Ten seconds into the battle, Daphne was really feeling like a Level 2.

In other words, basically useless.

To be honest, she’d been feeling that way since the level-up. One measly level, a wimpy +1 in Dexterity, and absolutely zero skills? What in the name of every god was Euloban thinking?

Clearly, it was thinking not very nice things about Daphne. But why? What had she done to deserve such obvious punishment? She had labored over this story-world for years, pouring half her soul into its creation. She had spent countless hours writing and dreaming in that damn library, and even more countless hours crying at home when the rejections just kept coming. She had literally broken her own heart repeatedly over Euloban.

And how did it repay her? With one insignificant level-up. Or a significantly insulting level-up. Her status book might as well have read “Better luck next time, noob.”

She almost thought she could hear some message to that effect screaming through the Devouring Wind, right before the gust-monster tore across the lake and knocked her flat on her back.

“For Euloban and triunity!” Runar yelled.

“Aaaaahhhhh! Die, living fart! Die!” Mark screamed.

Runar and Mark, on the other hand, were living their best lives.

While Daphne was still in the act of falling, her boyfriend leapt onto the griffin’s back like a fantasy movie stuntman, brandishing the first two word-chains from the previous battle. Runar took off, soaring almost to the top of the cavern and then diving back towards the lake. Down, down, too far down — right before hitting the water, the griffin swerved, calling to Mark in a clear, trumpeting voice:

“NOW!”

Mark lashed out with the first word-chain, bellowing the line for good measure, “Even this cannot unmake me!”

As Daphne watched, the chain wrapped around… nothing. Nothing that she could see, anyway. But the chain caught and held, like Mark had lassoed a limb of empty space.

Which made sense, considering their foe was a sentient whirlwind.

The invisible monster strained against the chain, tossing violently in all directions and nearly pulling Mark from Runar’s back.

“Release!” Runar ordered.

Mark didn’t have to be told twice. He let go of the word-chain’s other end, and Runar shot up towards the ceiling, coming around at the last minute to launch another attack.

“Daphne!” Mark called as they swooped past, following the sound of the whirlwind’s angry roar. “The other chains!”

Thankfully, even with a noob-score in Wisdom and Intelligence, Daphne knew exactly what he meant. Maybe instinct and chemistry make up for any deficiency in my stats? she thought as she crawled over to the wooden chests lining the cavern wall. If so, she could only hope it would continue happening for them all to survive.

In her excitement for water earlier, she had dropped the two word-chains she’d been carrying since the Rabid Daydream fight. Lines three and four of that Word of Truth were lying in a heap by the chest containing the preserved letter-fruit. She picked them up and shook them out just as Runar gave the order for the second volley.

“NOW!”

“No master can outmatch my heart!” Mark yelled.

Mark tossed the second word-chain, this time letting go instantly as the letter-string found its mark. Runar swerved away, soaring over Daphne just in time for her to toss the other two word-chains into Mark’s waiting hands.

The Devouring Wind was pissed. It didn’t need a visible form to make its displeasure known. Daphne could hear it circling the room, screaming as it tried to shake off the binding words. She cowered on the ground and covered her head with her arms, but it was no use. The roar cut into her ears and tore through her brain, driving out everything except the agony of sound. She almost found herself wishing for the silent, gruesome raging of the Rabid Daydream.

She was dimly aware of Runar giving another command, followed by Mark’s voice yelling the third line. Mere seconds later, the Lorist’s and Reader’s voices sounded again, marking the fourth and final blow. An excruciating spike in the monster’s roar told her the word-chains had hit home. The whirlwind was howling now; she could feel its thrashing in her bones, tearing at the joints and rattling the marrow.

Daphne held her breath, waiting for the unbearable cacophony to fade. That was the end, right? The Word of Truth was complete. Any second now, the Devouring Wind would weaken, soften, and dissolve into pure air.

No such luck.

With a particularly savage roar, the monster threw off one of the word-chains. The letter-string hurtled through the air with such force that it knocked Mark off Runar’s back and sent him crashing to the ground.

“Mark!” Daphne scrambled over, thanking all the muses that Runar had been swooping low when Mark fell. She helped him sit up, anxiously scanning him for signs of serious injury. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He had a cut on his cheek, a nasty bruise forming on his temple, and several scrapes on his hands, but his eyes were clear. Before Daphne could stop him, he struggled to his feet with a groan. “That is one nasty Wind.”

“It is a Windling, actually.” Runar alighted next to them, keeping his sharp eyes trained on the monster as it blazed around the ceiling, still struggling with the three remaining chains. “Not yet fully grown. We have been most fortunate.”

“Are you kidding me?” Mark staggered, leaning heavily on Daphne. “We hit it with a complete Word of Truth, it’s still going strong — and it’s a BABY?”

“A child,” Runar corrected. “An older child. More mature than a fledgling, but not quite come to full strength.”

“How can you tell?” Daphne’s whole head was aching with the relentless onslaught of monster-noise. She couldn’t imagine a bigger, more powerful version.

“If it were a full Wind, it would have drawn at least one of us up into itself by now. We would not be able to hold it,” Runar explained. The word-chain had landed right next to them. He lifted it with one talon. “Not with these chains, mighty though they be. They were made for Rabid Daydreams.” He turned his golden gaze on Daphne. “We need a new Word of Truth: one to bind a Devouring Wind.”

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Of course.

Inwardly, Daphne cursed her own so-called cleverness. It was her own design, after all, that not all Words of Truth were created equal.

Rabid Daydreams were no joke, but they were a manageable foe. As long as you applied the right word-chains in the right order to the right spots (and didn’t make a mistake — like leaving one of the creature’s arms free to grab you), you could take down those monsters with relative ease. They were perfect training for lower level Wordsmiths still learning the lesser Words of Truth.

But Devouring Winds were another story altogether. She had intended them to be a higher level threat, requiring higher level abilities. The Words of Truth for Devouring Winds were longer and fiendishly difficult to make, even for Level 10 Wordsmiths like Amelia at the end of the first book.

What exactly was a Level 2 poser like Daphne supposed to do?

She didn’t show any of this on the outside, of course. A glorious griffin was looking at her expectantly, apparently confident she could rise to the challenge. No way she was going to throw a tantrum in front of him.

Not until it was absolutely necessary, anyway.

“Right,” she said aloud. “Word of Truth. For a Devouring Wind. Coming right up.”

No idea where from, she thought. No soil to pull letters from here. No soil, period. Just rock. And those wooden chests of supplies.

Maybe they could try pelting the monster with preserved ‘E’s and ‘U’s…

The griffin’s golden eyes were still boring into her. “Dost thou know ‘The Falcon’?”

“I — I think so…” A memory stirred sluggishly, trying to push through the haze of anxiety up to the surface. It was a long poem she’d written years ago, then repurposed as a Word of Truth for the Wordmaster series. “Part of it, anyway. Maybe not the whole thing.”

“It will be enough,” Runar said. “Especially for a Windling. Fashion what thou can, even the first verse, and I shall hallow it.”

The monster shook loose from another chain, sending the string of letters flying. It landed a few feet away.

“We can keep it busy for you, Daphne.” Mark retrieved the fallen chain and grabbed the other from the griffin. “Right, Runar? Give her a chance to work?”

“By all the Sagas in the Under Library, we can.” Runar was clearly even more tired than Mark, but he spread his wings in a gesture of defiance. “We have this in our favor, also. It has been so long since all three classes have engaged in combat thus united. No Wind of any age is accustomed to facing our combined might.”

Mark gave Daphne a quick kiss. “Go get ’em.”

How???? she wanted to scream. I’m a freaking Level 2!

But for once, Mark’s supercharged Daphne-radar didn’t seem to be picking up on her inner turbulence. He looked exhausted, but elated, and totally psyched to jump back into the fray.

And why shouldn’t he be? He was a badass Level 4 warrior in what he claimed was his favorite fantasy world. He got to ride a griffin into battle while his girlfriend conjured weapons for him out of thin air. No way could she take that awesome image away from him.

Not until it was absolutely necessary, anyway.

“You too,” Daphne said, forcing her face into a smile. “Show that Wind who’s boss.”

He nodded, grinning like a maniac, and jumped onto Runar’s back. They took off just as the Devouring Wind shook loose another chain. This one Runar caught in midair, snatching it with his beak and tossing it up to Mark in one fluid motion. Then the griffin began circling, avoiding the gusts that sought to blow him off-course and readying for another attack.

Which left Daphne alone on the shores of the lake, wondering how the hell this story was going to end.

If it were only her story in play here, she might be okay with a fast-tracked conclusion. There were worse ways to go out than ‘Eaten Alive By Sentient Wind Tunnel’.

But it wasn’t just her. Mark was here, and Runar; they were depending on her. And she kept having flashbacks to that moment on the Silent Plains when the ‘real’ world had flickered in, and she’d watched a Rabid Daydream snapping up patrons from the corner deli.

That made it not one, but two whole worlds thrust into dire peril by Daphne’s over-active imagination.

She heard Runar’s order, followed closely by Mark’s battle cry. Bracing herself against the monster’s ensuing scream of rage as another chain hit home, Daphne closed her eyes and sent her own silent challenge towards the roaring Wind.

I brought you into this world, and I will take you out.

Level 2 or no, there simply had to be a way.

She opened her eyes. As if the spirit of Euloban appreciated her renewed determination (or possibly just felt bad for giving her such a stingy level-up), a flood of awareness and understanding crashed into her brain. It was far, far more insight than should have been possible for a +2 Wisdom, but Daphne was not in the mood to quibble. She rushed to the very edge of the lake, knelt down, and stretched out her hand over the clear, radiant water.

No soil, no letters, she thought giddily. But I named it the Pool of Eloquence for a reason.

Summoning all her will and what was left of her courage, she cried out the half-remembered line:

“I was made to soar on words!”

A jolt like a spark of electricity ran through her, starting at her brain and coursing along every nerve until she could feel her fingertips humming. She plunged those fingertips into the water, waited a beat, and brought them out again.

That was when she knew they were screwed.

She should have brought out a chain of water with glowing letters, like light itself had bent to form the words. Her insight-dump had just told her it was possible; she even faintly remembered Amelia achieving a similar feat, somewhere in the second book.

Instead, she found herself looking at a trickle the size of a string, like a hose somewhere under the lake had sprung a leak. No glowing light-letters. No letters at all. Just a wimpy driblet of clear water, which petered out even as she watched.

Well… we’re screwed.

On the one hand, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of excitement. Something had happened. That sudden flood of awareness — that electric jolt — the surge of power when her hand met the water. It was all real. She truly was a Wordsmith.

Sure, it was exhausting. Even that tiny effort had nearly drained her. But it had only been her first try, after all. Maybe if she tried again…

It won’t be enough, chanted a whiny voice somewhere in her subconscious. You know that, right? You’ll wear yourself out and still fail. You’re just a Level 2. You only managed to take down the Rabid Daydream because of the Prism.

The Prism!

Daphne had been so lost in the howling agony — of the Devouring Wind outside, and the emotional whirlpool inside — that she’d actually forgotten about the magic pen. It was there, buzzing violently in her pocket, as if begging her to put it in the game.

“Daphne!”

“Wordsmith!”

Looking up, she saw the distraction train had just about reached its last station. Mark and Runar had managed to get all four original word-chains back on the monster, but it was already shaking one off. Worse, while Runar was swooping more and more slowly, the damn whirlwind didn’t seem to be tiring at all. In fact, the roar was actually getting louder as the Windling got more angry.

They were running out of time.

Without another thought, Daphne took the pen from her pocket, uncapped it, and plunged it into the water. This time, it wasn’t just one line that came tearing out of her lungs, but the first two verses:

“I was made to soar on words Whose Love-swept current undergirds My wings — but now, ’midst loud Unheards Which roar in gusts too strong for birds

I’m blown off-course — and, helpless, driven On before the daily ‘given’ Daily from my roots more riven Flailing for a life worth livin’—”

“NOW!”

The griffin’s call sent another jolt through her brainstem. She pulled the pen from the water, gasping in wonder at the shining arc that came with it: a chain of water, shot through with glowing letters, like light itself had bent to form the words…

Suddenly Runar was there, hovering just above the glimmering arc. He exhaled, and the letters glowed brighter, as if the griffin’s breath had set them aflame or transmuted them to gold. Before Daphne could decide which, Mark had grabbed the newly hallowed chain. He and Runar soared up in a wide circle. Mark swung the radiant letters like a water-whip and the golden words were wrapping around and around a massive patch of empty space.

The loudest roar yet erupted from that emptiness. The thundering echoes filled the vast cavern, bombarding off the rock walls and slamming into Daphne’s already trembling eardrums. She had a vague impression of smoke lingering over the surface of the lake, like the aftermath of a fireworks explosion…

Then everything went black.