Some of their belongings were not so lucky, with Canere’s pack having been struck by a large chunk of ice that had fallen from the lip above, landing barely away from where he had lain. Crushed as it was, food and blankets and the like were probably retrievable, but some of his more valuable spellcasting item were almost certainly gone.

By the time they had dug themselves out from the snow, the light was failing, and while almost all of the items buried in the avalanche had been retrieved, a cold wind had picked up, whipping through the long valley of the mountains and scouring the slopes, the temperature plummeting with the fading light of day. It was clear that shelter was a necessity, for otherwise it would be dangerously cold. And one of the items to be broken was the rods that held the tent aloft.

Scouring the land surrounding the cliff, Ira led the search for a place that could hide them from the cold. Only after the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the cutting wind become into a scything knife, did she find an appropriate abode: a dark mouth buried against the face of rock, low and with an overhanging stone.

The deep cleft ran back into the mountain, turning as it did, narrow and dim, and the three squeezed into it, grumbling all the while.

“So now we don’t have a tent?” Yaden scowled as he peered at the opening of the cavern, almost hidden by the dim night.

“Actually, the tent cloth is fine. It’s the rods that hold it aloft that are broken. I’m not much of a hand with crafting things, but I’d suspect between us we can make replacement fitments with the daylight.” Much as it would have been helpful, Canere’s magical capabilities did not extend much into the realm of creating or fixing items.

“I can probably manage the matter, although the carven branches will be heavier than the light rods that came before.” Ira was eyeing the dagger that was strapped to her form. Not an ideal knife for whittling, but it would serve.

Yaden snorted. “In other words, just a delay. Which this blasted valley seems full of. How many days are we going to have to spend trudging back and forth across this? Our food isn’t going to last forever.”

At that, the arcanist’s face fell. “I wasn’t thinking of that, or else I’d have felled the winter beast. We could have frozen its meat and used it as food.”

“On second thought, maybe starvation is a better option. You’re suggesting we eat something like that? Uncertain magical beast meat?”

“There aren’t too many entirely natural creatures that can survive the cold and the lack of food this far north. There’s certainly some, but we’re on the very edge of their territory, I would suspect.”

“So random magical beast meat will sustain us. That’s lovely. I always wanted to explore new avenues in cuisine that involved possible poisons.”

“That’s okay Yaden, I’ll be more than happy to eat your share.” Ira grinned at the roustabout. “Too much meat might add muscles on your frame, anyway. You’d lose your waifish looks.”

A little glowing bee that buzzed around Ira’s head and kept settling on the tip of her nose was the answer she got. Annoyingly, any attempt to swat the creature did little more than send it skittering about again, until Canere and Yaden were both chuckling loudly at her antics.

Although when it dove down her shirt and began trying to tickle her there, the glare that she shoot Yaden was enough to make him end the spell.

Moods restored, the three of them hunkered down for the night.

“Really, Canere? You fired sparks at its butt?” Ira, by now, was laughing, her whole body shaking, even as she cleaned the sword using a handful of snow.

“I just wanted the beast to never think about coming back. Figured he could do with a little reminder.”

“The problem is, we now have to live with the smell of burnt fur. It’s putrid!” Yaden held his nose in mock disgust.

“Better that than the sound of that creature having a little nibble on your flesh.” Ira shook her head. “More seriously, you weren’t sure whether to come to my aid or not, were you?”

At Yaden’s acknowledgement, Ira nodded. “Thought so. As long as you’re more than about three feet away from me, you’re not going to interfere much with the sword strokes, although timing our attacks so they complement one another will take practice. And that light in the creature’s eyes was a nice little touch – kept it from being able to see my follow up strike.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got a few other bits and pieces of magic scattered around, but that’s about the best I can manage at short notice.”

Canere clapped him on the shoulder. “You and I can figure out how they can be used, while Ira goes and gets the rest of the wood for the fire. Sounds, right, doesn’t it, Ira?”

A glare was the only response that the arcanist got.

***

After another two days of struggling through the overly tight limbs and non-existent paths of the pine forest, the explorers decided that perhaps the best bet was to plot their course along the lowest slopes of the mountains that surrounded them, reasoning that although the pitch might be problematic, it would be less so than the heavy brush through which they already struggled.

Having accepted the logic as reasonable, the three then spent the next day fighting through that brush at a diagonal angle, until at last they broke free and could once more see the sun and sky above them, rather than the shadowed world of the pines. It was a relief, knowing that there was no longer anywhere near the impediment that there was before.

That night, they sheltered against the edge of the forest, the trees providing a reasonable windbreak against the howling winds that cut down the valley above their heads, rustling the tops of the pines and occasionally scattering drifts of snow down upon them.

Morning came, and brought with it a fierce sun and winds that made last night’s storm seem overly peaceful. So cold was the gusting air that the Hanians were forced to wrap their faces in thick layers of cloth, leaving but a tiny slit for their eyes to peer through. It cut their vision down to almost naught, seeing nothing more than a small patch directly in front of the, but it saved their flesh from the ravages of the northern climate.

Midday came, finding the heroes upon a wide and shallow rise, the lowest slopes of a white mountain, covered in the snow that cloaked the northern range. Above them, as they paused for a drink from the water bottles that lived tucked beneath their warm outerwear, came the distant sound of a crack, followed moments later by the distant sound of rumbling and roaring.

Ira glanced up the slope to their left, then cursed. As Yaden and Canere stared at her in confusion, she pointed to the distant cloud upon the mountain, one that grew closer with every passing moment. As realization dawned on the others, Ira set off sprinting, Canere and Yaden following within moments.

Ahead of them was a wound in the mountain, a cliff of black rock that jutted from the engulfing snow. Its sheer face and slightly inward curving face offered their best chance of protection from the onrushing snow.

It was towards this obstacle that they sprinted, with the mass of the snow tumbling down towards them now blotting out the peak from whence it came. The first shards of the snow were beginning to show as they dove into the protection of the overhang, hoping against hope that the snow did not bury them there.

Before them, the landscape flattened and opened wide, the peaks now scattered further apart, and a vast plain taking its place between them. But rather than the scrub that they had traversed before coming to this point, the ground was now splotched with snow, and a carpet of low pines covered much of the land, filling the terrain from the expanse before them almost to the horizon.

And it was on the horizon that the view grew even more desolate, for there, emerging from the wooded terrain, was a massive glacier, its white bulk reflecting light even at this great distance. It was to that glacier that Canere had surmised they must go, for supposedly it marked the rough destination of the skycity for which they searched.

“What do you think lives in that?” Ira looked over at Canere as she gestured over the fast expanse before them.

“I wish I knew. The books speak of creatures who cannot tolerate any warmth, who live only in the coldest and most barren of the northern climes, and it appears we are going to meet them soon.”

“You’re saying there’s monsters in those woods. And possible elemental beings too.” Yaden’s expression was unhappy, to say the least.

“Ice creatures, certainly. And the predators who feast on them. These northern wastes were poorly travelled even in the height of Hania’s glory, and with reason. They do not lend themselves to any productive use, except for the harvesting of those creatures, and perhaps some timber.”

“Either way, you think we need to get all the way to that glacier. Which means we might as well get started. At least down there, there’s going to be wood for a good fire or two.” Ira shouldered her heavy pack once more, and trotted off down the saddle, the others reluctantly following.

***

The first of those winter predators welcomed the visiting Hanians at twilight of the next day. Having spent the day fighting through the tightly packed branches of the pines, the three explorers were tired, and, having found a small clearing, decided to set up camp at the base of the knoll that occupied the opening amidst the trees.

As they spread out in search of wood, a roar sounded from the peak of the knoll, and atop it stood a massive furry thing, teeth drawn back in a feral grin.

Cursing the creature, Ira ripped her blade from its scabbard and charged it down. Whatever the dangers, she had always been taught to meet them with the full fury and anger that she could summon when in a fight. That burst of strength and headlong resistance could often overwhelm opponents before they knew what the true balance of the fight was.

As she closed with the creature, she swung hard, digging her sword into its gut, headless of any return strike. Rather than respond as she expected, the monster howled in pain, eyes flaring as it slid out of her range, the elegant dodge of her sweeping counter denoting intelligence behind the feral casing. Mouth opening wide, it bucked up high on its hind legs, breathing in deeply, the very air screeching as it disappeared into the cavernous chest. Thumping back down to the ground, the beast transferred all of that energy to its chest, explosively expelling the chill air in a wave of frozen ice and grasping tendrils of cold, bathing Ira in a deep and chill swarm, momentarily blinding her with the frozen tongue of air.

Reacting only a little less swiftly than Ira, Canere skirted to the side, moving so that Ira would not be affected by his impending magic. Satisfied that she was safe, the arcanist gestured, ending with the tossing back his of head. From his mouth came a great flame, bathing his foe in a roasting tongue of fire.

Yaden, for his part, flicked one of his little dancing spheres of light at the beast, hoping it would distract the creature. He then approached rather more cautiously, uncertain if his assistance would help Ira with the combat, or hinder her sweeping strokes.

The blast of cold was something Ira hadn’t quite expected, but it was something she was prepared to deal with. Ducking down, she let the cold mix with the heat of the fire from Canere, shedding some of the ice from her cloak. Grateful for the warmth, she waded in again, closing the distance to the creature and slashing it across the shoulder, leaving a ragged wound.

The icy monster howled in pain, shying away from Ira and then bursting up the slope, moving at a lightning pace to scramble away from a hunt gone wrong. Its paws tossed snow into the air as it speeds across the land, spray churning with each stride.

Seeing the creature now in full flight, Canere stretched his hands out towards the beast, letting fly a series of shooting sparks toward the beast’s retreating back, making it yip and pour on ever more speed.

And with that, the beast was gone, disappearing over the knoll and presumably never to return.

Pondering the question, Canere responded. “I think… most of those died when the skycities fell. Either from the fall itself, because they were on the skycity, or from the impact, because having a mountaintop crash into a valley from the sky above is going to eradicate most of the life on the ground. Plus, we were always the enchanting types. The Biyani are probably ones who had to deal with hordes of monsters rushing about. But they never really understood magic.”

Yaden stifled a laugh. There were a few civilizations under the old Arhosan Empire that had risen to their positions using magic, and of those, Biyan had almost certainly been the greatest rivals to the Hanians. Not in proximity, for neither was located particularly close to one another, but in proclivities and talents, most certainly. Tinges of that rivalry had come through in Canere’s statement, dismissing their long term foes in terms that any Hanian could understand.

“Aside from that prejudice you snuck in at the end there, I’d say you’re most likely correct. Hanians did always love their enchanted trinkets. Their continued existence has done wonders to ease the ongoing lives of our people.”

At the looks he got from both Ira and Canere, Yaden blushed slightly. “I did pay attention in school. And I’ve got eyes that work, as well.”

“Yes, they always slide attentively over the nearest girl.”

“Just without the courage to go talk to her.” Canere finished Ira’s thought.

Stung by their remarks, Yaden disappeared from his spot by the fire, slipping away to stand outside, looking into the star filled sky, partially hidden behind the arching mountains that lived to the north. He was never quite sure where his reputation had come from. Certainly, he’d earned parts of it, but it had ballooned into something beyond anything he’d done. Perhaps that was because in the dreary day to day life of Yn Dref, people needed something to gossip about, stories that would make them laugh and smile. And he’d become the object of those stories. Certainly, he’d had tales repeated back to him about his exploits that were patently untrue. Like the one about him stepping off the edge of Yn Dref and floating to the ground.

Not actually a particularly difficult task, that, provided one knew the right spell and could cast it a time or two. It was just that Yaden didn’t particularly possess much in the way of magical talent at all, aside from a few minor tricks he could pull. Which, while not a rarity amongst the Hanians, was at least unusual enough to be noted when both of his parents had been magically inclined.

As a result, he’d always had to be exceptional in others areas of life. Which was why his swordplay was good enough that only the best of the guards could defeat him, and even then they were only just managing it. If he was allowed to use the little flashes of light and other illusions that he could manage during one of those training bouts, he had little doubt he could overcome them.

From there, his maudlin thoughts turned inwards, twisting and twining about themselves until they resulted in nothing so much as a tangled web, one in which he was stuck.

Now sitting on a large stone, eyes focused on nothing out there in the world around him, Yaden didn’t hear the approach of Canere, who settled himself to the ground next to his friend.

“Yaden?”

No response.

“Yaden?” This time the question was followed with a little nudge, one that disturbed the flamboyant youth enough that he snapped out of the cycle of thoughts which he’d been stuck in.

“Canere? What is it?”

“Time for your watch to end, and for you to get some sleep. You’ve been thinking too hard tonight. Try not to do that, it’s not good for you.”

At that, a little of Yaden’s normal spirit came back. “This coming from the man who spends his entire life buried into books and doing nothing but thinking.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.” Canere accompanied the statement with a touch of a smirk, knowing how it sounded.

All the same, Yaden chuckled, touching his friend on the shoulder before heading inside to find his blankets next to the fire.

The days that followed that first step through the portal were tiring, but not especially noteworthy. Ira led the small group as it trudged up the wild but sparse terrain of a hidden valley, and then up the saddle between mountains and into another. Around them, the landscape was much as it had been when they set out, although without the giant shadow of Yn Dref floating overhead. There were tall peaks, edged about by lower hills and sheathed in a coat of purple and green, as heather and bracken were all that really grew in the higher alpine. Down on the valley floor, there were copses of trees and small running streams, some forming pools or even lakes, but little else.

Of animals there were some, although most were birds wheeling high overhead, safely out of range of any hunter’s arrow. Of those who dwelt on the ground there was little sight, for they were both small and timid, flitting away into the brush at the sound of an approaching footstep. But at night, the howls of wolves and the shriek of other, less pleasant, creatures could be heard. It was enough to keep one of the three awake at all times, despite the ever present fire, and for Canere to wish he had learned how to lay magical wards about his encampment. But in the safe streets of Yn Dref, what need had he ever had of such a thing?

Most prominent of all was the collapsed structures that lay hither and yon about the valleys through which they passed. Most were comprised of little more than fallen stone and timber and looked to be farmsteads, pastures, and other structures of the sort one would find today in the villages beneath Yn Dref. No doubt they had served the same purpose, feeding whichever Hanian skycity had floated overhead. But with no more cities to serve, the people had drifted away, or been killed once the magical protections of their betters had departed. Either way, it was a dreary thing to pass through the lost villages of Hania.

Not that that stopped them from using the structures as places to rest at night, for the protection offered by stone walls, even collapsed ones, far outstripped that of a few tree boles and a lit fire. And it served better to both disguise their fire, should such a thing prove necessary, and to retain the heat that its flames gave off.

Presently, the three explorers were safely tucked into the old greatroom of a farmhouse, four valleys and two weeks to the north of where they had set out. Around them, the land had been to change into the utter emptiness of the northern tundra, still full of mountains but with plant and animal life growing scarcer by the day.

“I must admit, of all the things I thought would be dangerous on this trip, boredom wasn’t the one I had in mind.” Yaden tossed a stone at the fire, making the wood crackle and snap. “You’re my best friends, and yet if I have to see nothing but your faces for the next week, I’ll fly into a murderous rage.”

Canere chuckled, accepting the jest for what it was. “Perhaps we should have brought a mirror, so you could see the one person you loved.”

The next stone bounced off the packed earth flooring by the mage’s chest.

Canere, for his part, had spent those two weeks discovering everything he could about Keleborn’s Arcanum and Adweyed. Which, in the end, wasn’t much. Aside from being able to confirm that the skycity had generally been one of the most northerly. And yet one of the warmest – apparently the mages who had originally carved Adweyed from living rock had magically sealed the climate, or otherwise heated it, so that life upon the floating citadel was more akin to the balmy tropics of the far south than the more normal whipping winds of Hania.

His more gallant and dashing friend had spent some of the time helping him, some of the time practicing his swordsmanship with Ira… and the rest of it attempting to woo the few other girls around their age in Yn Dref. Yaden knew where his priorities lay, although he had turned up to the day of leave remarkably well organized for someone who had supposedly spent the night before chasing around after a particular blonde.

As for Ira, well, she had done exactly what she said she would, convincing Vendol to lend her the supplies necessary for such a trip. They were less than she personally would have brought, but, had she had unlimited time and resources to prepare, there might still be something missing that she considered a nice addition. And, for all that both Vendol and the arcanists had been convinced by Canere’s impassioned arguments and logical conclusions, Yn Dref simply did not have much in the way of resources to spare.

But it had enough, and now a faint hope that one day, things might be better than they were before.

Of course, said faint hope rested on Canere and Yaden, who were jostling one another like little boys as Ira watched.

“I’m going to laugh when you can’t handle the step to the ground! You’ve never been able to resist, so what makes you think you can now?”

Canere glared at his friend. “Go first then, and stand your ground at the bottom.”

“And let you unburden yourself at me? Not a chance. These leathers are fine enough without your assistance.”

The young arcanist shook his head, then gave Yaden a shove towards the portal. Which led to a mock shoving match, the two of them somehow managing to strip away all the dignity of the moment.

Finally, Ira had had enough. “Canere, Yaden. We need to go if we want to get in a good day’s hike.” For it was the pre-dawn hour, that moment when the light glimmered behind the mountains, but the sun had not yet risen to spill golden warmth across the land.

It was remarkable how quickly the two men settled down, sombre expressions affixing themselves where only seconds before there had been smiles and glee. And with the seriousness came a nervous glimmer in each of their eyes. For the first time, they were to leave Yn Dref, leave the comfortable squalor of the crumbling city and step out into the great wide world. The thoughts of what that might entail rested ill at ease in their stomachs.

Acknowledging their seriousness but not their nerves, Ira threw a perfect salute to the guards of the portal. It was time the explorers were gone.

Looking only straight ahead, the tall and muscular guardian of Yn Dref strode through the portal.

“Look, I need you to come help me with the research. You’re the only other person who’s been willing to help.”

Yaden snorted. “That’s because everyone else has seen you do this kind of crazy thing for years and has figured out that helping you is a waste of their time. So no, I think you need to get one of the archivists to give you a hand. Or to work on it yourself. Me, I have better things to do than be stuck in a library.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Canere gazed at Yaden. “And what, pray tell, are those? Chasing women you can’t catch? Drinking yourself under the table on cheap whiskey? Gambling away what little money you can make for even smaller trinkets? Do tell me, I’ve always wondered what the famous roustabout of Yn Dref actually did in his free time.”

Met with a truly thunderous glare, Canere let his needling die off. There was always the chance of pushing Yaden too far, although his temper had been mostly in abeyance since childhood.

“Does it matter? It’s something I enjoy. If nothing else, I should at least be allowed to live my life so that it’s worth living, not always at the beck and call of everyone else in this damn skycity.”

It was at this point that Ira decided enough was enough. “Are you two arguing about Canere’s plan from yesterday? Why?”

After shooting daggers at one another, Canere and Yaden both stepped forward to explain. Which led to the two of them stumbling over one another’s words, and more angry looks.

Finally, after they had settled down for a moment, Yaden continued. “Canere thinks he’s found a reference that might prove to be helpful. But he needs to spend more time digging through the archives in order to expand on it. And he wants me to go along with him. I’ve already wasted one whole night and day on this fruitless quest, and we’ve chased vapours on the wind the whole time.”

At which, Canere began spluttering. “It was not vapours! It was a rigorous process of narrowing down the list of items that could conceivably have something of use. There has to be a reason why the arcanists of today aren’t as strong as those of yesteryear, and I am determined to find some source for it. Now I think I have. There’s a series of references to both a particular training manual, entitled Keleborn’s Arcanum, as well as an item, perhaps an artefact, that was used to initiate children into the ranks of the arcanists. I’ve never heard of either of those things before this research, and so there has to be something there. Clearly, we’ve lost part of what our ancestor Hanians did to train mages!”

Ira held up her hand, causing the rant to run out of steam. “Okay, fine. You appear to have found something. But according to Yaden, it’s not here. So… now what?”

A certain look came into Canere’s eyes, and he turned so he faced out from the skycity, looking off the edge and towards the rippling mountain peaks to the north. The breezes of the flying world ruffled his hair for a moment before he looked back to Ira and opened his mouth to speak.

“Oh no. No no no. I can see exactly where you’re going with this, and I’m not following you.”

Yaden appeared blank for a moment. “Wait… Canere, you want us to go out there? You think we need to go treasure hunting in another skycity. A fallen skycity. Why?”

“Because Keleborn’s Arcanum makes reference to a skycity called Adweyed. Repeatedly. It’s even mentioned that that’s where Keleborn, whoever he was, lived. It stands to reason that not only would Adweyed have copies of his works, but also the initiation artefacts that were once used.”

Pausing him there, Ira spoke. “You say that… but why don’t we have them here in Yn Dref?”

“I don’t know, and I can’t know until I finish my research in the archives, but wherever they are, they’re not used anymore. A quick study of the entrance records of the arcanist school here shows no such item being mentioned, at least for the last hundred years or so.” Canere turned to Yaden. “What I’m offering you is the chance to go on a grand adventure, one that could save Hania. After all your gazing over the edge of the world, are you really going to turn that down?”

“The thing about gazing over the edge of the world is that gazing is all it is. You’re asking me to leap off the edge of the world. And to read another host of dusty old tomes before I get to the exciting parts.”

“Well, yes. Even so, it would be a remarkable find. And would help you turn from someone who does magic at a brief sleight of hand to a true user of the gift.”

“Given all the work you have to do once that’s true? I might pass. But it’s intriguing. Let me think on it.”

Both of them then looked to Ira, who had been watching the interplay between Canere and Yaden with some amusement. “Let me guess, you want someone who knows which end of a weapon goes into the other man.”

“Excuse me, Ira, but I’m just as good with a blade as you are!” Yaden had drawn himself up to his entirely average height. Which still wasn’t enough to look down his nose at her. On the other hand, he was right. Yaden was almost certainly the only talented swordsman not in the Yn Dref guard.

“Okay, I’ll give you that. But you still need me, all the more so because I can requisition supplies and the like. Because I bet neither of you have any idea how to spend a night roughing it, let alone in that wasteland.”

The looks she got in response were rather sheepish. It was quite probable that neither of them had ever slept anywhere aside from Yn Dref, or perhaps a night or two down in one of the farm villages below.

“Right, so you need my expertise and supplies just as much as we’d need Canere’s intelligence to get through this. Given I know you two idiots are going to try and set off with or without me, mostly because Canere has a giant bee up his bonnet, I’ll come along. But only, and I do mean only, after we spend a great deal of time planning on how to make the journey as safe as it can be. Because otherwise, all three of us are going to end up as a morning snack to some great beast.”

The expressions of thanks that followed were effusive and heartfelt. Although they dried up quickly when she suggested that Yaden could best spend his time helping Canere in the archives. But with ill grace he acquiesced, and each went to contribute what they could to the final stages of planning and research.

What she did know, however, was that most animals hunted by scent, especially those who came in the night.

“Alright you lot, I want people spaced fifteen paces apart around the edge of this pasture. And once you’re there, cover yourself in some of the animal leavings. It’ll disguise you from the wolves. Or make them think you’re cattle.”

The response she got was as expected. Which meant a collection of stunned faces and shaking heads.

“Are you sure we have to do that?” One of the young lads asked.

“Quite sure. Otherwise the wolves won’t bother coming and we’ll have done all this for nothing. One thing I will say, though. Try and get it mostly on the armour, instead of cloth. Armour cleans off more easily.”

Armed with such a helpful piece of advice, the recruits fanned out into the field, all of them tossing glances back at their apparently slightly insane commander.

The gazes didn’t stop being incredulous when Ira finally unlimbered the monstrous contraption that hung across her back, and settled it onto a small stool that she had borrowed from the shepherd who normally kept watch over these fields.

Thus positioned, the machine was revealed as a heavily strengthened and massive crossbow. One that looked more than capable of putting a bolt through a stone wall, never mind flesh. And one that was so cumbersome it could barely be used.

Admittedly, both of those things were actually true. The arbalest had the power to punch through damn near any target, usually killing them on the first shot. On the other hand, it was a bitch to aim, needed a rest, and reloading it took a heavy duty crank and a lot of time. As a weapon, it was impractical at best. But it had the advantage of firing almost perfectly level, unlike more normal ranged weaponry, and even a glancing blow was usually more than enough to finish whatever was being shot at.

Underneath all that, Ira just thought using it was fun, of course.

What wasn’t fun was the waiting. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the chill of night began to seep into bones that weren’t moving, her mood grew short, and she snapped at those trainees that shifted about or called out to one another. Learning to hold a post was a crucial component of being a guard, but damn if it wasn’t a boring one.

And one that became more boring as the moon rose, a thin glimmer in the sky, partially blocked by the clouds. Perhaps the wolves weren’t going to come tonight, no matter their hunger. It should have been the right evening, since the pack apparently hunted every third day, but despite leaving a few choice cattle in the field, now currently mostly dozing placidly amongst the recruits, there had been no movement spotted from the verge of the forest.

The quiet of the night was split by a sound like a saw being drawn across stone. Which, after it repeated itself a few moments later, Ira identified as snoring. “Some bloody lout is getting a foot in his arse in a moment.”

Just as squad leader began to rise from her post behind the arbalest, her eyes, by now thoroughly accustomed to the gloom of night, caught a glimpse of movement amidst the trees, followed by the shine of light from two golden eyes.

“Of course the wolves arrive just as that fool starts snoring. Of course.”

The wolves padded forward, out of the trees, their forms grey shadows in the moonlight. Uncertain of whether her trainees had seen the oncoming creatures, but not wanting to startle them until they were within range of the spears and swords of the guards, Ira instead kicked the steer that had fallen asleep a pace from her.

The steer snorted, loudly, an edge of panic in its call, and then levered itself to its four hooves, clearly trying to figure out what had struck and woken it. The shattering bellow that followed moments later as the animal caught the scent of a predator did exactly what Ira hoped it would – spurred the wolves on to charge.

And charge they did, loping one after the other through the long grasses outside the fencing of the pasture, angling out into a long line that was clearly meant to encircle and trap the now panicked steer.

Unfortunately, it appeared her soldiers were equally panicked, either unable to see the creatures, or waking from a sleep they should never have entered, or just overcome by nervous energy. Thankfully, their shouting and fumbling did nothing to discourage the onrushing predators, although by the sounds of the matter, if her trainees met their opposite number at this precise moment, the Hanian half was going to come off the worst for wear.

So Ira sighted along the iron markings across the top of her creation, leading the first of the wolves by only half a pace, such was the speed of a bolt from the arbalest. Once certain of her shot, she pulled on the triggering lever, cursing as the recoil slammed the butt of the weapon into her shoulder.

But the shot had been good and true, and the wolf struck by it bowled over backwards in a spray of blood and fur, able to emit only a brief whimper as it tumbled through the air.

So sudden was the death that the other wolves didn’t notice, and continued their charge, the leaders beginning to leap over the fence and into the pasture with the cattle. Now, things quickly began to devolve into a fractured melee, as the trainees screamed, shouted, and hacked away at shapes moving in the night, some of them having nothing to do with the wolves, while the cattle bellowed in the background, and wolves slipped around and through the thin human line in search of more substantial prey.

Which turned out to be the steer whose startled awakening had been the beginning of the whole mess. Harassed by a predator nipping at its ankles, it spun first left and right, and then, bitten again hard on the buttocks, charged forward, hoping that speed could free it from the entanglements.

Before it could gather too much momentum, however, a large shape rose in front of it, causing the animal to spin away, panic filling its voice. But the large shape resolved itself into one of the trainees, able to catch the one of the trailing wolves with a sharp jab from a spear. It wasn’t a killing blow, but the stab caused the struck limb to collapse under it, sending the predator to the ground, where it was soon finished off.

All this time, Ira was attempting to shout orders, but in the noise and confusion, her voice could do little more than add to the matter, and so she waded in, leaving the arbalest where it lay and hoping it would survive the night undamaged. Now with her sword in hand, she tried to pick her moments carefully, swinging only at things that came within reach and she was sure were members of the pack.

Moments later, there came the consistent sound of yelping, and the sinuous shapes of the wolves could be seen breaking away, sprinting into the long grass and brush that verged the forest. They left behind two of their number, although from the glistening of the grass, perhaps another few had been wounded. Likely, the Hanians would never know, since the wolves would presumably move on to other prey for the time being.

Which led to much muttering about the quality of his handwriting. It was, in a word, shocking.

“If only I could use magic for something so basic. But I just can’t…”

As the next bell reminded him. Sighing to himself, Canere made his way to the remaining headquarters of the arcanists of Yn Dref, a rather forlorn building that sagged around the edges. Once, it had no doubt looked majestic, but with the colour faded and the architecture in dire need of repairs, there was little of that former grandeur left.

A nod from the apprentice sitting in the entrance way let Canere in, and a few turns later, he was heading down into the depths of the skycity, towards the mystical centre, the artefact that kept everything afloat.

The chamber in which the artefact rested was vast, hewn from the rock of this former mountaintop by the energies of his long ago forefathers. The artefact itself manifested visually as a sphere of unblemished crystal, rotating at a slow pace. Somehow, it was supposedly tied to the movements of the heavens, but no Hanian of recent days had ever been able to explain how or why.

Around the edges of the sphere were smaller lumps of unformed crystal, each sitting atop a little plinth. It was to one of those plinths that the young mage was supposed to go, for they allowed arcanists to channel their energy into the artefact, burning their personal force in return for keeping the skycity afloat.

Surprisingly, the chamber wasn’t empty, as it usually was at this time of day. Instead, another mage was standing over one of the plinths, face drawn in concentration as sweat beaded on her brow. As Canere was all too well aware, dumping the vast majority of one’s daily energy at a single go was a taxing affair, and so some amongst the Hanian arcanists preferred to visit multiple times a day, and so spare themselves the effort.

Canere, on the other hand, preferred to deal with it in one go. And knowing the strain it took, waited quietly at the entrance to the chamber until his compatriot shuddered, rising on unsteady legs from where she had sat before the plinth.

“Morning, Canere. Or rather, afternoon. I heard you were off on one of your jaunts through the archives again last night.”

There was nothing Canere could do but laugh. Raiztae always knew what was going on in Yn Dref. Always. She was known amongst the other mages as the queen of all gossip, and was rumoured to spend some of her magical energy eavesdropping on every petty conversation. Although Canere, like most people, just assumed that wasn’t true.

“The font of all knowledge, as always. Who told you this time?”

“That young lad who runs messages from the archives to the guild and back. Blonde hair, scrawny.”

“Doesn’t that describe half the children around here?”

“Birthmark under his left eye.”

“Oh, that one. I hope you gave him a trinket for his efforts.”

“I was able to sneak him a little something. You know me, I help where I can.”

Which was true, and the other reason no one ever really disliked Raiztae – she always had a kind word and a small token for the least fortunate in the skycity.

Canere gestured to acknowledge the comment. “So what’s the juiciest titbit you’ve got today? Aside from animals harassing the pastures. Ira beat you to that one.”

A frown swept across Raiztae’s features momentarily. “Blast, that was what I had. Hmm. There’s supposedly an affair or two going on with the senior mages, but that’s been wandering around for months now. Other than that it’s the doom and gloom about the coming weather that you’ve no doubt heard yourself.”

“Oh yes, the big storm that will rain thunder and hail down upon Yn Dref. We get those every year. Why should this be any different?”

She shrugged. “Because it gives people something to talk about. Look forward to in a way. Not much else of that, around here. You know I’d love to be able to research, but I’m not allowed to.”

With all the energy of the arcanists being needed to keep the skycity in the air, they had precious little effort to expend in other areas. Some of which might have helped resolve the current situation.

“You’re suggesting that Yn Dref is an anchor on our people.” Canere had heard this mentioned before, but mostly obliquely.

He was met with a sigh. “We use all our talents keeping a rotting hulk flying. Why not move the rest of the people to the ground and let the skycity fall into an empty valley? That way, we could at least use our talents to help the rest of Hania more directly. Today, the best I can do is give away the spare bits and pieces I don’t need. Maybe then I could actually make a difference.”

Canere could understand the sentiment. “That’s why I spend so much time in the archives. There has to be something in there that can help, but I’ve not found it yet. Maybe I never will. But I think I’ve hit on a new idea.”

“You always do have one of those.” Raiztae chuckled. “But if you don’t mind, I need to rest after feeding the demon.”

The young mage swept a shallow bow to Raiztae as she departed, then went to do his part for keeping the skycity afloat.

While the gateway might be a vast artefact, it still drew magical energy from the surroundings. Magic that would otherwise be used to help keep the skycity afloat. Thus it was that anyone seeking to travel from Yn Dref to the ground below needed to get approved for the travel, although there was enough leeway in the process that only those truly unnecessary trips tended to be withheld.

A quick command set her squad of eight into two ragged lines, their armour pitted with age, and their weapons likewise. Given that the worst they should find today was a band of wolves, that would not pose much of a problem.

“I know some of you haven’t spent much time on the ground, but it isn’t much different from here in Yn Dref. And all the people we’ll see are Hanians, so you’re among friends. First things first – I know it’ll be different, but never stare. That’s as rude as can be. Secondly, we’re going into the outlands, on the very edge of the settlement and maybe beyond. You won’t know how to deal with terrain like that, unless you were born down there, so make sure to follow what I say exactly, and to keep others in sight at all times. Now, any questions before we go down?”

The blacksmith’s lad raised his hand, which drew an acknowledgement from Ira.

“What is that… thing you’re carrying?”

A genuine chuckle escaped before Ira remembered she was supposed to be stern.

“It’s a crossbow, of sorts, I’ve been building and designing myself.”

“But it’s over six feet long!”

“If you’re lucky, you’ll get to see me use it when we go down. Now form up!”

Obediently, the trainees shifted formation as Ira trotted forward to the guards, who gestured her through with a quick wave. Her students jogged through behind her.

“This is going to be a little disorienting, so when you step through, try not to vomit on anyone.” Which Ira had done, and at great amusement to the rest of the squad, since she’d covered her squad leader right after stepping through the portal. Not one of her finest moments as a member of the Yn Dref guards.

Standing tall, she strode through the portal at a fast trot, taking clear to be several steps clear before the first of the trainees was dumped out onto the ground below. And then collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath, as the aftereffects of the trip caught her. The best description of it she’d ever heard was that it felt like being kicked in the balls while all the air was sucked from her lungs. Now, she didn’t know exactly what that was like, but given how many of the male soldiers had agreed with it, it must be pretty close to true.

It was certainly unpleasant, and within moments there were trainees scattered about, retching or nearly so as they felt the impact of the transition. Only one of the women stayed standing, although the grimace on her face said that it was more an act of willpower than anything else.

After several long breaths steadied her, Ira rose to her feet and looked over the motley and somewhat vomit spattered group. “On your feet, the one thing I’m sure of is the creatures we’ve come to visit aren’t going to hang around and wait for you to recover. And make sure to clean one another off, you all smell enough already.”

Once the squad had composed themselves properly, Ira led them off at a trot. Might as well take them on a tour of the village before nightfall, when the real work would begin.

Across from him, Canere was still awake, although with bags under his eyes. And sitting to either side of him was two stacks, one much taller than the other. As Yaden watched, the pamphlet in Canere’s hand was dropped onto the shorter of the two stacks.

“Canere, what time is it?”

The first answer he got was a yawn, followed by a stretch.

“Canere?”

“I think that was the dawn bell, although I’m not sure. I lost track a while ago. It’s the downside of being tucked into these archives.”

“The dawn bell? I said I was going to be finished at the midnight bell! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was too busy studying. You’ve known me how long and you thought I’d remember what time of day it was when I found something interesting?”

Yaden sighed. That comment was, sadly, entirely true. Canere had never been able to devote anything less than his full and undivided attention to something he found interesting. Hence why he was so suited for the life of an arcanist.

“Fine, fair point. But what do we do now?”

“Well, I have to go to classes soon.” The young mage paused. “Blast. No, I don’t. I have to teach the children’s classes. That’s much worse than I thought. You sure you don’t want to cover for me, Yaden? I’m sure you could cope…”

“I just spent a night helping you on your newest crazy idea and now you want to drag me into that? Not a chance. Me, I’m going in search of a good breakfast, and then a bed. It will at least keep up my reputation as the last roustabout of Yn Dref, provided no one knows why I was up all night long. If you want to rope someone into help you, I suggest Ira. She’s going to be fresh this morning.”

Canere snorted. “I prefer my legs unbroken, thank you. Her denials can be rather… vigorous sometimes.”

Laughing, Yaden waved goodbye to his friend as the two departed the archives.

***

Ira, for her part, was in fact engaged in something vigorous at the precise moment of Canere’s comment. And in much the same vein as he had meant it.

“No, you dolt. You don’t try and block like that, you step to the side. It’s much easier and doesn’t risk your weapon being broken. You really should have learned that by now, I’ve shown you enough times.”

The trouble of it was, the lad that Ira was instructing as part of guardsmen training was making the block work. He was the second son of one of the few remaining blacksmiths, and much like his kin, was the size of a small stone tower. And about as rugged. Which meant that if he wanted to block a strike and got his training blade in the way, the strike was going to be blocked, whether it should have been or not.

And no amount of shouting, cajoling, instructing, or other techniques had been able to get the trainee to adjust what he was doing. Yes, it worked, but it wasted energy and meant that the lad would eventually run up against someone with enough skill to take advantage of the hole.

That was the theory, at least, although in Ira’s experience, the only enemy the guards ever defended against was the wild and sometimes starving predators that roamed the peaks of the Ogleddol expanse, and against those creatures, brawn counted for far more than almost anything else.

There hadn’t been an actual invasion of Hania since the collapse of the skycities. Why should there be? If someone wanted the fabled magical artefacts of the Hanians, they could easily find a fallen skycity and plunder it, rather than invade the lands of the last working one. And no doubt that had been done, although the truly inhospitable terrain and hidden valleys that had proven so useful to the Hanians in the past were no doubt still serving to keep most treasure seekers away.

Frustrated with everything, but perhaps herself most of all, Ira waved off the few trainees, sending them to get some food and water. Trainees… There were eight of them, six boys and two girls, and that was the entirety of this year’s guardsmen class. And four of them would be useless in a fight. No courage, no willingness to take a hit, and no hint of skill with a blade.

Sitting as she was, she could only hear the approaching footsteps.

“Another rough day, Ira?”

A glance up showed her Vendol, Senior Guardsman and what passed for the leader of the ragtag Hanian fighting force.

“Even in the year I joined, some of these would have been turned away.”

“Aye, I know. But we make do with what the gods have chosen to give us, not what we wish we could have. I could wish for the serried ranks of the Dark Havoc to rise once more, but that elite corps is consigned to the pages of history. And so we take gutter orphans and make them soldiers.”

“How? I always thought I was good at training, until I met this lot. The blacksmith’s boy will be the best of them, but that’s his father’s gifts, not mine. Several of the rest will be functional, and the bottom few little more than animal feed. Three of them against a single of the winter wolves would probably see them all killed. And when the news of that filters back, it will come to rest on my head.”

Vendol clasped her shoulder, turning Ira to face him. “No one else’s death is on your head unless you run them through. I’ve done my best over the years with the guards, but that doesn’t mean no one has died. If someone’s standing livestock duty alone, and an ice bear charges him down, unless he’s got Fasnachu’s own luck, he’s dead. Doesn’t matter if it’s you, me, or anyone else. Not one of us can manage an ice bear solo. And you’re selling yourself and the students short. They’ll turn out to be better than you think in the long run, and you’ll be the one who put them there. So smile and bear up, because the gods know we need every living soul who can.”

That drew a slightly pained grin from Ira, but a grin it was. “Fair enough, Ven. And while you’re here and in a good mood, do you mind if I take the kids down below? There’s been reports of some wolves harassing the outlying livestock pen, and I’d like to check it out.”

“Just remember to issue them real armour. Having any crippled this early on would set back the whole class.”

Ira nodded. “I understand. Was planning on bringing my homemade bow as a just in case.”

Vendol sighed. “That monstrosity? Fine. But if you break your back carrying that thing through the brush, it’s all on you.”

“Always is, chief.” Sketching a rather jaunty salute, Ira trotted off towards her home.

Ira waved a hand at the Hanians that flocked around them. “Are you sure you don’t want to help these people, Yaden? There’s little reason not to.”

Yaden sighed. For once, the boisterous nature was gone. “Ira, I’ve nothing of what they truly need.” He flicked his hand into the air, and a light shower of sparks came from it, twinkling as they extinguished themselves in the night air. “You’ve witnessed something near to the extent of my powers right there. And what we stand on is the floating remains of a mountain top, ripped from the ground and upended by magics that we can barely comprehend. The gulf between my meagre talents and the arcanists of the golden era of Hania is so vast as to swallow all the valleys that feed us and then some. To save our people, we need gifted who can cross that gulf. Instead, the very best we have exhaust themselves daily just trying to keep what remains flying. And they’re failing. The old Market District is somewhere down below, now. As are the original barracks, some of the Temple Quarter, and who knows what else that fell before I was old enough to understand. The entire might of our existing arcanists is not enough to keep one skycity in the air, and yet in the history books, we learn of a time when there were dozens, if not a hundred or more, floating above the vast canyons of Ogleddol. So no, it’s not that I won’t, it’s that I can’t.”

Canere, ever the scholar, began to muse. “But why has our talent level fallen so far? We’ve the same bloodline as the arcanists who came before. Indeed, most of the upper families remaining can trace their heritage back to the greatest of the great, and are more intermingled than any twisted vine. So that’s the same. The world around us has changed, for sure. The old empire of Arhosa is no more, but Hanian society was long somewhat separate on our skycities in the first place. The Enayinbo magicians who helped forge Arhosa were our equals, not our betters.” He paused. “I’m going to the archives. The answer has to be in there somewhere.”

The other two groaned. They had seen what happened when Canere got caught in the throes of an idea, and it would mean him spending hours upon hours digging through whatever had caught his fancy. And then dragging the two of them into it.

“Tomorrow, Canere. Despite being the one who wasn’t a fool on the edge of the world today, I’m tired. Maybe that’s because I was doing actual work. So, before you have your mad moment, I’m leaving and going to bed. Yaden, I suggest you do the same.” Ira departed, shaking her head at the ideas that would sometimes sprout in that mage’s mind.

“Yaden, I kept you safe today. The least you can do is give me a little bit of a hand with the research.”

“Canere, I’m going to say yes, even though I’ll regret it within moments. I’ll help until the midnight bell, but then I’m off to the comforts of my bed, such as they are.”

With that, the two of them set off in the direction of the arcanist archives.

***

It had taken some begging and other whining to have the librarians allow the two of them access, but after being persuaded it was a historical topic, they relented. The librarians, mages themselves, had seen too many young fools hoping to find the secret to the lost power of Hania somewhere in the stacks. Usually followed by said young fool attempting to cast one of the spells he had found and killing himself and possibly others.

And yet it was precisely to those shelves that Canere first went. Although he did send Yaden off to collect a host of histories from around the golden age until the present. As a fully trained arcanist, albeit one quite far down the pecking order due to youth, Canere did technically have access to the shelves in the back, although his instructors had rather pointedly not mentioned them to him. He’d had to discover their existence for himself, as well as what they contained. But his studies in the dusty corners of the archives had given him some of the insights that allowed him to become the arcanist he was today. Which, on the whole, was not saying a great deal.

Yaden returned to find his friend nose deep in a scroll, peering at oddly scribed words. “I’ve got the mess of documents that you wanted. Now what?”

Canere poked his nose over the scroll. “Start reading.”

“I need to know what I’m reading for…”

“Something that’s not the same as it is today.”

“Canere, that’s everything. Aside from the fact we still, barely, live on a skycity.”

The young mage paused, marshalling his thoughts. “Okay, here. Look for things that aren’t done the same way as today. Especially magical things. Something’s changed between their day and ours, and I want to find it. Our connection to magical energy isn’t as strong as it once was, and it’s not the bloodlines that’s causing it. So somewhere in those documents should be at least a hint of what’s causing it. Habits, behaviour, something’s changed that brought about Hania’s downfall. And it has to be wide enough to affect a whole civilization.”

“And if there isn’t?”

“It’s either in your documents or mine, so start reading. Hemming and hawing isn’t going to get through them any faster.”

Shaking his head at his friend’s surety, Yaden began to pour through the stack of old books in front of him.

The city of Yn Dref floats among the clouds of the Ogleddol Mountains, the great expanse that spans the north-eastern region of Arhosa, inhospitable to almost all life. Peaks permanently covered in snow and ice rise from the mists that wreath their noble shoulders, and even the birds do not frequent these icy slopes, preferring warmer and softer climes.

But there is life here. Small creatures dash across the snowy covering, sleeping away the winter and reviving in the summer to eat of what little food they can find. And then there are the secret valleys, nestled between the forbidding peaks, full of cold and hard earth, barely fertile. These valleys are the lifeblood of the Hanian people, for, scattered and weak, they farm amongst the rocky mountains, providing the grains that feed their floating cities.

There is little of life here, up atop the crown of the world, and it is life that gets smaller every year, for the people of Hania breed slowly, and die at a faster pace. Once great mages who travelled the lands in their flying cities, they are now reduced to little more than maintainers of the past, holding on to the remains of what once was theirs. Their libraries are full of old texts on manipulation and modification, on making a stone as light as the air or a feather weigh the same as a boulder. Yet almost none of the mages living can manage those spells, and the shrinking brotherhood watches as their flying home crumbles into the mountains below.

***

“You might want to consider stepping away from the ledge, given how much of the city has fallen in recent years.” Canere stared over at Yaden, his lifelong friend. And a bit of a fool, in Canere’s eyes.

“But if I do that, I can’t see what’s below me. And it’s such a view.”

Indeed, it was, for although Yn Dref was failing, its perch high above the ground gave it a view of the world that naught but the birds had ever possessed. Well, the birds and once the entire Hanian civilization. Now most of the people who claimed that heritage worked down in the valleys below, harvesting grain and managing what livestock there was. In decades past, those hands would have wrought spells, summoned food with a flick of the wrist, but now they were the lowest of peasants, unable to do anything but grub in the dirt.

“Yaden, I don’t want to have to explain to your parents why you’re nothing more than a red coating on some rocks. Even if it is a lovely shade of red.”

“Fine, fine.” Yaden slipped back from where he had lain, peering over the edge. “But I still think you’re being overly cautious.”

“To you, being cautious is being overly concerned.”

Yaden shrugged. “Well, what else is there to live for? The glory of our people? We all know that’s long gone. A beautiful wife? Most of the people around here look more weathered than the stone. Good cheer? We eat gruel and stew, and pray to Challineb we have a harvest each year. So I take what pleasure where I can.”

“You could spend your talents bettering the situation, working on restoring Hanian and Yn Dref.”

Yaden snorted. “That’s why you became a mage, and I didn’t. I don’t have the scales over my eyes.”

Canere pointed at the implements that hung from Yaden’s belt. “You might not claim to be a mage, but you still have some talents in that direction. Talents that could help this city and its people.”

“Talents that I am perfectly happy using for my own amusements, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh? Is that why you use them trying to entice Ira?”

For once, Yaden had the good grace to blush. “I do nothing of the sort, I merely acquire presents for her when the moment seems right.”

“Presents for whom?” Ira laughed as she ducked around a fallen pillar, her reddish blonde hair drifting in the breeze.

“According to Yaden, anyone but you. You’re just too hideous to give anything but a mask.” Canere was already ducking the punch coming his way as he said it.

Although he ducked the wrong way, since he was expecting it from Yaden, and instead got smacked by Ira.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Best be careful what sharpness comes out of your mouth then.”

Canere rolled his eyes at Ira, causing her and Yaden to burst into fits of laughter.

“On a better note, I’ve been sent to summon you lot to dinner. Not that the magister will be entirely happy, if he finds out you were up to your old tricks of hanging off the lip again.”

“I counselled against it, as I always do.”

“Canere, you’ve been counselling against it since Yaden was five, ad you’ve never stopped him once. At this point, that just makes you as complicit as him.”

Yaden smirked. “You see, Canere? You should be doing the things I do, rather than just standing around and watching. At least you’d have earned getting in trouble then.”

Ira glared at Yaden, who grinned and sauntered off in the direction of dinner. Staring over the edge of the world did give him a frightful appetite, after all.

Somewhat uncertain of what had just passed between them, Yenque was entirely willing to leave such introspection to a later date, and in the very process of rising swung his electrically charged flail in a sweeping uppercut, the spiked ball crashing into the chin of his dazed opponent, shattering it in a shower of sparks, and no doubt snapping the neck that held such a foul mind in place.

The spray of sparks did as it often did, leaping to another foe, setting the poor creature on fire, the javelin that was held cocked in its hand falling away unused as the electricity leapt through its system, frying what little senses remained to one as depraved as it was.

The noise of the strike caused one of the helfarchs to spin about, glancing backwards to see what had caused it. Between it and Yenque stood only one or two more foul creatures, the rest otherwise occupied or dead. Seeing that the attack had in all likelihood failed, and that the commander was most certainly deceased, it barked a short order to the other helfarch, and leapt over the battlements, landing with a solid thud on all four bony limbs but otherwise unharmed.

Within moments there was a general exodus for the ladders, the attackers fleeing as best they could manage, the second helfarch outdistancing them all with its leap.

***

Ngaphasi watched as the helfarchs leapt off the battlements, their large forms visible even at such distance. His forces had crept to within spear range of the southern gate once the fearsome warrior had sprinted away, taking some half of the forces with him. But enough had remained as to put doubt into Ngaphasi’s mind, and so he had waited, waited for a clear sign the battle was turning in the raiders’ favour.

Given that the next signal he had spotted was the flight of some of his forces strongest troops, he knew to what end the battle had gone.

Turning to his goblin troops, he gave the orders they had all been waiting for. “Mark yourselves like you’ve been in battle. We’re going home.”

And with that, the only unit that could have forced the capitulation of Cynlyaa and its determined Warleader turned tail and fled.

The End

A jerk on the flail freed it, no doubt in part because of the creature’s surprise at its fight ending strike doing nothing of the sort. This time, when Yenque came in with both flails, he was more circumspect in how he did so, and the creature took a bash across one arm, but only glancingly so.

With the helfarchs fighting shoulder to shoulder at the other end of the embattled area, his men were having a great deal of difficulty in creating any form of headway. If it wasn’t for the tight confines of the area, he’d have had no doubt that the helfarchs would have pushed his men back, despite their training. Those bloody abominations were bred warriors, skilled at combat in ways that it took humans decades of training to master, and they were showing it. As Yenque fought, he saw one of his men disembowelled, the intestines then cut through by a sweep from the second blade and flicked forward to create a spot of uncertain footing right in front of the helfarchs.

If I don’t break through and smash them from behind, we’re dead and gone. And the fact that Iaprem hasn’t charged over here with that claymore of his means he’s doing his damndest just to keep the north gate closed. So, all on me. Joy.

Sending both flails arcing in on overhand tracks, Yenque watched as the creature did exactly the right thing to defend against that, namely, step into the blows and come across with a strike at Yenque’s face. What the creature hadn’t anticipated was the arrival of Yenque’s booted foot in its midriff, knocking the wind from its lungs. At that moment, it was dead. The following strike that sent it tumbling over the crenellations to fall outside the wall was entirely preordained.

As another of his men was sent tumbling by the helfarchs, Yenque bashed aside the next creature to stand in his way. This one had better luck than the previous, and with a raking blow had left bloody grooves where a gap in the armour did not protect him. The next did even better, the thunder club that it wielded so large and heavy as to be almost unstoppable when swung first. Certainly, with flails, which were a poor defensive weapon at the best of times, Yenque could do nothing aside from attempt to dodge as the massive head swept in from his right.

The dodge was partially successful, in as much as he was hit by the upper part of the shaft rather than the head square, but such was the force of the blow that he was driven fully across the walkway and slammed into the crenellations, leaving bruises and likely worse up and down both sides of his ribcage. It also stopped all the momentum that had gone into the flails, and they hung limply, the one still furiously blinking and howling from its enchantment.

In the end, it was likely that enchantment that saved Yenque’s life, for the following blow was a slightly misaimed overhead from the thunder club, this smashing into the ground and splitting the stone of the walkway as Yenque dived out from under the heavy strike. Thankfully, the thunder club was, if anything, an even worse defensive weapon than the pair of flails, and so now that it was safely out of the picture and lodged into the stonework of the battlements, it was possible for a hefty kick followed by a circling mace head to dispose of the foe wielding it, sending the rather startled orc over the battlements and to the courtyard below.

Whether the foe had died was rather immaterial, for at that moment Yenque found himself facing down the imperious leader of the raiders, the tall muscular creature bending slightly at the waist and spreading his claws in response to the opportunity presented. Accepting the challenge, Yenque swept the flails into motion, their heads spinning back and forth in front of him, their whirling heads too dangerous for his foe to challenge directly.

At which point, his foe grinned, stood tall, and flicked something concealed in a claw at Yenque. Whatever the small object was, it took Yenque directly in the chest and exploded in a spray of red mist, coating him in a foul, nauseating, substance that had him all but on his knees in moments.

When next he was able to see, he looked up to find the creature standing above him, a gloating smile on its face, claws raised to end the engagement almost before it had started.

I have failed. Both myself and my people. I guess I really well end up as a goblin turd. What a noble end that is going to be.

Indeed, his battle was so dull that he had affected a pose of complete disinterest, and taken to napping leaning up against one of the crenellations. Because if he wasn’t going to be involved in the fighting, he certainly wasn’t going to miss a good night’s sleep in the bargain as well. Which meant he was snoring quite loudly when one of his soldiers gave him a shake hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground, his armour clattering upon the stone.

“What is it?!” Yenque leapt to his feet, looking at the messenger.

“That.” A pointing finger picked out the helfarchs slamming into the back of soldiers already hard pressed by an assault over the walls.

“Half of you stay here. The other half, WITH ME!” Grabbing his flails from where they were hooked into his belt, Yenque sprinted along the battlements, calling up what magics remained to his weapons.

By no means as impressive as those within the great blade of the Warleader, his own flails were still highly useful weapons upon the field of battle. One, when he got a good clean blow in, would spit a field of sparks across those nearby. Sometimes including himself, if he wasn’t careful. The other blinked and flashed in a pattern entirely random and incredibly frequent. Mixed with the occasional noises the weapon would make, which were of deafening volume, it was an amazing distraction on the field of battle to those who had never experienced it before.

Sadly, it was something that applied to his own soldiers just as much as any other, and he was charging in to the rescue of men who could barely be called soldiers. Certainly, he wouldn’t do so. But they fought and died for their country and their friends, and at the moment that was all that mattered.

When Yenque and the charge from the southern gate finally arrived on the scene, more than half of the recruits who had held his portion of the wall were down, and in their place stood a motley assortment of vicious humanoid raiders. The leader of the mob appeared to be an overly muscled and slightly elongated creature, possessed of claws on both hands. It gave off an aura of inherent command, gesturing hither and yon at the orcs and others of its race that surrounded it. Even the helfarchs seemed to obey, now that they had broken through to the assault coming over the walls.

With a section of the walls in possession of the raiders, there could be seen others of their kind climbing over the battlements and into the fight, although the rate was not that great. Clearly, the commander of the raiders had not yet realized the success of his attack, or if he had, was having trouble marshalling his troops and sending them to the right location.

Taking no more than a moment for a breather, Yenque charged along the narrow stone battlements. Wide enough for two normal soldiers, with his flails Yenque took up a space much greater than the average man-at-arms, and so had directed those following him to charge down the stairs and attempt to come at the besiegers from the other end of the conquered territory, albeit with a few giving him support.

While those whom he had ordered set off, Yenque activated the beacon in his flail, letting the light and sound play across his foes. So bright and rapid was the light that the world seemed to resolve itself into a series of frozen images, each one at some remove from the last. In reality, that was merely a trick of the mind, and Yenque was able to send his maces spiralling inwards, one coming across high, the other low, and smiling to himself as the brightly flashing one distracted his first opponent, a scrawny, spear-wielding orc with a snaggletooth, from the second, which burst into glowing electrical life when it crunch into the hip of his foe.

The spray of sparks set the creature immediately behind the orc on fire, the hide armour it wore catching alight. Rather than slow his assault, Yenque brought the weapons around again, stepping over the crumbled corpse of his foe and launching into another blistering assault, the first strike of which sent the flaming orc stumbling to the side, his foot coming down on nothing but air and tumbling off the walkway to the ground beneath, where he was quickly stabbed to death by a spear thrust from one of the Cynlyaa soldiers.

The next opponent to come within range of his flails was one of the taller, muscular creatures, the type of which he did not recognize. And yet, since one of them was directing matters, they were clearly amongst the leaders of this band of rabble. Curious. Perhaps they feel the need to fight only when absolutely forced to do so.

What scant amount of reserves had been able to him were already in the line of battle, doing their utmost to keep the ring about the gate’s mouth closed. It was a ring that was all but broken, however, the numbers on the small keep overtop of the gate having mostly been overwhelmed, now fighting back to back against assailants from both the walls outside and the steps in. Granted, the attackers were being forced in the same perilous manner, their backs exposed to assault from further along the wall, but at the moment the greater physical abilities and natural ferocity of the humanoid raiders was doing the greater damage.

But it was to the next of the helfarchs that Iaprem’s attention was drawn, for the creature spared no time in slamming into the back of him as he was shouting the last of his orders. Immediately after the bulk of the creature struck him, he felt the thin trickle of blood, as one of its bladed hands sliced into a vulnerable gap in the armour, leaving his off arm much weakened and bleeding. There was also the foul stench of its breath as its teeth closed upon that same arm, but his armour being of a much higher quality than his poor subordinate saved him, and they found little purchase on the metal skin.

Swinging wildly, the sword overly heavy in but one hand, Iaprem spun about, blade flashing, but it was an attack well anticipated by the helfarch, and the large creature leapt backwards, settling easy onto its four limbs as it looked down upon its now wounded prey. Iaprem circled to his left for a moment, regaining feeling in his left arm and placing it once more upon the grip of his sword, the tip held out towards the helfarch in a challenge. The beast snorted, doing nothing more than looking with stern derision upon its smaller, weaker, foe.

Which drew quite a smile from Iaprem. A smile followed a mere second later by a great burst of flame, leaping from the tip of his sword in a solid line towards his surprised enemy, all too unable to manoeuvre its great bulk out of the way. The liquid fire splattered against the helfarch, engulfing the creature in a blaze which rivalled that from the massive bonfire at the back of the courtyard.

What followed was the screams of the helfarch, piercing, loud, and altogether unsettling, leading even Iaprem to step back in sudden horror as the flesh of the creature began to melt under the magical assault, slow drips sizzling and falling to the ground, there to smoke and fill the air with a putrid stench.

Shuddering despite having seen that effect of his sword in times past, Iaprem turned aside, looking to find the next of the helfarchs, but the last pairing had placed themselves in spots barely reachable, both visibly chewing upon limbs dangling from their mouths, one having been sliced clean, another torn free by the action of the jaws. Neither was unmarked, but the Cynlyaa soldiers around them were already the merest moments from flight, and did so as Iaprem watched, leaving a gaping hole in the left edge of the line.

Rather than seek to turn the line, as Iaprem expected them to do, they both cantered away, heading for a spot on the walls equidistant from both of the gates. And when his eyes were able to see past the blaze of heat and smoke from the twin bonfires in the courtyard, Iaprem could see the soldiers on the battlements there already struggling with their attackers, the helfarchs from inside the wall, and some humanoids from without.

The fresh recruits were doing far better than expected, in as much as they as yet held their posts and fought with intelligence, but with the northern gate as pressed as it was, there was little he could do aside from hold the entrance, and pray Yenque was able to assist.

All that changed when the helfarchs entered the fray. There were four of them, the latter pair having been hidden behind the former when first Iaprem had spotted them, and they entered battle with a howling charge, thundering through the gate four abreast and slamming into the line. Three bowled over their targets immediately, the fourth being unable to do so, its arm hanging limp and bloody from the javelin that had pierced it through. The wound made the creature all the more vicious, however, and it bit down on the armour of the nearest soldier, sawing back and forth with its teeth as it sought to drive them through the old padded cloth and leather. Within moments, the teeth found their purchase, and the deadly bite could be seen to go to work, blood pumping from the wound and into the helfarch’s mouth, its tongue visible as it lapped at the viscous fluid.

Unable to stand the sight, Iaprem leapt at the foul beast, only to find his attack blocked by the bony blades of another of the creatures. This one smiled down upon him with all the menace its bulk and hideous visage could provide, slavering jaws gnashing at his head in a lightning fast strike. Only a sudden shift to the side saved Iaprem’s face from an intimate encounter of a kind he most certainly did not want, and even then he could feel the hot breath upon his cheek.

Lashing his blade upwards, he sought to have the flaming claymore cut through the extended next of his foe, but the helfarch was more than ready for the attack, and kicked the Warleader in the thigh as his strike began. It was a thudding, bludgeoning blow, made somewhat awkwardly, but with enough strength behind it to send Iaprem stumbling backwards, all the strength fleeing from his strike.

His weapon waved in one hand for a moment, doing little more than vaguely attempting to keep the helfarch away, before he was able to set his feet beneath him once more. This time, the helfarch came on with arms spread wide, the blades extending from its hands held low and to the side. On a normal creature, this would be all but inviting a thrust down the middle, but against one with such a vicious bite and sturdy kicks, it merely meant the creature was expanding the options available to it.

Rather than take the invitation so offered, Iaprem waited, letting the helfarch make the first move. Normally, with a weapon as large and as cumbersome as a claymore, that would be a foolish thing to do, but he was no mere soldier in his first year under arms. He was the Warleader of Cynlyaa, and that title had to do with a great deal more than just administrative duties.

A lunge from the left hand of the helfarch was batted away, while a thrust from the right was countered by stepping inside the arc of the blade. This left him perilously close to the distended lower jaw, which took its moment to lance outwards. Only to be meet in a thunderous collision by the heavy steel ball that formed the counterweight upon the hilt of his weapon. The resounding blow sent a crack rippling out over the battlefield, and even those who were engaged in desperate struggles turned their heads to see what could have caused such a fearsome noise.

For the helfarch itself, it reared back, its jaw shattered, its front legs and arms all flailing into the space that Iaprem occupied. But these attacks were the disorganized actions of a stunned and wounded beast, and he was able to slip beyond their reach with ease, his claymore up and in the ready position so that as the beast landed back on the ground, weight now firmly on its front legs, he was able to sweep his weapon across in a great swing, the magically sharpened edge slicing through first one of the limbs and then the other, leaving flame-blackened flesh around the edges. The smoking ruins of the limbs fell to the ground, as did the sickened and stunned face of the helfarch, now flopping about on its side, unable to understand what had happened to it.

What followed was merely an execution, for although the helfarch would no doubt eventually die of the blood pumping from the severed stumps where its limbs had once rested, it was still possessed of those fearsome jaws and edge bone blades, and thus a danger to any man who came near to it. Thus, when Iaprem severed the head of the mortally wounded creature, he felt no remorse about having to do so. Battlefield necessity trumped all else.

That all changed as the moon swept out from behind the clouds that had obscured it, bathing the scene below in a dim and dusky light, barely enough for those of a human persuasion to navigate by. Certainly not enough for them to fight, or to see projectiles fly out of the night. But fly they did, in the barest number, but enough of an indication that the raiders assault was underway. And a sign to Iaprem that, no matter how ferocious the beasts that made up their shock troops, the forces of the raiders were little more than undisciplined rabble. Most certainly not soldiers.

He stood, waiting, as did the elite soldiers he had been able to cobble together from the various units, in the courtyard behind the gate, assuming that the main thrust would break the rotted would in short order. Of course, such a positioning meant that he was unable to see the first phases of the battle, and so it was only the shouts of the men on the battlements, and the whoosh of their slings and javelins, that told him the raiders had approached the gates themselves.

Soon there came the sounds of strain and then thumps, some wet and some not, the audible signals of stones being levered over the crenellations and onto those creatures below. But even as the first wave of impacts drifted away into the night, there came the heavy thud of something striking the gate, no doubt driven by arms more than human. Indeed, the way the gate groaned from but the second of the strikes suggested that whatever was wielding the battering ram was a great deal stronger than a human, or that the gates were weaker than anticipated.

As it was, it took a mere four strikes for the gates to fall open, their rotted wood snapped backwards over the barricade of stones that had buttressed their lower half. And to the top of that buttress leapt the attackers, gnolls, goblins, orcs, and all other manner of humanoid detritus. But most frightening of all were those creatures only just putting aside the logs they had wielded as battering rams: helfarchs. Several times the size of an adult human, they were quadrupedal in nature and possessed of a vicious lower jaw, while bone blades extended from the hands of the helfarch, replacing the last two fingers. Muscles rippled under the scaly skin, the arms attached lower upon the torso, while their feet were little more than bone stumps. If they were able to get past him and amongst his men, almost nothing would stop their rampage.

Knowing that the outcome of the battle rested upon the his ability to break through and rout the helfarchs, Iaprem leapt forward, his claymore sweeping from left to right in a simple attack at waist height. And as it did so, it burst into dazzling, stunning, light, fire roaring along the length of the blade and searing through the flesh of those unfortunates who had made themselves the front line of the humanoid charge. They fell to the side, mewling in pain, what fur they possessed releasing a foul stench as it slowly burnt away.

Behind him, the bonfire blazed into glorious light, and all along the ramparts torches that had lain dormant gave forth a warm and welcome glow, illuminating all the battlements and courtyard with light to see by. The attackers growled in frustration, their eyes forced to suddenly adjust to the blazing light they faced.

Despite the impressive actions of his first strike, around him there was no reluctance from the raiders to press forward, and although they generally attempted to stay out of his range, they had no qualms crashing into the front rank of his men, some even leaping straight onto the crumbling rock walls of the castle and climbing to get at the slingers and archers who made up the guards upon the top of the gate.

A bellow from below was able to warn those of their approaching danger, but soon they were hard pressed, apparently beset not only by climbers from this end of the gate, but also from without. Whatever happened there, though, was going to be beyond his powers to affect, for Iaprem soon found himself pressed in close about, his great sword proving somewhat less than effective when forced into a fighting line by the discipline of the soldiers behind him and the constant assaults of the raiders.

Flails, spears, swords, and all manner of weapons crashed into his men, most to be deflected away by shields, armour, or upturned arm, but there were always some that got through, and staggering away from the fighting line could be seen the wounded, heading towards the blaze at the back of the courtyard where stood those few men who were able to be spared and who had some knowledge of herbs and the like. Amongst those, of course, was Dregnon, although his eyes were often turned upwards, watching the boys in the tower above, waiting for the signal that the other gate had been assaulted. As of yet, the signal had not yet flowered, and the battle was merely being fought on the one front.

There was a murmur from another corner of the room. “What happens if we replace the soldiers on the gate we’re not expecting to be attacked with twice the number of recruits? It’ll look stronger, even if it isn’t.”

That comment left Iaprem pondering matters for a moment. Finally, he sat up straight and began to speak. “Well, first off, why wouldn’t they come through the gates? Can we really defend them heavily enough to force the raiders to head over the walls? Especially in the poor shape they’re in at the moment?”

It was Dregnon who answered, appropriate since he had been the one in charge of maintenance and the like on the old palace. “Sadly, a decent battering will send the wood flying. They look impressive, but at least some of the support structure is rotten or falling apart, and we don’t have the tools to repair them. I’ve got peasants doing their best to just block up the entrances with rubble, but depending on how fast they attack, it’ll provide little more than a minor barrier.”

“How long do you need to get the rubble high enough the gates can’t be opened?”

“Until sunset, at least. Maybe longer.” Dregnon began counting on his fingers, a habit he had picked up from his father, rest his soul. “More like the witching hour, sadly.”

Iaprem turned his eyes across the whole of the group that sat before him. “I need information on the enemy. How likely are they to attack at night?”

One of the lieutenants piped up from the back of the room. He was a young fellow, but already scarred by life, as was everyone in the room. Cheeks thin and almost sunken, with a burn mark scorched down one arm. “If you’re asking how many of them can see at night, sadly the answer seems to be most. The humans with them can’t, but that’s honestly a small minority.  I’d say two thirds of their forces could hit us tonight.”

“Then that’s what they’re going to do. Swarm us once the evening sun has gone down. That means we’re going to have to defend furiously at that point, and have plenty of torches at the ready. I’m sure there’s enough dry timber in this rotten hulk of a fortress to provide thousands of those. Make sure to set up bonfires that can’t be easily scattered at the most important points, especially in the courtyards.  And see if we can set up any kind of obstacles that will channel them towards the narrow points.”

“I’ll work on that, and see if I can get people to safety in the old storerooms below the palace. There’s enough room down there to hide the elderly and the children, at least.” Dregnon departed, his threadbare robes of office flapping behind him.

“And you and I best get to the walls, watch our enemy. And the men will need a symbol too.” Yenque was smiling as he said this, envisioning the great battle that was to come. Much as he had long ago tried to shed his desires for glory, there was something inherently noble in the last stand against a foe greater than oneself. Perhaps there was a little bit of the fabled order of the Knights Paladin in his soul after all.

His commander, however, showed no such higher ideals. “Get rocks and sling stones up on the walls. We’re going to have to kill as many of them before they hit the walls and we’re actually vulnerable. I’m guessing they didn’t bring much in the way of archery?”

“Not that we saw, sir.” It was the same lieutenant as before.

“Good, that gives us something in the way of an advantage, but there’s only so much we can rely on.” Iaprem rose, dismissing the others with a wave of his hand. “If you need me, I’ll be in the armoury, wedging myself into that old metal casket. And then I’ll see you on the walls.” At last, he permitted himself a small smile, one that echoed around the room as much as possible, although in most cases it was little more than a grim rictus, a spectre of the death that waited for them all this night.

***

The afternoon and twilight hours, busy though they were, did little to either tire or calm Iaprem, so electric were his nerves. His body shook and twitched, little spasms running along one limb to another, the thrill of the upcoming battle overcoming his normally stoic demeanour.

As the last of the sun’s light swept over the old palace of Cynlyaa, its Warleader let his eyes roam across the preparations. They had managed to stack a five foot high pile of rubble against the base of the gate at this end of the old palace, but only three feet at the other, and were hoping that this was the point of concentration. To that end, he had reinforced the gate guards upon the southern entrance with twice their number in recruits, a show of force that Iaprem hoped would drive the enemy commander, whomever he might be, into charging straight at this gate in a simple frontal assault.

About him on the wall lay plenty of debris and old timber, to be used for levering those crumbled stones down onto the attackers below. Likewise, most of the men who were talented with slings were gathered here, in the hopes his ruse worked. If he could force the enemy to fight in the narrow confines of the gate house, with his blade to the forefront they should be able to hold the raiders at bay. It was a faint hope, but a hope nevertheless.

Of course, his enemy would be able to see far better than he, or his soldiers, and they almost certainly had characteristics that he had not foreseen. Indeed, even one petty hedge mage could turn the course of the battle with a few cheap glamours. But there was nothing for it, and so he waited at his post above the gate, a statue riddled with nervous energy, twitching and shaking back and forth.

***

At the other end of the palace, Yenque was going through a similar series of feelings, although in his case, the energy was not nerves, but the feeling of a higher calling sweeping over him. Here he was, no doubt at the end of days, preparing to defend the last citadel of civilization against the dreadful assaults of a barbarian horde. In his mind, he knew that more often than not, civilization had indeed fallen to the barbarians. His very people’s history was based upon that fact, for they had once been a horde sweeping out of the plains to conquer those around them. But in his heart, he knew that he was on the side of right, and thus there had to be a god from up above looking down upon him.

The feeling that knowledge gave him inspired his weapon arms, letting them flow fast and free as he warmed them, spinning through the training forms in a lazy yet skilful way that drew the eyes not only of the soldiers standing beside him on the battlements, but also that force that had gathered amongst the ruins outside of the south gate. Their leader, a petty chieftain called Ngaphasi, watched as the fading sunlight sparkled off this warrior atop the battlements, and felt his courage, his surety, drain away.

Before, whenever he had raided these people, they had offered him their goods almost at the first hint of a threat, and taking them captive had been so easy even his children had done so. But now they appeared determined, ready, and armed in greater numbers than he had ever seen before. He was unsure where they had discovered such numbers of trained soldiers, but discovered them they clearly had.

While Ngaphasi was no coward, and was prepared to go through with the attacks, those of his tribe around him were less solid of heart, and he could see those on the fringes slipping away into the night, no doubt to mark themselves with wounds and the detritus of battle, and wander into the main camp as the night turned to dawn, claiming to have been fighting, while they had done no such thing.

He turned and cursed at them, telling them to hold, to wait, and such was their fear of him, and of the wrath that he could bring down upon him, almost all held their ground, although their feet stamped about and they shifted with quick, furtive, actions, always wondering if they could indeed slip away.

But perhaps, he mused, it would be better if I waited until the other attack was well joined before I commit my tribe to the attack. After all, we are merely the surety for the great force attacking the north gate. Those thoughts safely ensconced within his head, Ngaphasi settled down to wait, and watch the battle unfold.