The army halted in the valley. Earl Raynnard of the Flaming Lands was sitting on his horse, observing his troops. Soldiers and knights were putting on helmets, strapping shields to their arms and moving into position, cavalry in front, followed by infantry. The archers were in the back. Apart from soldiers and knights, there were also some who were beating on war drums and a few bannermen proudly carrying the banner of the Flaming Lands.

Among the group, he suddenly spot some of his son's companions: Maréin, the woman – Vaciana, was it? – and that scoundrel Marholdson. It still displeased him that he would have to let the man walk freely after all this. However, he appeased himself, Marholdson had a wonderful knack for getting into trouble with the law, so sooner or later, one of the earl's fellow nobles would probably have the rogue locked away or even executed.

Then there was that wanderer. One of those people who were far too idealistic to understand the reality of ruling and the harsh decisions the earl sometimes had to take. The problem wasn't, however, that Maréin was an idealist, no, the problem was that he had the annoying habit of acting out his beliefs. And if Enorwin was right and the wanderer really had powers, then the man's presence could interfere with the earl's strategy in an unpredictable, yet probably detrimental way.

Raynnard nodded to himself. The wanderer had spoken out against him before, and the only reason he'd refrained from punishing him was that his son appeared fond of him. Otherwise, he'd probably have retaliated on the spot: people like Maréin occasionally had the ability to make other people question authority as well, and in this age, in this kingdom, Raynnard could not permit his rule to be questioned. If that happened, his earldom would quickly fall into disorder.

He supposed that was where duke Hadufried had made his mistake. He'd been too capriciously cruel. Even if the people of Dracherwold did obey him, they ran the risk of them or their family members being punished. Eventually, they had nothing left to lose. The people learnt to live with the constant fear of the duke and were willing to risk everything to end that state of terror and loss.

In contrast, the earl never took random action; instead, he punished those who defied him and if he could, he rewarded those who were loyal to him. That was how he made people obey him, and so far, it had always worked.

He refocused. Right now, what mattered was getting that wanderer out of the way for the duration of the battle. Marholdson, too, and perhaps Vaciana as well, as more of a safety measure.

He turned his head towards Nickandon Wilnasson, who was sitting on a horse next to him. Raynnard could not deny that over the years, he'd begun to consider Wilnasson a friend. The swordsman was as much of a realist as he was. True, he was not the most obedient as far as formalities were concerned, but he was loyal when it counted.

"I want that wanderer, Marholdson and the Southern woman kept out of the battle," the earl said. "Can you arrange that?"

"Do you want them guarded?" Wilnasson asked.

"Yes," Raynnard replied. "But by capable people. Apparently, the wanderer can influence minds. On top of that, Marholdson is a draconic human, and I have a suspicion that the Southern woman is, too. She's blind, but seems unhindered by it: I think she may be using her draconic scent to 'see'."

Wilnasson nodded. "A guy who can mess with people's minds and two draconic humans. Noted. So you want strong-willed, loyal people?"

"Yes," the earl said. "People who would kill their friends for me if I asked them to. I don't want them to fall victim to that wanderer's powers and let those three escape. That could severely compromise the battle."

"Understood," Wilnasson said. "I'll arrange it."

"Thank you, Nickandon," Raynnard said, as Wilnasson descended from his horse and began to walk away. Raynnard gazed after him. Once again, he'd given the swordsman an order and the latter had immediately got to work. The earl found that he admired the man's pragmatism.

Of all my servants, he thought to himself, you are the most loyal.

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"This is so wrong," Maréin said to Vaciana in Southern. "So terribly wrong."

"You can do this," Vaciana said. "I'm sure you can. Use your powers."

"Can you imagine what a burden that is?" Maréin asked, unable to conceal his growing panic. "I'm going to feel personally responsible for everyone who dies in this battle."

Vaciana laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you're going to do all you can do. That's all anyone could expect of you."

Maréin sighed. "So much could go wrong."

Vaciana smiled sadly. "Why is it so often the most caring people who feel the guiltiest?"

Maréin managed to smile at her. "Thank you for being there for me."

"Hey, you took care of me when I had dragon's fever, remember?" Vaciana asked. "Even when you found out I'd been sent to kill you all."

Maréin said nothing. Throughout his life, many people had reminded him of all the good he'd done, but somehow, all the times he'd failed seemed to matter so much more.

Vaciana suddenly sniffed. "There's people behind us," she whispered in Southern.

Slowly, the two of them turned around, only to see that they were being surrounded by a group of six soldiers, their halberds pointing at their captives.

Outside of the circle stood Nickandon Wilnasson, his sword drawn. "You are to come with us," he said.

"What's this all about?" Vaciana asked.

"No way!" Maréin yelled. "That's not happening!"

The soldiers moved closer. Their looks were determined.

"If you'd prefer to get stabbed," Wilnasson said scornfully, crossing his arms, "you're welcome."

"Listen to me!" Maréin said. He used his powers, establishing what might be a vague mental connection to the group of soldiers and Wilnasson. "A terrible battle is about to break out and I may be able to prevent a lot of deaths! You have to let me participate!"

His words didn't take root in their minds. He sensed that. It felt as though his powers had grasped in thin air.

"For the earl," one of the soldiers mouthed, probably to strengthen his resolve.

Wilnasson looked the knight in the eye. "Letting you disturb the battle will probably only get more people killed," he said. "I've been in battle before and I just hate it when something unexpected interferes with our strategy."

Maréin grunted in frustration. There was nothing he could do. Yes, they could try to run now, but it was them against six trained soldiers and their commander.

"I can breathe fire," Vaciana whispered in Southern.

Immediately, the tip of a halberd was pressed against her throat. Wilnasson, who was standing right behind the soldier who was threatening Vaciana, said in annoyance, "I fought beside some of these men in the Southern Rebellion. Some of us speak Southern." He paused, then added, "And the moment you breathe so much as a spark, that sharp metal tip will go straight through your throat."

"Don't," Maréin whispered to her. "Please."

"Alright," she said, "I won't breathe fire."

The tip of the halberd was removed from her throat, but remained dangerously close to it.

"Now follow us!" Wilnasson said. He turned around, leading the way, and Maréin and Vaciana followed him, still surrounded by the soldiers.

Maréin once again felt anger surging within him. How dared the earl do this? He had just actively defied the way of peace, instead going straight for war.

And yet, in a way, maybe it was Maréin's fault, too. If only he'd made a better plan beforehand. If only he'd acted sooner, if only he'd been bolder...

Suddenly, he spot the earl, sitting on his horse, inspecting his troops. Then, he turned his head to look at the group of soldiers taking Vaciana and Maréin away. His gaze met Maréin's.

The knight decided to take his chance. "My lord!" he called out, calling upon his powers.

The soldiers around them immediately halted. Maréin felt the blade of a halberd being placed against his neck.

Earl Raynnard rode closer towards them, but still kept his distance. He raised a hand. The blade was removed from Maréin's throat.

Maréin swallowed his anger for now, focusing on his powers. "Why are you doing this, my lord?" he asked. "There need not be enmity between us. Just let me try and stop this battle!"

To his great surprise, he felt that his words had struck a chord within the earl's mind. The man was silent for a moment, looking at Maréin. Was there some doubt in his eyes?

Then, he averted his eyes. Loudly, probably so that his army would hear him - or maybe to convince himself? -, he spoke, "I will not have you interfere in a battle that is not yours. I will not risk your endangering the lives of my troops, endangering Garowain itself! Soldiers, take them away!"

And so, the two captives were made to start moving again. Fine, Maréin thought bitterly, if that's what you desire.

People were going to kill one another and he was unable to do anything about it. In fact, people were actually preventing him from interfering, from using his powers. It was just awful.

Today was going to be a bad day. An incredibly bad day. And he could do nothing about it, because he hadn't anticipated what the earl would do.

And that was his fault.

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Arwund was only half surprised when he saw Maréin and Vaciana approach, surrounded by soldiers. The breather himself was being guarded by three soldiers, who were pointing their weapons at him menacingly. That didn't scare him so much: he'd been arrested before and found that he was growing a bit used to people threatening him. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching as his friends joined him. Now, they were surrounded by a total of nine soldiers, while Nickandon Wilnasson stood outside the circle.

"You will stay here until the end of the battle," the swordsman said sternly. "We'll see what happens to you after that."

Arwund grinned. "Prince Enorwin promised me my freedom."

"After the battle, yes," Wilnasson said. He looked at the soldiers. "Good luck guarding them. Do not let them escape."

"Yes, sir!" was the reply.

Wilnasson nodded and walked away.

Arwund turned to his friends. "I thought the earl just wanted me out of the way because he had a grudge on me, but apparently, he just doesn't want us in 'his' battle." He didn't bother hiding what he was saying by speaking Northern: some of those guards probably spoke Northern as well as the Middle language, and he had the distinct impression that it was already obvious the three captives didn't get along that wonderfully with earl Raynnard.

Maréin said nothing. He was staring at the snow, a grim look on his face. Vaciana touched his arm.

Arwund shook his head. More quiet than before, he said, "This is bad, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Vaciana affirmed, "it is."

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Enorwin sat on his horse, clutching his lance in his right hand. His shield was strapped to his left arm. Like all the knights by his sides, he'd put on his helm and was now staring through its slits at the entrance of Darfith's cave in the distance.

It was remarkably easy to reach. A gentle slope led up to the immense entrance, which a small army would fit through easily. Enorwin wondered briefly if the entrance was not natural, but had been shaped by the dragons. But dragons could fly, so why make it so easy for humans to enter? For the sake of draconic humans, perhaps? Or had there been a time in the distant past when humans and dragons had worked much more closely together, causing the dragons to design an entrance through which humans could enter?

Enorwin refocused, letting the thought disappear into the background. Right now, he would have to focus on the situation at hand: they would ride out soon, and then he would have to be ready. If he didn't focus during the battle, there was a real risk he'd die.

He breathed in deeply, then breathed out. Stay calm. Panicking won't get you anywhere right now.

He was frightened. He couldn't deny it any longer. He didn't want to die, not yet. He was only seventeen!

How had he ever wanted to fight Darfith one on one, again? Right now, he didn't even want to fight one of the Dragon King's Servants one on one, let alone Darfith himself.

His father appeared, sitting on his horse, riding past the row of knights. They were still out of reach of any archers that could be hiding in the cave.

"Soldiers!" he called out.

Enorwin recalled how he'd spoken to his father a while ago, when he'd renounced his claim to the throne of the Flaming Lands. It struck him how different the earl's voice had been back then. Back then, he'd spoken in a father's voice; this was the tone of an earl, a commander.

"In that cave over there," the earl continued, "Darfith is hiding, a monster that dares call itself a king! He is being supported by his so-called Servants, who'd rather dedicate their lives to serving a beast than obey the laws of Garowain! They seek to overthrow everything we stand for, to destroy the order in our society, to mock our values and our honour!" He paused briefly to let his message sink in. Then he went on, "Today is a bad day! A bloody day! A day of death! That is the price we pay to defend what is right and good! But do not let that stop you! Those so-called Servants want to see you dead! They want to see your families slaughtered! They will pillage your homes, destroy your villages, burn this entire nation to the ground! Well, if that is how they want to fight, then let's give them what they've asked for! Drive your lances through them, stab them with your blades, pierce them with your arrows! Show no mercy! Let's show those monsters that we may get hurt, that we may be killed, even, but that we will never surrender! Never!"

Enorwin cheered, and so did most of the other knights. Later, he would wonder why in the world he'd cheered at that speech, why he'd agreed with such a false description of the Servants, with such mercilessness, but at the moment, it had felt like a relief. He'd been able to forget about his own fear for a moment and aim all his anger and frustration at the Servants and their king.

"For the Flaming Lands!" the earl shouted, raising his sword.

"For the Flaming Lands!" all troops repeated, Enorwin included. The sound was almost deafening.

"For Garowain!" the earl yelled.

"For Garowain!" Enorwin called out, along with the others. There was a rage within him he'd never felt before, a thirst for blood, almost, and deep down an ancient instinct that told him to survive, no matter what it would take.

The earl had moved to the side of the army now. "Lances!" master Wilnasson called out.

Enorwin obeyed, pointing his lance forward. He was aware of every second that went by, every breath he took, every tiny movement made by his mare Jessia.

"CHARGE!"

The word pierced through the cold winter air, and immediately, the horses began to gallop towards the cave entrance, forming a wedge formation. They crossed the plain and rode up the slope, weapons extended. And while riding, they cried the loudest, most passionate war cry Enorwin had ever heard.

They were in.

And right in front of them was a wall of shields, taller than a person and stretching from one side of the cave to the other. Spears were sticking out of the wall.

The horses!

A rain of arrows soared through the air and came down on them. Enorwin raised his shield. One arrow flew right past his left ear – so close! He forced himself to ride straight ahead, even as he heard the thuds of other arrows piercing shields and several cries of pain.

The knight at the front of the wedge had already reached the wall. Enorwin himself was only feet away from the wall now. Luckily, Jessia narrowly evaded the tip of a spear. There! A gap between the shields! He drove his lance into it without thinking. No time to pull it back out; he crashed full force into the shield wall. Screams.

Jessia rode on. She was still alive. He rode through the mass of Servants – how in the world had they trained the poor horse to go on like this?

A sharp neigh. Jessia pranced. Years of training paid of and Enorwin stayed in the saddle. However, the mare collapsed beneath him. She was bleeding from a deep gash in her flank. He quickly got off her and scanned his surroundings – he would have time to mourn his mare later.

Not many Servants had survived the onslaught on the shield wall unscathed. Many were still standing, but they were injured more often than not. However, many horses had fallen, too. Most knights were still standing and the earl's infantry was approaching fast.

A Servant ran towards him. He was armed with an axe and a shield. Enorwin drew his sword and blocked the Servant's first attack with his shield. The axe got lodged in it; that ruined the balance of his shield. The Servant was smart enough to move back before Enorwin could attack him; the prince saw him draw a dagger before disappearing into the mass of fighting warriors.

Enorwin dropped his shield: it was useless with the axe stuck in it and he didn't have time to remove the weapon. He was gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands now.

There were still some Servants with shields standing, but the wall had been breached. That was good: the elite troops would hopefully be able to move past the battle to the inner parts of the cave that way.

Footsteps! He turned around, just in time to see another Servant charging at him, this one wielding only an axe. Too close! Enorwin panicked, then, in a split second, turned his panic into aggression. He parried the attack, then raised his sword.

Just like all those training sessions.

In one decisive move, he brought his blade down on her. She fell; her body crashed to the ground.

Dead eyes looked up at Enorwin. The Servant could not have been much older than himself.

He swallowed. He didn't know whether he'd killed anyone during the initial charge, but even if that was the case, this was different. This was the first time he'd killed anyone this... directly.

He turned towards the rest of the battle, keeping a bit of a distance to have good oversight. In the meantime, his mind was focused on the Servant he'd killed. He'd do everything in his power to set right what he'd done, he decided. He would find out who that Servant's family members were, and then he would donate half his possessions to them. He'd support them in everything they did, make sure they always had everything they needed...

He didn't want to kill anyone else, but what could he do?

Arrows soared overhead, but this time, they were the earl's. At the back of the cave, several of Darfith's archers fell.

Enorwin forced himself to step into battle. A soldier on his side was being threatened by a Servant. Enorwin stepped in and attacked, cutting through the back of her leather armour, though not very deep. She grunted and stepped aside to face both of her enemies, but Enorwin's fellow soldier used the opportunity to drive his sword through her. She let out a muffled gasp, then fell backwards.

Enorwin briefly made eye contact with the soldier who'd killed her. The latter gave him a grateful nod. The prince did not know what to think.

Another Servant attacked him with a sword – how had a commoner got hold of a sword? He seemed to have some training, even: Enorwin struggled to block his onslaught of blows. A gap! The prince attacked, but the Servant blocked his sword. Enorwin recalled his training and managed to disarm him; then he attacked the Servant, who ducked to the ground. Enorwin raised his sword to kill him, but the Servant was quicker and breathed fire.

Enorwin leapt aside, but the flame heated his mail and set fire to the left sleeve of his tunic. He let himself drop to the ground and rolled over to quench the flames. His left arm hurt: he hoped he'd be okay. At any rate, his arm hurt too much to wield his sword with both hands. He'd have to use it one-handed.

He looked around. The Servant who'd burnt him had disappeared. He got to his feet, looking around to see any incoming attackers. The battle had moved a bit farther into the cave. Trying to ignore the pain in his arm, he moved to rejoin the other soldiers.

In the distance, he saw a bright light flare up. A loud roar was heard; it reverberated through the cave. Darfith.

A shudder ran through the ranks. Some soldiers panicked. Enorwin forced himself to focus. No matter what happened, he had to stay focused.

He heard a loud, regular pounding in the distance. The noise echoed against the rock walls. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

And then, a large, black-scaled dragon's head appeared from a dark corridor at the end of the great hall. Sunlight reflected off the creature's reptilian skin. The eyes were yellow, with black slits in the centre.

The fighting immediately stopped. The earl's soldiers carefully began to move back. The Servants turned around to look at their master. Many seemed as in awe as the earl's troops.

"Darfith," Enorwin whispered.

Darfith's mouth moved as he spoke, his sharp tusks going up and down. His voice was deep, loud and gravelly. "So some human earl thinks he can defeat me," the Dragon King said slowly. "Not on my watch." The muscles in his jaw moved in something that might have been a smile. "Well, humans, knights, all you who would rather serve a flea like this earl of yours than bow down to me, today..." – he paused briefly – "... you die!"

Enorwin gasped. His heart began to beat even faster than it already had been. He had to run, flee, get out of this place, NOW!

At that moment, a voice spoke up from the left side of the cave. "Sorry, pal!" the voice called out to Darfith. "But your great-grandpa disagrees!"

And a figure emerged from the shadows, wielding a spear, and ran towards the Dragon King.