Faye and Taveon stepped carefully as they made their way through the streets. Instead of the deserted and eerie streets of those Faye had already been through, there were long threads of vines and plants sprouting from places that they would not have, a day before.

This changed the streets from deserted to oddly crowded. A bank of blooming flowers, as out of place in the middle of winter as they were in the middle of the town, would take up half the space of an alleyway forcing them to duck and squeeze through the gaps left behind.

“These were not here, a few hours ago,” Taveon muttered, quietly informing Faye of something she had been wondering.

“Are you reading my mind?” she muttered back.

He did not reply to her joke, but that was all right, she was not particularly proud of that one. Low-hanging fruit, and all that.

As they made their way carefully over and under the new flora of Lóthaven, Faye worried herself sick about Maggie.

They had successfully taken her inside the workshop, but while getting her settled, the woman had tried to move herself and had ended up crying out in pain. Something had torn, internally.

A dark bruise had rippled outward from the area of the newly mended gut wound almost immediately. Taveon had given them another of his precious potions and told them to use it.

Faye knew that the situation in the town was deteriorating rapidly. She had thought about leaving Taveon with Maggie, Hoza, and the boy before getting back to the Guild hall as fast as possible.

But the militiawoman had told her that the roads back toward the Guild were blocked. Hoza and Eirt, the militiaman that had been killed by the assassin, had been attempting to get back to the northern side of the town before they had run into Taveon.

Faye had been only just ahead of the creeping vines and briars that had made their way through the main roads of the town, cutting off those in the south from the reinforcements in the north.

The Primalists knew more about the town’s defences than any of them had been comfortable with. Faye wondered if the Administrator had known of the Primalist threat before they attacked. She doubted it.

If she had known, she would not have sent Arran and their team north to the Steading, their only adventuring team. Not if she had any sense in the world, anyway, Faye assumed.

Faye shook her head. She could not help but be angry. The frustrating thing was that there were people with incredible, mind-bending power in this world but something as simple as “wrong place, wrong time” still ploughed through people’s lives, leaving them in ruins.

The anger only pushed her on. The faster they saw what was happening with the children, and, hopefully, their parents at the hands of the Primalists, the sooner they could plan what to do.

Bringing her thoughts firmly into the present, Faye pushed forward carefully.

Taveon pulled up short, as he led the way down a smaller street. Faye came close behind him and softly asked what he was stopping for.

“The vines here are different,” he replied.

She looked around him at the thin vines and leaves as they snaked across the pavement of the street.

Sure enough, the vines had an unusual colour to them and — no, wait!

Faye edged closer and bent her head down to look.

“They’re glowing!” she whispered, harshly.

“Aye,” Taveon replied. “This is the route I took, before. These vines are… soaking with the power I felt from the Primalists.”

“It looks the same as the briars,” she replied, “I’m not surprised, honestly.”

Taveon looked worried.

“Something the matter?” she asked.

“Hmm, yes. That power, the magic you have encountered with the briars… it is an animating power. Why would it be in these vines, slight compared to a briar, but much more than any tiny vine should contain?”

“An early warning system,” Faye said.

“Exactly,” Taveon replied, a smile crossing his face as he looked at her. “You’re much smarter than anyone will give you credit for, and I am ashamed to say it still takes me by surprise.”

“Nonsense,” Faye said, with a wave of her hand. “I did awfully at school. It’s just that we learned way more than what they teach as standard, here. I’m nothing compared to some of the real genius minds back home. Believe me.”

Taveon shook his head a little. “It’s hard to believe, but I shall take your word for it, for now.”

Faye examined the spread of vines across the ground. They were thin, weak things compared to the vines that the Primalists and briars had used on her, but that must be the point.

Covering a metre and a half of ground in front of them, the swathe of vines glowed only if you looked closely. It would be so easy to miss and carry on down this street.

It would sense them the moment they stepped on the vines.

“Would getting rid of magic like this alert them as much as tripping the spell?”

Taveon hesitated a moment. “It depends on the nature of the spell. If it is an active one, that some mage is controlling, then yes, immediately. If, however, these are more of an independent entity, reporting back to some other place if it senses something, then cutting or burning them may work.”

Faye looked at him with concern. “May? Depends?”

“There is a lot of magic in the world, Faye,” he replied. “It’s impossible for any one person to understand it all, even if there are patterns. Unfortunately, this is a magic that is not known to me.”

Faye nodded. She did understand. She could not expect someone, even someone like Taveon, to know everything there was. But it did frustrate her.

Instead, she attempted what had so far only worked a couple of times.

Closing her eyes and concentrating, she focused on the sense of power emanating from the vines. This was much more difficult than any of the other attempts she had made because the vines barely exuded power at all, and even then, it was a borrowed power.

Shaping her senses on the vines as much as she could, building up a connection between their rudimentary power and her own…

And it clicked into place.

[Alarm Vine]

“You were right,” she murmured. “It’s called an alarm vine. Weak, though. Barely registered to me.”

Taveon nodded. “I got the sense that it is barely considered level one by the system.”

“That doesn’t tell us if we can get rid of it…”

They looked at one another, then back to the vine.

A moment later, Faye held out her hand, her short sword poised and ready.

“Last chance to stop me,” she said, “or are we good?”

Taveon shrugged. “I don’t know, and we have to move either way. Let’s burn it and find out.”

Pulling on her internal mana, Faye coated the sword in threads of magic and ignited it with a thought. Red-orange flames burst from the sword as if from the steel itself. She marvelled at its chaotic beauty for a moment.

Aiming the sword at an angle to cover the distance of the vines, Faye flicked the mental switch for her newest spell.

[Blades of Flame]

With a careful flick of the blade, Faye directed the arc of fire that burst forth across the vines in their path. The fire was devastating, curling the vines and leaves into blackened ash before touching it.

The weak sense of power from the vine had disappeared.

“Let’s go,” she said, rushing forward. Taveon was close behind, his eyes roving from side to side, checking over their shoulder even as they ran.

“We are in the clear,” he said, a few turns of the street later. “They would have been on us sooner than this if they had noticed. For such a weak perimeter, we are either early after they have planted it, or they have something else planned for those who get too close.”

She thought about it for a moment, then gave a shrug. “If it were me, I would have another layer of defence regardless, so let’s keep assuming they will, too.”

Sure enough, a corner or two later, guided as they were by the thickening plant life and vines, Faye noticed something slithering from out of the darkness between a building and the wall of the property next to it.

Launching forward, Faye whipped her flaming blade across the wiggling thing. Its soft exterior, green and leafy, hid a small mass of plant life that glowed crimson, but under the sword’s withering heat it quickly shrivelled and died.

Congratulations! You have defeated a level 2 [Alarm Vine].

“Okay, the alarm vines can start to move when they reach level two,” she told Taveon.

They both pushed on faster and faster. Each minute passing by made Faye’s heart beat harder as the sense they were too late and the Primalists already knew they were on their way grew increasingly intense.

Faye slowed to a stop; her padding footsteps inaudible over the sounds of the clearing ahead of them. Clearing was not the right word, though. The courtyard would have been clear, before the Primalists had appeared, but now it was covered and filled with writhing, sickening vines, and plant life.

Here, the plants were no longer vibrant, living things. Something had happened to them to let them grow darker and droop, giving off the faint odour of rot.

Scrunching her nose up, Faye tried to ignore the stench and moved closer. This seemed to be one of the open ways into the courtyard. The thorny vines that covered the house walls and ground here were thick but not impassable.

Faye doubted that it would stay open if the Primalists commanded otherwise.

I would have to burn my way through if that happened, she thought. It was a happy thought, but tinged with sickness as she realised what would happen to the children caught here if she tried to fight her way in.

For now, she would do everything she could to stay calm and—

[Swordfighter’s Sense] was going ballistic in her mind. Her every nerve lit on fire, and she vibrated as her body tried to pull her in five directions at once.

All she could sort through the sensations was the feeling of danger.

On the other side of the courtyard, barely visible through the vines and thorns of the growth in her eyeline, Faye saw the same Primalist from earlier. Only, this time, she was within thirty feet of them.

The pressure of power that she felt made her tremble.

Taveon’s hand pressed down on her shoulder. At his touch, she quietened a little, the vibrating fear that rippled through her slowly subsided. It did not disappear, but it did lessen. Enough that she was able to think clearly again.

She looked over her shoulder into Taveon’s concerned eyes. She smiled and patted his hand with her own.

“Thanks,” she mouthed. She did not want to risk that Primalist hearing her.

He replied with a nod. Then, with a questioning tilt of the head, he indicated the path forward.

She shook her head. There was no way they could traipse directly into the courtyard right that moment. The Primalist was the strongest person she had sensed.

I haven’t actually tried to sense the power of the Administrator or the Guild Leader, though, she clarified in her mind.

Turning to the side, Faye indicated another path that circled the courtyard. The thorns were thick and produced a dark tunnel that wove and meandered through the uneven flora.

Practically surrounded by thick thorns, the air felt deadened. She risked a whisper.

“That Primalist, what level would you say they were?”

“At least twentieth,” Taveon responded immediately, as if he had been anticipating the question. “Fortunately, seemed like a lower adept.”

“Define that,” she whispered back.

“Low twenties, not further than thirtieth.”

She nodded. Okay, too advanced for her. “What would someone like that do to you?”

“Tear me apart. I’m not enough of a fighter to survive against someone who comes close to my level.”

“Damn, I wasn’t too hopeful, but it’s shit to hear you say it. Does that mean you’re an adept?”

Taveon chuckled. “I am.”

They fell quiet again as the tunnel of thorns ended. The sounds of the courtyard were reduced, here, but not inaudible. She tried not to think about it too much but layered under the creaking and rustling of plants and wood were the cries of children.

No cries of pain, thank God, she thought, but the children are in there.

This section of alley had been covered in plant life that was now rotten and drooping, giving off that same stench.

Taveon sniffed. “This is building to some sort of… attack.”

“An attack?” she asked, alarmed. She had not sensed anything of an attack.

“Hmm, probably poison.”

Grimacing, she looked about at the dead and drooping plants around her with profound distaste. Her fingers itched to burn them to cinders.

The Primalist in there would sense magic, though, she was certain of it.

Faye froze. A sound came to her.

Scraping.

She drew her sword and paused, listening. The sound stopped.

She activated [Swordfighter’s Sense].

Awareness bloomed in her mind, and she caught the sense of something nearby. It was coming toward the courtyard from further away.

The form of a briar slipped over the wall to their left, and Faye was waiting for it as it slipped into the alleyway.

She slashed upward, chopping into the main body of the briar. It let out a screech, which she prayed did not transmit into the courtyard, and wriggled off her blade.

Thin vines whipped out and slashed across her face. They scored hits, moving as fast as they were, but they opened only minor wounds. The stinging pain was enough to distract her, but she pushed it away as much as she could to focus on its rapid form, each vine whipping around used either to propel it on many limbs or flicking out to attack Faye.

Taveon stepped toward the briar, holding out a thin wand of metal.

The tip glowed for a second, then the briar stopped moving.

“Strike!” Taveon hissed, his voice strained as if he were holding a great weight.

Not needing to be told twice, Faye layered her blade with mana and let it ignite. With her flaming sword, she slashed down on the briar, brought the blade up again and slashed again, and again.

Six strikes later, it finally succumbed.

Congratulations! Your group have defeated a level 11 [Stinging Briar].

Experience awarded.

The name of the monster was appropriate because the wounds on her face and neck, some of the only open skin the vines had been able to reach, were still stinging with a tingling pain that grew more intense as the seconds passed.

“God, that stings,” she muttered.

Taveon winced. “Sorry, I have nothing to prevent that,” he said quietly. “I don’t sense anything from the courtyard.”

It took them a few minutes to find a wooden staircase that led to the upper levels of the courtyard or should if the buildings were as connected as they appeared. Following the path, which was covered in flora and dark from their combined coverage but seemed to hold no briars or Primalists. Yet.

Sneaking along, Faye had extinguished the blade’s flames again by withdrawing the mana that had coated the blade. The more that she manipulated it, the easier it was. It still was not as simple as activating a skill or spell and took a few moments as she needed to concentrate each time.

This level of the building did not connect directly to the courtyard but led to a room that overlooked the courtyard. Peeking through the shutters, Faye could barely see the situation below.

The adept Primalist was standing at one edge of the courtyard, their arms crossed and facing partially away from the window. From this angle, Faye saw that they were festooned with pouches and a kris, the same as the Primalist back on the Steader’s land.

Magic user, she thought.

They were not alone. There were at least three other Primalists that she could see. The field of view from this shuttered window was low, though, and she could not rely on the assumption that these were the only ones present.

I need Arran, Gavan, and Ailith for this, she told herself. Taveon isn’t a fighter by his own admission, and I’ve barely hit level nine.

The words were sour in her thoughts. She swallowed the sense of disappointment and failure. She could not see the children from here, but she could hear their cries as they filtered through the decaying greenery. She thought there were voices, as well, but she could not make them out clearly to understand what they were saying.

Taveon pressed a hand to her shoulder, then gently indicated they should leave the room.

Back in the relative dead air of the alleyway they went, until the darkness and shrouded thorns covered them once again.

“There are too many, Faye,” Taveon whispered. His voice was strained, hoarse. “We cannot go into that courtyard alone.”

Faye felt like spitting. “I know,” she said, instead. “But we can’t leave them in there with those Primalists, either.”

“We’ve already trapped ourselves,” Taveon said. He did not sound scared, but Faye thought she saw a light shake in his posture. “If they decide to walk out of the courtyard into the street we took… there’s nowhere else to go.”

Faye frowned. “That can’t be the only entrance. That’s a pile of kindling to the right magic, and no sane person leaves themselves a single route of escape.”

Taveon gestured around them.

“No sane person with another option,” Faye amended.

They fell to silence, each heavy with their own thoughts. A few moments later, Faye was concerned that she was hearing the Primalists move… but it was something else. Something further away. She was not hearing it so much as sensing or feeling it through her feet.

Taveon looked around with alarm.

She was not imagining it, then.

The feeling of sound grew until suddenly it blasted at them from all directions at once. The force of the soundwave shook them, and they each ended up on their knees. Taveon had stumbled sideways and ended half-submerged in the thorns of that wall of the tunnel.

Faye had put one hand to the floor, and as she had she thought she felt the words… or emotion behind the sound.

It was a roar of pain, anger, and challenge all in one.

She felt herself go pale.

Whatever that was, I am certain I do not want to be near it.

“Faye,” Taveon hissed, pain clouding his voice and causing him to speak louder than they had been. Faye flinched for a moment but moved closer and hauled the old man from the thorns. He gasped as they relinquished their hold on him.

“Gods, what was that?” he asked.

“Hoped you would tell me,” she replied. “But it was something alive.”

They both fell silent, as, a moment later, the thorns around them rippled and shifted. Without further thought, they turned and ran down the thorn tunnel that was changing and morphing before them. The space squeezed tighter and tighter, causing them to run doubled over. Each wrong movement sent them careering through the thorns.

By the time they emerged from the dark tunnel, they were both bleeding from numerous lacerations across their scalps and faces.

“Fuck, what was that?!” Faye hissed.

Footsteps.

What now?! She cursed. They had nowhere to go, so they both crouched down, hunkering in the shadows of the thorns and walls around them. It was barely anything.

With no small amount of luck, however, the Primalists that emerged from the courtyard ran past without a glance. There were three of them, their ragged clothing and beads and bones on strings flailing about wildly as they ran.

The Primalist adept was foremost amongst them, leading the charge down the street Faye and Taveon had taken to approach.

“We go in,” Faye said, determined. “This is our best shot.”

“We can’t know what we face,” Taveon protested.

“It doesn’t matter a jot, that adept just ran out of there. Do you think there’s another one?”

Taveon reluctantly shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“Then we go in,” she replied, drawing her sword once more.