Megan cradled a bowl of homemade ramen in her hands, sipping lightly at the broth as she surveyed the packed interior of the Heron Tavern. As usual, Mandra’s establishment was a popular one, and people throughout Milagre always liked to stop by for their drinks. Mandra was renowned for her brew, and for the excellent food she served. There was something about the care she put into her food that spoke to the customers. That, and she was particularly popular amongst the men, with her pretty face and curvy figure, Megan thought.

The soup was an excellent restorative after yet another day of hard training. The light but strong chicken broth woke up her nose just as thoroughly as it refreshed her, and the simple taste left her wanting more. Before she knew it, she’d drained the first bowl, and had ordered a second. Then a third. Her purse couldn’t keep up with Mandra, she thought, smiling quietly to herself.

“Want some more coffee, dear?” Mandra asked, appearing out of nowhere before her, holding a steaming pot. Megan nodded eagerly, and the landlady poured her a fresh cup. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks, young lady. I was starting to think you’d moved away.”

Megan smiled up at her. Mandra always seemed to know her customers’ lives and shared their woes and triumphs. Yet another trait that made her loved by her regulars. “Nothing so drastic, Mandra. I’ve just been kept busy with work.”

“Ah, yes,” Mandra commented. “You’re a third-year now, and Paragon Apprentice to boot. I hope Samuel isn’t pushing you too hard.”

“No, not at all,” Megan replied, waving her hand. “I’ve just got a lot to learn.”

“We’ve all got more to learn,” Mandra agreed. “But let me know if you’re feeling overwhelmed, and I’ll give him a talking-to.”

Megan chuckled as the landlady moved away, imagining the scene in her mind. It was possible, she thought. Mandra seemed to know all the big names of Milagre, and even some outside the country. She was so deeply ingrained into the community that she seemed to know everyone. Samuel was a well-known fan of her food, particularly her coffee, so Megan could absolutely see Mandra chastising the great Archmage. He’d probably go all meek, she imagined with an even wider grin.

After finishing her third bowl of the delicious noodles and draining the last of her coffee, Megan placed three silver coins on the tabletop, then made her way out. The sun was starting to set now, just barely visible over the raised central area of the city. Even from here, at the southern outskirts of the city, she could clearly make out the two hills of Milagre. The central one, of course, was home to the palace, and the greatest of the noble houses.

The second hill, wider but not as tall as the capitol hill, was where the Mage’s College was situated. The seven Archmage’s towers were visible even from a mile away, standing out against the bright evening sky. Samuel’s was the center one, she knew. She wondered if he was there, completing more paperwork for the running of the school which was effectively his. He might also be in the library of his own home, or over in Harlest, visiting old friends. That was the thing about a mage like Samuel, she thought. He could literally be anywhere in the world, switching locations in an instant as he wanted.

The trek back to the College wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as the walk into town, she reflected. The hill was still steep, and she had to go against the flow of citizens returning to their homes on the outer ring of the city. Here and there, she caught glimpses of colored robes worn by students of the college, and even some of the Guard’s Guild apprentices. The overall mood of the city had improved greatly from a year ago when the god Hammerbrewer had been killed in the Divine District.

Megan had heard the stories about the fear that had gripped the city after the event. Everyone had thought that it preceded yet another attack by Attos, this time on their country. Tyrman was, by all likelihood, equal to Attos in power, but that still didn’t assuage the anxieties of the non-fighting population. The ordinary citizens were frightened of the Conquering King from the west. He was a figure of terrifying legend now.

Even the College grounds were quieter than usual, she noticed. There were still scores of students visible, walking back from their evening classes or from the dining hall, chatting amicably amongst each other. She received a few polite greetings once her robe was recognized, but for the most part, her route to the dorms was an unusually peaceful one. She entered the building that housed the first-year Proficients just as the sun dipped below the horizon, and cast the great city of Milagre into darkness.

Lanterns flared to life in the city at strategic points along the Queen’s Road, providing a safe avenue for the innocent townsfolk still out. The Queen’s Guard began their night patrols, breaking into groups of four and spreading throughout the city. There was nothing unusual in this, and the citizens respectfully made way for the uniformed men and women as they made their way down from the hill. There were a hundred and sixty armed members of the Guard out tonight, ready to catch miscreants and the criminally inclined.

But, deeper in the city, near the Palace District, there were only eighteen guards on patrol, with perhaps two dozen more sleeping in the barracks beside the prison. There were eight guards within the building itself and one Night Watch Commander. This knowledge was known only to a few; the Royal Family, and the Commander himself. But tonight, there were five others in on the secret.

The alarm rang out like a dragon’s roar, shattering the silence of the city and breaking the peace. The fortress-like prison had been breached, and a patrolling guard had found the bodies of his fellow men. The Watch Commander was killed as well, though nobody could know until the morning. The building immediately went into lockdown, and guards surged from all parts of the city to reinforce the position.

Eight figures slipped into the night, carrying one former prisoner over their shoulders. The prisoner was blindfolded and bound hand and foot but was not resisting their sudden departure from captivity. It was a woman, with long black hair and a well-muscled form. The large man that carried her led the party as they slipped out of sight into an alley. Lord Attos would be pleased with their efforts, he thought. They had succeeded in breaking out his greatest operative.

Near the eastern gate of the city, they encountered their first real opposition. A patrolling group of the Queen’s Guard, led by an experienced Sergeant, had rushed to the gate to reinforce the five men already there, anticipating that the culprits might attempt to escape via that route. Sure enough, they were already spread out, ready to receive the criminals.

“Out of our way, and we won’t kill ye,” the large man said, his thick accent identifying him as an Attosian at once. “We got what we came for, and we don’t want no more blood spilled.”

The Sergeant of the patrolling group drew his weapon, unfazed. “You’re outnumbered, criminal, and more men and women are on their way. Lay down your weapons, and surrender to the Queen’s justice.”

The figures behind the large man cackled at his words. They too drew their weapons. Their leader, however, surveyed the men stubbornly blocking his path, then glanced up the high street towards the center of the city. The Sergeant could be right, he thought. There could indeed be more armed soldiers on their way here. But it was unlikely. They’d caused enough of a stir at the prison, and it was reasonable to assume that it was only the eleven men he could see here that would try to stop him.

The men and women of the Queen’s Guard were well-trained, but they weren’t hardened warriors. The men behind him were elite soldiers, handpicked from the finest of the Attosian forces for this mission. They’d entered the country without notice, and teleported into the city via the help of their mage. On the battlefield, every single one of his men was named, and well-known from the last war. He might lose one or two of them in this fight, but he had no choice. Lord Attos had ordered them to retrieve his operative.

“I gave ya a chance,” he said, setting the woman down and drawing his own long sword. “Remember that when ye meet yer god.”

Seven of the eight intruders rushed forward at his quiet command, their weapons flashing out with deadly intent. Two of the Queen’s Guard fell at once, too slow to react. The sergeant parried the leader of the criminal’s blade with a grim scowl and hacked back as fast as he could. The leader recoiled, blood flowing down his arm from the wound that had suddenly appeared on his shoulder.

“You will be the one meeting your god tonight,” the Sergeant said coldly. “I’ll show you what a soldier of Tyrman is made of.”

Three civilians rushed over. They were students of the College, the Sergeant realized. They were all wearing red robes, marking them as third or fourth-year students. Competent mages could help in this fight. “Mage students! Lend us your aid in the name of your Queen!”

The students didn’t hesitate. They’d heard the alarm, and seen the fight breaking out at the gate. Their approach had been deliberate, as they’d wanted to lend their hand to the Queen’s Guard in whatever way they could. The leader of the trio, a fair-haired boy, lifted both of his hands at once. Without a word spoken, fire flashed out in long tendrils, aiming for the criminal’s backs.

One of the intruding Attosians whirled on the spot, his own hands raised, and conjured a barrier of mana to block the fire. He flashed his teeth at the students. If they’d only left it well enough alone, they might survive. Then his grin faltered as the other two attacked as well, throwing chunks of ice and powerful blasts of air at him. His shield wouldn’t last long under this barrage, he thought.

“Anya!” he shouted through gritted teeth. “Wake up and do your part, woman!”

The students of the College never saw the figure break away from the buildings and come up behind them. The first hint of her presence came when she grasped the head of the trio’s leader and snapped his neck. Horrified, they turned at once to attack her, but she was too quick. Anya Tokugawa had been trained by one of the greatest warriors of the time, her father, and ordinary college students had no chance. Even weaponless, her fists struck with lethal force, and in a matter of seconds, they were lifeless on the ground.

Anya moved to support the Attosian soldiers, scooping up the sword that was the former property of a guardsman. She stepped into the battle line, already swinging the short blade in bewildering patterns, cutting down two of the line in a heartbeat. Then another three fell on the other side. Then another, and another. The Sergeant watched, out of the corner of his eye, as Anya ran her blade through the last of his fellow guards.

Furious, he lunged at the woman, determined to kill her before he died. Before he made it more than a foot towards her, however, the leader of the Attosian forces swung his sword up in a back-handed blow, catching him in his stomach. He never felt the pain of the wound as he fell, only aware of numb dread creeping through his system. He’d failed his sacred duty, and now the criminals would escape unscathed. The leader knelt down beside him.

“You fought well, Milagrean,” he said quietly. “But our god is with us. Send our greeting to yours.”