“Morgan, get Hattie and yourself to the second terrace now!” Frances screamed. She broke into a run, racing from the tower to the wall.

Hattie stammered, “But Frances, how will we find you?”

Pausing for a moment, Frances quickly grabbed her girl’s hands and cast a spell. Yellow arrows appeared on her hand and that of her girls.

“Follow the arrow. Now go! I need to delay Thorgoth! If he breaches that gate we’ll lose the first terrace!” Frances tried to stem her panic, but maybe it was a good thing that her girls saw it on her face. Because Morgan and Hattie nodded and immediately made their way toward the stairs leading back into the city.

One of the human musketeers stammered. “Ma’am, what do we do—”

“Focus your fire on the rampart. Stem the tide of the soldiers funnelling into the gate! Listen for the retreat order if there is one!” Frances didn’t wait to see if the soldier had followed. She ran as fast as she could, dodging around the butts of musketeers, leaping over crates.

Her lungs begged for air, her shoulders ached from the weight of her armoured robes. Frances pushed that aside into the back of her mind. There were mages at the main gate. Dwynalina, Anriel and Kellyanne were all posted there but whatever they were doing, Thorgoth had still managed to breach the first gate. Were Dwynalina and Kellyanne even alive?

There was an ear piercing shriek as Frances neared the main gatehouse. Before her eyes, she could see Alavari soldiers below her crumple to the ground as a wave of violet energy swept out of the gate. And yet, she could still see the edge of Thorgoth’s violet dome of magic in the gateway. He was clearly trying to break through the second door in the gatehouse.

Taking a deep breath, Frances ran to the gatehouse tower and peered down onto the friendly side. Behind the door was Kellyanne and two other White Order mages. They were desperately casting, trying to reinforce the door, which now shone with a rainbow hue. Dwynalina was just behind them, preparing some kind of spell. Red-purple magic gathered at her feet, just where she held her staff.

Before Frances could add her magic to the shield around the door, Thorgoth’s wand-held fist smashed through the wood. The glow around the door shattered like crackling glass. The White Order mages staggered back from the backlash, whilst Kellyanne started casting again, throwing bolts of magic at the emerging king. They slammed harmlessly off Thorgoth’s shield as he kicked his way through the shattered door.

But they had bought Frances enough time to charge her spell.

“Thorgoth Greyhammer!” she screamed.

The king looked up at Frances, turning with his wand raised, only for Dwynalina to unleash her spell.

Lavender energy buried into the ground. The telegraphed attack had Thorgoth bracing himself, but the magic exploded from under his feet. Bright light engulfed the king from within his shield, and he disappeared from view.

Soldiers on both sides froze, all eyes on the glowing, dome-shaped corona surrounding the king. Everybody was holding their breath.

Except for Frances. She was charging her lightning spell as she ran down a nearby set of stairs.

Just as she stepped foot onto solid ground, the dome blasted apart. A ring of pure force flung Dwynalina onto her back. Kellyanne managed to shield blow. As she turned to check on her follow mage, Thorgoth charged out of the blaze, smoke rising from his armor, a furious glower twisting his expression. He raised his wand to smote the White Order mage.

At the last moment, he threw up a shield instead, catching Frances’s spell. Pouring in her magic, the Stormcaller continued the torrent of crackling energy. The screeching hiss of plasma against deafening the ears of all around.

Locked in their duel, Frances and Thorgoth sang. Higher-pitched soprano trying to cut over the dulcet baritone of the king. The battle resumed around them, Alavari soldiers pouring through the gate, as human defenders desperately tried to stem the tide.

Frances, this is bad. We can’t hold onto this much longer and they’re breaking through! Ivy hissed.

I know, but we can’t let him through! Queen Forowena told me she has a backup for the first terrace, but it’s been only one day. Where’s Dwynalina— Frances spied the elderly mage, being carried away by her wife. The half-goblin was furiously wielding her broadsword with one hand to fend off an enemy soldier. Dammit.

Thorgoth chuckled. “You’ve improved, Stormcaller!”

How the fuck is he maintaining his shield? Frances wondered. Even as she stepped back, Thorgoth continued to follow her. The king was wincing, and yet a smile was spread across his face.

“You have no chance, Frances! Better and more powerful mages have tried to kill me and they have failed.”

Frances had heard enough. She broke her spell, and fled. She couldn’t face the king head on. She had to try to draw him apart from his army and the friendly soldiers. Ivy’s Sting danced as she threw several shield melter spells taken from Yvonne the Shaman-Slayer’s arsenal. They forced Thorgoth to dodge, but the king continued to pursue her.

Catching the sound of a loud, blaring trumpet Frances registered the sound of the retreat trumpet, just before she heard Thorgoth cast. Putting her magic into her enchanted robes, Frances nevertheless screamed as an explosion lifted her off of her feet. Surrounded by a brilliant blue bubble, Frances slammed toward the crumpled ruins of a house, face-first. However, her magic flattened it, and slowed her descent, allowing her to get her hands on the brickwork and scramble up to her feet.

Ducking into the dust kicked up by her impact, Frances cursed as a wind blew the impromptu smokescreen clean. She managed to deflect the king’s followup spell and counter with a reflexive bolt of lightning.

This time, she scored a hit on the king, and Thorgoth staggered back, growling, arm spasming. Yet he kept hold of his wand. Not wanting to give up her temporary advantage, Frances targeted the ground, aiming to make it swallow the king up.

Thorgoth’s next step plunged into a void. He threw out his gauntleted hand, which slammed into the dirt but he managed to check his fall into the hole. Even so, Frances was changing her tune, burying the Alavari with rubble that piled on top of him.

The king stopped singing, instead crying out several Words of Power. Each syllable delivered with resonant force that almost deafened Frances. Loose stone and brick blasted away, showering Frances with debris and detritus. Screaming a counterspell, she tried to incinerate Thorgoth with a fireball. Instead, a beam of violet-grey magic slammed into Frances’s armor.

She was shot off her feet by the impact. Her enchanted armor automatically absorbing the magic but being unable to dissipate the force of the magic entirely. She flew, hitting the ground and sliding backward until her shoulder bulldozed into a wall. Gasping, wiping her eyes, Frances staggered to her feet.

Thorgoth was wiping the soot and dirt off his face. Breathing heavily, he trod toward her over the rubble-strewn ground. He was scowling now, which was just odd. As unnerving as the king’s smile had been, the twisted snarl of his lips just didn’t suit Thorgoth’s distinguished-looking features.

“You have been my most aggravating opponent, Frances Windwhistler. I am so glad to be finally rid of you.”

Spitting dust out of her mouth, Frances couldn’t help but sneer at the king. “Well, I’m not down yet. You’ll have to try harder!”

Thorgoth raised his wand and Frances braced herself.

Suddenly, a crackling roar, as if a thousand leaves had caught fire at once, deafened the battlefield around them. Thorgoth threw up a second magical shield just in time for a tornado of flame to slam into it. The twisting vortex of pure combustive force shattered the futile attempt to block it and drilled into the king’s main barrier. Thorgoth, immediately sweating from the sheer heat of the inferno, immediately raised his voice, his wand whipping around.

To Frances’s astonishment, the king wrested control of the tornado and like some mad wrestler, threw it back at the caster, dressed in splendid white robes.

Raising Poker, Edana Firehand tapped the staff on the ground, a shockwave of force emanating from the butt. The flame tornado dissipated as if it was never there.

“Frances, we’re getting out of here!” Edana exclaimed.

“Yes, mom!” Frances stammered, running up beside her mother. With wand and staff raised, they watched Thorgoth glare back at them as they backed away.

Then without warning, he blinked and smiled.

“Edana Firehand, I wonder how you will feel when I crush your daughter beneath my feet? What despair will grip you when she watches you choke to death in my fist?”

Edana snorted. “I’ll burn you to death first.”

“Then burn Firehand. Burn bright and hard because upon the embers of your fire, I will forge a new Empire for Alavaria, quenched in your loved ones blood!” Before anybody could get in another word edgewise, the king laughed. His deep, booming laugh, almost hysterical in its intensity, chased Frances and Edana away as they fled, weapons in white-knuckle grips.

“We lost the first terrace?” Frances asked.

Her mother nodded, holding onto Frances’s shoulder for support as they ran into a trench and continued to run.

“Dammit. I was hoping we would hold for a few more days.” Frances pursed her lips. “Come to think of it, Queen Forowena said she had a contingency for losing a terrace but was keeping it secret. Did she tell you?”

Before her eyes, Edana’s thin-pressed lips curled up in a grin.

“Oh yes, which is why I didn’t bother verbal sparring with Thorgoth. Her Majesty, courtesy of Ulric, has a nasty surprise for Thorgoth.” Her mother’s expression turned grim once again. “But it does mean we can’t afford to be here for much longer.”

Frances nodded, and then recalled her extraordinarily eccentric former instructor. “Mom…what did Ulric plan to do?”

“You’ll see! Just hurry up, we need to get over the wall!” Edana hissed.

Frances looked around, recognizing the trench they were running down. “But this one leads right to a wall—Oh. Nevermind I get it!”

The pair heard another rapid staccato blast of Erisdalian horns as they neared the sloping face of the second terrace and the wall on top. Scrambling over the trench side, Frances helped her mother up. She was already starting to cast.

Edana grabbed Frances’s arm. “Shield us.”

“Got it,” said Frances, clasping her mother tightly. She faced the first terrace. The troops looked like they’d withdrawn. Alavari banners flew all over the city and from atop the towers. The ramp to the second terrace was filled with retreating Erisdalian soldiers.

From the second terrace’s wall, muskets cracked and cannons were still firing, slamming into the street leading to the ramp, forcing Alavari formations to take cover behind the buildings.

“Those buildings are going to be a problem for us. They’ll be able to use them as cover,” muttered Frances.

Edana smiled cryptically. “I won’t be so sure about that. Hang on.” The Firehand waved her staff and began to sing. Mother and daughter rose into the sky, flying up the terrace. As the pair approached, they could hear guards muter and stammer before the pair landed gently onto the wall.

“Right mom, what exactly is Queen Forowena’s plan?” Frances asked, arching an eyebrow at Edana. As much as she understood the need for secrecy, the fact that Thorgoth’s troops were pouring through the gate and starting to disperse into the first terrace was quite alarming. The intention after all had been to hold the first terrace for at least several days. They’d only held it for two nights.

Turning to look over the terrace, Edana pursed her lips. “We should see it soon. It’s based on Ulric’s latest research. Did he tell you about it?”

Frances shook her head. “Not in some time. He did ask me about what I remembered about electrical switches. I wasn’t very good at engineering back on Earth so I think I suggested he reach out to Jim.” She blinked. “Actually, I remember I wrote a letter to Jim to let him know.”

“Well, Jim and Ulric have been working together for some time and they’ve developed something that up until now, we thought was impossible. You’re about to see it in action,” said Edana.

Frances frowned, but deciding she’d find out in good time, narrowed her eyes at the movement of the Alavari in the first terrace. “Hm, their infantry are withdrawing and their cavalry are riding into the streets. They must be trying to take cover behind the terrace.”

Edana’s eyebrows rose. “That would be smart. But—Ah.”

A final horn blast sounded. This was by far the shrillest of the blasts and the pitch made Frances wince.

“And here it comes,” said Edana.

Helias hoped he didn’t sound too relieved as he led his cavalry into the city. “Split into squads! Clear the houses! Help the infantry of the first division withdraw!” Guiding his horse forward, he found King Thorgoth sitting down behind a house, surrounded by guards. Queen Berengaria was beside him, wiping his face with a towel

Dismounting, he saluted. “My cavalry are dispersing to clear the terrace, Your Majesty. General ”

The king grunted. “Good idea. Fuck that was a bit harder than I anticipated. I ran into the Violet Queen, the Stormcaller and then the Firehand.”

Berengaria blinked. “Dwynalina? She’s still alive? She’s actually active?”

“Yes. If Dwynalina was a few decades younger, she’d have seriously hurt me. As it is, she’s a lot slower than she was.” Whispering a thanks, Thorgoth sipped from a flask from Berengaria. “The Firehand and Stormcaller are still a serious pain.”

“They cannot possibly threaten you though, my love,” said Berengaria.

Helias nodded at first, but to his confusion, the king didn’t respond. Instead, his lips were pinched. As they stared at the king, Erisdalian horns blared, but still Thorgoth said nothing.

“I can defeat them, but I am not a fool to think I am invincible. The Firehand and the Stormcaller together are a frightening combination.” The king took a deep breath and stood up. “Thank you, dear. Now, can someone find out why the hell are those enemy horns are still blaring?”

“Yes sir!” Helias jogged to his horse. He’d just put a foot into the stirrup when a dull cracking nose made his horse flinch.

Holding onto the saddle, he managed to pull himself on, only for his horse to try to bolt. Struggling with the reins, the tauroll’s eyes widened as he heard more strange cracks echo throughout the terrace.

“What the hell is that?” Berengaria hissed, wings flaring.

“They sound like explosions, but then why aren’t they killing our troops?” Helias muttered. Whatever it was, his horse was fighting him. “What the—calm down already!”

Thorgoth, eyes narrowed, surveyed the city around him. “Sound the retreat for everybody. No use getting caught in their—” The king stumbled, pushing against a nearby wall for support. That was the last Helias saw before his horse started to just bolt down the road, toward the gate.

“What the—” Helias looked around and to his alarm, the ground was dropping. Street tiles were crumbling into nothingness. Walls were curving inward or bowing outward. All around him, soldiers were screaming and running. Harpies that could make it were flying into the sky, trying to carry the lighter goblins or trolls. The earth itself was now moving, sliding in his direction.

In the distance, at the foot of the second terrace, it was like the ground was folding in on itself. A tsunami of dust now washed over the collapsing, colossal landslide that pursued the army of Alavaria.

And ahead of that dust cloud the earth itself now rippled faster and faster toward him.

“Get out! Get out!” Helias bellowed, now letting his stallion carry him away. Behind him, he could see his faster cavalry fleeing with him. When he turned to look at the road ahead, his heart sank.

A mass of Alavari trying to get through the gate leading out of the first terrace. The tall arches forced them all into a press, making trolls and centaur trample over smaller goblins as all tried to escape. The press was so thick, that he could see some goblins clambering over packed ogre and orc, shoes stomping on their fellow folk’s heads.

Helias leapt off his horse, hitting the ground with a scramble. He ran up the heaving stairs to the wall. All thoughts of victory or of the king were gone. All he could think of was seeing his child, and Sara. That thought sped his feet, propelling him to the battlements. Without a second thought he leapt into the void and drew his wand.

He didn’t want to land at the foot of the terrace. The ramp below him was crowded with fleeing, tripping and trampled soldiers. So he made himself float down from the ramp, landing just beyond and onto the actual ground of the field. Many others were already picking that option, sliding down the sheer slope to hit the ground or leaping off and taking their chances.

It was just as well because the wall and the sides of the terrace itself now collapsed. It bulged outward as if being filled with air, before the earth and rock disgorged itself all on top of the screaming Alavari.

The dust cloud that followed sandblasted Helias, scraping his ears and tearing the wind out of his lungs. He tumbled, slamming into the ground, where he somehow managed to scramble to his feet and run. He didn’t stop running toward the Greenway until he reached a silent, wide-eyed General Glowron, at the head of the frozen second division of the Alavarian army.

Only then did Helias look back. Beyond the dust cloud that hung over what had been the first terrace, was the twisted web of broken walls, torn and dirty standards, and lifeless bodies.

“What the fuck was that?” Helias stammered.

“The…the history books always said that goblinkind had dug tunnels under Kairon-Aoun. They were following the veins of iron, of gold and other precious metals. The Erisdalians…they must have collapsed all of the tunnels underneath the first terrace,” said Glowron.

“But at the same time? How?” Helias whispered. He looked around. “And where is the king?”

As if on cue, Thorgoth, holding onto Berengaria’s claws, landed in front of them. His expression couldn’t be read easily, but from the way his armoured boots stomped on the ground, the king was incensed.

“Glowron. Double-time every reserve we have from Minairen and all garrisons from the surrounding counties. Helias, deliver a request for a truce to the enemy so we can recover our dead and wounded.”

“We can do that sir. But do you think they will allow us to recover our troops, Your Majesty?” Glowron asked.

The king snorted. “We can count on the bleeding heart of the—”

“We have murdered their children and have pledged to subjugate every last one of their kind and their supporters, Your Majesty. Please consider that before you send the good general to his potential death,” said Glowron. The diminutive goblin general met Thorgoth’s wide-eyes with a thin smile.

And to Helias’s surprise and relief, the king took a deep breath and nodded. Though, that might have to do with Queen Berengaria gently caressing her husband’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Glowron. My dear Berengaria, I’m sorry to rely on you again, but when you can, can you make the flight? We at least try and you will probably have a better chance requesting the truce,” said Thorgoth.

Berengaria leaned against Thorgoth’s shoulder. “Of course, just give me a moment. Perhaps we should also prepare our logistics and medical services?”

“Yes sir,” said Helias. “Glowron can I borrow—”

The goblin waved his hand and a staff officer brought a horse. Helias remounted, and rode for his life. The lives of hundreds of Alavari depended on him.