Eox—my home and de facto capital of the entire stag civilisation—sat comfortably at the centre of Mythria’s wild landscape; it was where Supreme Leader Llethryn concentrated his power, and where the majority of Great Druid politics were conducted. The cold granite stonework may not be appealing to most, but I found it to be a safe and secure place. Where other cities had their own aesthetics, power structures and ways of life, Eox kept things simple and efficient. It was a city where power meant everything.

The army, while victorious, meandered along a stony road that cut through the glens that bordered Llethryn’s dominion with that of Quetzander’s. The verdant hills strewn with boulders provided a pleasant vista to occupy our minds. To help us forget the many lives that had been lost, and were now no doubt walking again because of The Necromancer’s dark magic. The further we travelled south, and away from the shadows of the northern mountains, the better. After several days, we were homeward bound.

Grom, the dragon I had fought beside and befriended, walked along with me. “Hey, look,” he said, pointing out yonder. “We’re almost there, I can see it!” His bouncy excitement was childish, but it did help lighten the otherwise droll mood that had gripped the rest of the warriors.

It had been a tiresome trek, with cold nights and terrible weather, and it would have been more unbearable had Grom not offered to carry my baggage. Slung over his shoulder, bundled in a burlap sack, was my armour, a few satchels of provisions and other camping tools, and that stone pendant I had looted from the battlefield. My sword was still at my side—I would be in serious trouble if I let Grom carry that, too.

“I told you it would not take long,” I said. “How are your feet? They are not sore, are they?”

Grom stammered his walk to check under his large bare feet. Other than the mud and dirt that caked the soft beige soles, his feet seemed fine. I could not have bore to walk so far without shoes, but the Beastfolk seem almost opposed to the idea of footwear. For the stags, it was understandable—their hoofed feet hardly needed protection from sharp stones or twigs. The crows, too, with their hard taloned feet. But the others: dragons, wolves, and stoats? Perhaps it was just an instinct they retained after they were blessed by the Emerald Moon? Surely it couldn’t be difficult to make themselves a pair of sandals or clogs?

Honestly, the Beastfolk are a bizarre lot. Or, maybe it was we humans that are the odd ones? Who truly knows. Each race had their strengths and weaknesses; their uses and limits. Some powerful, others weak. Dragons, despite being Beastfolk, also lack magic as humans do, though I do not know why. I thought all Beastfolk had magic. Must have something to do with their intelligence, or lack thereof.

Grom sniffed at one of my satchels he carried. I knew exactly what he was after. “Can I have another piece? Please? Please?” he asked, even though his hand was already in the bag.

“Hungry again?” I sighed, not at all surprised. He was a dragon, after all—their stomachs were bottomless. It must have been the sixth time he had asked, and the sixth time I surrendered them. “Very well. While you’re in there, hand me a clean linen wrap. I need to redress my wound.” The dragon took out his pemmican snack, and then handed me what was also the last of my bandages. This friendship was proving to be rather costly.

Wrapped in a dock leaf, the chewy pemmican was deliciously dense and bursting with flavour, perfect for the long road. Made from dried mutton—smoked for extra flavour—chopped dates and cranberries, Grom’s sharp teeth could not wait to bite into it. He brought the dark ration up to his lips, mouth wide open and ready to devour. It was then smacked from his fingers without warning.

“Get that away from me!” Kertzikos bleated as he strode by us, bandaged up more than I was. The snack tumbled through the air and fell into the tall grass of a road-side ditch. “I can’t stand that stench. Carnivorous fool!” He turned his nose up at Grom and continued on his way, closely followed by another dragon who also hauled his gear for him.

I placed a hand high up on the dragon’s shoulder and gave him a pat. Since he was more than a head and shoulder taller than me, I had to stand on tip-toes to reach. Reassured, Grom sniffled, lamenting at the loss of his meaty treat. His big amber eyes grew baubles of tears, which ran down the rough leathery surface of his cheeks. I, too, was a little upset at what the commander did—that was my last piece of pemmican!

“Don’t worry about that,” I told him. “When we get home, I’ll have Eloris make you one of those meat rolls you like. You know, the ones with sage mixed into the pastry. How does that sound?” Now I was hungry! My promise did little to cheer him up, however, but it was enough to stop Grom from bawling like a scared hatchling.

Dragons, though physically tough, were young and simple—a new-born race. From what I understood, it had only been a couple of centuries since they appeared under the most recent rise of the Emerald Moon. Apparently, before then, dragons were terrible creatures that tore through the skies on great wings, breathing magical fires from their lungs across the lands. It all sounded silly. I couldn’t imagine Beasts such as dragons being anything other than these shy, timid people everyone took for granted; not some flying monsters that terrorised Mythria worse than gryphons do.

We marched onward. I re-dressed the wound on my forearm, the dirty bandage replaced by the new, clean one Grom had given me. The burn had begun to heal nicely thanks to the application of honey and aloe. The risk of infection was lowered because of it. The last thing I wanted was to suffer a flesh disease, or worse, need to have the arm amputated. I do not know what I would do with one less arm. Not fight particularly well, I would guess. Which would mean my use as a warrior would be null. And we all knew what happened to useless things…

I put my mind off such thoughts. Thankfully, we were reaching the final leg of the journey home. In the distance, as we peaked a hill, the city of Eox could be seen—the grand temple of Llethryn stood dominant as its major feature. The camps outside the city walls housed most of Llethryn’s slaves; further out from the city were many farms and pastures, which raised cattle for meat and leather, sheep for wool, and where various food crops grew. The closer we got, the more I could start to smell the fields of pepper grass—a stag favourite.

Perhaps that is why Kertzikos rushed so far ahead?

Farmhands greeted us as they diligently worked amidst the tall green stands, their stag work-master stood over them with whip in hand, the grass just barely above their waist. From the stacks of filled wicker baskets and wooden carts, this year had a bumper harvest. This was a wonderful sign. More food to go around! So it was not wonder the slaves were in such a jovial mood.

Even Grom looked happy to see the amount of reaped greens, despite his appetite being decidedly more carnivorous than most.

Passing the farms, we finally arrived at the camps, divided into their respective residential functions by log palisades and wooden structures. The two camps either side of the road leading on to the city gates were the human garrison camps—where I lived. My new friend Grom lived in one of the labourer camps a short distance away from where the river ran through the city.

Before I had got close to the gates of my camp, I was met with the open arms of Eloris, my wife. She jumped into my arms, and I caught her in a spin. “Oh, Armand!” she said as we came to a stop, her long red hair whipping around us. “I’m so glad you made it back. I was so worried these past few days that you would never return.”

I kissed her on the lips. “Worry not, dear,” she was told. “We were victorious in battle, and only delayed because of bad rains up north.”

Eloris noticed my injured hand, and she worried over me again. “Goodness! What happened? Are you alright? Let me see that…”

“Heh-heh. Please, I’m fine. Just a burn, is all. One of our healers—a she-wolf—treated it with honey and aloe after the battle. She did a good job. I’ll survive.” It was not enough to calm her concern. Viola, the female wolf who had tended my wound, knew what she was doing; and it was fortunate she had mundane healing salves to use. Has she not, I would have had to go without. Magical healing, be it spells or potions, weren’t as effective on us humans. Quite the opposite, in fact.

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Nevertheless, she still took a careful look at my forearm. Just as I had said, the burn had healed nicely. The flesh had dried with a thin layer of scab. Its yellowed colour was just from the honey, but my sweet Eloris wanted to make certain it was not the yellow bile of infection.

“Hi!” interrupted Grom. “Are you my friend’s love? Hello.”

Eloris chuckled, “Yes, I am. And you are…?”

“Eh, th-this is Grom,” I intervened. “He and I fought together, pretty much saved my life at one point.”

Grom nodded enthusiastically, a toothy smile on his face. He had Eloris’ eternal gratitude for keeping me alive, even though I was more than capable of doing that on my own. Dragons were always a helpful bunch.

I reclaimed my war gear from him, and set it all down for the moment. “Thank you, Grom,” I said. I then turned to my wife and asked, “Dear, do you happen to have any of your special meat rolls? I did promise him you would make him some.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “A little forewarning would have been nice,” she jested. “Ah, but I sadly have run out of pastry the other day. And the ones I did make have either all gone or turned bad.” Grom’s long ears, which had stood erect, fell limp either side of his head. “Oh, don’t worry, Grom. I’m sure Armand will head to the market and get me some more…”

The request was obviously suggested. “Okay, okay. I’ll go once I’ve sat down—we have marched for nearly a week straight.”

“Aw, your poor, poor legs. Are they tired? Would you like me to rub them with chamomile, my little Great Druid?” She giggled and gave me a peck on the forehead. If I really was a Great Druid, I would expect more than just some chamomile and a kiss from her. “Alright, you can have your rest,” Eloris continued. “Then, you can go get those ingredients for me.”

The camp had started to crowd as more and more warriors met back with their friends and family. Everyone was just as relieved to see their husbands, brothers and fathers return safe and sound. It was impossible to ignore those who unfortunately had to stand alone, no one to welcome back with gleeful embrace. An all too common sight whenever the Great Druids got into a spat with one another.

“Well, well… Look who made it back alive,” the familiar voice of Haryn called out to me. He squeezed his way out from the gathered people and made his way over to us, still dressed in his mustard-coloured city guard tunic. “And all in one piece… More or less.”

We threw our arms around each other and smacked the other’s back in a warrior’s hug. “Indeed I have,” I said, breaking free.

Haryn took a curious look at the burly dragon next to us. “Who’s this?” he asked abruptly.

“This is Grom. He fought with me against Quetz’s army. Don’t let his friendly face fool you, he’s mean with a hammer.”

“Is that so? Huh.” Haryn had a cynical expression. Like most people, he did not see much potential in dragons. But he did not witness Grom fight, how he swung that maul like it was but a stick to reduce the undead to dust and gore. Even if he was just a dragon, Grom was a damn fine warrior.

Maybe I should train Grom up some more? I pondered. Then he’d be unstoppable! “Make yourself useful and grab some of my gear for me,” I told Haryn. The sound of his clicked tongue was amusing.

Grom, without asking, also bent down to assist, taking my bronze armour in his cradled arms.

We all walked further into the camp, about half way in, to a turf-covered hovel that what was my and Eloris’ home. If you could call it that. There was enough space within for both of us, but not much else. Everyone else had similar hovels; some smaller, but none were particularly big or spacious. They were dug down slightly into the ground, which provided some coolness to the interior, especially on the hot days of high summer. Outside the doorway was a small wooden stool perfect for resting myself on.

My war gear was set down against the front wall of our house, and I thanked my two friends for the help. I placed my backside down on the stool and felt the weight of the world cast off from my feet. Eloris brushed her hand through my blond hair as she went inside.

“So how was it, then?” asked Haryn. “Where they as disgusting as people say?”

“Y-you mean the undead?” answered Grom, unsure.

“No. The cute bunny rabbits.”

Grom cocked his head, confused. “There where rabbits? I didn’t see any…”

“Don’t tease him,” I begged Haryn. As funny as he was being, I wanted some peace and quiet for a moment. “And, yes. Quetz’s minions were as disgusting as people say. It’s their smell that’s the worst part.”

The idle conversation was about to continue, but was disturbed by the rude arrival of a stag. Their face was grimaced, and they searched for someone. “You!” he called out, his finger thrust towards Grom. “What are you doing here? You are meant to be at the lumber camp, dragon! Move your stupid tail! NOW! Before I have it cut off.”

Grom scurried away, a smack to the back of the head from the stag work-master hurried him up. I was given a similar grimaced look as he walked away. I could tell he was displeased by my relaxing, but he was not in charge of the warrior camps, so he had less authority to order me around. That stare, however, did make me tense up a little. Stags did enjoy throwing their weight around, as well as whatever little power they possessed.

Haryn waited until the stag was far out of earshot. “Tsk. Bastard!” he whispered. “Some one should put a shank into him, save us the misery.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please…not this again.” My plea fell on deaf ears.

“Why should we live like this?” he asked, at little louder. “As slaves! Why should we suffer all the work, the toil, when all they do is treat us like dirt? They’d all starve to death if not for us growing and gathering their food for them.” His pale face started the flush red with rage the more he ranted and raved. Talk like that will get him killed one day.

“You’ve been talking with the wolves again, haven’t you,” I sighed, knowing full well he had. As nice as their dream of a free Mythria was, it was a total fantasy. Without the Great Druids, humans would not even exist. We owed them our lives, as far as I believed; them owning us was only natural. As for the other Beastfolk… That was their fight, not ours. Haryn was being manipulated, I was certain of it.

“…we need to band together, show these deer-faced tyrants we deserve to live free,” he blabbered some more. “I know we can take them on. The wolves have magic, dragons are way stronger, and humans are better fighters. We can win.”

I had heard enough! Up from my stool I stood, and looked my dear friend in the eye. “And what if you lose?” I questioned. “What then? You think you’ll be allowed to apologise, return to your previous loyal lives with tails between your legs? No. They kill you. They’ll kill everyone. I may not like it, but it’s the best we got. Just be glad you weren’t born a dragon….” We stared at one another, trapped in an ideological deadlock.

“What in the Void are you two moaning about now?” said Eloris, exiting the hovel.

I turned away and looked at her confused, beautiful face. I lied and said, “…nothing, dear. We were just finishing up.” Haryn’s face soured as I ended our conversation—if it could be called that.

“Oh, good. You can go to the market now…” She handed me a clay tablet in a wooden frame, a short list of items scored into the soft surface.

I gave the list a brief glance. Flour, twine, salt, butter. The sage was easy to forage for, so the shopping would not be too expensive. Along with the tablet, Eloris also gave me a small leather bag of stone coins—a slave’s currency, used to keep track of our payments and consumption. It had slight weight to it. Perhaps there’s enough for me to sneak a cup of ale while I’m out?

I departed from the camp and headed to Eox’s north gate. Haryn followed along in silence. When we arrived, we were met by the gate guards; two stags, one male and one female. They were frisking everyone who were entering the city, confiscating whatever they found valuable of edible and keeping it for themselves, not because any of it was contraband. They stopped us and were about to pat us down when the female noticed something on my neck.

She crouched down and gripped me by the jaw. Her thumb and fingers squeezed tight, but not too tight to hurt. The tattoo on my neck was a small symbol of antlers and a sword—the mark of a warrior-slave. She was a little annoyed having discovered it. "And who are you?" she demanded.

“Armand, of the eleventh foot-group under Master Kertzikos,” I said, standing to attention.

The stag’s eyes widened. “Hmpf. Kertzikos?” she said, sounding almost impressed. “You must be one of his 'elite' warriors, hm?” I felt her gaze challenge me, she almost wanted to test my mettle right then and there. Her grip was then released. "Fine. You may proceed.”

They let me go by, but still gave Haryn a pat-down. They took away a flint knife he had tied to his belt, clouted him upside the head, then shoved him along. He knew he shouldn’t have had that on him. Maybe he forgot; maybe he planned to make use of it. I did not want to think about it. Haryn wasn’t much of a trouble-maker, but enough of one to make his life harder than it should be.

We entered the city, and I finally felt at home.