The trail of smoke reached into the sky, towering over the horizon like a cloud of judgement. Quinten stood in his stirrups, hoping to catch a glimpse over the rise before them, as if the tenth of a second could mean the difference between life and death. While it wouldn’t change what’d already happened, he was the first to see the forward scout coming their way at a full gallop.


    He raised a hand, signaling a stop to those behind him. Soldiers and mages alike leapt from their mounts, giving their horses a controlled amount of water and an opportunity to drink. There was no telling when, or even if, they would get another chance to do so.


    Barty and Quinten rode forward, with Lt. Morton, the third and final member of their officer core, joining them.


    The scout dropped his horse from a gallop to a canter, and finally a trot until stopping before the trio. He slid to the ground, his legs bowed and his shoulders sagging. He removed his helmet, filling it with water and allowing his horse to drink while he summarized his report.


    “Friendly patrol is three miles East of us, and the Drakovians are roughly a mile behind them. They outnumber both the original patrol and ours. I counted three-hundred. Both groups have been riding hard in the twenty minutes since I spotted them. They’ll be here in the next fifteen.”


    The man went quiet, waiting for their reactions. He absentmindedly patted his horse’s neck, rubbing it in long strokes that had the beast pressing into his hand as it drank greedily. The water splashing down the scout’s front, ignored.


    No one spoke as each processed the report, considering what to do.


    Combined, NRLC only totaled one-hundred and eighty strong, one ninety when counting the officers and the mages. If they chose to fight. This engagement would be the largest the war had seen since it began.


    “Well, ladies.” Barty said, being the first to speak. “What do you think? We’re eight miles from Northreach. They were coming to the end of their patrol, so their horses aren’t exactly fresh. I don’t think they’ll be able to make it back to the fort without help.”


    “Their mages may have already burned their gifts on the wall.” Lt. Morton added, his eyes locked on Quinten. “The Drakovians may have been waiting for it. It’s not exactly subtle.”


    Out of the three Lt. of NRLC, Morton was the only one against the wall’s construction. As frustrating as it might be, Quinten knew the man not only had a point, but he was also likely right.


    “Mages Cornel and Gentry can’t use either Elemental nor Transmutation magic. They will still be in fighting shape. Jomander and Yenson, we should assume are tapped.”


    Thinking quickly, Quinten turned to the scout. “Three quarters of a mile from here, there is a depression with a sizable rise beside it. Do you think we can reach it before they do?”


    The man answered instantly. “If we go immediately and ride hard, yes. They’ve been pushing hard themselves and will have to slow for a time if they don’t want to blow their horses.”


    “You want to ambush an enemy with nearly a third-again our number?” Morton asked. His eyes widened and his voice rose in pitch.


    “I do.” Quinten said calmly, meeting the man’s gaze. “Now that they’ve started to feel the squeeze, they are going to do everything they can to stop the wall’s expansion. This is their first real attempt, but it won’t be their last. It’s also an opportunity for us.”


    Flicking Starbrite’s reins, he started her forward, knowing the others would follow.


    “Why is it an opportunity?” Morton called as Quinten rode by.


    “They’ll never be this aggressive again. Not after what we do to them.”


    *****


    Horse sweat and manure filled the wavering air as it baked in the late afternoon sun. The weather was starting to cool. The men and women standing beside their horses were grateful for it, but that didn’t mean many of them had a cloth covering their mouths to avoid the flies, smells, and dust.


    “That’s perfect, Warrens,” Quinten said in a low tone that wouldn’t carry. “How long can you hold it?”


    “Ten minutes, maybe?” She said, her voice tight and strained with effort.


    “Thank you.” Quinten said, patting her on the shoulder lightly so as not to break her concentration.


    She returned his thanks with a smile that came off more constipated than pleased, and Quinten understood. Illusions were a part of Mental magic that he’d struggled to learn at the Academy. It was also one that he knew to be vital on terrain like this, where your sight-lines could span dozens of miles. It turned out that illusions were Nell’s specialty, and she’d spent some of their limited time at Northreach to help him improve his own.


    With their force obscured from both their own men and the Drakovians, it was a waiting game. They couldn’t risk signaling Lt. Carter. There was too much of a chance it would be seen by the enemy nipping at their heels. They had to trust that he would react quickly to their appearance and complete his unknown part in their pincer maneuver.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The scout from earlier, Quinten would need to get his name later to submit the man for a commendation, came charging toward them once more. Mage Durmond doing her part to blow away any dust kicked up by the horse’s long strides.


    The man rode by with a nod to Quinten. It was time.


    Mage Core doctrine forbade mages from riding or charging at the tip of the spear. Deemed too dangerous for someone so valuable to the kingdom, they were expected to cloister in the center of the charge or stand at the rear of the infantry. Where they could lob their attacks over the front lines and wreak devastation from relative safety.


    Fuck that. thought Quinten as Star worked her way to a trot, slowly building speed into a canter. He moved up beside Barty, who raised a brow before winking at him. Quinten couldn’t hear the man, but he was sure Lt. Morton was grumbling about regulations from his position in the second wave.


    From the front, it was also easier for Quinten to dampen the sound of nearly a hundred horses as they reached full speed.


    Their charge hit the junction of land where the rise gave way to the dip, and Quinten received his first look at the enemy. They’d timed it perfectly. The Drakovians were a third of the way into the depression of land with no easy way out that wouldn’t require they climb a large hill, exhausting their horses. Their string of remounts would do them no good without time to swap over.


    Quinten signaled to Mage Nox, and she bellowed, “For Rivenna!” Her Physically augmented and partially shifted vocal cords sending out a wave of sound that was nearly an attack on its own.


    There’s no way Carter won’t have heard that. Now, he just needs to turn around without getting crushed under the Drakovian’s hooves.


    Nox’s cry had a second objective. Draw the enemy’s attention. With their primary mode of attack being to shoot over the rear of their horses, Quinten knew it would be difficult for them to stay focused on charging through the Rivennans ahead.


    The first arrow was like the first drop of rain in a spring shower, dozens of droplets following in its wake. Quinten drew on the air ahead, disturbed by hundreds of galloping horses and the men astride them. He pulled it toward their charge, crossing the streams one over the other. It created a vortex of suction that pulled the arrows off course, sending them safely over, or into, the tall grass at their feet.


    From their position higher up on the slope the dip in the land created, they could see Carter’s patrol shift. Splitting in two, each side broke off at an angle, forcing their horses to climb the sides of the bowl. Quinten watched on, the Lt’s plan not fully registering until he saw the lead horse for each section turn back toward the center, using the downward slope to swing around while maintaining their speed.


    That’s brilliant. Quinten thought with no small amount of admiration.


    He wasn’t the only one to take notice. A horn called and the Drakovian squad roared in response, pushing their horses faster. They were going to try to barrel through Carter using their greater numbers.


    The separated units rejoined, charging directly into the enemy. One rider pulling ahead as the two waves of steel, blood, and horse closed the distance.


    Quinten could feel the sweat running down his back and checked his Gift well—still a third of the way full—before drawing a bit more to improve his eyesight. He recognized Mage Gentry immediately and let out an unrestrained whoop that jarred those around him. They stared for only a moment when their eyes were drawn forward. Gentry raised his hand and a blast of fire—fifty feet long—burst from his palm. The roar of flames was loud enough to be heard over the thunder of pounding hooves.


    “What the FUCK!” Barty’s voiced boomed.


    The Drakovian charge was in shambles, their front line turned to chaos as riders jerked one way or another to avoid the flames. The terror birthed by the idea of being burned alive quickly faded, replaced by confusion, when the crash of steel on steel and the cries of men and horses rang out in place of the screams of the burning.


    “We need to hit them now, before they realize the flames are an illusion.” Quinten yelled, signaling for Star to go faster with a kick of his heels. Amplifying his voice, he called, “Charge!” The order rolling like thunder across the plains.


    He watched the distance closely. They were going to reach the killing zone soon. An area that was too close for his wind screen to protect the unit from the shower of arrows still raining down on them.


    Quinten dropped the magic and raised a hand high in a copy of Mage Gentry. Pointing his open palm toward the enemy, he did what he could to shield those behind him from the burst of light that erupted from his hand.


    Men screamed, and several dropped their bows, trying to cover their burning eyes.


    Quinten let off two more bursts, but it wasn’t enough to stop several of their own going down under enemy fire.


    Mage Gentry or Cornel either ran out of energy, or chose to conserve what remained. The billowing flames winked out of existence, revealing Lt. Carter and his forces charging past the remains of the Drakovian vanguard laying broken in the trampled and bloody grass.


    They were moments from contact. The confusion and disorder forcing the enemy to slow and bunch together. Taking away the Drakovian’s strongest advantage, their mobility.


    Star’s legs fully extended in what felt like flight as he flowed with her movements. Quinten drew Astraea from her sheath and rose in his stirrups. The extra height giving him just enough room to let loose.


    Pulling on the air from behind their charge, he funneled it in tight, spinning it around his blade until it combined with the fire burning at the sword’s tip with a loud whump. When the flames erupted forward in a thirty-foot-long, twenty-foot-wide cone, there was no mistaking it as anything but the real thing.


    The bloodcurdling screams that fill the shocked silence left no room for doubt.


    Quinten cut the flames off quickly, not wanting to injure Star, and they plunged into the smoldering waste that was the enemy’s rear line. The first man he passed clutched at his face, screaming. Judging by what appeared to be melted wax visible between spread fingers, Quinten''s blade cutting into his neck was a mercy.


    The next warrior was armed, though one arm hung limply to the side. A quick exchange had the man falling from the saddle, never to rise again.


    Barty charged past, having finally reached him, running a man through as he exchanged blows with another cavalryman. A ball of fire flew overhead, erupting amongst a cluster of Drakovians.


    The chaos of warfare continued, and Quinten found himself lost amidst the waves. Like the North Star in the night sky, Astraea was an ever-present companion, slicing through leather armor and bone as if it wasn’t there, amplifying his magic as he wreaked devastation on those who sought his end.


    When the horn calls started in earnest and the Drakovians that could, turned in retreat. Quinten was forced to fight his way back to the surface and out if the violence he’d submerged himself into so deeply.


    “Let them go!” He called. Looking around him, he nodded in grim satisfaction.


    This would be a day they never forget.