Under the cover of night, the Seafoam moved along on the heavy wet smell of wetted earth and fresh leaves. Larin, Myrith, and Lysara trekked with six elite soldiers as they moved on in stealth into the trading post huddled at the bottom of the southern border of Larake. The moon was hanging low overhead, casting silver light on the narrow track that wove between outcrops of rock and tangles of dense desert underbrush. Shadows ran and spread as if the desert breeze had gone ruffling through the scrub.
Myrith halted her group, lifting a hand to still them. Her eyes shone with an unearthly light as [Spectral Sight] wove in them:. She followed his lead, a trick he'd recently mastered: the thermal outlines of merchants huddled within the post's structure. And beyond them: subtle flickers of heat that betrayed hidden figures—going to wait at a distance, enemies. And with all of the warriors taking their stations, tension grew within each like a droplet in that silent sea.
"The assault is nigh," Lysara whispered, the living water of her spear coiling lazily in her hand. "Be prepared."
Larin's hand closed tight on the hilt of his Porost Knife. Its shifting weight seemed to settle into the groove of his hands. His pulse jumped as he crouched beside Lysara, both of them staring straight ahead into the darkness.
Then silence exploded.
A shriek, sharp and piercing, ripped the night asunder with the passage of [Whistling Arrows], its sound like a banshee scream. It struck a wooden cart close to the trading post, bursting into a flare of green fire that engulfed the structure. The night went mad as arrows continued to fall, followed by the unmistakable thump of [Dynamic Mortars] launched from hidden positions. Every mortar came crashing down, the shockwave jolting the earth, sending stone and wood shrapnel flying in all directions.
"Ambush!" Myrith shouted out, throwing her arms wide to weave a [Ripple Barrier] that arced out in a wide arc around the post before the next round hit. The shimmering dome absorbed the blaze of fiery impacts but in the shifting pattern of her spells, tension etched her words.
"Move!" Lysara ordered. Her spear splintered into three water streams that flailed like hissing serpents, striking mortar positions with precise aim. Steam hissed, rising as water doused the flames and smothered them before they could spread any further.
Larin acted. He stretched out his hand, and spectral lances burst from the earth like a storm of spears. The weapons flew toward the rebels, their forms bending mid-flight to follow the heat signatures of their targets. Several rebels fell, clutching at wounds that bled blue-green light as the enchanted projectiles dissolved.
More figures came out of the gloom, twenty-five or more insurgents dressed in dark, rune-engraved armor. Their faces were hidden behind visored helmets etched with jagged flames—a mark of Pyrestone's fire-wrought design. The leader amongst them, a tall figure wielding twin axes glowing molten hot, bellowed a command.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
"Brinke it all!"
Wide curves made by his swinging axes cut into fire like torrents of flame in the air, so Larin dove to his left, only feeling the burns at a distance. He hopped up and summoned [Fractured Veil], a conjured veil from his mind shredding the canvas of space. Tentacles stretching from the void like ghostly limbs pulled an attacking rebel up by the air, slamming one attacker into the next with snapping force.
The Seafoam Brigade was a team of ruthless effectiveness. Their arms were imbued with adaptive magic: they seemd to shift shape, and density, as they moved. One deployed [Shimmerblades], twin swords that danced like liquid light; their edges shifting from substantial to spectral as they parried and struck. A second used a [Rebound Shield], a construct of compressed mana that deflected firebolts back towards their source.
She moved with a fluid power supplied by tides. Arm gestures outlined curving parabolas where she summoned up [Surging Currents], wide living tentacles of water coiled up like snakes out of the floor, writhing through the rebels like animate ropes, constricting like a vice, pulling in flames in a hiss that left her opponent gasping for air. All flowing, lovely, this was a spirit with eyes in which fierce resolves burned.
"Larin, the mortars!"
He nodded as the knowledge overwhelmed him. Pooling his mana, he worked up a revised version of [Spectral Sight], a perfected form of the skill by adding in thermal perception and the awareness of magical signature. All these seemed to become apparent to his sight as intricate webs of fire magic stood like supports that were keeping mortars held tight in place; even glyphs directing the launching system were evident as well with areas of vulnerability.
A surge of adrenaline fueled him to start the spell-splice: a disintegrative mix of spells and disruptive enchantment. The hands he worked on came up into intricate patterns since he was ravening through the glyphs, byte by byte. Mortars crushed and spat; crashed magical energies detonated safely in sparks.
"Mortars nullified!" he shouted.
Lysara cracked a fierce smile, jabbing her spear into the ground as water-filled magic erupted all ways from the impact spot. The earth had a fit by opening up to swallow the underside of the uprising, devouring several of those rebels before crashing shut in another fit of soil rage. Then she turned with her spear swirling a vortex of razor-thin water blades forward around it toward the leader.
The giant advanced with his axe, the edges dripping molten metal, hissing as they plunged into the water. The laughter of the giant was ringing in the air. "Is this the best Seafoam has to give?" he jeered. "You fight with playthings while we wield the flames of truth!"
Words formed in his head: he had anger. His teeth clenched and he raised [Blinding Cascade], the storm of sparkling petals bursting to full radiant blaze in an instant. Battle erupted around the bright gleam; those fighting the people squinted through eyelids squeezed tight; he released, following that up with [Binding Roots], great tendrils heaved up out of the earth, shooting through the rebels to ensnare their feet, dragging them to the ground.
But even as they got their footing, there was nothing to suggest it was near over. The trading post was a war, its defenders locked in lethal dance with fire-fueled insurgents. And the night seemed to burn into chaos, where Larin saw the tide of the fight going on the precipice of disaster.
The battle had far from run its course.