Quinten surveyed the construction effort before him with wry amusement. It was nothing like the two-person teams they’d had to rotate between ten-hour shifts for weeks on end.
Groups of ten walked before the wall, working together to raise, stabilize, and drive the foundations deep enough to last before a second set of ten mages came in behind them, turning it all to stone. There was no concern for keeping some of their energy back in reserve in the event the Drakovians decided to attack. There was no need. That was where Quinten and his unit came into play.
Two companies of heavy infantry marched along the wall’s exterior. Their only purpose to shield the exhausted mages behind them from the enemy. It would be the three hundred and sixty light calvary, their embedded mages, and Quinten''s own platoon of twelve Command Unit mages that would be responsible for any actual combat.
That was why Quinten found himself sitting on a nearby rise, leaning back against Star’s belly. His Gift channeled into his eyes as he swept the wind-whipped fields of grass and open prairie before him.
There is another one. He thought. Following the enemy scout with his gaze.
This made the third he’d spotted in the four hours he’d been standing—or sitting in his case—overwatch for the construction below. He let his eyes play across the miles of wall erected in their wake. It cut across the landscape like a raised scar, disfiguring its natural beauty.
The wind shifted, the loamy scent of turned earth, sweetened by crushed grass, tickled Quinten''s nose and brought with it a voice on the breeze. “Lt. Ashford, time to come in. Mage Langley is on her way to take over for you.”
Quinten stood with a grunt, his muscles growing tight over the long hours of inactivity. Star climbed to her feet with a click of his tongue. He was bent over, tightening the strap that ran along the mare’s barrel, when intuition told him that something had changed. His gloved palm crunched in the grass as he used it to pivot around and back toward where he’d seen the Drakovian scout.
His Gift ran down pathways memorized through repetition to augment his vision. Gaze scanning the distance for where he’d last seen the enemy. He froze, his vision filled with something far worse than a man and his horse.
His hand rose, a finger on each side of his lips, and with a small effort of will to strengthen his lungs, throat, and vocal cords. Quinten blew out into a high ringing whistle that swept across the plains. Heads snapped up and turned in his direction.
One whistle or horn call was meant to bring everyone on alert. The second whistle he let loose stated he’d spotted unknown forces. When two more horn blasts from farther east rang out. The soldiers below started moving in a rush. Running to their place in formation, the infantry formed up around the mages who’d stopped their work on the wall with Quinten''s first whistle.
Quinten pulled Star’s saddle straps tight, checking each one for fit, and the horse’s comfort, before leaping into the saddle. The two raced town the hill toward what had been the command tent, which was now being quickly disassembled. People rushed around in an organized chaos as the cavalry formed up and the twenty mages of Quinten''s unit grouped in around Captain Conniver and the other company COs.
Soldiers and mages hurried out of his way as he barreled toward the gathering. He slid from Star’s back with a dull thud. His boots scraping and rustling in the long grass. Momentum carried him forward into a run that ended with him saluting before the assembled officers.
“Report Lieutenant.” The captain said. She shook out her long dark hair before pulling a helmet low over her brow.
“One and a half to two thousand heading right for us, captain.”
His words setting all within hearing distance to whispering. The consensus among senior leadership was that by reinforcing the construction efforts with nearly a thousand units, five hundred infantry supported by two platoons of cavalry. They would act as a deterrent to enemy aggression.
It appeared they had been wrong.
While the numbers weren’t nearly as desperate as Quinten''s last encounter with the enemy. They were without the element of surprise. To make matters worse, battlefield conditions were far from ideal given their current make-up of units.
“Shit.” Captain Conniver said, voicing the words aloud for the rest of them. “Ok. This is what we’re going to do…”
*****
Quinten watched as the two to three foot long, twelve to eighteen-inches deep troughs affectionately called ankle breakers were formed in what looked like random rows, but were in fact staggered in a complicated patter meant to ensure that no one path led all the way through. Interspersed across the open ground between the end of the current wall and the defensive position—set a hundred feet back along its length by Captain Conniver—rose low, two-foot-high walls meant to stop an enemy’s direct charge. Behind them stood foundations of the soon to be basic, primitive earthen walls of Rivenna’s newest fort. A billowing cloud of black smoke arched into the sky from the freshly grown, and now burning tree located just outside and downwind of their position.
The shift of Star’s weight and the tug of the lead line connecting his saddle horn to the remount trailing behind rubbed against his armpit, drawing his attention forward and away from the desperate attempt at establishing a defensible position before the enemy arrived.
That was not Quinten''s responsibility. Nor was it the five other members of the quick reaction force, or QRF team, quickly assembled and tasked with reaching Fort Offton. With the wall’s rapid expansion, they were now closer to the western fort than they were to Northreach and if the fort sent reinforcements to their aid, they would be swallowed whole by the army currently charging toward those they were leaving behind.
Mage Langley—a frequent member to any scouting partyhad them under the cover of an illusion, hiding them from sight. She was also the only mage in their group with whom Quinten had the chance to speak. A second mage used their Elemental gift to keep the air clear of the dust from their passage.
Movement to the north brought a grimace to his face. He wasn’t sure how they knew, but a group of Drakovians spilt from the main hoard and were heading southwest along the same path as Quinten and his team.
“How long can you keep this up, Langley?” He called, borrowing a little of the wind being used to cover their tracks to carry his words forward rather than projecting his voice louder.
“With just the six of us to cover… Little less than thirty minutes?” She said over her shoulder. Her voice reaching him without issue.
Not long enough to clear their line of sight. The leather of his gloves or that of his reins creaking in his balled fist. I can try to take over for her at that point, but I’m not nearly as confident in shielding us as I’d like to be. Should we let them get ahead of us...?
Quinten''s vision rippled as it magnified, bringing the enemy into sight. There were twenty-five in the Drakovians party and it left him unsure of the best option forward. Did they hide and try to work around them, or did they set a trap and remove them from the equation? While he considered their options, the six of them continued riding west, the Drakovians drawing ever closer.
“Sir,” one of the mages—whose name Quinten didn’t know—said, “what are we going to do about them? They aren’t breaking away.”
Quinten frowned in thought. Finally, he answered. “Langley’s illusion will fail long before we get out or their field of vision. I can try to take over for her, but she’s better than I am—”
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“That’d be a first…” one of the mages muttered, their voice loud enough that he could pick out the words over the pounding of their horses’ hooves echoing in the pocket of air keeping their escape quiet.
He chose to ignore the comment, instead saying. “I’m of a mind to show the enemy why the mages of Rivenna are to be feared.”
His statement earned him a number of grins and even a small whoop from up ahead.
*****
With an effort of will, Quinten laid still in the tall grass. Controlling his breathing as best he could while he waited. His five squad mates laying on their bellies within a dozen feet of him.
They’d pushed hard, cutting the angle of the enemy’s approach to get ahead until they could find an opportunity to hide their horses. Time was quickly running out on Mage Langley’s illusion when the mage who’d commented earlier, Mage Boden he’d come to learn, spotted a stand of trees in the distance.
One final push saw them to the stand of timber, safely hidden with it between them and the approaching Drakovians. Once their horses and remounts were secured, Quinten waved the others over.
“We don’t have much time. I doubt their leader will bring them too close to anything that could hide an enemy, even one as small as this.” He said, nodding at the trees behind them.
“Let’s go. Stay low and we should go undetected.” Locking eyes with Langley, he said. “I’ll take over on the illusions. Twelve horses and six people was a little daunting, but I can handle the six of us for a hundred feet in tall grass.” She held his gaze for a long moment, as if considering whether she trusted him to keep his word. Eventually, she nodded, and it seemed to set the other four at ease.
They view her as the leader. Quinten thought, the corner of his lip twitching as he fought back a smile.
“Does anyone have any questions? Speak now. You won’t get another chance before the blood starts flowing.”
It was closer to two hundred feet before he’d been satisfied that they were where they needed to be. No one had any questions, and Quinten took the opportunity to get the names of the remaining three mages while he could. The thought of his orders sending one of them to their death without knowing their name made him want to vomit.
Quinten took point. With Mages Uehara and Boden placed to either side of him. As the only three mages with Physical gifts, it was on them to protect Mages Langley, Malle, and Rasken in the row behind them. He’d been surprised when Uehara shifted, her long hazelnut hair turning a tawny brown. The fur sprouting all along her exposed skin becoming mottled. It matched the heads of grass gone to seed around them, letting her blend into the landscape and become nearly invisible to anyone standing more than a dozen feet away.
Breathe in… Breathe out…
The pounding of horse hooves on soft earth padded by a thick layer of vegetation reached his ears first. The Gift being channeled to them picked it up before anyone, other than maybe Uehara. With her shifted form, there was no telling how it affected her hearing.
Flexing his Mental gift to shift the rays of light bearing down on him, Quinten slowly lifted his head just far enough to see between the shifting stalks blowing in the wind.
The Drakovians were heading straight towards them.
He risked using a little more of his Gift and his vision wavered before settling on the leader’s face. It had been years since Quinten had really had the chance to observe a Drakovian. The Battle of the Bloodied Plains progressed far too quickly to allow for it. Afterwards… He had no desire to stare at the blood and gore caked dead.
The group itself was made up of mostly young men. A few could have been as young as himself, but the majority appeared a few years older. They were thin of build, but strong. Their muscles were well defined and toned to a level that surpassed the average Rivennan soldier. It leant them a brutal, warlike visage.
Their leader was an older man, his face weathered by the sun. Deep wrinkles ran across the man’s forehead and branched out from around his eyes. Eyes that scanned the area before them, looking for any sign of danger.
The QRF team remained where they were. Quinten maintained the weak illusion he had over their positions. It wasn’t meant to conceal them. Lying as they were, it was unnecessary. Instead, he was manipulating the light between them to give the image of grass shifting in the wind.
The Drakovian war-party made it to within twenty feet when things started to go wrong. The ears of one of the lead rider’s horses flicked back and forth and it turned its head. It let out a high-pitched whinny that carried across the plains, easily reaching the timber a few hundred feet away.
Quinten held his breath and almost swore aloud in irritation when an answering neigh rang out from among the trees. The effect was immediate. In a society where life was lived on horseback, an unknown horse’s call was all they needed to know something was wrong.
With the element of surprise lost, it was now or never.
Quinten buried his fingers in the soft earth along with the tips of his boots as he launched himself into the air, closing ten feet of distance in an instant. He lacked the coordination to draw Astraea. Choosing instead to form a fireball between his cupped hands. With an effort of will, he released the miniature star just ahead of center of the now retreating unit. The fire-wreathed orb flew through the air with a sizzling sound that set Quinten''s teeth on edge. When the ball struck the ground, it erupted in a shower of flame, dirt, and disrupted air, its boom echoing for miles in the open terrain.
Quinten landed in a roll. Popping back to his feet, his stomach clenched as bloody pieces of horse and man mingled with the dirt raining down from the top of the explosion’s cloud. Screams from both filled the air, and Quinten knew this ambush would be the one to leave him with nightmares. He pushed the thought away and focused on the task at hand.
Drawing Astraea from her sheath, Quinten pumped his Physical gift through his body and closed the remaining distance. The Drakovian’s tightly bunched formation was in disarray from the fireball. But the terrified mounts were more than willing to run away, and to do so at speed.
Quinten pulled on the surrounding air to aid his movements. Tearing off, he left a path of shorn wheatgrass in his wake as he rushed to cut off the enemy’s escape. Another ball of flame arched overhead, landing with its own destructive force and taking three more Drakovians with it. A blur of motion to his left flashed through the air and a rider was unseated with Uehara baring him to the ground.
A scream of surprise and terror pealed from up ahead. The noise cut off as the horse went down. Its front hoof slipping on a sheet of ice, sending it crashing sideways and rolling back to its feet—crushing its rider beneath its weight.
Starfire and fury, Quinten thought, this is chaos.
The remaining Drakovians split around the patch of ice and their dead compatriot. The man lay face up, his skull crushed flat against the frozen surface.
He dug deep, pulling on even more of his Gift to fuel his muscles. Quinten sprinted forward, leaping over the ice. He charged after the eight riders furthest away from the stationary portion of his QRF team.
Can’t let them get awa—Quinten swept Astraea upward and to the side, shattering the arrow flying toward his face. It appeared that the safety granted by the fear and confusion of their initial attack had come to an end.
With a quick check back to ensure none of his mages were in danger of being hit. Quinten pulled as much wind as he could, shoving it out behind him in a long burst. The force of its passing howled in his ears as his feet left the ground, hurling him forward. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes from the sheer speed of it.
“Fuck!” He cried. Losing control of his casting, he dropped both his sword and the magic propelling him through the air. He landed in as tight a ball as he could manage, rolling for a dozen feet before spending the momentum he’d gained.
The telltale whistle cutting through the air alerted Quinten to the danger. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the arrow that sank to its fletchings in the soft dirt where he’d landed. He pushed himself to his feet and realized he was now well ahead of the fleeing Drakovians. The eight he’d been chasing were now charging straight toward him.
Bows were drawn, and Quinten hastily channeled his Gift through his ring, regretting the momentary loss of Astraea. The wind screen formed just in time to safely deflect the deadly projectiles away from him. Seeing the uselessness of their bows had the enemy drawing steel.
He squat low. Driving his gloved fingers deep into the soft soil before him, sending his magic rushing forward. He’d need to time this next part just right.
Choosing a wide strip of land less than two dozen feet ahead, he drew deeply from his reserves. Quinten put to use all the practice he’d received working with, and converting earth to stone. With an effort of will, a three-foot wall of dirt with the top six inches forming into spikes of slate rock burst into existence less than a dozen feet in front of the charging warriors.
The three leading riders had no time to evade. Even if they did, their allies charging in behind them left nowhere for them to go.
He would never forget the sound of the collision—the sharp crack of bone, the sickening crunch of stone slate spikes ripping free from the wall as they buried deep within the horses that had tried to leap over the obstruction.
Quinten''s stomach threatened to rebel in the aftermath of his attack, but now was not the time. Four riders—luckier than their brethren—managed to clear the wall after the horse before them went down under his trap. They were less than twenty feet away, their cries of grief and fear hitting Quinten like a physical blow.
In one of those odd moments of clarity, he recognized one of the four survivors, the older man he’d taken as the war band’s leader. Soot colored his hairless chin, and his previously tight braid hung disheveled and partially undone as it bounced with the movements of the man’s horse.
Quinten''s muscles relaxed, and power danced at his fingertips, ready to do his bidding.
He met the old man’s eyes a moment before the wind answered his call, feeding the flame in his palm until it erupted in a lance of fire. Its path of destruction ending his part—and that of the three younger men behind him—in the war to an end.