Kaius sat in the governor’s private garden, resting his back against a large tree. Porkchop was with him, and the sun was shining bright, filtering through the green leaves above to bless him with a gentle summer’s warmth.

  The place was undeniably beautiful — a walled-in open stretch at the back of the manor, covered in a smattering of oaks, elms, and three dozen or more varieties of flowering bush. In many ways it was small, only a bare fifty longstrides across — but the reason for that was obvious.

  Enchantments lined the garden’s walls, fortifying and supporting the growth of the plants within. He had to admit, it was an ingenious solution against the draining effect that had killed all plant life surrounding Deadacre. He doubted that its creators had known the cause was an experimental mana reactor buried deep beneath the city, but it was still clever.

  Clever, and expensive to maintain.

  But as far as frivolities went, it was a minor bit of luxury — and one that he currently enjoyed the fruits of.

  It should have been relaxing, yet Kaius found it impossible to quiet his mind.

  War. It was almost impossible to believe that it had come to Deadacre. The city was far too remote and insignificant to draw the eyes of men hungry for influence and power. But such concerns mattered little in the eyes of beasts.

  He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts — a difficult endeavour, considering he’d just sat through two hours of logistical and military planning.

  Shifting his position, a sudden drag of his prosthetic against the grass drew his attention. Of all the bloody times to be set back by such an injury, it had to be now — when he might be forced to go up against a tyrant. Any day now.

  He’d made time to spar with Arc and Rieker, so he could do his best to get used to the movement and the stress of combat. But they were both busy men, and a few days of practice wouldn’t change the fact that he had no sensation. His footwork was horrible.

  At least he and Porkchop got a moment to just breathe. Ianmus and Kenva were not so lucky.

  After the meeting, Ianmus had gone with Hanrick to contact Mystral’s Council of Mages. They might not have had direct confirmation of the beasts’ movements just yet, but the sooner they could confirm whether they would receive the assistance of a mage cadre, the better.

  Kenva’s endeavour, at least, seemed a little less fraught. She’d asked the chamberlain if Hanrick’s estate was in possession of any living trees of magical origin. When the man had confirmed the existence of a secure greenhouse towards the back of the grounds, she’d all but demanded access.

  Every spare scrap of mana she had could be used to sing arrows from its trunk. Considering the size of her pool, and the fact that the tree was only moderately magically potent, she could practically pump them out by the barrel. Backed by a capstone skill, each projectile was still potent — far beyond the quality that most had access to. As she would no doubt produce more than she could ever use, even in an extended siege, it might just prove an edge that could save the lives of the men manning the walls.

  While he was comfortable with his teammates focusing on their own endeavours, Kaius couldn’t help but feel uneasy given the recent news that they might have to split up for the battle.

  “What’s got you by the tail?” Porkchop asked, nudging him.

  Kaius grunted. “I just don’t like the idea of splitting up. We saw that wave first-hand, and it completely overran the defences of Old Yon’s compound. For all we know, the beasts will be stronger and even more numerous. We’ve gotten stronger too — but we’re strongest together.”

  “True,” Porkchop replied. “But this will be different from our normal battles. We’ll be one among thousands, and we’ll be defending walls, not fighting on open ground. There’s too much ground to cover as a unit. By the Matriarchs, I won’t even be able to help unless there’s a breach.”

  “It sounds like you’ll still have plenty to do.”

  From the plans they’d come up with, Porkchop would be something of a linchpin among the high-level defenders. With his Mentis geared towards watching battlefield flow, and his innate ability to speak mind-to-mind, he would be perfect to defend where the fighting was thickest. Even Iron could be deadly if wielded correctly.

  Rieker, Arc, Porkchop, and himself would focus on supporting the wall’s defenders and reacting to any incursions or breaches. Ro and Kenva would focus on high-value targets and intercepting any airborne enemies. Ianmus was to focus on simple raw devastation — thinning the herds as much as possible with their expensive war magic.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Kaius expected that over the length of the battle, Ianmus would prove hellishly effective at that. The ability for his key seal to draw in its own supply of mana would show its worth over an extended engagement — especially as it freed Ianmus to focus the rest of his mana pool on precision strikes.

  Kaius sighed again. He knew it made sense, but he still didn’t like it.

  “At least they’ve placed us close together.”

  “Of course they have,” Porkchop replied. “You need someone to watch over you while you’re inscribing. It’s not like either of us are going to trust anyone other than me to do it.”

  Before he could respond, Porkchop’s ears twitched, and he turned to look across the garden.

  “A runner’s coming,” Porkchop said.

  Kaius grunted and started pushing himself to his feet. No doubt word from the long-range scouts.

  …

  Ianmus filed into the communication chamber behind Hanrick. It was within the governor’s own residence, and its existence was only a mild surprise. Deadacre might have been remote and poor in magical resources and strength, but it was not destitute. Situated as it was as the gate to Mystral’s overland route.

  Still, the room was not as large or sophisticated as the communication chamber he had visited in the guildhouse. The piece of artifice only dominated half a table rather than most of the entire room.

  Hanrick had already explained that the furthest places it could reach were the closest border cities of the Greenseeds— not across the continent like the guild communication network could.

  Following the governor in, Ianmus took a seat at the desk next to him. Compared to the rest of the manor, this place was plain: simple stone walls covered in tapestries of burgundy and purple, the colours of Henrik’s office.

  Ianmus supposed that the luxury came from having a personal communication chamber at all, rather than how it was furnished. Hells, for all he knew, the simplicity of the space could reduce the burden on the artifice.

  He blinked, eyes settling on the empty side of the desk covered in inscriptions. It was hard to believe that he would likely be seeing his headmaster in only a few minutes.

  The thought came with a surprising jolt of apprehension, manifesting as he nervously wiped his hands on his robe. There was no doubt in his mind that Headmaster Song would notice his strength. Aura didn’t carry through transmissions like that — but he knew that nothing slipped past that old fox.

  How would he even begin to explain? It hadn’t even been two years. Silver would raise questions. And when his fellow Spire mages came, it would be impossible to hide his keyseals — nor would the strangeness of his team’s layered formations and casting slip their notice.

  Mystral was built on magic — one of the greatest centres of learning on the continent. Word of their unique approaches would spread instantly. There would be questions. Ones he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

  Oh, he never intended to keep the secrets of keyseals to himself, no more than Kaius intended to do that with his glyphs. He was just embarrassed at how little he understood the art. The sacred geometry he could explain as a connection to the soul — but the system was doing much of the heavy lifting for him.

  Ianmus suppressed a sigh. He should probably prepare a treatise — something he could share to save himself the hassle of explaining himself dozens of times over. He just hoped they wouldn’t ask him to give a lecture.

  With the integration, and the new mysteries surrounding Kaius’s enemies and ancestry, he had far more interesting things on his plate to occupy his attention.

  Thankfully, he wasn’t left alone with his thoughts for much longer. After a few more moments, Hanrick seemed done with whatever preparations the communication artefact required. As he sat up from the knot of runes he was hunched over, he spoke.

  “I’ve sent the request to the Mystral Council. Usually it only takes them a couple of minutes to respond. As you suggested, I added a request for Headmaster Song to be present. Thank you again for assisting me in this. I have no doubt your presence will make this go smoother.”

  “Of course,” Ianmus replied.

  Before he could say more, light flickered at the far end of the table, and the hazy images of three elderly mages appeared — two men and one woman. Their robes were elaborate, with detailed embroidery. Ianmus recognised every one of them.

  Headmistress Thalia, with her stitchings angled like shattered metal, Headmaster Brumhild, whose robes rippled like ocean swell, And his own headmaster — Song — his robes covered in shining lances.

  Headmaster Song snapped his gaze to Ianmus, glancing down to his neck for a moment.

  “Impossible,” Song said. “It has not been two years, boy. How have you managed such a thing?”

  Ianmus gave his headmaster a weak smile.

  “What are you yammering about, old man?” Brumhild said. “You can catch up with your favourite student on your own time. The governor would not have contacted us if it was not something important.”

  “The boy is Silver, fool,” Song snapped. “Like I said — it is an impossibility.”

  “What?” Headmistress Thalia snapped.

  Ianmus suddenly found himself with the full attention of three of Mystral’s council members — the weakest of them Gold.

  “Not impossible, Headmaster,” Ianmus said. “Merely the result of maniacal teammates and extensive risk-taking.”

  He straightened.

  “Regardless, Headmaster Brumhild is right. My own success is of little current importance. A tyrant has been discovered, and it leads an army of beasts to Deadacre. We must enact the Red Cove Compact.”

  Gods, he hoped they would believe him.

  Wanna see the Tyrant get punched in the face? Come check out Patreon!

  https://discord.gg/NjsqGKHHaY