Unscoured - Trials Of The Great Khan

by GamprHabanero

Five dragonets find themselves thrust into the world with only an enigmatic 'scavenger' for aid and protection. A man awakens to find that everything he's worked for is completely and utterly destroyed, with only a group of dragonets for company. Can these dragonets keep him sane and help him gain back what he lost? Who will be the heroes' hero, and who will be the hero's heroes?

4. P1A2C1

Alright, this is where things start picking up. Altamir fights his first (big) battle here...and gets hit in the face with war's ugly nature.

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BEGIN ARC: ALTAMIR'S CONQUESTS

CHAPTER 1: BLUE SKIES AND BLOODSHED (BATTLE OF QIZIL QIRGHAQ)

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Early March, 1533 B.S.

"Father, is that wise?"

In the Panjian capital of Gurganj, Tahmasp, the 14-year-old Shahzade (crown prince) of Panjistan, was asking aloud what he'd been asking mentally for years now. His father, Wērōd...Tahmasp knew full well that, by Ahura Mazda's name, the man was simply not right in the head, and was the definition of a "Mad Shah". He'd ordered servants put to death for trivial things (misplacing his robes, mispronouncing his titles, misspelling his oddly-styled name in records, or even, in one instance, merely talking about the benevolent, wise reign of Tahmasp's grandfather, Parvaneh, whom Tahmasp was now sure that Wērōd had murdered to ascend the throne). He terrorized the populace of his own kingdom and allowed corrupt brown-nosing officials to run roughshod over them and inflict terrible abuse on them. Any sort of dissent against him and his reign was 'dealt with' bloodily and violently, with not only men and women, or even boys and girls being tortured and executed, almost all wrongfully (and ALL wrongfully, in the case of the latter two). And that was not getting into how he frequently caused all sorts of chaos and havoc for those of other realms and countries, from delivering grievous insults, to insisting that their countries didn't exist, to harrying and even arresting foreigners for fabricated reasons and either imprisoning them or exiling them.

Right now, the reason for Tahmasp asking this aloud was what he had done to a Parlataean diplomat. The man had clearly only wanted to negotiate and ensure peace for his people. He clearly hadn't expected Wērōd to first mock him and then draw a sword and cut his head off. As blood poured from both head and stump, Wērōd turned to look at his oldest son, and chuckled.

"Hmph...and what makes you ask that, boy? Are you so afraid of a motley bunch of pony lovers who are better at herding goats than they are at raising swords?"

Tahmasp swallowed to try and study himself. "Father...the Parlataeans...they're allies with the Galatians, the Baktrians, and the Sagartians! Such an alliance defeated the Aghlabids before us! Do you truly think we-?!"

He was cut off when Wērōd went from chuckling to roaring laughter. "You cower too much, boy! They may think themselves safe in such an 'alliance', but we have an army far greater and mightier than all of them put together! We shall crush them in battle and bring them to heel, such will their wills be weak! Or are you questioning my rule?"

"I..." Tahmasp wanted badly to tell his father off for his ruling, but knowing that his father would murder him...he had to back down. "...no." For now.

At this, Wērōd laughed again. "Well then, if you wish to become shah, then you shall ride with me against battle and prove yourself to have some mettle in there, boy! I'd better be able to see you not be a weak whiner like you have been for so long before if you wish to remain my Shahzade!"

With that, the silent message was there for Tahmasp to leave the throne room...and so he did, and returned to his own quarters. When he did and closed the door behind him, he hissed in frustration and no small amount of fear.

"He truly is mad..." Tahmasp muttered. "Does he not realize that he will lead Panjistan to ruin, and countless people to death? Does he even care?" Then he buried his face in his hands. "Just...what can I do to stop him? How do I save Panjistan from bloodshed and ruin?"

"How to stop someone madder than an Elephant in Musth? That...will take some thinking. And some skullduggery."

At hearing this, Tahmasp flinched and looked out the window...and saw the zig-zagging scar on the snout of a now-familiar face. "Khamsin?" He was a six-year-old Sand Dragonet who was an adopted son of Queen Manticore, and by extension a (non-hereditary, in his case) prince of his tribe.

"It's me, Tommy." He was one of Tahmasp's few friends, and the young Shahzade knew him to be friendly and personable, but also very smart, clever, intelligent, and brave, with all four of the latter qualities being ones that Tahmasp envied to some degree. "So, what did he do this time? Something really bad?"

"You have no idea..." Tahmasp sighed. "It's very, very bad this time. He's put all of Panjistan in mortal peril. He's going to get us all killed..."

"Is he? That sounds...pretty dire. Hmm..." Then, Khamsin looked side-to-side before looking back at him. "...so...given that the walls have ears...wanna go flying with me so we can talk where no one else hears us?"

Tahmasp flinched again when hearing this. "F-Flying? With you? But...but I..." He'd flown with Khamsin before, but it was always nerve-wracking due to his fear of heights.

"I won't let you fall, Tommy." Khamsin knew of this fear of his, and seemed to be trying to reassure him, and Tahmasp did admit that he was convincing. "Come on. Trust me on this." The Sand Dragonet then stretched out his talons to the window.

"If...if you say so..." At this gesture, Tahmasp set his turban aside, as well as any sort of clothing or item that he would lose on such a flight, before walking towards the window and shuffling out through it. Once he was all the way out of the window, he felt Khamsin take him in his talons. "Ngh-! Please...please don't drop me. I..."

"Hey, it's okay, Tommy." Khamsin, thank Ahura Mazda, was tender and careful as ever as Tahmasp felt the much larger Sand Dragonet gently embrace him as if he was a small child. "It's okay. I've gotcha. I've gotcha. You're not gonna fall. I'm not gonna let you fall." Then, he felt himself being set down on Khamsin's back, which he found a place to hold onto, and as tightly as possible. "Okay...you ready, Tommy?"

"As ready as I'll ever be..."

"Well then, into the air we go."

Before Tahmasp could question this statement from, he found himself trying to suppress a yelp as he suddenly felt his stomach drop and saw the roof line of Gurganj seemingly sink in his vision. Within a few seconds, he could see and feel the steady wingbeats as Khamsin leveled himself...two hundred feet up from the ground.

"Still there, Tommy?" Khamsin's voice drew Tahmasp back to looking at the Sand Dragonet.

"Oh...uh...I..."

"Ah, good. Now then...just what did your 'dear ol' dad' do that you say is quite so dire?"

Working up the nerves to answer. Tahmasp shook his head. "He killed a Parlataean Diplomat just for wanting to negotiate with him and maintain peace."

This made the Sand Dragonet's yellow irises become more prominent against his black sclerae as his eyes widened. "Oh...yeah, that's bad. That sounds like the definition of an act of war. Just saying, but does he even know what that means?"

"He either doesn't care or thinks that he can somehow win easily." Tahmasp's voice hitched as he said this. "But the Parlataeans in particular...they're unmatched on the fields, plains, steppes, and flatlands, and the Galatians, Baktrians, and Sagartians, whom they're allied with, aren't to be underestimated either. And yet..."

"...ol' Wiry's underestimating them anyways. Yep, he's definitely gotten you in-between a rock and a hard place."

"You have no idea..." Tahmasp felt himself shake with fear. "He's...he's thrown us to the well for sure...there's no way that he's going to win against an alliance like that. Even if he brings a larger army, all four countries in that alliance have traditions of defeating armies much larger than their own...and it's very likely that Altamir's going to be leading them. He may be young, but unlike my father, who overestimates his abilities in battle, he's capable and surrounded by talented, competent generals, and he's only going to get more to his side when those other three nations join him! If my father leads us against Altamir...then Altamir's sure to crush us, even if he has a smaller army!"

"Altamir...oh yeah, I've heard of him." Khamsin nodded. "He's definitely capable, alright. I would not be surprised if he was able to flatten your dad and whatever army he brings with him in battle. I guess you're afraid of having to be a part of the army in question that gets flattened."

"That's the thing...my father's demanding that I march with him to 'conquest' against the Parlataeans if I'm to be his heir...it's going to end in disaster, I just know it. I...I don't want to die. Call me a coward, but I don't want to die this way. I don't. I...truly don't. But I...I also don't know how to truly put a stop to my father and his madness. What do I do? Just...what do I do? I do not want to be helpless against his madness anymore."

"Tommy..." Hearing this made Khamsin take a more serious, but also more gentle tone. "Okay, for one thing, no, you're not a coward for not wanting to die. It's perfectly natural for both humans and dragons to fear death, and those who don't fear death probably also don't have any sense of self-preservation. For another thing...there is something you can do, so you don't have to be utterly helpless...though I did say that it would need some skullduggery, right?"

"I...you did." Tahmasp was finally feeling some hope at this. "So...what are you suggesting?"

"Well...basically, it involves you defecting." Khamsin saying this made Tahmasp tilt his head in confusion, and seeing this made the Sand Dragonet elaborate. "Okay, so...you know that, while not to the level of the Parlataeans, Panjistan's armies are pretty reliant on the success of their cavalry, right?"

"They...yes, they are."

"And cavalry troops move and advance faster than infantry troops, don't they?"

"Er...they do."

"Well then, here's an idea. Basically, it involves playing along with your dad's war goal, maybe with a claim or two that you've 'thrown off your cowardice' and whatnot, and offering to lead the cavalry. If you're able to lead that cavalry, go and lead it out ahead of the main army, and once you get close to Altamir's army, talk to the other generals and commanders you've managed to snag, and tell them that you're going to take them with you to defect to Altamir, not because of a lack of love for your country and people, but because your dad's a mad tyrant who keeps abusing and ruining his own people, and Altamir is pretty well-known for mercy and compassion towards the common human, but also way too capable for you to be able to win against. Then, go to Altamir and tell him that you wish to defect to him for the sake of your people and so that the war will end after your dad goes down, and maybe recognize him as your suzerain or something like that in exchange for him helping you put an end to the suffering of those same people."

"Hm...that does sound like a plan." Tahmasp was impressed. "But...how did you come up with that? And so quickly at that?"

"Mom always said that I was great at thinking on my feet." Khamsin remarked in turn. "Besides, she and I were actually discussing this sort of thing a few days ago as to what you could do, and we came up with that together."

"Well then..." Tahmasp nodded, somewhat hesitantly, "...if that's the plan I need to put into practice, then I'll do it...if I can."

"That's the spirit, Tommy. Good luck."

"I'll need it." Indeed, Tahmasp was hoping that something didn't go truly awry, or else his attempts to save his people from tyranny under his father would be all for naught. He was also hoping that Altamir was in the mood for at least some mercy as Khamsin carefully flew him back to the palace.

---

Late March

"Sae they're doing well?"

"They are, yer grace. Quite well."

"Ah, good...glad for that. They're my first clutch, the little lads...I almost lost them at the get-go, and Tamuriyah with them. Their health and safety and all is something I want sae that such daes naet happen again...and them being happy and healthy while ye're at it."

"But of course, yer grace. We're always glad tae aide ye...especially after ye gained justice for us two years ago. We have yer backs on this one."

"Glad for that alsae. Do keep it up, lasses. My gratitude is yers."

Things would never be the same for Altamir.

He was now 17 years old, having gained two inches in the two years since he'd wed Tamuriyah (he now stood at 62 inches tall). Tamuriyah, his marriage to her which they'd finally...'consummated' a year ago, when they'd both turned 16. And now there was a result of that.

Four results, actually. And their names were Batu, Baidar, Güyük, and Hülegü.

Yes, Altamir was a father now, and Tamuriyah a mother, despite both of them still being in their teens (not entirely uncommon on Pyrrhia, to be fair). And on their first birthing, they already had four children, quadruplet sons.

Many would consider this a blessing, and a fair few in the tribe naïvely had when they'd heard the news. Altamir and Tamuriyah...weren't so sure about that, given that Tamuriyah had almost died giving birth to those children. Simply put, given the nature of human childbirth, as well as having that many children at once while still young...and in the height of winter on the steppes, at that...it went without saying that Altamir and Tamuriyah now envied that the dragonets, once they grew up and if they ever found mates, would have far better luck with their own little dragonets, as at least the process of laying their eggs wouldn't potentially kill them (given how their eggs were perfectly shaped to pass through, and how small they were compared to them, dragons, at worst, would likely feel sore for all of a few minutes afterwards akin to, say, having had a rather hard 'session' at the latrine pit, and that would be it...whereas humans often had to outright gamble with lives just to make more of themselves).

While they would never not love the four new little lights in their lives, this was a process that neither of them would be repeating, at least with each other, as it had been the most nerve-wracking experience in both of their lives, and her ability to have any more children was likely compromised by how hard it was for her, and Altamir didn't want her to die for real if they were to, against all good sense, do it again. While she'd more or less recovered in the four months since, she was still taking things easy to an extent, and it would probably be a bit more time before she went out hunting with the others again. That was painful for Altamir. He knew that she enjoyed hunting, as she'd come to do so ever since she'd first come here five years ago. He'd felt like he'd stolen it from her. Tamuriyah had herself told him that no, he didn't, but he just couldn't help but feel that way.

Regardless, though, now that he was a father, it was best to be an actually good one. Given that there was no way that he and Tamuriyah could raise FOUR infants on their own, they were glad that there were nursemaids and ladies-in-waiting available thanks to Altamir's position and also his popularity in the tribe, and they made good use of this assistance, making sure to compensate and thank the women and girls in question properly for their aid and assistance. Especially since the ladies-in-waiting were actually the three same girls (Khadagan for the oldest, Khorijin for the middle one, and Kokachin for the youngest) whom Altamir had gotten justice for against that foul creature from Aetolia that dared call himself a 'man' two years ago, and as gratitude, they were the first to volunteer for the jobs. Young as the three of them were (all teenagers in the range of 13-16 years old), they were practically a gift from the gods with how well they did their jobs (apparently, they'd previously had work aiding one of their aunts in getting her little ones past infancy), and that made it all the more important that Altamir and Tamuriyah thanked them and displayed their gratitude properly.

Leaving the tent, and the ladies and nursemaids in question to their work, Altamir came to see his dragonets, now all eight years old (and only three years away from him conclusively having to cease calling them dragonets), and having gotten bigger yet in the two years since he and Tomirish had wed; from nose tip to the base of the tail, Togay was now 48 feet long (and 22 feet tall at the shoulder), the others were now anywhere from 32 to 40 feet long (and anywhere from 14 to 18 feet tall at the shoulder), and Gunesha was now 29 feet long (and 13 feet tall at the shoulder), so it was safe to say that they were all well and truly giant compared to humans, and more than once, Altamir had needed to have the tent re-positioned in such a way so that they had a means to still be able to sleep around him in the tent city. Sorkhagtani the Younger had been getting the hang of her fire breath that she'd acquired two years ago, and while it still dried her out somewhat to use it, it wasn't as bad as when she had very first (and accidentally) used it.

At the present, he also heard a now-familiar racket. A racket that drove him right up the hill. It was another local girl who Tamuriyah was trying to shoo away. The girl was going on and swooning about how he'd supposedly sweep her off her feet, while Tamuriyah was bluntly replying that he wouldn't appreciate her throwing herself at him like she had tried twice before, and that the girl would do well to just leave it. But the girl wasn't listening, clearly swept up in whatever fantasy she was so strongly believing in...even though Altamir had already rejected her the previous two times and told her to leave on both.

"Oh, for fock's sake..." Altamir muttered.

"Aye, same one. Third time this week." Gulay shrugged. "Kinda makes ye wonder if it was worth it to announce ye were open for a second wife." While Altamir had hated having to open up the possibility of the whole 'multiple wives at once' deal that was occasionally practiced amongst the Parlataeans, he knew that, being a prince, and possibly something beyond being a Khan if the Dragon Queens were right about him coming to rule all of Pyrrhia, he needed as many heirs as he could get, so since Tamuriyah was unable to have anymore for fear of her health and safety...he had to start looking for a second wife, much as he hated doing so, and especially having to announce such a thing. At least this tradition meant that, unlike with more...monogamous realms, he didn't have to set Tamuriyah side as his wife (it was just that she would no longer be his ONLY wife), but it also meant that what felt like all the lovesick and/or ambitious girls under the sun were trying to throw themselves at him.

"Hard naet tae thanks tae our status, sadly." Altamir sighed. "Definitely naet for that one, though. She's certainly in love with the idea of being with me, but who's tae say that she'll nae leave at the drop of a hat once she realizes her life with me isn't as glorious as she thinks it'll be?"

"Indeed." Sorkhagtani the Younger shrugged. "Might want tae get atop one of us, though; she'll probably see ye soon and try tae make the 'throwing herself at ye' part literal otherwise."

And sure enough, the girl saw him, squealing something about him being her 'beloved prince', and making right for him in a sprint, with Tamuriyah trying to stop her. Altamir sighed again before jumping atop Gunesha, then atop Chagatai. Then Shiban. And then finally atop Togay. Now atop the biggest of his dragonets, and with Togay gently but firmly refusing to let her climb him, the girl whined.

"My beloved prince, I beg of ye!"

"Nae thanks, lass." Altamir couldn't prevent himself from sounding annoyed. "Already told ye 'nae' twice before, and I'm busy as a father already!"

"But my prince! I-"

"I'd very much appreciate it if ye dinnae throw yerself at me like this any further. Best find another lad tae wed, and there's plenty of thaese! Besides, hate tae be blunt, but what would I have tae gain from wedding ye, anyways? I dinnae see ye being of any particularly notable status or anything like that! Naet tae mention that, the way that ye're wailing right naew, ye might disturb my little lads, make it harder for the lasses in there tae do their job looking after them! Sae the answer is nae, and therefore nae! Take the hint already!"

This seemingly made the girl deflate. "But I...I..."

The dragonets weren't having anymore of the girl's antics, and Chagatai spoke for them. "Ye heard him, lass, best get a move on. Naew get going before he or Tamuriyah calls the guards tae remove ye."

"I..." This finally seemed to make the girl realize that her attempts at 'persuasion' were futile, and she ran off. Altamir wouldn't be surprised if she was wailing about how he rejected her afterwards.

"Should we let yer uncle ken about this one, Aldy?" Gunesha asked.

"It would be good practice." Altamir agreed. "Rather naet have a repeat of THAT incident."

"Ah, right, that one from a month ago with Ibtisam." Shiban's lip curled up in disgust, as did that of the other dragonets. "Ugh, that one still drives me up a bloody mountain."

"Same with the rest of us." Tamuriyah sighed.

While a fair few girls took being rejected badly, none of them had done so nearly as much as Ibtisam had. She was a girl two years older than Altamir who took particular exception to being rejected. What exception? Well, she'd fabricated a tale that Altamir had attacked her in a vile manner (the same manner that the damn roach did with his wife's three handmaidens) just to try and spite him, and then kept doubling down on such a tale no matter how much evidence there was against her claim, whether it be Tamuriyah pointing out that Altamir had never mistreated her during their time together and that her nearly dying having his children was something that simply happened as a part of life, or the various residents in Avraga, be it men and women, boys and girls, young and old, witnessing not only Ibtisam being rejected, but various other instances of Altamir rejecting girls who threw themselves at him without considering how he felt, to even Khadagan, Khorijin, and Kokachin as well as the Dragonets pointing out that if he actually had done such a thing, that they would know, given that the former three had previously been attacked in such a manner themselves. To each instance, Ibtisam had repeatedly insisted that such people were either lying or didn't know what they were talking about, which was absurd to begin with, given the leaps of logic that she was making to justify such claims on top of her main claim...but then she'd topped it by claiming that, given that Khadagan, Khorijin, and Kokachin sided with Altamir, that there was no way that they could be 'true victims'. It was at this point that she'd gotten on Khingila's nerves one time too many, and he bluntly berated her for being the one spewing slanderous lies against his nephew and others with her 'second-rate theater', and for making it harder for those who actually suffer such assaults to be taken seriously with her constant lying, before ordering her family to escort her out of Avraga so that she could be exiled from the tribe. The family members in question did this with no protest, not wanting to be associated with someone who was so quick to slander people over being turned down.

Altamir was glad that no one had really fallen for Ibtisam's claims and lies, and the few that seemed to had been quickly persuaded to give up such stances by the evidence against such claims and the fact that Ibtisam had been exiled. But he was also furious that Ibtisam had done this. Not so much that it was done to him, but that she'd had the gall to slander his wife, his fellow people of the steppe, and especially the girls who had become three dear friends of his (and almost to the point of being 'little sisters', at that); Altamir would never forget when the latter three had come to him desperate and terrified to tears of fear two years ago, so Ibtisam trying to claim that their suffering somehow 'wasn't real' made his blood boil. So, after Ibtisam was exiled, he'd gone and given the three the best embrace he could give them, reiterating that he would never let such horrors befall them ever again.

That was a promise he was keeping for sure. Because he kept his promises, damn it, and with red iron if necessary, for that was what his name meant.

In the present, though, Altamir shook his head. "I ken why, but...best naet tae dwell on that. She's been exiled, and she's naet been sighted since."

"Right, right." Peksen nodded. "So, uh...let's get going tae yer uncle?"

"Aye, let's get a move on, I suppose."

So, Tamuriyah got astride Togay while Altamir was astride Peksen, and the group of nine made their way to where Khingila's tent was. Given that his uncle ruled all of the Parlataeans, things were almost always busy, and one could hear the chatter from a fair bit away. But...

...something was off. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Instead of the chatter, there was relative quiet, and the bustle was brisk and tense. This was very, very unlike how things usually went.

Noticing this, Altamir led his group to the tent, with those who were there nervously shifting themselves out of the way. This was also unlike them; many would usually be more enthusiastic or at least eager about greeting him and his little unit. Altamir did not know why, and he could tell that the others in his group also didn't know why.

Until they all found Yasagur.

The man who had taught Altamir and his dragonets how to read and write, and had helped Togay in particular to overcome his reading problem...was slumping on his feet, looking down. Altamir didn't know why his step-uncle was like that, but he knew that whatever it was, it likely wasn't good.

"Yasagur?" Altamir asked, getting the man's attention. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Hm? Oh...Altamir..." Yasagur looked up, and it was clear from his reddened eyes and translucent lines going down from them that he was far from being in the best mood. "I...I regret that ye're seeing me like this-"

"Just tell me what's going on, Yasagur." Altamir replied pointedly. "I'd care less about how ye look and more about what's which and which is what. Again, what's going on?"

"It's...it's Chala." Yasagur's voice quavered as he spoke. "He was a very good friend of mine...perhaps beyond even that...and he was one of our diplomats. He'd been sent on a mission to Panjistan to negotiate with Wērōd to try and back him off from his sword-rattling...and...and...and..."

"And what?"

"...and...g...go in and ask yer uncle, lad...I cannae bring myself tae say it..."

Altamir then turned to the tent and looked at one of the guards, who seemed to flinch a bit at seeing Altamir tilt his head at him.

"Oh...right...I'll let yer uncle ken that ye're here, yer grace."

So the guard went into the tent, and after ten or so seconds, he came back.

"Yer uncle wants ye tae come in, yer grace."

After glancing back at Tamuriyah and his Dragonets, who were all looking worried, Altamir went inside the tent...and found his uncle and all of his cousins staring at a sack on the floor of the tent. The sack was bloodied, and it looked like there was something round(ish) inside it. There were only so many things that that could mean.

"Uncle." Altamir greeted as best as he could. "Er...what's in the sack? Is that what I...think it is?"

"See for yerself." Jingim seemed to be trying to keep his voice level. "If ye can."

At that, Altamir, with a bit of hesitation, looked at the sack...and leaned down and opened it to look inside. What he found was a sight that made him wish he hadn't, and that was guaranteed to haunt his nightmares.

It was Chala's decapitated head. The eyes were gouged out, the ears were cut off, and the tongue was torn out. Altamir dropped the sack and was sent reeling at this sight, forcing down the bile that threatened to fill his throat. He usually wasn't squeamish to death, but something like this...

Altamir struggled to find his voice. "What in...but...he...he was...he was a diplomat! Why would...why...?!"

"...I regret tae say it, Aldy, but...this is Wērōd's madness at play." Toqtamish sighed. "Killing our diplomat like this...it can only mean that he intends tae war with us."

Altamir's heart sank when he heard this. War. He knew that it was going to happen at some point, but even then, hearing these words was still very hard for him. "War...he'd inflict that scourge on both our people and his own."

"He clearly would, unfortunately." Khingila sighed. "He seems tae believe that he can lead some 'great conquest' of us...the best thing we can do naew is make him regret such a decision. We'll have tae gather the tribes and the peoples of the steppes...and alsae our allies in the Galatians, the Baktrians, and the Sagartians."

Altamir looked around, before finally making his decision. "I...I can go with my dragonets and let them ken about this if ye want, uncle. It'll be faster, and the sooner we get our armies together, the better, right?"

"Hmm...right." Khingila nodded. "Just take care. I dinnae want tae lose ye yet."

"That'll naet happen, uncle." Altamir clenched his hand. "I promise."

So, Altamir then stepped out of the tent and hustled back to Tamuriyah and his Dragonets.

"What's going on, Aldy?" Togay asked. "And why do ye look paler than snow?"

"D-Do I?" Altamir didn't know what he was looking like right now, but he was a little embarrassed. "I guess it's because I found the eyeless, earless, tongueless head of one of our diplomats sent back tae us from Panjistan. Wērōd did that. Act of war."

The dragonets sounded distressed by this.

"W-War?!"

"Ah, nae...!"

"He's mad!"

"Please dinnae tell me that it's..."

"Aye, but it is." Altamir shook his head. "We need tae let the other tribes and peoples of the steppe as well as our allies ken of this. Togay, Sora, Gulay, Chagatai, Gunesha, Peksen, Shiban? I need ye tae come with me on that. Ye want tae come alsae, Tamuriyah, or...?"

"Actually, I think it'll be best if I hold daewn the tent for ye, Aldy." Tamuriyah replied. "I'm naet exactly a fighter or soldier...dinnae have the stomach for it, even if I can hunt. Besides, someone's got tae make sure the little lads are doing alright, right?"

"Ah, right." Altamir nodded. "We cannae forget about that. Though, in that case, we might as well make sure that they have a future tae grow up free in."

---

Two days later, Altamir and his dragonets were in Euthydemias Pellas, with Altamir on Peksen's back as usual as they walked through the streets towards the royal palace. The guards, having recognized them from last time, waved the lot of them in fairly quickly, which Altamir was glad for, as he wasn't in the mood for a hassle.

Yesterday and the rest of the day before yesterday, they'd flown first to the Galatians, and then the Qangars and the Saka. Thankfully, all three were more than willing to respectively honor the alliance and prove their loyalty to the Khan (particularly the Saka, who clearly wanted to show that Frahatava's 'revolt' was something they were ashamed of and wanted to not repeat), so Altamir simply pointed them to Avraga's location along the Almaz river as a mustering point. Now, he was here to muster at least one of the two remaining allies in the alliance.

Since he wasn't preoccupied with overhearing a conversation this time, Altamir took the time out to look around and listen around as his dragonets walked through the city. He could see and hear residents conversing on various subjects, like two wizened human scholars debating on the speed of an unladen swallow in front of a confused mud dragonet, a man and a (likely adult this time) mud dragon arguing with each other over whether the living world was round or flat, visiting farmers discussing the planting for the coming harvest, and buyers haggling with merchants on prices. He could also see children playing (sometimes with smaller mud dragonets), the elderly hobbling about on canes, and citizens both human and dragon generally just going about their lives, though some dodging out of the way and apologizing if they were unintentionally in his dragonets' way.

Did all these individuals even know of the great storm of bloodshed that would strike the plains to their northwest?

Altamir shook his head. No, no. These people...he was not going to offload the suffering and misery that he'd bear on his shoulders on them. He wouldn't. He couldn't. It would be cowardly of him. Their own king could let them know of it, not him. He did his best to instead focus himself on the task at hand, the task of letting the Baktrian King himself know of the act of war that was the killing of a Parlataean Diplomat by Wērōd the Wired.

Regardless, they got there to the entrance of the royal palace. This time, he noted that King Ptolemy was on the front steps of the palace (with a fair few guards around him, of course), but that, once again, King Kleomenes of the Sagartians was already here. It was likely just a coincidence on the latter, but it was quite interesting that it had happened twice now. When he and his dragonets were close enough, Altamir dismounted in front of them as they were conversing with each other on some matter, and his taking a few footsteps drew their attention to him. While the Khural was out on whether or not they expected him and his dragonets to be there, they reacted without any sort of hostility...

And Ptolemy was the first to greet him. "Hm? Oh, Prince Altamir of the Parlataeans! Fancy seeing you here!"

"Interesting that both times you're here, I'm here as well!" Kleomenes then remarked after.

"Interesting indeed!" Altamir replied. "Wish I could be more amused, though...I'm here for many of the same reasons as last time. Hope I'm naet interrupting anything, but what I bring is...pressing."

"Pressing?" Kleomenes raised his eyebrow. "Is it about Wērōd?"

"If it's him, what has he done this time?" Ptolemy crossed his arms.

Altamir steadied himself as he went to answer. They clearly weren't suspicious...they likely just wanted to know what was going on.

So, he told them. "He's well and truly done it, that's what he's done. We'd sent him a diplomat named Chala tae try and negotiate with him and perhaps back him off somewhat from his warmongering...and Wērōd responded by killing him, murdering him, rather, and sending back only his head, minus his eyes, ears, and tongue. Granted, we should have kenned better than tae try and negotiate with someone like Wērōd, but Chala was a man of peace who posed nae threat tae Wērōd...Wērōd could have simply turned him away instead of doing what he did."

"Killing a man of peace?" Kleomenes narrowed his eyes. "That's an act of war against your people."

"It is." Altamir nodded.

"So then, you're coming here to have us assist your peoples against him?"

"That I am." Altamir replied to Ptolemy's question. "The Galatians are already mobilizing to our side. Is...there a problem with what I'm-?"

Kleomenes shook his head. "What you're asking? No. It's a perfectly reasonable thing to ask. That is the point of an alliance, after all."

"Indeed." Ptolemy agreed. "No, the problem is in the task of mustering our soldiers, as well as the timing of this. It's the middle of planting season, and we unfortunately cannot afford to spare too many to be soldiers lest we risk famine."

Kleomenes nodded. "Exactly. There's also the issue of just how motivated our peoples are to fight for you. Allies with you we may be, but many of our subjects may be reluctant to intervene on behalf of your peoples, as they may believe that you are capable of handling it on your own, and they may see the whole affair as 'someone else's business'. Now, the Baktrians may be easier, as they are your southern neighbors, and this will be right on their doorstep..."

"It most certainly will be." Ptolemy said in response during the brief gap in Kleomenes' words.

"...but us Sagartians have, in turn, the Baktrians between your lands and our lands. We Sagartians may be proud of our martial tradition, but even I know that many of us would rather not fight in someone else's war unless there was either something to gain, or something happened that made it 'our' war as well."

"I understand all of that." Altamir knew not to try and dismiss things that made sense, and sense was aplenty in the words of the kings. "Even then, it would still be nice..."

As Altamir was about to say more, however, the sound of hoofbeats filled the air from behind, gradually getting louder. Altamir looked behind him...

...and saw several men riding horses who were coming their way. Turbans, kaftans, olive skin of a different sort than that of the Atticans, styles of hair and beards...

...these were Panjians. And unlike Altamir and his dragonets, the latter of whom in particular, despite their large size, took care when walking through the streets so as to not accidentally harm some poor sap, these men were riding through at a full gallop with a reckless disregard for whoever was in their way, particularly the leader of the group. People in the streets had to run and jump to dodge the horses, with at least one elderly human couple having to be pulled out of the way by a brave mud dragonet who was there just in time.

Finally, in front of the palace, the horses came to a halt, the leader of the group of Panjians looking rather smug. The guards on standby, Ptolemy took a step forward, with Kleomenes and Altamir following him.

"And who might you be?" Ptolemy tilted his head at the Panjian.

"Ah, just a messenger from the Great Shah Wērōd of Panjistan." The man sounded just as smug as his face seemed. Then, he reached down to a pouch on his saddle...and lifted out five human skulls tied together by leather bindings. "A messenger from him surely has a great deal of importance, does he not?"

"Those skulls..." Altamir thought hard, narrowing his eyes at the sight. "Those must be of dissidents and others that the damn tyrant simply did naet like, aren't they?"

The skulls were dropped back into the pouch as the man stepped off, clearly confident that 'messenger's privilege' would save him from anything and everything. He moved to speak, as to state demands...

...but Kleomenes spoke first. "Messenger from the Shah? Importance indeed. However, before you speak, Panjian, you would do well to remember that in both Baktria and Sagartia, every man, woman, and dragon is held accountable to the words from his or her own voice, even a Shah's messenger. Now then...what message do you bring?"

"Earth and water."

The words, spoken by the man with an arrogant flourish of his arms to emphasize...Altamir recognized them from Yasagur's history lessons. "That's the traditional Panjian demand for submission." He'd known it from an incident three hundred years ago, when the messenger of the last Shah of the Aghlabid Dynasty had sent a similar demand to the Saka, who responded by throwing the man in a muddy pond and forcing him to ride back to his master covered in wet filth and muck.

Kleomenes, in the present, clearly found such a statement similarly unimpressive. "You...came all the way from Panjistan for earth and water?"

Altamir decided to join in. "In other words, mud? That which ye could have collected from one of the many swamps and bogs in this land? Dinnae be coy, lad."

The man harrumphed at Altamir's words, as if affronted he was even there. "And what makes this barbarian boy think that he can speak among civilized men?"

"Sae says the one who was trying his bloody damnedest tae trample everyone and everything on his way here." Altamir put his right hand on his hip, mentally taking a jab at the man's piss-poor use of insults.

"Quite the interesting, spirited discussion we're having." Ptolemy remarked drolly. "But tongues get tied the hotter they become. Perhaps we can walk to...cool them."

For a moment, there was silence, but then Ptolemy started walking one way, with Kleomenes and the arrogant messenger following him, and then the other messengers (who lacked his arrogance, looking nervous, actually) and the Baktrians guards following after them. Altamir paced up to keep with Ptolemy and Kleomenes, and as their walk took them past his dragonets, he motioned for them to follow them, which they made to do (slowly and carefully) behind those guards.

Altamir could tell that there was nothing impeding the smug Panjian's, well, smugness. "Now then, if you value your lives over the annihilation of your countries, listen carefully, kings of the Atticans. The Great Shah Wērōd can, will, and shall conquer everything he rests his eyes upon. He leads an army so massive, it shakes the ground when on march. So vast, that it drinks dry any rivers it comes across. Your smaller armies stand no chance against him, mighty is he. All he requires, for the avoidance of what would otherwise be your inevitable destruction, is this: a simple offering of earth and water. A token of submission to his will."

When the man finished saying this, they all came to a stop. Altamir looked around, and noticed that the man was standing...rather close to a well of some sort. It was wide open, but seemed to be disused, as there was a sign in both Attican and Common Tongue warning to keep away. Either the man did not see or read these signs, or was confident that nothing bad would happen to him because he was a 'messenger'...did he not know of what his own master had done to Chala?

"Submission." Meanwhile, Ptolemy seemed to be almost pondering the word, before shaking his head a bit and shrugging. "Well, that's a bit of a problem. See, rumor has it that...the Aetolians...of all peoples...have already turned you down."

"That I've heard." Kleomenes agreed. "And if those wife-beating cowards and, uh...boat fuckers...have that kind of nerve..."

"Well, that's a new one." Altamir remarked dryly...

"...then of course, Baktrians and Sagartians..." ...but then Kleomenes turned and put a hand on his shoulder, the amusement nonetheless briefly present in the man's voice and eyes, before removing his hand and turning back to the messenger. "...have their reputation to consider."

"Hmph." The smug man was still arrogant as ever. "Reputation or not, you'd do well to choose your next words and actions carefully. They may be your last as kings of your peoples. So then, will you choose submission, or will you choose annihilation?"

"..."

At hearing this, both Ptolemy and Kleomenes stepped back from the man...and seeing an opportunity to dispose of the smug idiot, Altamir had a plan. He tapped the shoulder of both kings, silently beckoning them to take a few further steps away from the arrogant messenger, tapping his finger over his lips as to indicate being quiet about things.

"I have a suggestion tae deal with that laddie." Altamir whispered. "If ye'll listen."

"What is it, then?" Ptolemy asked quietly.

"The rest of the messengers, their 'rough riding' aside, seem like they just want tae earn their coin, sae dinnae harm them, and let them be on the way once we deal with this particular one, but have the guards be a wall between them and us sae that they dinnae try tae interfere."

"Alright then...and for him?"

"Him? If he wants sae badly tae be Wērōd's minion...then we'll give him all the earth and water he could ever want...I'm sure ye ken what I mean. Ye wish tae do the honors, Kleomenes?"

Kleomenes didn't say anything to that, but instead grinned and nodded, as did Ptolemy. Then, all three stepped apart from each other, Altamir doing a stealthily-mocking 'deep in thought' pose, Ptolemy walking to the guards to whisper an order to them, and Kleomenes taking a few steps back towards the smug man, before turning away again.

The arrogant man seemed to smirk. "So then, have you reached your decision? What is it then, submission or-"

The man's gloating was then silenced when he found a Harpe drawn and pointed at his neck, courtesy of Kleomenes.

There were a few types of one-handed swords that the Atticans used. There was the short, straight-edged xiphos, and the forward-curving Kopis and Makhaira, as well as the Galato-Gergovian-originated Spathe…and then there was the Harpe. This type of sword, named after a weapon in Attican mythology, was described by some writers as being a 'compromise between the Xiphos and the Kopis', being a curved blade that nonetheless had a sharp, pointed tip, making it an excellent weapon for both cutting and thrusting. As this Panjian was clearly realizing the hard way with it pointed at him.

At the Sagartian king's gesture, the guards formed up, doing what was asked of them and keeping the Panjian man's colleagues from trying to intercede on his behalf.

The man, meanwhile, seemed shocked by this, seemingly unable to believe his own eyes. "What in...you...what...madman...madman! You're a...you're a madman!"

"Earth and water." Kleomenes said the man's demand back to him, first flatly, then repeating it a little louder. "Earth and water. You'll find plenty of both down there."

The man turned around briefly, gaping at the well, before turning back to Kleomenes, alarm in his eyes. "No...you...no...no man...Panjian or Attican, no man threatens a messenger!"

"Ye think ye can say that, lad?" Altamir crossed his arms, somewhat affronted by the man's pathetic display, in all honesty. "After what yer master did tae Chala? Oh, ye dinnae ken who Chala was? He was a diplomat from my people, a man of peace who only wanted tae ensure it for the sake of my people and for other peoples, and only wanted tae ensure that war did nae break out. When he tried tae meet with yer Shah, the latter responded by murdering him and sending back his head! If yer master can do something like that, what right have ye tae demand 'messenger's protection' from us?!" Saying this caused the man's face to pale, as if realizing that there was nothing protecting him now.

"Particularly when you prance about and treat us as if though we're beneath you, bring the skulls of dissidents and free men and women to MY city steps, insult a brilliant young man who we count as an ally along with his people, and threaten all of our peoples with slavery and death?" Ptolemy added, face hard-set as he glared at the man.

"As you can see, Panjian, we have chosen our words and actions carefully." Kleomenes hissed. "Perhaps you should have done the same with your own."

"This is...this..." The man seemed to be having a hard time taking this. "This is perfidy...this-this is madness!"

Hearing this made Kleomenes lower his harpe...but then he turned to Altamir, clearly wanting him to suggest something. Altamir just nodded in response. To that, Kleomenes then leaned forward.

"That's where you're wrong, dog of the Panjian tyrant." Kleomenes snarled. "This is not madness. This is the way of free men and free dragons. If you want your 'earth and water' so badly..."

And then Kleomenes leaned back, and with a final shout...

"THEN DIG! IT OUT! FOR YOURSELF!"

...he then kicked the man square in the chest.

The man stumbled back from the sudden strike, then fell backwards and right into the well. Altamir knew that was going to remember the man's scream for quite some time.

After a few seconds, Ptolemy took a step towards the well and remarked grimly. "Well, well, well...turns out that diplomatic immunity only exists if you act diplomatic." Then, he turned back to the rest of the man's colleagues. "As for the rest of you Panjians, know that your Shah's demands are rejected, and that we're marching to war against him. Guards, make sure that they leave the city on horseback as soon as possible."

So, the guards began escorting the other Panjians away. At the sight of this, Altamir turned back to the two kings.

"Well, Altamir...looks like our peoples will have no choice but to aid you now." Kleomenes shrugged.

"All that's left is to muster our kingdoms to war." Ptolemy agreed. "We'll bring to you all that we can spare."

"I'm glad for that." Altamir did his best to stamp out of his voice the nervousness that was suddenly upon him. "I'll lead them as best as I can. I'll naet foolishly throw them away."

"That's all we can ask." Kleomenes smiled. "I can see it in you, the spark of greatness. I'm sure our peoples would gladly march to battle under you."

Altamir didn't say anything to that, just nodded.

---

Later, Altamir was flying back to Avraga with his dragonets. All were silent, with the only thing audible being wingbeats and the wind. It only left Altamir's worries to pound thunderingly in his head. This was happening. This really was happening. Was he really going to succeed...

...or was he going to fumble it all?

"Aldy?" Shiban's voice broke through his thoughts. "Ye there?"

"I-I'm there, I'm there." Altamir responded, rather shakily. "It's just...I...I'm..."

"Nervous? Worried? Frightened?" Gulay tilted her head at him. "It's obvious, ye ken."

"Aye, I can literally feel ye being such on my back." Peksen agreed. "Is it because of what's going tae happen?"

"I...I'm naet ready." Altamir shook his head. "Even though I kenned that this was going tae happen someday, I still dinnae feel like I'm ready...I wish this did nae ever have tae happen..."

"I understand, Aldy..." Gunesha spoke up, somewhat solemn-sounding "...but it's what's happening naew. Wērōd's going tae invade us. We'll need tae fight him."

"Aye." Togay agreed. "I dinnae like it either, but if Wērōd is willing tae do something like killing a messenger of peace just for wanting tae negotiate with him, then the way to stop him is tae take the fight tae him."

"Surprised tae see ye two saying things like that." Sorkhagtani remarked. "But aye, Aldy, they're right. We gotta do what we gotta do. That's basically what yer uncle told us back when we were dealing with ol' Frahatava, remember?"

"...right." Altamir sighed. "I ken that...but still...I'm...I'm going tae be leading an army. And naet a small one. And...and of all thaese I lead...some are going tae die..."

"That's...a fact." Chagatai acknowledged. "Every war is like that. There's naet anything ye can do tae change that. But ye CAN do things tae make sure that as few of yer own soldiers die as possible. Lead them well. Listen tae yer generals and advisors. Hear them out on what advice they have tae give ye. Remember what ye've been taught when it comes tae tactics. Make sure tae pay attention tae things like morale, discipline, and supplies. Figure out which types of troops are strong against which other types. Things like that."

Altamir was silent for a bit before he could say anything again...and then he chuckled. "Hm...well, there are thaese moments where the lot of ye are wiser than I am...guess I should make ye my advisors or something."

The dragonets chuckled too, ruefully. This was not going to be pretty, Altamir just knew it. All he could hope was that as many of his own side were still alive by the end of it as possible.

---

Late May

Altamir wondered for the thousandth time if he really knew what the hell he was doing.

According to...basically everyone else amongst the leadership of the combined army that he, of all people, now led (apparently this was part of the condition that the Galatians, Baktrians, and Sagartians had for recognizing him as being a 'ruler above rulers'), Altamir was doing everything right. He paid close attention to logistics and supplies, he made sure to aid in keeping up morale, he made sure that everyone's arms and armor were in good shape, and he was having the army advance in a relatively safe method acting on reliable intelligence. He listened to his military advisors and generals, he made use of what he was taught, and he'd gotten an idea of what strategy he was going to use against the Panjian Army.

And yet...he couldn't help but worry. Even with the best of plans, the best of strategies, the best of tactics...things could still go wrong. Especially since it was storm season. And late-spring storms in the steppes could be a steppe nomad's worst nightmare, with special attention to the danger of 'sky demons', giant swirling pillar-shaped wraiths of pure destruction that sprung down from the clouds of the most powerful storms, and which could destroy everything in their path for miles and miles if they were strong enough.

No big storms had hit him and his combined army yet, though. Perhaps it was an off-year for them? Altamir hoped so. He hoped his luck would hold out, because according to intelligence, Wērōd's army, while made up of mainly involuntary levies, was still at least twice the size of his own.

And that was after the Panjian Cavalry had defected with their country's crown prince and quite a few of the Panjians' best generals.

Right...three days ago, a Sand Dragonet named Khamsin, who was apparently one of Queen Manticore's sons and therefore a prince of his tribe, came to Altamir with a message from Tahmasp, the Shahzadeh of Panjistan. The young man was leading nearly all of his father's aforementioned cavalry and also the aforementioned generals about four or five days ahead of his father's main army...but rather than try to attack or do battle, he came with the intention to defect to Altamir's side instead. Not knowing if this was legitimate or an enemy trap, Altamir questioned Tahmasp's intentions, wanting to know if it was for real or just an excuse to stab him when his back was turned. Khamsin replied that the Panjians were low on morale thanks to Wērōd having just about run them and their country into the ground with an iron fist, and that Tahmasp and those generals feared not only for themselves, but also their homeland and people, not wanting for the latter two to be even more thoroughly destroyed in a prolonged war than they were already. At hearing this, and upon receiving a certain...token from Khamsin that seemed to display that the Shahzadeh was indeed serious and sincere about this, Altamir reluctantly decided to send the message back that he would accept the defection...provided that they throw down their banners and take up his, for one, and that Tahmasp, upon becoming Shah, recognize Altamir as his suzerain, for another, and he also sent a warning that if they tried to use the opportunity to backstab him, he would make them regret it.

So, sure enough, the next day, Tahmasp came into sight of Altamir's army, and with those generals and cavalry, the Panjian prince defected and did as Altamir asked.

In the present, Altamir sighed as he sat astride one of his dragonets while they were resting in an open area of the camp, inspecting a bow. Yes, a bow...albeit not a normal one. Indeed, Altamir had never exactly fancied himself an archer, as his great strength for his size and age meant that he'd always end up snapping the bowstring, and he didn't want to risk losing an eye to that happening, so he'd taken up his heavy javelin instead as his 'ranged weapon of choice'. And he still used that when he was, say, hunting...but he'd come to realize that, while it was impressive to be able to hurl that large of a javelin that hard and that far, it would only be good against a single opponent at a time, and given that, in a war, he'd be fighting tens, hundreds, thousands of foes at once...

...he'd need something more appropriate for the job.

So, he'd made this bow. Again, it was not a normal one. Rather, it was his first 'animus creation' as a Human Animus. Outwardly, it had the basic shape of a typical Parlataean Composite Recurve Bow, but it was made of a metal 'core' and covered by a dark-colored fibrous material, and one would tell right away that it didn't have a physical 'string', nor did it actually bend at all. How did it work, then? Well, it worked by firing an 'arrow' that was magical in nature and made purely of magic flame, something that was a holdover from older Black Magic that was once much more common on Pyrrhia, back in Jangar's time, specifically. Whenever Altamir drew the 'arrow', the string manifested around it in an apparition that may not have had literal physical presence, but nonetheless had power behind it, and when Altamir released the 'arrow', then that 'arrow' would fly unaffected by gravity or wind until it hit what it hit. Those 'arrows' had variants, also: he could have them pierce through objects, or he could have them explode on impact. In all, he could be sure that, functionally-speaking, it would be excellent for bombarding enemies from dragonback, as the lack of effect of wind or gravity on those arrows, as well as their swift flight (even by the standards of arrows), meant that he had less to take into account when aiming from such a position, and his lack of a need for a quiver meant that he could unleash a continuous barrage of these 'arrows' at a rate much higher than any 'normal' archer ever could achieve. Not to mention that, given the magical nature of the weapon, there wouldn't be any real fear of him breaking the string like he had done with so many normal bows.

He'd be quite proud of his creation if it weren't for the fact that he was going to be putting it to incredibly bloody use. Then again, there wasn't much he had a right to be proud of anyways...

"So, Melissa, when they mean 'Free Men and Free Dragons', aren't they forgetting about us?"

Altamir was brought out of his pondering by the sound of two female Baktrians soldiers - light skirmishers, clearly - discussing something. Not having much else to do at the moment, Altamir listened in.

"I'm pretty sure that there's a silent 'and Women' after the 'Men' part, Sophia. It's generally the case whenever Parlataeans, Sagartians, and Galatians use 'Men' when describing themselves as a whole. Us Baktrians, too. Given that at least a fair few of the Parlataean generals and commanders in particular are women, there's no way they're forgetting. If anything, they likely say it that way because it's simpler and faster."

"I mean, if you say so, Melissa. Maybe it's because my mother had to flee Aetolia with the help of a Sea Dragon, but I'll probably be convinced better if Altamir uses 'lads and lasses' or something like that when addressing us all in that nice big juicy pre-battle speech."

"If there is one, I'll make sure of it, dinnae worry." Altamir decided to speak up, not knowing how they'd react.

"Huh?"

"Wha-?!"

Both soldiers were quite startled at Altamir saying this, and also by who was saying this to them.

"Oh, uh, so you're...you're Altamir!"

"Er, forgive us speaking out of place-"

"Speaking out of...oh come the fock on with that!" Altamir was dismayed that the two of them apparently thought they'd committed some great offense just by merely conversing with each other over something like this. "It would be one thing if we were some ultra-serious military meeting and this sort of talk was off-topic, but we're naet in one, right?"

"...no?"

"Certainly not..."

"Exactly!" Altamir then shrugged. "Then again, it is a rather common thing for lasses tae flee Aetolia with the aid of Sea Dragons...the latter seem tae have made aiding such escapes a cultural past-time by naew. There's a fair few Baktrians and Sagartians that have Aetolian ancestry as a result of this! Either way, all I want ye two tae do is tae, when the battle comes, remember yer orders, dinnae break formation or fock up any of my plans, and dinnae flee the battlefield if ye can help it! Can I expect that from the two of ye?"

"...yes, sir!"

"Understood!"

"Good. Naew, carry on if ye must."

So, the two soldiers nodded and left.

After they did, Altamir put his hand to his chin. "Well...I hope I said the right thing..."

"Come on, Aldy, ye did just fine there!" Peksen laughed. "Is this the second time or sae that ye've asked us that today?"

"Aye!" Sorkhagtani agreed. "If ye did naet, ye would have kenned right away! Have a little faith in yerself, Aldy! Ye're doing alright sae far! Just keep it up!"

"...alright..." Altamir was a little embarrassed with most certainly worrying more than he should have, but no matter what he tried, he just couldn't shake the nervousness that had been plaguing him ever since this whole debacle had started. Unlike his dragonets, who, while certainly nervous themselves, were definitely better at handling it than he was...a trait that they seemed to have always had over him, and one that he'd somewhat envied them for (though, not to the point of 'resentment'), given that it led to a fair few moments where they were more level-headed than he was.

Then again, he'd only been partially joking when he said that he'd make them his advisors, because by the gods they were good at it, unorthodox of choices for such a position as they were.

"If it means I can lead soldiers like that young lad better, then I'll try and heed it." Altamir thought with regards to the advice...

...as well as with regards to a particularly young soldier a year his junior, for whom he'd previously asked as to whether or not he'd said the right thing. This young soldier's name was Philoktetes, and he was a Baktrian archer who had gone to war to make his family proud, as well as a girl his age back home proud as well. The sprightly young lad was quite optimistic and confident, cheerful even, and was certain that his mother and father and siblings would give him the triumphant return upon him coming home from a victory against a tyrant. Not having the heart to inform him of the reality of war, Altamir simply nodded along, promising to lead him well so that he could indeed have such a return to his family.

"I hope he survives...because a lot of people are going tae die when battle comes..."

---

Finally, the day came. A day that Altamir had been dreading. The day where his army and Wērōd's army finally clashed.

"It's taew late for nerves." Altamir had told himself as best as he could, as, under the morning sky, he and his dragonets (who used their large sizes as rallying points) led the army to battle formations on a place atop a wide area of elevated ground near a part of the Almaz river a hundred miles west of Avraga known as "Qizil Qirghaq", so named because of the particularly reddish banks of the river here.

Reddish banks that were about to get a whole lot redder. Whether it would be with the blood of his army or with the enemy's, Altamir knew not. He just hoped that his side could win, not for the sake of glory, but for the sake of survival.

The plans that he'd made with the generals and advisors and leaders and such called for a sort of fusion between Attican Phalanx formations and Parlataean Steppe warfare, with a good helping of Galatian Highland stubbornness, and relied on cooperation between all three, as well as good order, discipline, and coordination.

The main infantry line was ten soldiers deep, curving around the hill in a way that made it look like a quarter-circle from above to make it harder for the enemy to outflank them. Baktrian Sarissa Pike Infantry stood in the middle, with the Galatian Infantry at each flank, and Sagartian Hoplites in each of the two areas in the line between the center and the flanks. Behind this line were the skirmishers from all three 'sedentary' countries, mainly archers, slingers, and peltasts, but with some wielding crossbows. Usually, they would have to dart out in front of the heavier infantry to get a good shot at the enemy, but the raised ground behind the main line meant that they could simply shoot/loose their projectiles from over that main line, allowing them to unleash a 'covering' rain of projectiles upon the enemy behind protection.

Altamir's goal was to goad Wērōd's forces into committing to attacking the line directly from the front. Wiser foes would obviously not do this, but according to information from the Panjians who defected, Wērōd wasn't exactly a tactical or military genius, and the tyrant's army was made up mainly of poorly-trained, ill-disciplined levies who would more easily be driven to rash, blind attacks if they were harried relentlessly until they desperately charged forward in an attempt to end things.

As for how this harrying would be done? Well, that would be the job of the allied army's Cavalry. The 'lighter' cavalry would hound the enemy army by raining down wave after wave of arrows at their sides from horseback, while the heavier cavalry would charge and obliterate any group of enemies that attempted to break off and flank the infantry line. This would be part of the goal, as, seeing how going side to side would mean certain death, the enemy would be pressured into just attacking forward and charging that infantry line head on. The Parlataeans made up most of this cavalry force, while the horsemen from the Baktrians and Galatians made up the remainder.

As for Tahmasp and the Panjians who had defected...they wouldn't be joining the battle today. Much as they despised Wērōd, a few conversations with Tahmasp and several other of the defecting generals had made it very clear that their soldiers weren't exactly going to be willing to slaughter their own countrymen, and there was also the problem of 'friend-or-foe' situations popping up were they to indeed join battle on Altamir's side. So, it was ultimately decided that they would instead guard the camp. Oh well...at least that meant that Wērōd couldn't make use of any cavalry himself, giving Altamir's army a much-needed leg up on them.

Nonetheless, and regardless of any attempts to try and allay it, Altamir just couldn't get rid of the rock in his throat. There were a lot of important people, both to him and to others, who would be fighting in this army that he led. From his own tribe alone, his uncle and all of his cousins save for Orqina, as well as Babur and Toregene, were all leading various contingents, units, and sections of the Parlataean Cavalry. King Ptolemy of the Baktrians was leading the Baktrian Cavalry Contingent, and King Dumnualos was leading the Galatian Cavalry Contingent. And in the infantry...well, King Kleomenes of the Sagartians was leading that. And Altamir was in turn commanding all of them, despite not even being twenty yet. If he messed this up, people he dearly valued, or at the very least greatly respected...were going to die.

Soon, the infantry both light and heavy were in their formations, with the cavalry in turn waiting behind them for the signal to swing out around and go astride the field. All that was left was for Altamir to give the order when the time came. As he sat astride Togay, the largest of his dragonets (before he switched to Gulay for the actual battle), he thought of what he was going to say to this army of his before he gave that order. He'd heard of generals and commanders and kings and whatnot giving great speeches before battle, but he didn't know if he could give one without potentially demoralizing his own army, given his own nerves.

But he knew he had to try. He had to. So he swallowed hard...

...and began. "Lads and lasses...today, we face a grim and bloody task! One that is fraught with peril, and which carries with it the ever-present possibility of death!" When he saw that he had their attention, he continued. "We face an army twice our size in number! One that is mainly made up of involuntary levies poor in morale, but a threat nonetheless, as while the average 'soldier' amongst our foe may barely be able tae even hold a spear and a shield, the way they were driven here means that they will alsae be desperate, and that will ALWAYS be dangerous! There are many tales and legends about haew heroes and warriors attained great glory in battle...but much as I would love for that tae be true today, I must remind ye all that personal glory is NAET why ye are all here! Nae, we are here because we face the destruction of all that we love and value if we cannae attain victory this day! Do ye ken why that is the case?!"

Then, he summoned his sword to his hand, pointing it in the direction that the enemy was now faintly becoming visible on the horizon. "The reason for that is that CONTFACE over there! Our foe that we face today is Wērōd the gods-damned Wired himself! He's a man well-kenned far and wide for his madness, cruelty, bloodlust, and sheer disregard for any life that is naet his own! For his insane delusion of fancying himself a 'conqueror', he's slave-driven his own people tae their inevitable deaths just tae fulfill his own desires! He's driven away all of his good cavalry, his good generals, and even his own crown prince, such is his abhorrence! The things that he would do if he was allowed tae have his way with our lands and our peoples would be beyond comprehension in horror and bleakness! We must NAET let that happen! Much as we must pity the common soldier in his 'army', given that they're likely poor farmers and homeless vagrants forcibly dragged here tae their deaths against their will, we must naet let that stay our blades, our spears, our axes, our bows, our knives! Have pity upon them, but dinnae let up on that alone, for we cannae afford tae lose this! Let us put an end tae their suffering, and let us be quick about it when the time comes! For them tae be felled as quickly and sae have their misery put tae an end by free peoples both human and dragon...that is the best kindness we can do them naew! Save yer hatreds for that tyrant that demands that they die for his insane 'dream'!"

"I dinnae want tae lose any of ye needlessly this day! Brave men and women like all of ye deserve tae be able tae return tae their homes, tae be with their families! But I alsae ken that some of ye will die this day, and much as someone else dying in my name daes naet sit well with me at all, I understand that this is the ugly reality of war! I would rather that ALL of ye be able tae survive this battle, but if some of ye are going tae die...then it falls upon me for whatever deaths amongst our ranks that DO happen tae naet go tae waste! Sae, I say this: follow yer orders, dinnae do anything stupid or reckless, dinnae break formation, and dinnae let the enemy exploit any weaknesses! But at the same time, dinnae flee this battlefield! Hold yer ground, remember the plan for winning this battle, and hold tae that plan! Walk with me this day...and LET'S PUT THAT DAMN TYRANT'S HEAD ON A BLOODIED SPIKE!"

The roar of a vigorous cheer that went up when he finished saying what he said shook the ground beneath Togay, and Altamir could feel it rattle his bones. Good...he didn't screw up the 'speech' bit. Perhaps that was the first sign that things might turn out...well, they wouldn't turn out 'alright', given what would happen today, but at least they'd turn out 'not terrible'.

"Seems ye have the way with words that ye need, Altamir!" His uncle Khingila called out from the Cavalry. "Naew...when will the order tae ride out come?"

"I need tae see where his banner will be!" Altamir replied. "I need tae ken if he's here with them, or if he's pulled a fast one on us and escaped!" Then, he jumped off of Togay and onto Gulay. "Peksen! Do ye see his banner among them?! It's the Panjian Lion and Sun, but with extra stars around it!"

"Well, if that's what I'm looking for..." So, Peksen craned her head up and looked in the direction of the enemy army, using her tribe's natural ability of enhanced sight...and then sharply looked back and nodded to Altamir. "Found it! It's right there at the back of his army!"

"Good! Cavalry, RIDE!"

Another hearty cheer went up as the cavalry had their order, and then the thundering of thousands upon thousands of hoofbeats sounded out as the cavalry rode to take the field.

When they were out past the flanks of the infantry and riding towards the enemy army, Altamir felt the rock in his throat harden again. His uncle and cousins had promised not to die on him...but who was to say that it wouldn't happen? Altamir badly hoped that it would be the case that they'd live...but he knew that battle was the sort of thing that always carried with it the possibility of dying.

From Gulay's back atop the hill, Altamir watched his army's cavalry surge onward under the late spring sky. To an ally, the sight of so many horseback soldiers and warriors riding forth would likely be so glorious. But Altamir knew that the glory would only last until things got real. The distance between his cavalry and the enemy army gradually became less and less, the hoofbeats only being audible in a low distant rumble now...

...until he saw his side's cavalry suddenly split apart...before beginning to flank the enemy army's loosely-square-shaped mass of a 'formation', easily running round and round them. And even at this distance, he could see the arching and falling clouds of what he knew to be thousands upon thousands upon thousands of arrows raining upon the flanks and rear of Wērōd's 'army'.

Altamir had always wondered where certain abilities of his had come from. While he absolutely was a Luuzada, a human animus, he'd noticed that he'd also had other abilities that were well beyond normal for any human. His now-enormous physical strength despite his size was the most obvious one (he had no idea just HOW strong he was, honestly), as well as how fast he was (to the point where he often had trouble preventing himself from running into things if doing such a thing as fast as possible on the ground), but there was also how he seemed to be utterly unaffected by heat and cold (he never found himself sweating or shivering from those respective things, even when both were intense, and he even seemed to be immune to being burned by fire, as he'd put his hand in a woodfire without feeling pain or getting any burns on that hand), or how he seemed to never get sick or feverish after having been out in the rain, or how his vision was excellent both during the day and even the night (he could see almost as easily during the night as he could during the day, and he could see far further than any normal human being), or even how he didn't seem to need to eat or drink nearly as much as his enormous strength and power would likely probably demand otherwise..

It made him wonder where THOSE abilities came from. He knew that Animus Magic was usually a dragon's ability, but what about those other abilities? Now that he thought about it...those were the abilities of at least six of the seven dragon tribes of Pyrrhia...did that mean that he could also, say, turn invisible or something if he figured out how to do it? Admittedly, this was an odd thing for his mind to drift over, but anything to distract him from this bloody battle just for a moment...

"Hey, Aldy, ye there?"

...would be a gift from the gods...oh, nevermind. "I'm here, Sora! What is it?"

"The enemy's coming this way! Got a few minutes before they hit our ranks!"

"Shit...right." Indeed, he could see that the enemy 'army' was now full-on rushing his infantry. There was only one thing left to do. "Infantry, form phalanx! Archers and Skirmishers, back them up from behind! Everyone, hold formations and alsae hold yer ground! Dinnae give the enemy any!"

At the various calls of acknowledgement from this order, and the lowering of pikes and spears into the classic Attican formation, Altamir tried to fight his stomach basically flipping over. The Phalanx was well known for being slow and cumbersome, but when an opposing army was forced to take one head-on, the results were always bloody. It was not unheard of for Phalanxes to destroy armies multiple times their size when their commanders used tactics like, say, holding mountain passes or other enclosed/funneled locations where the enemy had no way to flank them or go around them, or having additional units of other cover their flanks and having skirmishers to fight off enemy missile troops. Given the overall 'quality' of their foe, Altamir knew that this was going to end one way.

The enemy kept rushing at them, getting gradually closer and closer, their ragged and harried footfalls getting louder and louder. Altamir could see that it wasn't exactly an 'organized' rush either, more like a misshapen swarm buzzing their way. To the sides, he could pick out his cavalry continuing to hound and chase them, the lighter cavalry peppering them with arrows from the flanks and from behind, while the heavier cavalry charged and picked off any groups of stragglers that either fell behind or tried to run to the side. For the enemy's part, the rush towards his infantry was clearly less of a charge and more of a stampede, with the enemy clearly making the brutal choice between being run down or picked off by the cavalry, or running head-first into the phalanx so bristling with pikes and spears in an effort to 'end' things. It was already clear that this was not going to be a 'battle' so much as it would be a slaughter.

"Hold yer positions! Hold! Hold and loose projectiles!" Altamir barked out the orders as hundreds of yards between the enemy and his infantry started becoming tens...

…and he watched the storm of projectiles be unleashed upon the enemy from his own side, be it arrows, stones, or crossbow bolts...

...and then those projectiles impacted.

What arrows did to the human body was already something that Altamir was rather familiar with, being of a people who fielded so many horse archers…and he imagined that it was somewhat similar for crossbows, with perhaps a few differences here and there…but slung stones? He wasn't familiar with those, and while he did assume that the Attican armies had a reason for fielding slingers, he hadn't been sure that the tales of what they could do were true.

But now he had his answer, as, with that vision, he watched certain Panjians have their skulls caved in, or their arms or legs shattered, or their swords and spears broken in twain. He never imagined that a stone and a sling could do that…but now he was seeing it for himself…indeed, those tales had a fair bit of truth to them - they were not merely just tales.

Yet, much as the projectiles felled many Panjians, especially once the javelins were being thrown at them as well…they did not stop because of things flying at them. No, the rushing continued, and like a rising tide, it was clear that they were not going to stop on their own. So, Altamir and his infantry would have to be the ones to stop them.

"BRACE!" Altamir barked out one final order as he then steeled his innards for the coming bloodshed as the number of yards of distance kept decreasing...

*SMASH*

...until it became nothing as the enemy finally crashed head-on into the phalanx...and the results were immediately brutal.

Altamir grimaced as, right away, he saw varying sights of Panjians getting impaled on multiple pikes at once, and pikes impaling multiple Panjians at once as if they were extremely twisted shish-kebabs. The sheer number of Panjians charging at them quickly became enough that the infantry were beginning to be pushed back by the sheer weight of the enemy...though they thankfully didn't let this break their formations (at least not yet), even as they did their damndest to push back with everything they had to force the enemy back, furiously hacking apart the Panjians as they came. The skirmishers, meanwhile, continued to rain arrows, javelins, crossbow bolts, and stones down upon the enemy, felling Panjians in the hundreds every second...

...but even then, the enemy still kept coming, and if they kept at this rate, there was the danger that his side's formations WOULD be broken. Now came the part that Altamir had been dreading...but that he knew had to be done.

"TAE THE SKIES!"

Altamir felt himself briefly weigh ten or so times what he normally did as, with him holding on tight to Gulay's neck, his dragonets quickly leapt into the skies. They flew over the battlefield, noting the trail of dead Panjians stretching for a few miles away from the infantry lines, the grasses having already been turned so red by so many that had died already, before circling back around, about to fly over the mass of the enemy from the side. There was only one reason why they were doing this.

"Ugh, I'm gonna be sae focking sick after this..."

"If only we did naet have tae..."

It was clear from Togay and Gunesha's respective comments that none of them wanted to do this.

But they had to. They couldn't afford to let the enemy break their side's formation. "We've nae choice! Gods forgive us...DAHARATASH!"

At that final word, a command that was a combination of two loanwords in Qangar from Panjian, and that literally meant 'dragonflame'...the six fire-breathers among the dragonets, swallowing their qualms (at least for the moment), opened their jaws and unleashed six powerful, brutal gouts of flame upon the massed enemy.

So many Panjians simply vanished as they went up like wood chips and sawdust, while those who weren't immediately incinerated were undoubtedly set on fire as the dragonets sprayed their flames downward in intense streams and burned a series of charred trails of fiery death through the middle of the mass of enemies, not wanting to set their own infantry or cavalry ablaze. Even from up here, Altamir could hear en-masse the cries of fear and the shrieking screams of either terror or pain or both as this happened, and even when and after they'd 'reached' the 'other side' of the mass.

As they circled around again to land once more on the back side of the hill behind their infantry line, Altamir could see right away that the effects of this fiery and bloody move were immediate; the momentum of the 'push' against his side's infantry was utterly broken, with those same infantry surging forward with a roar, finally able to properly push back against the Panjians, hacking, slashing, stabbing, impaling, and smashing through their demoralized foes as to carve a bloody swath back to their previous positions, and the cavalry, who had backed off to let the fiery aerial assault happened, returned to either resume pelting their foes with arrows, or begin charging those foes in bloody waves and cycles. Once Altamir and his dragonets landed, it had become clear that the results were going to be very one-sided, and that this already nasty and bloody cesspit-fire of a battle was about to become even more so.

Altamir knew that he should have perhaps been a little more pleased. On the one hand, he'd managed to wipe out thousands of the enemy and likely shatter their morale, ensuring that the battle would end both sooner and in a victory for his side, and so further lessening his side's casualties, so, speaking from a tactical standpoint, this move of his was likely to be considered a master stroke.

But as he saw those six dragonets of his seven all turn off to the side and heard the awful retching sounds that they made before they vomited the contents of their stomach onto the grass not once, but numerous times, and felt Gulay under him struggling not to do the same while similarly fighting such an urge himself...he did NOT feel like celebrating whatsoever. And that the battle wasn't even actually over wasn't the only reason as to why he felt this way, especially as he got off of Gulay to let her 'do her business', and she did, following the other dragonets in also voiding the contents of her stomach onto the grass as well.

As he crested the top of the hill, he could see the wings of the infantry swinging around to start encircling the Panjians, ensuring no escape would happen as the cavalry cycle-charged the enemy again and again while themselves casting down so many Panjians as if they were mere stalks of wheat to a sickle or scythe...though there was nonetheless still so many of them left. He didn't want to sit idle and let more of his troops die, so once his dragonets had finally gotten themselves to stop vomiting (probably because there wasn't anything left to vomit) and stumbled over to him, he got on Togay and had the Mud Dragonet crane his neck as high as possible, and once Togay did, he got on the dragonet's head, summoned his 'bow'...

...and began firing explosive 'arrows' into the mass of foes.

He'd previously tested this bow out by loosing such 'arrows' at the ground or through rocks and boulders while the army had been on its way to this area. When for 'piercing', they obviously could pierce through a great deal of things living and not (especially the former), but when for 'exploding' like they were right now...gods, they were destructive. They blew apart boulders into smaller, flying rocks and stones, and they made craters in the ground that were sometimes as wide as a man was tall. And now, he was finally 'properly' using this bow in an actual battle...and live human beings were his targets.

He winced so hard that he thought that he'd break his face in half when he saw one impact a group of Panjians and seemingly turn them into tiny burning pieces and red mist. Swallowing the bile that threatened to fill his throat, he nonetheless kept on firing, mindful to, as usual, not hit his own troops, but also wanting the battle to just END already. His troops, for that matter, seemingly barely took notice as he blew their enemies to bits and hollowed out the mass, but he supposed that it was because his constant testing of this weapon on the way here had more or less conditioned them to the explosions and the flames. Not that it was any real comfort.

He didn't completely know just how many of these 'arrows' he ended up firing, but eventually, he previously huge number of Panjians gradually got smaller and smaller as he did this, until, at last, there was only a tiny pocket of them left, surrounded by his jeering infantry who were daring them to finally meet their ends, that was too small for him to fire any more from the position that he was at lest he indeed hit his own troops also.

"Uh, Aldy..." Togay spoke up, still sounding shaky from having vomited earlier, his head vibrating under Altamir as he spoke, "it-it looks like Wērōd and his honor guard or bodyguards and whatnaet are-are the only ones that are left."

"I see that..." Altamir didn't miss that the MudWing looked like he was trying to keep himself from vomiting again. "I'll handle it from here."

So, Altamir jumped off of Togay and began hovering in the air above him for a bit at first, and then began flying over all of the soldiers still alive on the battlefield until he was directly above that pocket of foes from about thirty feet up. Sure enough, it was the tyrannical 'shah' himself, with about twenty or so of those guards remaining. There was enough room between them and his own soldiers for him to do what he was about to do.

Descending quickly, but not outright falling, Altamir landed in-between the guards and his own soldiers, having unsummoned his bow and summoned his blade in its place, and, ignoring the startled flinching and babbling of those soldiers of his at him having landed right in front of them out of seemingly nowhere, went forth and began carving the guards apart like an axe through sticks. Oh, he was sure that these guards were (ostensibly, at least) well-trained and perhaps experienced (though, given their ruler, that was likely a big 'maybe'), but they only had normal human strength and speed, whereas Altamir's own strength and speed were...well beyond that, not to mention that he was far from untalented and/or poorly-trained himself when it came to wielding that sword of his, so it was a rather simple thing to block, parry, and dodge their attacks while hitting vital weak points in their armor and bodies with his own. One by one they fell, until Wērōd himself was the only one who remained.

Furious that he and his dragonets were made to kill so many this day because of this 'man', but mindful enough to keep a handle on his growing rage that had evaporated his usual fear and nervousness, Altamir began circling the tyrant like a hungry wolf would a wounded deer, the soldiers behind him now cheering for their leader having taken to the battle hands-on. Wērōd, for all of his delusional madness, was at least wearing armor, and ornate armor that had likely been of relatively decent quality, at that. Too bad that it already had holes and was covered in blood and grime, and was likely to get messed up even further when its current wearer would inevitably be slain. That wearer had clearly taken some wounds (likely from what had caused those armor holes) and was bereft of any headwear, possibly from having had his helmet or crown or circlet or whatnot knocked off. He was currently leering at Altamir in both indignation...and fear.

"You...wha...WHAT ARE YOU?!" To hear this man afraid after all of the trouble, pain, misery, suffering, and death that he had caused...everyone...Altamir usually did NOT take joy in someone else's hardships, but this was very different.

"The 'stupid brat', whom ye would 'squash'." Altamir replied to the man's bewildered demand with all of the dryness he could muster, getting a few errant chuckles out of his own troops. "What happened tae yer supposed 'imminent victory'? Ye sounded oh sae confident from what I heard when ye started this whole thing."

"You...you...you..." The man spluttered, as if still trying to justify himself and his actions after all he had done, before practically shrieking. "YOU BARBARIAN SAVAGE! HOW DARE YOU USE DRAGONS AGAINST YOUR FELLOW HUMANS!"

"Barbarian sa...oh, come on lad, that's naet even being bloody original!" Altamir wasn't impressed by the man's...choice of words. "And 'use'? My dragonets CHOSE tae come with me here tae this battle, and all the horrors that would come with it, even if its events would kill them inside. They outright led this army along with me and the others, even! If anything, haew dare YE for forcing them tae act against an army made up of sae many of YER people whom ye slave-drove here with the crack of a whip for yer insane 'dreams' of 'conquest'! I at least gave all of the soldiers in MY army the option tae return home before I set out with them! They're here because they CHOSE tae march under my banner!"

"Damn right we did!" A bloodied but still lively Galatian Oathsworn exulted, with many other soldiers from the various peoples in his army vigorously echoing such a sentiment.

Altamir grinned, finally confident that he'd earned his soldiers' respect, before turning back to the tyrant. "Unlike ye, we're here because we seek tae defend our homelands and our families from yer madness, yer tyranny...dinnae think we're unaware of how ye treat yer own people, Wērōd the gods-damned Wired! We see it in haew yer 'army' was made up of involuntary levies whom ye dragged here by force! Ye've managed tae drive off yer own son Tahmasp with yer insanity, sae much sae that he came tae me and defected with basically all of yer cavalry!"

"Wha..." It was as if the man suddenly realized what had happened...and then tried to madly pass the blame again. "You...YOU THIEF! YOU BEWITCHED MY SON AND STOLE HIM FROM ME! LIAR! DECEIVER! CORRUPTER!"

"Oh, sae NAEW ye care about him? After previously having treated him like dirt and as naething but a tool? By the gods, lad, make up yer mind!" Altamir continued to be unimpressed by the man's madness. "By the way, nae, I did naet 'bewitch' him! Him leaving ye for me was a decision that HE made! And he made it because he was fed up with yer mad tyranny and haew ye treated him, and alsae because he kenned that a long, drawn out, protracted war would destroy his country and his people!" Having had and heard enough, he began advancing on the man. "Ah, well, guess it's time for him tae become the new Shah naew!"

"No...NO! THAT WILL NOT HAPPEN!" In some apparent last-ditch effort to eke out a victory, the man charged at him, blade raised. "HE WILL NEVER-!"

*SHLUCK!*

Avoiding the man's swing easily, Altamir quickly leaned forward and parted the man's head from his body in one swing of his own blade. The head bounced a few times before finally coming to a stop, and Altamir soon picked it up while blood was still draining from it, looking at it contemptuously as the light of life vanished from it.

"Ah, but he will. Naew, tae Duzakh with ye, and it's my hope that Ahura Mazda takes pity on the souls of yer 'army'."

Then, he looked around to the soldiers gathered, and lifted the head up for all to see.

"Sae...where the bloody hell did I put that spike? Can someone go find it for me? I may or may naet have my hands occupied right naew!"

Altamir wished that he could feel the same way as his now cheering soldiers clearly did. They'd won. They'd actually won. And yet...he would not celebrate unless he knew that his Uncle and Cousins were safe and well. And also likely not until he figured out if Philoctetes was safe and well either. But he had to stay strong for his army, for he did not wish to rain on their collective parade.

---

Well, his Uncle and Cousins were all safe and sound, a few minor wounds on Toqtamish and Konchak aside. They were more than impressed with his ability to lead, and Khingila in particular was quick to say that he was very proud of Altamir having led the army to victory. He had also been quick to point out to the Dragonets that, nasty of a move that they had to pull what with burning thousands of Panjian Soldiers, it had been done out of need and necessity, not wanton cruelty, and that the Panjian people would probably forgive them if they heard of the circumstances. While those Dragonets still clearly didn't feel very well about having to do what they had to do at all, they didn't seem to be kicking themselves quite as hard as they did before when Khingila told them that, particularly when Tahmasp himself, back at the camp, backed Khingila's statement up by saying himself that neither he nor the Panjians who defected with him held anything against them, and said that if it wasn't Dragonflame that killed those Panjians, then it would have been swords, spears, pikes, javelins, arrows, bolts, and stones that would have done so, and that they died there because Wērōd, who would not be missed, had led them to their deaths on the Parlataean Steppes.

Altamir wished he could say the same for himself as he saw Philoktetes die in his arms.

The young archer had come back mortally wounded by a thrown javelin - apparently, there were a few skirmishers amongst the enemy Panjians, and one, perhaps in a fit of a desperation, must have blindly thrown it - and was already at death's door when Altamir found him in a medicus' tent. That medicus had tried to save his life, but when Altamir asked if it was possible for him to live, she had simply thrown up her hands in defeat and said that the young Baktrian was beyond the point where he could survive. All that Altamir could do was hold the young lad as the inevitable happened. Philoktetes, in his last moments of life, had tried to lighten the mood by joking about how he'd been 'stuck with it' and thanking Altamir for giving him the privilege of serving under him...but that had done nothing to cushion the blow of seeing the boy's death finally come, feeling his heartbeat slow and then stop and his body become a corpse.

Altamir didn't know how long he'd held the boy's lifeless body, but eventually, he glanced behind him and saw two female soldiers enter the tent. It was Melissa and Sophia.

"Er...Altamir?" Both seemed surprised to see him in the tent, and Sophia in particular voiced this. "Apologies, but what are you doing in here?"

"I..." Altamir tried to keep himself from losing it as he said what he said, "...I had promised tae this lad that I...would lead him tae victory and ensure that he'd return tae his family alive and well. I could only do the former...what good is it without the latter?"

"...I will admit it's surprising to see someone leading an army to care this much about his soldiers." Melissa remarked. "What was his name?"

"Philoctetes. He was only sixteen." After some silence, Altamir finally found words again. "Where can I take his body sae that it can be sent back tae his family? If there's such a place, can the two of ye show me there?"

The two soldiers nodded. "We know where one is."

"That we do. It's in the southwest corner of the camp."

---

Altamir sat against Peksen's back that night. He didn't know what to think, in all honesty.

On the one hand, oh yes, he'd led the army to victory over Wērōd, and he'd gotten to personally slay the tyrant himself and ensure that a MUCH better Shah would follow him, not to mention that all of his family members who had come with him to this battle had survived with minimal wounds at worst.

On the other hand...such a 'victory' felt hollow. Yes, his side had suffered only light casualties overall, numbers-wise, but still...he'd led his dragonets to use one of the most horrific tactics possible against the enemy army, and while his side's casualties were light, there were still casualties. Casualties including Philoktetes.

"What kind of leader am I?" Altamir sighed to himself as he thought of the boy. "I made a promise tae him for him tae live...but I could naet keep it. Even when I burned thaese Panjians alive...even when I used that bow against them..."

Being told both by his uncle and even King Ptolemy himself that it was impossible to save everyone, and that no matter how he tried, he was going to lose at least some people in war...that did not help things, right as he knew that they were.

Altamir hated war. If he didn't already before, then he certainly did now. And yet, given that the Tarantines and their slavering still existed...he knew that there would sadly be yet another one...and most certain to be harder than this one.

He just hoped that, this time, his family and loved ones wouldn't join the ranks of the dead.

---

Yeah...I may have to bump up the rating on this story eventually. And I'm just gonna say this, but...this chapter should probably serve as a warning that this story is likely to be a fair bit darker than canon WOF already is. Especially with the next chapter, which will be the last of this extended 'prologue' before we get to the 'main' part of the story.

Oh, and Khamsin may or may not be Qibli's distant ancestor.

I also want to say this before anyone complains - no, I don't intend to make Altamir come across as 'classist' with his comment about that one girl not 'having any notable status or social standing'. What I intended for him to basically say was that that particular girl wouldn't offer any sort of political advantage or whatnot in exchange for him marrying her (like Tamuriyah did with ensuring the Saka's loyalty), not to mention that Altamir has already told her 'no' twice up to that point, and she refused to listen to him.