The morning before the battle, Mirian visited Mayor Ethwarn in his office. He hadn’t been meeting there lately, and when she arrived, she could see why. He’d had all of the nice wooden facade torn off, and two artisans and an arcanist were busy putting it back up.

“What happened with the walls?” Mirian asked.

Magistrate Ada paused glancing through her papers and said, “The previous assistant had a magical listening device. It was linked to a bunch of hidden glyphs in the office. We wanted to make sure we removed them all, just in case.”

Mirian thought back to the assistant hastily stuffing something away into his desk last cycle. “That explains quite a bit. Where did you end up finding the hidden glyphs?”

The arcanist paused his work to show her. Mirian closed her eyes and thought of the Ominian’s throne room so she would better remember the exact spots.

“Is that head spy talking yet?” Mayor Ethwarn asked.

“The false captain? No. But the Department of Public Security finally responded. There is supposed to be a unit here. Actually, they were insisting it was up here, in contact with me, and that they’d been receiving the regular reports with no interruption, so I must have been mistaken. It took quite a bit of hammering to get through that particular bureaucratic wall.”

“They do know there’s about to be a war on, right?” Mayor Ethwarn sighed. “Government,” he said, shaking his head. Mirian wasn’t sure if he had fully internalized that he was also part of the government now. Magistrate Ada didn’t say anything.

“How goes the evacuation?” Mirian asked.

“Well enough. You were right about the banebriars to the south, of course, but evacuating across the lake is much easier. The palisade is already up, and while it’s no spellward barrier, it has enough enchantments on it to do the job. Boats are already moving people across the lake. Most of the civilians should be in the clear by evening. General Hanaran is quite pleased too, because it means no one’s hassling her about the train, and it gives her more flexibility for her defense.”

“And the passages?”

“Construction teams finished blocking them off yesterday. The arcanists have scattered explosive traps around too. The people of Torrviol are resilient,” the mayor beamed proudly. “Those damn traitors will pay.”

***

This time, Mirian had warned General Hanaran that Bainrose was the enemy’s primary objective and could give her a general idea of how the battle had progressed. How much of the strategy the Akanans used was contingent on what their spies delivered, she would have to find out.

Mirian took her position up on one of the towers of Bainrose again. Nicolus, Lily, and Xipuatl all stood with her. Nurea had gone across the lake with the other refugees; she had no idea what Nicolus had said to her for that to happen. Valen had opted again to fight with the militia. When she looked at her friends standing with her, it was with a mix of joy and grief. Joy, because they were here with her. Grief, because she would watch them die again. How many times would she watch that? The sting had lessened, but would she ever be numb to it? Would I ever want to be numb to it?

She cast those thoughts aside, and focused on the task at hand. She needed to remember the changes, and remember the battle. For now, they would die, so that in some distant future, they might live. Mirian blinked away her tears, and swallowed her sorrow.

This time, Hanaran had deployed several of her regiments two miles outside the spellward to hit the Akanan column before it was deployed. They would try to periodically hit the enemy as they fell back, partially to delay them, but mostly to make them spend blood and ammunition on something that wasn’t the primary defenses. The forest was perfect for covering the operation. The dense foliage blocked them from the sight of the airships, while trunks and roots slowed any advance to prevent encirclement. Torrviol arcanists had also worked to carve out trenches and fell some of the large trees to slow the battle wagons and artillery further.

This time, the fighting started a few hours earlier. The deep rumble of distant guns first told them of the engagement. Periodically, the Baracueli scouts would send up three flares of light in a row, the color combination informing the watchers from Torrviol what the Akanans were doing. That was further supported by arcane eye spells all across the developing front.

Hanaran had paired Mirian with an observer on the tower, so that as they magically communicated with command below, she would also learn it. Red, blue, and red flares went up in the distant forest, followed by red, green and red. “The Akanan advance has halted again in the center, but is continuing in the north. Another attempt at an encirclement,” the observer said. Ten minutes later, it was a red, white, and red flare, almost directly west of them, past the shallow hills the dorms were on. “One of their divisions has broken off the main group and is deploying along that path. The western line can expect contact with the enemy soon.”

By the time night fell, General Hanaran had pulled all her forward units back, and the artillery on both sides was thundering out. The two airships had taken several aggressive approaches throughout the evening, but several hits to their hulls had taught them caution. Mirian got a sense that the Akanans had a much worse idea of Baracuel’s force disposition, but they had by no means come in blind. More spies to find, she noted.

Two hours after midnight, the artillery barrage intensified. It felt more like a storm than a battle, with bright spells flaring across the front. Blossoming flames and jagged lightning crisscrossed the battlefield. Here and there, screams echoed up to them.

“Is it always like this?” Nicolus asked. He had grown sullen as the battle progressed.

“No. Usually it’s a one-sided massacre. This is…” What did she say to that? Better? It was still horrific. But if the war couldn’t be prevented, what else was there to do but fight? “…it’s usually worse.”

“I’ve always thought that if people were logical, we’d all never fight a war again. My dad always told me I was being naive. My mom always told me the realities of war would change my mind.” Nicolus shook his head. “But I was right.”

Mirian watched as another artillery barrage crashed down on the eastern line, sending up gouts of flame where she knew soldiers had just been. The Baracueli artillery responded a moment later, and near the tree-line wind and lightning swirled about from a storm-shell. Above, the airships loomed above them like colossal vultures circling a corpse. The rooftop artillery had them hanging back, but little by little those guns were being knocked out.

“Yeah,” Mirian said. “So we just do the best we can with the hand we’re dealt. Maybe someday,” she said.

Nicolus raised an imaginary mug to the sky. “To someday!” he said, and quaffed the nothing with gusto.

Off to the east, the dormitories were on fire again, the roiling black clouds blending into the scattered low clouds. An Akanan battle-wagon moved to the north, only to erupt in flames as the Torrviol guns opened up on it. Then the first earthshaker shell hit the northeast tower of Bainrose.

“Airships are coming in for another sortie,” the observer said. “Right at us. Everyone below!”

By the time they made it to the ground level, Bainrose Castle was shaking violently. Parts of the vaulted ceiling and chunks of the wall rained down, and the soldiers had to shout to be heard as the tremendous roar of explosions came again and again.

“General, the castle can’t take much more bombardment,” one of the officers called to Hanaran. “They’ve been able to maneuver too many artillery pieces into position. We’re getting hit all across the defensive arc.”

Just then, a messenger came up from the stairs. “Captain Cassius says our position will be overrun soon. Enemy geomancers have opened up holes all along the basement on two floors. We either need reinforcements immediately, or to order the withdrawal before we’re penned in!”

Hanaran nodded, but whatever she said next was lost to the sound of another bombardment. A huge chunk of stone fell from the ceiling, then froze in mid-flight as two sorcerers caught it with a force spell and gently redirected it to an empty spot.

“Sir?”

“I said give the order!” Hanaran shouted. To Mirian, she asked, “What happens next?”

“Something happens to the Divine Monument,” she said. “I intend to find out what. I’ll see you again. We’ll do better next time.”

Hanaran shook her head. “You really believe it, don’t you? Shiamagoth save us. Alright, let’s go. Let’s go!”

As the General and her staff evacuated, Mirian turned to her friends. “I’m heading down. Do you want to come?”

Lily shook her head. “I’d rather go. I don’t want to be… trapped down there.” She shivered.

Nicolus shrugged. “I’ll come. Might as well.”

Xipuatl looked between the two. “I suppose I will too,” he said.

Jei didn’t say anything, but Mirian already knew what her decision was. As they made their way to the outer part of the tower, a soldier warned them off, telling them the third floor had collapsed.

Mirian let out a curse. “That blocks the passage. We need to go to Griffin Hall.”

Jei shook her head. “Too dangerous. And there’s likely Akanans in the underground. The inner staircase is behind here,” she said, pointing at the stone wall. “Move back.” She pulled out her orb. It hovered above her right hand, glowing, as she extended her left towards the wall.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Mirian felt the pulses of magic before she saw the effect. Cracks ran through the stone wall, but it wasn’t mere force Jei was applying. The composition of the rock changed, from the hardy looking gray stone to something crumbly and pale. When Jei finally did pull it apart with force walls, the stone fell apart without much resistance, and became a pile of dust off to the side.

Xipuatl said something in Tlaxa, then followed it up with, “There’s no way the general arcane theory has incorporated that into its framework. Mirian…”

Bainrose shook again, kicking up a cloud of the dusty rock. “Now isn’t quite the time. I promise, I’ll look into it.”

They filed through the hole in the wall and started descending the hidden staircase. The bombardment had dislodged a support stone midway down the stairs, and they had to duck under a partially collapsed arch.

As they passed through the storage room, they could hear the muted sound of gunfire, coming perhaps from behind the secret door, or maybe echoing through the partially collapsed tunnels nearby. Bits of debris kept coming loose from the ceiling. Mirian prayed they wouldn’t get trapped by a collapse and slowly suffocate.

Close to the lower passages, the sounds of a pitched battle grew. As they descended another of the stairs, they practically ran into a Baracuel army unit in the dim light. “Gods, you scared the shit out of us,” one of the soldiers said. “Are you… militia? Reinforcements? The enemy arcanists are trying to open up a tunnel between the catacombs and this spot. We can’t hold them much longer.”

Mirian’s mouth grew dry. “Bainrose is being evacuated,” she said. “General Hanaran just gave the order.” The colored bands on their arms and their Academy dress already indicated their status as militia.

“What? Shit!”

“There’s a passage opened up on the first floor,” Mirian told them. “I don’t know how much longer the castle will hold.”

“Sir,” another of the soldiers said. “Our orders were to hold, even if the castle was evacuated. Our fallback position is still clear. Until then, we need to prevent the rest of the army from being overrun.” Several of the other arcanists looked up from their work. Based on the pages of the spellbooks Mirian could see, they were casting remote earthshaping magic and divination.

The first soldier looked up the way Mirian’s group had come, then back toward the wall. “If we stay here, we’re dead,” he said. “I can’t believe the captain meant to assign us a suicide mission.”

“But it’s insubordination. Even if we lose the surface, the passages aren’t cut off—”

“If it’s any consolation, it doesn’t matter much what you do next. No one survives this battle.”

The first soldier stared at her. “What in the five hells do you know?”

“Never mind,” Mirian said. “We’ve been ordered to secure the lower door. Good luck. Let’s go,” she told the group. Another of the battlemages whispered something to another as they passed, while a third gave her a suspicious look.

Fortunately, Jei had the key to the final door guarding the Divine Monument. When she opened it though, a bolt of force nearly skewered her; she raised a shield just in time.

“Medius, you fool!” she snapped.

Medius Luspire stood before the Divine Monument, a harrowed look on his face. “Those bastards are shaking apart my Academy. You’ll forgive me for being twitchy,” he shot back.

“Should I have knocked?” Jei spat.

“Never mind,” the archmage said. “You’ve seen what those Akanan quislings brought. This is our last hope,” he said, turning to face the Monument.

Something had broken in Luspire. He strode around the room with a careless bravado, examining parts of the Monument before activating spell engines with the flick of his hand. High Wizard Ferrandus and two assistant arcanists were moving above, checking readouts and adjusting knobs in a flurry of activity that was meaningless to Mirian. The only thing she wondered was: does he get it to work?

Archmage Luspire turned back to Jei and said, “Well don’t just stand there! We’re so close to turning it on. We’ve got the resonance topography of each rune, and we’ve tracked the energy cascade. All we’re missing is… damn it all to hell! What are we missing?”

He didn’t seem to expect Jei to answer, or to care much that she and Mirian had brought others, though he did cast Mirian a withering glance before resuming his pacing around the structure.

Xipuatl gazed at the colossal machine with awe. “This is…” He started to mutter to himself in Tlaxa, then trailed off entirely.

Nicolus didn’t say anything, just stared up at it.

Mirian could appreciate their stunned silence. The way the surreal colors shifted subtly in the light, the way the entire thing shifted as one moved—it was truly amazing.

Down here, the bombardment wasn’t so bad. Something about the room seemed to keep the worst of the shaking at bay, though they could still feel the periodic tremors.

Luspire stopped striding about, then raised his hand and cast a spell directly into one of the device’s features. The hairs on Mirian’s arms stood up as she felt the surge of arcane energy from the archmage. Even without a measuring device, she could tell the power he was putting out dwarfed anything even ten students could muster. For a moment, energy crackled along one of the twisted spines of the device. There was a whirring sound, and something in the device shifted. Mirian’s heart beat faster with anticipation. Did they figure it out?

Then the energy faded, and the device settled again.

Whatever Luspire had just tried, it clearly had been his last idea. He sat down hard in a nearby chair. Ferrandus looked at him, then powered down the spell engine he’d been operating. The assistant arcanists looked equally sullen.

“What happens next?” Nicolus whispered.

“I don’t know,” Mirian said. “That’s why I’m here.” Nicolus looked at her, and she could tell he was thinking about what he’d said, and wondered if she had a response yet. He was too much of a gentleman to say anything, though.

Mirian circled around the Monument, getting a sense of the pattern in how it changed. “The way it reflects light… and the texture of it. Xipuatl, doesn’t it remind you of your relic?”

“Reliquary,” he said. “And yes.”

“Isn’t a reliquary a container?”

Xipuatl thought about that. “…yes? That’s the translation. I mean, the literal translation is ‘container of holy of Elder-Gods,’ but that’s a bit of an ungrammatical mouthful in Friian. I’ve always heard ‘container of holy’ translated as ‘reliquary.’”

“Right,” Mirian said absentmindedly. “But maybe that’s the missing half of the equation. What if it needs soul magic to work?”

A muffled explosion echoed through the chambers, snapping Mirian’s attention out of her thoughts. She looked for the source of the sound. Xipuatl pointed it out to her. “Look,” he said.

The colossal door on the far side of the chamber now had cracks running through it. Another explosion sounded, this one louder, and the cracks splayed out farther, forming a jagged web.

“Damn. Damn!” Luspire shouted, and rose to stand in front of the doors of stone. He started casting some form of force-spell to brace the door.

Respected Jei went to stand by him, her orb hovering over her hand. It glowed brightly as she worked to repair the door, the very rock recrystallizing itself through her magic.

It wasn’t enough. Five more explosions came in rapid succession, and the stone cracked apart completely. Archmage Luspire let it fall. His spellbook hovered in front of him, glowing, and Mirian could see his fingers twitching.

The dust never got a chance to settle; one of the Akanan arcanists on the other side of the door swept it aside. Standing in the adjoining room were some three dozen spellcasters, the Akanan blue and white marred by grime and blood splatters. Heading the group was a woman Mirian recognized, not just by her peaked cap or the gold-embroidered jacket, but by her cruel stare. Her gaggle of assistants were behind her too.

“Emera Cearsia, you rat,” Archmage Luspire snapped. “I would have thought you of all people had more character than to lead this band of traitors. What happened to fidelity and friendship?”

That’s interesting. He knows her.

Marshal Cearsia’s scowl deepened. “And yet here you are, standing by the very instrument of your betrayal.”

“As you can see, it doesn’t bloody work. And if it did work like you think it does, do you really think I wouldn’t be using it to scour your little band of vermin off the face of Enteria? Nevertheless, I recognize my position. Give us all safe passage, and its yours.”

Silence fell on the room, then. The eyes of all the Akanans were on the archmage—except one, Mirian realized. One of Cearsia’s assistants was staring at her, even though she and her friends were partially obscured by the Monument and taking no action. When he realized she saw him, he looked back toward the archmage.

Cearsia’s spellbook rose from her belt to hover before her. None of the Akanan arcanists lowered their wands.

Luspire understood the answer he’d been given. “So be it,” he said.

When Luspire began channeling, Mirian could feel it clear across the room. When Marshal Cearsia started, the sensation was similar. If she wasn’t an actual archmage, she was damned close.

Mirian had heard that Luspire fought with fire, but fire was an understatement. He sent out scattered beams of coruscating light, then followed it up with a flurry of fireballs. The heat was intense enough Mirian felt like her skin had just been sunburned, even though the Monument was between them and all the energy had been directed forward towards the Akanans.

The problem was, Luspire wasn’t fighting just any group of arcanists. He was fighting the Akanan elite. As soon as he’d started channeling, they’d raised dozens of overlapping shields that shimmered with blue light. Though near the edge of the formation, two of the sorcerers were screaming from the fire that had pierced their shields, the rest of the company had weathered the attack.

Cearsia led the counter-attack, responding with a spell that created writhing force chains that spat out blue flames. They smashed into a prismatic shield Luspire had erected. Jei’s hasty shield shattered instantly, and she was sent flying headfirst into a wall. Mirian winced at the impact, and the unnatural angle that her neck was bent at.

Ferrandus and the assistants joined in, with Ferrandus unleashing magnetic pulses that crushed several soldiers in their own armor before he was put on the defensive by torrents of lightning pouring from the enemy sorcerers. As the Akanan sorcerers came at the wizard with different spells, it was all he could do to maintain his defensive shields.

“Shit!” Nicolus shouted over the fray. “What do we do?”

Fire continued to spill from Luspire, coming out in waves like a burning heartbeat. “Doesn’t matter,” Mirian said. “There’s no winning this.”

For all Luspire’s power, it wasn’t close. For every spell he unleashed, there were a dozen spellcasters to shield against it, and a dozen more to hammer him with their own. His prismatic shield was the only thing that prevented him from instantly dying; Ferrandus and the assistants died within seconds as blades of force and crackling lightning finished overwhelming them, smearing them into bloody paste across the ground. For a moment, the chamber crackled like a thundercloud; bright lightning, burning force chains, and pulses of flame ricocheted off shields, spread across the room like a grasping hand, and the ground shook.

Then it was over. Archmage Luspire’s shield cracked apart in a brilliant chromatic burst and he was smothered by fire and lightning. His charred body remained upright for a heartbeat, then fell to the floor, cracking apart like charcoal.

The spellcasting stopped, and Marshal Cearsia’s commanding voice called out, “Secure the area, bring down the explosives. Set them at each… hells, why does it keep moving? Just encircle the damn thing with them.”

“Marshal,” said one of her assistants, the brown haired one, the same one that had been staring at Mirian. “Shouldn’t we seize it? If we could turn it against Baracuel—”

“If I have to write you up for insubordination one more time, I’m just going to have you shot,” Cearsia told him. “Follow your orders.”

He looked at Mirian and her friends. “Very well. And what should we do with the students?”

The marshal turned and started walking away. “Put the animals out of their misery.”

The man looked at them, then looked to the soldiers nearby and nodded.

“What did he say?” Nicolus asked.

Mirian turned to her friends. “I’ll see you soon,” she said. She stepped forward so they’d kill her first, and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the force-blades as they entered her.