“In itself, Izathral is an unusual weapon. For a sword, it is short. The blade has a clipped point for stabbing, but curves sharply around the belly. It appears to be made of bone and some sort of steel, despite supposedly heralding from an era before swords, and certainly before steel.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

It was far from the first time. So often, anymore, Silver found herself in the strange, empty room of the castle where she had spent so much of her illness. Every time she slept, she woke there. There was no more stumbling in the darkness, no clawing her way through the gloom to the heart of her power.

Only silence.

Emptiness.

And yet…she never stayed long. Dreams took her from the strange room, just as waking would. So, this time, again, Silver stood very still at the center of the strange space, waiting for the moment when she would be ripped away. Tonight, it came slowly, heralded by a crack that echoed in the small space. Her eyes trailed slowly to the mirror, where the tiniest of cracks had appeared in the center of the glass. It warped the reflection of the room around it.

Then there were voices. Unfamiliar, they came from just beyond the closed door to her left. Silver stared at it incredulously. In all her time in the room, she had never heard or seen another living thing. She took one step in the direction of the door, and that was when she was torn from the room, hurled into the abyss of thought or memory. Into the rain. Down onto the hard earth, where the cold seeped up through her sodden clothing.

Silver did not move. She was not sure she could. All around her, the rain fell, but she sensed that something shielded her. Whatever it was, it spoke in a low voice, its words lost in the hiss of the rain.

There was someone in front of her as well, she gradually realized. He was a fading shadow in her memory, replaced abruptly by someone she did not know, a man who faced her in daylight rather than rain, his eyes the eyes of a vampire. He also spoke, words she never heard. Silver stared at him, her eyes recognizing what the rest of her could not. She replied.

“Come with me.”

Silver woke with a start, leaden arms splayed to either side of her. One hand brushed up against the no longer invisible sheath of Izathral. It was no wonder, really, that whoever had crafted it had made it invisible; compared to the sword, the sheath was impressively plain, some sort of heavy hide, black with only the faintest sliver of silver trim.

Every night since she had taken the sword, Silver had had dreams like the one she had just woken from, confusing and vivid. Still, they were nothing compared to the chaos of her days.

Within three weeks of Silver taking Izathral, Illian had received news from the north that Sorendell had fallen to the Juran. No one knew whether it was the beasts and rebels that had struck first. It was possible it was the Juran, impatient in the face of winter’s icy grip. The snows were feet deep in the north by the time the king’s guard was put down, and Illian suggested their supplies had been too meager to survive the winter alone.

Either way, that was the end of their peace.

The people in Libertia trained lightly after that. They were spectators to the distant conflict and to news of the triumphs and failures of people who most of them had never met, and yet who were their brothers and sisters in arms nonetheless. Slowly, the Juran’s influence spread south, prompted by the burning of a great swath of the Issurak in pursuit of the Juran’s rebel forces. Their progress stopped abruptly when the royal forces set up a substantial camp at the edge of the southern mountain pass, still well north of Libertia. There, the final leg of Nersifral was constructed almost overnight, and the king’s siege on the north began.

As a result, the atmosphere in Libertia had changed completely. There was little drilling in technique now. Men and women marched outside the city gates, breaking and reforming the formations signaled to them by their captains. Within and around the Issurak, they expected to use a form of guerrilla warfare, and that required an incredible amount of coordination. If they ever stepped beyond the tree line, which it was generally expected that they would, the formations changed, sliding from great crescents to columns, scouts becoming couriers, archers giving way to men bearing glaives and spears, the most powerful of elemental magic users shuffling to the rear under a guard of mounted swordsman. Even to Silver, who knew nothing of medieval warfare, it was fascinating.

And yet, the rigor of their training meant there were banners and signals to be learned, colored belts and ties to be memorized, and enough maps to make her brain hurt. As someone directly under Cevora and Illian’s command, no one tolerated her mistakes, and Silver tried her hardest not to make any.

The beasts made things still more complicated.

Thirty armored bears the size of three men combined had come from Muritia to fight with them. The Juran had few of the island’s native mounts, but had taken to the mossy giants used to pull carts in the cities instead. Like ambling elephants, the great beasts carried passengers and explosives, and they trampled everything in their path. The tree wolves were fleet and well-coordinated, and displayed multiple times how easily they could take down a group of soldiers fleeing on foot, or separate them from their ranks and herd them towards an ambush. Plants lay in wait, ensnaring unwitting passersby. Birds served as messengers, carrying light supplies and surveying from above to report numbers and distances in a series of chirps and clicks that Bek had Silver teach to both them and their human counterparts.

Some of the beasts chose to fight mixed into human formations, some to remain in groups of their own. Most would remain within the Issurak, prompting the humans to drive their enemies back into the trees. At any rate, that would always be their strategy – driving back towards the trees. They were out manned, without the beasts, and that was the count Illian went with; he had no real way of quantifying the beasts’ contribution to their fighting force.

Only one thing was certain – there would be no rest for anyone now.

Silver had woken to the city at dawn, a faint crimson glow creeping through the shuttered window. Sori and Cara still slept, but Cevora was nowhere to be seen. Anymore, the princess rarely returned to sleep with them, and Silver had the sense she was part of the reason. No one had said anything to her about it, but they did not have to.

“You wake at a fine moment, human,” Seijelar’s voice came to her, eliciting a sleepy sigh from Elorian. “It seems a new message has come from the north.”

“What is it?” Silver half-whispered, pulling her feet out from underneath the wolf, who remained curled up tightly, pretending to sleep. The sun’s soft light collected like dew on its silver fur.

“How am I to know? Avalone asks that you wake your companions. The others will be at the meetinghouse soon.”

“Great,” Silver muttered, pushing the shutters just wide enough to catch a glimpse of the great crimson dragon on the rooftops. As usual, Seijelar was joined by Skourett, the opalescent indigo form of Sori’s dragon, Avalone, and Relios, Hiyein’s great bronze behemoth. She had no idea why Hiyein’s beast always slept so far away from Hiyein himself, and had never asked. All she knew was that the bronze dragon was slowly accumulating a green tint across his spine and wings, making him look more like a great, grassy hill than a dragon.

It did not take her long to get Sori and Cara up, or to dress herself, strapping Izathral around her waist as she did every morning. As soon as Silver did so, it vanished from sight. Cara’s rope settled neatly above the sword, making her feel like some sort of walking armory, but Illian had insisted that no one go anywhere without their weapons. Ever. Still, the door of the meetinghouse was thrown open by the time Silver descended the stairs with the wolf in tow, and people were streaming in.

Turning the corner, she was surprised to find Meian hovering over the table, Illian at his side, pointing to a very large piece of paper weighed down at each corner by the blue-glowing watch stones. Silver had seen enough maps in the last few weeks to know it could be nothing else.

“I think I had the easier job, Illian, compared to our brothers in the north. I took the kurnsfral, the walled roads, east to west. Ate like a damn king all the way. Warm beds, warm fires. Good company, all ‘round. Wasn’t hard to ply my trade, eh? I sold as many secrets as I bought.”

“He brings tidings of the traitor’s wall?” the hatchling dragon’s voice echoed in her mind. Silver nodded despite herself, feeling Illian’s eyes rise to meet hers as she approached the table. Her gaze skimmed past him, finding Bek and Ren on his other side with their eyes also trained on the map. Silver joined them.

It was a map of the entire island, a vast stretch of land angled roughly into the shape of a dragon’s scale. Stretches of island had been carved away from the Issurak for human habitation, but much of the west and a large chunk of the north remained heavily forested and uninhabitable. The mountains in the north formed a formidable series of rings, cupping the city of Sorendell and its smaller neighbors in the heart of a great valley, safe from the raging seas and, she had heard, from Atlantis.

Conversation, however, had already moved away from the island as a whole. Before her eyes, the map morphed, the port city expanding to dominate the tabletop. Centuries in the future, cell phones and computers would allow zooming into maps like these. Even then, the exquisite detail of the Altians’ magical images would remain lost. Silver did not know how they were made, only that they captured the land at midday perfectly, the trees cast in the shadow of the Grand Castle, the streets of the port city spread in a great fan out to the sea, still in a way they would never be still in reality – unless, of course, the Ruveris Plague had claimed more victims than they had been lead to believe. Ghostly text rose above the streets. Red pillars of light delineated the guard houses and watch towers, white the armories, black the gates, orange stables, bestiaries, and aviaries.

“You’ve done well, Meian, not that I expected any less,” Illian observed.

“I have estimates on the supplies we can expect at each of the storage locations and armories – these on the eastern border will be most advantageous, if we can hold ‘em. I hear the schools converted several of the warehouses in the harbor into workshops for the onkelhra, so be prepared for their monoliths. Enough stone and iron were funneled in from the north before it fell that they could have more than a hundred of the damn things by now.”

“Are there civilians left in the port city?” Illian asked.

“A few. Most evacuated to the eastern shore months ago. Way I heard it, the strategists in the MASO convinced the council to raze most of the western border between the city and the trees. They wanted a clear line of sight. Anyhow, Nersifral abuts the razed land here,” Meian pointed towards the clearly marked wall, glimmering silver and crimson on the magical map, “lookout stations about every half mile. You’ll notice there’re no gates facing the Issurak.”

“And the castle? I assume you spoke at length with Cevora Kuirsrinn and Holtson,” Illian asked, hovering his hand over the castle as the stream of people into the room slowed and the door of the meetinghouse was finally closed. All of the captains and half of the generals in Libertia had come, as had Cevora, Olrier, and all of those with dragons, bringing the attendance in the room to a stifling thirty plus people. Every one of them watched as the castle expanded and separated into multiple floors. Every known niche of the Grand Castle was carefully marked, and the detail was enough to make a modern map look like a cartographer’s drunken sketch.

“Told ‘im what I could,” Holtson remarked gruffly from one corner of the room, “castle’s not kind to intruders. Corridors and rooms tend to shift on ya’ when ya’ least expect it. Nothin’ laid down in stone, fer all the castle is built o’ the stuff.”

“It isn’t just the castle’s antics we have to contend with,” Illian agreed, “we have no choice but to take someone who can control it.”

“Which is why I will be in the party that infiltrates the castle,” Cevora observed in a tone that brooked no argument. Holtson hmphed anyway, and several people commented on various methods of entry before they moved on to a discussion of the floor plan. After the better part of an hour, Meian finally waved it away. The port city returned to dominate the map.

“The only real hiccup in our plans, far as I can tell, is that we failed to account for exactly what Nersifral was meant to be,” Meian stated shortly.

“Explain,” Illian prompted, gesturing the captains a little closer as the king’s wall glowed brighter on the map. Indigo columns of light appeared at several points along its considerable length.

“We took it for a wall, meant to divide men and beasts, and in part we were right. The walls’re stone, dug up from wherever it could be found, cemented with lime and some concoction from the architects’ guild…we expected something meant to route our soldiers, beast or man, and that it is – tall as the lower watch towers, impervious to most magics, backed by an iron spine carved with defensive runes. A few sources suggested to me there’s blood and bone in those walls, enough to make it a nasty piece of work. But,” Meian growled as he pointed at the indigo columns, “it’s more than a wall, Illian. These’re nodes, inker, or pillars, it would appear, that form part of a much larger spell. I consulted with Estir, Bek, and Ren here, and they all agree.”

Silver could see, now that the columns were called out, what Meian meant. The wall formed a great ring around the castle, fanning out into a series of geometric patterns that faded the farther the wall strayed from Altiannia.

“We believe we know what it does, thanks to the beasts,” Ren said, raking his dark eyes over them all. “It forms a barrier, smaller in size but similar to what the Stones of Alti are said to have once done. So long as the barrier is raised, nothing goes in or out of the castle.”

“How certain are you that it’s solely defensive?” Illian asked.

“As certain as we can be,” it was Estir who answered, “given that we have no one here from the guilds to verify the base spell. Ren and I both have considerable experience in rune craft.”

“You spoke to Sara? And the vampires?” Illian prompted.

“Sara said this was beyond her expertise,” Ren confirmed.

“And we have no one well versed in the guild’s magics,” Olrier interjected calmly.

“Then, is there any way for us to tell when the barrier is raised?” Illian asked, straightening.

“I’ve an inkling it never comes down,” Meian said seriously. “I had my eye on it for two weeks, Illian. I’d say it never dropped once.”

“Supplies?”

“Most likely coming in from some backdoor in the barrier known only to its crafters,” Ren said. “Someone who could design something of this caliber would have no trouble creating a password or symbol that allowed items to pass through the barrier. It could take us years to determine what it is.”

“How long can the North hold?” Agrivis asked. Illian glanced in Holtson’s direction.

“I don’t know many in the king’s army as could stand against Ichildi, cursed as she is to speakin’ with ghosts, nor the werewolves at ‘er beck and call. But I can tell ya’ this; the north this time o’ year is an unforgivin’ place. The residents of Sorendell are a rowdy bunch, an’ if they get it in their heads to resist us, our men an’ women in the north will have their hands full. Come spring, the king’s men’ll have to break through the pass whatever we and the people o’ Sorendell think o’ them, or risk goin’ into another winter without the skills or supplies they need.” Holtson’s salty eyebrows were furrowed, his great arms folded across his chest. “Still, most like the king’s men will wait to take the pass till spring as well. Too dangerous this time o’ year.”

“We could wait out the winter,” Estir observed, “send word for them to push south with the first thaw.”

“I advise against it,” Olrier interjected heavily, “With Nersifral complete, your once-king is comfortable in his position. Most likely, that is why he allowed his army to be divided. A considerable number of the MASO’s resources are currently tied up in the north because, I assume, they expected to wrest Sorendell from the Juran’s control swiftly. I expect we’ll see that the king draws his resources back to the south as it becomes clear that the siege on the northern pass will not end any time soon; if nothing else, we’ve already heard that the winters there are harsh – without shelter or supplies, an army cannot simply camp in any of the minuscule cities dotting the trade routes to Sorendell.”

“He’s right there,” Holtson admitted gruffly, “Not much up there in the way o’ people. Few small towns, and most go dark this time o’ year. They can’t support an army of any kind.”

“So then, you think that right now, while the king’s army is divided, is the ideal time to strike?” Illian asked, regarding Olrier levelly. The vampire nodded soberly.

“Indeed. I have a proposition for you, Illian,” Olrier said, leaning forward slightly. His golden eyes glowed ominously in the silent room. “We strike after nightfall, on the night of the new moon. Then, all magic will be at its weakest, including that of the barrier. It’s an unusual tactic, one that plays well to the fighting styles of the vampires and many of the nocturnal beasts. Even the dragons will find themselves advantaged against much of the king’s army. The vampires will take point in destroying the pillars.”

“There are too many unknowns, and too few of you,” Illian answered immediately. “We would be sending fewer than two hundred men and women into the heart of the city. Assuming they are successful in destroying the pillars, it would still be a suicide mission. There’s no way we could route them back safely, and those of us who are not vampires,” Illian stressed the word carefully, “will be at a distinct disadvantage. There’s a high chance things will go terribly wrong, and we could lose a tremendous percentage of our fighting force.”

“Think smaller, squads of five of us at most,” Olrier said, drawing his finger along the map to touch the indigo pillars. “These three pillars here, hugging the western and northern roads of the city, are not, as you say, in the heart of anything. They are very likely carefully watched, but it is impossible for the king’s forces to be everywhere at once. Most likely, the majority of them are housed here,” he pointed towards the center of the port city, glancing at Meian.

“He’s right, Illian,” Meian agreed.

“The MASO will have a large number of men in Elruin as well,” Illian observed.

“Still, far enough that they’ll be unable to react in time,” Olrier stated factually, “What I propose is that we strike at each of the pillars simultaneously, leveraging the telepathic abilities of the dragons to keep in lockstep. Two dragons to each post, one to fly above, the other to relay positions to those on the ground. We’ll enlist the nightwings to increase our aerial cover.”

“And how do you plan to actually destroy the pillars?” Estir asked cynically. Olrier flashed her his toothy smile.

“Who said anything about destroying them? There are a number of components to any spell, as you well know. Those that require a physical symbol of some kind are most powerful, but most prone to disruption. Runes are an excellent example, as are magic circles. Both have nodes, places where power pools. Pillars. Inker. Call them what you will. They rely on the flow of magic, and the purity of the medium. Destroying the pillars of this spell circle would destroy the barrier, certainly, but disrupting the function of the inkervan – the core of each pillar – would unbalance it. At that point, all that would be required to break it would be a significant enough surge of magical power running through the circle. We would only need you to be ready, Illian, with your army of rebels and beasts. We escape on the dragons, you sweep in with daybreak to take the castle.”

Illian stared hard at Olrier, and he was not the only one in the room. They all waited, expectant, clearly at a loss for how they could provide such a surge. The vampire’s eyes crept to Silver, and she understood. So did Illian. She could see it in his expression.

“Izathral,” the vampire said for the benefit of everyone else.

“Where?” Illian growled. The vampire pointed to the northeast.

“This one will likely be the least heavily guarded. I’m familiar with the area, and the terrain would make intervention difficult for the king’s men. We can take it.”

Illian’s eyes slid to Silver, and he nodded slowly. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” Cevora said sharply, “Olrier will go with her.” The vampire blinked at the princess, then bowed his head slightly.

“I had never planned otherwise,” he assured her.

“You have no objections, Silver?” Cevora asked, though it was clear from the princess’s stare what answer she expected. Silver looked away from her as she spoke.

“No.”

“Then what of the last pillar?” the princess asked, pointing towards the indigo column of light nestled in the farthest eastern corner of the city. Silver could see that there was no easy way for them to access it.

“We will ready a ship for the merfolk,” Olrier cast a narrow-eyed glance at Illian, who nodded curtly, to Silver’s surprise. She had no idea there were merfolk anywhere in Alti.

“Then we’re decided,” Illian stated.

As soon as he had spoken, the room broke into chaos once more. The parties for their nighttime raid were hashed and re-hashed, the merits of each group discussed at length. Silver listened for a long time, but eventually, she lost track of who would be where and why. There would be ample chance, she was sure, to memorize it all soon enough. Time when Cevora was not staring at her from across the room, deep in thought, sea green eyes thick with shadows.

The princess had her own role to play. While the armies swept in, she would enter the castle. There was yet another party for that, forty of Holtson’s finest trainees and Illian’s wolf. They planned to take the castle from the inside, closing its great doors to the king’s soldiers and, possibly, taking Cevora’s father prisoner. Or killing him. Silver really was not sure what Cevora planned to do, whatever the princess had said in the past. Silver was not about to ask now.

That day, she went to bed stiff from standing for the hours and hours of deliberation that had kept the meetinghouse doors closed till well after sunset. Everything was decided. Seijelar and Skourett would take Olrier, Vespar, and Urias to the northeast with her and Bek. They would escape as quickly as they could, rendezvous with the other dragon riders to the west of the port city, and then ride the edge of the Issurak south to provide aerial support for Illian’s army as they fought up to the castle gates. Hopefully, by the time they reached them, those gates would be under Cevora’s command.

“Two weeks,” Silver whispered to the wolf, curling her toes in its silvery fur. Elorian rumbled softly. There was no way for the wolf to come with her into battle.

“I do not like it, human.”

“You would like flying, or falling, even less, I think,” Silver observed.

“I should be at your side.” The beast’s cupped ears clearly suggested its words.

“You will be, as soon as we land,” Silver said gently.

Elorian said nothing to that, but the wolf’s ears remained laid back against its skull. Silver understood. She did not like it, either. All the unknowns, the danger, knowing that everyone she had grown to be friends with could be dead by the first snowfall.

“I just have to stay alive,” she whispered, staring at the pale sliver of moonlight reflected against the ceiling, “All of us just have to live. If we’re injured or whatever, that’s fine. Just please…” she closed her eyes, seeing the strange room in the darkness at the back of her eyelids.

“No…I will not allow any one of us die.”

She exhaled slowly, feeling the strength that came with the words.

“Not one.”