The wyrm limped and wheezed its way to the front of the army. It began the long, laborious process of crawling towards the enemy ranks. Gasp, shuffle, cough, rest.
The Warlock Apprentices, each with a beautiful girl in a gilded iron cage before him, stabbed downwards with their daggers and devoured the life energy of the virgins, joining a great Sabbath for the revered master of the Smouldercone himself, Malphas the Warlock.
Fire flew in waves at the Sauromatians, and men and horses caught fire, rolled, and exploded.
Then suddenly, A Thing Which Should Not Be materialized before Malphas, rending, devouring his essence. He was torn asunder.
Out of the husk of the body rose the Corruptor. It was the true enemy, the monster that would destroy Claire and her people, leading them away from the pure fire and turning them forever towards the tainted path of blood. It hissed and vomited blood at the lesser horror, then flew, laughing as it fled.
Claire, the forgotten dragonling, had almost made it halfway across the field by the time the Warlock Apprentices were exhausted. Riddled with arrows and hurt, she painfully slithered back toward the doomed lands of the fire people.
Bodies of exhausted fire mages lay strewn across the battlefield. The Sauromatians approached eagerly with spears and forks. You didn't even have to cook Abysians.