Maristara soared above the treetops, coming from the north, from Dragonkeep. She flew swiftly and with deadly purpose, her neck outstretched, her eyes glaring down, her huge body and vast wingspan obliterating the sun. Leaving the clouds, she dove down on them. Her breath spewed fire as she came, setting the marshlands ablaze and showing the humans, who cowered at the sight of her, the sort of death they would die.

The king’s crumbling army disintegrated. The commanders had no hope of maintaining control. Some, keeping their heads, tried to prevent a rout, while others were first to head for the rear. The cry was every man for himself, and every man made a dash for it, pushing and shoving and sometimes knifing his fellows in order to clear a path that would save him from the terror swooping down on him. The sight of “demon” warriors had unnerved them. The sight of the dragon unmanned them.

The only company to hold its ground was the archers. Led by a man of stubborn disposition who believed in neither God nor the devil (and who was worshiped and feared by his men more than either of the other two), the archers stood fast even as the dragon bore down on them. They had their arrows nocked and ready and, at the command, the archers fired.

The sky was black with arrows flying, hissing, at their target.

Six of the female dragon warriors appeared, parting the veil of magic, their scaled armor bright in the sunlight. Each woman made a graceful gesture with her hands, as though she were sending forth a flight of birds. The shafts of the arrows burst into flame and were instantly consumed, tailing downward in thin spirals of smoke. The arrowheads melted and plopped in leaden drops onto the grass. The women bowed low, as the dragon passed overhead. And then they disappeared back into the illusion.

The archers flung down their bows. They trampled each other in their mad panic. But they had lost precious time standing up to the dragon, and she was swift to exact punishment. Flying over them, Maristara sprayed them with fire, setting their clothes and hair ablaze. The hapless victims flailed and thrashed about on the ground or spread the flames as they ran screaming, trying mindlessly to escape the blaze that was consuming them. Most of these dropped dead in their tracks. Others were knocked to the ground by their comrades in a desperate attempt to save them, though to no avail. The flames were insidious, burning through leather armor and clothes and flesh, burning up bone and sinew and muscle, reducing men to piles of greasy ashes.