The day began like so many others, with the opening of the gates. However this day, not long into the morning something changed. A small group, apparently traders from some village or other approached, goods held on their backs as they made their way forwards. However there was a strange thing, for none of them were familiar to the guards, not one of the ten.

Luckily the gate guards had been warned, told that there might be some treachery, some attempt at infiltration to the city. They'd been told, in no uncertain terms, that they were to carefully examine anyone who they didn't know. The group, all men, all fighting age, and with large packs made their heckles rise.

It was a good thing too, for as soon as they sensed the game was lost the attempted infiltrators attacked. By the end of it, the ten invaders lay dead, surrounded by triple the number of guards. They'd managed to hide their inner fire, suppressing it until it was nearly invisible. If not for the quick reaction of some of the higher-ups the gate might have fallen that moment, but instead, that disaster was averted.

Emergency flares were sent up, shining as they climbed into the sky, pulsing beacons of light. Some of the women who'd gone out to gather made it back before the attack began in earnest, but soon the flares had to be changed. The command to return altered, to one to flee. Once it became clear that calling people back would only put them in danger, they were told to run, to hide, to survive the coming battle.

While this all happened I was still in my workshop, deep in concentration. The last of the final touches being put upon my hammer. Quickly there came a pounding from the door above, a series of knocks that told me something was terribly wrong.

I bounded up the stairs to find a horrified looking Chien. “Flares, lots of flares,” he told me.

“Where's Ian?”

“Here!” the man said, running in like an arrow released.

“We'll need some soldiers to help move the weapons to the walls. Have the girls go to your grandfather's place, in the old tunnel I built, it won't be clean or pleasant, but it's underground and likely the safest place in the city.” Then I turned back to my assistant. “Chien, you're with me, we need to get the weapons up here. Wait, what about your family?”

In truth I knew nothing about Chien's family, other than the fact that his mother was still alive. He didn't like talking about it, and though I'd inquired she didn't come around.

“She'll be fine, what do you need?” Flippant or not, I didn't have time to argue.

“Come, I'll explain as we move.” He followed me to my laboratory, somewhere not even he was used to being. “We need to get these upstairs so the soldiers can take them, and while we do I'll explain. They're easy to use, just throw, high and far, these first, then those,” I pointed at two differing sets of symbols. “They need to burst when they land, but absolutely not before.”

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“Got it,” he said, mimicking my use of magic to pull them upstairs and into the little courtyard.

Between loads I looked at my workbench. It sat there like it was waiting, watching. The hammer I'd crafted from iron and solidified magic almost hummed, shimmering in the light. Quickly I reached out, placing my fingers around the handle. It was lighter than I'd expected, though with the amount of kinetic magics bound up in it that shouldn't be too odd, it could move in practically any direction if magic was applied, and should do so very well. Taking the hoop on the handle I attached it to my belt, ready to hand off to Atal the moment I saw him, this would be his weapon, one that might actually survive him.

Soldiers were quick to appear, led by Ian. With quick words I sent he and Chien to the far gate with half the bombs, while I was taking the other to that under siege. We needed to be ready if there was some deception, almost a guarantee.

“Be careful with those, if you drop one you're a dead man,” I told the dozen or so men with me. Each was carrying a pair of my projectiles, and all were pale when I informed them.

It wasn't absolutely true, the canisters were a bit more durable than that, but if there was a mistake I wouldn't want to be near one. We hurried through streets, compacted dirt smacking as we ran. People were in chaos, some were trying to make their way to whatever location they were to go to defend, others were seeking shelter. Everyone was worried and confused as mothers pulled children inside and close, fear written on their faces.

When we finally arrived what I saw did not look like what people believed a medieval siege would look like. There was no accounting in their reckoning for the power that was magic, the power to bend the world to your will. Choruses sang, spinning shields and constructions into place, those like Atal were walking artillery, spear after spear hefted at the enemy like a round from a rail-gun. Several mages were atop the walls tossing balls of fire or force at the enemy, and that was just what I could see from the ground. My ears picked up the crews of the ballistae, firing bolt after bolt in a series of twangs.

Immediately I made my way to the walls, there was a staircase nearby, and guards who didn't dare try to stop me. My steel canisters were left at the bottom, only a word and pointed finger telling the soldiers where to leave the others.

What I found as I mounted the walls was a swarm, still forming it poured from the trees. Man after man slipped from the forest and began to pile up, not stopping as they began their attack. Some of their weapons were much like ours. There were staff-slings there, designs I'd given over to seemingly loyal villages, along with a few copper and iron spears, though not many.

Their real advantage was in magic. The city of Atal was larger than their force, but they'd brought over a hundred of their sacrificial shock troopers, children with burning auras. Most stayed in the back, but who knew how long that would last. For now they were peppering us with fire, mostly small bolts hurled at wide arcs.

Our leader was nowhere to be seen, but nearby I did at least find someone I recognized.

“Jina!” I yelled as I ran up to her. “Where is your grandfather?”

“At the other walls you fool! They have your weapons!” As if to punctuate her remark a nearby man took a ballista bolt to the chest. There was a sickening crack as it pierced him and threw him bodily from the wall, only to come to rest in a bleeding heap down below.

“Not all of them. Is there any way we can get a wind towards the enemy?”

By way of response she looked at one of the nearby singers, who began to change his tune slightly after nodding. It was subtle, but I could feel it, the change in the direction of the air.

With my magic I reached out, grabbing up several of the nearby canisters as I checked their markings, and then throwing them. They flew out across the enemy front, reaching a peak and then dipping, down, down, until they crashed between the two forces, nearer to the Westers, but not all the way to them. The enemy army laughed and jeered, a garbled mess that I could only make out at this distance by the tone.

As they were designed to do each and every one cracked just so. These didn't destroy themselves fully, but small breaks, enough to let loose the pressurized gas within. From each of the steel containers poured clouds of sickly yellow-green mist, spreading out as it was pushed towards them. They didn't seem bothered or concerned.

“Smoke! You threw smoke at them!?” the healer roared at me, irritated that I'd done such a minor trick and wasted her time changing the wind for it.

Then the screaming started.