"Press them back!" shouted various captains, mixed in the chaos of their own collapsing units. The lines slowly changed in favor of the kobolds, as they drove the advancing horde away from the city, step by bloodstained step. Then, the lines just stopped moving. Horrified, Rughoi saw limbs retract themselves into the folds of scales and flesh that is the core of the monstrous form, and as the limbs absorbed themselves, their scales thickened and adopted a mineral sheen. Spearheads broke on scales, and it was the Meratid force's turn to advance.

"Back to the hill!" shouted Rughoi, tugging on the hairs of his mount. The worg roared, and bounded back to a more defensible position. Slowly, the ranks followed, and the Rughids retreated to the hilly terrain behind them. Such a position would be more favorable when the Meratids charge. That is, if they did, and didn't do as they were doing now, which is themselves retreating. They too ran back to their captains on the other side of the field. This eclectic tactical movement confounded Rughoi. What was Merat planning?

Kutur saw the chance such a respite presented. He, feeling Arda's hand guide his own, began muttering a new set of incantations. From the ground rose vaguely humanoid shapes, motes of fire given form. With a high pitched shriek, they leapt at the dracon ranks, jumping on their shoulders and smashing away with their stubby little hands. They set cloth alight and steel under them glowed red hot. Rughoi saw what Kutur was looking at, and took charge.

"Loose!" he shouted, and the archer units, hidden safely behind the front spears, loosed their deadly volleys, pelting dracon and Meratid alike with arrows. A whistle and a puff of smoke answered such aggression, and Kutur could barely get his arcane shields up in time for the fireballs to splash off. Dracon mages. Kutur and the dracons exchanged blasts of fire, but he knew that the shield won't last, and they will soon break. Then, a dull groaning reverberated throughout the battlefield. Kutur threw his hand forth as he had, but only managed to throw air. He clenched his eyes shut waiting for the return volley, but none came. He looked over and the dracon mages had the same quizzical expression he knew he wore. Then, further out, he found the source of the interruption. The Meratids were stomping on the ground and roaring in a strange unison. Looking at them made his head hurt. He moved his hands to cast a spell, but found he could not. Then, in the distance, there was movement. In every Meratid's hand was now a rock. Together, they hurled it, the brunt of it being received by the imperial guard. Boulders smashed into the shield wall, breaking holes into the once-vigilant formation. Would the dracons attack them, or the Meratids?