“I've never understood. Why do people say the Salkrit underground was caused by a falling star? The cavern digs into the mountain more horizontally than vertically. Something falling from the sky wouldn't cause that.”

“That's what you're curious about, Ariel? Eje fought an ogre then got caught in a riot, and you want to know the prehistory of the underground? Maybe Kjobayesh carved it out himself. Or the god of ogres. What was his name again?”

“You know, I'm starting to wonder if it's rude to refer to them as ogres all the time. He was really quite polite when I talked to him afterward.”

“Don't be polite, Eje, he nearly killed you. Don't be so respectful. I can't imagine how horrible the ordeal was. Why would you go there to begin with?”

“I told you. It's good practise. Nothing else.”

“But you haven't done it before, right?”

“Well...”

“Gods, Eje. That's just...gross. What would your parents say if they caught you?”

“I know.”

“Hanging around people like that? In underground fight rings?”

“I know.”

“It's dangerous, especially as a girl. The men at those, erm, institutions aren't exactly gentlemen.”

“I know. Drop it.”

“Hey! You lot at the back. Hurry yourselves up.”

“Yes, Captain Esbeck!” Salaya jolts to attention as though stung by a bee and resumes marching, Ariel right by her. Eje keeps up, though grudgingly.

The forests marking the boundaries of the Salkrit district have long since faded, and though Ariel still resents not being allowed her horse, she has to admit the vigour spells have allowed them to cover a respectable amount of ground in a mere day. “So you're sure there were orcs in the desolation, Eje? What if we show up and it's empty?” It's been thoroughly busy since Eje returned half drunk, arm scorched, babbling about orcs living in the heart of the Upper Realms. Captain Esbeck went from sceptical to personally leading a mission against them, and permits to leave the city were produced in no time. Arrec was more annoyed than he let on when his guards were reassigned to aid in the attack. Hopefully he'll make it back to Lakeview alone.

“Octave assured me it was real. If she had reason to suspect Tal was lying about it, she would have told me so. She's hardly shy about criticizing her.” They all look back at Octave, still ambling along some twenty paces behind the rest of the party.

“Well, they certainly mobilized a lot of mages in response. Aren't we meeting a few from Lakeview as well?”

“Probably. Were you hurt during the riot?”

“For the last time, no. I stayed out of it. Octave was the one yelling and throwing things.”

“Salaya wanted to throw something too. Remember that, Salaya? I had to hold her down to stop her from launching herself at the guards.”

“Ariel, you know that's not true!” says Salaya indignantly. Her eyes are wide and earnest, almost hurt. “I would never start anything violent against guards, you know that. Just restrain them. Hold them accountable for hitting that man.”

“You're too pure a person.” laughs Ariel. She decides not to bring up everything Salaya said at the Cap and Crown. West of Salkrit, the Lord's Prairie extends to the horizon and beyond in every direction. It's a little too flat and treeless for Ariel's taste; any orcs will see them coming. Despite Esbeck's implorations, the party has in short order spread out along the road. The captain at the head is at least eighty paces ahead of them at the end, and the gap is widening. She looks back at Octave to ensure she hasn't gained on them, then lowers her voice. “So what was Tal like? Did she try to suck the marrow from your bones?”

“I'm not quite sure what to make of her.” says Eje. “On the one hand, there's something disturbing about Tal. Not that she's a wild sadist, but like she's far more than what she seems. On the other hand, when the two of them talked, it was like they merely were old rivals. I honestly forgot she's on the Mage Guild council. That botanical mage you mentioned, Ogostsomething seems far more trustworthy.”

“Didn't you say she had a reflection room?” Salaya seems impressed. “I've always wanted to use one of those.”

“Is that the sort of room which shows images from your mind?” asks Ariel. “My father promised we could see one after I finished my studies, but he didn't have the connections to get in. I bet you have one at home, right, Eje?”

“I wish. I almost never get to go in one. Someone on that council knows how to make them and isn't sharing. I guarantee you each council member has a private reflection room that's never shared with anyone who isn't, you know, in.”

“That's for their work though, isn't it? They need them to develop spells?”

“Sure, that's what they say. But you know what I bet they use 'em for?” Eje's eyes narrow and her voice drops in wicked delight. “Sex parties. They get together and have magic-fuelled sex parties. You know vigour magic has a variety of uses, right?”

“Ew! Don't say that, Eje!”

“Yeah, I don't want to imagine old people having sweaty, wrinkly sex either.”

“That's why they prefer to have it with nice young men and women, like the sort who are desperate to get into the guild.”says a familiar low voice behind them. Salaya starts at this so hard she nearly falls on her face.

“Gods, Octave, don't sneak up on us like that. Were you listening to everything we said?”

“I couldn't help it when you mentioned magic-fuelled sex parties.”

“Do they really go after young mages for sex?”

Octave shrugs, still grinning slightly. “It's just a rumour that pops up every now and then. But it's a universal truth that people with power will find a way to abuse it.”

“What about Tal? She's pretty young and attractive for someone on the council. Considering the influence she must exert, she could have men across the nation lining up for her if she were interested.”

“She's not. Hurry up and rejoin the group before Esbeck sends out a search party for us.”

“Now she wants to walk faster.” mutters Eje as Octave strides up ahead. “She was finally getting more talkative too.”

“She might still have loyalty, even if she won't admit it.” suggests Salaya. Eje still glowers. That remark about power and abuse must have gotten to her, but it only makes Ariel more curious. Lakeview has its own hierarchy: officials like Ranim Harki, Captain Loswel, the captain's aides, then the mages arranged by merit. A few outsiders like Dolmion have an unspecified amount of authority, but even among mages, Team Twenty-Four is middling at best. Eje doesn't show it, but the shock of going from lauded to a nobody must be taking a toll on her. Ariel looks around at her team again and wonders how Salaya or Octave, to say nothing of Eje, would react if they discovered her to be low born.

After a day of hard marching, they stop where the horizon turns from peaceful green to ugly brown and the sun turns from golden light to scarlet splendour. Under Esbeck's watch, sentries are posted and camp is pitched. “Reinforcements arriving tomorrow morning.” the captain informs the group. “Then we go in.”

Ariel finds herself drawing water rations next to a talkative mage no older than her. “I can't believe we're out here.” he grumbles. “About to wander into the desolation after a bunch of orcs. It's insane. The captain is insane, we're insane, whoever reported this needs to be locked in a tower.” He tugs on a spigot until water trickles into his empty canteen. “And this blasted barrel can't even release water properly. I'm already fed up.”

Ariel puts her hands behind the barrel and tilts it forward, increasing the trickle to a flow. “Better?”

“Much. Thanks.” He caps his full canteen and extends a hand. “Vevile.”

“Ariel.” She takes it. “From Lakeview.”

“Lakeview, huh? That's a ways away. Eastmarsh. I'm a lightning mage. Lightning and colour.”

“Life and luminous.”

“Where are you from? Haven't seen you around Salkrit before.”

“We're from Lakeview, but got stuck during the lockdown and recruited.” They walk back together. It should have occurred to Ariel that there were other camps. Salaya and Eje surely knew it. For some foolish reason, she'd always thought that they were the only one and that somehow other parts of the nation required no help. “Colour magic is certainly popular, isn't it?” Trying to keep the conversation going.

“Oh yeah. Who doesn't want to blow stuff up? But then you get further into it and discover a whole world of possibilities. Did you know colour magic can be used to light houses? I had one teacher who'd take a job once per year at some rich aristocrat's house for his birthday. All he'd need to do was throw lights around, keep the atmosphere festive, you know? The pay must have been extraordinary.”

“I wonder if you could do that with luminous conjurations.”

“Of course. You can do anything with magic if you set your mind to it. Is that your team?”

“Yep. Looks like they're preparing dinner.”

“All girls? That must be nice. Anyway, I need to meet with my team and go over our strategy. Talk to you later, Ariel.”

Ariel plunks down in front of the fire and looks around. Salaya stirs a pot of something porridge-like; none of them know the first thing about cooking. Eje is drawing her sword methodically over a whetstone. Octave is reading a book, though she won't show anyone what the title is. There are so many things to discuss: the tomes and what to do with them, teamwork, Eje's violent tendencies. Every time they come up, the conversation goes nowhere. It's either forgotten or sidetracked. Ariel longs to talk to people, but it's always more difficult than it should be. “Do you ever feel that we don't practise as a team?”

Eje drags a leaf over the edge of her sword. “What do you mean?”

“Look at the others. They're talking strategy and going over tactics. They're checking their magic. Why don't we do any of that?”

“Here's my strategy: kill orcs.” The leaf shears in half. “I still can't believe they're so close to our homes. Coming out to burn villages, running through the forest, and fading into the desolation. They're beasts, and I'm going to hunt them down.”

“We really should have more than that though.” says Salaya. They sit around the fire, eyeing each other, nobody quite sure how to begin. The awkwardness builds to a climax, and even Eje has no idea how to resolve it. After some time, they fall back to their tasks, eat, and go to bed, blankets stretched in canvas tents over the cold ground.

“Did you see our reinforcements?” Eje nudges Octave who looks up from her breakfast only momentarily. “They just showed up.”

“The ones from Lakeview?” asks Salaya. “Anyone we know?”

“Your good friend Irami is here.”

“Ugh.”

“As is Brant and his team. A few mercenaries too, though I didn't see Ridgeway. Sorry, Ariel.”

“I can live with that.”

The camp breaks after its morning meal. Captain Esbeck arranges half a dozen of his personal guards at the front. City guard, tough fighters but without military magic, sit alongside Salkrit mages. Ariel spies Vevile, still talking with his team. They meet each other's gaze and wave. A couple teams from Eastmarsh sit a little apart, and on the other side, the larger congregation from the much closer Lakeview settle in. “How'd you four ladies get here so fast?” asks Brant sitting beside Octave. He grins and waves the rest of his team over. It's remarkable what a near-death experience will do to a personality.

“We had a mission in Salkrit. What possessed you to come out here?”

“Orders from Captain Loswel. Said all available teams and mercenaries were being summoned out here for some sort of emergency orc hunt.” Irprinon straightens his sword, plops down next to Brant, and nods to Eje as though they never had any differences. Amiel and Arrigos follow. Men do seem quick to anger and quicker to forget; Eje seems less enthused at their presence. “Ready to do it all over again?” The other Lakeview teams sit around them. Five teams total, meaning twenty bodies from Lakeview. Eight bodies from Eastmarsh, and about forty from and around Salkrit. It's more than are ever dispatched on a single mission, and while everyone knows it, Ariel can't match the general atmosphere of excitement. The dead quivering desolation, the endless horizons of blue dirt, the mushrooms feeding on something, but what? Mushrooms feed on death itself. Digging down into the desolation would unearth only horror. And that's without considering the orcs. She'd rather not consider the orcs.

“My uncle led a party out one time.” says Brant, as though releasing his thoughts. “They hoped they'd finally found an active base. Usually we just find remnants. Scattered bones and ashes, discarded weapons. But this was fresh. He lead a squad of a few dozen into the woods. Now that I think of it, it was near the desolation too, the same we went into last time. None came back alive. None were even found again, only their footprints leading through the woods and into the blue emptiness. When we first went in, for some reason I thought we might find traces of him. I didn't even have a chance to look.” He sighs and looks over at the desolation, emptily inviting them in. “Well, I'm sure Irami will give us a better speech than that.”

Irami stands up in front of them. Same pretentious blue robes but at least without the notebook. “Quiet, please. I'll be liaising with Captain Esbeck. If you have questions, direct them to me. Our position is on the left flank. The Salkrit and Eastmarsh squads will comprise the centre and right. Team Two will hold the centre, our centre. Team Four, you're our backup. Team Sixteen, cover our left, Team Twenty-One, cover our right. Team Twenty-Four, cover the rear. Each team will be responsible for its own space, and I expect you all to hold formation even if we're attacked with overwhelming force.” Her gaze lingers on Octave and Salaya. Ariel looks over at her teammates to see if they're as confused by the idea of formations as she is. “Any questions?” There are none. If Brant was hoping for a speech, he's disappointed.

As Irami talks with one of Esbeck's aides, Salaya leans over to Brant. “Have you guys been practising formations?”

“No. No idea what she's talking about.”

“It's meaningless fluff.” says Irprinon. “She's trying to sound like she's sweet and disciplined.”

“How would four people do formations anyway?”

“It's just a matter of protecting each other, I think. And synergizing abilities. You know, weave attacks and spells together. Trying to do some sort of military formation with rotations would be absurd.” Irprinon smirks. “Then again, Irami's probably got her team doing just that to show off.”

“Upside-down bitch.” announces Brant, though not so loudly that Irami can hear. “We all saw her during the value challenge ripping of Octave.” He shoots a glance over at her as though hoping she'll notice his admiration. “Nobody likes her except the officials she sucks up to like Ranim Harki.”

“So all the important people like her?”

“Yeah, I guess. You were excellent there, Octave. The captain saw it, I saw it. We all saw it.” It must be difficult having a crush on Octave. Brant has lived a life of physicality complimented perfectly by magic. He could have his choice of girls, including Salaya who's staring at the side of his head as though it's about to burst with honey, but Octave has never given him more than a distant nod. Even Ariel feels a twinge of annoyance. He doesn't even notice his old sword strapped to her belt.

Before moving out, they're each given a small bit of whiteroot to chew on. “Does this really counteract the miasma of the desolation?” Ariel wants to know.

“It just keeps you sharp. Nothing magic or special, just a stimulant.” says Octave. “Soldiers chew on this stuff so they can march through the night.” She's the only one to toss hers away.

Ariel wonders if it's time for a prayer, but the enemy is not yet visible. It's into the desolation again.

Hours later it's the same thing all over again. If it weren't for the sun overhead, it would be impossible to know if ten minutes or a full day has passed. The quivering, the uncertainty, the taste of damp. A solitary mushroom pops out of the sickly blue soil. Everything feels heavier, especially Ariel's feet. Over the next ridge, gasps. A field of mushrooms heralded by a oak-like titan. Caps wilt and fall to squelching thuds they as though pick their way through, or burst open, trillions of invisible spores drenching everything around for leagues. Irami mutters muffled curses as her deerskin boots sink into the muck. A few hundred paces to their right, Esbeck kicks a mushroom the size of a dog out of his way, only for it to explode over him in a puff of maggots and bits of rotten mushroom. The others might be miserable or shocked or disgusted. Vevile on their far right is just visible, stepping over a narrow stream.

Irami has been increasingly critical of the squad's movements. Every ten minutes, she'll reprimand Team Sixteen for straying too far away or Team Four for gaining too much ground and not being a proper backup. Team Twenty-Four seems to be moving well, or so Ariel thought until Irami told her to fall in line. “Are we supposed to be walking side by side?” she demands to no answer.

“Why don't we lead?” suggests Brant. “Team Four has experience navigating the desolation.” Irami ignores him, wiping moisture off her brow.

Past midday they stop on a bluff for rations, the only things still dry. “Over there.” Just over the top of the bluff, they can see the edge of a ring of stones. “Bigger than I remember from the reflection room.” says Eje, pouring water into her mouth to wash down the biscuits and salted beef.

“Good thing this one is smaller.” says Salaya. “I don't think I could handle being stuck in the desolation for days again.”

“Let's get moving.” Esbeck sends the call down. “I want to be out of here by nightfall.”

The stone ring spreads for leagues across, up and down the naked desolation. As they draw nearer, they notice oddities among the stones. Many are dirty with brown soil as though dug up from far away and brought into the desolation. One has been carved, or more hacked at with a hammer, until about the size of a head, complete with notched eyes and a cracked mouth. Irami gives it a kick and sends it tumbling. “Foul creatures, foul wards.” She steps past the ring and freezes. Others follow, their eyes widening.

Ariel joins them. Salaya hisses for her to hold back in case of a trap, but she's already suspecting. Beyond the stones, the air hangs heavy, silence weighing on her ears. The quivering that resonates throughout the desolation like a lute string lightly plucked is gone. “This is unsettling.” says Salaya, joining them on the other side. Everyone notices it straight away. Bolin, head of Team Twenty-One is holding an impromptu meeting with the rest of his team to discuss it.

“What sort of magic is this? Is it why orcs are able to live here?”

“Seems demonic.” says Eje.

“What makes you say that?”

“It's eerie, it's unknown. What else would it be?”

“Quiet.” snaps Irami. “And get back into formation.” Only then do they hear Esbeck giving a speech. Rallying them. Something about fighting to the bitter end and sparing nothing.

“To protect our lands; to protect our people; to protect our lives. This is Yertza! Death to the orcs! They will plague us no more, for now we are the plague, and will leave only the dead in our wake. For the King!” Esbeck ends his speech, and the cries ring out, so of course they have to take it up. This is it. For the first time, an orc village in the heart of the Upper Realms has been laid bare. And they have the honour of leading the attack. The mages bow their heads in a hasty prayer.

“Move on.” They do, with renewed purpose. A brisk march takes them up another ridge, then down. The earth lies flat with incountable four-toed prints leading up an elevation to small huts of mud and thatch. Esbeck and his squad break into a run. Everywhere, mages and soldiers alike follow. If there ever was a formation, it's long forgotten. Even Irami can offer no more criticism, only urge them on. Vigour magic flows over them as they run and Ariel's heart beats with unnatural strength.

Eyes peer out from cracks and faces poke out around corners. If these orcs hungered for battle, their appetites have long since been sated. As they exit their huts or look up in shock, the squads thunders upon them. The cries of 'Yertza! Yertza!' come up from the attackers: an ancient oath of battle. Any person who utters its name pledge themselves to kill all their way. Any person who hears such a thing knows that the only way out is a fight to the death. A hut in front of Irami explodes in flames, occupants shrieking as they fall out, hair and clothes smoking. Hulking orcs with shoulders like doorframes lumber away before the oncoming storm. Smaller orcs the size of children squeal and flee as fast as their small legs can carry them. Cornered, some turn to fight. They can only stall the vengeance that bears down on them. Teams Two and Four led by Quennon and backed by Irprinon and Brant meet them head on, the teams on the flanks encircling them. Ariel and Arrigos time their shields in perfect unison, knocking the orcs back then dissolving them to allow their teammates the counterattack. Irami and Salaya set hut after hut ablaze, mud cracking and becoming brittle, the flames blocking the retreating orcs, forcing them to run around, opening them to further attacks from range.

In the centre, the orcs are routing even faster. Esbeck and his guards, swords blazing, cut a swathe through them, their dark blood mixing with the dirt their hands scrabble in. Ariel turns back to the battle at hand. It's time for her to do more than protect. Eje and Octave face down a handful of orcs who've burst out of a crumbling hut. They scarcely fight back as Eje smashes one down, then another. Octave, sword still on her hip, sidesteps a wild swing of a club, then kicks her opponent back into a smouldering hut. The remainder scatter and she relents. Eje does not. She chases them down, dusk magic striking at the backs of their heads. Bodies cover the ground under a haze of smoke.

Do orcs have children? Ariel has never seen nor heard of a female orc, much less a child. Yet there one is, no larger than an infant, stubby little legs unable to outrun Brant's long stride. It gives a squawking scream like a chicken facing the cleaver. Brant grasps his sword in both hands and cleaves it in half at the waist. The legs kick a few more times and the mouth gurgles, hands grasping at entrails spilling out, pushing them back inside. Futile. Brant doesn't look down; he's already moved on, screaming for Yertza. Ariel pauses. She bends over the little orc. Its eyes are rolling up until only the whites are visible, then back down, left, right. In his? her? dying moments, enemies are closing in on all sides. The orc's chest heaves once, twice, thrice. Its black eyes fix on Ariel's in condemnation and she freezes. Surely this can't be the face of the enemy. Everything she's been told about orcs, from the bloodthirstiness to the unrelenting savagery fades like smoke in the wind. It won't look away, and neither can she. A hut collapses beside them, dust and spark spewing overhead, yet Ariel does not move. What did this youngster dream of at night? A simple life in a desolation village? Or something more? Pillaging? Destruction? Slaughter? Faraway notions despite their proximity. Still their unblinking eyes meet. Only when Ariel extends a hand to the orc's bloodied cheek that she realises death has overtaken it. She reaches out and pushes stiffening lids down, covering her guilt.

Ariel stands in a daze. The yells grow further away with each second, but she scarcely hears them. Her feet lurch beneath her, carrying her mindlessly away from the heat and blood. “Had enough Yertza?” A score paces away, a familiar figure sits crossed legged on a rock surrounded by raked dirt. Rows of tiny mushrooms sprout: a garden. She flops down beside it but between the rows. Even in her present state, she can't bring herself to damage this last vestige of calm. Octave says no more but hands her a flask of water.