“I’ve never seen you before, lass,” the merchant said, watching Faera like a cat would a goldfish.

“That’s strange,” Faera said, crossing her arms. “I’ve never seen you here before, either.” That got a guffaw out of the old man standing at the stall filled with carved wooden goods. Wrought iron was rationed in wartime, apparently.

“I’m… I’m not from here,” Faera admitted, playing to his sympathy now that she’d broken the ice. “I was travelling with my aunt and uncle, but we were separated … I don’t know where they went, and my money is running low.”

The man’s face softened. “You’ll want to go to City Hall. Show them your Mark and they’ll find you some work. Assuming we’re not all dead in the next few days,” he added. The man rolled up the stained sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo with his name and ID number, immaculate against his weathered skin.

“I’ll do that,” Faera said, then cocked her head, frowning. “We saw something strange on the road on the way here.”

“What’s that?”

“When we were on the road, we saw a caravan of wagons with no horses,” she said, describing the jeeps in a way she thought appropriate for her cover. “They roared like beasts and passed by us at a speed I couldn’t believe.”

The merchant grinned, revealing a motley assortment of teeth like crooked gravestones. Smelled like the grave, too. “Lass, you’ve been blessed. Not many have the honor of witnessing the Force of God up close.”

“That’s amazing!” Faera said, clapping her hands together in excitement.

The old man chuckled, his face glowing as he basked in her enthusiasm. “Prob’ly on their way to cleanse the cursed mountain, pry the elves from their filthy holes and purify the land.”

“But why the elves and not the army at the gate?”

The old man lost his exuberance, and his face crumpled into a scowl. “It’s not my place to question the will of Tyranus, but if I had to guess… He’ll deal with the Mississippi Army shortly, and he’ll do it himself.”

The man leaned forward, and Faera fought the desire to lean away from the septic stench oozing from his mouth. He tapped his nose. “If I had to guess… I think we’ll see our god in the flesh.”

“Really?”

“He’s got to send a message, right? What better way to do it than send those blue cowards running back home covered in orange flame, yeah?” The old man winked. “Keep your eyes to the sky lass. You won’t wanna miss it.”

Faera frowned, not quite understanding the man’s meaning, but not wanting to reveal her complete lack of knowledge about what she assumed to be their god-king. She excused herself, digesting the information as she walked away. Two details stood out to her: Tyranus burned things, and he was going to come through the air, if at all. If the god was just make-believe like the ones of the previous millennia, then the citizens wouldn’t have such brazen confidence in him, would they?

Tyranus could be a sorcerer, much like the crimson-robed man she’d seen at her home. Rock-throwing humans would fall at the feet of such a man easily enough. It was a rare human indeed who could grasp even the most basic magic. Most human sorcerers were half-bloods who simply showed no signs of their elven heritage, or elves who’d disguised themselves.

But why would he target elves? Food for thought, but figuring the man’s reasoning wasn’t a priority. There were as many reasons for evil as the men that did them--why should she bother to tread that murky water?

The important thing was to find out where the elves had been taken. She saw no signs of elf slaves in the city, and thank the gods, she found no sign of people eating them.

So where did they go?

Faera headed back toward the alley, concocting a plan as she walked. The people who took her family wouldn’t have been from Mississippi. The Mississippi Empire, from all accounts, allowed elves citizenship. Even the emperor was half elf, albeit an aging one.

The heart of the Empire was downriver, to the south, kept fat by the hundreds of tributaries that brought wealth from every corner of the empire to the very edge of the Gulf of Mexico. That meant she would have to go the other direction. Follow the upriver from this city backward to find the heart of this kingdom that was in contention with them. But how was she supposed to do that with an army literally climbing the walls this very second?

A sound that barely qualified as such slammed through her chest, rattling her heart and lungs. Faera dropped to the ground with the rest of the people walking the street. Through the buildings above, she caught a glimpse of red light filtering through the leathery membrane of a wing. Another glance, and then the giant creature disappeared beyond the wall.

“No,” Faera breathed, suddenly having an inkling of what they were up against.

Disregarding her disguise, she dashed to a nearby building, scaling it in one fluid motion. She ran along the rooftops until she reached the clearance around the city wall. She leapt the gap between the two, and scrabbled up onto the embattled wall in a series of moves no human could hope to replicate.

But that was okay--the men on the wall didn’t see a damn thing. They were too busy chanting the name of their god-king as he bathed their enemies in liquid fire. The thousands of Mississippi troops didn’t even get a chance to resist as the dragon knocked down their neatly assembled columns like so many dominoes, albeit with flame.

Faera had never seen a dragon. She had been born a few hundred years after her parents abandoned their former world for the promise of safety in this one… But she’d heard the stories.

“No,” Faera said, trying to deny what she saw with her own eyes. A dragon was not supposed to be that big. The crimson-scaled beasts of her parents’ world were said to be roughly the size and weight of three horses, end to end. This monster swooped down and fit an entire horse and rider in its maw before it bit down, letting the horse’s legs and head drop to the ground.

The dragon paused for a moment, picking the steel and saddle leather out of its teeth with a single, man-sized claw even as three blue-clad sorcerers stepped out of the flaming chaos. Their mouths moved, and though the wizened men were inaudible against the roar of fire and the pained screams of the Mississippi army, the tortured clamor seemed to have no effect on their spells.

One by one, darts of multicolored force shot forward and scattered against the scales of the dragon. The crimson beast finished picking the leather from its teeth and rushed forward, batting the three men aside with a single swing.

And with that, the Mississippi army was no more. Not a single survivor.

Faera ducked out of the cheering throng of soldiers, desperate to escape from the city. First Word needed to know about this. She stopped on the stone staircase leading back to the interior of the castle, torn. She needed to save her people, too. And besides, what would happen if she went back and told them there was a dragon bigger than any in recorded history at the heart of a conspiracy to eradicate the elves? The elders would laugh in her face. Again.

Faera gritted her teeth and as she descended the stairs, the wild bellows of the soldiers on the wall were muted by six feet of stone. First Word could take care of itself--nothing she did for them would make any damn difference. She got to the streets and snatched up a muddy shawl that had been lost in the confusion of the dragon’s arrival, draping it around her shoulders.

Find Sam, Get out of city, Track assholes who have my friends, Kill assholes who have my friends,

Faera thought to herself, making a tidy, bulleted mental to-do list.

The cheering in the streets renewed as the gates of the city swung open and the citizens rushed out, hoping to get a glimpse of their god--but more importantly, loot the thousands of fallen soldiers. The entire city flooded out onto the field, leaving Faera struggling against a stream of bodies.

In minutes, the streets were empty, and Faera could navigate them freely, which was both a blessing and a curse. Now, she was the center of attention wherever she went, being the only person on the street.

Faera ran to the back alley where she had left Sam, favoring speed over stealth. By midnight, the security around the city should be besotted enough to allow the two of them to flee unchallenged.

She grabbed the filthy stone wall and swung into the alley. “Sam!” she said. “We gotta get out of the city. The one in charge of the elf-hunting is--”

“The god-king Tyranus, right?” Sam asked with a bemused smile, surrounded by a half dozen men wearing white and gold uniforms. Their swords were drawn and when Faera arrived, their expressions turned murderous.

For an instant, every one of the six men were looking at her. In a blur of movement, Sam managed to sucker punch four of them. The captain turned his head back at the sound and was only able to issue a short squawk before Sam’s palm covered his face, slamming his head against that of his lieutenant.

The men fell to the ground in a wave, dropping their gold-embroidered uniforms into the brown filth of the alley. Sam dusted his hands, giving her a smug smile as his forearms glistened in the noon sun.

Faera’s breath caught, and then she shook her head. She didn’t have time to be impressed. She jumped forward, danced around the twitching bodies and grabbed Sam’s arm.

She pulled, and the huge clone followed. It occurred to Faera that due to his sheer mass, Sam went wherever his feet took him, and her tugging on his wrist was somewhat incidental--but to hell with it, they needed to go. Now.

“Tyranus is here, and we need to get out of the city before--” Faera stopped in her tracks as a booming roar filled the air. She looked up, and saw leather wings blocking out the sun above them.

“Hey, I know that guy,” Sam said.