The moment the pair walked into the tent and Helias put up a privacy spell, Sara staggered away Flinging, Helias’s arm from her, she ran to their shared bedroll, trembling fingers trying to unbuckle the brace around her wings.

“Sara—”

“Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. Just…leave me alone!” Sara hissed, back to her husband.

“Alright alright. But let me get this off of you,” said Helias, reaching out to the brace. He deftly undid the lock—it was there for show after all— and pulled the leather cage off, allowing Sara to flex her wings once more.

Sinking into the fabric, wings spreadeagled across the blanket, Sara wiped her eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it. I…Oh Galena.”

“Sara, what do you need?” Helias asked.

The lady of the Warflock finally looked up at her husband, her eyes filled with tears. “I want freedom and not to be part of this madhouse.”

The general’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”

Sara closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath she wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “It’s…not your fault. You played your part and you didn’t hurt me. Thank you.”

Managing a smile, Helias sat down across from her. “Thank you. You deserve a medal. My brave, beautiful wife.”

The harpy-orc frowned. “You don’t really think that. You don’t love me. I don’t think you even like me.”

That elicited a snort from Helias. “I do think that because you just deceived King Thorgoth and Queen Berengaria in front of six dragons.” The general pursed his lips, his expression contemplative. “As for liking you…I don’t feel attracted to you, Sara, but I do like you. You have had my admiration and my affection for some time now.”

Sara’s lips formed an ‘o.” Clutching her hand to her chest, she coughed. “Oh. Um, I’m glad. You…you’re not so bad yourself.” Very slowly, with deliberate, cautious movements, she shuffled toward her husband, and reached out her arms. “I…I’m sorry, but…can you please hold me? I…I just…”

“After everything you’ve done today, I am happy to oblige.” With a similar care and wariness, Helias moved to sit on the bedroll. Avoiding his wife’s wings, he wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

Sara briefly closed her eyes, wincing as she nursed her bruised neck. “I know. Thank you. And thank you for asking me to come. We needed to hear it. Thorgoth…he’s got a good plan to fight them I think?”

“As best as I can tell. Yes. Using himself as bait is genius as it is insane, but he did check if it would work. What do you think? Helias asked. Tentatively, he ran his fingers through his wife’s hair, much like he did with a horse. She didn’t stop him, and so he continued to do so.

Sara could feel her heartbeat calm and the feeling that her chest was about to burst beginning to drain from her body. As she did, her thoughts and observations came to her lips.

“We are leveraging what advantages we have given our position and I think that the assault does have built in contingencies. We’re not using all our soldiers at once, just the first division of the infantry army and some of our cavalry. That will insulate the army from any catastrophic losses.”

“But there is no real plan for once the war is over isn’t there?” Helias asked, his tone grim.

Sara shook her head. “No. I am wondering, though, if this battle is…really to crush the Erisdalians only.”

“What do you mean?” Helias asked.

Sara pursed her lips, shifting a little so she was still holding her husband’s neck, but so they could face one another. “Thorgoth and Berengaria seem almost too glad they are making a stand and that Erisdale’s other allies are sending troops. I understand why they might want to defeat them all in one battle, but the risk is so high.”

One hand absently scratching his goatee, Helias looked up at the tent ceiling. “Maybe in his way, Thorgoth is thinking about the next steps. The kingdom’s economy is not doing great, but if we can wipe out the enemy armies here, we’d be able to plunder, raid, at least reinvigorate our economy with the loot and spoils from Athelda-Aoun, Erisdale…”

Sara nodded, her eyes off in the distance. In her case however, she was absent-mindedly picking at a loose thread on the epaulette of Helias’s jacket. “At the very least he can secure Alavaria’s economy, but…I thought we were going to subjugate the humans? If we plunder their land and strip it of resources, they’ll starve. We’ll have an even harder time trying to keep them in line.”

Helias stilled quite suddenly. “That may be the point. Starving the humans would kill off a few. Weaken them a little so that what remains will resist, but will be easier to subjugate because they have so little.”

“Wouldn’t that just feed into their grudges against the Alavari and Alavaria? They won’t forget that. They’ll hate us and resist us for as long as we live,” Sara said, almost fumbling over her own words as she met her husband’s wide eyes.

“I don’t think he or Berengaria care. They’ll just kill and keep killing any rebels that try to overthrow him,” said Helias.

“Damn, no wonder Titania, Timur and Antigones rebelled, we…we really have no way to escape this do we?” whispered Sara.

Helias squeezed his wife briefly, hoping it would bring her some comfort. “You were talking to Lakadara before she disappeared, right? How much did you tell her about our arrangement and the situation with Thorgoth?”

Sara winced. “I didn’t tell her much, but there were a lot of questions she started to ask me that I couldn’t help but not answer. I tried to divert her attention from them, but as you know, even before she left she was growing increasingly concerned.” Running a hand through her hair she sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything to her.”

“Well, we didn’t know she would try to leave or that the other dragons would turn on her. I know she was your friend as well,” said Helias.

“Why are you asking about that, though? I thought we agreed that it was nobody’s fault but just unfortunate,” said Sara, narrowing her eyes.

“We never found Lakadara or any sign that she died. I’m wondering if she went over to the other side. At the very least, she could advocate for us,” said Helias.

Sara frowned. “It’s possible, but I wouldn’t bet on it. I heard her siblings bragging about how badly they wounded her.”

“I know, but it’s a thought.” Helias squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “So, dear. I think you deserve a more substantial reward for what you went through today after I heal you. What would you like me to do?”

The harorc pressed her finger to her lip, eyes narrowed. Suddenly smiling, she leaned back on her bed. “Dinner and then a massage.”

Helias arched an eyebrow but nodded, smirking slightly at Sara. “Done.”

Frances had been eating a loaf of bread behind the first terrace’s wall when she heard the cheer. The deafening chorus echoed through the city, funnelled by the underground highway to the waiting defenders. It made Frances instantly straighten up.

For Morgan the bellowing shout made her choke on her bread. A slightly trembling Hattie patted the harpy-troll’s back as she spat out the offending piece.

“What the hell is that?” Morgan gasped.

“The attack. Up on the walls, hurry!”

The trio scrambled up the stairs to their tower, a square building with a single small swivel cannon mounted on the rampart. The field was still bare, but the army in the distance was still cheering a slightly discordant, raucous cry.

Suddenly, it crystallised into two words.

“King Thorgoth!”

“King Thorgoth!”

“King Thorgoth!”

Even as the Erisdalians shivered, or froze, Frances pulled out her spyglass. She did not like what she saw. Thorgoth was striding ahead of what seemed to be rank upon endless rank of Alavari soldiers. He had his magical shield up, a wand in his hand and he was starting to pick up the pace.

“Is he… is he insane?” Morgan stammered.

“No, he’s got a plan and his army is behind him,” muttered Frances.

Thorgoth was running now, waving his wand as his army followed behind him. Frances winced as the Erisdalian cannon boomed.

Cannonballs slammed into the king’s shield and around him. Many missed, but those whirling metal balls thunked off his shield, flying in random directions. Some even spiralled off into the army following him, cutting into the ranks.

Once in a while, Thorgoth stumbled over a crater or earth cut open by a glancing cannon shot, but the king continued to charge.

A musketeer standing beside Frances stammered, “Oh shit. He’s coming. How is he still coming?”

“Because he’s Thorgoth. Wait what—” a cold shiver ran up Frances’s back. The artillery were still firing, but all the cannons were slamming into Thorgoth’s shield as he jogged forward. They weren’t shooting the thousands of shoulders that followed him. Soldiers that were now slowly being covered by magically summoned smoke.

Grabbing her hand-mirror, Frances imagined Queen Forowena and the woman’s face appeared.

“Forowena, they’re using Thorgoth as a distraction!”

“I know! I know but our artillery crews are panicking and need to reorient! You hold back, they're probably going to send their dragons soon!” the queen hissed.

“Got it!” Frances cut her call and turned to her daughters who were raising their wands. “Hold your fire. Mages prepare for dragons. Musketeers you’re to fire at the soldiers! The soldiers!”

The calls went across the walls as soldiers cocked their guns. Sure enough some of the cannon balls started to land on the enemy army. Frances winced as the shells gouged through the ranks, and yet they kept refilling. More magical smoke started to be cast, shielding the army from view, even Thorgoth’s glimmering shield.

Frances momentarily contemplated blowing the smoke away, but then she heard a screech. In the distance, six winged forms leapt into the air, flying directly towards the city.

“Mom?” Morgan stammered.

“We’re going to be fine,” said Frances, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder. “Ready your lightning spells.”

Morgan and Hattie took deep breaths and mirrored Frances as she sighted down at the leading dragon, which looked to be the largest of the six. Long years of experience and instinct helped her judge the distance as the group closed. Despite their same colors, each seemed slightly distinct, hammering into Frances that every one of these creatures were sentient and just over a year old.

“Cast now! Fire on my mark!” Frances began her incantation, her aria springing from her lips as she sang. Lightning crackled around her, focusing onto the tip if Ivy’s Sting as she gathered her might. Next to her, Morgan and Hattie followed her song, two matching melodies that echoed her own. Their chorus rose and built until it reached a soaring crescendo.

“Now!”

Helias, riding in the cavalry that was the second wave, smiled nervously. The plan seemed to be working. Thorgoth had distracted the artillery for like half of the way. The first infantry division of the kingdom’s army was now under the cover of smoke. Human artillery was landing amongst the men hard and fast, but the camouflage was really helping to disguise the advance and the dragons were in the air.

Three simultaneous forks of lightning lit the underground cavern with bright blue. They slammed into the leading dragon— Caldra.

An ear-shattering scream that rattled Helias’s core filled the cavern. It made the horse under him rear, and he had to pat his stallion’s neck and yell at him to calm down.

A thud and more yelling brough Helia’s gaze back up. The dragon had smashed into the ground, squashing a good number of Alavari, it was struggling to its feet, wings flapping in an ungainly fashion.

Another bolt of lightning struck the dragon in the face. Blinking through the flashes, Helias saw it was followed by a second and a third.

Yet somehow Caldra was still moving. Writhing in pain, the dragon howled. A crimson jet of fire spat into the sky. It arched over the mass of still charging Alavari troops with unerring accuracy. It would engulf the building and kill the mages there.

Except a brilliant blue shield sprang in front and the fire splashed against it like water on glass. Riding forward, following the still advancing army, Helias watched the dragon heaved a deep breath—

And caught a cannonball in his chest. And another. And several more in his wing, arm, and nail.

Even as the dragons were diving at the walls, scorching the ramparts with fire, diving at Frances Stormcaller, who’d brought their sibling down, Caldra went limp. Iron balls buried into his body, having smashed apart scales and gouged into flesh, the dragon went limp.

Helias was almost at the dragon. He thought of a healing spell, but as he neared Caldra he could see the beast’s eyes shut. He didn’t even bother dismounting. The dragon was slain.

It was the price that he’d paid, for King Thorgoth and the Alavari army reaching the walls.

“Hattie, Morgan, fire at the dragons! Everything you have!” Frances hissed. Not waiting to check on her charges, she whirled Ivy’s Sting into action. Bolts of light blue, searing beams of purple, twisted out toward the five remaining winged beasts. Necks twisting, wings clinging tightly to their bodies, they curled and weaved out of the way, wary of being hit.

One of the dragons opened its mouth. Hattie sent a bolt of magic, forcing the dragon to shut its mouth and dive out of the way. Unlike their much larger mother, the younger dragons were not so eager to be hit by magic spells.

Their focus on Frances and her girls however, was definitely not welcome. Already the musketeers and crew of the swivel gun had evacuated on Frances’s orders. It was just far too dangerous.

Already the dragon’s missed fireballs were burning the stone around them, creating a wall of flame that cut the tower off from the one side of the wall.

Noticing the barrel of gunpowder near the swivel gun, Morgan grabbed it with her magic and tossed it over the wall toward the horde of Alavari. As the barrel flew over, she set it on fire and turned back to the dragons.

She heard a distant boom that could have been it going off, but it could also have been a grenade, or a smell. The harpy-orc couldn’t actually focus on it, but there was viscous fighting along the walls. A hail of suppressive musket fire was pinning musketeers to the battlements. Those musketeers that could fire were doing so at great risk. Hence, the grenades that the soldiers were tossing over as fast as they could.

High above them, though, the dragons were wheeling back for another pass. This time, the remaining five were coming in at different angles.

“Mom, maybe we should get the hell out of here!” Morgan shrieked.

Frances shook her head, squeezing Morgan’s shoulder reassuringly. “If we do that, they’ll target the ramparts and we’ll lose the first terrace! Besides, we should be getting reinforcements. I’ll shield us, you open fire! Don’t hold back!”

“Got it! Morgan, cover me please!” Hattie raised Silver Star in both hands and began to sing as loudly as she could. Her voice carried over the battle’s melee, a vortex of energy gathered around the tip of the ancient staff.

Morgan meanwhile swallowed and began to cast bolts of magic as fast as she could. These fast bolts slapped into the dragons, but while she could see them wince and shudder at the impact, they weren’t nearly doing so much to hurt them.

She had to do more. She had to pull out more of her power, but that meant…

The harpy-troll, her wand clutched tightly in her gloved right hand, pressed her left hand over her chest, where she knew one of the magical stones had been embedded into her body. They hadn’t bothered her in some time. No magical explosions, no outbursts or even any moments where she felt she was losing control.

She’d been happy, safe and that had helped her control her magic. Now, she needed to bring it all out.

“Come on,” she hissed. The nearest dragon was closing and unleashing a stream of flame. Her heart stopped, but Frances’s blue shield shone, catching the torrent of fiery venom. There was no time. Morgan pushed every ounce of what magic she could muster, thinking of the stones in her body as she did.

A violet ribbon of magic that had so long lain dormant whipped out. The ribbon tore across the air, slapping into the mouth of the fire-breathing dragon and slapping it aside. Flame went everywhere, splashing onto the abandoned houses down below as the dragon reeled away.

“Whatever you’re, doing Morgan, keep doing it!” Frances exclaimed.

“Alright, but I don’t know what I’m doing, mom!” Morgan shrieked. She was glowing purple once again. Though she wasn’t floating off the ground, what looked like an incredibly long ray of magic was flapping in the wind. The harpy-orc flung it toward the dragons, surprising herself as it slashed upward, forcing the dragons to dodge.

“Hattie!” Frances exclaimed.

At that moment, Hattie completed her spell. Screaming the final note, she slammed her staff into the tower.

Morgan had no idea previously what her friend had been planning, but as the spell took hold, she instantly recognized it as Hattie’s. Her friend was not necessarily a spectacular mage of her mother’s calibre, but her spellcasting was fast, accurate and she shown an unerring ability to learn new spells.

It only stood to reason that any spell Hattie would develop would be based off of that of her mentor’s.

Five simultaneous bolts of dark-blue lightning erupted from Hattie’s staff. Instead of tearing directly toward the dragons, these crackling coronas of energy coiled through the air like flying snakes. Taken completely by surprise, the spells slammed home, each of the dragons howling as Hattie’s spell sent them careening through the sky. They didn’t slam into the ground, but one by one they recovered, one skimming over the rooftops. They were making their way away from the tower and in full retreat back to the Greenway.

Morgan cursed as the dragons forms grew smaller and smaller, but she did manage to finally release her spell. Just in time too. Hattie slumped down next to her, holding onto Silver Star for support.

“That…that took a lot out of me. Agh, I’m sorry,” Hattie groaned.

“No, that was a very brilliant effort, Hattie. Morgan, get Hattie to the nearest aid station for some rest. I’m going to the gate—”

The rampart shook. Frances went to one knee, grabbing onto a nearby crate of cannonballs, her eyes wide. Morgan turned to the sound, but was yanked back by Frances’s hand.

“What was that?” Hattie stammered.

“They must have gotten artillery set up. But that didn’t feel like artillery—”

Turning around, Morgan’s mouth dropped open as her eyes settled on the main gate of the first terrace.

Musketeers were firing furiously down at the mass of Alavari and lobbing grenades. It was an utter killing field, but the enemy were continuing to press forward.

Because at the head of the army, having stormed up the ramp, a shielded King Thorgoth had just kicked the first of two gatehouse doors in.