Treta Res reached Lemora by sunrise. For the last six hours, he had flown over dozens of brigades of soldiers and swaths of burnt land with meteor-made craters, so he was aware of the strength of the summonees. That said, he wasn’t at a complete loss. King Quell had paid him ten thousand gold just to break the ward over Lemora and create an opening within the wall. That was it. Once he had that, he could leave the middle continent, travel to Tresno, and take a ship to Emanac over the Aliana Sea. In and out operation—he just had to finish by the time the summonees returned to the kingdom. As for Quell, seven thousand reached Lemora that morning, another five would be there by nightfall, and a good amount was spread out in the Escaran territory. There was considerable leeway—

—that’s what he thought before he reached Lemora by silver glider and found a shallow canyon cut into the ground. That was the only way to explain it. It was clearly from a flood spell, but it extended eighty yards wide and cut a massive path for half a mile, creating ten-foot walls of dirt and clay at the point the spell touched down and three feet near the end. It was an appalling scene.

[What the fuck happened…?] Treta already knew the answer, but he lowered his silver glider, unmounted, and asked the first soldier he saw. From what he learned, one of the notorious summonees was in Lemora, and she destroyed their supplies but didn’t kill anyone. That was an appalling fact that drove him crazy. If the team that went to Lemings didn’t kill or capture anyone, he’d think they were simply soft. But they proved they could—they just didn’t want to. And from what he gathered, the one in Lemora was a healer and just sat around idly with the power to wipe out Quell’s forces, allowing her people to get injured and then healing them instead of fighting.

Treta checked his pocket watch and looked to the west. [Six hours….] There were six hours until the summonees who moved toward Quell reached Lemora. [It’s doable,] he thought. All he had to do was break the barrier and the wall—

—then, he’d leave via a shipping boat to another continent with ten thousand gold. Naturally, he couldn’t collect from a dead king, so he got five thousand up front, and he was simply keeping his word.

Treta walked up to Remn and Grekka, the two water mages that created the flood against Lemora. They were sitting around a fire with the rest of the soldiers who were eating rations from their emergency supply network. Treta made eye contact and then looked toward the dry, colossal riverbed in the distance and then at the one leading up to Lemora’s walls. If there were trees on the west side of Lemora, it would’ve torn them out for a few hundred yards—but it didn’t hold a candle to the summonee’s counterpart. Rimn and Gekka turned away in annoyance. There was no other conversation necessary.

Treta looked at the maze of stone walls below Lemora. “When’d they put those back up?” he asked.

Gekka picked up a stick and threw it into the fire. “They didn’t.”

“What do you mean, ‘They didn’t.’”

“Our spell didn’t break ‘em,” Rimn said.

Treta felt ice water pour down his back. “What?”

“Not just us,” Gekka said. “Scala couldn’t cut ‘em.”

Treta gulped. “Where is she?”

“Dead,” Rimn said. Then he recounted the tale, ending with a twist, “Sullsburg’s already on the wall. Like a fuckin’ ghost. Arm and everything.”

“Arm?” Treta said. “You mean that she couldn’t even—“

“Oh no,” Gekka said. “She blasted that fucker right off his body. That shoulda killed him. But Lady Flood must’ve brought ‘em back. As for his arm….” He shrugged. “I can’t even tell the difference.”

Treta didn’t need an explanation because he understood how healing magic worked: it mended and balanced—it didn’t replace. That said, if someone understood the complexities of the human body, surgeons could transplant missing parts—within reason. Then, the record—the mana blueprint that keeps a log of the body’s size and shape and muscle could mend [itself] and recreate the blueprint. That said, the rejection rate was remarkably high, so most found the body part unusable, and many died of infection. Yet this summonee that had only been here a couple of years had transplanted an entire arm and rebuilt it. That, more than the flood, was horrifying.

“Where are the Keetas?”

The commanders pointed.

Two minutes later, Treta walked up to the Keetas, who were sitting with their backs on a boulder that had been dug up from the flood. Their shoulders were touching. “I keep expecting to walk up and find you feeding one another,” Treta said.

Grent didn’t bite. “My sister and I are blood.”

“Is it common in your land to fuck sisters?” Eline asked.

“What?” Treta asked. “No.”

“Then what is this… fetish you people seem to have with incest?” Grent asked.

Treta coughed and looked at the canyon carved into the far land beyond them and then at the walls. “Can we do this?” he asked.

Eline shrugged. “Yes.”

“Yes?” Treta asked.

“Yes,” Grent said.

“That’s it?” Treta scoffed.

“If you’re willing to risk death—yes,” Eline clarified. “The ward’s weak—the woman’s weak. We’re not breaking those… walls. But we can create distraction. Ranks jump over. Steal King.”

“I’m not gonna be part of that,” Treta said. “My job’s to break the ward and walls—that’s it.”

“And so you’ll fail.” Grent pointed at the maze of walls. “You will not break.”

Treta scoffed. “You doubt me so much?” He was the second strongest in the middle continent. Scala was strong—but she was tenth. The commanders barely made the top twenty.

“You break a few,” Eline said. “Then what? A calamity flood couldn’t handle the stone walls.” He pointed at the main wall. “Do you think they didn’t reinforce?”

Treta wiped his face. “So? You up for it?”

“We do not wish for death,” Grent said.

“But we look forward to battling these… summons,” Eline said.

Treta’s eyebrow twitched. He hated that these siblings talked together like they shared a single consciousness, yet couldn’t understand why people thought they’d give their chastity (probably) to each other any moment.

“So what will it be, Lord Res?” Grent asked. “Risk it all for glory, or run?”

“It’s not… [running],” he said. “It’s called intelligence. Do you think you have a chance at fighting… that?” He pointed at the riverbed carved into the land. Then he pointed at the maze of walls. “I’ve seen craters the size of large ponds around scorched forest. I’ve seen boulders the size of monoliths at the other end of a dozen shredded trees. They’re [all] this strong and theres… Lady Reece and a dozen others. Maybe more.”

“No, we do not think,” Eline said.

“That’s why we aim to capture king,” Grent said.

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“These people don’t care about kings!” Treta said.

“These [people] don’t kill,” Eline said. “You think they don’t care about their own?”

“Fucking insane,” Treta said. “You two are fucking insane.”

“No,” Grent said, “we’re doing our duty. What are you doing? Running?”

“It’s not running!”

“It’s running,” Eline said.

“Running,” Grent said.

“Look. I don’t mind dying.” Treta leaned in. “Especially if it’s for a cause. But this?” He looked at Lemora. “This ain’t a [cause]. This is…. Kings facing consequences. Sure. There was no way to know. This….” He pointed at the river bed. “This shouldn’t exist. This is Telia Sayon’s ghost condemning us while her master… successor. Whoever the fuck’s stronger than Sayon—wields Kemot’s sword on the horizon.”

“Then break ward and run,” Eline snorted.

“But remember, you only did half job,” Grent mocked.

“Fuck you freaks,” Treta said. “Call the rankers and encircle Lemora. Fan soldiers in the distance in case the healer goes psycho. I’ll meet up with Markon to send the word.”

“Done.”

Treta relayed orders to the seven thousand fresh Quell soldiers (who weren’t traumatized by what happened the night before) and gave a speech. Then he went to Markon’s camp, which was less shaken because they hadn’t been attacked by the flood but still terrified and relayed the order. They would siege in thirty.

2

Edico watched the soldiers speckle the landscape—fanned out to ensure that a flood wouldn’t wipe out large numbers—with a sigh. [Why’d he have to show up?] Edico thought, looking at Treta. His thoughts stilled for a while until he saw their encirclement set up. [They’re just gonna burn it.] Treta would break the ward, and then the rankers would launch fire attacks into the city. Then Emma would be out of the game because she’d be flooded with patients—not that she could help much unless she wanted to throw around fire spells, which… she wouldn’t do. It was lucky that he had any of the heroes in there, but they were all useless on the fighting front. Except maybe Lady Sweeny—who everyone just called Liz. Sara was right about her. The blonde was like a ghost. He knew she showed up but forgot until she saved Lemora’s ass by getting Tim on board—on her own accord. Or perhaps it was Sara’s shadow orders—he wasn’t sure. Either way, he felt that Lady Sweeny wouldn’t fight willingly, but if she was forced….

Edico felt awful just for considering it, but he still called a major over. “Send Lord Thomas to fortify the audience chamber. Bring the other heroes with him—except Lord Richten and Lady Sweeny. Richten needs to handle the ward. As for Lady Sweeny, I need her somewhere else. Give her the option, though.” He relayed the order to the major, and the man nodded, rushing back into the city. Once he left, Edico felt terrible. [Forgive me,] he thought. It was unfair that Tim, the person who wanted to stay in his room, would be in the hot zone to deal with ward crystals (as he was the only chance they had to ward them off for the six hours until Lord Martinez arrived). As for Lady Sweeny, he didn’t even know how strong she had become under Lady Reece’s care—only that Lady Reece placed value in her—and so he asked her to go on what could become a suicide mission….

Edico’s gaze shifted back to the battlefield where Lord Treta and the other rankers had encircled them, preparing to break the wards.

3

Tim’s heart pounded as he placed his hand on the largest crystal, calming himself with the serene mana circulation within.

4

Will brought the other heroes into the audience chamber, waiting for Liz to arrive. [Shit,] he thought. His nervousness had multiplied, and it shouldn’t have. Sara had fortified the audience chamber and portions of Lemora’s wall after she became queen, so they didn’t have to worry. Still… he was nervous, so he pulled out array paint and started creating massive circles on the walls.

“Is everything alright, Lord Thomas?” Aelcov asked nervously. Jacob, Marie, David, Sam, and Kayley (the non-combatives minus Tim) also looked curious.

“Everything’s fine,” Will said. “I just… need something to do.”

“There’s already an array there,” Aelcov said. “Won’t it cancel it?“

“It won’t. If there’s two arrays, the stronger takes precedence.”

“Oh….”

Will knew that, but it still made him nervous. [Where are you, Liz?]

5

Elizabeth got Edico’s request and nodded, looking at the ground.

“General Sullsburg says you have the right to refuse,” the major said.

Elizabeth nodded again without communicating anything except that she understood his words. In truth, she’d rather refuse the [request]. It seemed dangerous, and she didn’t want to die. But she also had emotional leprosy and didn’t feel primal instinct to run until she was in a position of actual danger. Then her heart would pound, and she’d do anything to survive. But until then, she just felt completely ambivalent toward dangerous situations, and when she was given a request, her mother’s voice would enter her mind:

[If someone’s looking for a person to volunteer, look disinterested—like you don’t understand the implicit request or that it has nothing to do with you,] her mom had once told her. [That’ll dissuade most people. But if they’re desperate enough to go to you, or they’re… you know, your boss… don’t refuse. Just give them a slightly remorseful look and nod. Guilt a little, but not too much. If you do this, people will like you, but they won’t ask you to do something unless it’s necessary. Do you understand?]

Elizabeth had nodded and complied—and it worked. After she started doing it, people stopped scoffing and saying, [Don’t even ask; she’s just gonna stare at you,] and [I’d rather do it myself,] and simply started saying, [Nah. Just let ‘er be,] and [I think something bad’s going on with her.]

Dark as it was, it worked, so she had just gotten used to it. So Elizabeth looked up at the major with this sad fucking expression, looking at him until he was just about to say, [Sorry. I… I’ll tell the general you can’t], and then she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

The major smiled wryly, staring at her like she was his daughter and he was sending her off to die. “Okay,” he said. Then he took her away.

6

Treta closed his eyes and took a deep breath. [If it breaks instantly, there’ll be five hours…] he thought, speaking about the ward above Lemora. [That happens? We’ll see. If it takes longer….” He bit his lip. [Fuck those incestual scribes.] The Keetas had gotten under his skin. Treta Res was a warrior. He had never backed down from a battle—then again, he didn’t commit suicide either. Yet these battle junkie sibling-sexed freaks were questioning his loyalty, word, strength, and legacy for not committing to a suicide mission. Fuck!

[One shot—gonna break it in one shot.] Treta took a deep breath and started chanting. [Sferíki fosforésce, to spíti ton astraí, ilumináva tis….] He chanted a six-layer spell and a hundred meteors that could each destroy a two-story inn formed in the air around him. He might not be able to carve a small canyon in farmland, but he had the power to destroy a city in a few spells if he had enough time.

Suddenly, dozens of spells shot at him, flashing from beyond his eyelids but he didn’t falter. He had stabbed a private ward network around him—a series of six totems containing mana crystals and carved with arrays around him. Even if the twenty mages’ barriers broke he wouldn’t be touched. So he continued chanting calmly as his ears rattled with strikes.

7

Grent and Eline smiled as they closed their eyes, chanting as well. Rimn and Grekka were creating a storm spell like they used for the flood, and the Keetas were turning the massive influx of water into thousands of magically reinforced ice spears. The other rankers prepared rock bullets, earthquake spells, and fireballs.

8

Edico took a deep breath, forcing himself to do the logical thing despite his panic telling him to double down. He wanted Tim to reinforce immediately and for Emma to stop Lord Res, as his meteors alone were going to damage the ward severely. He also wanted to create an arrow and fight back himself, but all of these things were a waste of resources. So he just had to wait—

—so he did.

Two minutes later, the world turned white and red as meteors, ice, and earth shot at the barrier, enveloping his entire vision. This was the attack that would determine whether Lord Martinez would arrive on time.

9

“Four hours away!” Raul screamed to the others. “Finish strong!” His team was already sleep-deprived and physically exhausted. By the time they got to Lemora, they’d be in no shape to fight. Yet they had to rise to the occasion—and they would.

10

Sara turned to her team. “There’s thirty thousand soldiers sieging Lemora—and Raul and the mages aren’t there,” she announced.

“Wait… what?” Darius asked. She hadn’t told them.

“There’s nothing [you] can do,” Sara said. “So I didn’t want to make you miserable.”

“Sara… That’s bullshit,” Helen said, “and you know it.”

Sara nodded. “Maybe.”

Andy studied her expression. “What’s the real problem?”

Sara took a deep breath. “I can get there… in a fourth the time.”

“Wait… [what]?” Helen laughed.

“I can,” Sara said.

“Then why the fuck aren’t you there?” Darius demanded.

“Could you get to Lemora yesterday?” Sara asked. Darius calmed down. “You couldn’t. We were in enemy territory. Now, we’ve hit the straight away—and I’m telling you,” She said. “I’m not hiding anything.”

Andy nodded. “How?”

Sara looked at her silver glider. “Acceleration, wind, and trajectory magic.”

“Can you teach us?” he asked.

Sara shook her head. “That’s like teaching stick shift to people with self-driving cars—during a drag race. You’ll die.”

Darius looked at his silver glider’s neck, trembling.

Andy looked away.

Only Helen made eye contact. “So? What are you waiting for?”

“Your confidence.”

“Confidence? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Confidence you won’t die if I leave you.”

“Sara….” Darius took a deep breath. “I can’t believe you’d think [we] would die after everything you’ve seen.”

“I’ve seen stronger die for less,” Sara said coldly.

Darius froze, and Andy looked up. “We’ll be fine,” Andy said. “Protect ‘em.”

“You have my [confidence],” Darius said bitterly.

Helen smiled wryly. “See you there.”

Sara nodded, pulled the reins to shoot upward like a reverse meteorite, and then started chanting. Suddenly, the gravity around her lessened, making the silver glider panic. A moment later, a massive gust of wind hit them from the back, and they shot forward like a bullet, with the silver glider simply gliding at high speed, moving at sixty miles an hour—a speed wind resistance would knock someone off without a wind barrier. She’d make it to Lemora in five hours.