By the time Bernt finished his tea, Ed returned with Kustov and a few Underkeeper Guards in tow. Ed had intercepted the messenger returning from the army on his way back. After hearing Fiora’s report on the situation on the surface, he filled them in.

“They started attacking on the front line before Arice even made his move. Nothing too unusual so far down here, they’re just testing our defenses, but the general put his assault on hold for the time being. The timing is suspicious, and the fact that they’re pushing on the surface is too. The strikes suggest that they’re making a move. Losing the alchemical reserve is more of a long-term problem, and one that’s going to cause real morale issues the longer this goes.”

Fiora groaned and rubbed at her face. “I hate this. We don’t know a damned thing and we’re expected to just sit here and wait for the enemy to spill in? What kind of strategy is that? And where is the militia? Shouldn’t the count have mobilized some more bodies for us by now?”

Ed grunted. “He did, just not for us. We’re the only part of the city that can’t be bombarded, and we have the army between us and the enemy. They’ll be working to clear rubble, run salvage and dig for survivors up on the surface.”

That and the Undercity was meant to be an early warning system, buffer zone, and slum. It was far too nice to be considered the latter, but Bernt supposed the count hadn’t actually seen it for himself. He wouldn’t want to expend too many resources protecting it. Its – and therefore the Underkeepers’ – purpose was to slow the enemy down long enough for the military and the guilds to respond, not to get tax-paying citizens killed.

Bernt rose and nodded to the others. “I’m going to try to catch a bit of sleep.” They were stuck waiting for the moment. If the duergar started blowing things up in the Undercity in a few hours, at least he wouldn’t be tired.

***

Iriala stalked furiously into the castle’s secondary meeting room. Some traitorous asshole had decided to show up and throw a bomb at her building. The culprit blew herself up in the process as well, which was unfortunate, even if it was no less than she deserved.

It hadn’t been an incendiary, like the alchemical device that Radast had shown her. No, it was some kind of enchanted ward-breaker. A concussion bomb, essentially a powerful force spell locked into a rune of holding that was carved onto a simple rock. The rock was loaded into an enchanted metal shell designed to bypass specific kinds of wards and rune circles, which would also trigger the device. The thing had actually made it past one layer of the Guild’s wards. That alone suggested far more familiarity with their defenses than Iriala was comfortable with. The worst of the explosion was stopped by the building’s carefully warded walls, but it had still blown out their windows.

And now, instead of fixing this mess, scrying enemy movements, and focusing on the city’s magical defenses, she’d been summoned to a meeting. Iriala loved intrigue and politics as a general rule, but there were times where she could understand Ed’s scornful attitude all too well.

“Nice of you to join us.” Theresa, the head of the local Alchemists’ Guild, said with a self-important smirk. The room was filled with the city’s most important people – guild representatives, military, clergy, and a few noble relatives of the count. A few tittered.

Iriala scowled. Gods above, these idiots were still playing at court politics while fire rained down on the wards. At this rate, she was going to have an aneurism before the night was done. But she controlled her expression and bowed to the count.

“Count Narald, please excuse my late arrival. I stopped to check on the wards.” That wasn’t true, of course – it was just an unsubtle reminder that was where she should be right now.

Narald nodded to her and waved her toward the empty seat behind him and to his left – the one reserved for her as the court mage.

“Not to worry, archmage. This will only take a moment.” he turned to his left, where a uniformed soldier stood at attention. “Young man, if you please.”

The soldier saluted. “My lord! The general wishes to report that the enemy has moved to pressure our forces directly from below, concentrated on our center as though they intend to break through. It is the general’s belief, though, that they may have also pulled some troops back from the front lines below to bolster their presence on the surface. He therefore wishes to inform the count that an attack on the city may be imminent.”

Iriala rolled her eyes. They were attacking now. What was the point of this?

“We can see that.” Ambrose, the head of the local Adventurers’ Guild called out. Bless his heart. “Why don’t we go fight them? I’m not built for all this hiding behind walls.”

Narald waved the large man to silence and gazed around the room until the murmurs of the assembly began to die down. The man had a presence of sorts, even if his talent for governance was only middling. He knew how to control a room.

“Our scouts, as well as the scryers posted here at the palace, have seen no evidence to suggest that the troops the general is referring to ever appeared here on the surface.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Iriala frowned and began quickly casting her own scrying spells, channeled through her glasses to give her a view of the earthen ramparts outside the city. The man was right, at least at a glance. There were siege engines and a few small groups of mages cooperatively slinging powerful spells at the city, but there were no more people there than the day before. No massed ground troops, nothing to suggest that they were serious about getting into the city. Except either they or some of the demon-worshipping cultists that Radast had discovered had made it inside and were making a mess of the city already.

“Well,” Ambrose grumbled, looking around, his eyes finally settling on Iriala. “They didn’t disappear, right? Where did they go?”

“Yes, yes.” Iriala sighed, drawing on the influence of her second augmentation to cast a divination spell. She needed a glimpse into the future, if she could get one. “I’m already on it.”

"I want the City Guard to run checks at all the inner gates to intercept any other infiltrators. Other than that, Righmond, you're to hold the walls, and watch for external threats. Report any signs of incoming assaults directly to Archmage Iriala." Narald ordered, glaring at the corpulent man to quell any signs of protest. "The guilds will support the Guard in the defense of the city in the event of an attack. My court mage will coordinate our forces and facilitate communication throughout the city. Branchmaster Ambrose will take charge in the field."

Iriala sighed. Of course.

***

Bernt tossed and turned on the hard ground, trying to find a comfortable position. There were several others in the room, but they all seemed to be fast asleep. He’d even tried an earth shaping cantrip to get the ground to conform to his body more comfortably. It was still pretty uncomfortable. The growing frustration of failing to fall asleep didn’t help.

Giving up on rest, he made his way out into the corridor to hunt for an empty chamber. Several others were occupied with sleeping figures, more than there had been in the entire compound when he’d first arrived. All three shifts of guards must have been brought in now, with just one shift out on patrol while the others slept. Ed had kept recruiting after their move down into the Undercity, and last that he’d heard, they now had over a hundred members, though many of those were inexperienced recruits. It was an enormous change from the tiny order of disgraced mages that many people still thought of them as.

After checking four rooms, Bernt finally found one that was probably meant to become a small office for someone in the future – that or a toilet, but there was no drain or anything that looked like it would connect to the septic system.

Focusing, Bernt raised his left hand and cast an earth shaping cantrip. The spell came much more easily now than it had a few weeks before. As Kustov had promised, he’d gotten much better at using earth magic lately, even if his spells were weaker due to his unusual second investiture. Carefully, he raised a portion of the stone floor up and flattened it into a seat. He didn’t bother with making a real chair – he’d managed it twice now, but it took hours to get it right each time. The stone block was reasonably smooth and about knee-high. It would do fine.

Sitting down on it. Bernt concentrated on his right arm. If they were going to be fighting soon, he needed to be able to cast his banefire properly and at full strength. It manifested when he cast it through the new investiture, but it was white rather than gray. He seriously doubted that it would affect demons in the same way as the original, if it worked at all.

He’d managed to cast his torch spell correctly a few times now – if he understood it right, then the exact same process should work for bypassing most of the sorcerous investiture’s effects for all of his spells. It still activated the specific channels that he used, but those were left mostly as noise in the spellform. That was an inefficiency, but having the investiture also strengthened his spells in general – so it should balance out. In the future, he would have to learn to route his mana precisely to take advantage of the bits of the investiture he wanted to include, but that was something for the future. Right now, he couldn’t even reliably cast with this rudimentary kind of control. He needed to practice.

***

Bernt watched a bolt of white fire erupt from his hand and canceled the spell before it could impact the opposite wall. Another failure. It wasn’t all bad, though. He’d managed three successful castings, and he thought he was starting to get a better sense for his manifested channels. Like any other part of his body, it didn’t feel like a specific shape, it was just there. This wasn’t about visualizing the spellform, or not just that. It was an organic thing, in a way. He needed to be able to feel and “flex” all the various “limbs” of the investiture, for lack of a better analogy. When he wanted to grab something, he didn’t think about precisely where each finger was located on his body, or what exact shape his arm should take. He just did it. It was an entirely different approach to mana manipulation – one that didn’t really consider the mana involved at all.

It was a frustrating realization, because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to master his new abilities quickly. On the other hand, though, it was a relief. He was, in a sense, like a baby learning to move its arms and legs, so that it could later learn to walk, run, and jump. While it took time, it was something he could learn through sheer practice, given time and effort.

Bernt was about to try it again when he sensed Jori approaching from down the hall. He thought she’d spent most of the evening in the breakroom, though he hadn’t really been paying attention. A moment later, she scampered through the doorless entrance of the room.

“Radast is here,” she said without preamble. “The other warlocks, too.”

That was odd. With the Solicitor’s Office damaged, it made sense that the warlocks would look for somewhere else to hang their hats for a while, but why come down here? They were a semi-private organization, one that mostly made their gold working with other guilds, nobles and prominent individuals. They would have much more comfortable options on the surface. At least Josie would be relieved.

“What are they doing here?”

To his surprise, Jori had an answer. “Josie says they are here to assist the defense. The Great Mage sent him a message, and the Great One Radast sent his pacted shade to watch the enemy. They’re coming!”

Even as she said it, a bell started to ring with urgency.