Battle Tactics

The trees carried them as far as they could before Father’s power weakened. And when they could go no further, when Father’s strength was stretched to it’s limit, it was a swift and unceremonious toss straight into the lake.

At least, that was the intention.

But Sthuna was a creature of air and sky. The moment he felt the wind rushing over his scales, the dark waters rising up to meet him, a thousand silvery hands lifting from the surface to grasp him, his instincts took over. His snout pointed, body angled like a diving falcon, before he snapped his wings out.

Sthuna rose, a slash of silver against the light of the moons.

There was not enough time to catch Eyna. Or perhaps there was - Sthuna didn’t actually try. He trusted, oddly, the word of her so-called ‘Father’. It wasn’t like it truly mattered to him either way.

But Sthuna immediately looked back.

He witnessed the moment the reaching arms clasped Eyna, dragging her under. When the waters closed over her head, her eyes locked on him. He could see their emerald gleam right up until the moment that she disappeared entirely into the blackness. There wasn’t even a ripple.

It was an uncanny thing.

Not drowning. She wasn’t drowning. She’s fine. He had to remind himself, a mantra that kept him steady as she was swallowed up.

The naiads watched him pass with their wide, alien eyes just above the waterline. In the wild, with his hunting parties, this would have been just cause to treat the naiads like an infestation. Perhaps even to drain it in totality, until it was a cracked and barren lakebed.

But there was no fear in Eyna. Not of the water, at least. He knew what she feared. And it wasn’t the lake with it’s unnerving occupants. She’d probably refer to them as her ‘sisters’ or something detestable of that ilk. No, it was the fire, and the harm it did to her treasured home - and, admittedly, the occupants - that frightened her.

Sthuna veered off and away from the lake. Towards the source of the blaze in the sacred springs. Precisely where he’d been instructed not to go.

The Heartsprings was crafted terribly, in his opinion. Only having one way both enter and leave spelled disaster. But… It was, perhaps, because of that terrible construction that Sthuna did not spot any of his winged peers alighting in the sky.

Sthuna had entered this space through the springs. He had followed deep tunnels and braved a potential watery death in their flow. But not every wyrm was capable of holding their breath like he was. The foremost aerial units that imperial units used, those wyrms gifted with fire, were notoriously poor swimmers. Too buoyant.

The fire wasn’t draconic. Mana infused, yes, but the imperial army had mages at their disposal. Not to mention the fact that the Executioner, of all people, was here.

Sthuna circled the sacred springs.

The flames were rippling over the space, but Father’s trick with the moving forest seemed to have done something. The flames weren’t spreading. But they were growing hotter at the center. Rippling pillars of heat filled his wings like sails, letting him soar higher and higher against the night sky.

His thoughts raced. What was the imperial army doing? What was their strategy here? No aerial units. He had yet to spot any ground troops. An Imperial unit on the ground moved in distinctive ways - he would have seen the flames parting for them as their elemental mage manipulated the flow of the flames.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. The Executioner was here, but he didn’t do solo sieges. He did solo executions, sure, but those were on singular high value targets. There was no way the Imperial army had signed off on just sending him to exterminate a place like the Heartsprings on his own.

Think Sthuna, think!

He wanted to yowl like an agitated cat. To shred something under his claws. As it was, he writhed in the air, twisting and spinning. Wasted movements, reflective of his stress. He wasn’t conserving energy like he should. Aarik would have lashed his wings for that. He could hear his Keeper, that insidious whisper at the back of his skull.

Your problem is that you’re dimwitted, you stupid beast. Not a single proper thought between those horns. You never stop to properly think things through. You should’ve been a flame breather. Acid is wasted on you.

He was stupid. He knew it, of course. He’d never had the quicksilver mind of his peers. Certainly no tactical genius. Sometimes even simple things were a struggle.

And yet.

And yet. It wasn’t as if he could just give up.

Sthuna gnashed his teeth. He didn’t even know what he was doing.

There was a gleam down below. The dark armor. The cold, expressionless helm.

Sthuna made a sharp right, trying to keep himself out of view. Beneath him, caught between flames and whirling heat, the battle between Father and the Executioner was still underway.

The Executioner advanced on the forest steward. One gauntlet covered hand held his morning star flail. The wicked thing he had used to end the lives of many creatures such as Father.

The Executioner spun the deadly spike in a swift arc, blurring it through the air.

Father dodged.

The spiked ball tore through a tree trunk, splitting the wood. The tree fell, crashing through the forest, foliage immediately catching flame from the ashes and sparks around it.

Neither Father nor the Executioner turned to watch, eyes locked on one another, bodies caught in a deadly circle. Not even as the flames leapt close. Not even as they licked at Father’s hooves, burning his fur and singing his skin.

The Executioner brought down the flail. It missed Father by a hair's breadth, slamming into the earth. Shock-waves reverberated across the space, the terrifying strength of the Executioner seeming to dent the earth itself.

Father lunged for the Executioner, claws extended. He struck, antlers lowered, deadly points seeking the seams in the Executioner’s armor. Teeth screeched against iron. Father was like a wild animal. A raging bear, tearing into his enemy. A screaming mountain lion, leaping and pouncing. A proud stag, stabbing and goring at his opponent.

The Executioner stumbled back under the savagery. But he did not succumb to it.

Just as Sthuna had expected.

The dragon didn’t fancy Father’s chances. Father would die. It was only a matter of time. And it would be brutal. The Executioner was not known for his kindness to fae beasts.

So what? Isn’t that perfect? This is exactly what you wanted to happen, isn’t it?

Sthuna’s spines rattled against his back.

He should have wanted this. It should have been a sense of vindication surging in his hearts, not a sickening burn of… Something.

The Executioner wasn’t someone Sthuna could handle. His armor was impenetrable, even when exposed to Sthuna’s most potent acid.

So then - what?! What was he supposed to do?

His training told him to aid the Executioner. To target Father from the sky, to use his acid to weaken the fae beast until the Executioner could finish him off.

Sthuna cursed himself, hurling every dark name at himself.

Stupid beast. Waste of space, waste of breath, waste of every resource, think damn you! Think of something, there has to be something!

The only way for the Heartpsrings to have been discovered had to be by following Sthuna. Every imperial wyrm had a sigil branded into their body. Wyrm recollection was taken seriously. So what was the imperial army going off of?

Sthuna and his Keeper had been separated from the rest of his unit during their last mission. Sthuna had encountered the Xoltl, he’d incurred his curse, and he’d fled. The fact that he ended up in the Heartsprings was a coincidence. Even he had had no idea that a place like this existed.

What if the imperial army was acting off of that same limited information?

Sthuna’s hearts seized.

Was… Was that it then…?

Was it really that simple?

It was so obvious. But part of him, the part ingrained through his years of training, resisted the idea. The army of Arhra’Toar was invincible. It didn’t make mistakes like sending one of their greatest warriors alone into a death trap.

But… If it were the case… Then the Heartsprings might not fall on this night.

They’d have to find a way to deal with the Executioner. But if they could handle that, and take out the mage responsible for the flames…

For the first time since he’d scented ashes and smoke on the air, he felt a sense of almost… Lightness. The dark tide of despair that had threatened to overwhelm him receded, if only a little.

There was a chance.