From her vantage point, Morgan didn’t see who had entered the breach but she heard a roar from that direction. Edana, who was patiently waiting with her hand mirror open, suddenly sat straight.

“Mom! It’s him! We’re overrun! Get everybody out! Love you!”

“Frances—Wait!” Edana sprang to her feet but Frances’s visage was already gone.

“Him—The king? He’s attacking the breach himself?” Morgan whispered. The panic in her mother’s voice crawled like dust and debris seeping under her feathers.

Edana, her expression tight, nodded. “Morgan, go along the Third Terrace’s walls and see if you can help hit targets with your magic.”

“Wait, really—”

The harpy-orc stiffened as the Grandmaster of the White Order seized her sleeve. Her brilliant emerald eyes fixed Morgan in place. “You are not to leave the wall for the Second Terrace unless they get into the Third Terrace as well. If Frances knew that you were in trouble, she’d throw everything away to save you.”

Morgan swallowed. “Yes ma’am.”

“Go. And stay safe.” With that, Edana gave the princess a gentle shove out of the gatehouse.

It took a second for Morgan to get her bearings, but wings started churning the air and lifting her along the wall.

What had been an urgent but orderly withdraw had now turned into a chaotic scramble. Human and Alavari were running through the gate. Ladders were going over the side of the walls at designated areas. More musketeers flooded the Third Terrace’s walls.

Flashes of sky-blue lightning and navy-blue flames in the distance drew Morgan onward. Desperately flying over head shocked musketeers she managed to set her sights on her mother.

Frances and Hattie were fighting for their lives. Human troops were running down the trenches, chased and shot at by Alavari. Sprinting from cover to cover, the teacher-student pair were firing spells back at the attackers, who Morgan suddenly recognized as Royal Guards from her childhood in Minairen.

Yet while some connected, a good deal of these spells were being blocked by mages covering the guards. And from behind the Royal Guards, more of Thorgoth’s army now flooded through the breach into the Second Terrace. Quite a few of the soldiers looked dusty and there were some sporting some nasty injuries. Morgan suspected that the cannons that continued to fire beside her were the cause of that as they arched projectiles into and over the breach.

Close by, setting up a position by some unharmed house-bunkers, she could see Lightning Battalion troops open fire with musket and a small cannon they brought. They were attempting to cover the ragged Lapanterian and Erisdalian troops in full retreat. In some ways, their attempts were working. It had forced Thorgoth’s Alavari into the defender’s trenches, but they were still advancing.

Looking up to the sky, Morgan found the dragons circling overhead, dodging spells from mages on the wall. There seemed to be too much mage fire and musket fire from the Third Terrace. That did mean however that some of the mages on the wall were occupied shooting at the dragons to keep them at bay.

And Thorgoth’s army was exploiting this to the best of their ability. There were so many soldiers chasing the rearguard that Morgan wasn’t sure how they were keeping ahead of the attack.

Then she saw a crowned figure clamber through the breach. Her eyes wide, Morgan watched as Thorgoth himself dusted himself off from the climb and continued to saunter into a trench with his Royal Guard.

Oh no.

What to do? Frances and Hattie needed to run, but the Royal Guards were very much preventing them from fleeing. Even now, they were trying to keep shields up, firing occasionally back at the rearguard’s attackers. A friendly cannon would sometimes demolish several Royal Guard, but the defender’s trenchers in this case were working against them as they provided cover against their own cannons.

No, Frances and Hattie needed something bigger. Something… more dramatic.

Something only Morgan could do.

She alighted on the rampart. “Sorry, can you give me some space?” she asked the nearby mage, who happened to be Master Spinella. “I’m doing a big spell.”

“Sure, but whatever you do, you better do it fast young lady,” said the elderly mage.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan nodded and closed her eyes.

She started by humming to herself. She needed to preserve her breath for the rest of the spell.

Lightbreaker? I’m going to need your help.

It’s not a particularly creative plan, but it’s as good as any. Leave the details to me. Focus on gathering your magic.

That was comforting, but it was only the first step. She could feel the magic from the keystone spreading through her chest. The ones in her legs, though, were not being as cooperative. Biting her lip she focused her attention on them.

“Come on. Come on…How did I… Right.” Morgan thought back to her spar with Frances. She tried to remember what she’d felt.

Focused. Excited. Eager and…happy. She’d been very happy, in spite of everything going on. Above all, she wanted to be doing that again. She wanted to spend time with her adoptive mother, and her real mother and her best friend. She wanted to continue feeling happy.

That’s it, Morgan. Now open your eyes.

The princess did as hew and suggested and blinked. Ribbons of magic curled around her limbs, and body. They floated in some kind of ethereal breeze, and collected in front of her.

Violet magic was pooling together, guided by the ribbons and forming a glowing sphere. It grew in intensity and brightness, casting tall shadows and bathing the people and weapons around it in a lavender glow.

And as Morgan sang, full-throated, her lips feeling like they’d crack from the force of her aria, the air drawn from her lungs, she remembered the inspiration from this spell.

When they’d been travelling to Minairen, the three had laid down on the ground by a grassy knoll to watch the stars.

“Did you have stars in the sky in your world, Frances?” Morgan had asked. She’d immediately regretted her question. Her adoptive mother’s childhood had been painful and she’d just brought it up.

Only, France’s lips had curled up. “Yes. We couldn't really see them in the city, though. The cities had too much light. You could only see them in the forest, on the darkest of nights.”

“Wait, but you didn’t have demons?” Hattie had asked.

Frances had glanced at her two charges, frowning. “Sorry, what do you mean by that?”

“You know that the stars are where the demons exited our world, right? Never to be seen again and leaving the other races to rule over Durannon?” Hattie had explained.

“I didn’t. Or at least, I didn’t know that was the explanation for Alavari,” said Frances. She’d taken a breath and clasped her hands over her stomach. “You know Durannon is round right and I told you a little about space, right? Well, in my world, our technology was so advanced, we even sent spacecraft so high we could look down on the world. It and the telescopes we built are also how we found out the stars are actually suns.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Morgan remembered scratching her head, trying to figure out what her mother was trying to say. “Suns? But the sun’s huge.”

Frances had giggled. “These suns are so far away that their photons, um, that is the light particles that they emit, have to travel for a long long time. Up close, of course they shine like our sun, but so far away only a pinprick of light can be seen.”

“Oh, so that’s how they work,” Morgan had muttered.

“They’re that bright? That’s really impressive,” said Hattie.

“It is. Especially when despite all the technology we had on our world, we could only come up with lasers that emit but a tiny fraction of that brightness. Oh they can burn and cut through steel, but so far that was the limit,” said Frances.

“That’s really cool, mom,” Morgan had said. As the cold night breeze had blown across her cheeks. She shuffled up against Frances. The moment her hands touched her adoptive mother’s arm, though, she hesitated.

Only, Frances had gently placed her hand over Morgan’s shoulder, pulling her closer. “Thank you, Morgan.”

Holding that memory close to her heart, Morgan narrowed her eyes at the Royal Guard attacking her mother and her best friend.

“Get away from them!”

A beam of purple light almost white in colour burst toward the enemy. In a flash it engulfed the Alavari, vanishing them in an instant. Morgan turned the beam towards Thorgoth and the rest of the now shock-still Alavari. It took a moment but they now scattered, running from the violet death. Adrenaline and a sense of power rushing through her, Morgan narrowed her eyes at her grandfather. The beam left a path of black ash over the rubble and dirt it made contact with and steamed the air as it continued to travel.

Thorgoth didn’t shield, and he didn’t dodge. He immediately fired a bolt of magic, right at Morgan.

“Keep firing!” Spinella exclaimed as she fired spells back. They intercepted the king’s bolt, dispersing it in midair as Morgan turned her beam towards Thorgoth.

The king, casting rapidly, threw up a wall of earth and a black magic shield. Morgan’s laser slammed into the wall, boring a hole through it and into the shield. A rumbling screech like an ocean suddenly boiling instantly echoed through the chamber as smoke rose off of the king’s shield.

Morgan continued to sing, but her voice was getting hoarse. Her arms were trembling and despite the activated keystones embedded into her body, she was starting to feel a drain in her stomach. She couldn’t see if her spell had finally ended Thorgoth or not. There was too much smoke at the point of impact.

Reluctantly, she ended the spell. Her wings shaking, her legs rubber, she collapsed against the battlement.

“Did I…Did I get him?” Morgan croaked. She swallowed. She didn’t want to feel good for killing her grandfather, but if she did… she probably would be relieved.

Spinella shook her head. “No. He’s still alive.”

A weak groan escaping her lips, Morgan watched as her grandfather trudged out of the smoke. She couldn’t see the expression he wore behind his helmet’s visor. Vapors of steam trailed out from the slits in the helmet, causing cold dread to pool in the princess’s stomach.

“How did he survive that?” Morgan whispered. There was nothing around the king but ash. The Alavari advance had ground to a halt and the breach’s defenders had fled. She could see her mother’s white robes along with Hattie running for the Third Terrace’s gatehouse. She’d achieved what she set out to do, but Thorgoth was somehow inexplicably alive.

“He is the Demon King for a reason.” Spinella helped the harpy-troll to her feet. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Forcing herself to breathe, bright spots dancing around her vision, Morgan wheezed, “What about…what about that?” She pointed at the Third Terrace’s gatehouse.

A horde of defenders were trying to retreat up the terrace but the ramp was packed. More were clambering up the robe ladders that had been thrown over the walls but the mass of soldiers had not evacuated the terrace yet.

“That’s not for you to worry about, young lady,” said Spinella. “Come on, get going!”

Yet, despite the elderly mage’s attempt to smooth her voice, Morgan could hear the tremulous panic in her tone.

***

Frances briefly closed her eyes as she saw the mass of troops that had not been able to retreat. Those ahead of her were pressing against each other so close that it looked like just one huge being had been created.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” Hattie asked.

Frances nodded. “Sergeant Jadia?” she called out to the remains of the regiment she’d fought with.

“Here,” said the Lapanterian sergeant from the group. “Your orders?” she panted.

“Get your troops up the ladders. That’ll probably be faster. I’m going to find Lady Alice.”

“Thank you, Stormcaller.” Jadia waved goodbye as Frances and Hattie took off to the group of Erisdalians at the edge of the crowd.

“Lady Alice we need to…Oh.” Frances swallowed.

She remembered Lady Alice from the calls Edana had made and she’d met her a couple of times. The burly blonde was on a stretcher, tanned skin now white as a sheet from blood loss. Her right arm was gone. In its place was a stump covered with reddened bandages, held fast by a tourniquet.

Captain Aloudin ran up, “Cutting spell. I just managed to slow the bleeding so we can bandage it up. Frances, I’m going to organise a rearguard.”

Frances looked around. The main road up to the Third Terrace was deliberately uncovered and went straight up to the gatehouse and ramp itself. You couldn’t go up the ramp that way as all you could see from below was the edge of the ramp’s highest point. Instead you had to follow the ramp left toward its base. Several thick rows of clay brick prevented you from just cutting through to the ramp’s base. It was also why the road was so congested. The retreating defenders had to turn and then follow this road until it turned again.

The problem was before these twists, the road itself came straight on. Trenches led to this road, which had allowed troops to retreat to this road, but the road itself was simple flat stones.

“We’ll never last against a determined advance,” said Frances. Noting the number of stretchers that were being born over tops of the heads of the retreating soldiers, she winced. “Especially not with so many wounded. One moment.”

She pulled out her hand mirror and focused on the command centre’s mirror. King Sebastian’s face appeared.

“Frances, how can I help?”

“I need every harpy here and get them lifting our stretchers to safety and as many cannons you got to cover our retreat. I’ll try to hold them off as long as I can.”

“On it. Timur, did you hear that?”

“Yes! Love you Frances!”

“Love you too!” Frances called out

Sebastian smiled. “Your mother will support you from the Gatehouse.”

“Thank you.” Frances paused, noting the organised chaos that was the room behind Sebastian, with messengers and staff officers running to and fro. She even spotted Timur shouting orders into a mirror presumably to Olgakaren. Quite suddenly, she realized who was missing. “Where’s King Jerome and Queen Forowena by the way?”

“Occupied. Last I heard, they’re preparing a contingency to try to get you out of there, just hold as long as you can alright?” Sebastian hissed.

“Understood. Thanks.” Frances ended the call. “Hattie, can you find John and D—”

John cantered up, a little scratched up, but otherwise unharmed. Diana, looking very ruffled, was on his back as always. “We’re here!”

“How can we help?” asked Diana.

Sighting along the road, Frances gestured for the younger mages to come over. “Aloudin, organise the troops. I’m creating a fortification. John, Diana, Hattie, help me.” Raising Ivy’s Sting, she remembered the ditch and wall that she’d made on the beach at Greensands. She was going to do something a bit more complicated and well thought out than that.

Pointing to the wall of a house, she started breaking the tile and ground, but not in a straight line across the road. Instead, she drew a diagonal line toward the middle of the street. She then carved a second diagonal and connected the two with a straight line to form a V shape if the tip was blunted slightly.

“Trench along here, wall right behind it, as high as we can make it. We’ll channel the enemy into here,” said Frances.

“Yes ma’am!” snapped John. The teens began to rip up tile and dirt to pile up the wall. Healthy soldiers helped too. Frances shifted the largest pieces of rubble and fuse them with the dirt and tile in a sort of concrete.

Before her eyes, the wall rose until it was the thickness of an arm span and about chest high. An even deeper trench lay in front of the wall, enough that if a troll fell in they’d sprain an ankle and if a goblin fell in they might seriously hurt themself. The larger orcs and ogres would probably get out, but the wall on the other side would be a problem.

“Good job, you lot. Musketeers, pikemen! Get to your positions!” Aloudin bellowed.

Frances took a wheezing breath. “Hattie, good work. Now get John and Diana and start helping with evacuating the wounded.”

The half-troll shook her head. “I can still fight.”

Closing her eyes, Frances let the darkness fall around her vision for a brief moment and let the fears she kept locked away scream into her mind.

“Hattie, thank you, but if it comes down to it, I would rather you live here than I stay here,” she said.

Hattie grabbed her shoulder. “Frances, this isn’t the time—”

“Hattie, who would take care of Morgan?” Frances asked, her voice quiet.

“You will! I’m just her friend and crush—”

“You’d be dead. I at least will be alive. You two can live with the hope that I am at least alive. If you die trying to protect me…” Frances swallowed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Forget Morgan, I don’t know if I can bear it.”

“But…you don’t want to do this, don’t you, Frances?” Hattie stammered.

Frances felt that same tremor run up her spine. Only, she was certain she knew the answer.

“I want to live with Timur, you and Morgan, but right now, you need to go. John, Diana!”

“Got it,” said Diana, grabbing onto the half-troll’s shoulders with her claws.

“Wait—” but John had seized Hattie’s arm and was steering her toward the gate, past the rearguard. “Come back! Promise!” she screamed.

“I’ll do my best!” Frances yelled back. Tearing her eyes from her student, she faced Aloudin, who patted her on the back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I believe the Lightning Battalion is awaiting their namesake?” said the troll captain with a smile.

Frances blinked, noting the majority of the soldiers wore bright blue uniforms. There were some Lapanterian, Erlenberg and Erisdalian soldiers around, including most of Lady Alice’s command, but the core were from her battalion. Standing proudly, they wore similar grim, and yet confident expressions.

Shaking her head, Frances managed a grimace. “Lightning Battalion! Raise our standard high! The rest of you, consider yourself honorary members. Let’s let them know we are here!”

A great cheer erupted around her as France stepped up to the middle of the fortification and clambered onto the wall. From the height, she watched, basking a little in the soldiers' roars as Thorgoth’s army approached.