Both Jenna and I squinted at the same time, but I gave voice to the thought first. “Three top end combat mages seems to be three more than I’d expect to be at a remote outpost like the Glade, especially at the tail end of those circumstances.”

  “I can speak to how that came to pass,” Rowan noted quietly. “House d’Sylvan was known for producing either remarkably capable mages or remarkably capable soldiers. If you couldn’t be one, you’d be the other. Lord Cahir came from a senior cadet branch. I, myself, come from a lesser branch. The three war mages in question were brothers, or should I say two pairs of brothers raised together. The fourth in question followed the path of the sage and served as one of Lord Cahir’s advisors while here studying local sites of interest. When they were early in their studies at the College, the sage brother created a handful of rings, each with a potent single-use enchantment. Speak a simple command phrase and the bearer of the ring would be transported back to the spell’s anchor.”

  Fiachra smiled warmly as he nodded. “Terribly inefficient usage of power and certainly too expensive to be practical, but my uncle made them as a proof of concept, not a final product. Nobody had managed anything remotely similar in such a small form before.”

  Rowan nodded. “And so, when our armies collapsed, the brothers used their rings and ended up here.”

  “Which, I’m sad to say, is also why I survived. My uncle forced the ring into my hands and activated it before I knew what was going on,” Fiachra noted quietly. “As a scholar, I should not regret that as much as I do, but as a d’Sylvan it brings nothing but shame. Either way, I won’t take more of the Lady’s time with this. We can talk on the way if either of you want to know more. Sorry for interrupting, my Lady.”

  I motioned with my hand. “One last point of curiosity, if that’s okay?” Rowan nodded. “I don’t really have a sense of proportion in terms of how combat mages scale for strength and effectiveness. I get that your entire nation may have had ten war mages, but what sets them apart from the lower ranks? What do the ranks mean, in practical terms?”

  Fiachra scratched at his chin and shifted how he stood. “Well, assume for a moment you have an engagement between two equally matched armies, conventional forces only, no magic otherwise. Those at the junior apprentice rank would be capable of engaging in individual combat only sparingly. They’re primarily used as quick, short-range support if needed frequently, or mid-range support provided ample time for them to rest exists. They’d be relying mostly on equipment like wands and staves for the majority of their offensive capability, and even then most of it would be very basic missile or ray-style attacks. Reaching senior apprentice demonstrates a marked increase in endurance at the barest minimum, along with the start of what we’d consider basic warfare capabilities; things like counterspell capability, elemental strikes, and the like.

  “Passing out of the apprentice stage grants one the title of Battle Mage, which levies the expectation that, barring the presence of opposition of similar ability, the bearer of said title can tilt the course of a single small or mid-sized battle in the favor of the Syr by himself. For small party encounters, say less than two or three dozen conventional enemy troops, Battle Mages are expected to be able to handle the problem without support. Properly rested and supplied, of course. Either is no small feat, I should point out, as most would collapse from exhaustion long before either sized engagement reached culmination. Admittedly, as a Sage candidate, I’m less familiar with the intricacies, but the primary measure of a Battle Mage’s strength is the strength and regularity they can use spells from the explosion family.”

  Jenna spoke up. “Oh, so, like fireball?”

  Fiachra’s brow came down. “My lady, even I’m capable of something as basic as that. The explosion family is an order of magnitude more complex and similarly more effective if employed properly. Part of what separates the different ranks is the knowledge of when and where to employ what variant to conserve power.

  “Oh,” Jenna said and smiled apologetically. “I’m clearly not as familiar with the topic as I thought. Sorry.”

  Fiachra responded with a kind smile. “We never are, dear. Each of us eventually strikes the boundary separating knowledge from ignorance. Be happy you’ve struck the barrier here and now, as opposed to the battlefield where it’s far too late to adjust.” His expression wilted ever so slightly. “I never really appreciated why my master stressed that point my entire apprenticeship; not until the moment I finally did, and then it was too late.”

  After a few seconds of silence, I cleared my throat. “Not to disrespect our memories of the fallen, but I believe you were getting to what separates a Battle Mage from a War Mage?”

  Fiachra slowly nodded. “If apprentices are expected to win a single fight, Battle Mage a single battle, War Mages are expected to be able to win a single war, by themselves. Again, against conventional forces, but nonetheless, a victory. A Battle Mage’s explosion might sweep aside a squad or platoon of men at arms at one time, properly employed. Entire companies disappearing at once is the mark of a War Mage’s presence on the battlefield. Similarly, breaching fortifications like castle walls in a single spell, well within expectations. Historically, it is a rare title. Per the records I’ve seen, the Syr’d’Sylvan typically fielded only one or two, total, at any given time. That we had so many preceding the Fall is, depending on one’s perspective, a miraculous gift or an inauspicious omen, but we’ll avoid that conversation for the moment.”

  I glanced down at Rowan who’d been sitting there, clearly wondering if I was done yet. Focused on Fiachra, I grinned sheepishly. “I suppose that answers my question. I’m sorry if my curiosity delayed things.”

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  Fiachra made a quiet conciliatory noise.

  Shifting in her seat, Rowan pointed to the map once again. “With a few exceptions, the path of destruction gets narrower as you go north. I’ll leave it up to you to take what route you think is best, but your ultimate goal is to reach this area to the far northeast. This was the site of the nearest Syr city to the Glade, population around twenty thousand before the Fall. Based on what the freed prisoners have said, a somewhat sizeable group of survivors set up refuge in the hills overlooking the remains of the town and had largely persisted by scavenging the ruins of their former home. Your secondary goal, should the opportunity present itself, is to investigate the Lord’s summer estate, which is also in the same hills.

  “Before nightfall, you should receive a set of altered maps, which will show both known and old city locations throughout the area in question, along with points of interest and both the charted and expected extent of the wasteland. While it’s not mission critical, if you notice discrepancies, please note them. One of my major goals now that I’m in charge is updating our maps. We’ve stayed cloistered too long. Were it not for Tomas, we’d have nary a clue what lay just beyond our doorstep.”

  I glanced over the route before taking a step back and doing some mental math. Roughly knowing the crater radius, I extrapolated on the map’s scale and considered the terrain. If Rowan was right about the wasteland being narrower to the north, we could bypass a fair amount of danger by simply heading north and hooking to the east, but the layout that direction was only clear and flat for a few miles before becoming hilly and forested. Straight-line path, I was looking at crossing almost three hundred miles, some hills, at least one actual river, and God knows how many brooks and streams, provided any of them were still there. Going north first would put add another hundred miles, at the minimum, and I’d have to cross that goddamn river anyway.

  That river is going to be a problem. “So, that river, flow is north to south, or south to north?”

  “South to north,” Fiachra said matter-of-factly. “It starts as a series of springs about forty miles off the southeastern edge of that map.”

  “Shit.” When everyone looked at me with concern, I explained, “It’ll be easier to cross farther south. Assuming the path hasn’t changed, it’ll only get deeper and wider as you go north.”

  Fiachra nodded. “The stretch west of us here is— or was when I was there last— only maybe thirty or forty feet wide and knee deep. Northwest, over here, it’s twice that. I highly doubt any bridges survived, and I know for a fact the larger stone ones at these two points did not. Lord Cahir was quite explicit in the need to slow the enemy, so they were both razed. I can’t speak for any of the others, as I was only present for the demolitions at those two sites.”

  I chewed on my lip a moment. “Considering you guys live in trees and I haven’t seen any on the ground, I’m going to assume there are no horses or any sort of pack animals?”

  Rowan’s exhausted grimace parted like fog in a stiff wind. “Actually, we do have horses. Mules, too. Not many, mind you, but you haven’t seen them because they’re not kept here. Hasn’t been much call for them once we retreated into the forests. That said, I’m not sure how wise bringing them would be if the area has become host to things drawn to horses. The people Tomas freed said as much. Also, from their stories, the slavers always came in on foot, and when they complained, their leaders claimed that if they’d brought horses they wouldn’t have lived long enough to see the river.”

  I sighed. “That’s just great, isn’t it?”

  Rowan shrugged. “It is what it is. If I could send an army with you, I would. We’re going to have to clear that land eventually. As it is, all I can do is tell you what I know, help you prepare, and pray to the Goddess for your success.”

  “Speaking of preparation—” I started to ask.

  “We’ll be stopping on the way to the Green,” Fiachra interrupted. “We sealed off the former Lord’s residence and the surrounding village when we fell back. I expect to find a number of enchanted items you’ll find useful, provided time hasn’t eroded them to dust.”

  “Like what?”

  “Means of distant communication, for one. Lord Cahir’s scouting force kept a collection of linked books; write in one and the words appear in the other. Their recovery was not a priority last time and several pairs remain unaccounted for. They should still be there.”

  A thought occurred to me. “Wait, if you had those here already, why wasn’t Tomas given one when you sent him out originally?”

  Both elves frowned, but Fiachra’s face darkened as he leveled an icy glare directly at Rowan.

  Rowan straightened in her seat, and when her gaze met mine, it held little but regret. “I am not so vain to pretend I don’t make mistakes, but I am not sure this was one. In hindsight, making the other choice could have been far more convenient. We have four pairs, which we’ve given to the Harvesters scouting closest to our borders. Fiachra and I argued rather energetically over whether or not one should be diverted to Tomas’s mission, but I decided our borders came first. I didn’t want to risk losing something irreplaceable on what might’ve been a fool’s errand. After his second sortie, I believed Tomas reliable enough, but by that point he hadn’t discovered anything particularly worrisome so I stuck with the original decision. This is why I’m tasking Fiachra with recovering every last pair he can, if he can. We can no longer afford to not leverage every capability available to us.”

  I nodded and scratched at my cheek while I did some quick math in my head. “So, the most optimistic estimate I have gets us there in two weeks and back in a month. More realistically, I’m thinking round trip will be closer to a month and a half, maybe two. That’s provided minimal hang-ups and no injuries on our part or anyone we rescue. Assuming things work like they do back home, and things turn into an uphill fight both ways, I wouldn’t expect to return for three months, not at that distance over that terrain with no draft animals. Unless there’s plenty of good forage and fresh water to be found along the path, I don’t see how we could carry enough food and water while still being combat effective.”

  When Rowan’s eyes narrowed, I added, “Where I come from, you don’t rely on foraging. Too easy to give away your position, and too unreliable to feed the number of people we usually send.”

  After a brief moment spent studying my face, Rowan slowly nodded. “Your ways clearly differ from ours, but I can see the wisdom in the concept if not the execution. The sheer amount of food your people would have to move for any reasonably sized army would be staggering.”

  I grinned. “Our military mastered logistics long ago. An army marches on its stomach, and archers without arrows are just expensive, weaker infantry.”

  Rowan smiled and then turned her attention to Fiachra. “Unless you have anything else, I believe that’s enough for the moment.”

  Fiachra shook his head, made a small bow, and excused himself.

  The Harvester’s attention turned to my sister. “Genevieve—”

  “Jenna, if you don’t mind.”

  “Jenna, then. I have something I’d like to speak with your brother about, in private. I’ll try not to keep him long.”

  Jenna glanced in my direction and then shrugged. “I’ll wait outside, then.”