Archmage Raelendra heard a series of loud explosions from the north, but she could spare them no thought. She felt the power coursing through her as she held the very essence of the Weave in her hands. Her eyes blazed with a shifting aurora of light while she held the Weave and despite the relatively still evening, her clothing and hair swirled around her in a gale. Others raced away from her as she focused her mind on what she held in her hands.

There were screams from the north and a panicked race for the walls by the soldiers. The other magi kept a great distance from Raelendra and whatever she was doing with the rigid Weave of this world.

For a long moment, the spellweaver lost herself in the power coursing through her. She had never felt anything like it. She had never tried to arrange the very fabric of reality to this extent. Certainly, any spellweaving changed reality, but this was on an entirely different level. She held, in her hands, the power to change absolutely anything. She could create or destroy, to an extent she had never even considered. She could defy the laws of nature. She could defy the very Gods with this amount of power. It was that thought that brought her to a stop, her eyes closing over the brilliant aurora of light.

The temptation of true Power would always be there, for anyone who sought power, absolute power would always be tempting. Raelendra, however, had seen others reach for that absolute power and seen the Gods smack them ruthlessly back down. A few deep breaths calmed her racing heart and at last she sighed. Opening her eyes, she again studied the Weave where the rigid Weave of this world met the looser Weave around the rift. She gently plucked at the Weave, working in absolute silence and with excruciating slowness. Meanwhile, across the encampment, more explosions sounded. Screams of the wounded filled the air. None of it gave Raelendra any pause, she was used to war.

A distant, dull, thumping sound drew the attention of the other magi upward as some strange creature flew through the sky far above. Varen was the first to reach the conflict on the northern edge of the camp. Despite his age, he moved with the least amount of hesitation. There was nothing he could do with the Weave to assist with the battle, but at least he would be at hand if Raelendra was able to do something with the rigid Weave of this accursed place.

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The Chancellor had moved from the front lines to back closer to the command tent. He wore no armor, but he did not look concerned, despite the exceptionally lethal projectiles the strangers were hurling into their forces. A number of soldiers had already fallen, but there were more to take their place.

Even as Varen watched, another pair of vehicles screeched to a halt on the roadway, these two were bigger and had a different shape. People, dressed in dark, cloth armor with strange helmets with glass visors, poured out of these larger vehicles. They held clear shields in front of them and took up a line in front of the sheltering vehicles. One of the newcomers fell back to speak with what was likely the leader of the first group of enemies. This leader had an arrow shaft protruding just above his knee.

The elderly archmage tucked his hands up his sleeves, a habitual gesture for most of the magi he had ever met. “They have reinforcements already, but there are still very few of them.”

Magus Jeshimon, his honey brown hair falling sloppily in his violet eyes and an eager expression on his young face, was the only other magi to speak up. “Perhaps they underestimate how strong we are.”

“Or they have more powerful weapons than whatever they are shooting at us currently. Those projectiles seem to deal massive damage. And we are without healers.”

“They go straight through armor too.” Jeshimon pointed out. “I wonder if they can punch through steel plate armor.”

“Perhaps. We would have to be willing to sacrifice a knight to find out.” Varen seemed to consider this possibility seriously. “Another time perhaps. Now we must repel this assault before too much damage is taken. We can no longer recoup our losses.”

Jeshimon only nodded as he watched the fight. The darkly armored newcomers had brought giant, brilliant lights, which they set up behind the wall of vehicles and aimed toward the Empire. More vehicles came, offloading still more darkly armored people with clear shields. Soon there were about 40 people, including the deputies, out there. They no longer returned fire, now that all of them had cover and no one was being hit by arrows.

From this distance, Varen and Jeshimon could barely hear the buzz of conversation near the parked vehicles, but they were certain that there was conversation happening. The enemy was talking and planning, perhaps trying to decide what reinforcements to bring. The General, who was encouraging the archers manning the barricade, seemed confident that whatever the reinforcements the enemy called in, the Empire was up for the challenge.