Duronaht watched the battle between Gorondos and Tathyk, tapping his foot as it dragged on. Once Gorondos returned, the haggard Flame Angel was greeted by enthusiastic cheers from the Emperor's men, despite victory eluding him. When Gorondos came closer to the Emperor, Duronaht saw just what a toll the battle had taken on him. A sharp prickle rushed through his body when he looked at the strips of skin that were stricken off the Flame Angel's face, exposing a shimmering light beneath.

The Emperor motioned to the Solnahtern nearby to clear the area around his command post so that he might speak plainly with the angel. Gorondos emanated palpable irritation, seething while floating just above the ground. A renewed bombardment from the siege engines arrayed to the north created enough noise for Duronaht to engage without fear that everything said would be heard.

"It may not seem this way, but you did very well," Duronaht tried to force optimism behind his words. "I want to thank you for..."

"You forget I have lived in these lands for millennia. In that time, I have heard hundreds of thousands of lies. Spare me yours," Gorondos hissed, his lava-like eyes flashing nearly white. "You are wondering how I was injured."

"...Yes," Duronaht conceded after a brief pause. "I assumed it was Tathyk, but..."

"No," Gorondos growled, hot breath coming out his nose. "It was those mortal mages. They have achieved some skill with the Auras Nethron gave them. The Silver Aura did the most. I was unprepared for it, but that will not happen again."

Good to know that our own mages will do some good against Cyrona, Vorlan, and the rest, Duronaht thought, resisting the urge to smirk.

"I presume your wounds will heal?" Duronaht asked with stilted courtesy, glancing toward the still smoking portions of Eynond's outer walls.

"Of course," Gorondos said. "These wounds are minor. Before long at all, they will be fully mended. Tathyk will heal as well, however."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," the Emperor laughed and waved his right hand in a dismissive gesture. "We'll have the better of that contest when you return for your revenge. In the meantime, you bought Parlon a reprieve by drawing Cyrona off from the west. She'll have to return to save her dear Rithys before long, but by then my men should be across the river. Brother will be scared to move anything from the center, and even more scared to move anything from the north where Myrvaness and Jagreth are striking."

Gorondos glared silently at the Emperor while the siege engines continued their barrage of Eynond's outer walls.

"Did you have another suggestion?" Duronaht laughed awkwardly.

"You used me as a diversion," Gorondos mumbled.

"I wouldn't put it that coarsely. Every single attack we're doing right now is a diversion of sorts. We're stretching my brother far too much for him to endure. I don't have any particular confidence that one prong will meet with more success than others," Duronaht shrugged. "What I do know is that, together, these attacks will break him. When they do, you will burn Eynond to the ground, preferably with my brother in it."

With another glance toward the city, Gorondos floated off to the south.

"I await that moment eagerly," the angel murmured. "For now, I rest."

Duronaht nodded and turned his attention back toward the fortress city. He again sat in his chair with his feet rested upon a box and sipped from a goblet of wine at his side.

"Not bad for our first day," Duronaht said, chuckling to himself. "Not bad at all."

~~~

Lyfress and her father worked feverishly in the makeshift infirmary in the small patch of forest not far from the front lines while steady streams of injured from those fighting off Jagreth's latest abominations poured in. The frightening scythe-headed creatures had been mostly stopped by Vorlan, but dozens got through and rampaged through lines that were unprepared for them. Fear of the Bladewings left Emperor Rohmhelt's army staggered to avoid creating dense targets for the Bladewings to ravage. With so many paths open to them, the beasts could stampede into the small clusters of soldiers, thrashing their bladed heads about to cut into the men.

Many of the wounds brought before her were fatal and couldn't be mended. Gashes deep into their necks or that had split their armor and left deep wounds in their torsos. Blood flowed everywhere. Her hands became slippery with it after handling so many wounded men. Tending to one man, whose right arm had been severed as well as taking a deep cut into his ribs, Lyfress stared at her hands as they glowed white with the Ceunan Aura, but were also coated with the glistening red of blood. When she blinked, she still saw that haunting image. That soldier's wounds closed within seconds under her care, though he lost consciousness from the blood loss.

"Bring the next one," she said, barely above a mumble, her vision locked on the blood dripping off the bedsheets like linens soaked in a rainstorm.

Her father, one of the eleven other healers at that post, moved at a modest but still admirable pace in administering his care. By his own admission, he couldn't match her speed or skill. As such, he was given the less dire cases. Out of habit, he kept wiping his bloodied hands on his own head, leaving a layer of drying blood over his wrinkles. She wanted to correct him, but didn't have the heart to say anything.

The next patient had taken a shallow but wide wound across his chest, leaving a rising tide of blood seeping up into the crevasse where his steel armor was now split open.

"Bastard... rammed me," the man coughed.

"Don't speak," she muttered. She lay her hands across the wound's full breadth and turned them inward so the tips of her fingers touched their counterparts. She closed her eyes and released a bright pulse. She blotted out all the screams from the battle in the distance and focused on the one task of closing that wound. Within seconds, she felt the flesh mend back together and stop the bleeding.

"So, it's... true," the soldier said, his eyes blinking wildly. "Thank you. Thank the angels!"

Lyfress nodded and smiled at the man and motioned for the two strong men serving as her assistants to carry the man away and bring on the next patient.

She recoiled the instant she saw him. He was naked, aside from his leather boots, with half his body covered in a sprawling purple burn that fanned like fern leaves, splitting his skin open in numerous spots. As he was laid down on the blood-soaked bed, the stench of burned flesh struck her nostrils. Lyfress fought back the surge of vomit that battered against the back of her throat.

"What happened to this man?!" she asked in exasperation, glancing at his comrades who had carried him. A strange part of her mind was relieved to see burn wounds after so much blood, but these were such astonishing injuries. "This wasn't normal."

The two scrawny men exchanged nervous glances before the shorter of the two answered.

"Got too close to Myrvaness," he squeaked out. "She must've got frustrated fighting Simel and... and she turned toward the men. Simel tried to stop 'er, but..."

Lyfress considered it a small blessing that the man had utterly lost consciousness. He only had the faintest and most erratic heartbeat as she tried to intervene in mending his wounds. The dead flesh reached deep, seemingly more hopeless the further she dove into his body. Staggeringly, Myrvaness's wrath had spared all of his vital organs.

"It's a marvel he's alive at all," she said, her eyes still closed while she tried to close the wounds and steady the man's heart.

"More than you know," the other of the two soldiers whimpered. "Some of us... they got hit hard. They... they burst open in explosions of lightning. Not much left of 'em."

Lyfress shuddered to imagine what such a thing would have even looked like. Shaking off those grisly images, she returned to trying to mend the injuries. She again cleared her mind and focused on sensing out the dead tissue's depths. Trying to close the wounds and restore flesh to life proved nigh impossible, however. There simply nothing left on which to build. It was as though she tried to cultivate crops on a slate of barren stone.

Interrupting her strains, an officer with a blue plumed helm stepped into the tent. His sword, though sheathed, dripped with blood out the sheath's bottom.

"The enemy has flanked us to the north and is bearing down on this position," he declared in a powerful bellow. "We'll escort you down to the new infirmary being prepared for you two miles to the southwest."

Another of the healers, a matronly middle-aged woman wearing a blood-soaked white robe, stood near the captain and looked to her mangled patient, whose life dangled by a thread.

"If we move now, many of our patients will die," she protested in her sweet lilting voice.

The captain glanced down at her patient. Even behind his thick curly black beard, Lyfress saw his grimace.

"Yes, they will," he curtly replied. "I am sorry. This is an order. Those who cannot walk or be easily carried will be left behind. Those who cannot be carried must be left to the enemy's mercies."

Lyfress glanced with grief at her patient and his dire wounds. Her father, working on a far less serious case, finished administering his glowing hands to a gash on a stocky soldier's arm.

"There's a good lad," Cesord said with a smile as he got the man to sit up. "Now, be off with you. Good luck."

He and the other healers quickly packed their instruments and garments and sent away those patients who could walk. The mortally and otherwise severely wounded were carried off to be laid outside the tent. Her patient's two comrades looked to her with apprehension, the shorter of the two biting his lip at a tortured angle.

She thrust her hands back down over the man's wounds, focusing with all of her energies to try to turn the dead tissue back to life. Realizing that was fruitless, she tried another approach. She willed the wounds shut, even if they would be bonded with dead flesh for the moment. At least they wouldn't be open. When she opened her eyes, she shook her head at the still sorry sight.

"That's all I can do," she said. She drew from her pouch at her side one of the rare tokens healers could grant to soldiers to give them permission to withdraw past the front lines for medical care. The tokens were simple white enameled metal circles with a small blue hand pressed into the middle. "Here. Take this and get him far from the lines. It'll be a very, very long time until those wounds heal and he will need rest."

"I... I don't know what to say," the taller soldier spluttered.

"A simple thanks will do," the shorter one said. "Thanks, my lady."

After they dragged him out, Lyfress gathered her things while her father sighed looking around the tent at the lakes of blood, severed limbs, and other assorted foul remains.

"This has been so much worse than it was at the Nehal," Cesord mumbled. "So much more savage. And I'm still worried it could get worse."

"Come now. Both of ya," a soldier, armored in dirty speckled plate mail, motioned for them. "We don't 'ave much time."

"Understood," Lyfress nodded and closed her bag before slinging it over her shoulder. "Father, let's go."

The storms that had ravaged the area earlier had moved on, but the sky was still darkened from Myrvaness's tempest. Not a few hundred yards from the infirmary tent, she saw the felled corpse of Bladewing, twisted in the shape its death rattles had left it, surrounded by nearly a full company of soldiers taking up positions against a few rampaging scythe-headed beasts nearby. Elsewhere, the Emperor's lines seemed to be forming back up in a more regular order with comparatively few of Jagreth's abominations nearby.

However, across the river, the next threat began its approach: Duronaht's regular army. Arrayed across a broad front it marched toward the great stone bridges. Its mages, numbering in the hundreds, froze at least a dozen avenues across the river to give the army more opportunities to cross. Lyfress also reasoned that it removed the incentive for Rohmhelt's army to simply destroy the bridges to thwart the crossing. Further, with the force they heard was coming down from the north, it was possible Duronaht's army had already done such a crossing further up the river that went undetected.

Weaving between formations of Rohmhelt's troops, Lyfress spotted the angels Simel and Myrvaness locked in a ferocious clash. Myrvaness again and again struck with her sparking swords while Simel formed a white translucent shield as wide as three men. Both angels moved shockingly fast, so much so that Lyfress, her father, and the other healers were transfixed on this otherworldly battle some hundreds of yards to the east. Myrvaness continually attempted to strike out against the troops arrayed against her, but Simel managed to thwart her at nearly every turn.

"HOW LONG CAN THIS GO ON, SIMEL?" she bellowed in a deafening roar that carried above the battle's clamor.

"As long as it needs to," Simel's raspy voice echoed in Lyfress's head, seemingly slithering out from the center of her skull into her ears. She jolted where she stood and glanced around. From the staggered reactions of the soldiers and healers near her, including her father, she assumed they had all heard it, too.

"It's not safe here! Pick up the pace!" the captain from the tent shouted from the front of the group of healers. "We still've got three miles to go!"

Her father sighed and forced a pained smile at her before quickening his awkward stiff shuffle. Just as she matched his pace, trumpets blasted on the horizon to her right.

To the southwest, riding down from the hilltops, Lyfress saw a detachment of cavalry numbering in the hundreds flying Empress Evinda's distinctive personal white and red banners alongside the Methrangian imperial standards. The horses swiftly closed the distance with Lyfress and her comrades, Empress Evinda leading the column atop a muscular gray steed. Flanking her on either side were the ceremonial Solnahtern. Behind them were rows of mages and mounted archers.

The captain trotted up to the Empress and dropped to a knee, his armor clanging as he did. Lyfress and the healers bowed their heads out of respect.

"Your Imperial Majesty! It's a great honor, but..." he started.

"Yes, I know it's dangerous, captain," Empress Evinda interjected with a chill. She then swiftly dismounted, flowing white hair flipping behind her bright red skin. The Empress's white Kyosok eyes flicked across the healers, settling most heavily on the familiar faces of Lyfress and Cesord. "There's a reason Grand Marshal Agrehn has another thirty thousand men on the way behind me. The battle for Eynond will be decided here."

She flicked her hand to indicate a commander in her column to come forth.

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!" the commander shouted, his sweaty face barely visible through his visor.

"Take your horse archers and deploy them north of here against the enemy's advance," Evinda commanded without looking at him. "Keep them busy until the main force arrives. Bloody them up a bit, will you?"

"Yes! At once!" the commander responded. "And our mages?"

"They'll be here with me," Evinda commanded. "They'll be needed."

"Understood, Your Imperial Majesty," he answered before turning about. "Mages, dismount here. Archers, with me!"

Empress Evinda looked past the mass of healers toward the bright flashes where Simel and Myrvaness fought in the distance while a group of mages, some of whom Lyfress recognized from their training with Simel, took up behind the Empress.

"I'm glad to see you're unharmed," Evinda said as she glanced at Lyfress and Cesord before motioning to the group from the infirmary. "Healers, such as all of you, serve the most vital function in the whole army."

"I'm grateful for Your Imperial Majesty's kind words," Cesord answered. "And we need to get to our new position to continue our work, it seems."

"Then I'll get out of your way," Evinda smiled and gave a slight reverential bow.

With various murmurings wishing the Empress safety, the group of healers and their escort began moving toward the southwest again. Not more than a few dozen steps into their renewed advance, Lyfress saw a spike of lightning reaching up unnaturally from the ground as though it had burst from the soil itself. It ripped through the earth toward the healers, throwing pieces of dirt skyward and making a horrendous ripping noise. Arcs of lightning sprang from the skyward spike and struck soldiers attempting to flee from its path. The men screamed. Then they glowed. Then they burst, splattering boiling blood and charred flesh in all directions.

"Run this way! Now!" the captain screamed, motioning toward the west. "Get out of its way!"

Lyfress tried to shuffle quickly, but the confusion led to some of her fellow healers stumbling in the muddy ground and blocking her way. Her father lagged behind, scarcely moving anywhere. Her pulse leapt and she shot glances between the surging bolt, which now was close enough she could see the individual tendrils of lightning comprising its body. They hissed and crackled. Her knees grew weak and she fell helplessly. It raced toward her father and a group of soldiers. Nothing could stop it. Her father's helpless and panicked expression furthered her own dread. Competing impulses, to look away to avoid the ghastly sight or to look toward her father for his last moments, clashed in her mind.

The hissing and crackles came so close that she could smell the burned ground driven before it. She cried while looking at her father and the men around him. His panic had dissipated, and a serene resignation now radiated from him. He looked toward her with a faint smile with the bolt within reach.

A white flash whipped across her vision and a dull thud sounded out.

The bolt stopped in place. Before it, Simel floated, holding his hands out wide and forging a white barrier around the menace. His black hair blew backward as the bolt's force continued to press up against him. With a heave, he collapsed his hands together. The barrier folded inward, squelching the bolt into oblivion in an instant.

Lyfress stood speechless. As the bolt vanished, Myrvaness floated where it had been just moments before. Her yellow skin, iridescent green eyes, and bright red hair combined with her glinting armor and sparking swords to create a most terrifying presence. Lyfress and her father may have avoided calamity for a moment, but with the Wind Angel now before them, there was little calm to be had.

"Well met, Simel," Myrvaness said in her smooth, yet cold, voice. "I thought I had broken free that time, but you surprised me."

"You can randomly prance all over this field and I will always be there to meet you," the Mind Angel riposted.

"Random? This was not random," Myrvaness smirked and pointed one of her swords toward Empress Evinda. "You should not have come here, Your Imperial Majesty," the Wind Angel bowed mockingly. "I saw you come and could not believe my luck. Very well, Simel. Let us see if you can protect our distinguished, but helpless, guest."

Myrvaness's swords both surged with renewed energy, bolts arcing frightfully off both blades and cutting burning slits into the ground.

"You must trust me to do the right thing," Simel's voice echoed deep in Lyfress's head while his smooth metallic eyes flickered in her vision. "I apologize in advance."

What do you... her thoughts began to respond, but she stopped as her breath left her. She suddenly felt as though she had been placed behind a barrier within her own mind. Her motions were not her own. Separate from her will, her body mindlessly formed a powerful glistening white ward, as did the other healers, including her father, and many of Empress Evinda's mages. All of them, herself included, stood with the same rigid posture, their arms extended and their faces blank. Each one of them continued to expand their wards outward.

"What is this, Simel?" Myrvaness laughed. "Turning your followers into puppets does nothing to scare me."

"It should," Simel answered, with Lyfress and all of the others joining him in a haunting unison. "And it will."