"How many did we lose?"
The general looked up at Nahash’s avatar. "Twenty-three casualties. Seven dead, sixteen wounded. Though every last soldier got stung or bitten by wasps or ants at least five times."
"Not ideal," said Nahash, "but I think we killed more of theirs. I’m sure I killed at least two of their giants."
"There didn’t look to be many of them," said the general. "My men could probably handle them and the natives if they don’t have wasps and wolves harassing them."
"Perhaps," said Nahash, "but we don’t know how many there are. And then there’s the fairies. A lot more of them showed up that time."
The general shifted, uncomfortable.
"No," said Nahash, "I think we’re going to have to go back to the capital again and ask for reinforcements." The dragon looked off the the west and let out a low hiss, a kind of draconic sigh. "The king will not be pleased to see me again."
The general said nothing.
"Have the men dig in," said Nahash. "Tell them to wait for supplies and reinforcements — and to stay far, far away from the woods."
"Yes, sir," said the general.
"Your men built the pyre?" asked Nahash.
"They did, sir."
"Good. I have something to do before we go west."
Nahash left the tent and took wing. He flew to the place, a mile from the stockade, where a dragon’s body lie atop a massive pile of wood. Nahash coiled up ten yards from the display.
Sorry, soldier, whispered Nahash. But you died in battle, right? So you’ll be reborn, in the next life, as an emperor. At least, that’s what they say.
Emperor Sirajuddin, said Nahash, with a wry chuckle. I relieve you of your duty.
Nahash focused his will. Sirajuddin’s funeral pyre bust into white-hot flame, consuming his huge bulk within moments, rendering even the bones to dust.
When the flames cooled, Nahash ordered servants to collect some of the ashes in a large leather bag. He flew thousands of feet up, to the cold part of the sky, and scattered the ashes to the winds.