B4 Chapter 481: Delegation, pt. 3

The frontier seemed endless from atop Deadacre’s western wall. While the land surrounding the city wasn’t perfectly flat, there were no great hills or mountains for days in any direction. Hard-packed, sun-baked dirt extended for half a league or so, and then there was just grass, broken only by the odd stout tree that clung to life. Even the indomitable Wildgard Mountains that cut off the frontier from the coast were too far to be seen — the towering peaks shaded by the far-off horizon.

As he stood there and watched, Kaius wondered what to expect from the mages that were coming. The animus might have tried to hide it, but he could tell his friend was nervous. Understandable, considering it would be the first time he’d met Spire mages since their fateful meeting over a year ago.

At least Ianmus was a known quantity. Kaius didn’t have that grace. Even Kenva had the pedigree of a Hiwiann clan to lean on. As far as the mages were concerned, he was some no-name bladesman that had appeared out of nowhere.

He wasn’t quite nervous — not after everything he had lived and experienced — but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel the touch of uncertainty, at least, along his back. If only he wasn’t so visibly branded on his face. There was no hiding his oddities, nor that of his magic, anymore.

Regardless of his feelings on the matter, the mages were due any minute now. Thank the gods he’d managed to cram together the last of his basic notes on glyphbinding that he wanted to share.

It’d give the Spires a base point to at least explore the theoretical underpinnings of the art, though he hadn’t given them direct diagrams of his current glyphs, nor the prototype his father had developed. That said, he had left copies of those with Rieker, Ro, Ark, and Hanrick — even if everything went totally to shit, at least one of them was likely to survive.

Every single one of them that had been present at the war council now waited on the wall, watching for their imminent arrival. They’d split off into their own groups. Governor Hanrick waited with his entourage close to the stairs down from the wall, while Rieker, Ro, and Ark leaned against a buttress.

Kaius had moved a little further along — it made it easier to converse without disturbing the others.

Ianmus had said the mages would be flying in. Gods, Kaius couldn’t even imagine what that must be like. Every boy who dreamed of magic dreamt of being able to fly. How would it feel to have the sovereign winds blow through your hair as league after league dissolved beneath you, he wondered.

It must be exhilarating.

He couldn’t wait to gain the ability for it himself. He was lucky; one of his spells for Aelina might have the capability, but he knew it wasn’t a certainty. Flight was a rare ability, at least in the second tier. He could only hope. But the strength of his class and his skills would be enough to nudge things in his favour.

Still, the fact that the mages were flying in presented unique difficulties. They’d cleared out a city square only two blocks behind his position on the walls — an endeavour that was more difficult than it sounded, considering streets near the Western Gate were packed to the bursting. Thousands of uneasy souls, ready and waiting to flee the city.

Kaius looked back, seeing the teeming ocean of people. There were no carts, no wagons, and certainly no caravans — they wouldn’t have any hope of reaching Mystral swiftly, and the safety of the waiting guards at the Mage’s Pass. The governor had mandated that each could only take what they could carry.

That had been an unpopular proclamation, but at least Hanrick was charismatic enough that it hadn’t led to riots. No — Kaius could only see a boiling nervousness and discontent among the gathered would-be refugees. Further to his right by the Western Gate, an entire contingent of city guards and a dozen delver squads stood ready and waiting.

It was an anemic escort, but all the city could spare.

Thank the gods they would have mages joining them.

Of the group arriving, roughly a third would be returning to Mystral within the hour — mostly mages from Mistspire, whose affinity was specialised towards misdirection and subtle, wide-reaching effects.

It was, as far as Kaius could tell, the smartest play. With the assistance of mages, those hopefuls would be far less likely to run into beast attacks on their journey.

He just wished the delegation from Mystral would arrive a little quicker — they’d already been waiting for the better part of an hour.

Kaius returned to watching the horizon, lightly tapping his foot to burn off some of his impatience.

“Remind me again of who I should pay attention to,” Kaius asked.

Standing with his back tall and watching the west with focused intensity, Ianmus didn’t even blink at his question.

“The head of the cadre is Ophelia of Stormspire. She is the eldest and strongest of the lot — high Silver — and she and her assistants will be how everyone is arriving so quickly. She is a flight specialist. There is Madra and Isaac of Stonespire; I don’t know them personally, only by reputation, but both are said to be experts in stone-shaping and have likely been sent to bolster our fortifications. Madrigal of Lifespire is a senior healer. And then there is Cantor, from my own Sunspire.”

Kaius didn’t miss the way his friend’s voice grew ever so slightly clipped at the mention of the last mage.

“Is there a little history with the last one there?” Porkchop questioned.

Ianmus sighed, shrugging. “Nothing worth wasting time and attention on. He was one of my old professors, and a little harsher than he needed to be. But I do not think he is enough of a fool to let that interfere with our defence of Deadacre.”

Before Kaius could reply, he was jolted into a state of shock. Kenva walked forward and leant over the wall, staring off into the horizon.

“I hope so, because they’ll be here soon.” She raised her voice so that the others atop the wall could hear her. “Mages spotted, due west!”

Kaius snapped to where his friend was watching, focusing as the far-flung horizon was thrown into sharp relief. He spotted the mages immediately.

A hundred souls, soaring through the sky as they were backlit against the blue expanse behind them. They were tightly packed — far more than he had expected — and judging by the way their robes billowed behind them, they were moving faster than he could sprint.

It was hard to tell how much faster, though — distance and a lack of surrounding terrain made it all but impossible to find an easy reference.

With the mages sighted, Governor Hanrick leapt into action. Moving with his entourage along the wall, he stopped atop the Western Gate.

“Open the gates. The mage escort has been spotted.”

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His guards moved to obey.

Guards and the few delver squads that would accompany the refugees streamed out into the frontier, guiding a flowing river of bodies into an orderly formation before the city walls. It was a slow process. Even with the city’s entrance being built to handle multiple caravans, there were just too many souls.

Yet despite the difficulty, the milling refugees streamed out with far less chaos than Kaius expected — individual voices drowning out into a low rumble as the crowd ebbed out like a river bursting its banks.

By the time the mages were visible to those without ocular skills, Hanrick had returned to their group. They watched them approach.

This close, Kaius was surprised to see that it didn’t look like every mage was ecstatic about their airborne journey — some had icy pale faces.

At the front of their host was a woman in icy grey robes, wild blonde hair streaming behind her. She had the ecstatic grin he expected from someone flying, as did the nearly twenty other mages that encircled the rest of the group at its edges. Dressed in same coloured robes, they must have been Ophelia and the other mages of Stormspire.

Mana streamed from each of them in a great wave, woven into a spell construct — encapsulated, different bubbles. It wasn’t a singular effect. Instead, each storm mage seemed responsible for a handful of their peers, while Ophelia’s more potent work accelerated the whole group to breakneck pace.

It was an impressive show of cooperative casting, and even those many thousands who had left the city fell into a hushed silence as the mages flew overhead.

“Ho! Down into the square behind us!” Rieker yelled, his deep basso carrying through the air like a thunderclap and breaking the silence.

The head mage, Ophelia, nodded, and dozens of mages flew past them in a slow descent.

Despite the quick pace at which they moved, Kaius caught sight of four other mages in embroidered robes — two in brown, one in green, and one in the same shining white that Ianmus had worn when they’d first met.