They reached Nalvin at sunset, gray and somber, like everything around. The rain had finally stopped. They emerged onto a road crowded with people being drafted for war.

  At first, there were only armed detachments of cavalry and infantry around them, the crack of felled trees filled the air—for smithies, for barricades in the streets, for ballistae and catapults being assembled right in the city, temporarily transformed into a center of war industry. Fires burned, around which recruits warmed themselves, those who hadn’t managed to enter the city that night. Among them, Kairu didn’t spot a single Kald or Nocturn.

  Then the outlines of the city emerged behind the trees. Tall, long walls of greenish stone with squat towers, their upper sections dark with barred embrasures. The gate was on the southern side, so they had to circle several miles of the fortress wall and a long queue of people waiting to get in. The air was filled with noise, shouting, clamor, the stomping and neighing of horses, and the crack of branches. Behind the walls, swords clanged and dogs barked.

  They finally arrived at the open gates, where a traffic jam had formed. Sleepy and weary Nalvin guards were recording each soldier on long lists, marking their regiments and sending them off to the barracks. Petros, by this time already in the saddle of his own black Hellsteed, rather unceremoniously pushed his way into the crowd, clearing a path with his staff through the recruits, and reached the guards. He leaned over to the scribe and said something quietly. The scribe replied, but Petros sharply snapped at him, and several guards immediately rushed out, dispersing the crowd and making space for the wagons.

  Kairu didn’t wait for an invitation. He spurred his horse and rode through the archway onto a dark street flanked by buildings with boarded-up windows.

  Soldiers in clanking armor, vagrants, and beggars strolled the street; horses clattered their hooves, and laborers hauled water and carts filled with timber. Petros’s wagons rumbled over the stone-paved road and rolled into a square where entire regiments, awaiting space in the barracks, were camped around a non-functioning fountain. All the houses were locked and empty, their shuttered windows gazing coldly and ominously. In the distance, forges and armories were humming, and work continued on the city walls, where ammunition was being hauled, ballistae and defensive structures were being installed.

  "Let’s go," Petros said, glancing around. "Let’s try to find a decent place for you. I suspect all the houses here have been taken for barracks."

  "Yeah," Viggo shuddered, "I’ve seen a lot in my time, but I’ve never witnessed anything like a city preparing for war. It’s a damned bazaar. Astonishing chaos…"

  "No one expected war or an attack from the south," Petros shrugged. "I think the king had directed all his forces to Petista, fearing Vaimar, and now he’s cursing himself… Well, it’s too late to gather news or assess the situation tonight."

  "How did you convince the gate guards to let us through?" Rita asked.

  "Didn’t I mention I’m a big shot in the Mages' Guild? A Guild member’s document, especially one with a red stripe on official parchment, is a pass everywhere, except maybe the royal and governor’s palaces. A very handy privilege. Besides, I only have four of you, not a regiment of twenty, so finding accommodations will be easier."

  He turned to the Nocturn sitting on one of the wagons, said something, and the driver nodded, smiled, waved his hand to the travelers, whipped the horses, and drove off down the next street. The rest of the wagons followed. Petros watched them go, then spurred his horse and headed in the opposite direction.

  "Things have changed a lot here," he muttered. "Yeah, it’s been a while since I last visited Nalvin…"

  "Where did you send the workers?" Kairu asked.

  "They have one last task—to hand over all the finds and my library to the Mages' Guild caravan, which is leaving tomorrow for the evacuation to the Northern Province. After that, they are free. I paid them everything I promised, and even more."

  They trotted through the twilight-covered streets, weaving through endless crowds of people, dodging groups of guards, recruits in tattered clothes, nobles, and local priests in robes. They were given way by carts loaded with stone and wood, and horses dragging mobile catapults. They passed squares where soldiers were being lined up and made to march to the beat of drums, past barracks, and the former mansions of aristocrats who had since evacuated to Mainor, and soon reached a tall iron fence surrounding three massive stone buildings, each the size of a cathedral.

  The gate was unguarded, but none of the regiments in grimy armor marching through the muddy streets even considered looking in, at the clean, well-kept path leading across a dimly green lawn to the courtyard’s center. Petros dismounted and led his stallion in by the reins.

  "Wait here," he ordered.

  Kairu, Viggo, Rita, and Remiz stayed behind, glancing around. Night was falling over the city, and the noise was dying down; only drunken shouting echoed from afar, and horses neighed. The walls were now far behind, still bustling with activity, but in the city center, a lone bell rang mournfully, and the windows of the buildings repurposed as barracks went dark. Armed patrols clattered through the streets.

  Petros emerged, mounted his horse again, and rode further down the street, past solitary empty mansions with ivy-covered walls. They reached a small building, once likely an inn, with squat windows and a slightly open door. A faint light flickered inside.

  "This is the best accommodation the great Academy of Sciences could assign us," Petros muttered disdainfully. "Magnificent. Still, at least we’ll have some privacy and won’t be sleeping in the barracks with the recruits."

  They left their horses outside and descended a creaky staircase into the basement, where light barely reached through windows near the ceiling. There was a table with a few melted candles and four straw-stuffed mattresses haphazardly thrown on the floor.

  "Sleeping bags will come in handy," Petros noted. "Don’t expect even the bare comforts of a roadside tavern tonight."

  "And where are you off to?" Rita asked sleepily.

  "To the Mages' Guild. I need to speak with some of my wizard contacts. Might be back in the middle of the night. Get a good rest—tomorrow will be hard. The preparations for defense are in full swing, and they might need every pair of hands."

  As always, he turned abruptly and ran out.

  "He’s wearing himself out," Rita said quietly. "Second night with no sleep."

  "Everyone has their own troubles," Viggo muttered and turned toward the wall. For the first time ever Kairu saw that the Kald didn’t feel like talking.

  ***

  The war council and the general's headquarters were set up right in the hall of the Nalvin chapel. Most of the monastic brotherhood had been evacuated along with the commoners; some had enlisted at the front, while others stayed to bless the troops for battle. The tapestries had been stripped from the walls, statues of the gods and the altar removed, along with many other treasures the church had carefully guarded. Benches were pushed against the walls, prepared in advance for barricading the doors, and a wide table in the center was covered in maps and diagrams.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  It seemed that Mainor had truly panicked, because the capital sent the best military leaders in service to Aktida. The defense of Nalvin was being led by none other than Ringus Felm, of whom Petros had heard much. This general had earned fame during the prolonged war against bandits some twenty years earlier. He had participated in raids against entire bandit republics and criminal organizations that had proliferated after the World War. Many trusted him even more than the king, knowing that Felm would never surrender a victory to a disorganized band of pirates. But on that gloomy and gray morning of the first day of September, the general looked darker than a storm cloud.

  "I don’t know what else to do," he said honestly, surveying the room from beneath his thin eyebrows. "According to eyewitnesses—and there are at least fifty—the pirates have gathered around twenty thousand men. And we don’t even know how many more stayed out of the plundering of Surrell. Nalvin has five thousand regular troops and about a thousand volunteers. The hospital has twenty nurses. And who knows how many we’ll need in battle, considering the rumors about the pirates—they’re strong and skilled swordsmen. What do we have? A small field before Nalvin’s southern gates, forests on all other sides, hilly terrain, and a catastrophically small number of soldiers. You see, Mainor can’t gather enough recruits for the regular army either, gentlemen. I came from there, the place is in turmoil. They’re rounding up Nocturns and Kalds into prisons, guillotines are working non-stop, and the king himself is torturing everyone even suspected of treason! What do you want from me? No one wants to join the army, no one believes the threat is real. Only the authorities of the Southern Province are trying to act, but it’s all as good as milking a bull. I don’t know what we can do under these conditions. Nalvin is a very weak city—with its low walls, it won’t withstand a siege. And even that won’t stop the pirates from continuing their advance elsewhere. And yet I’ve been given a clear task: stop the advance. Create a barrier that will break them. But in these conditions, I wash my hands of it, gentlemen."

  A long, oppressive silence fell.

  "We cannot stop them," Governor of Nalvin, Mr. Ardan Toveloip, said slowly, "but we can weaken them as much as possible before they reach Mainor, and in the meantime, buy time to gather our forces. Start sending messages to every corner of the country right now, let them begin forced conscription of the people. If we choose to fight a major battle at Nalvin’s walls, simply attack them with the gates shut and... let what will happen, happen. The pirates, as I’ve heard, are disorganized; if in the remaining time we can train our soldiers in proper combat, we’ll gain an advantage in combat technique. After that, it will all depend on our tactics."

  "To give up Nalvin for the sake of defending Mainor... Yes, it’s worth trying," said the head of the Mages' Guild, Mr. Zelanus, grimly. "We also have all of Nalvin’s mages on our side, and if we attack them in force from the walls, sow discord in their ranks, and assault with isolated battalions, we may at least achieve parity in strength. Then we’ll have a real chance."

  "It will all depend on you, Mr. Felm," said the commander of Nalvin’s guard.

  "I know. But I repeat: it will be hard. It will be an iron, bloody hell, because these pirates are not the civilized armies of Vaimar or the Islands—they are wild barbarians. I’m used to countering the enemy with skillful tactics, matching them in battle, shifting units like pawns on a chessboard. But here, I’ll be facing brute force with direction."

  He called the commander over and began giving orders for troop deployment. Petros touched Zelanus on the shoulder and pulled him aside.

  "I need your help," he said.

  "Always at your service, Petros."

  "I want access to the Guild Library today. With my four companions. You know I’m still working on very important research."

  "Yes, of course," the head of the Mages' Guild sighed. "I can take you myself around noon. You were once acquainted with Saelin, weren’t you, Petros... What a misfortune, what happened to him?"

  "I don’t know." The professor shook his head wearily. "We haven’t spoken in a long time. Sorry, Zelanus."

  ***

  From early morning, Kairu was up. He didn’t know where Remiz and Rita had gone, but idleness and his own helplessness tormented him, so he and Viggo went to the gates and asked the guard captain if they needed help. They were immediately assigned to carry ammunition for the ballistae and arrows for the archers on the walls, then sent to help carpenters hauling logs to the workshops, given axes, and dispatched to the forest edge where fir trees were being cut down in full swing. Preparations for defense were ongoing and intense, and there was work for everyone.

  By noon, when the bell rang again announcing a break, and the crowd dropped their tools and scattered toward the courtyards where lunch was being delivered, Kairu was completely exhausted. He didn’t know where to go, but Viggo quickly found a massive gathering in the city square, where enormous vats of millet and chicken were set out, and food was served in helmets. Viggo shoved aside hungry recruits, pulled Kairu along, and held out his own hand to the cook, who filled it with food. The millet was cold, the chicken too, but Kairu pounced on the lunch like a hungry wolf. Seeing food in helmets made him think, that it would be good to get armor, because the battle could start at any moment. Then Rita and Remiz showed up.

  "We were helping to evacuate Petros’s stuff," Rita said. "And also said goodbye to the workers. Mbagwa sends his regards to both of you and wished you good luck." Kairu immediately felt a sharp pang of guilt for not even managing to hug the foreman before his departure. "And how are things here?"

  "This is insane," said Viggo. "Total chaos. They’ve supposedly been preparing since mid-summer—they could’ve built another wall around Nalvin by now for extra defense. But people are still working day and night."

  "They hesitated at first," Rita suggested. "Actually, the real work only began a couple of weeks ago, when the laborers arrived in the city and organized logging and weapon forging. By the way, Kairu, there’s a job opening for you—they’re short on blacksmiths."

  "Interesting," Kairu said. "Where’s the forge?"

  He rested for a while after the bell rang to resume work, then went with Viggo to the workshop, where he first felt the familiar heat of the forges and remembered the village with a sharp, painful pang. It was okay, he would return there soon... They accepted him reluctantly, probably judging by his short stature and thin frame, but he immediately got to work at the forge, took care of the mold, the metal, and the tempering of the finished sword himself. The molds were simple, but the steel was good quality, and with his skills, he soon had finished weapons cooling. He rushed from the furnace to the ice water vats and back, grabbing tongs and working like three grown men who clearly had only a vague understanding of blacksmithing. Viggo left him, and he became completely absorbed in the familiar work, not noticing how two hours passed until Petros came into the forge and found him.

  "Found a craft you like?" Petros asked with a smile. "Come on. There’s something more important."

  "What is it?" Kairu took off his gloves.

  "Everyone else is already at the Mages' Guild Library. Let’s go. We need to talk…"

  ***

  Orwell Cassander sighed and stood up, looking down from his command post at the pirate camp. They still felt out of place far from their ships, but they were just as energetic and determined to win as they had been at the start. That was good.

  The forest stretched around them, but everywhere the eye could see were men in armor with curved sabers, campfires burning, rough voices echoing. Twenty thousand strong, and reinforcements would soon arrive in Surrell. Once they took Nalvin and drove the Alvens from the Southern Province, the two armies would unite—and then the capital would not stand.

  All this time, they had taken city after city, village after village without a fight, crossed the mountains without loss, and traversed almost the entire province. The treasures of Aktida awaited them. Of course, Nalvin would be tougher than Surrell. They were probably expected there, especially since the pirates had stopped monitoring refugees from nearby villages lately.

  That was fine.

  They were ready. Orwell Cassander smirked. They were ready to fight—and to win. The Master needed no failure.

  The admiral of the world’s newest and mightiest army pulled a folded piece of paper from his cloak pocket. He read the letter again. An interesting task, especially given he was to complete it alone. The paper bore small, hurried handwriting:

  "…you will recognize it, Admiral. The key is not to accidentally cross the invisible boundary—retreat in time and mark the spot. Better yet, record the coordinates by the sun or stars as precisely as possible. Remember: rippling in the air, colorful rainbow rings before your eyes, like before a faint. Just examine every rocky outcrop. You’ll have time to do it if you take Nalvin. I have no doubt you’ll win there too, but still, account for the possibility of defeat—in that case, you must search for the passage anyway. You will find it, whatever it takes. Once you do, I’ll give new instructions."

  Five days of marching remained to Nalvin. A hundred miles.