Using the throne’s spell network, I don’t need the Dungeon Core’s interface in order to “see” across my kingdom. I can intuit the exact inflections of my rudders. I know how much lift the cloudstone is providing. I can tell the precise heading, pitch, and altitude of the Fortress at any given moment.

Okay, so it’s not “seeing,” exactly, but neither is using the Dungeon Core. I’ve got dragons and spider people to help me with that, anyway.

Unfortunately, the Fortress is currently situated such that I’m faced away from the side the Jorrians will be on.

“I’m relocating,” I tell Ollie. “Mirzayael is on the East side. Can you find a pavilion on the West face to watch from?” That will help me cover all angles.

“WHICH SIDE IS WEST?” he asks.

I point.

“OKAY!” Ollie jumps off his balcony and glides down to a lower level of the palace, passing out of sight. At the same time, I activate a Jet and rise into the air.

It’s the first time I’ve seen the Fortress from this vantage point. Looking down on it from above, its scale and beauty is even more remarkable. The roofs of the buildings are all tinted red, yellow, and orange; colors I hadn’t been able to make out in the dark of the cave. The streets circle up toward the palace in a gentle slope, like a spiraling flame. This was a kingdom designed for peace, not war.

I alight on a balcony opposite the one I’d been on. It doesn’t look much different, since we’re still rising through the tunnel of stone. But it won’t be long now.

“Ninety-two seconds until we clear the surface,” I tell Mirzayael.

Then I tell Ollie, “Only about another minute until we’re at the surface.”

“Copy,” Mirzayael says.

“OKAY!” Ollie replies.

I wish I had a way to speak to both of them at once so I didn’t have to relay every message twice.

[Connections for Psionic Link available,] Echo says.

I tip my head. What do you mean?

[Established Links: User to Mirzayael. User to Ollie. User to Dungeon Core. Links within the network may be connected to one another.]

You’re saying I could be communicating with all parties at once? I ask. Could they speak to one another as well?

[Affirmative.]

That opens up a world of possibilities! We could have used a communication network like this while we were trying to clear the caves. Too late for that now, but not too late for the final leg of our fight.

Alright, I tell Echo. Let’s make a group call. I mentally wrap my arms around each of the minds I’m connected to and imagine pulling them in close.

[Connection established,] Echo reports.

“Is this working?” I ask, casting my mind out to everyone.

“IS WHAT WORKING?” Ollie asks.

“Blazing Abyss.” I feel Mirzayael tense. “What was that?”

“WHO’S THERE?” Ollie cries. “FYRE, THERE’S SOMEONE ELSE IN MY HEAD! BESIDES YOU! AND ECHO!”

“Is… is that Ollie?” Mirzayael asks, stunned.

“OH MY GOSH THEY KNOW MY NAME!”

“Sorry,” I say, trying to wrangle the conversation in. “I should have asked first. I thought it would be advantageous to connect my communication lines together for the battle. Ollie, this is Mirzayael. Mirzayael, Ollie.”

“OH! IT’S THE SPIDER LADY. HI SPIDER LADY!”

“Incredible,” Mirzayael says. “He does sound like a child.” She pauses. “And he’s as loud as one.”

The first towers breach the surface, distant sunlight spilling over their spires. At the same time, a volley of ice appears overhead, great boulders of white crashing down toward the city.

“Incoming!” I cry.

The Dungeon Core notices my attention shift; it can feel the ice vollies now that they’re in its range. Oh! Should it eat those? It wouldn’t mind doing that, if I gave it a lot of mana. Please give it some m—

“Do it!” I shove my mana at the Dungeon Core.

“WHO IS THAT?” Ollie asks. “WHY ARE THEY SO HUNGRY?”

“Holy shit,” Mirzayael murmurs, clearly putting together the source of the new voice quicker than Ollie.

Ollie gasps. “YOU SAID A BAD WORD!”

Maybe I shouldn’t have tied the Dungeon Core into this.

“The skies are momentarily clear,” I report to Mirzayael.

“Deploying aerial units,” she replies. A moment later, a dozen harpies whip past me, rocketing into the open air. My vantage point breaks the surface, then, and I get my first look at what we’re dealing with.

The Jorrian troops have retreated from the edge of the cliff and set up a new line. There’s a mix of conventional soldiers and mages, along with some giant devices that look like oversized drills. I smile tightly at that. They came prepared for an underground fight.

Unfortunate for them.

A set of make-shift catapults, made entirely of ice, are being loaded for a second volley, and several of the mages are raising hands to point toward us. The harpies move in at that point, dropping our munitions.

The melon-sized balls drop toward the earth, drifting apart as they’re caught in the wind and blown off track. Even so, when they impact the ground, the effect is instantaneous.

The sodium spheres disintegrate on impact, scattering their contents in a three-meter radius, which in turn creates secondary explosions as the rain of metal pellets hit the ice.

I’d worked on the sodium bombs with Dizzi’s help, and after I initially explained the principle behind the reaction, she took the idea and ran with it. Even as I watch, I see the harpies drop several artificed bombs Dizzi had designed. Some explode into fireballs on impact, others launch dozens of blades of ice, and still more are concussive blasts of air, launching troops into one another and blowing out the eardrums of anyone in range.

I watch this in silence for several minutes. The already decimated troops are dropping like flies. The harpies take out most of their front line and war machines. The Jorrians nearest the Fortress begin to scatter. But eventually, the harpies’ attacks peter out.

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Dizzi flies into sight at that point, rapidly wheeling down to land on my balcony. “There you are!” she says. “We’re out of bombs. Will that be enough?”

I consult the Fortress’s spell network. “The base should be clearing the surface as we speak. We’ll soon be out of their range. But we still need to protect the base until then.”

“Fyre, the harpies say they have no more munitions,” Mirzayael also alerts me. “I think the Jorrians have realized it, too.”

“Copy,” I mentally reply. Then I address everyone at once, speaking both physically and mentally. “Ollie, Mir, report on enemy movement. Dizzi, get some eyes on our base. I need visual confirmation of our altitude and that the last of the Fortress has cleared the earth.”

“On it.” Dizzi dives back off her perch.

“THEY’RE DEFINITELY DOING SOMETHING,” Ollie tells me. “THERE’S A WHOLE GROUP OF THEM OVER HERE. I THINK—OH!”

A distant rumble rocks the Fortress. From the disruption in spell circuit lines—and the Dungeon Core’s sudden alarm—I can pinpoint the impact to the area beneath the north-west wall.

Mirzayael’s voice appears in my mind. “They’re launching grappling hooks. Looks like they’re made of ice. Two fell short, one stuck at the base. I don’t think it’s strong enough to stop the Fortress’s ascent—” I know that to be the case. “—but it might tear a chunk of stone away when it goes taut.”

And if it’s cloudstone it’s got a hold of, that could be a problem. Not in isolation—I built a factor of safety into the design—but the cumulative effort of enough of those hooks could easily jeopardize our flight or cripple the navigation system.

“We need to get the harpies to the south-west gates,” I tell her. “See if they can dislodge the grapple with minimal damage.”

But they won’t be able to stop more from being launched. And they’ll be exposed to attack themselves. We need to cover them. And for that, we need to get back on the offensive.

“Should I deploy them now?” Mirzayael asks.

“Give me one moment,” I tell her.

I tap into the Dungeon Core, telling it my idea. It gets excited. Very excited.

“That feeling makes me nervous,” Mirzayael says. “Do I want to know?”

“I’m clearing a path for the aerial units,” I tell her. “Have them at the ready.”

The Core and I begin rerouting the plumbing system in the Fortress. It’s widest at the top and narrowest at the base, and I add some compression chambers in for good measure. In a matter of seconds, the system is complete, and a giant hole opens in the floor of the throne room.

Dizzi isn’t back yet, which is a shame; I need visual confirmation to know if my aim is correct. It’s a pity I can’t see through her or Ollie’s eyes. That would make all this…

The thought gives me pause. Could I see through their eyes? The Psionic Link spell was just supposed to link our minds, but what’s the difference between visual interpretations and thoughts? It’s all the same process: neural tissue, a firing of synapses. If one can be interpreted and transmitted, why not another? Mentally, I prod at Ollie’s Psionic Link, wondering if I can alter it. Previously, I’d unlocked new fire spells by applying known spells in new ways. If I could just come up with a new application of the Psionic Link, if I could just envision what it’s supposed to do…

In my mind, something shifts.

[New Spell Obtained,] Echo reports. [Psionic Senses.]

“OOOH,” Ollie says, shivering. “WHAT WAS THAT?”

And then I’m inside his head.

Dragon vision is weird, for lack of a better term. At least the eyes are forward-facing like humans—and harpies, and most apex predators—so I don’t have to experience a complete reorientation of my vision. Even so, the field is wider, sharper, and the colors are… more. I’m not sure how to explain it. Is this infrared?

I instinctively try to turn my head and find I can’t. Right. I’m only seeing what Ollie’s seeing; I’m just along for the ride.

But this gives me exactly what I need.

“Ollie, can you fly around the Fortress and look for a hole in its base?” I ask him. “I need to know if it’s aimed correctly at the Jorrians. But stay high!” I hurriedly add. “Don’t get in their range.”

“LET ME GO LOOK,” Ollie says, jumping from his perch and flapping into the air. I can feel the force of the wind gusting over us. It’s exhilarating.

Ollie circles high above the battlefield. A handful of Jorrians launch arrows his way, but he doesn’t even register the ineffective attacks. As he swoops overhead, some of the troops scatter, and I feel his amusement as he notices this. But his gaze shifts back to the Fortress a moment later, and then he pitches down into a glide, rapidly gaining velocity as he loops down and around the Fortress.

“OH! THERE IS ONE. I SEE IT!”

And I see it too. Based on the position and angle, I estimate my plan will be at least 40% effective. “Okay,” I tell Mirzayael. “Launch on my signal.”

I turn back to the Dungeon Core. You’ve been looking to get rid of this stuff for a while, right?

The Core wails pathetically. Yes! It’s terrible. Such a waste of space. It wants it out. Now!

“Request granted,” I say, and then we dump the entire volume of previously consumed spring water down into the pipes.

I wish I was in the throne room to witness the bizarre display that must be taking place. The Core is manifesting the water directly above the hole we created, shooting it down through the narrowing pipes and compression chambers—and out onto the ice at the base of the Fortress.

“Now!” I tell Mirzayael. Moments later, harpies shoot through the air, diving for the side of the Fortress.

It’s a lot more water than I expected it to be. Even as it geysers out the base of the Fortress, compressed like a pressurized hose as it blasts into the troops, I find I’m nowhere near close to disposing of all of it. No wonder the Core had acted so bloated after our first reluctant bath in the thermal springs.

I watch through Ollie’s wide eyes as the water gushes over the Jorrian troops, knocking dozens off their feet and disrupting their attempts to launch more grappling hooks our way. An unintentional side effect of the water is that more of the ice begins to crack and melt, the thinnest and most precarious sheets falling into the sinkhole and sweeping many Jorrians with them.

“Great Abyss,” Mirzayael murmurs in my mind.

“That’s the last of it,” I say a minute later as the final dregs of spring water are fully evacuated from the Core’s Inventory. I close the hole in the throne room and begin fixing the plumbing system the Core and I had disturbed. The Core sighs in content.

Dizzi returns then. “Did you see that?” she excitedly asks, landing next to me. “That was wicked!”

“Altitude?” I ask.

“Fifty feet to go,” Dizzi reports. “Then we’ll be out of their range.”

Still another fifty feet to defend from any last attacks, and I’m out of pressurized water.

“THAT WAS COOL!” Ollie tells me. “I THINK WE’RE WINNING. CAN I DO ANYTHING?”

“Watch for more grapples,” I say, at the same time Mirzayael says, “Boulders.”

I pause. “Boulders?”

“Like your bombs,” Mirzayael explains. “Ollie could grab rocks from the caves or broken pieces of the Fortress and drop them on the enemy troops. It would be extremely effective.”

And he’d be causing even more death and devastation—not that he particularly seems to mind. He isn’t just a child, after all. He’s a child dragon, and it seems at least some of those instincts have transferred to Ollie. As I learned in the caves, holding him back is only to his detriment. He’s not helpless, so I need to stop treating him that way.

Besides, we need him.

“Boulders,” I tell Ollie, and through his body I can feel his tail excitedly lashing from side to side. “Aim for any more grappling hooks, or any other large machines you see out there.”

“YAY!”

He dives back out over the city, glancing down in time to catch sight of the harpies as they dislodge the first grapple. They let out a cheer, rising into the air behind him.

But as Ollie circles lower, heading for the ground, he comes within range of the Jorrians. A barrage of projectiles is flung his way, and I tense, helpless to respond, but the dragon rolls to the side at the same moment the harpies fly in, knocking the attacks back with gusts of concentrated wind. I relax. I need to trust my people, too.

“WOW!” Ollie cries as he catches sight of the cavern beneath us. “THAT IS A BIG HOLE. IT WOULD MAKE A GREAT CAVE TO HIDE THINGS IN. FYRE, I NEED A BIGGER CAVE FOR ALL MY STUFF!”

Excitement bubbles over into a roar, which is frankly terrifying and sends still more Jorrians fleeing into the tundra. But instead of dropping on the troops, Ollie drops into the cavern below, now hollowed out like a cored pineapple. Ollie rakes his claws along the rocks, carving enormous grooves in the surface as if it were made of balsa wood. Grabbing a boulder the size of a small car, he flies back out of the caves and implements Mirzayael’s plan.

As she predicted, it’s extremely effective.

The harpies flank Ollie as he flies, deflecting any projectiles that come his way. The dragon doesn’t even notice them; he’s too busy having fun rolling boulders through the troops, which scatter or are flattened like bowling pins struck by a wrecking ball. Ollie does this a handful of times, from a height the Jorrians can do nothing about, then gets bored and starts launching Ice Beams through their ranks. What little that remained of the army breaks rank and flees across the ice. No more catapults or grapples come our way after that.

Two minutes later, my spell network and Dizzi’s harpies confirm that we’re out of the Jorrian’s range and rapidly rising.

A tension unwinds from my shoulders. We really did it. We survived. We’re free.

I send the message to Mirzayael, who relays it to her troops. The harpies return to the city, landing on streets and rooftops and balconies. With the abrupt absence of bombs and siege weapons, everything is strangely quiet. In fact, looking out across the field, I’d estimate only a tenth of the Jorrian troops remain standing. I wonder if I should feel victorious or grim. For the moment, I only feel relief.

“What now?” Mirzayael asks after a span of silence.

I adjust the control surfaces at the bottom of the Fortress. We’re mostly at the whims of the wind, though like a sailboat, I can still partially direct our path. Checking our projected speed and trajectory, I turn us north.

“Now,” I tell her, “we head for warmer lands.”