“Bite into this, Lawrence,” William says as he hands over a leather strap that seems to have been cut off from a piece of belt.

“Why?”

“It helps.”

I hiss as he wiggles the shaft of the arrow in my arm. I follow his instructions and bite into the leather strap, and he nods. He pushes against my right arm as he pulls the arrow. The barbed head tears through flesh and muscle as it rips out of my arm with a sickening schluck. He tosses the arrow to the ground and reaches into his pocket to produce a small sachet. He pulls a pinch of fragrant dust from it and jams it into the wound with his finger.

“Airmid; you who first taught the Wise of Erin to bind and heal, and which of the grasses to pick, hear my voice and lend me your aid.”

A sharp burning erupts from my shoulder and a stream of black smoke curls from the wound. The pain, however, is soon replaced by a blossoming numbness. I rub the area with the tips of my fingers to find that the wound had been completely sealed. William reaches inside his backpack and pulls out a sealed mason jar.

“Drink this as well.”

The pinkish liquid inside sloshes.

“What’s this for?”

“It helps prevent mana locking.”

“Mana locking?”

“The headache you get from casting spells too much.”

I pop the lid, tilt my head back, and down the liquid in the small jar. There’s a bitter, coppery aftertaste, with a slight tinge of mint. As soon as the lukewarm liquid hits my stomach, the dull thudding in my head fades, and the feeling of a ball of tangled yarn being unwound and pulled out of the top of my head.

While I was hidden behind the wall, the padded plodding of many feet drifted to the hilltop. Their infantry was on the move. I peek out. A few of their forward scouts were trying to pull the stakes from the ground in order to make a straighter path for the infantry to march right up. They wrap their tunics around their bases and pull. The tallow-slick wood doesn’t budge from the earth as their paws fail to find purchase.

William had told Monica and me to embed or carve small barbs into the wood of about a quarter of the stakes. On these, he soaked a liquid he had pulled from a closed metal thermos that he had labeled with bold letters written on masking tape, “DO NOT DRINK. EVER.” He did the same for the metal shard caltrops that he had us scatter in the freshly upturned soil a few feet from the rows of stakes and the hill where the climb terminates at the wooden wall he now hid behind.

About half of the 30 or so scouts that had broken off ahead of the main army still moving to get into formation for their assault on the hill fell over dead on top of the stakes they had been pulling at; impaling themselves on them. As soon as the others saw this, they gave up their attempts at pulling the spikes free from the ground and squeezed through them to charge up the bare earth.

A few steps out from the stakes, however, they were met with another one of William’s tricks. Hidden by flimsy twigs and loose soil and torn chunks of grass like all of that covering the rest of this part of the hill, was a long trench that spanned the length of the stake wall that he had dug out with the help of his spell, Create Hole. I had filled the entire trench with ashes from Ember.

The twigs snap and the dogmen scouts vanish from sight. Howling screams pierce through the hills as those locked within the smoldering ash thrash and try to find purchase to pull themselves out. A few of them manage to get their bodies halfway out before their bodies go limp. Two that had lingered behind, use the corpses of the fallen as a kind of bridge, only to fall to the poisoned caltrops cast on the slope beyond.

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The skies hung amber as the last of the scouts writhed on the ground, and the army began to march up the path lain by this man who had just taken over 30 lives without raising his hand. After seeing the devastating effects of the hellscape that we had created, they opt for the path he had laid out between the bottom of the hill and the top in rows of three, and columns of hundreds.

At the front, and the rightmost column the dogmen carried long tower shields of the same black wood that seems to make up everything in this part of Efra. They wore coats of plates over ringed mail of a shining, silvery metal that caught the setting light bleeding through the sheets of fog that covers the sky. Their long, tower shields cover their exposed flank, and their exposed front as they march steadily up the hill.

William peeks out from behind the wall and holds up his pendant.

“Oh, thou invisible beings that dwell within all, slow the steps of all those before me.”

A wave of energy, like a stone thrown in rippling water emits from the pendant as before. This time, however, it was met with a similar wave coming from somewhere near the bottom of the slope. Both of these waves collide in the middle of the hill and push against one another; though the wave from the bottom of the hill seemed to be getting the edge over William’s.

Alternatively, like the tide pulling back and pushing forward onto a beach, the ranks of Dogmen speed up or slow down, depending on which of the waves envelop them, causing chaos as they collide and shove against one another.

Beads of sweat form at the top of Williams's brow. I could tell that he wasn’t made for long-pitched battles like this. He runs his hand through his messy hair and breathes out heavy streams of breath through his clenched teeth. Little more than a second, and he’s like this? He won’t last long.

I scan the ranks. Where was the spell originating from? I had never tried to pinpoint another’s spell. Would I be able to do it? No no. I better not try something new. If I were alone, I would have tried, but both Monica’s and William’s lives now depended on me not making rash decisions. I had to suss out the dogman mage another way.

Aside from the dogmen at the front, and the dogmen on the right flank, the shield bearers seem to taper off about ten columns deep into the climbing mass. They raised their shields above their heads to defend those that were underneath from the volley spell that I had used to deal with the archers a few moments prior. These were detached from the main unit (though the main unit still had shields raised in front, and shield bearers on their exposed flank). Perhaps these were their shock units; meant to absorb blows in order to gain a foothold past our defenses in order for those? I shake my head, unimportant.

What was important, however, is that beyond this detachment from the main forces, none of the middle ranks of the main force had shields raised above their heads. In fact, most of them didn’t have shields at all; opting to carry larger weapons with longer reach — pikes, halberds, pole-swords, war hammers, and the like. Save for one section in the middle of the group; where a single cluster of shields was raised.

I raise my cane. The advanced unit stops and raises their shields.

“An awl, O’ thou servants of Gob the Highest, to strike my enemies.”

I direct the mana downward and into this cluster. I pour more, and more and more mana into it; making sure to follow it as it advances up the hill. My head begins to ache.

The advanced unit of dogmen peek out from their shields as they await my attack on them, but it never comes. Instead, a large pointed pillar of earth, about the size of a fir tree juts out from the middle of the cluster of shields that had now just made it three or so yards up the path. The dogman in the rightmost flank falls backward onto the stake that he had already been brushing against. The stake drives through the chain and pierces its shoulder. It yelps. Five others were tossed to the side, as the forces marching beyond comes to a stop they run into the pillar of packed stone and soil, and tried to find a way around.

At the top of the spike, flipping through the air is the dogman mage still clutching his wand. The energy ripples out still, and still, it pushes back against William's spell who looked as if he were very nearly reaching his limit, given the pained expression on his face.

“A volley, O’Djinn.”

Five burning arrows streak out in my direction and strike the mage. It yelps in pain. Its wiry fur and white tunic catch fire as it tumbles out of the sky and collides against the pillar of earth. The pillar shatters and crumbles, burying at least a dozen dogmen beneath it.

William’s spell; free from the struggle, washes down the side of the hill, and engulfs the army down to the base of the hill; slowing their ascent.