After hearing all the messages stores in the Amplifier crystal, Lowa and Garner decided to interrogate the Guardian further, to see if they could learn if there was any other capacity of the incredible room and its crystals. Before calling the creature, though, they decided to have a little brainstorm about it.

“So, what do you think, Lowa?”

“That creature is dangerous, Garner, very dangerous. It’s not wise to trust it in any particular form.”

“I know. If I had the time, I would investigate how to strengthen its bindings, but we have more pressing concerns…” lamented the wizard.

“Yes. You’ve done a good job so far in questioning it, but…”

It was at that moment when Tealdin and Leanor rushed into the room. They tried to talk, but had to take a moment to regain their breath while the adults exchanged a worried glance.

“What is it, boys?” asked Garner, already starting to recall who they could call to help. Inside the Spire, to his knowledge, were the four of them, the druid Balmia, the necromancer Valena - they had to look further into that one later, his four avowed warriors, the three new ones, and Romer and the servants, the latter of limited combat potential.

“Some-, something dangerous in the basement,” answered Leanor, with some difficulty.

“Catch your breathes, and give us the whole picture,” commanded Lowa.

Tealdin did so, and started telling the tale of their frightening experience at the deepest level of the Spire.

“Gods, so there’s still something dangerous at the Dungeon after all this time?” said Lowa.

“It seems so,” said Garner, frowning.

“What is it, Master?” asked the witch when she saw his expression.

“Guardian!” he bellowed, summoning the creature, “I distinctly recall asking if there were dangerous creatures in the Spire. What is this about something in the Dungeon?”

The creature’s phantom form materialized before them, and the Guardian smoothed his face quickly, but Garner still saw the smirk that had been there. “You did, illustrious Steward, and I replied truthfully.”

“So that’s how you want to play it, foul creature?” asked Lowa, scowling at it.

Leanor and Tealdin were interestedly watching the argument, though they decided to let the older practitioners deal with the scary Guardian. What were the chances that mere apprentices wouldn’t be outwitted by the ancient and cunning spirit if Master Garner had already been fooled once.

“I don’t know what you mean, hedge witch,” it replied, stressing that she was no true Witch as it knew them, “I fulfilled my duties. You never asked me to list the creatures currently in the Spire.”

“I command you to answer the spirit of our questions as a common practitioner or soldier would understand it. I’m sure you have that capacity. Deceive us again, and I’ll deactivate you. You’re of no use if you get in our way.”

“Very well, clever Steward,” it replied sullenly.

“Is there a risk of the creature breaking through its imprisonment?”

“Yes, but only if its provoked further. It’s hibernating.”

“Tell Balmia and Chief right now that I want the path to the last floor sealed and guarded in any manner they can devise, Guardian. Warn me if someone tries to enter it.”

The creature nodded its assent, and vanished for a little while before reappearing again at the same place. “Your orders have been acknowledged by your people, prudent Steward.”

“That’s a problem we’ll have to look into later,” added Lowa. “Warn us if the creature awakens or breaks free too, Guardian.”

“Thanks, Lowa, nice catch.”

While Tealdin was still watching the conversation, Leanor’s focus had wandered as she started noticing the many crystals throughout the room, and she started trying to understand the wards placed on some of the receptacles and the crystals themselves.

“Master, this is fascinating! What is this room?” she said when there was a lull in the conversation, though it would probably be a coin toss if she had felt it, or the question just burst out at an opportune moment.

“That’s a good question, Leanor,” He said, turning to the shimmering Guardian. “What is this room?”

“This room was often called as the ‘messaging room’, but it is formally the Vigilance and Communication Central…”

“Vigilance? What do you mean? We’ve just understood used the Amplifier Crystal so far.”

“There’s a Scrying Mirror there,” said the Guardian, pointed to a dusty corner where the mirror rested under an old tarp. Lowa and Garner’s eyes widened at the revelation, and she started saying, “If we can see what our enemies are doing…”

“I probably should warn you that most of the Transmitter Crystals around the area were destroyed by the Elfey during the wars, for obvious reasons.”

“That’s why it was stored like that?” butted in Tealdin, while Leanor was already taking the tarp off it, and sneezing at the dust that rose from it. The Scrying Mirror was 1 meter wide, and two meters tall. It’s frame was full of inscriptions - advanced wards, and now that they focused, they could feel the power coming from it. It was beautiful, and somehow it was spotless after all this time forgotten in a dusty corner.

“Yes, it has a really limited watching capacity now. It was of little use against the Elfey because they destroyed most of the western Crystals…”

“You mean that there are still Crystals transmitting form the east? From where everyone is coming toward us?” asked Garner, smiling.

“Some, great Steward, among the Westernwoods.”

“Very well, guide us through the activation of the Mirror, Guardian, let’s see what’s happening at the woods.”

They expended almost an hour to reactive all the enchantments and repair faded wards, but they finally got it working. It was a remarkable magical device that somehow transmitted everything that was happening in an area, despite all the trees that would get in a normal person’s view. It gave them an bird’s-eye view, and they could move it a little. They started rotation through the still active Transmitters until they found something. Everyone’s smiles of success from getting the Mirror to work faded as they started watching an ongoing battle at real-time.

***

Lamart flinched when the Lotharian archer released the drawstring, but the panicked man's shot went wild, and the captain managed to finish harnessing the death-energy from the fallen lotharian he was standing over, the man’s dead body shriveling up quickly under the drain. The warlock quickly cast a mana bolt with the siphoned energy, without bothering to filter the chaotic magical mass made of mana and life energy, as warlocks traditionally fought. Lamart was looking straight into the wide eyes of the archer as his bolt punched through the man’s chest, and then blew next to another Lotharian, sending both tumbling to the ground. Wasteful usually, but damn effective in scraps like this.

Around him, his soldiers mopped up the last of the resistance, offering no quarter as they had no useful information. Days of observation had given them all the information they cared for at the moment. This was the time to hunt isolated patrols, and make them pay for entering Lamart’s new home, and ignoring his significance. An expected shower of arrows, and a sudden reckless charge. It always worked.

Ramogal approached him hobbling, the man's leg was a scorched mess and had been paining him for a long time. The two soldiers ahead of him when the fire spell came had it worse, much worse. The unfortunate pair had been burned to cinders, even as the unexpected Lotharian mage overloaded himself with so much energy running through his system, and burst apart gorily. Damn newbies. Sometimes the reckless charging part didn’t go as well as it could, it was true. But that had been back at the second ambush, and this was already the third one.

The first ambush had went on without a hitch, but things had been downhill from there as the enemy's patrols started being reinforced. Lamart had already lost a third of his original dozen, though he had fared better than the half squad that had joined him for this attack. The veteran in charge and his soldiers had been surprised by a lost Lotharian scouting group, and it had been a mutual slaughter from there on, the commanding officer striking a fatal blow to the lordling even as he suffered a mortal wound in return. The captain felt every loss, but his veterans, the ones that had chosen to join him in this supposedly shit-place, hurt even more so.

The last of his soldiers returned from the outlying woods, painted red, and they all gathered on the road as he signaled them to.

"No losses this time, captain," said Ramogal, soldiering on through the pain.

They hadn’t lost anyone in this fight, but there were quite a few new dents and slashes, and the soldiers were already hurt and tired from the constant attrition of fighting and running right after to set up the next ambush. They hadn't even taken the time o bury the bodies, only dragging them away from the roads.

"Yeah, good. But the plan's not looking great. We might have taken four or five groups out, but we missed one."

"They will hit the trailing wizard's group," concluded his lieutenant, spitting on the roadside.

"Yeah, we can't reach them in time. They will have to fend for themselves. Maybe they will even do it, being wizards and all."

"Doubt it, the man seemed to be almost kicking the bucket already by the reports. Maybe the Druids will help them?"

His audience back at the Spire cursed and swore when they learned of that, though the soldiers were unaware they had an audience to begin with. Either way, there was nothing that either of the groups could do to help, though Garner’s people might be able to see what was happening.

"Damned treehuggers..." muttered the Captain, not expecting much of the woods’ mages. Lamart couldn't have done anything to save the wizards and mages that had been intercepted before reaching the Westernwood, but he'd expected to protect all that entered his domain. It stung his pride, and he felt that might become more often an occurrence than he would like these next days.

"Take the half squad and go after them, Ramo. Escort them if they live, avenge them if they don't. I'll try to link up with the others and see what we can do when they send a second wave."

“Sure,” grunted his lieutenant, dissatisfied, “We’ll go right a-running.”

Lamart couldn’t fool the veteran soldier, that knew very well that he was being sent away with the most wounded soldiers of the group. His people exchanged silent farewells, and watched as the group slowly faded away in the woods.

“Enough standing around! Gather the supplies you can from the bodies, and let’s go. We have a job to do, people!” Lamart barked, startling the melancholic group into action.

***

“Go back!” shouted Tealdin when his master passed through the correct Crystal’s view in a hurry.

“There it is,” whispered Lowa, and the group began to silently watch the dire situation, now joined by Balmia and Valena, who’d blocked the way to basement with vines, and let a couple of skeletons to guard it.

“Master, master! They are coming near us!” shouted the frightened apprentice to the nearly senile old wizard, shaking the man’s sleeping form on the cart. Only five avowed warriors remained with them now, the other four had scrambled as soon as they found an opportunity - they knew the chances of the old wizard to remember to curse them as oathbreakers were smaller than dying at the swords of the Lotharians, the boy would bet. The remainders were old-timers, who wouldn’t abandon their friend even if meant death. The warriors were looking pretty worried, if the apprentice was any judge of character.

“Ah, damnation!” cursed the apprentice as the wizard did not even stir. He’d thought he’d scored a great opportunity when the renowned old man had invited him to become an apprentice. Having contacts with wizards, even if he never became a full fledged one, could have been really lucrative for a business-minded individual such as he. But now it seemed that his greed would be his own undoing. Nobody would have guessed that it would be more dangerous to be an Wizard apprentice than a pickpocket.

“This is it!” he declared to the mounted guards looking at him. “I will try my chances with the woods and magical beasts!”

The wayward apprentice turned to run for his mare, but the nearby guard bended on the saddle to hold him by the cuff of the neck, and the boy lost his balance, falling down.

“Stay still, you idiot. You wouldn’t last a day alone on this forest, and for some inscrutable reason the old man actually likes you, you worthless little thief,” the guard said tersely, pinning the fool to the ground with a dark stare.

The venerable wizard Herok, though not a master, was renowned for his extreme magical potential and fire affinity. The ‘Lava Wizard’ was his moniker, and the old man could cast destructive fire magic on a whim. The problem was that Herok was just a little long on the tooth by now, and it was extremely hard to get the old man to focus on something. The wizard had lost his temper when people tried to apprehend them as they went to a town to search for the wayward apprentice, and had tired himself out.

The boy looked to the guard like he was insane, and was about to start arguing when the four guards that he had believed to be deserters appeared riding hard back from a bend on the road, the lead one shouting, “Hurry! They are right on our trails!”. But the guards didn’t move, and shook their heads. The groups reunited and exchanged grim looks and nods before drawing their weapons, swords and lances, and lining behind old Herok’s cart. The apprentice had gotten back up on his mare, but he was horrified and frozen when he saw their pursuers appearing, the lotharian riders’ red capes billowing behind them. The attackers must have at least twice the number of defenders, but the leader of the guards ignored them for the moment, turning back to address the others.

“We might not be the Lone Horseman, lads, but we’ll show our mettle! Charge, for Herok!”

“Brave bastards,” whispered Chief back at the Spire, as he too had joined the onlookers.

Just as the guards began their charge, the apprentice could swear he heard the rumbling of thunder and the smell of smoke, even though the sky was clear. The guardians back at the Spire recognized the sound for what it was: a magical combat ongoing somewhere in the distance.

The clash of charging cavalrymen was a brutal scene to behold. Screams and neighs, blood and death. A horse toppled when skewered by a lance and its rider fell under it and was crushed. A guard nearly flew from the saddle when he was unhorsed, and was trampled by the second line of the lotharians. One of the guards cut down his first opponent, but couldn’t avoid a collision with the next one’s horse, and they both went down. It all happened so fast to the apprentice’s eyes. In a moment, all the guards but the one who had stopped him from running were dead or down. The survivor, his sword red, but bleeding from two gashes, turned back his horse, as did the lotharian riders who didn’t hurry to apprehend the passed out Herok and the apprentice.

Before he was tackled from his saddle, the apprentice witnessed the brave guard charging back, into impossible odds. The boy couldn’t help but be impressed by the guards he had always despised. The old men had kept their oaths to the very end, and made a good showing, killing at least half a dozen of their enemies despite the difference in numbers. But the boy had other problems now. He was roughly held down and tied, and then they wrapped a magical shroud around him, cutting him off from the ambient mana. He would have laughed if he could, he didn’t know enough to even inconvenience one of the lotharians.

Herok could have beaten them. But the old wizard never wakened, and the apprentice knew that if their captors could drain his mana, the shroud would prevent even the Lava Wizard from doing anything. If the old man didn’t awake soon, they were probably screwed. And it would be his fault, because he had been stubborn and had gone out against orders. The boy quietly cried into the shroud as he thrown on the back of a horse and taken away.

“That’s enough,” said Garner as they watched the brave warriors’ fall and the capture of their would-be allies.

“There were was a battle going on, let’s see if they can reach Heark and his apprentice,” suggested Balmia, wondering if it were her people coming to the rescue. Everyone was in a bit of a funk after witnessing the second carnage, but the Scrying Mirror was almost addictive, they just couldn’t stop watching. This might be a bit dangerous device after all.

***

“There!” said Valena, and they got back to silently watching another fight, the third one in the day they witnessed, though there had been a lot more skirmishes throughout the Westernwoods. Herok’s apprentice truly hadn’t been mistaken earlier when he thought he had heard thunder. Not far from where the old guards had met their ends, and their charges had been captured, another kind of fight was raging at that same moment. Two younger druids had rushed ahead of the elders, ignoring warnings as they tried to reach Herok’s people and save them from their pursuers. However, they faced an unexpected difficulty - a trio of mercenary battle-mages specially sent by Lord Agor after they started losing contact with the first groups. And these mercs were experienced blood mages from Savlan, the far north of the Realm.

The woodsmages siblings, Uri and Iuri, were gifted but green practitioners, even if they had great affinity with the Westernwood, being born and raised at the Commune by Druid parents. Actually, their stubbornness and affinity with the ambient were probably the only things preventing them from being outright defeated by their opponents.

“We must pass them, Iuri!” shouted the girl, jumping from branch to branch and occasionally swinging from stury vines.

“I’m blasted trying, sis!” exclaimed the brother right before a blood-lance spell smashed into his protective bark-skin and sent him flying backwards. Uri’s vines reached out to slow and soften his fall, but it still nearly made him loose his wind. The siblings’ familiars, a wolf and a fox harried the mercenaries from behind, striking from the trees and fading back.

The mercenaries advanced on the fallen Druid, but his sister shouted for help and Balmia’s eagle swooped from the sky, raking one of the man’s faces with its claws and stopping their advance momentarily. Rising from the ground, gritting his teeth at his scarred bark-armor and the pain from the hit, Iuri burned through a significant amount of his remaining mana to have a big sequoia attack with a heavy branch. The move caught the mercenaries by surprise, and one of them was struck straight on the chest, a sickening crushing sound ringing from the hit.

The siblings were slightly shocked at the scene, and the still standing mercenaries moved unopposed to check on their comrade. Their look of rage confirmed that the damage was as serious as it sounded, and the mages started focusing a lot of mana rapidly, both of their energies swirling to one of them, crackling around her. Their familiars tried to pounce on the mages, but the electric energy gave them a jolt, and sent them scurrying back.

“Brother, look out!” screamed Uri as she tried to snap her brother out of it, swinging from a vine to his direction.

She wasn’t fast enough. A mighty lighting bolt hit Iuri head on, and the energy rebounded to Uri, both of them were sent crashing backwards away from the view of the mercenaries. The third mercenary made to pursue, but the second one put a hand upon his chest. The familiars gave up the fight and hurried in search of their missing partners.

“Enough,” the lead Savlan blood-mage announced. “They are only kids, and we have to get out of here and find a healer fast,” she said, motioning for their fallen. They didn’t care about the mission anymore at that point, but they had already achieved their purpose. Stabilizing their fading comrade on a hastily made stretch, they hurried back to one of the staging points.

The forest mourned its guardians, the familiars whining at the unmoving bodies, and the eagle screaming mournfully. The Druids’ wrath from the moment they found the young ones stirred the whole forest. Blood had been shed before, but not the Westernwood’s blood. Now, the Commune and its home both lusted for revenge, and lotharian blood.

Back at the Spire, Balmia cried as their point of view could barely show the bodies and the grieving familiars. Garner and Valena consoled her while Lowa cut off the Mirror’s enchantments for the moment. Almost everyone at the room was close to tears and afraid. Some of the servants had fainted. Nearly everyone in the Spire had been there for the last battle, and it was a shock of reality to those who hadn’t yet understood what they were going to suffer through in this Purge. The Lotharians were coming for them, and blood would be spilled one way or the other. Their blood. Their friends and comrades.

“Let’s get everyone not necessary out of this room,” said Chief, starting to get a handle of the situation while Master Garner was occupied. “Watching this Scrying Mirror is gruesome and terrible, but important for our survival. I propose that we let it active, and some of our warriors can keep a constant watch.”

The truth was that many practitioners and civilians weren’t ready to watch and deal with the butchery of combat they had witnessed, but the warriors had all lived through it, which was a lot worse than merely seeing it. Of course, it still took a toll, as it would in any normal human, but it was still easier for them.

“Okay, Chief, please establish a rotation of warriors to watch. Warn us if there’s something important going on. We’ll rest for a bit, and get back to readying the Spire for a Siege. Guardian, we’ll need your advice for this. I don’t think wizard-haters will have any sympathy for you, a former Elfey and a wizard-creation, so you’d better truly help us this time.”

Mourning and fearing, everyone dispersed.