The grey light of dawn stretched over the hills like a sleeping cat, unfurling one misty paw at a time. Norae stood sentinel beside Thallo, watching from a distance as Calyx harangued Jordan for the hundredth time. They stood in the half-darkness, practising the shielding spell over and over. Jordan was getting more frustrated by the minute, and Calyx appeared about ready to explode.

“Jesus, Jordan! It’s not that hard!” Calyx gritted her teeth, dancing on the knife-edge of impatience. “Here, watch again.”

Her hands flashed, quick, angry, impossible to follow. Jordan let out her breath in a hard rush.

“Enough, Calyx,” she snapped, “I can’t do it.”

“You have to!” Calyx snarled, “You’ll never make it across without the bloody shield!”

Jordan folded her arms, stared her down.

“Perhaps you should tell me what, exactly, is bothering you,” Jordan suggested, “Because it damn sure has nothing to do with this stuffing shield.”

She sounded so much like Asbeth that Calyx took pause; the Lat'Nemele relented, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I’m just… nervous?”

“Nervous!” Jordan scoffed, throwing her hands in the air, “You’re an all-powerful Witchkin who is, quite literally, capable of razing this entire army. What do you have to be nervous about?”

“You’re right,” Calyx blew out her breath, “You’re right...”

“If you don’t want to talk about it,” Jordan said tartly, “That’s fine. But would you stop taking it out on me, please? Show me again. Slower.”

Calyx nodded, chagrined, and went through the motions once more – step by step this time. Jordan’s face scrunched in concentration as she copied her, at last managing to draw a weak shield in the air.

“I wish our magic worked the same,” Jordan sighed, struggling to hold it there, “This would be so much easier...”

“You’ve got it,” Calyx offered encouragement, feeling bad, “See it in your mind, and your magic will follow. Try it again.”

Jordan gritted her teeth, emptying her mind of distractions. Unbidden, Nerys’ proud face swam into view behind her eyelids. Her soft, remembered words seemed to float on the breeze.

You are seeing only the ink and the paper, and not what it contains.

Jordan frowned, held up an imaginary pen. Again, and again, she drew, seeing the body of the spell, tweaking it, rewriting it. By the time the first rays of the sun nosed at the horizon, she was ready.

“There!” she exclaimed, exulted.

Calyx stepped forward, prodding, and pushing against various points on the shield. She appraised it critically from every angle before turning back to Jordan.

“It’s good,” she said, a faint hint of surprise tinting her approving smile, “Be sure to maintain your concentration, no matter what is going on around you.”

Jordan nodded, letting the spell dissipate. She rolled her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t tire before the day was won.

“Jordan?”

Norae appeared beside her, wicked glaive glinting as it rested casually against her shoulder. In the crook of her arm, she carried her bow and quiver, upon her hip, dual Dao swords, and in the side of either boot, long daggers. Thallo pranced beside her, bristling with as many spare weapons as she could carry. The gryphon wore thick leather armour, razor-edged battle gauntlets and a peaked helm. Jordan appraised them, impressed.

“Where did you get all that?”

“Calyx.”

“Next town over,” Calyx nodded, “They had a decent armoury.”

“You stole them?”

“Hardly,” Calyx drew herself up, affronted, “I am a Lat’Nemele – the only Sorceress who outranks me is the World Queen. I simply requisitioned them.”

“They didn’t ask why?”

“Death-wish to question a Lat’Nemele,” Norae said.

Calyx raised an approving eyebrow, and Jordan opted to let it go.

“While we’re about it,” Calyx said, moving swiftly on, “I’ve got something for you, too.”

She twirled her fingers, and a small trunk shimmered into solidity. It clicked open of its own accord, and a series of weapons floated out.

“Take your pick,” the Lat’Nemele smiled.

“Wow, thanks!” Jordan grinned, quick to snatch a short, graceful sword out of the air.

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Norae snorted. “What do you want a sword for? Do not know how to use it.”

Jordan hugged its scabbard protectively. “I know, but it’s pretty. And it will make me feel the part.”

“Here,” Calyx said, smiling at her enthusiasm. She brandished her hand, and a richly indigo, studded-leather cuirass appeared, along with the greaves and gauntlets to match it. “This is the kind of armour your mother wore. It may not look like much, but it is expertly charmed for protection against mortal weapons. Your power may imbue you with invulnerability to the magic of others, but a swift sword or arrow can easily find its mark.”

“So, I’m magic-proof, but not bullet-proof?” Jordan clarified, accepting it with careful hands.

“Exactly.”

“Bullet?” Norae said, unfamiliar with the term.

“Pray you never find out. Go on, Jordan, gear up, and then we will begin our task.”

Jordan did as she was bid, fixing the armour onto her body, and sighed at the exquisite fit. She hardly felt like she was clothed at all, so light and flexible was her outfit.

“It’s amazing, Calyx, thank you.”

Norae helped her strap her scabbard to her back, and showed her how to draw her sword. They teased each other about her ability to wield it, and whether Norae more needed to watch out for Jordan or the entire army.

At last, they were ready.

“What about you?” Jordan asked Calyx, “Are you going to war in a dress?”

The Lat’Nemele looked down and laughed. “Good point.”

She threw up a hand and a font of smoke obscured her. It dissipated in the space of two heartbeats, and Jordan and Norae both stared in awe at the transformation. Calyx looked down her nose at them, glittering with bright fury, glorious in her deadly attire. She wore fitted scale mail, expertly crafted, light as a hummingbird’s feather, and spun with burnished colour – indigo, silver, sky blue. Her golden hair was part-braided, tied with white feathers, hanging in gilded waves down half the length of her back. Charcoal paint swept in a wide band from temple to temple, accenting blue eyes that snapped with crystalline wrath. Petite fangs snarled between lips the colour of blood; lightning crackled at her fingertips.

“Holy shit,” Jordan said.

Calyx smiled, soft and deadly as the calm before a storm. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Jordan exchanged glances with Norae, who gave a decisive nod.

Together, they slipped through the forested hills, treading light and talking little. Calyx led the way, every fibre of her alert, alive, riding on the thrill of her magic. She held up her hand for a halt as they neared the edge of the trees, motioning them close.

“Remember,” she cautioned, “Stay behind me, and within your shield.”

She tilted her head, listened hard for a moment, and then turned her full attention back to them.

“Jordan, hark now, this is important – a Lat’Nemele’s magic is fickle when unleashed at its full potential.”

“What does that mean?” Jordan whispered.

“It means I am as likely to kill you as anyone else if you get in the way.”

Calyx smiled gentle reassurance as Jordan’s face paled. “It’s nothing personal, it’s simply that my magic is predatory – most anything that moves is fair game. I’ve marked you two and Thallo with a simple warding charm, so as long as you do not end up directly in my path, you will be fine.”

She clapped a reassuring hand on Jordan’s shoulder and strode off to get a lay of the land from the crest of the rise.

“Great,” Jordan muttered, “Why is everything always trying to kill us? I didn’t realise we’re in danger from Calyx herself – I’d never have agreed to this insane plan!”

Norae shrugged, tossing her beaded braids out of her eyes. “Too late, now. We go on. Stay alert – we will make it.”

“Well, if we die, at least we’ll die together,” Jordan said, the poor attempt of a smile trembling on her lips.

“No one dies today,” Norae growled.

“Ready or not…” Jordan said, looking over to where the Lat’Nemele was rapidly drawing away.

Norae whistled Thallo into the sultry morning sky, and they trotted after Calyx. They caught up with her at the top of the small hill, quailed as they stared down at the mass encampment spread out below. Calyx stood atop a precipice, proud and fearless, cutting a formidable silhouette against the multi-hued dawn.

“It’s time,” she said to them, her feral smile widening. Her eyes lit with an unearthly glow, her aura pulsing in time to the thrum of her magic. “Remember, keep behind me.”

She leapt off the crag, her power fanning out through the air beneath her. The speed of her descent was frightful; she swooped down, silent as a shadow, and as deadly. She dived straight for the nearest gaggle of makeshift tents, hit it with the force of a hurricane. Startled shouts rose up around her, a distressed warning to the rest of the bivouac. Calyx adjusted her course, gathered her magic, and hit the next clump of tents amidst a tsunami of fire. The yelling crescendoed to screams, and soldiers scurried to defend themselves.

This was no green army, however, and in moments a counterattack was launched.

Jordan and Norae ducked between ruined tents together, keeping as close as they dared behind the Lat’Nemele as she swept across the encampment. Jordan held tight to her shield, making it as broad as she could, protecting their backs. Norae reacted with the dexterity of a hawk, loosing arrows at anything that came within six feet of Jordan. Thallo flashed in and out of view, keeping close, using momentum to her advantage as she cut down attackers at the perimeter of the shield.

With a sulphurous roar, a gigantic fissure sliced open the earth beneath Jordan’s feet. She yelped, only just managing to throw herself to one side and avoid plummeting to her death. Tents and soldiers tumbled in, sliding into the abyss amidst echoing screams of terror. The golden Lat’Nemele flashed past, eyes ablaze, magic searing the air in great blasts of heat and light and death. Norae pulled Jordan back, away from the earthen maw, pushing her onwards.

“Calyx did that!” Jordan yelled above the clamour, “She nearly killed us!”

“Warned you!” Norae shouted back.

“She said don’t get in the way!” Jordan screeched, “We were nowhere near in the way!”

Norae slashed at a soldier, dismembered his sword arm with the long reach of her glaive, plunged its razor tip deep into his chest. “Focus, Jordan! Stay alive!”

Jordan scowled so hard it hurt, but she reforged her shield and kept a closer eye on the careening Lat’Nemele.

Around them, smoke grew thick in the air, making it hard to see, harder to breathe. Arrows flew sporadically. Thallo kept swooping down to protect the women from their wayward passing, and her charmed armour was soon peppered with shafts.

“Thallo!” Norae yelled as she reached back to pull another arrow from her sheath and found none.

The gryphon dived, rolling above and over her, and Norae snatched a handful of shafts out of her leather breastplate as she flew past. Quick as a cat, she discarded those broken, plunged the rest unceremoniously into her quiver, and kept firing.

Gamely, they followed in the wake of the Lat’Nemele. Once or twice, they lost sight of her in the fog of war, but followed the trail of mass destruction until flashing magic was visible once more. They couldn’t hear each other speak any longer. The clash of arms, the thunder of magic, and the hellish screams drowned out all attempts of communication. They stayed close together and pressed on, cutting down each enemy that ran at them.

Abruptly, the ground began to rise in a long, even slope, and a gust of wind whipped the smog away. Jordan stumbled to a halt, Norae at her shoulder, Thallo dropping down with a thump behind.

Jordan stared.

“Oh, shit.”