The baled field where the Tear had come into being had changed much in the past several hours. Several acres directly around the Tear were empty, but beyond that the red army had been busy. An entire tent city had sprung up, seemingly from nowhere. Neat lines of tents, broken by small gathering places and camp fires, surrounding the Tear. Around the outside of the tents, fencing had been commandeered from surrounding fields to make a perimeter. The large round bales had been pushed into a wavering line that ringed the encampment just inside the fencing. A second line of fence was going up around the inside of the encampment, creating a barrier between the camp and the Tear.

On the north side of the camp, closest to the highway, a large red command tent took up much of the space. To the south, another large red tent claimed space. The camp was a bustle of activity, people moving and building. A group of soldiers protecting unarmored individuals had left the camp, going toward a windbreak of trees with hatchets and axes ready. There were the sounds of hammers and saws in the camp, but there was very little conversation.

Standing just outside of the southern tent, hands tucked into the sleeves of her elaborate robe, Archmage Raelendra looked out over the preparations. Her green eyes seemed haunted, shadowed by worry. Next to her stood the other Archmage, the expression in his pale blue eyes was more sad than anything else.

“We have lost so much.” He said after such a long time in silence.

“Perhaps more than we can recover.” Raelendra's voice held the same tension and worry as her expression.

“Perhaps.” Varen agreed, studying her out of the corner of his eye.

She straightened her shoulders and looked out over the sprawling camp that surrounded the command tent. Raelendra made no answer to Valen, she let the conversation fall between them and fade away. This place, this new world, wasn’t a world she could see herself comfortable in. The Weave here, rather than being a fluid and flexible thing like on the other side of the Tear, was a rigid thing of right angles and straight lines. There was no flex and no give in this Weave. Some of the others had tried weaving spells, but they had no effect. In this place, magic had either died already or never been born.

Beyond the command tent, Raelendra could watch the stone road and the monsters that raced down it. Many of them seemed not to notice the encampment, or if they did notice, none of them turned from their path to investigate or attack. Eventually something would attack them here. Eventually they would be forced to fight and defend their territory. When that fight came, the few magi that the Empire had left, would be hard pressed to do anything.

Raelendra turned her attention toward the Tear, the Rift in the very fabric of reality. A door between the worlds, one the world of magic and chaos that the Empire had come from and then here. This place of straight lines and racing monsters. She could see the ragged edges of that straight Weave falling to tatters at the center of the Tear. Focusing on the warped Weave near the center, Raelendra tried to weave a simple spell into life. She tried to bring a flame to life in her hand. She was too far from the free Weave to work it.With an uneasy stride she stepped forward, trying again each step to weave fire into being in the palm of her hand.

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“Jeasil’s balls, what are you doing?” Varen asked. He fell back a step, away from her.

She only shook her head in response, there was no use telling him what she was doing if nothing came of it. Stride after stride she moved closer to the center of the no man’s zone around the Tear. She moved ever more slowly as she got closer, she had to force herself to take each step. She knew that on the other side of that portal the Ogrekillan army waited for her.

Finally, only a handful of paces from the very center of the Tear itself, just outside of its domain, where she would likely have passed through to the other world, a flickering flame flared to life in her palm. The warmth of it was like a caress against her skin. Without magic, she had felt suddenly weak and vulnerable. A sigh of relief escaped her.

“You found the Weave?” Varen again, his strident voice intruding on her moment of relief.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “The Weave exists here, can’t you see it?”

“You know that was never a skill I possessed.”

She huffed out an indignant breath. “The Weave has always been here, but it is rigid, straight, bound to something, I know not what.”

“Can we unbind it, free it so that we may weave it?”

“Probably.” She admitted, “But I suspect that wholly freeing it would lead to disaster of one kind or another.”

“What does it matter if we cause disaster for the people of this place? We are the chosen of the Emperor. This is our place now.”

Her sharp green eyes were so disappointed when she looked at him. “Are you truly that short sighted, Varen? If we are to lay claim to this world, do you not think that disaster could be just as bad for us as it is for them?”

“Send the Acolyte to report to His Excellence.” She paused for a moment, “Better yet, go yourself. Explain that we have found the potential to adjust the Weave of this place that we may weave spells.”

She barely waited a breath before she said, “Go now.” Varen had seemed ready to protest, but for all he was older than Raelendra, she was more powerful and thus the leader of the magi.

As soon as he had left, she reached out to the Weave at the edge of the rift and closed her eyes as her hands closed around one of the lines. She could feel the magic in it, coursing through her. She took a deep breath and reached deep, tapping into the well of power stored within a single line of the Weave. She warmed with the influx of power, her fatigue disappeared and her body felt light and charged, ready for anything. For a moment she let the power flow through her, enjoying the sensation, then she began to attempt to unweave the area near the Tear, loosening the Weave enough that it could be manipulated.