Book 4, Chapter 50: Ozymandias

The Ketzillian army waited on the other side of a large meadow. Gentle slope down to meet them, flat field, flat longer and then a slight, ever so slight upslope where their commanders waited. Pine and poplar and cedar trees surrounded the field, making it technically a large meadow, and little black specks were even now landing on the trees encircling it. Looking closer, they were ravens. Crows. Thousands and thousands of corvids, just sitting on the branches. They weren’t cawing. I got the distinct impression they were watching me. Waiting. Like before, at the Barclay battle. Damn birds, I wish they’d just tell me what they wanted. I almost lost control at the last battle because of them.

A coldness rose up my spine and I shivered. I didn’t think I’d be able to restrain the energy this time. Not sure I wanted to.

“Are you chilly, Princess?”

“I just . . . nothing, it’s fine. General Brundle?”

“It seems like a standard arrangement. Phalanx in the middle. Cavalry on the sides, peltasts beyond them. Wait. They’ve got chariots. That’s why they’ve chosen these fields. They’re going to cause us problems. Our phalanx won’t be able to stop them.”

I saw them now. Four armored horses to each, metal wheels, blades horizontally straight on each wheel. Like our war rhinos, one driver and two archers or javelin throwers. Probably spears as back-up weapons. Infantry could not stop these easily, they’d get trampled, cut up, or speared. Twenty lines, five chariots deep, in between their phalanx. Hence, they’d chosen a battlefield as flat as possible.

It didn’t bother me in the least. Chariots were outdated by the time Alexander marched his sarissa around the Old World, so these were outdated against my army. I knew what to do because I remembered how the Macedonians beat – easily – Darius’ once feared chariots. I merely had to tell my general.

“Send a runner to Gun. Have our phalanx open up as the chariots charge and let them pass through our ranks. We’ll position crossbow regiments behind each centuriad, single file. As the chariots come through, they’re targets.” The problem with chariots is that they cannot turn sharply. Alexander exploited this to great benefit and so would we.

Brundle looked at me for a bit, then smiled and turned to a runner. He was more detailed, of course, actually knowing war, unlike me. Gun’s phalanx were to take a wider, spread-out formation, to give them room to bunch up. Crossbowmen were to wait until the chariots had passed and to shoot at an angle, to not endanger our own soldiers if their bolts missed. And they weren’t placed single file. Little details that mattered, that weren’t covered in documentaries.

When the general returned, he said, “They’re relying on the chariots to do most of the work for them. See how they position heavy cavalry behind their lines? Light cavalry on either side of their phalanx. If the chariots break our lines, their heavy cavalry will follow through to smash the remainder of our phalanx. If the crossbow regiments are effective, that’s a mistake on their part, as their heavy cavalry will be unable to field properly. And our heavy cavalry will make short work of their light ones. We’ll send the rhinos straight into their cavalry on the opposite flank to their mages, Rand can clean up after them, then break up their phalanx.”

“Ah, I see. What about Maitlan’s cavalry?”

“We’ll position them behind Gun. They can cover the crossbow regiments, take care of any charioteers who remain after going through our phalanx. I’m not quite sure how to use Morry’s troops, but we’ll see how the battle develops.”

“They do have a lot of soldiers.”

“Yes, my lady. Over 110 000 by my estimate.”

“What if they surround Gun?”

“That’s when we send in the Companion Cavalry. Our weakest flank is our left, where Treleal’s cavalry is. They don’t have the new weapons, so it’ll be a standstill there.”

“Maybe mix it up? Put half of Rand’s cavalry there, half of Treleal’s on the right?”

Morry said from behind me, “Not a good idea, Princess. They haven’t trained together yet. We don’t want to risk confusion.”

“Right.”

“If the battle goes well, we’ll send you in, Morry, to help Treleal.”

“Understood.”

“I hope it goes well.”

“Trust the weapons, my lady. They’ve already proved themselves.”

“And you, Brundle. I trust you, too.”

“My lady.”

Their mages were on our left flank, near their soldiers. Ours were opposite them, but up atop a nearby hill. As ours began their strange dance, so too did theirs and the air shimmered around each mage group, then much more briefly between our two armies.

A lone peltast from their side cast a stone. Sure enough, its movement abruptly stopped against an invisible wall. That guy just saved both sides thousands of arrows. I hope someone smacked the back of his head for acting out of turn.

None of the mages exploded, lightning didn’t fall upon either group, nor fire, yet they danced, shook, moved their hands and, it might have been my imagination, I thought I saw them drawing polygons with their fingers, in the air.

Brundle then set out positioning our troops. Phalanx in the middle, crossbows behind them in a triangle, point toward us. Each side was a long ride through hell for the chariots, Maitlan’s cavalry behind these lines as opportunists, to fill in where the young earl thought our forces needed help. Skirmishers and peltasts to either side of the phalanx, archers behind those, and Treleal’s cavalry to the more dangerous left flank, where the enemy mages were. Rand’s to the right, war rhinos to his right. Had to keep the big guns away from their bigger ones. Morry’s Companions in reserve, Morry standing with us until we decided where to best use them, holding the reins of his horse, and Cloud and Brundle’s slightly behind him, hanging out, neighing a bit, head shaking, the odd lip smacking, a stableboy holding their reins.

“We’ll send the reserve ranged to back up Treleal.” He meant the snipers, with their wonderful mage-killing arrows.

“Brilliant.”

Despite our additional forces from the former Barclay soldiers, the Ketzillian force was larger than ours, almost by half. We easily beat the large Barclay force, though, and the Ketzillian weaponry was no better, so I was cautiously optimistic. Ok, I was exuberantly optimistic. We were going to crush them.

Brundle had matched our forces against theirs. Except their light cavalry was to their sides. Unless it was some kind of trap, they were confident their chariots could break our phalanx, their heavy cavalry ready right behind to mop up. Meanwhile, their light cavalry would form a vise, moving in from the sides, while their ranged cavalry held off our infantry’s support.

It was a good plan on their part. A solid plan. Against last year’s army.

Gun lined up his phalanx across the field, marched within a hundred yards or so, halting there. Maitlan’s horsemen back a bit, kind of in the middle. Horses stamping their feet, some pooping. I laughed. Yeah, it was natural. Horses just didn’t seem to get the severity of it all. Or, you know, maybe they did.

Gun’s phalanx started jeering at the enemy. Some pulled down their pants, mooned them.

“They didn’t do that against the Barclay forces.”

“Probably nervous then. It was the first time we fielded the new weaponry.”

“Ah. Well, it’s quite a display.”

From behind me, “Princess, if that’s what you want to see . . .”

“You know what, Morry? You survive this, and you’re welcome to drop your pants in front of me.”

“Huh. Those are words I never imagined you’d speak.”

“And if I win this bet, I get a foot massage.”

“Princess, if you win this bet, I . . . won’t be around to give you a foot massage.”

I turned to him, patted his arm and smiled, “Well, you’d better win this bet, then.”

“Even if I do, I feel like I’ve somehow gotten the short end of the stick here.”

“Oh?”

“A foot massage is better than baring one’s bottom, surely.”

“You want to remake our bet then?”

“Princess Cayce!” Brundle shouted, “Right flank, near the rhinos!”

From our right, their left flank, perhaps a hundred yards past our rhinos, a group of robed figures emerged from the tree line. They didn’t walk far before doing a strange, arrhythmic dance we were all too familiar with. The air began to shimmer there.

“Shit! A second set of mages! Will ours hold?”

Just then, their army started to march. Sure enough, their ranks opened and horses, muscles throbbing, dust flying, pulling the chariots toward us. One man on the reins, three men behind him, firing arrows in each one. Blades spinning from the center their wheels, a blur, death to anyone who got too near.

A massive bolt of lightning fell from the sky toward our mages. It scattered above them, outlining a dome unseeable by our eyes. A few of our mages staggered, then resumed their movements. No mages exploded, it appeared our wizards held their own, so far. Perhaps it was the distance? It was greater between the sets of mages than the other battles I’d seen. I didn’t know, but hoped against hope they’d hold. Or it would be the end of us. And waited and waited for our snipers to get close enough.

“I trust you gentlemen are wearing your necklaces.”

Brundle reached up to grab his, perhaps unconsciously, Morry said, “Of course.”

On the battlefield, our ranks opened up straight lines, their chariots could do nothing but race ahead, throwing javelins and loosing arrows point blank into our centuriads. A few men fell. Many more were protected by their shields and armor. Javelins and arrows deflected, missed, pierced, and then the chariots were through, and our crossbow barrage slammed into them.

Unlike the arrows they loosed at us, crossbow bolts tore into their armor, their bodies, making short work of them. Some chariots immediately crashed and stopped, their horses hit, becoming obstacles that other chariots ran into or stopped in front of, making for easy targets. Others raced, directionless, across the field, horses panicking. On our side, lightning dropped into them, the poor animals exploding. Our mages must have free reign here and must have considered those chariots too dangerous to let run wild. I felt bad for the horses.

Our troops closed up, pounding on their shields and jeering at the enemy’s losses. The Ketzillian line began to march forward, their spears just over half the size of our sarissa, looking pathetic and vulnerable, came down and our lines slammed into theirs.

Their heavy cavalry, those behind the frontlines, became the anvil that Gun hammered their troops against. Their phalanx couldn’t retreat with their own comrades formed up so close behind them, and their spears weren’t long enough to touch ours. It was like erosion, little by little they fell as our troops marched forward.

Treleal’s conventional cavalry was having a harder go of it. They met the enemy in the old manner, lining up to thrust spears at each other. Yet, they were outnumbered badly and could not make headway.

“Damn, Brundle, Treleal’s getting pushed back. Those snipers can’t get close enough.”

“Looks like Maitlan sees that, too, and is going to shore them up.”

The chariots no more a bother, broken and dead on the plains, Maitlan had his lance wielding, stirrup using knights charge the Ketzillian light cavalry. Though his force was but 3000 men, they crashed through the enemy line, smashing men off their horses, spears tossed aside, and rode through them.

Treleal’s men cheered, raced in to join the onslaught and give the enemy no quarry.

A large lump of rock came crashing down near our mages, sending grass and earth flying away, but somehow missed hitting anyone.

“I sure hope he can push them back. Maybe, maybe it’s time to send in the Companions?”

“We are ready,” said the big man.

“Not just yet. No, it looks like Maitlan’s force is turning the tide. And the mages are holding. It’s Rand I’m worried about now.”

On the right flank, their peltasts were loosing stones at ours, both sides’ skirmishers putting up shield walls to protect them. Rand sent his heavy, lance wielding cavalry to barrel into their skirmishers, scattering their ranks as they raced here and there to flee the onslaught.

As the enemy light cavalry galloped to intercept, it divided. Some fifteen thousand rode toward our skirmishers, and Rand’s light ranged cavalry formed up in their way, firing arrows at them. Yet the Ketzillian cavalry forces outnumbered ours by nearly double, and our ranged horsemen could not contain them.

Their larger numbers caught Rand’s heavy cavalry, encircling them and the front lines broke into a messy, pitched melee, lances becoming useless and our cavalry resorting to spears and greatswords. Meanwhile, some of Rand’s light cavalry raced away, trying to reform, while others got caught in the trap and were put on defense, switching their bows for swords.

To Rand’s right, the war rhinos charged straight into the enemy positions behind the cavalry melee, scattering the remnants of the peltasts and skirmishers and crashing through any cavalry that attempted to oppose them. It was obscene. The enemy soldiers barely slowed the massive beasts, and their ranks began to unravel from their left flank. Forget Alexander’s war elephants. Rhinos! Nothing could stop them.

“Morry,” Brundle started, “you’d better go and help out Rand. Their numbers, they’ve got him bogged down. Hit to the left of Rand there, the opposite side of the rhinos.”

Before Morry could answer, a light above our mages beamed through their shimmering shields, to the ground, but they didn’t react defensively, some even moving toward it. Then, Grand Magister Tye appeared on the ground in the center of the light. He stood, mages walked toward him, gathering around. He began pointing in this direction. One by one, the mages turned toward our little group, me. Aisu talking to him, looking at me. She began to gesture.

The shimmer above our troops faded. Our mages began to form a semicircle facing us. The consequences of their actions on our forces, I could scarcely imagine.

Voice shaking, I barely got out the words, “Brundle . . . sound . . . sound the retreat. Brundle!” then shouting and shaking his shoulder, “The retreat, order the retreat!”

The general was staring at the battlefield, he turned to me, surprised. “We are-”

I grabbed his arm and screamed at him, “Brundle! The retreat!

He looked at me, into my eyes, past me and saw what I was seeing, turned toward the runners and drummers and horns, “Rout! Signal a full rout! Do it now!”

“We are betrayed,” said Morry in low tones. “Why would they consign their own countrymen to death?” He took my spear from my hands, saying only, “Princess,” then determinedly walked to his horse, mounted.

“Morry! What are you doing?”

“I’m going to take as many of those mages with me as I can.”

“Morry!” I screamed, but he ignored me and charged toward our mages, up the hill. The Companions were confused. Some rode off with their leader, some followed orders and retreated, riding past Brundle and I.

Lightning blasted from above into the rhinos. It hit their center, then spread out, leaping from rhino to rhino, smoke pouring off the bodies and into the sky, the handlers and crossbowmen atop broken, smoldering bodies draped over the walls of the saddle box. Few rhinos at the edge bolted, but most were dead or convulsed and shook, laying prone with their legs kicking uselessly, flesh cooking.

Gun’s infantry was marching through the enemy phalanx when they heard the alarm. I could just see the major looking at us and imagine his confusion. His centuriad about faced, began jogging back toward us, sarissa held high, when liquid fire poured down from the sky into their center. More burning flame opened up above other centuriads and fire and smoke overtook our troops. Men at the fringes dropped their sarissa and ran. Where the infantry had been, rapidly becoming unseeable as smoke billowing out into the air above, a small mushroom cloud growing upward.

Gun. I sank to my knees. Oh, Gun. Gun.

“Princess! Cayce!” Brundle pulled me up by my arm.

I looked at him or maybe through him, my eyes wouldn’t focus and the wetness blurred everything, “Gun is dead.”

“We don’t know that. The necklace! You gave it to him. It . . .” he shook his head, gathered his strength, shaking his head instead of nodding, “It protected him. I know it.”

No time for tears. Gun was dead and gone. I had to care for the living.

Our retreat horns were screaming, barely audible over the crackling howls of the wind and shouts of men. More fire dropped from the sky on our fleeing soldiers across the battlefield. Our formations were broken and fleeing. The cavalry bolting as well. But not spared. Lightning crashed into their ranks, exploding soldiers, jumping from one to another.

Sparks and ash blew across the plains, the ground charring, producing clouds and clouds of smoke. Screams of the dying reached us first, then hot air and dust. The scents of cooking fat and flesh. My loyal men, sworn to protect me, my knights. Many had families, plans to have families, futures unfulfilled.

The enemy army began to march on our wrecked and broken soldiers.

“Princess, we must get you away from here!”

“Brundle, get yourself away from here. Save the troops. As many as you can.”

“Princess! Cayce!!!” he shook my arm. “You must come with me!”

“Brundle, go.” From his face, I looked to the battlefield. Back to him. I pushed him away from me with a strength men could only dream of and to his credit, he didn’t fall, but recovered his feet, confused and worried. “I’m going to kill them all. Every last thing near me, all our enemies. All are going to die. Go.”

Taking several steps away from the poor man, his life in unimaginable peril, I released the energy, let it consume me entirely, burst into yellow, orange and blue flames, the beams whipping and whistling around me, a vortex growing higher and higher, ever higher into the sky, burning away the clouds above and well into the stratosphere. A cyclone of deadly rage unleashed.

Gathering everything I had, pulling all the energy back down, I pushed my right arm at the Ketzillian mages and a blindingly bright, impossibly hot white energy beam smashed into their ranks exploding bodies, vaporizing dirt and stone beneath, jetting a fountain of molten rock curving off into the sky, clouds steaming off, and everything around the impact site, people, horses, grass, flashing into ash and fire.

This I began to move across the battlefield.

The tree line exploded, inky black lines of ravens streaming into the air, cawing and screeching, circling above the enemy troops and dove straight in. Fresh screams arose, the clanging of metal. Horsemen fled the onslaught, some racing randomly across the field, reins askew, hands over their eyes, blood pouring down their faces.

A thick and dark blackness, like a beam of shadow instead of light, lanced up into the sky in front of me and a mage slammed into the ground, dirt flying everywhere. Pointing my left hand at him, about to fire a laser when I realized his back was to me.

Raising a staff above his head, then thumping it into the ground, the air around us crackled and shimmered, a circle of death and dust spread out from him in all directions, grass instantly greying, drying, crumbling inward, dead, the expanding circle hit me with such intensity that I fell to my knees. My stomach writhed, muscles spasmed, the pain an endless migraine, tears falling from my eyes, the light too bright and my own ribbons of energy shrinking, vanishing, the glow I cast gone.

I screamed and screamed and screamed.

Thunderclaps brought me back, somehow lying in the ash now, head in my hands. Lightning crackled all about the shield-dome that came into existence above, a giant stone smashed into and burst across it, pieces scattering down around and to the ground, wind roared and tore violently. Mages attacking me and him, whoever he was. Pushing against the agony and dizziness, I forced my body up on hands and knees, eyes open.

Through blurred vision, I saw Morry charging straight into the mages, burying his lance in one, dropping it and taking out my spear to stab a woman, whirling around to take the head off a man. Then an enormous wall of dirt smashed into him, taking him off the hill, down the other side.

I reached toward him, inwardly screaming, ‘Morry!’ but the only sounds escaping my lips were hoarse and ragged wheezing.

The mage, hair and robes blowing about in the wind, looked at me over his shoulder with a worried face. Etienne. He turned back to the battlefield, back to the fight, made a fist and pulled it down toward his hips, sending out another pulse of pain lancing into me and I struggled on my knees and hands. Mouth dry and full of dust, wetness dripping down my cheek and red droplets fell to the dead ground underneath. Hands and knees was all I could manage, took everything I had, muscles spasming, joints aflame. The world spinning, I vomited, dry heaved, lost what balance I had and fell to my side grasping my stomach, arms and legs twitching, and barely, barely lifted my head a touch, an angle above the ash, to see.

A giant twister set down amongst the second enemy mage group, bodies flying everywhere. Another into the enemy army, wagons and horses and soldiers and the little black bodies of ravens – my ravens! – thrown high into the sky. Birds escaped in all directions from the incredible winds, tearing and grasping at everything around them, and then the pressure wave hit around us, our protected dome shaking, dust and debris flying off into the tree line.

The enemy army staggered, in tatters, gave up chasing ours. I pushed myself up again, blinking and wiping ash and blood out my eyes. As the tornadoes tore through their ranks, lightning sprayed randomly out of the raging winds, into soldiers and horses, blackening the ground. Those who could were retreating, desperate to get away.

I crawled toward Etienne, feet dragging in the dust. He turned his wrath upon our mages, dropping his left arm toward them, a shockwave raced their way and I worried again for Morry. A few black lines reached up into the sky as mages vanished before my world again became white agony, muscles clenching, hands swelling, head feeling about to burst, I screamed until my voice quit, hoarse, doubling over in the dust that was once living grass and insects and flowers and herbs.

An enormous bang, wind whipping across the plains like a hurricane. The dome disappeared. The pain faded. Vanished. Gone. I rolled over and coughed and hacked, wiping dirt and worse away from my nose and eyes, and took a deep breath through my mouth anyway, not trusting my nose. The air was dusty and burnt, tasted of roasting flesh, fur and feathers, with a hint of pine.

After a time, I somehow pulled myself to my hands and knees, hands in the dirt. Best I could do. The wind continued screaming. Looked at my palms one at a time. Not swollen. The wetness on my face was blood, leaking from my nose, eyes and ears. Ash caked all over me, I had nothing to wipe my face with, gave up on that and crawled over to the prone body of Etienne. Stretched out on the ground, he was gaunt, skin tight against his face, eyes yellow and sunken. “Princess . . . I cast . . . a terrible spell.”

I caught myself before collapsing, right hand in the dirt, and knelt by him, “What did you do?”

He reached for me and I took his hand in mine. Pain lanced through my arm, migraine returned, I doubled over and tried to pull away, but for his grip. His features softened, skin looking younger. My weight fell against my knees, I hung on, gasping, dust puffing away, wishing he would release me.

“You are . . . deity.”

“What?”

“No human . . .”

I was kneeling in grey dust. “What did you do?”

“. . . cost was life . . .”

I stared at him, not understanding.

“I . . . die in your service . . . take” his voice reduced to a harsh whisper, “. . . soul.”

“I don’t know how.”

His body arced, head backward, teeth clenched, “I . . . am . . . lost.”

“Go to . . .” the tatters left of his voice became hoarse, barely audible. Hand clenched on my arm. Somehow, he pulled me closer, whispering “Northern Temple . . . north . . . La . . . ma . . .” With his other hand, he dragged his satchel across his chest, pushing it into mine.

“Etienne!” His last breath left him. The pain left me like releasing a heavy weight. I staggered backwards onto my behind, sitting, ash billowing away. Then I reached across, almost falling onto his body, pulling at his satchel, struggled to get it free of his head and arm and fell sideways. Took a breath, felt some strength returning, and rolled over onto my back, bag on top of me. Looked over at what was left of him. Fuzz appeared along his body, going from grey to black, little mushrooms sprouting.

I wanted to roll away, but I was spent. Probably shouldn’t breathe this stuff in. Morry. I needed to find Morry. Rescue him if I could. But my muscles ached, were nonresponsive, I could barely breathe, throat parched, eyes dry and every time I blinked it was sandpaper. What the hell did he do to me?

The ground around us was no more than dust. Not even burnt grass remained. Just empty, grey ash in a large circle. Several inches deep. A horse lay a bit away from me, skin sunken, papery. A person beyond it, in the same state, sunken eyeballs, dried skin, reaching toward us.

Like Etienne, but without the rapidly growing fungi. Whatever the wizard did, it killed every living thing around him. Except me.

Up above, a red cloud appeared, circling counterclockwise, its billows turned to hot plasma, it fell toward me – a mage! Attacking!

I reached up with my left arm, placing a large implosion at the source. Dust, debris, the bodies and other dead things, all roared upwards off the ground. I was pulled up, too, and used that sucking force to stand. The fireball extinguished in mid-air, never making it to the ground.

Looking around, I found him facing my direction, dancing their strange dance. Lifting my left hand, I lasered him through his eye. The wizard took a few zombie-like steps then collapsed, convulsing.

Well, that’s it. The planning stage is over. My war on the mages has begun.

Fires burned uncontrollably across the flat meadow below, and some in the trees. It was yet spring, and wet, and the fires would likely die out on their own, except for the ruined battlefield and the slowly cooling lava pools I’d created.

Most of our army had fled the field. All but the dead and dying. The enemy army yet struggled to flee, tens of thousands scattered across the field, amongst the tens of thousands of bodies, dead horses and burning wagons.

The energy came alive around me, a vortex of fire and lightning. I lifted my hand to kill them all. Remove this army as a threat, what was left of it. I’d start on one side, wash the beam across the field, turning it into molten rock and Ketzle would learn its lesson. Maybe cease to be a threat.

Far off in the distance, where I took aim, two men struggled to carry a third, injured. Closer to the midpoint, where our armies had clashed, a man knelt beside a body and cried, hand on the corpse’s chest. Elsewhere, one crawling, left leg missing below the knee, three soldiers rushing toward him with a canvas stretcher. As I looked, these scenes repeated themselves. There, a man bandaging another. A bit further, soldiers helping the injured to an intact wagon.

I dropped my hand to my side. They had families, friends, or wished for them, like my soldiers. Were here not out of want, but political forces beyond their control. And now found themselves in a hellscape, powers beyond imagining assaulting them. I let the energy dissipate and took a deep breath.

Stunned, I blinked and blinked. I was just about to kill tens of thousands of people because I could. Holy shit. Holy shit. I shook my head.

Morry, I had to find Morry.

I jogged toward where I’d last seen him, heading up the hill the mages had been on. Its grass and topsoil were gone, blown clear off by Etienne. When I crested the hill, I almost fell into a deep trench, the rest of the hill, gone. The soil and rock were moist and just beyond, an enormous mound of fresh dirt, stones, and grass, where it had been dumped.

“Cayce!” screamed a woman to my left, slightly downhill. Her inky, black and blue hair fluttering in the wind.

I released the energy to circle me, like the surface of the sun, red and yellow and raging. “Aisu. Where is General Morrentz?”

“Dead.”

“You killed him?”

“He attacked us. Killed three mages, my friends. We put him down.”

I tilted my head.

“You are no longer the princess. Surrender and come with us.”

My laser vaporized her torso. Her head and arms hit the ground first, legs standing a moment longer.

They must have buried him under the dirt. I had to know. I created a tornado, largest ever for me, using it to funnel the dirt away. How deep would he be? I had to take care not to fling his body away. In case. Maybe I could still save him.

The wind uncovered his horse, crushed, its belly burst, and I toned it down, going here and there, taking more and more dirt away, and finding nothing. A glint of steel – his greatsword! I cleared that area until reaching the original surface and grass.

Took his sword. Cleared more and more of the dirt and still no body.

The hill seemed to come alive, lifting straight up in the air then toppling toward me. Crap! More mages. I set the tornado into the wall, dirt and stones flying everywhere and I bolted, running as hard as I could. Looking around, where are they, where, where? I couldn’t find them.

So, I made for the tree line. Give myself some cover. Hopefully.

A tree exploded near me, splinters flying everywhere, bouncing off my armor, sending me flying into a bunch of bushes. Shook my head, released the beast within and burned ever so bright, ever so hot. The next tree that exploded, its pieces flashed into ash before getting near me. Each footprint set the ground aflame.

No point in trying to hide, I searched around, looking for any sign. Where could they be? Not by the hill, they’d have attacked me there. Possibly further in the forest. Given how they placed themselves on the battlefield, their range was most likely limited by sight. I could head for the open area to expose them, but with their great range they could probably stay hidden in the tree line.

An enormous cedar collapsed toward me.

Arms outstretched, I fed my anger into the fire, screaming, the wood vaporized as it touched my intensely hot, burning aura and the forest nearby went up in flames, a little further it was smoldering and further still, steam rose. Stepping away from this, I let the heat slip away, the energy yet rushing around my arms and legs and torso.

Too many trees and bushes, too many places to hide, and I didn’t have the full powers of a mage and so did not know how to locate them. I turned around and around, searching. Until I heard a cry, a call, a caw.

Up above, off to my left and further in the forests, the ravens circled an area. I fired a beam of intense energy in a wide arc in that direction, human height. Trees creaked and fell, and some still stood.

The birds above cawed again and broke their circle, separated. Clever birds. Very thoughtful of them. I waved my thank you, then dissipated my energy and began jogging to where our army first entered the large meadow.

Across the fields, bodies and wreckage in every direction. Yet some lived and soldiers had returned, Maitlan, surrounded by troops, pointing to the field. He was arranging help for the injured.

“Maitlan!” I ran toward him.

“You are alive!” He took me in his mailed arms and we hugged, “Cayce, I thought you dead. They dropped fire and death on you.”

I pulled back to look at him. Bandages covered his head and right eye, though were not stained with blood, but ash. “What happened to you?”

“The fires caught me.”

“You must be in so much pain.”

He shook his head, “Maybe later. There’s too much to do now.”

Our arms held on to each other, and I said, “You have to organize the army. Return to my castle at Breadamont. Treat the wounded – sorry, you know all this, do as you are doing. And thank you.”

“Wait. Why won’t you be leading?”

“Maitlan, everything. It’s my fault. The mages. I can’t go with you. I’ll only be a danger to everyone. They fled the field but will regroup and attack again. I can’t put you in danger, all the soldiers in danger. I have to go.”

“I’ll come with you. Brundle and Morrentz can organize the army. They know your wishes – what’s wrong? Who . . . who died?”

I felt so tired, so thirsty. My shoulders slumped and I shook my head to stop the tears, “Morry. He’s gone. The mages killed him.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry Cayce.”

“He died trying to punish them for betraying us.”

“You found his sword? Where is his body? I’ll give him a proper burial.”

“I couldn’t, I looked for him, but they buried him under a hill. I couldn’t find him.” I took the sword off my back, “Could you, could you take it? I’m going north. To, gods, I don’t know. A temple or something. Etienne told me to – look, there’s so much you don’t know, and I can’t take the time to explain it. I have to go. They’re hunting me.”

“I’m coming with you. You need me to guide you there, you need a friend with you. I know the north.”

“No, Maitlan, I’m going alone. Look around you. No one could survive the journey with me. We, the mages and I, we’re . . . I don’t know. Beyond powerful, too dangerous. If you come, you’ll die.”

“Then I’ll die!”

I shook my head. “No, no you won’t.” I don’t know what possessed me just then, perhaps being among the living, the incredible danger I just faced and caused, all the friends I’d lost, all those I’d killed, but I put my hand behind his head, pulled him down to my level, and gave him the first willful kiss I’d given anyone on this planet, long and tender and soft, and then when we parted, I said, “I need you to stay.”

“Cayce, listen,” his hand on my cheek, “I’ll wear perseidian iron. Carry your weapons. I’ll be safe.”

“You’re staying.” He was about to speak again and I thumped my hand on his chest with each syllable, “You are staying.”

He closed his eye, nodded slightly, then said, “Ok, but, you’ll need food, supplies. Here, take these saddle bags.” He passed them to me, “Dried rations, some ale and wine, none of your whiskey I’m afraid.”

I took them, put them over my right shoulder. I must have looked like a strange creature. Dressed in dirty armor but shining in splotches, shoulder bag hanging off my left, saddle bags on my right, and my greatsword against my back. A crazy prospector, seeking out gemstones in Hades.

“Thank you. Oh, and Maitlan?”

“Yes?”

“You are now Duke, the Duke of Nevarrelund and Yohstone. If I don’t return, you are king. Take care of the place. One sec.” I turned to find a witness, but there were many watching us. I blushed. Damnit. “You men, you soldiers! You’re witnesses.”

I turned to Maitlan. “Kneel. Make this official. Beyond reproach.”

“My lady.” He knelt.

I took out my reforged sword, now a greatsword, held it in both hands and touched his right shoulder. “In the name of your princess,” his left, “your kingdom,” his right again, “and the people, I name you Duke of Yohstone, Duke of Nevarrelund, and King of Nevarrelund if I do not return before summer ends. Arise, Your Grace.”

Clapping all around, such as it was. Few men, sparse response.

“I have to go, Maitlan. Rebuild the kingdom. My last orders to you.”

“You really didn’t, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. The mages no longer accept me as a monarch. These lands are no longer mine, unless . . .”

“Unless?”

“Sometimes, you’re a little light, you know?” He looked at me strangely, so I added, “Dumb. Unintelligent. A touch stup-”

“I’m aware of what you mean.”

“Unless I kill them all. I have to rid the world of mages.”

“I guess I’m to be king then.”

“Oh my god.” I laughed, full and loud, my first laugh in forever and a day and I needed it, “You’re a jerk! But seriously, take care of yourself. I have to go now.”

“Cayce, I love you.”

“No, you don’t! You don’t! That’s just the adrenaline in your blood and the shitty day we’ve had. Goodbye, Maitlan.” And with that, I turned and jogged off. Into the tree line, heading north. To wherever and whatever Etienne had planned for me.