The chase is on. Brant nearly spills and tumbles down the hill in his haste. Eje can't let him be first. She's right behind him, her short legs finally useful in keeping her balanced as she half bounds half slides down the hill. The others must be close behind. At the bottom, her view of the horizon is only broken by the grotesque mushrooms and tiny figures in the distance. Irprinon is beside her, and the vigour spell he and Brant cast washes over them and their paces redoubles. If only Eje had known how incredible it feels, she might not have called it a branch of magic for men who kept their brains in their biceps. Wind rushes over her face and her feet rush over the ground. The quivering hum of the desolation falls silent in their wake. The distance between them and the orcs lessens with each step.

The orcs are moving in two groups, one at the van, one at the rear. They've skirted around the pools and mushroom groves, but they've stalled at the river. Too wide to jump, too deep to ford. They're going along it, aiming for a crossing downstream when they notice they're being followed. A cry rises from the horde and now they're running too. If they're exhausted from lack of sleep, they don't show it. Brant was at a stone's throw from them, now even he's falling behind their great loping strides. Their vanguard reach the creek's narrowest point and leap it. Minutes go by. Eje's urges her legs on but they won't move faster. The second body of orcs reaches the creek. One trips and falls face first in the white water. He's doesn't reemerge and the others don't look back for him. Brant reaches the spot and leaps the creek in an easy bound. Irprinon follows. Eje takes more of a run, but it's no wider than the canal back home and she clears it.

The vigour magic can't keep her lungs going, but Eje catches her second wind and settles into a comfortable run. It's not enough to catch up to the orcs, but she'll run them down eventually. Orcs are big but weak. They lack stamina. They're cowards. They harass the outskirts of civilisation, carrying off farm animals for their campfires. If they grow bold enough, and strong enough in numbers, they deign to raid the houses instead of the barns, slaughtering inhabitants and feasting on them and their pantries. Or so the stories say. Eje has never heard of them throwing bodies down a well. It seems almost intelligent behaviour, as though they were thinking about what they were doing. Every account she's heard says that orcs act solely on instinct, but what sort of instinct makes them run across the desolation? Even orcs need sleep. She has half a mind to ask them about it. If only orcs could talk.

Just ahead, Brant sheds his pack as he runs. Of course. Her nerves must be dulled by all the enhancement magic, because she doesn't even feel hers. Irprinon drops his pack. Heavy flasks of water and dry rations thump into the ground. Eje does too and her feet gain wings. The distance between them and the rearguard lessens to a stone's throw. Another orc ahead stumbles and falls. He's on his feet now, turning to fight. Brant hits him, his momentum carrying the orc as he runs, sending him skidding over the yielding ground. His face rises from the dirt to see Brant's sword.

They're close enough to hear the rearguard speaking to one another in crude yells and snorts. The language is too primitive to make out, but Eje hears distinct sounds repeated. It must be a language. “Turn and fight!” Brant yells at them. They give no indication that they've heard him. They've been out here to long. It needs to end soon. Eje sees a mushroom standing ahead of her. There's plenty of time to avoid it. All she has to do is swerve to her left. It's coming up soon. Her arm thuds against the mushroom and she stumbles. What was that? She pulls her eyes open and catches her balance. She must have dozed off. The sun is sinking in the west: a day, a night, and another day since she woke up.

Now they're halfway across the plain. Running has turned to jogging. How much time has passed? Eje isn't sure anymore. As the light dims and the shadows lengthen, the orc rearguard turns as one and spreads out. Crude swords gleam and cudgels are brandished. Brant, Eje, and Irprinon slow down as they approach. Are the orcs laughing? Eje looks back. Shit. The others are nowhere near. The vigour magic must have missed them, and so would a longbow from this distance. Salaya is still crossing the creek with Arrigos. The orcs charge, and there must be over a dozen. “Back!” calls Eje. “Fall back.” Brant bellows and meets the nearest orc, running him clean through. Irprinon is beside him in a trice, and the two hold off the orcs back to back. Eje's magic roars in response and she lashes out across the faces of the approaching orcs. They flinch but don't fall, and now she's on the run from four of them, each standing head and shoulders above her. They snort and belch and windmill their weapons, more a threat to each other than to her. Any one she could beat without a second thought. Even two of the lummoxes would give her little concern. But against four she can't find an opening, her shadowy blows ineffective when retreating. One of them circles, cutting her off. He snarls something between twisted lips and takes a swing. She deflects his blow with her own sword and follows up with a little dusk magic, a counter to the face. Then the other three are on her other side, shoulder to shoulder. Eje raises an arm to block their swords. No. This can't be it.

Octave rams the orcs from the side, sending all three sprawling. The flanking orc strikes again and this time Eje has room. The sword in her left hand blocks while the counter from her right staggers him. Then her sword bites into his unprotected neck and he runs, choking on his own blood. Eje turns back to help Octave in time to see her flooring an orc as he stands and stomping them on the ground as they try to crawl away, knees rising above her shoulders like a vengeful child trampling her toys. Eje follows up, two hands on the sword now, hacking at their exposed necks and heads. Another comes, and another. A third. Octave meets them, arms at her sides. Whereas Eje had to run to avoid being skewered, Octave sidesteps their attacks, not hitting back, but always keeping them at her front. They rush and again she sidesteps. She steps in and catches the nearest orc with a kick, then skips out. As the orcs turn after her, the magic strikes them.

Amiel joins, his dark conjured sledge scattering the orcs harrying Octave. Arrigos throws a shield around Irprinon and Brant who fight on, bleeding from numerous wounds. The orcs throw themselves into the battle, but now with support from Arrigos, their attacks are manageable. Eje circles around, trying to isolate a pair. The sword is knocked from her hands, but that doesn't matter. Smoke pours from her nostrils. She batters them with blow after blow, keeping them at several paces. One throws a blow at her and she parries like it's nothing.

But something is wrong. Infuriatingly, they don't fall like her opponents invariably do in all the underground rings she's fought in. The blows land flush on the orcs' faces and bodies, yet make no impact. They just keep attacking, and Eje can't keep avoiding them. There's not even room to spit. They split apart, and try as she might, she finds herself caught on both sides. Behind them, she can see Octave slamming an orc against a boulder like she slammed Ridgeway. She's too far away. They all are. Eje has isolated the orcs, and also herself.

Eje's saving grace is that orc make for poor weaponsmiths. Groups divide their bladed weapons by hierarchy: the largest and strongest get the best swords and axes. Lower down orcs are glad to get knives or hatchets. And these two, the lowest of the orcs who feed on scraps, wave knotted cudgels. Their blows catch Eje across the shoulders and arms, but she's able to protect her head. She hits one, but is struck by the other in the side. Turning to push the aggressor away, the other orc launches an offensive, clubbing her in the back repeatedly. Eje flails. A flurry of blows from her should be deadly. Not here though. They're too resilient.

Ariel's lungs burn. Her legs burn. Every part of her burns. But that can't hold her back. She reaches the fight. Team Four is fighting together in a coherent unit. Octave is holding her own. Off to the side, Eje is pinned against a mushroom, the smoke shielding her arms from the blows two orcs rain down on her, but only just. One catches her clean in the stomach. Another across the shoulder and she slumps. Ariel clears the exhaustion from her mind with a strict command as she breaks into a sprint. The orcs' clubs clang against her conjured barrier, giving Eje time to slip out around them. Luminous ropes catch their legs, and she's got the spell perfected from last time. The orcs spill to the ground, tearing and biting, but the ropes don't yield.

Salaya has never felt so close to death. Her eyes keep snapping shut, and the effort to pry them open is almost as great as the effort to keep running. Nonetheless, she's at the battle site. Ariel and Eje are at the far side, so she runs to help Octave. The magic pulses in her temples, burning away any desire to sleep she may have had. Her first spell is more colour than fire. It rips into the back of the nearest orc, searing her filthy skin and making her howl. Octave swings an orc stave against her head, cracking both. The rearguard is crumbling, and now the vanguard is joining the fight.

The vanguard consists of only half the number of the rearguard, but these orcs stand taller. They wear heavier clothing including pieces of armour, affixed to shoulders and stomachs. Their weapons include steel swords pillaged from settlements, and their fangs are so long they protrude from their mouths. They bark at the wavering orcs who gather themselves and attack again. Ariel and Eje join Salaya, Eje leaning against Ariel for support. Team Four has already turned to face the new arrivals, Brant and Irprinon at front, Arrigos supporting from behind, Amiel conjuring at the back. Salaya too readies herself. No fear this time.

One orc rushes Salaya. Her fire misses the first time, and he shrugs off a second volley. Then he's on her, towering over like she's a child again. She freezes, eyes fixed on his sword. It must have been forged as a longsword to be wielded with two hands, but he swings it with only one. At the base is the engraving of a wolf baring its fangs. “Salaya!” The call from Ariel jolts her out of her reverie. There's a crash as the sword glances off Ariel's barrier, a finger's length from her face. His arm rises again, and Salaya's arm rises automatically to block his attack. Ropes of light grasp at the orc's body, but he breaks free and swings the sword at her like a carpenter hammers at a nail. Salaya regains her composure as the barrier crumbles from lucent and convex to a jumble of light shards falling at her feet. She bares her teeth. The magic in her temples fuses with the hatred in her mouth, and she lets it all out with a wild scream. Fire issues forth from her entire body, a Salaya-shaped wall that envelopes the orc. He roars and drops the sword and she backs away panting, watching as he beats at the blue-green flames that consume his body.

Eje overcomes the urge to vomit. Ariel leaves her to embrace Salaya who's watching an orc burn and cursing him with ever nasty word in the book, and some that aren't. Get yourself together. Her body aches as though it's fallen and rolled down a rocky embankment, but somehow she steels herself for another orc who's broken through Team Four's defensive line. As he approaches the celebrating girls and Eje, Octave catches him from behind. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she lifts the orc up into the air then down headfirst into a pool, its water blue with taint. He thrashes, breaking free, but as he comes up for air, Salaya hits him with a bolt of purple. The orc collapses into the water and doesn't rise a second time.

Three orcs stand watching, undaunted as the others fall. They're the only ones left to stand against Brant and Irprinon. Necklaces of bones and fangs adorn their muscular necks. The one in the middle gathers his grey mane of hair. He raises an arm and closes his eyes. Something peculiar is happening to his rough paw: it's beginning to glow.

As Irprinon charges, he's met with a spurt of fire that washes over Arrigos's shield. The orc raises his other hand. Condensation in the air crystallises and forms an ice spear that shatters the shield. Irprinon balks and falls back, but his place is taken by Brant, who faces the spellcaster. Brant is panting, blood seeping from wounds in his arms and body. He grips his sword in both hands and swings a blow to decapitate a horse. The orc steps back with a snorting laugh. The sword cuts only air and flies out of his faltering hands, embedding in the dirt twenty paces away. The vigour faded long ago, and though he still cast the spells, it was only to his destruction. As his legs begin to buckle, the orc pushes him aside with one arm and thrusts a sword into his chest with the other. Brant collapses on his face. Team Four rush to save him, but the other two orcs send a concerted wave of fire forces them back. The grey haired orc raises his sword over Brant.

Eje pushes the magic through her body, ignoring the ripples of pain. Every bit of smoke and shadow channels through her arm as she throws a punch at the orc before he can bring the sword down on Brant's motionless body. At fifteen paces, she's too low to hit his face, but the blow catches his broad chest. Ribs yield and crack under her knuckles. His sword falls to the ground, the tip burying itself next to Brant's head. Then Arrigos and Ariel's shielding pushes aside the orc fire and the trio flees. The fighters are too worn to chase after them, and Salaya and Amiel can't find their range against the orcs' retreating backs.

Arrigos kneels next to Brant. “Where's the life mage?” he demands. Ariel appears at his side as he rolls Brant over.

“Save him. Why aren't you saving him?” yells Irprinon as Ariel tries to take his pulse. “Aren't you trained in curation?”

“No.” wails Ariel. “Only the basics.”

“It will have to do.” says Octave, the only one still calm. “You two, be silent. Ariel, feel for his life and stem the bleeding.” Brant's eyes flicker. He groans. Octave leans down and slaps his face. “Don't fall asleep. It would be rather a shame for you to die here.”

Eje and Irprinon take their swords and finish the wounded and dying orcs. One or two crawl away, but they won't last long here. Ariel has her hands over the Brant's chest wound. She's murmuring to herself, slipping into a trance. Hopefully not falling asleep. The exhaustion Eje felt before is running through every bit of her body, replacing the magic. Her head is at least silent now, but each breathe hammers against her bruised body. When she's finished, the sword slips from her hands and at last she can sit.

“How did they use magic?” asks Salaya. The idea of magic is so second-nature surrounded by mages that it's only now that Eje realises. “Orcs can't use magic.”

“We'll worry about that later.” says Irprinon. “How is Brant?”

“I've got it. We're connected.” says Ariel, opening her eyes. Blood no longer flows from Brant's wounds, but his eyes stare vacant at the evening sky. “His heart is patched, but he needs to rest.”

“No time for that. We need to get out of here.” says Irprinon. “Come on, Brant. You can't die, for you're a hero through and through.” He and Amiel hoist Brant up. His legs push feebly against the ground, but his friends carry most of his weight.

“We can't go back.” groans Amiel. “It's too far. I wouldn't make it myself, to say nothing of Brant.”

“Go north.” says Octave. She points. “It should be that way out.”

“Then we'll be in Gaskaback land.” says Ariel. “It's not safe there.”

“Safer than here and closer than the Upper Realms.” says Eje. She pushes herself to her feet. “Come on. We can't let Brant die, and I'll fall asleep if I don't move.”

“Great job, Ariel.” exclaims Salaya as they troop back along the trail of running footprints, collecting their fallen packs. “See? You do know curation.”

Ariel shakes her head. “It wasn't curation I used there. It was some sort of life magic, almost botanical. I can't believe I remembered it though. Octave, aren't you coming?”

Octave shoulders her pack and shakes her head. “No, I'm going after those three orcs.”

“Don't be crazy. They're long gone and you could die out there.”

“Worry about yourselves. I won't die in this place, but you might. Go north and don't look back.” Octave walks into the darkness after the orcs.

The mushrooms have never loomed so eerie as they do now. Clouds obscure the moon, so Salaya walks at the front, hand burning like a torch as she sweeps a path through the desolation. Irprinon and Amiel take turns with Arrigos and Ariel as they haul Brant along, keeping him conscious and walking. He's mumbling things nobody can understand and gurgling phlegm and blood when they try to stop him. Eje walks at the back, hauling as much of the supplies as she can; the two carrying Brant can't also carry packs. How long will Octave be in chasing down the orcs? There's no telling that. There's no telling if Octave has just collapsed from exhaustion and is lying somewhere out in the desolation, her mind fading to damp and fungi.

Octave watches the two teams walk away. When they're far out of sight, she follows the tracks left by the trio. The footprints are far apart at first, but closer together as they grow weary. They won't make it far at this pace. She scratches a circle in the earth around her feet: scattered pebbles, patches of moss. She closes her eyes: four walls, wooden floor. A single window on one side and a brown door on the other. The ground beneath her is so soft in comparison. Nearby pools bloom with blue luminescence in the dark. A ceiling over her head, not the empty sky. Octave opens her eyes. Home. She drops her heavy pack on the floor and peels off her boots with a sigh of satisfaction. An enchanted torch in the bathing room provides light. She undresses with one hand and fiddles with the water main with the other. As the bath fills, she sinks in, washing days of accumulated grime off her tired body. Wonderful.

Not long after, Octave snuggles into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. A cool breeze blows the chirping of crickets through the open window. She still doesn't feel tired, but her eyes close nonetheless.