I set my food down as I withheld a sigh at the disturbance. Of course, I had already seen the armies approaching from atop my elemental. That they were within sight from the city walls already wasn’t news to me.

It allowed me to finish my meal in peace as the others began to congregate around Count Wilchrest and discuss troop placements in more detail.

I didn’t envy the Count that particular responsibility, but he took to it as if it were expected. I suspected that the other nobles and leaders were quick to recognize his higher rank in part because of natural charisma, and in part because it was easy to lower their eyes when confronted with his smushed pig-nose. Still, he made for a striking figure, standing tall and speaking authoritatively. Soon enough, I was called to join them and add my magical opinion to the matter.

“Savior!” Count Wilchrest’s outburst nearly made me want to cringe with its volume.

While, in truth, I would have rather been back at my tower preparing for the real battle, I wasn’t so inattentive to fail to recognize how big a function that magical combat would play in the coming battle. In fact, I needed it to play a pivotal role so that Mirktal wouldn’t bother this end of the country again. So with an easy smile, I walked towards their table to discuss my part.

Which amounted to nearly nothing. My elemental would defend one gate. I would put a shield up over the town to prevent magical attacks. My three apprentices would each lead a cohort of mages to cast the Field of Stone Spikes spell under the direction of whoever was tasked to defend each gate. I would personally counter any or all of the three fifth-tier mages should they act. My presence alone should deter them, but who knew if they were slaves themselves?

After reassuring the lot of them, I set about the tasks needed to prepare. My assistants, along with Loralie and Diedre waited outside the building for me, as well as Tond, Mena, and Meathead. While I greeted them all, I informed the former guards that they would be serving under Count Wilchrest. My assistants were all given their instructions as well, tasks that they raced to do as if it were an epic quest.

It left me alone with Loralie and Diedre as we walked toward where my elemental waited. The town wasn’t large, but it was large enough that I needed to get closer to it to give it my orders. Peasants in worn rags, wealthy merchants, and others stepped aside as we walked a part of the way in silence, though Diedre was the first to break the silence.

“Wizard Fargus, will I see my revenge soon?” she asked eagerly.

Too eagerly it felt to me, but I wasn’t interested in dampening such enthusiasm before a battle.

It did give me a more opportune moment to ask her a question I had been holding. “Miss Diedre, certainly the entire country isn’t responsible for your pain. Do you know the name of the person you seek?”

She didn’t answer immediately, rather walking beside me in silence for several moments. “Yes. One of the Grand Pyromancers here, a woman who calls herself ‘The Silverflame’. It's her I want to kill the most.”

That her enemy had such a moniker told me that this enemy had no shortage of arrogance. I could see by her clenched jaw and the challenge in her eyes that if my plans didn’t involve the death of the woman, Diedre might lose control that very instant. Still, it begged another question.

“How do you plan to achieve this goal, if your enemy is also a pyromancer?” I asked.

Diedre looked away and didn’t answer. I looked to my other side and Loralie just shrugged, her golden hair shifting along her petite shoulders. When I looked back, I saw that Diedre had the sorrowful, determined eyes of a person that was planning to die. Was she planning to burn her entire mana for a single spell? It seemed a likely decision considering her limited options.

Which would be a waste, in my eyes.

Not that I would attempt to stop her.

Instead, I looked forwards and pretended to muse to myself, “When the battle begins, I will be shielding the town. No doubt someone with the gall to name themselves ‘The Silverflame’ will seek to test my wardings. If they do, then we all know what a moment’s distraction could cost a mage. Even a mage at the fifth tier. If someone were to take advantage of that, though, they would need the correct position and…” I allowed my voice to trail off as I watch Diedre’s eye grow bright and she disappeared into the crowd.

“Hmmph. She could have allowed me to finish,” I said.

“The short-lived ones never have the right amount of patience,” Loralie answered me.

I nodded in agreement.

“And how will you and the magic-users that report to you contribute to the battle?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “If you expect less than a dozen unusual classes to make a difference then your eyes see trees taller than they grow.”

I had to tear my gaze away from her eyes in order to keep from getting lost in them. She still wore the illusion of a short crone, which left the men or women who stood behind her to wonder why I was looking oddly at them. Their confused looks helped me to pull myself back. The last time I engaged in romance on the eve of battle had cost me more than it was worth. It was a lesson well learned.

After a moment, she did answer my question. “They will be supporting the fighters at the gates and walls. Magical armors or bear’s strength or healing or a number of other small spells. Where would you have me, Nemon Fargus?”

I blushed at the innuendo but kept walking for a few moments before answering her. Now was not the time to play word games. “The other pyromancer. Can you keep them occupied? I would not see Diedre’s vengeance thwarted by ill-timed support.”

Loralie huffed, “Has she caught your eye then?”

I stopped walking at that moment and turned to look at Loralie, leaving the crowds around us confused as they sought to move out of our way. Looking directly into the witch’s eye, I answered her in truth. “In the past century, there has been only one woman who caught my eye.”

Behind Loralie, three human women swooned and a fourth fainted. If Loralie's illusion were taller, perhaps they would have known I wasn't truly looking in their direction. Loralie, though, just blushed and looked at her feet. I waited a full six breaths before I turned and began walking again.

With laughter in my voice, I called out behind me, “And she was a barmaid at the Scholar’s Delight.”

I kept laughing when I heard Loralie’s melodious voice cursing. She didn’t follow me as I continued toward the gate and my elemental.

While I wasn’t entirely certain of her reasons for departing, I had hoped that those reasons leaned more in the direction of preparing for the battle than plotting revenge for my joke.

The guards let me out of the gate with no problems, and soon I stood alone before the massive earth elemental I had summoned and rode north. We looked at each other, as I was planning out how best to communicate my desire to it.

When the Mirktallean armies attack, I wanted them thoroughly defeated, but that didn’t mean I wanted their slave-soldiers to suffer more than needed.

An elemental at this level should have access to a variety of its own magics, and it might be able to sink them into the ground so that the slaves were left alive but not able to fight. This would allow my assistants to use wands to free them after the battle. The towns and Cities of this duchy were already overflowing with refugees, and I expected other parts of the country were as well.

I didn’t want to create more of them.

A freed slave warrior might not be anything more than a refugee, but a company of them might turn into a rebel army to keep Mirktal occupied. It had happened a few times in the past, after all. But before I could entirely put together the imagery I thought would convey my intent to the elemental, it contacted me.

Mortal.

“Yes?” I asked. I was uncertain of what it might want, given that none of the earth elementals in the past had ever expressed any desires to me. If anything, they communicated a resistance to any order that required movements.

Grasp your Authority.

Take my Authority?

Did it mean the Rights of Authority that came with my class? I had waited on taking any action with those because I didn’t have enough information. If this elemental knew what those were, then I had so, so many questions.

“Tell me, what is a Right of Authority? What do they mean? Authority over what?” I began, the questions spilled across my lips as soon as they crossed my mind.

Follow.

This time the word came with an invitation of some sort. Unsure of what it meant, but feeling no distrust, I allowed my mind to be pulled by the being into another place. A long, long hallway made of earth and stone. Many different types of earth and stone, like striations in a rock, curved in a beautiful pattern, making it feel more like a tunnel than a hallway. On either side were doors of stone, each with a life-like face carved into it.

Before me in the hallway, a stone floated in the air. From it came the mental voice of my elemental.

Follow.

It began to float down along the corridor, moving ever so slowly. I walked behind it, though my curiosity burned at each door. Some of them were cracked open, and I could see light coming from within. A few were opened completely, and I saw the spellcraft inside, many spellforms more perfect than I could have made myself. I didn’t stop, but I didn’t need to because the elemental moved at a steady pace.

We walked for what felt like dozens of miles, and never once did my curiosity falter. Sometimes I could peek through the crack of a door and see a spell that I had only barely learned or touched on. Other times, the open doors showed me a spell at a level I had mastered and improved upon. A few times, I thought I recognized a face or two. Once I saw my face on an open door that led to a spell I had crafted.

When we finally reached the end of the hall, there stood a pedestal with a scroll upon it. The elemental stopped at the entrance, but I knew it waited for me. I stepped into the room and approached the pedestal with the greatest caution.

Yet there were no traps, no surprises.

When I reached the scroll, I opened it with shaking, nervous hands and read the single word the scroll contained.

But that single word hit my mind so hard I reeled back.

Earth.

The word echoed around my skull in infinite variations, and the Authority flooded me until all I knew or could see was the stone and sand and earth around me. Countless different types. When I returned to myself, I felt the weight of that Authority within me and knew that I could open every single door within this hall eventually. The Right to Authority didn’t give me authority over anyone.

It gave me access to every spell of that type ever made or used.

When I looked back down the hall, the Elemental was nowhere to be seen, but that was acceptable. It had given me more than I ever could have asked for and hadn’t asked for anything in return. I knew the way out, and could return here with just a thought.

Yet I wasn’t ready to leave.

There was one spell, from a door that had been cracked open, that I felt I needed to open fully. A fifth-tier earth magic curse that might give me some hints towards my longevity research.

The morning came quickly after that. The elemental seemed to understand my desires, and I was happy to explore my new Right of Authority. That it gave me access to every spell made, and even ones in the process of being crafted was a novelty that I wasn’t ready to fully distract myself with. Not so close to battle. Yet, during times of waiting, the corridor of doors was easy to slip into and learn. Especially the spell that had caught my eye. I found myself more than eager to test it.

With the morning light, though, came news that the enemy had sent a messenger. They wanted to meet before the battle. Likely, they planned to intimidate the nobility to see if they could force a surrender, a common tactic for both Mirktal and Sena in these wars.

I allowed a soldier to guide me back through the town and was soon joined by both Pyl and Loralie.

It was natural that if the Mirktallean army leadership brought their fifth-tier mages with them, that the Count would want us there as well. Loralie didn’t speak or look at me as we walked. Pyl seemed as if he wanted to speak more than once as he would open his mouth and then shut it again. I would have thought Diedre would want a chance to look her nemesis in the eye, but that she kept hidden away also made sense.

The Northernmost part of Gold Castle was more poorly built than the rest. Where the southern part of the city contained large warehouses protected by the gateless city wall, and the eastern and western parts were heavy with inns and shops, the northern gate was better defended. It seemed this wasn’t the first time they had faced Mirktallean raiders, even if this was the largest force intent on raiding them.

Count Wilchrest stood in between Baron Aide and Baron Nix, each walking in step with the other. Around them, Meathead and Mena were talking with several of the mercenary captains, and a small cavalry unit was readying themselves on the sides of the wall. Every single one of us was dressed for battle. We stood and talked for a few long moments before the gates opened and the cavalry made way to escort us.

As we walked, servants followed bearing finely-carved wooden tables and chairs, food, and drink. I offhandedly noted that a crate of my tea was also being brought, but made no mention of it other than to frown at the unfortunate servant tasked with carrying the box. Loralie, having noticed my gaze, whispered to me.

“It was Count Wilchrest’s decision to have it served here. We all know the effects, and none care a whit about feeling less loyal to a King who abandoned us. There has been talk of crowning you a new king and declaring ourselves free.”

I missed a step as she spoke and my eyes felt as though they were bulging out of my head. I looked at her to see if I could determine if she was joking, but her expression was entirely serious. I shook my head in dismay. The last thing I needed was a civil war to disrupt my studies of the Pestilence. With my newfound knowledge of Rights of Authority, I had expanded my available geomancy spells ten-fold. I also had two more Rights that I had yet to choose as well.

The tables and food were set up in quick order, treasured plates, jeweled goblets, gold-plated forks, and knives all made for a lavish display of wealth. More food and wine than had been prepared for the feast last evening was laid out in the center of each table while we stood and waited for Mirktallean commanders to arrive and join us.

Several times I had to talk myself out of sitting and nibbling on the food as we waited. The aroma of cut fruit and cooked meats floated up from the tables, every bit as enticing as I could have wished. Certainly, it was discourteous to not wait, but they had invaded the country. I leaned on my artifact staff and sighed in discontent. It was only because I could distract myself with peeking through doors of Earth spells that I didn’t ignore those around me and enjoy the meal.

The Mirktalleans held no shortage of pomp and formality as they arrived. First, several musicians walked to us while playing finely crafted instruments with well-honed skills. Each [Bard] dressed in finely cut red coats over bright white shirts. Next, a series of dancers hopped and skipped through with trails of twirling silk that flowed on the wind. The dancers’ steps were coordinated with the musicians so that bells braided through hair would chime in time with the song. Then a line of palanquins made of embossed metals and polished woods followed. The mid-morning sun reflected off different parts of the covered litters in sparkles that caught the eye.

Soon enough, I found myself seated in between Pyl and Loralie facing the three fifth-tier mages that I had heard so much about. In the center, the [Grand Magus] sat with a face that seemed molded to show permanent disdain, his braided beard held firm with string thin golden chains. With a short black head of hair and green eyes, his features mirrored what I had seen of Mirktallean low nobility. On either side, sat the pyromancers. One, a woman of sixty with silver hair that seemed to burn under the sun, and the other a rotund man with his red robe open to display a hairy chest. His body seemed to give off heat, and his head sweated even in the cool morning air. He had a servant that stood behind him with a large fan, whose sole purpose seemed to be keeping the air moving around him.

I gave them a nod of greeting, and picked up a honeyed biscuit to nibble on as our Senan servants poured wine and tea. Loralie followed suit, though Pyl fumbled his wine glass nervously. I wouldn’t admonish him for it, being a third-tier mage around so many more powerful magic-users. His presence wasn’t because of his tier, though, but because of his class.

A necromancer could completely change the course of battles by raising the dead. Such a feat was easier to do in mass battles, where death mana grew like strangling vines.

“You are the Stormslayer,” The Magus broke the silence and picked up his cup of tea to sip.

“Bah!” I waved a hand. “One [Tempest] spell at the right time, and the soldiery takes up a name. And you are?” I glanced at the man when he didn’t respond and found him staring in fascination at my staff.

“You know it is considered rude to be jealous of another mage’s staff,” I declared with a harrumph.

While every other person at the table paused, and Pyl nearly choked, the man shook his head as if dismissing a thought.

“I am the Grand Magus Ison. Heir of Culinar, Lord of Stricton, and Hand of the King. If only you chose to serve Mirktal, you could be well cared for. Money and power of unlimited amounts. Women at your beck and call,” he started with the traditional posturing and threats of their country. It was a rehearsed speech that all Mirktalleans seemed to know.

I waited for him to distract himself before I stuck my fingers into my wine goblet and flicked wine at his face. It wasn’t magic or an attack. There was no poison or ill-intent. So, none of his magical defenses worked to stop the spray of wine from splattering on his face.

It was a lesson I had learned by being victim to a similar tactic once, from a Mirktallean noble no less.

It worked, though, and the man sputtered to a stop. I took that time to interject my thoughts, “Yes, yes. You say that the slaver-god is good, and slaves love their lives. Then I say that he isn’t, and we want to be free, and then we banter back and forth for a few moments uselessly. It’s a rather futile affair. Can we discuss something else, perhaps?”

The magus scowled, but before he could speak, the fat pyromancer beside him spoke out angrily, “Twice now you have mocked us. Do you want us to speak of something else? How about your terms of surrender?”

I frowned and nodded my head to the nobility who sat at a nearby table. “That is for them to discuss. Are we not mages?”

“Some of us are,” the older woman said, though her eyes were on Loralie and not me.

When I didn’t respond, the other member, the rotund man, spoke. His voice was a deep baritone with a nasal twinge, “So you want to discuss spellcraft as if we are colleagues. Fine, we will answer a question for each you answer.” He paused, after he spoke, giving the magus seated beside him a fearful glance that I almost didn’t catch.

I didn’t care for their internal politics enough to ask about that glance. Instead, I met the green eyes of Grand Magus Ison, and graced him with a pleasant smile, “Certainly.”

“Then I ask you about your elemental. What tier is it? How did you make it?” the fat man leaned forward as he asked me with a victorious smile on his lips. The woman of their group, the Silverflame, had been using a fork to pick at a piece of fruit, but her fork skipped across the plate betraying her surprise.

Not that I wasn’t also taken aback by his question. It was one thing to discuss spellcraft in general, and quite another to ask about a specific spell. Something that could easily be taken as an insult at worst and tactless at best.

Still, even if it was deserved, I had been somewhat rude. These three enemies across from me likely represented the highest tier of Mirktal’s magical forces, and the country had gathered them together to draw me out. To disrespect an enemy was one thing, to disregard them was another.

So, in response, I sipped my wine with a polite smile as I considered how I would answer his question before I spoke. With as pleasant a tone as I could muster, I looked at the bald pyromancer and answered, “It is a fifth-tier elemental supported by fourth-tier elementals for its legs, and more than a hundred first and second-tier elementals for each spike along those legs. I made it specifically to deter the prospects of attacking, as I have many more important things to do.”

The three across from me all sat back, their eyes widening. I wasn’t certain if the reaction was because I had answered the question rudely asked or because they didn’t expect the elemental to be as powerful as I claimed, but, in my mind, it made no difference. It wasn’t as if any of them could replicate the feat even if I guided them through the process.

It also set them off-balance for me to ask the question on my mind, “Now, I expect an equitable response from you.” I paused as Loralie grasped my elbow from under the table, as if in warning. I wasn’t certain why, but when she didn’t give any other signal of her intentions, I continued, “What is your country doing to prepare for the coming End of the Age?”

Both [Pyromancers] looked at me in confusion, but the [Grand Magus] stiffened in response. He let out a small breath before speaking, “Why ask a question you already know the answer to, Stormslayer? It is the very reason we meet you today. Our kings have agreed to this war so that our warriors could level to fight off the threat.” He paused, as if searching for correct words, before continuing, “Or is this a proposal I am misunderstanding? We already saw your spellcraft lifting our cities onto plateaus. Quite inspiring. I thought you were cutting off our supply routes, but you could have accomplished that and more with the magic you used.”

I tapped my fingers on the table in agitation but didn’t immediately answer him. A war to level the armies? It might make sense if the foe had numbers that could be fought against, but that wasn’t the case. If leveling the armies was the pretext for this war, then why would Mirktal sack Laxton Bay? If the King thought the threat I foretold was real, then why call me to war? Things weren’t adding up. While I wanted to consider the matter further, now wasn’t the time. I returned my mind to the topic at hand, and answered the man, “Is that the question you wish me to answer?”

The grand magus’s lips twisted as if he wanted to curse, but he didn’t. He shook his head no. “I would like to know about the staff you brought with you. That is my question.” He asked, his eyes darting to my artifact once again. I could see the man struggle to contain a look I would have called greed bordering on obsession.

“Ah,” I answered with a smile, “But I have nothing further to ask of you.”

This time, the man did sputter a curse, as my words struck home. It was fun sometimes to play such games.