Being anchored at the mouth of the river for so long was taking its toll on the sailors, much to Prince-Admiral Pavle's dismay. From the start he'd been rotating patrols, sending two ships at a time out to see what the sea was like. The patrols lasted three days each and the reports were usually the same; nothing but some choppy seas and storms. They'd encountered pirates once, but had dealt with them easily. Apparently they hadn't been Kemale's privateers.

That still left five ships at anchor at any one time, and that was leading to restlessness. After the first few days he'd begun another rotation, making certain every one of his seven ships and crew had a day at shore every seven days. It allowed them to replenish their supplies at the nearby harbor city of Riem. It also gave the sailors freedom to enjoy the comforts of land, if not home. He'd heard that a few of the taverns and even the whorehouses had started extending credit to the sailors who had spent all their money already, as they couldn't be paid until they returned home.

"This is getting to be a problem," he grumbled to his lieutenant. "The Fox has reported another round of a coughing sickness. Half the sailors can hardly breathe just walking across the deck. I knew sending them ashore would cause more problems than it solved."

Lieutenant Falkner nodded. "And we found rats in our hold this morning."

Pavle ran a hand over his shaggy beard. Just what they needed, more disease carriers. "I hope you killed them."

"I saw to it." Falkner looked around the harbor, at the other ships sitting idle in the dawn light. "Still no sign of the Stag or the Hawk?"

Pavle shook his head. "They're two days late coming in now." The delay worried him not only for the lives of the sailors on board those two ships, but also because, if he didn't send the next ship to port soon for a day of leave, there was a chance of the crew threatening mutiny. Things were not looking good anymore.

"That's a strange storm coming in."

He looked out to where Falkner pointed. The horizon was draped in a sheet of dense fog and the sky was growing dark. But it was the speed at which the storm seemed to be approaching that confused him. In all his years at sea, he'd never seen something roll up that quickly.

The water in the harbor began to churn as it did in a storm, though there didn't seem to be much wind. The strangeness of the situation drew the crew from below and they all stood transfixed by the sight of the approaching storm.

Then Pavle noticed something floating in the water and he stepped to the rail to see it better. When the object finally floated close enough for him to make out what it was, his heart nearly stopped.

It was the great iron stag's head that had been the figurehead and battering ram of the Stag. And on each of the six branches of its antlers was a body in the uniform of the Phelinian navy.

A coldness crept over him and it took him a moment to realize the fog had reached them. He glanced up, away from the horror before him, in time to see a dark shadow take shape in the fog. It was large, larger even than his ship, the Stallion, which was the largest ship in the fleet. This shadow seemed to tower over the deck.

He started to shout an order – to do what he wasn't even sure – but the deck suddenly pitched wildly under his feet with the sound of shattering wood. The last thing he saw was the the stag's head coming up to meet him through the deck.

Shelton was touring the recently-finished walls with Wildas and Coulta, studying the reinforcements that had just been finished. The magical mortar, along with the new gates, were supposed to be twice as strong as the old methods, and Shelton had to admit that he was in agreement. He was about to tell the engineers just that when he felt heat from the crystal around his neck.

As soon as he touched it, he was overcome with visions and sounds. Fire. Smoke. Splintering wood. Rushing waves. So many screams. He could practically taste the ash and the blood, could nearly smell the smoke and death as it consumed the city. All three of his contacts in Riem were communicating at once, and one by one they went silent.

The sounds and visions vanished and he opened his eyes to find Coulta and Wildas both holding him up. He carefully regained his footing and they released him.

"They broke through the blockade," he told them. His voice was rough and sounded strangely distant.

"How?" Wildas demanded. "Our entire navy –"

Shelton looked him in the eye as he declared, "We no longer have a navy."

As soon as the news reached the castle, there was a sense of urgency far greater than the last time they had faced battle outside the gates, but Anil was still reminded of that night. This time, however, she went to the nursery with the castle children and everyone else who couldn't fight or help the healers. Wildas had assigned three soldiers to the room, as well. It was all that could be spared, and in Anil's opinion more than enough. If attackers got to the nursery, the castle and the city would likely have been taken already.

One of those soldiers was Jarlin, Wildas's brother who, having recovered from his recent illness that had kept him in Ryal when his fleet had sailed, had only just learned he was Prince-Admiral of that fleet, and that it no longer existed. He sat with his back to the wall beside the door, sword over his knees, and listened with the rest of them to the sounds of battle preparations going on around them. His jaw was set and his gaze was sharp when he glanced over everyone in the room.

Outside, a bell tolled across the city.

Jaimathan had gone over strategies with his hosts and the Shifters, and knew they were ready to put their plans into action. Shifters who fought on foot had already been stationed at the forest outside the city. Dragon sent a messenger to them and two other bird Shifters to scout the river. The rest took up places on the castle towers where the guilds had stored whatever they had that could be used as a projectile.

"And Fae will be with the healers?" Dragon asked once they had gone over the strategy once again.

Jaimathan nodded. "Braith will be with the mages."

"And you?"

He gave Dragon a grim smile. "I'll be trying to save our souls."

Dragon clasped his arm. "Fight well. You are strong."

"Thank you. You, as well."

He made his way to the courtyard, a place as far from the fighting as he was likely to get. He settled in a place where he wouldn't disturb many plants and took a deep breath before connecting his mind and soul to the Mist, the place between the realms of the living and the dead, which allowed him to feel the souls around him. He hadn't had the chance to practice this yet. He'd only just read about it in a book about the powers of Asirim. Whatever small part of him had doubted the power or the words of the book's writer was instantly relieved. Fairies fluttered curiously around him as he closed his eyes.

He rested there, in the swirling Mist, waiting for his time to act, to do what he'd never tried before. How many souls he could steal away from the necromancers he didn't know, but he was going to try to save as many as possible. Even if he failed and could save no one, at least he had tried.

He waited.

Wildas was impressed by how quickly everyone responded to the alarm bells. The guilds sent their people to the walls almost immediately. The messenger who had gone to the farms had returned with most of the farmers on the fastest horses they owned. Others stayed to defend their lands.

The Shifter scouts returned then to say the ships would arrive before the afternoon. Wildas allowed Yvona to lead the army to the battlefield, followed by Rohan with the Royal Guard, and Shelton with the mages. Before following, he pulled Coulta aside.

"I know you'll be with Shelton, but take care," he said, fighting back his emotion. "I'm going to check on the guilds and Shifters before I join my mother."

Coulta pulled him in for a firm kiss, ignoring Wildas's armor. "You take care. I don't know if the soul-link will help me keep you safe like the curse did. I don't want to lose you. None of us do."

"I don't want to lose you, either." Wildas ran his gaze over Coulta, taking in his new armor. The black leathers were identical to what he usually wore, though slightly larger. It made Coulta look slightly bulkier, less his trim and agile self. He knew it was because Coulta wore a special chainmail shirt underneath, one that had to be worn against the skin for the magic to help him. Wildas hoped there was some comforting magic in the shirt's construction, because he was sure wearing it in such a way couldn't be all that pleasant. "I hope your new armor protects you."

"It will," Coulta assured him. "I hope your powers protect you."

Wildas kissed him again. "I love you."

"And I love you."

Wildas forced himself to step away and moved toward where Star stood with his horse. When he looked back, Coulta had gone for his own horse, but turned to meet his gaze with a nod. Wildas returned the nod, tucked his helmet under his arm, and turned his horse to begin his rounds.

The Shifters were in position, though Dragon was still giving commands in human form. The guilds had spread their people evenly about the walls. All members had the same style uniform on, and it seemed to allow them to communicate without the prejudice he'd witnessed during his meeting with the leaders. Along the wall were fires on which stood vats of things Wildas did not want to know about, all tended by guild members. In other places there were baskets filled with jars of other mysterious contents, much like the collection of items atop the towers for the Shifters to drop on the enemy. As long as they caused damage to the invaders, that was all Wildas cared about.

When he reached the battlefield he found the various parts of the defending force waiting in ranks. He took his position beside Yvona and nodded to her before strapping on his helmet. He didn't look for Coulta because he didn't dare.

It wasn't long at all before dark clouds drifted up from the south, and with them a feeling of dread. Wildas never saw the ships, but he saw the mass of soldiers as they climbed up from the river. As soon as they were within range, Yvona called for the archers to fire.

Wildas had expected an army like Varin's, filled with soldiers who would fight through mortal wounds unless pierced through the heart, decapitated, or set aflame. These soldiers went down as easily as unarmored mortals.

Despite losing soldiers, the enemy army continued to advance. Yvona nodded to him. In one smooth motion he spun his horse around to face the army and raised his sword above his head.

"For Phelin!" he yelled.

"For Phelin!" the army echoed in one great cry.

He spun his horse again and, with Yvona by his side, led the charge against the invaders.

The armies collided with full force, yelling and slashing with weapons. The horses of the defenders trampled the poorly armored attackers, and the attackers slashed around the armor plates on the horses to cut necks and bellies even as they were trampled into the frozen ground or cut down by mounted soldiers. The air was filled with cries of anger, defiance, pain, and death. The hand-to-hand fighting was mixed with flashes of magic and coordinated attacks by the Shifter army. Four-legged animals attacked with claws and teeth while birds swooped in with talons and beaks, or clutching makeshift weapons. Though the army appeared mortal, the soldiers still showed no fear, not even when a great roar sounded and Dragon decimated the ranks with flames. It was the number of soldiers coming at them that surprised Wildas. It was clear that the necromancers were in waiting, hoping to exhaust them with fighting before taking the field.

Slowly, Wildas began tapping into his magic. He understood the orders being yelled in the language of Dyrai and directed those around him to respond. He could hear when more soldiers were being marched in and when he'd been flanked in time to save himself and his horse.

But it wasn't until he heard the chanting far off in the distance that he truly understood the double purpose of the large mortal army.

***

Jaimathan hadn't even considered the idea that the necromancers would use a mortal army for the main attack. He had expected the altered and controlled soldiers he had been told were used in the previous conflict. Necromancers could bind thousands to do their bidding with just a few mere drops of blood. But that wasn't what they were doing. They weren't fighting the way any of the people in Ryal had expected.

It was too late before he realized what was truly happening.

The necromancers stationed on their war ships on the river were growing stronger as they brought the power of so many souls into themselves. They were consuming them, using them to fuel their magic. But it wasn't the souls of the defenders they were depending on. They were harvesting the souls of their own soldiers.

He abandoned his search for the souls only of Phelin and the Shifters and began moving through the Mist and pulling all souls he could grasp away, pushing them forcefully into the Spirit Realm. Despite the chilly air he began to sweat. The fairies chattered around him and began to fan him gently with their wings.

Anil could hear the battle distantly from the castle. They all could. She cradled Kylar close to her breast and tried not to be too afraid for his sake. Beside her was one of the castle nurses with Kyla. The tiny princess was awake but quiet. Kylar, however, was whimpering. He wouldn't nurse and spit out the pacifier she tried to give him, and he wouldn't look away from one of the servants seated on the floor a short distance away from them. Every time the woman moved, Kylar would whine again.

Anil began to wonder if Coulta's magic had given the prince certain powers that might warn him when danger was near. The mark on Kylar's face did start at the corner of his silver eye. And, now that she thought about it, the servant gave her an uneasy feeling. She was dressed in a rough dress that was a bit too large for her, with a black scarf hiding most of her face. Though it was winter and the woman could have come from outside, it was still strange that she wouldn't have taken the scarf off upon entering the castle. But perhaps it was a style she enjoyed.

Still, maybe Anil was just interpreting her son's feelings. Surely that was some sort of power a mother would have that wasn't based in magic.

As she wondered this, the magic seemed to direct her to take action. She began to hum a soothing song. She wasn't sure what she wanted to happen, only that she wanted the servant to be stopped if she had some kind of sinister plan. As she hummed, she looked to the soldiers with them. The new Prince-Admiral met her gaze and began to rise, sword in hand.

The servant moved, allowing the scarf to fall from her face, revealing a beard and a glazed over expression. A dagger flashed toward Anil and Kylar, but she remained still and Kylar didn't flinch. Anil continued to hum.

Jarlin killed the would-be assassin with one stroke.

Anil changed the tune of her humming slightly to calm the rest of the group as people screamed. The room grew quiet as Jarlin thoroughly searched the body. He shook his head when he was done.

"Nothing," he muttered. He motioned to the other guards. "Let's get him out of here."

"How?" one of the other guards asked. He had looked rather afraid until Anil had started humming the second tune.

Jarlin thought a moment, then pointed at the window. "We'll have to dump him into the castle yard."

It took them several minutes to get the body through the narrow window. With a final grunt they managed to succeed, they all heard the thump of the body hitting the ground far below, even over the distant sounds of battle.

Anil knew most the other people in the room were staring at her, including Jarlin. She wasn't sure how he had known what to do so quickly, but they were all fortunate that he had.

Still humming, Anil traced the mark of magic on her son's cheek.

Coulta tried not to think of what Wildas might be dealing with as he fought among the mages. The initial wave of mortal soldiers had given way to stronger enemies. Lesser necromancers had taken the field an hour into the fight, and they grew stronger the more people they killed. The magic was a challenge to counter, but they were still mortal. Any wound that would kill a mortal man would fell a necromancer just as quickly, and the lesser ones didn't bother to shield themselves.

But the lesser necromancers gave way to stronger ones. They could shield themselves and still fight, making the fight harder still. Some attackers started making it through the defenders to the wall or the gates.

The guild members on the walls killed them with arrows and other deadly projectiles. Whenever a group made it to the wall they dumped boiling water or other hot liquids onto them. The Shifters flew overhead and dropped flaming, heavy, or sharp objects on the necromancers as they marched up from the ships. Dragon attempted to set the ships alight, but they seemed to resist destruction.

By mid afternoon the field was muddy with blood and muck and there seemed to be no end to the procession of necromancers. Then a loud voice rang out in the language of Dyrai and the necromancers stopped fighting. Confused, the defenders stopped, too.

From the midst of the necromancers stepped one that seemed to tower over the others and filled those on both sides of the battle with dread. His army parted for him, practically stumbling over each other to remove themselves from his path.

"I have come to duel once and for all," the figure declared, "with the most powerful sorcerer in the world. Where is he?"

Coulta watched Shelton step forward, looking completely unworried, though his armor was filthy from fighting. Unable to watch his mentor duel alone after a tiring battle, Coulta stepped forward also. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and glanced over to see Wildas watching him from not too far away. Coulta could nearly feel his fear, but he merely nodded briefly to him before continuing.

"Ah, yes, I had forgotten there are really two of you, now."

"Will you fight both of us, Kemale?" Shelton demanded.

"At once, if it will make you feel as if you have half a chance," the necromancer replied. He yelled something in his language and the battle resumed, though their part of the battlefield remained clear. "Now, allow us to begin."

He didn't wait for either of them to ready themselves. A bolt of red light came streaking toward them. Coulta dove out of its way and Shelton held a shimmering violet shield of light over himself. The red light hit it and seemed to be absorbed. Shelton staggered slightly under the obvious force of the magical contact.

Coulta turned his gaze back to Kemale and sent a bolt of the same kind of power back at the necromancer, though his was black tinged with silver. Kemale waved it aside as if it was hardly a bother, but he still created his own magical shield. Barely in time to stop two balls of blazing violet fire from hitting him.

The ground shook as Kemale laughed. Coulta staggered and caught his balance too late to stop the red light from wrapping itself around his throat. Momentary panic set in as he realized he couldn't breathe, but he forced himself to be calm and send his magic to untangle the magical noose that had been tied around him. He fell gasping to his knees as his magic shredded the red light apart.

Shelton cried out beside him as he was flung to the ground by a powerful wind. But he immediately regained his footing and sent more magic at Kemale, who dodged it easily. Coulta stood again, and as he did he threw a wave of magic directly at Kemale.

For the first time something made contact with the necromancer, throwing him off balance and almost to the ground. Shelton tried to take advantage in the moment but Kemale was still able to bat his violet fire away with his shield.

In the end, Coulta wasn't quite sure how long it went on like that, them exchanging attacks with Kemale and being hit the most. It seemed to take both hours and minutes for the violet gems in Shelton's armor to start turning white. Coulta could see that Shelton was exhausted. He looked as pale as those once-violet gems and it took him a few moments to finally push himself back to his feet after a particularly rough attack from Kemale. From what Coulta could see, he only had two small, energy-filled gems left on his Altmyr armor now.

He was going to die to defeat Kemale, and he wouldn't be able to destroy the necromancer. Kemale was too powerful.

"Right then, catch your breath for a moment," Kemale called in a bored voice. "No fun just to kill you off now."

Shelton took a deep breath and nodded to himself.

"No."

He glanced at Coulta, his violet eyes intense. "I'm going to do all I can."

"No," Coulta repeated, keeping his eyes locked on Shelton's. "It will kill you."

"I know. This is my duty."

"It's mine."

"It will kill you, too."

"But I'll take him with me."

Shelton stared at him for a moment. "Coulta –"

"Go. This is what I need to do. Don't," he added when Shelton started to argue. "It's useless for us both to die. I have a better chance of killing him. You know I'm right."

Shelton was silent for a long moment, then he gripped Coulta's shoulder and murmured, "I know."

Coulta returned the firm grip with a nod. "Take care of them. Especially Wildas."

Shelton nodded. "I will. May the gods be with you."

"I hope so," Coulta said grimly.

Shelton let him go and backed away. Coulta couldn't read the expression on the older sorcerer's face, but he didn't want to.

"So the great Wielder of the Violet Power resigns from combat," Kemale taunted. "There'll be time to pay later with your life. That is what we're dueling for, you realize. I'll deal with the cursed one first."

Coulta stepped forward, but before he could speak or act, the ground began to move and transform. The trampled grass was gone, replaced by bare stone, and the stone began to rise into the air. Coulta fought to keep his balance on the floating slab of rock as it climbed quickly into the air. He didn't look down, but he felt the air grow thinner, making breathing more difficult.

Kemale easily stood on the rock, watching Coulta. "Get your balance," he commanded. "I want this to last a while."

Coulta wasn't completely balanced when the first attack of blood red fire came at him. He blocked it quickly, then sent his own fire at the necromancer. But Kemale had placed another shimmering red shield before himself that surrounded him. The shield absorbed Coulta's fire and turned it back at him.

Coulta ducked in time to avoid being hit, and that was when he noticed that Kemale's shield didn't fully connect with the stone at his feet. It wavered up and down, sometimes nearly touching the stone, and sometimes lifting almost to Kemale's knees.

Heat shot through the stone, making Coulta pull his hands away and stand up. He tried to send a dragon up over the top of the shield, but Kemale raised the shield and split the dragon image in half.

But when he raised it, it lifted once more to Kemale's knees.

When Coulta blocked Kemale's next attack, he was dismayed to see flecks of violet light in his magic. He was finally drawing on the stones Shelton had infused for him, which meant he was weakening faster than he had wanted to. He needed to find a way to end this soon.

Necromancers were just men, that's what he'd been told. So Kemale had the same weaknesses as every other person Coulta had ever fought. And he didn't wear armor.

And, no matter what Kemale seemed to think, he was clearly tiring. He had started attacking more slowly as Coulta and Shelton had tired, though Coulta hadn't thought much of it until that moment. He had let Shelton and Coulta have their pause. He'd waited for Shelton to back away. From what Coulta understood of the necromancer, that didn't seem like something Kemale was usually one to do.

As strong as he seemed, he was still weaker than he wanted them to believe.

The idea came to him in an instant, and he didn't take any time at all to think it through. Instead of blocking Kemale's next attack, he dove toward the stone, drawing a dagger as he moved. His magic propelled him under Kemale's shield and he rolled to his back.

The shield came down, sending pain shooting through Coulta's abdomen, but he brought his dagger up behind Kemale's knee, using all the strength he had to slash and cut, until Kemale fell – and so did the stone.

Coulta tried to hold on as the slab of stone spun wildly through the air as it dropped, digging his fingers into any rough spot that he could, but the slick blood all around him made it difficult.

He came off the stone before it hit the ground, but from what height he didn't know. He felt pain as he landed on the frozen ground and started to tumble, but then he felt nothing. Death was what he expected, and he was confused to find himself staring up at the clear winter sky, unable to move. Surely if he was dead, he wouldn't enter the Spirit Realm this way.

But he wouldn't be alive for long, he was sure. He couldn't move at all, and he was certain the shield had given him one of those fatal belly wounds Myri was always worried about.

Myri.

Would she be fine without him? Of course she would. So would Anil. But Wildas?

I did it to save you. All of you. I'm sorry. I love you.

He wouldn't be able to see Kyla and Kylar grow. Wouldn't be able to pass on the magic to their other future children.

A fog began to form around him and he knew it was finally the end. Then the fog became one great rainbow surrounding him.

There were worse things to see before death, he supposed.

From the colored fog stepped a massive creature – no, several smaller ones. Horses? They drew closer... Maybe his wounded mind was making him see things that weren't real...

A black muzzle came into view and several other horses entered his frame of vision... no... unicorns...

Unicorns?

They lowered their heads and touched their horns to his body...

The pain came in a wave. He screamed, then everything went dark and silent.