the gathered host, but no dragon was to be seen. Arsien squinted, noticing the lack of marks on the Prince’s face. Perhaps it had been paint. 

Somehow, he doubted it. The marks had been too deep, too dimensioned to be faked. Arsien crept around the edge of the firelight, ears straining for a familiar word. All he could pick out was the dull roar of the Edu warriors. Then he saw the Prince stand, and the priestess spoke in a surprisingly loud voice.

“Und Kallas Elenxes!” The cry went up, “Elenxes!” exploding from tens of thousands of throats. At least he now knew his name.

Elenxes stood, and raised a pale arm for silence. It fell, sudden as a blanket unrolled onto a field.

“Ekakkens morrag, duranc loken,” he said. Then his hand pointed straight towards Arsien’s hiding place.

“Shit,” he said.