11 – The Cost of Victory

Long days of marching passed as the grassy hills we walked upon gave way to crowded woods. We had just met up with the Firescale scouting group tasked with keeping tabs on our targeted gang of trolls, so it was time to rest up and prepare for battle.

We set up camp a few miles away from the stinkers to evade their keen sense of smell. How they smelled anything past their own, foul odor was beyond my understanding. My kobold army huddled up around conjured campfires, clinging to their enchanted blankets, staving off the cold northern climate.

Aark was hovering around Sjigg's group, as it seemed that my minion had come to admire the chieftain after hearing his war speech. Sjigg was probably the first kobold Aark had ever encountered with any resolve towards the battle. I guessed that generations of fighting had caused Sjigg to hate trolls more than he feared death, and since Aark was fond of him, I added the chieftain to my mental list of priority members to keep alive.

Rahga was comforting his nervous disciples, eight of which I hadn't yet met, plus Dun and Yug. The way the tribe's sorcerers joined war campaigns was on a rotation basis. When Sjigg returned, some of the casters returning alongside him were swapped out while Dun and Yug, unfortunately, were swapped in. I didn't know them well, but our brief time casting together made me concerned for them, nonetheless.

The weight of what I'd gotten myself into had only continued to accumulate with every passing moment. In response, I selfishly chose not to get acquainted with the other eight disciples or any of the army for that matter. I knew that forming bonds would just mean more people for me to worry about when the fighting began, and the innate frailty of my tiny, scaled companions was already worrying enough.

"The more ogres you take out tonight, the lower the risk of casualties tomorrow." I thought to myself. "You put yourself in this position. You chose to get involved. All you can do now is perform to the best of your ability. Steel your heart, kill, and repay your debt. Then, hopefully, you can start using your damn brain and try to steer clear of future bloodshed."

I exhaled, watching as my breath condensed into mist and spread into the chilled air. I had always hated cold weather on Earth, yet now my body barely registered any temperature short of extreme. That thought led me to wonder if I'd always feel so nostalgic toward my humanity and to consider how my friends would've viewed what I'd become. Would they have seen an adventuring creature of legend when they looked at me, or something frightening and dangerous instead? I reminded myself that deep down I believed I was doing the right thing.

"...Mercy to the guilty is cruelty to the innocent." I quietly said aloud.

"Great Dragon Prince Amartho speaks with profound words!" Said one of my kobold attendants who I'd completely forgotten was at my side.

"No, I- those words were written by a wise human named Adam Smith. I was just quoting him since the phrase somewhat applies to my current situation." I corrected.

"Adum Smiss must be a great sage to have earned Great One's interest!" Flattered the kobold, clearly having no clue what I was talking about.

I chuckled at his poor pronunciation.

"Nevermind that. Tell me, if more kobolds die than expected, through fighting by my side, will your people blame me?" I asked, even though I knew the gist of the answer I'd receive. My mother would have disapproved of such a display of vulnerability, but my mounting stress was hitting my limits.

The kobold looked shocked for a moment, then responded assuredly, "We kobolds would never! Great Dragon Amartho'Manadhmedion's purpose is beyond us kobolds' place to question or understand! Even if the Great One's campaign against the vile trolls is merely a means of tempering himself, we kobolds would be honored to die for this purpose!"

"Is that why you think I'm doing this, to test my abilities?" I frowned.

"N-no!" My attendant exclaimed. "This lowly one dares not even consider the Great One's thoughts. This lowly one knows that the Great One's mind is unfathomable!"

"He's not lying. Afraid as they may be, they'd jump to their deaths if I commanded it. If only they knew how much their blind faith heavies my burden."

"So be it." I nodded, ending the conversation.

I kept to myself for the rest of the afternoon.

At sunset, I took flight, soaring through the starry night while tracking the unmistakable stench of troll. My teacher and four other winged kobolds trailed behind me.

Rahga had prepared two scrolls to aid me in our ambush. One would render me invisible, and the other was a hush spell. Both effects would be canceled after my first attack but practically ensured that I'd have the element of surprise on my side.

Soon enough, our targets soon came into view. I quickly counted fifty-three members in the gang, fourteen of which were ogres. Even from my current distance, I could tell that the ugly fat brutes had a relatively more bearable odor compared to their troll counterparts. I mentally prepared myself to get up close and personal if need be.

Most of the bastards were fast asleep, and only a handful of trolls were patrolling around the perimeter of their camp's clearing. I looked for a starting target and spotted two ogres sleeping back-to-back.

"Incoming double kill." I thought, smiling weakly.

I signaled to my group that I was ready to engage, to which they nodded in understanding.

Rahga unfurled the scrolls, whispered their incantations, and soon the magical ink began to vanish from the parchments, releasing unfamiliar mana that began coating my body. When the process was over, my teacher signaled that the scrolls worked properly. Finally, with only a moment's hesitation, I dove toward my prey.

As the wind caressed my face, I began to sense my instincts kicking in, dulling my empathy and quieting my reservations.

"Good." I thought. "Make things easier."

I spread my wings to slow my descent. I circled closer and closer until I was only a few yards away. I flapped vigorously to hover in place, and just the force from my wings began to wake the two ogres from their slumber, I breathed death upon them.

White-hot flames shot out of my maw and melted the flesh off the ogres' heads before they could realize what was happening. It was a gruesome sight, seeing their engulfed bodies barely stir to consciousness, only to collapse as their brains melted. They didn't even get the chance to scream.

I was fully visible now, and the sudden roar of fire had caught the full attention of those from the enemy camp who were already up and woke the rest. As Sjigg's generals predicted, these normally uncoordinated idiots were unified in their first reaction: panic.

I darted through the air to another ogre, one yet to fully wake and still groggy. I landed atop its skull, sinking my claws in as I breathed another stream of fire downward.

"Three."

Some trolls were running, others were screaming and shouting in place. I ignored them, leaping off my latest victim to pursue a fourth ogre.

The importance of slaying as many ogres as I could had been etched into my mind by Sjigg's generals. In the upcoming full-scale battle, our sorcerers' fire magic would cow most trolls into defensive fighting, but the ogres were more likely to just run through incoming spells and attack. They were the primary threat.

Something thudded against my left side, causing me to glance and see a spear falling to the ground. A nearby troll must have gained enough of its limited wits back to attack me. I was lucky my first received blow bounced off my scales harmlessly instead of reaching my vulnerable wings. My instincts calmly factored in that more attacks would now follow.

"Faster."

I could hear other projectiles swish past me as caught up to the confused and fleeing ogre. I collided against its back and cooked it alive.

"Four."

From experimenting with my breath in my spare time, I knew I was exceptionally gifted in dragonfire. Aside from its above-average lethality, my "reservoir" could store up to three breaths for consecutive use and recharged one breath about every ten seconds. As I looked for another nearby target, I spotted an ogre running in my direction, club in hand.

"Good."

I flew on a straight path toward my foolish foe, and just as it pulled its arm back to take a swing at me, I activated my fey blessing for a boost of speed. I zipped right over its shoulder, whipping my bladelike tail spikes as I passed its neck and sliced right through the ogre's arteries.

"Four."

Making use of the remaining time I had on the speed up, I thrust myself toward another of my huge foes. This time I made a feint and dodged its slow but powerful swing, placing myself just over its head. My hind talons dug into his shoulders as I began clawing at the base of its skull, severing its brainstem in mere seconds.

"Five."

I leapt off the ogre as it collapsed. More thuds impacted my body, most were from rocks big enough to cause a dull pain on impact. A single spear caught the bottom of one of my wings, leaving a small cut on the webbing.

I snarled and unleashed my aura, sending the adversaries into another panic. With the attacks on me temporarily suspended I elected to hunt another, now terrified, ogre.

I flew after my lumbering prey, breathing fire down at its backside. By the time my mouth closed, I had landed on its burnt corpse.

"Six."

The idea of saving my presence to 're-fear' the gang mid-fight was conceived by Sjigg himself. Knowing that my initial ambush would likely put our enemy into disarray, using my presence at the start of the ambush wouldn't have had much of an additional benefit. Using it this way bought me precious time.

But just as Sjigg's hatred of ogres overwhelmed his fear, it seemed the same was true regarding some of the trolls' growing hatred toward me. I saw a few running toward a disorganized pile of supplies and grabbing nets. It yelled something in simplified Jotun, giant-tongue, which I assumed was it telling its brethren to do the same.

That meant it was time to go, so I lept back into the air. Sure enough, a few nets whished just under my talons as I flew toward the perimeter of the clearing.

My kobold crew now made themselves known, lobbing suppressive fire spells from a safe distance. I found myself appreciating their accuracy as I made my way toward them, as many of their incoming firebolts and fireballs intercepted various projectiles that would have otherwise struck me.

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Upon reaching them we climbed in altitude and began heading back. While on our way, we were able to slay what must have been a particularly cowardly ogre and a few similarly spineless trolls who had fled too far from their allies in response to my initial attack. As a result, my kobolds were in very high spirits during the rest of our flight.

We were halfway back to camp before I fully returned to my senses. I could hardly believe I just pulled off the ambush. I had to admit, it was exhilarating, but I was recognizing myself less and less. I wished I could match the current enthusiasm of my winged companions, but my heart wasn't in any of this. The killings left a part of me feeling numb.

I knew my enemy's nature, but it was just that, nature. Trolls and ogres had no say in their viciousness. Killing them pre-emptively so they couldn't take more innocent lives sounded like a solid justification but did little to soothe my conscience. They had just been... sleeping, resting, vulnerable. Perhaps offing them was a good deed, but I found in it nothing to be proud of. I mulled this and other similar thoughts over for the rest of the flight back.

Upon reaching camp I had to endure a drawn-out returning-welcome ceremony before Rahga gleefully reported our victory to Sjigg. He, in turn, announced our results to the entire camp, which erupted in celebration. Kobolds cheered, held each other, and some even made those strange noises that I was now certain were the kobold-equivalent of weeping.

I had exceeded their projected outcome but found my only reaction was to pray that it would be enough. As they continued in their revelry, I expressed my fatigue and went to sleep.

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I dreamed that I was passing through a long corridor. Upon reaching its end I was greeted by the sight of my current form devouring that of the man I used to be, from the legs up. My dragon self didn't acknowledge my presence, but its victim stared into my eyes without emotion. He seemed either at peace or unhappily resigned to his fate, I couldn't tell which. I briefly wondered who I even was, as an observer separate from the two forms before me.

I awoke with a grumble.

"Thanks for that," I sarcastically complained to my mind. "Went on the nose with that one, huh? If you're going to spell out a message like that, I'd prefer it in writing next time. Spare me the gore."

I stopped whining to myself and considered the visions further. Mom had taught me that all our dreams had significant meaning, and the fact that this was the only one I'd had since awakening on Angnora punctuated the lesson.

"Am I becoming more dragonlike due to this war, or is the war just making me more sensitive to the idea of losing my humanity? Was it a warning, or just self-awareness of the inevitable? No, the latter is too simple, and the only inevitabilities a dragon's mind believes in, in regard to themselves, are positive ones. A warning then. Hmm, what meaning should I take from my human form acknowledging my presence when my dragon form did not? Okay brain, you win. It wasn't too on the nose after all."

My musings were interrupted by Aark, who had seen me wake up and came to let me know that the army was ready to march out as soon as I was.

"No sense dawdling, then. Let's go." I said grumpily, but just as I rose on all fours, I paused. "Wait, Aark?"

"Yes, Lord Amartho?!" He replied earnestly.

"In these coming fights, don't be a hero."

I observed his surprised, then confused expression, as he cocked his head from side to side.

"I know this command goes against how you'd like to be, but it isn't time yet." I began to explain. "This war is about the tribes, and about me repaying what I've been given, not you. It isn't the stage where you'll begin to carve out a reputation. That, and frankly, I think you know we've got a lot more training to do if we want to turn you into a truly mighty warrior, capable of besting your enemies singlehandedly. Finally, I'd be miserable if you fell in battle. Fight from the backlines. I'm sure you'll still find an opportunity to use that spear, okay?" I winked.

As Aark was considering my words, I remembered that Kobolds had no concept of winking, but then also realized that plenty of the characters in the stories Aark loved probably had given a playful wink here and there, so Rarn had probably taught him about it. My overly self-conscious train of thought was interrupted by Aark exclaiming that he understood and promising to "fight safely the kobold way!" I knew my little minion had probably conjured some grand conclusions from my input, but the important thing was that he agreed.

And so, we marched for a day and a half, catching up to the troll gang, or what was left of it. On top of their losses, our scouts reported that their numbers had dwindled slightly, as some demoralized trolls that fled from my attack had permanently abandoned the group. Our army's morale soared, excluding my own, as the scouts had also reported that the gang was now seen armed with nets at all times. They were prepared for another aerial assault, and I'd have to be careful.

Over the next few hours, I kept the enemy corralled by letting them spot me from time to time as I circled far above them. No matter how great their resentment or bloodlust, they weren't going to rush out against a dragon on foot. This gave our troops the time to split into platoons and surround them.

Our warhorns were blown, and the trolls and ogres soon found themselves flanked by furious kobolds. Each platoon was made up of between twenty-five to thirty little lizardmen, and used spears, stones, flaming arrows, and fire magic to lock down their much larger opponents. The constant barrage was keeping the trolls at bay, but soon the roars of seven angry ogres shook the field and the big brutes began to storm out.

Which meant the dumb fucks were now fully distracted by our ground units. Fifteen dragonwrought kobolds and I dove from the skies like a trained blade, piercing through the middle of the battlefield with dragonfire and fireballs galore. We moved so quickly that even my eyes couldn't keep up with the chaos. I knew that to save lives I had to focus only on "attack, attack, and attack some more."

I clawed, whipped, and screamed fire indiscriminately, sending my presence out in occasional pulses in the hopes of disorienting the enemies. Even from above, the cacophony of war and constant engagement of fly-by attacks left me unable to keep up with what was going on. Finally, a net clipped one of my wings and I plummeted into the ground, hard.

I thanked my body for being tough enough to prevent the wind from getting knocked out of me before the pounding of various projectiles against my hide and additional nets took my attention. They merely stung, at worst, but I panicked at the thought of my dragonwrought helpers that were surely flying down at that very moment to help me escape my binds.

Unable to accept the idea of them dying on my behalf, my mind cooled and I found inspiration. I softly breathed white flames outward, focusing on controlling them until they magically bent backward, wreathing my entire body and incinerating the nets in an instant. Still adorned in white dragonflame, I charged toward the nearest perimeter of the battlefield before turning around to face combatants pursuing me.

"Rahga! Do it now!"

My teacher landed behind me and began chanting up a spell so powerful, it stimulated the ambient mana around him into manfesting as countless swirling embers.

I had learned during our war conference that the main issues with my teacher's mightiest spells were that they took too much concentration for him to be able to cast them while on the move and took far too long to use in a huge battle without making himself an easy target with the spectacle they produced. That, however, was when they lacked a dragon.

I took spears, stones, and nets head-on while spitting fire and roaring, "Come any closer and you die!" at the trolls that had been brave enough to pursue me. Perhaps it was due to their innate weakness to the element, but even their peabrains seemed to know that whatever was being conjured behind me was bad news for them, as they started trying to aim past me instead of at me. Still, try as they might, with my much larger body, flaming breath, and the assistance of aerial firebolts from my winged friends, there was nothing they could do.

Rahga punctuated his chant with a loud, "Nárvangwë!"

His voice echoed with impossible might, making all combatants save for the battle-raged ogres pause momentarily. What followed next, however, caught even their attention.

Unnaturally dark clouds rapidly gathered and thundered above before raining down sheets of fire. A ten-by-one-hundred-foot area in front of me was now being blanketed by flame, decimating any poor being caught up in the spell and effectively splitting the battlefield in half.

But this was only the first benefit of Rahga's choice of Firestorm. Wrenching myself out of my awe from the epicness of it all, I galloped into the thick of the magical torrent. With my immunity, the spell now provided me with cover, and thus the space to assess the battle more clearly. I could now launch attacks with extreme prejudice.

I poked my head out here and there, counting that three out of the seven ogres were still alive. To my alarm, one had begun charging toward a platoon where Aark was stationed! My blood boiled and my body sprang into action, only to stop at the sight of the little badass throwing the spear I gifted him right into the fucker's eye!

"Holy shit! Good for you little dude. I'm definitely praising you for that shot when this is over." I thought, as the ailing monster stumbled backward in pain.

The ogre swung its arm across its pained face, breaking the spear's shaft, only to have two dragonwrought kobold warriors bravely land on each of its shoulders and use their combined strength to push what remained of the weapon deeper into its skull and ending its life.

As the firestorm began to fizzle out, I realized I didn't have the luxury of taking time to admire kobold teamwork, so I ran toward the other two ogres.

What followed was simply a slaughter. With the combination of our attacks from all sides and above, our tactics and planning, our spellpower, and myself, the remaining enemy combatants dwindled quickly until only three trolls remained. They were left cowering with their backs to each other. Two hundred kobolds surrounded them from a distance, but both ally and enemy alike were focused on me.

Completely overwhelmed, the trolls didn't have the will to fight anymore, and the kobolds were giving me the "honor" of ending the battle. But staring into the beady black eyes of these three abominations, past their amlice, I saw the fear of death and desire to live. And so I faltered.

With a sigh, I walked toward Sjigg and said, "Do with them what you will."

With my back turned I heard sounds of shrieking, bowstrings releasing and the impacts of firebolts against flesh. Then there was the panting of kobolds, cries of victory, and a closing address from Sjigg to the troops. I was tuning it out until all that remained was an eerie silence.

Eventually, Sjigg, Rahga, and the generals approached me, but before they could get a word in I asked, "How many did we lose?"

"P-pardon, Great One?" A general was first to reply.

"How many kobolds died?" I rephrased the question I dreaded asking.

"Three," Sjigg answered grimly, "and two more will soon succumb to their wounds."

My heart sank. Thoughts such as, "I wasn't strong enough." and "If I had done better on the night's ambush..." attacked my mind. A draconian brain did me no favors here, as tactics I neglected to even consider began to spring forth.

"I could have let Rahga ride on my back during the ambush. Then he could have cast some of his better spells. You fucking fool. Who knows what strategies weren't brought up because kobolds can't even imagine 'insulting' a dragon's honor or some shit. But what did you do? You relied on them for strategizing the entire battle! Because it was convenient! Fuck. This is all my fault."

Many other scenarios played through my head while the kobolds waited. Only the thought of the two kobolds barely clinging to life halted the cycle of self-loathing.

"Bring me to them," I commanded.

They led me to two kobolds that were clearly in terrible shape. I was told on the walk over that one had suffered too much blood loss, and the other had its internal organs damaged beyond repair by an ogres club. Their wounds were dressed with medicinal herbs and I was told that they were given something to ease their pain. I couldn't tell if the first kobold was truly cognizant of his surroundings anymore, but his lidded eyes had fallen on me as I neared. As for the second,

"*cough* *cough* This unworthy one... greets-" the suffering kobold sputtered.

"No, save your strength, warrior. No need for that, not anymore." I said quickly.

I paused to consider my next words carefully, and concluded, "Dragons don't apologize? Fuck. That."

"I don't know healing magic, I haven't learned it yet. I'm sorry I can't save you. Whatever your last words are, I will listen. No more thoughts of pleasing me, just speak the truth that's in your heart."

The suffering kobolds eyes widened in surprise at my words, but he followed them nonetheless.

"D-does Great One know... what, *cough* happens after kobolds die? Do we... really... join with... our ancestors?" He asked with labored breathing, after some thought.

His difficult question caused me to recall how kobolds didn't worship Gods, as doing so would insult their dragon overlords who were constantly at odds with the divine. They also knew all too well of my kind's general indifference to every non-dragon being. As such, their concept of tribal spiritism was more of a hope than a full-on belief.

"I... No, I don't know." I admitted.

"Oh," the kobold said sadly, "I guess... there are things... even Great Ones not know."

After a very uncomfortable silence, he looked back into my eyes and added,

"This... humble one... is scared."

My heart twisted and squeezed as I held back my tears, and I instead focused on comforting this flickering life in front of me.

I considered how to do so with honesty, so I wouldn't lose my fey blessing of lie detection, then hated myself for giving a damn about such a thing at a moment like this. My cold draconic mind, however, didn't care about that sentiment, as a suitable answer found its way to my mouth.

"I may not know what happens in death, but I do know that I will likely live for a very long time, becoming unimaginably powerful in the process. I have more potential than any of my kind before me. If... When I reach this point, I will look into the matter of souls and the afterlife.” I paused, realizing that I was still talking about myself. After clearing my throat, I continued in a more soothing voice. “Kobolds have always served us faithfully. If I find that what awaits your people in death is anything less than joyous, I will do what I can to resolve it. Perhaps I could create a plane of existence for every kobold soul to dwell, with peace under my protection. But what do you think?"

The wounded kobold's eyes opened wider than ever.

"That... makes this... humble Gul, happy. Gul knows... you... will succeed." He replied, closing his eyes. A small smile now lingered on his face.

That was the last thing Gul would ever say.

His wounded comrade died shortly after, and with that, something in me snapped.

The next thing I knew, I found myself wailing toward the sky.