“With caution and cunning, even the smallest army can do wonders.” King Brian Felnus I of Alantar.

  "So what’s the plan?” Savrassa asked.

  “You two go out and whittle down their numbers,” Rathorn said. “Don’t engage in direct combat, don’t take too long. Just hit them quick, and get away. If you kill them, good. If not, retreat and try again later. And don’t be too close together. Make them spread out. They’ll be easier to fight that way.”

  “What about you?” Savrassa asked.

  “I’ll be taking shots at them from here,” the older varanian grunted. “Now go!”

  The younger varanians nodded and ran outside. The army was just starting to arrive as they’d left the main gate, but they were able to duck down before anyone saw them.

  “So how are we doing this?” Savrassa whispered.

  “I’ll go for the larger groups,” Garassk replied. “You strike at the smaller ones. We do everything we can to keep them from going into the temple.”

  He scanned the horizon. Unfortunately, the guards were spread out enough that he couldn’t be sure where the ideal place to attack would be. Even as more men arrived, they didn’t space themselves out at all. Guess I’ll just have to make an opening, he thought.

  Garassk drew his sword and crawled toward the gathering army. They examined the ruins, clearly preparing for a siege. So far, he counted twelve of them. Not an encouraging sight. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when no more soldiers came, but then he remembered that he still had to do something.

  He placed the blade in his hand and flanked the army, striking the nearest soldier.

  “Gah!” the man shrieked as the armor around his leg buckled upon contact with the pommel. Every other head snapped to attention at the sound.

  “Oh… hi,” Garassk said waving. He turned and ran as soon as one of them started charging. Once he saw that he was heading straight for a three, he jumped for the trunk and scurried upwards. When he reached the first branches, he looked down to see the soldiers surround the tree. Three men stayed back and drew bows.

  Savrassa popped up from behind them and speared the nearest one in the leg. When the other two turned toward her, she swung her tail at the head of the one to her left, sending him to the ground. A stomp on his neck kept him from ever getting up.

  “Another one!” one of the soldiers shouted. Four of them broke off from the tree to confront Savrassa, who fled deeper into the woods. The wounded archer prepared to shoot Garassk again, only for a crossbow bolt to sail through the air and dig itself into his abdomen, causing him to scream out again. The knights at the tree turned to see what had happened, and Garassk leapt down behind them. A few of them turned at the sound, but he slashed the throat of the nearest man and ran around them.

  “Stop him!” someone shouted. Garassk hissed and swung his sword to intimidate them further. Four left, he thought. We’re almost ready to go back into the ruins. One of the men jumped in front of him and thrust a halberd at his legs. Garassk jumped aside and rammed his opponent. The soldier only staggered, but that gave him the time he needed to grab the man and throw him at his allies, causing them to stumble over each other. Rathorn shot off another bolt, burying it into one of the men. Garassk went up to the men and clubbed them senseless.

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  “Sorry lads,” he said. “It’s nothing personal. You’re just in the way.”

  When he was sure they wouldn’t get up and trouble him, he ran back toward where he saw Savrassa fleeing. He could taste the scent of both varanian and humans, but he had no idea what was happening. Had she fought off her opponents? Had he won? Had she encountered reinforcements? Each possibility hammered itself into his head as he hurried to get an answer.

  He slowed as the sounds of fighting got louder. A taste of the air told him that he’d found them. He crouched down and crawled toward the noise. He arrived to see Savrassa squaring off against the one soldier. They both seemed tired, struggling to find an opening to end the fight. Dead men sprawled around the ground before them. As the two of them circled each other, Garassk waited until the enemy soldier’s back was turned. When the man was completely in front of him, he drew his dagger and stabbed him in the heel.

  “Agh!” the man shouted. “What the…?” Savrassa speared him through the neck before he could figure out what was going on. His body started to slide against the spear, but she pushed it off.

  “Nicely done,” Garassk said.

  “What about the others?” she asked.

  “Mostly taken care of,” he replied. “They’re unconscious for now. We’d best get back to the ruins. If they wake up, we can trap them in there, and fight them off on our terms.”

  “How many are left?”

  “About three or four who might be able to actually fight. Two are wounded, last I saw.”

  Savrassa nodded and started running back toward the ruins. Garassk tailed her, thrilled that the fight had been going their way so far. This might just be their last fight, in the best possible way.

  The men had gotten themselves up by the time the two of them had returned, and were tending to their wounded comrades. Garassk prepared to charge the nearest man.

  His comrade noticed and rushed to stop the attack. Garassk jumped away in time to avoid a fatal slash and parried the next blow. They repeated these steps a few times before Savrassa tried to spear him from the side. The soldier blocked her strike and kicked her away.

  “Fight me like men!” the soldier shouted. “Only a coward would use numbers as you do.”

  Garassk resisted the urge to make any number of snide remarks that came to mind, and hooked his sword around the man’s legs, causing him to lose balance. He then lifted the man from behind and dug one of his claws into the man’s throat. Blood seeped from the hole as he pushed the man aside. He turned to the last able-bodied man, sword raised.

  “Enough!” someone shouted from afar. Garassk stopped and turned toward the sound.

  Everyone up to this point had merely been a soldier. The man stepping forward now was a knight! Plate armor covered his entire body, and every inch of the pure-white metal was decorated to create the impression of a skeletal dragon. He walked with confidence and carried a halberd that he clearly knew how to wield. Savrassa froze in fear.

  “I take it this is Drakkill?” Garassk asked, certain he already knew the answer. Savrassa managed a quick and stiff nod.

  “My lord,” the last soldier said, bowing his head. “We’ve taken heavy losses...”

  “Put the wounded up against the ruins,” the knight ordered. “Then go in yourself.”

  “My lord?”

  “There’s a crossbowman in there giving them aid. Flush him out. I’ll take care of these two.”

  The soldier got up and dragged his wounded comrades at his master’s command. Drakkill turned to Garassk and Savrassa.

  “So you’re Lord Drakkill,” Garassk began, but the knight clearly wasn’t listening.

  “You’ve proven more capable than I imagined,” he said, twirling his halberd. “But now you have my undivided attention. Pray to your gods, because the best you can hope for now is the chance to meet them when this is over.”