“Stand ready,” said Greg. “As soon as I place the first flower, the local deity will attack.”

Zereh nodded mutely. Her swords were already unsheathed, and she was crouched at the ready.

A ball of fire flickered on and off in Emrys’s hand.

“Here we go!” The old man threaded the first flower into place on the altar. Once it was snugly in place it began to glow, illuminating the nearby carvings as well. The scent of the playful magic grew stronger.

“There! From the east!” Zereh pointed her sword at the dark shape of a woman flying toward them. The woman was dark-haired, dark-skinned and full-bodied. A crown of flowers was braided into her hair and her flowing dress reminded Emrys of a fall harvest festival, all bright orange and brown.

“The goddess of the harvest,” Emrys whispered. “She must be the patron goddess of Sonora.”

“Or one of her representatives, anyway. Keep your wits about you. She’ll be looking to duel one of you, and I won’t be able to place the second flower until you’ve defeated her.”

The woman approached. She was barefoot, Emrys noticed.

“I am Belshava, representative of the goddess of the harvest. Who stands against me as your champion?”

“Just a representative?” Greg hollered. “Is that the best she can do?”

Belshava smirked. “The Unknown God does not have many followers to choose from. To defend this land herself would be… unsporting.”

“My champions stand before you.”

Belshava reached into the ground and withdrew a scythe. The blade glinted dangerously in the sunlight.

“Zereh, maybe you should take this one?”

The warrior advanced. “How do we start? Is there a countdown, or what?”

“Like this.” Belshava drew back her scythe and charged. She held the blade low to the ground like she was cutting wheat.

Zereh leaped over the weapon and swung one of her swords as Belshava passed. It was a near thing, but the tip of her blade cut a line across the woman’s back.

Belshava slid to a stop and pivoted, gouging a deep furrow into the earth.

“Not bad,” she acknowledged with a wild grin.

Zereh dipped her head in return. She gripped her two blades and darted forward. Every step was light, every movement looked choreographed. In that moment, she demonstrated what is meant to be a warrior.

Belshava was slower than Zereh, but she had been dueling for centuries to guard her goddesses’ lands. She held her scythe steady and at just the right moment swung up and out..

Zereh was able to avoid the blade, but the long handle caught her shin when she was mid-leap. She was knocked off balance and went tumbling into the field.

No sooner had she hit the earth than the tall grass began to rise, twisting around her limbs to keep her down. The thin strands dug tightly into the skin of her thighs.

Her swords were too long to use against the grass. While she still had the use of her arms, Zereh dropped one of her swords and pulled a dagger from a sheath on her hip. She cut herself free of the grass, over and over until it slumped back, lifeless once more.

Belshava was breathing heavily. The induced life spell she had used had taken a lot out of her, and it would be sometime before she could cast it again.

Zereh triggered one of her own combat skills. She leapt to her feet and dashed to her opponent, so quickly that Emrys lost sight of her for a moment. One second she was lying in the dirt, and the next she was landing a blow that sent Belshava staggering back.

The divine representative lifted both her hands to the sky enchanted unintelligibly. Thick, dark clouds began to gather in the sky.

Zereh did not let the opportunity go to waste. She rushed her opponent and started slashing, hitting her directly in the chest over and over again.

Belshava was visibly weakening, but she continued to chant, speaking faster and faster the longer Zereh attacked.

Lightning crackled in the clouds, and Emrys could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Belshava lowered her arms and all at once the heavens opened up. Water poured down from the sky and sheets, so thick that he lost sight of the battlefield entirely.

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Zereh was buffeted back by the heavy rain, momentarily knocked off balance. But she knew that despite the occasional spellcasting, Belshava was a melee fighter at heart. She would have been smart to rely on the heavy scythe from the start, rather than delving into magic that she was obviously less comfortable with.

Zereh let loose a wild yell and charged. She would find Belshava, or Belshava would find her. Either way, she had done enough damage while Belshava was motionless that even the torrential downpour wouldn’t be enough to tip the scales.

Emrys squinted into the storm. He was itching to jump in there with her but Greg had placed a restraining hand on his arm.

“You care about her, don’t you?”

Emrys shot him a sideways glance.” Of course. She’s my party leader.”

“No.” Greg drew the word out like he was tasting it. “There’s more to it than that.”

Emrys pulled his arm away from the old man’s grass. He got the uncomfortable sense that Greg was paying more attention to him than to Zereh’s deathmatch.

“She saved my life in a dungeon,” he said. “And now she’s helping me look for my best friend.” He kept his eyes focused on the spot where he’d last seen her willing the clouds to part.

Greg leaned back. “That’s all it is then? She does things for you and you like that?”

“That’s not all it is,” the mage admitted. “She’s tough, you know? Strong. I need her way more than she needs me. But every now and then she lets me in a little, and I see her. I see the smile behind the eyes, just a hint of teasing. I see a woman who wants connection so badly that she hides from it.”

A loud crack reverberated through the air, like a sequoia tumbling to the forest floor: one big snap followed by an enormous, drawn-out crash.

Emrys searched the sky for evidence of lightning, even knowing that would have been the wrong order of operations. But as he watched, the rain slowed and the storm clouds cleared. Left in the field was Zereh, wounded but victorious, over the motionless body of Belshava.

He let out a whoop and punched the air.

She grinned weakly. “You’ve got the next one,” she said. “That took a lot out of me.”

Greg gave them a moment to settle down from the fight. “Are you ready for me to place the next flower?”

Emrys swallowed. The fireball in his palm flickered so quickly it looked steady.

“Sonora is a farming town, blessed by the goddess of harvest. The goddess sent Belshava as her champion. I understand that. But, Westover doesn’t have a patron god. Who will be coming to its defense?”

“Hmm. Every inch of this world is claimed by a spirit or deity. They cannot abide a vacuum. Regardless of if it has made itself known, there is an entity that considers Westover and the surrounding lands as its territory.”

“So it could be anything.”

“Within reason,” said Greg. “Spirits are drawn to places that match their nature.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zereh chimed in. “You’ve been adventuring in Westover since you were a kid, I’m sure the spirit is not too different.”

Emrys chuckled at that, bolstered by the encouragement. She was right, he had been throwing himself against dangerous opponents since he first got his magic. More importantly, she was looking at him with total confidence. If she believed in him, he could do anything.

The arcanist squared his shoulders and stepped out into the field. “I’m ready,” he said.

Greg threaded the second Midnight Silk into the altar. Just as the first had done, the second flower glowed bright enough to illuminate the nearby carvings. A bright white line connected the two blossoms.

Emrys prepared a second fireball. It wasn’t his strongest spell, but it was his most reliable.

“I think I see it!” Zereh shaded her eyes. Sure enough, a shadowed figure was flying in from the west.

“Is that a bird?”

“It’s a plane!” Zereh cackled.

Greg laughed.

“A what? No, it is a bird.” Emrys thought it looked like a hawk, the kind that he had often seen flying over the ravine. If it was the same, its tail feathers would be red.

Only he had never seen a hawk quite so large. As the bird approached it blotted out the sun with its wings. It circled above several times before finally landing in front of them.

At the site of the enormous hawk before him, the pieces clicked into place. Westover had never worshiped any gods or harbored so much as a shrine to a minor deity, but there had always been tales of a red-tailed hawk that protected the ravine. There were travelers who swore the hawk had rescued them when they lost their way. One even claimed to have slipped off a cliff, only to be caught and carried to safety by an impossibly large bird. Tobias, they called him.

Emrys gulped. He barely came up to the hawk’s shoulders, and its puffed out chest was three times his own width.

The hawk screeched, an ear-splitting cry that made Emrys wince. When he looked up again, the hawk had transformed into a man. He had brown hair with red tips, and his eyes held the same piercing gaze that he’d had as a hawk. His body was only protected by simple leather armor, but Emryssuspected illusion magic was at work. As a man, the spirit had an ethereal, almost translucent quality.

The man knelt. “My Lord,” he said, bowing his head to Greg. “This one humbly requests to defend this territory.”

Greg looked startled, then resigned. “You recognize me, then?”

“Yes, my lord. This one claimed these lands long ago, even before the lesser gods entered the world. It would be the height of disrespect to forget your eminence’s visage.”

Greg smiled ruefully. “And yet, most have forgotten. Although I must admit I have had a hand in that myself.” He shook himself. “But more importantly, I do grant your request. My champion stands before you.” He gestured to Emrys.

“Hold on a second,” Emrys objected. “What is he talking about? Who are you?”

But Tobias had already shifted back into his hawk form and taken to the skies.

The arcanist shot both fireballs. Tobias was able to dodge the first, but the second singed his wing. The hawk shrieked in frustration.

Emrys crouched. The valley had turned to a thick mud during Zereh’s fight. It gave him an unpleasant flashback to the bogs, but he shoved that thought away. He refused to let his environment hamper his spellcasting.

He cast fireballs as quickly as a thought, caring more for speed and accuracy than power. With Tobias able to evade so many of the projectiles, he was more likely to do damage with quantity over quality.

The hawk circled furiously, pushed higher by the endless barrage of fireballs. It was more damaging than if Emrys had used a stronger spell like Firestorm, in a way, because Firestorm would have been chained to its initial location. By just using fireball, and by casting it with incredible proficiency, he took a basic attack and made it his most versatile.

Emrys was steadily weakening his opponent and taking no damage in return. If the hawk wanted to turn the tables, he would have to change his strategy.

All at once Emrys’s target shrunk to a pinpoint. Tobias pulled his wings tight against his body and aimed straight down at the arcanist.

He dove.