The frontier seemed endless from atop Deadacre’s western wall. While the land surrounding the city wasn’t perfectly flat, there were no great hills or mountains for days in any direction. Hard-packed, sun-baked dirt extended for half a league or so, and then there was just grass, broken only by the odd stout tree that clung to life. Even the indomitable Wildgard Mountains that cut off the frontier from the coast were too far to be seen — the towering peaks shaded by the far-off horizon.

  As he stood there and watched, Kaius wondered what to expect from the mages that were coming. The animus might have tried to hide it, but he could tell his friend was nervous. Understandable, considering it would be the first time he’d met Spire mages since their fateful meeting over a year ago.

  At least Ianmus was a known quantity. Kaius didn’t have that grace. Even Kenva had the pedigree of a Hiwiann clan to lean on. As far as the mages were concerned, he was some no-name bladesman that had appeared out of nowhere.

  He wasn’t quite nervous — not after everything he had lived and experienced — but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel the touch of uncertainty, at least, along his back. If only he wasn’t so visibly branded on his face. There was no hiding his oddities, nor that of his magic, anymore.

  Regardless of his feelings on the matter, the mages were due any minute now. Thank the gods he’d managed to cram together the last of his basic notes on glyphbinding that he wanted to share.

  It’d give the Spires a base point to at least explore the theoretical underpinnings of the art, though he hadn’t given them direct diagrams of his current glyphs, nor the prototype his father had developed. That said, he had left copies of those with Rieker, Ro, Ark, and Hanrick — even if everything went totally to shit, at least one of them was likely to survive.

  Every single one of them that had been present at the war council now waited on the wall, watching for their imminent arrival. They’d split off into their own groups. Governor Hanrick waited with his entourage close to the stairs down from the wall, while Rieker, Ro, and Ark leaned against a buttress.

  Kaius had moved a little further along — it made it easier to converse without disturbing the others.

  Ianmus had said the mages would be flying in. Gods, Kaius couldn’t even imagine what that must be like. Every boy who dreamed of magic dreamt of being able to fly. How would it feel to have the sovereign winds blow through your hair as league after league dissolved beneath you, he wondered.

  It must be exhilarating.

  He couldn’t wait to gain the ability for it himself. He was lucky; one of his spells for Aelina might have the capability, but he knew it wasn’t a certainty. Flight was a rare ability, at least in the second tier. He could only hope. But the strength of his class and his skills would be enough to nudge things in his favour.

  Still, the fact that the mages were flying in presented unique difficulties. They’d cleared out a city square only two blocks behind his position on the walls — an endeavour that was more difficult than it sounded, considering streets near the Western Gate were packed to the bursting. Thousands of uneasy souls, ready and waiting to flee the city.

  Kaius looked back, seeing the teeming ocean of people. There were no carts, no wagons, and certainly no caravans — they wouldn’t have any hope of reaching Mystral swiftly, and the safety of the waiting guards at the Mage’s Pass. The governor had mandated that each could only take what they could carry.

  That had been an unpopular proclamation, but at least Hanrick was charismatic enough that it hadn’t led to riots. No — Kaius could only see a boiling nervousness and discontent among the gathered would-be refugees. Further to his right by the Western Gate, an entire contingent of city guards and a dozen delver squads stood ready and waiting.

  It was an anemic escort, but all the city could spare.

  Thank the gods they would have mages joining them.

  Of the group arriving, roughly a third would be returning to Mystral within the hour — mostly mages from Mistspire, whose affinity was specialised towards misdirection and subtle, wide-reaching effects.

  It was, as far as Kaius could tell, the smartest play. With the assistance of mages, those hopefuls would be far less likely to run into beast attacks on their journey.

  He just wished the delegation from Mystral would arrive a little quicker — they’d already been waiting for the better part of an hour.

  Kaius returned to watching the horizon, lightly tapping his foot to burn off some of his impatience.

  “Remind me again of who I should pay attention to,” Kaius asked.

  Standing with his back tall and watching the west with focused intensity, Ianmus didn’t even blink at his question.

  “The head of the cadre is Ophelia of Stormspire. She is the eldest and strongest of the lot — high Silver — and she and her assistants will be how everyone is arriving so quickly. She is a flight specialist. There is Madra and Isaac of Stonespire; I don’t know them personally, only by reputation, but both are said to be experts in stone-shaping and have likely been sent to bolster our fortifications. Madrigal of Lifespire is a senior healer. And then there is Cantor, from my own Sunspire.”

  Kaius didn’t miss the way his friend’s voice grew ever so slightly clipped at the mention of the last mage.

  “Is there a little history with the last one there?” Porkchop questioned.

  Ianmus sighed, shrugging. “Nothing worth wasting time and attention on. He was one of my old professors, and a little harsher than he needed to be. But I do not think he is enough of a fool to let that interfere with our defence of Deadacre.”

  Before Kaius could reply, he was jolted into a state of shock. Kenva walked forward and leant over the wall, staring off into the horizon.

  “I hope so, because they’ll be here soon.” She raised her voice so that the others atop the wall could hear her. “Mages spotted, due west!”

  Kaius snapped to where his friend was watching, focusing as the far-flung horizon was thrown into sharp relief. He spotted the mages immediately.

  A hundred souls, soaring through the sky as they were backlit against the blue expanse behind them. They were tightly packed — far more than he had expected — and judging by the way their robes billowed behind them, they were moving faster than he could sprint.

  It was hard to tell how much faster, though — distance and a lack of surrounding terrain made it all but impossible to find an easy reference.

  With the mages sighted, Governor Hanrick leapt into action. Moving with his entourage along the wall, he stopped atop the Western Gate.

  “Open the gates. The mage escort has been spotted.”

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  His guards moved to obey.

  Guards and the few delver squads that would accompany the refugees streamed out into the frontier, guiding a flowing river of bodies into an orderly formation before the city walls. It was a slow process. Even with the city’s entrance being built to handle multiple caravans, there were just too many souls.

  Yet despite the difficulty, the milling refugees streamed out with far less chaos than Kaius expected — individual voices drowning out into a low rumble as the crowd ebbed out like a river bursting its banks.

  By the time the mages were visible to those without ocular skills, Hanrick had returned to their group. They watched them approach.

  This close, Kaius was surprised to see that it didn’t look like every mage was ecstatic about their airborne journey — some had icy pale faces.

  At the front of their host was a woman in icy grey robes, wild blonde hair streaming behind her. She had the ecstatic grin he expected from someone flying, as did the nearly twenty other mages that encircled the rest of the group at its edges. Dressed in same coloured robes, they must have been Ophelia and the other mages of Stormspire.

  Mana streamed from each of them in a great wave, woven into a spell construct — encapsulated, different bubbles. It wasn’t a singular effect. Instead, each storm mage seemed responsible for a handful of their peers, while Ophelia’s more potent work accelerated the whole group to breakneck pace.

  It was an impressive show of cooperative casting, and even those many thousands who had left the city fell into a hushed silence as the mages flew overhead.

  “Ho! Down into the square behind us!” Rieker yelled, his deep basso carrying through the air like a thunderclap and breaking the silence.

  The head mage, Ophelia, nodded, and dozens of mages flew past them in a slow descent.

  Despite the quick pace at which they moved, Kaius caught sight of four other mages in embroidered robes — two in brown, one in green, and one in the same shining white that Ianmus had worn when they’d first met.

  The other Silvers, Kaius assumed.

  He walked up to Ianmus, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Well then. Shall we go say hello?”

  Ianmus grinned, enthusiasm plain. It seemed his apprehension had faded somewhat — as it should. The man had much to be proud of, given what he had achieved in the time they had known each other.

  As a group, they made for the stairs, the rest of Deadacre’s official delegation already hurrying for the meeting point.

  …

  When they arrived, Ophelia of Stormspire was already barking orders to a cluster of mages in smoky blue robes. The mist mages, Kaius assumed. Their strength was evident — if not from their Mistspire emblems, then from the simple power Kaius felt in their auras. Each and every one of them had crossed the wall of the hundredth level.

  “Ulric, meet with the guard lieutenant we spotted outside the walls and let them know you are ready to depart immediately. The quicker you reach the Mage’s Pass, the better.”

  One of the gathered mages nodded, before he set off at a run for the city wall — the other mist mages close behind him.

  Almost immediately after she finished giving her orders, Ophelia turned to their approaching group. The Silver mage locked eyes with Governor Hanrick. She gave him a smile, and nodded.

  “Govenour Hanrick. Your reputation precedes you. My sincerest condolences for the approaching threat you face, but I assure you — between me and my colleagues, we will see your city well defended.”

  Hanrick almost slumped with relief. “I thank you. It is good to know that the old oaths binding our cities still stand strong.”

  “Let it never be said that Mystral forgets its debts,” the storm mage replied, before she turned to Rieker and gave him a polite nod. “Guildmaster.”

  “Magister,” Rieker replied in kind. “As important as proper introductions are, the beasts draw ever closer. How soon can we work on reinforcing the city?”

  Ophelia turned toward her fellow senior mages. Each of them was watching their group closely, though one was staring directly at Ianmus — a hawkish man with dark eyes and honeyed skin that had a thoughtful frown on his face.

  Cantor, Kaius assumed on the basis of his stark white robes.

  One of the Silver mages wearing brown robes stepped forwards. “Madra of Stonespire. I appreciate the candour. We can begin immediately.”

  The other stone mage, Isaac, stepped forward.

  “Can we raise a tower in this courtyard?” he asked, looking straight at Hanrick. “We plan to raise more throughout the city and inside of the walls, but we need a high vantage point to properly craft exterior defences.”

  “Of course,” Hanrick replied, only hesitating slightly.

  Both of the stone mages nodded. “In which case — steady your footing.”

  In unison, the mages began to channel, great streams of stone mana coalescing around their staves. It was an astounding gathering of energy — just as dense and forceful as when Ianmus gathered his own power for a devastating overcharged ray.

  Watching it made Kaius giddy. He’d only ever seen that much mana used to destroy, not create.

  The two stone mages grew absorbed in their work. The rest of the group was silent out of respect for the effort involved in such a sizable shaping of magic. Kaius still caught Ianmus’s fellow Sunspire mage staring at his friend. Cantor didn’t quite look hostile — more like he had been presented with a puzzle he had no idea how to solve.

  Kaius resolved to keep an eye on the mage. Kenva, it seemed, had as well. The ranger caught his eye, flicking her gaze towards Cantor and back again.

  He gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Ianmus could handle himself, but that mattered little. He was part of the team, and that was that.

  As far as Kaius could tell, no one noticed their exchange, least of all the earth mages.

  “What have we got to work with?” Madra asked his colleague, eyes focused on the mana coalescing on his staff.

  “The foundations run deep, which is not so strange for an old city. Plenty of bedrock though — igneous, good and hard. We won’t need modifications.”

  “Good. You shift the raw material, and I’ll build.”

  Following their clipped exchange, both fell into silence, their mana slowly building minute by minute, until Kaius questioned how much mana the mages could possibly need.

  Over a quarter of an hour later, Isaac cast first. Stone mana rushed down, infusing the square beneath them with the inexorable momentum of a landslide. Despite the potency of the mage’s spell, Kaius only heard a faint, deep rumble, like two stones were being ground together.

  A moment of stillness passed as Madra acted. The second Silver mage grunted, slamming his staff down on the flagstones. A great crack filled the air. Kaius whipped his head around, seeing the pavement at the edges of the square split.

  They rose, stride by stride, as a pillar of solid stone lifted them towards the heavens. Close to the edge, Kaius caught sight of stone flowing like water, moulding itself into thickly armoured and buttressed stairs that spiralled down the edge of the pillar.

  A chest-high wall surged upwards from the edge of the platform, pylons every ten strides flowing higher to stretch into a squat, buttressed roof.

  A bunker, jutting into the sky.

  Rising like a spring shoot, Kaius heard a cacophony of far-off yells as they rose past the city walls. The gathered hopefuls preparing to leave for Mystral were staring in their thousands, mesmerised by the display of magic — and Silver might.

  Staggering at the growth, Kaius marvelled from his new perspective. Nearly a full third taller than the city walls, the freshly raised tower gave him a perfect view of the lands outside of the walls.

  Their spells completed, both Silver mages slumped as they raggedly gasped.

  Kaius openly stared at them, shocked they were still standing. There was no way in all the hells that either of the mages had escaped mana burn — not after raising a siege tower under their very feet.

  To think they wanted to raise more of these towers. Each one would be a boon: a safe vantage point for rangers and mages to strike at gathered beasts. Plus, Kaius hadn’t missed the viewing angle he had of the city streets of Deadacre. Gods forbid — if the beasts ever breached the walls, they would still have plenty of opportunities to strike at them from relative safety.

  Giving his work a cursory once-over, Madra nodded to himself. “Sturdy. Good.”

  Both mages sat down in unison, uncaring of their audience as they downed tonics that had been stashed in their robes.

  “We will need a half hour to recover, then we continue,” Isaac said, before he looked up at the thick stone roof that covered the tower. “We should add another buttress.”

  “Dragon’s teeth and trench first,” Madra huffed.

  Kaius blinked at the pair. They were certainly single-minded. More importantly, what in the hells were dragon’s teeth?