Alone at last, Durrin thought.

He stood in a glade, surrounded by oaks and maples. The nearest road lay a half mile away, much too far for any sight or sound from this spot to reach there. Even the eyes of griffins would fail to pierce the canopy above him. He let out a deep sigh. He felt truly alone for the first time since before his imprisonment.

His horse roamed at the edge of the glade, looking for grass in range of its tether. The mare, though old, had turned out to be half-decent. It had kept up its strength the last two days, despite Durrin driving it hard. Almost worth the forty-five shekels he'd paid for it. Almost.

After leaving Saven, Durrin had turned north. In the past, he would have gone straight west, heading across Elandria's central provinces to the Mera Valley, the only easy route through a formidable mountain range called the Rugeran Mountains. But with the Mera Valley the site of a recent battle, that whole area was likely crawling with troops. He'd decided that his best bet was to circle around and cut through the Rugeran Mountains well to the north of the Mera Valley. The road would be rocky and treacherous. Durrin didn't particularly care.

The reward awaiting him in Calamar would be worth it.

Durrin shed his cloak and strode to the center of the glade. After seven years wasting away in a dungeon, it was time to begin climbing back to greatness. It was time to re-master the first Kymar routine.

Kymar Roline had been a legendary pyromancer from centuries earlier—perhaps the greatest pyromancer to ever live. He had founded the school where Durrin had studied—the Imperial Pyromantic Academy of Calamar—and made its pyromancy program the finest in the world. The linchpin of Kymar's pedagogy was his series of five acrobatic routines, designed to build up students' speed and prowess as they advanced from beginner to master.

Durrin closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose, then letting it out slowly through his mouth. He stood with feet apart, hands relaxed at his sides, and listened with his mind.

Pyromancy was heat. It was motion. It was passion.

Pyromancy was power.

As he focused, Durrin could sense that power around him. It pulsed in the beats of his heart. It vibrated in the air. It hummed in the ground. Everything in the world had energy: it only needed to be found and controlled. Unleashed.

He began moving the tips of his fingers in infinitesimal circles. After a few seconds, he let the movement spread to larger arcs with his hand, then his whole arm. Each motion followed a subtle pattern, memorized by years upon years of patient practice. As his movements built, he felt the air around him begin to bristle. Chords of invisible energy wrapped around his fingers, coaxed out of their dormant state by every pass of his arm. He could feel the weight of that energy resisting the pull of his hand through the air.

The corners of his mouth turned in a smile as a familiar thrill filled his body.

Deep inside Durrin, his spark pulsed, allowing him to both feel the energy around him and control it. For seven years, that spark had been dormant, smothered by voidstone shackles. Even now, after two days of freedom, it was weak, like a coal smoldering in a burned-out fire. But with each growing motion, he coaxed it back to life.

The energy around him gave an audible crackle. Now. It was time.

He poured passion into his spark. It leapt in response, sending energy coursing through his nerves and up his arm, where it met the chords of energy wrapped around his fingertips and set them alight. A torrent of fire erupted around his hand. He felt no pain; the fire did nothing to his skin. He was fire.

For the first time in seven years, he felt truly alive.

He felt unstoppable.

image [https://i.imgur.com/TjlmiBG.png]

Durrin practicing the first Kymar routine. Generated by the author via Midjourney.

Durrin danced through the steps of the routine, muscle memory from a thousand rehearsals flooding back to his limbs. Spinning and twirling, he passed the ball of fire from hand to hand, slowly gaining speed until the flame became a streak of light spinning around his figure.

Then, only halfway through his routine, the spark inside him flickered.

He stumbled. The fireball slipped from his fingers. It careened through the air and slammed into a nearby bush, sending daggers of flame in every direction.

Durrin doubled over, the breath knocked out of him from losing control of so much energy so abruptly. He gasped for a couple seconds, hands on his knees. Then he staggered over to the bush. It had caught fire, its branches crackling and popping.

If he let the bush burn, the smoke might betray his presence—or, worse, start a forest fire. Durrin held his hand over the bush, concentrating until he could feel the invisible rivulets of power and heat coursing outward. With a curl of his fingers, he drew some of that heat into the palm of his hand. As he did, the flames wavered and diminished. Opening his fingers, he let the power dissipate, causing the air above his hand to shimmer from the column of heat.

He drew power from the bush twice more, until the flames had died and the branches were reduced to smoldering twigs. Each effort left his spark feeling even more drained.

Finally, Durrin stepped away from the bush and stretched, letting out a groan. His horse looked up at him, idly flipping her tail.

"Unimpressed?" Durrin said. "So would be my classmates." He stumbled over to his canteen. "Imagine it: Cadet Rendhart—the Academy's three-time champion for the fifth Kymar routine. And now he can't even execute the first."

The horse snorted and returned to her grass.

Durrin sipped at his canteen, his thoughts turning to what awaited him at his destination. According to legend, Kymar Roline had developed not five, but six pyromancy routines. The Imperial Academy had only taught up to the fifth. The final routine—Kymar's sixth—was written on a secret scroll, kept in a forbidden vault in the heart of Calamar, its potent knowledge restricted to an elite few.

That scroll awaited him. He'd earned it seven years before.

Durrin returned to the middle of the glade, assessing his performance. He had failed to complete the beginner routine, yes—but for his first attempt in seven years, he hadn't done bad. His spark was growing in strength. A lifetime of training was coming back to him—slowly, but not as slowly as he had feared. When he had started at the Academy two decades ago, the first Kymar routine had taken him months of daily practice to master.

And daily practice would be how he'd master it again.

During returned to the middle of the grove, resumed his stance, and began the first routine a second time.

* * * * *

Volthorn hated beginning a meeting with bad news.

He strode into the royal council room, his helmet under his arm. The other three participants in the war council were already waiting for him. Queen Adara, arrayed in a long silk dress, sat with perfect posture, her eyes bright with attention—but Volthorn couldn't help thinking she looked a size too small for the spacious throne she occupied.

Skagar paced around the edge of the room, blessedly silent for once.

To Adara's left was her other advisor and former co-regent, Lady Luviana. The elderly merfin rested in a pewter basin half filled with water.

Merfins were an aquatic species, humanoid from their torso upward but with dolphin-like tails instead of legs. Most lived in rivers, lakes, or oceans. Merfins such as Luviana, who chose to interact regularly with "land-walkers," were rare. And for good reason—transporting the royal advisor around the palace and maintaining her various reclining pools required an entire team of servants.

image [https://i.imgur.com/Ttb9x9P.jpeg]

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Lady Luviana. Generated by the author via Midjourney.

In Lady Luviana's case, her contributions far outweighed the labor costs she incurred. She had been a royal advisor for over ninety years, spanning five rulers' reigns—merfins were known for their incredible longevity. She also graced the court with her talent in vivamancy.

Lady Luviana held a small harp in her hands, plucking the conclusion of a wistful refrain as Volthorn entered. He could feel the spell it cast as he walked in. The music tugged on his body, urging his muscles to relax and his emotions to quiet.

Queen Adara rose to her feet. "Commander Skarr," she said, a warm smile on her face. "Welcome."

Volthorn bowed to all three. "Your Highness, Lady, Chancellor." He turned back to Luviana. "An interesting choice of music to precede a council of war. I would expect something more rousing."

"Stirring sagas are for the moment of battle, Commander," Luviana said, her voice almost as musically enchanting as her harp. "When planning what battles to fight, you must be calm as the morning wind."

"Unfortunately, today does not bring calming news," Volthorn said, striding to the middle of the room, where a huge map occupied the central table. He set his helmet down with a clang, dispersing the last vestiges of Luviana's vivamantic spell. "A messenger griffin just flew in. Calamar's hosts have left Meradov and are marching east. I fear Saven is their destination."

The queen's face turned a shade paler.

"So soon?" Skagar asked. "They've occupied the city scarcely a week."

"It's their haste that tells me they intend to capture Saven by mid-autumn," Volthorn said. High summer had just passed, leaving autumn just a few weeks away.

"What are their numbers?" Skagar said.

Luviana coughed, interrupting them. She gestured to the queen. "For the sake of Her Majesty, I think a quick overview of the present situation would be helpful, Commander."

Volthorn looked to Queen Adara for approval. She pursed her lips. "I believe I already have a good grasp, my lady. I do not need a refresher."

An awkward silence filled the council room. Finally, Lady Luviana nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty. It was just a suggestion; I wasn't sure how long it has been since your last briefing."

"Meradov fell six days ago," Queen Adara said, pointing to the city's location on the map. "With it, Calamar now has uncontested control of the Mera Valley, the upper Silvermoss, and its tributaries. This cements their hold over all our western provinces, which has been their main object for the last three years."

image [https://i.imgur.com/cGGl8d0.png]

Map of Calamar and Elandria. Created by the author in Inkarnate.

"Exactly, Your Majesty," said Volthorn, pleased with how Adara had stood up to Luviana's skepticism. "I expected Calamar to take the next month to shore up their new holdings. Today's news reveals that their plans are much more ambitious. They mean to capture the capital and end the war before the year is up." Volthorn used a long rod to slide troop markers across the map. "Scouts report that the host leaving Meradov numbers around fifty thousand."

"Nights alive, Commander," Skagar exclaimed. "We can't marshal half that number. How will we—"

"We can," Volthorn said, scowling at the interruption. "For the last three years, my predecessor, Commander Garren—may he rest in the light—has adopted a strategy of spreading our forces out, trying to hold various cities, win small victories here and there, and force the enemy to guard their flanks."

Volthorn pounded his fist on the table. "But those are not the results we need. Garren's strategy was a recipe for a long, slow death, as Meradov's fall makes all too clear. If we are to defeat Calamar, we must combine our forces and smash their army in battle."

Skagar opened his mouth, but Volthorn hurried on before he could interrupt again. "With your approval, I plan to gather nearly all our battalions and garrisons to the Arnon Plains—here." Volthorn pointed to the plains at the mouth of the Mera Valley, about a hundred miles west of Saven and fifty miles east of the Calamarvan army at Meradov. "All told, we will number around twenty-eight thousand. Yes, Skagar, our numbers are few. But they will have to suffice."

Volthorn used his rod to push the Calamarvan army down the Mera Valley. "I am fairly certain Calamar will try to cut straight across the Arnon Plains and capture Saven. They have just over a month to do it, before much of their army will have to march home for the fall harvest."

"As will much of ours," Skagar reminded him.

"Yes," Volthorn said. "But Calamar's conscript soldiers have farther to travel, and so must leave earlier. Only their professional soldiers—around ten thousand—will remain for the winter. If they haven't won the war by then, they'll have to hunker down in fortified cities until the spring."

Volthorn indicated the Arnon Plains with his rod. "Over the next month, my army will do all we can to slow them down without engaging in direct battle. We'll harass their flanks, burn bridges, plan ambushes. We know the terrain better, so we'll be able to dance away if they try to pin us down.

"I'm hoping this will lead to one of two possibilities. First, Calamar might split their army for faster travel, allowing us to isolate and defeat each division piecemeal. Second, there might be a brief window where their conscript farmers have departed and their professional army is exposed outside of any fortified city. If that happens, we can cut off their retreat and defeat their professional soldiers in a single battle."

With a flourish, Volthorn swept the Calamarvan armies off the map. "Either possibility could end this war."

He looked up at Queen Adara and her two advisors. Luviana's face was creased with concerned wrinkles. Skagar's tail was twitching in agitation. The queen's eyes were fixed on the map, her hands fidgeting absently with the hem of her long sleeves.

"Your Majesty?" Volthorn ventured.

Adara's eyes flitted from the map to Volthorn, then to her lap, then back to the map. Finally she wet her lips and looked to Skagar. "Chancellor? Any thoughts?"

Skagar spoke up without hesitation. "Your Highness, I have deep concerns. Commander Skarr's audacity threatens our very existence. He proposes facing down an army twice his size on the open plains, without any walled cities to protect him. One poor maneuver, and our whole army could be wiped out!"

Volthorn felt his blood turning hot. He pushed it down. "My plans are perfectly viable, Chancellor. Calamar's forces will be slow, unfamiliar with the terrain and tied down by their supply lines. My troops will have no problem keeping out of reach until the moment I decide to engage.

"There are far less risky options," Skagar growled. "Pull our forces across the Silvermoss to Monine." He gestured to a city about halfway between Saven and Meradov. "It has strong walls, a defensible position. Calamar can't simply pass you by."

"But they can put me under siege with half their army," Volthorn objected, "and march the rest toward Saven. If I try to break out, they'll cut me to pieces battalion by battalion as I march them out the gates. No, Chancellor. If we let them pin us down, we're doomed. We must defeat them in open battle."

Luviana raised a webbed hand, nodding in agreement with Volthorn. "Commander Skarr has a point, Chancellor."

"It's a toss of dice with unfavorable odds," Skagar said, settling down on his haunches as he stared at the map, tail twitching. "I fear you are overly optimistic about our military's ability to pull off impossible victories."

Volthorn opened his mouth, ready to defend his troops, but the queen spoke first.

"What about negotiation?"

The room fell quiet as Skagar, Volthorn, and Luviana turned to look at her.

Queen Adara sat up straighter in the throne. "Battles and troop movements . . . is this our only option? I was thinking last night—feeling last night—that perhaps we could contact the emperor. Ask for a truce, or a treaty, or something."

"Arrange for a diplomatic end of the hostilities," Skagar translated.

"Yes," Adara said, her voice growing firmer. "Emperor Stoneclaw and my father were close friends once. We could appeal to that friendship, and—"

"Your Highness," Skagar interrupted, "may I remind you that it is Emperor Stoneclaw who has claimed a third of our territory in the last three years. Any supposed friendship has been long since forgotten."

"Yet in the years before the war," Adara said, "Emperor Stoneclaw was often willing to come to terms when our two nations had disputes."

"Willing might be too strong a term, Your Highness," Lady Luviana said, the water in her basin splashing as she shifted to a new position. "I was the one handling most of those disputes, if you recall. Calamar's disposition was anything but friendly."

"But I recall you yourself maintaining that the driving force behind the hostilities was not the emperor himself, but a faction within his government," Adara objected.

"If the emperor wanted peace, he would have sent us overtures long before now," Skagar said. "He has not. And I don't blame him. If my armies were having a fraction of the success that his have had, I wouldn't dream of stopping."

"And that's why we must proceed with my plan," Volthorn said, tapping the map with his rod. "As long as Calamar's armies march unchecked, they'll turn a deaf ear to any negotiations. Only if we score a decisive victory will they be willing to come to the table."

"Will they?" Adara said. "Or will they dig in their heels? Skagar, you taught me once that war is as much about prestige as territory or treasure. Perhaps Calamar can't afford to lose prestige on the international stage."

"Then we come to my plan regardless," Volthorn said. "If they won't back down when things are going well, nor when things are going wrong, then we must defeat them so decisively they have no choice but to sue for peace."

"Assuming you can do so without getting our army ripped to shreds," Skagar muttered.

Before Volthorn could verbalize a retort, Adara spoke again. "When were our last negotiations with Calamar?"

Luviana and Skagar exchanged embarrassed glances. Skagar's tail dipped nervously. "I believe it was right before the war started, Your Highness."

Adara's eyes widened. "We haven't had talks with them in three years?"

"No, Your Highness."

Adara sank back in her throne. "Then we should send Emperor Stoneclaw a letter immediately. It shall be an overture of peace, issued by my royal decree, as one of my first acts as queen."

Skagar scrunched his eyes shut. "Your Highness," he said, sighing. "Wartime negotiations are not to be treated lightly."

"Which is why you will help me draft it," Adara said. "If we send the message with a griffin tomorrow, it can reach Imperium in less than a week."

Volthorn scowled. "And if the emperor chooses to reply, it will be another week before we hear of it, or longer. What do you want me to do in the meantime? Let Calamar march toward our capital unchecked? We need to fight, Your Highness."

"I'm afraid the commander is right," said Luviana. "Don't put all your faith in negotiations, Your Highness. We can try, but prepare to be disappointed."

Adara stared at the map. Then she took a deep breath. "Very well, Commander. While we wait for an answer from Imperium, you may proceed with your plan."

Volthorn gave a deep bow. "Then with all due respect, Your Highness, I must see to my orders." He picked up his helmet and strode toward the door.

"Commander Skarr?"

Volthorn turned impatiently. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Adara's eyes seemed to stare into emptiness for a moment before refocusing on him. "May angels attend you, and may you only fight in the light."

Volthorn bowed and strode from the room.