Luther had mere moments between arriving and instinct taking over from years of training and fighting. Assessing the lay of the land and the nature of the fight was important, but it didn’t take him long to see that this wasn’t a duel between unions. It was an attack.
The outpost was a small fort built into the mountain passage, made of the same stone as the cliffs it guarded. The ancestors built the passage, clearing it away piece by piece, then using those pieces to form the fortress. They built it near the peak, on what was now the largest road through the mountains to the eastern wastes.
Impassable cliffs fell from its north and south sides. Its eastern and western walls held gates for the road. The four-story stone walls formed an inviting courtyard that narrowed to the gates. The gates lay at the bottom of the V, and with guards on the walls, it was easy to defend against intruders.
They’d arrived inside the fort, between the inner castle and the eastern gate.
He scanned the guards, not recognizing their faces. Still, it was easy to tell citizens of the empire from the eastern barbarians. The barbarians wore chitinous armor made from greatworm hide. They decorated themselves with teeth and claws as jewelry and fought with weapons rather than magic. If their beliefs were the same as those of the northern barbarians Luther had met, they believed killing with magic invited curses upon themselves and their bloodlines.
The guards did not share their superstitions and cast their spells from the walls above as weapons clashed below. What worried Luther was that the eastern gate was open. Guards on either side struggled to close it before the barbarians reached it, their advance impeded by soldiers on the other side.
He surmised what must have happened in seconds. Scouts sent ahead on the road returned to the fortress. The barbarians followed them, and when they opened the gates to receive the scouts, the barbarians attacked, hoping to take the fortress by surprise.
“Helena, with me,” Luther said, jumping from the wagon. “Jo, see to the defenses. No barbarian makes it through the gate.”
Helena and Jo didn’t speak but leaped into action without hesitation.
“Althea, guard the wagon,” Luther said. She wasn’t part of his union or a guard, but if she was who he thought he was, he wanted to keep her safe. Even with her declaration that she was an imperial agent, he didn’t know what her experience with battle was. She might be someone like Emily, with minimal training.
Helena was an old hand at combat. Jo had more training than real-world experience, but she was as strong and hardy as the mountains. Luther wasn’t used to leading a group, but they’d done well enough in the Feothe challenge together. He hoped their months of training allowed them to synchronize, even without Rhosyn here to facilitate a mind-to-mind link.
Now, it was time to test their mettle in a much more chaotic fight.
Luther rushed through the gates, surprising the guards who hadn’t noticed their arrival. A woman on the wall turned her spell toward him, then realized who he was and turned it away. She fired a blast of pure fire into the back of a chitinous barbarian fighting with two short, curved swords.
Luther drew his sword, and his eyes flashed red as he matched his spirit to Helena’s and cast a spell from her repertoire, increasing his strength, durability, and speed. Helena cast the same spell, raising her gauntlet-clad fists as Luther readied his sword. She followed Luther’s nod without needing him to clarify. They split off, Helena running left and Luther flying right.
The barbarians were pressing against the wall. Luther didn’t doubt they hoped to avoid the ranged attackers above them while the forces in the middle drew their fire. It was sneaky and bold. Luther almost admired it. And if it weren’t for guards standing on the opposite walls, it might’ve worked.
His sword clashed against the first man’s forearm bracer. The man’s eyes widened in fear and surprise as Luther’s enchanted steel sliced through the armor like paper. His sword had to be reinforced to withstand the effects of his enhanced strength, and the runes on its blade glowed from the effort.
The flesh and bone beneath the man’s armor offered no more resistance than his arm, and the man’s eyes faded as the sword continued. Luther sliced the blade into the man’s neck and chest, cleaving his life from his body. Blood sprayed as Luther dragged the sword forward with his momentum, cutting into the next man and the next.
The second tried to meet his blade with their own and found their blade broken before they suffered a gash across their torso. The third warrior raised a shield, which had more reinforcement than Luther had expected. The warrior grinned, but it faded as Luther redirected his momentum and pushed them, smashing them against the wall and breaking their ribs.
On the opposite wall, Helena was a blur of movement, her gauntlets punching through enemy soldiers, sending them flying with pulped bones and shattered armor.
The scattered guards fought, flinging spells. Luther could surmise that they’d once been in a wedge formation, but the barbarians outnumbered them and circled behind them. With their flanks exposed, they’d shifted into a box formation, but not quickly enough, and chaos descended.
A barbarian downed one soldier near the gate and tore toward it with victory in sight until Jo stepped in his way. Mountain stones erupted from the ground and spun around her, orbiting her as she held her arms out and danced within the ring. The stones moved fast enough to bludgeon even the strongest armor. The very protection the barbarians intended to use as their strength became a weapon against them, shattering and piercing their flesh.
One lost his helmet, and a second later lost his head as the flying stones pulped it with a wet spray and a noise like a squashed melon. Jo continued her spinning dance with her spell. The barbarians at the gate fell back, unable to approach without stones smashing into them faster than any bird could fly.
The guards seized the opportunity and slaughtered the barbarians trapped between their enemies and certain whirling death. A blaze of fire roasted several, and weapons did the rest.
“FORM UP!” A cry rose from the guards, and they fell into place, forming a wedge. Luther recognized their commander's voice, and Helena faltered, moving to obey the call on instinct. Her time as a guard had trained her well, but she was in the middle of a bout with a swordsman. He pressed his advantage while she was distracted and swung with all his might to cleave into her.
The red magic suffusing Helena flared, and the blade bounced off her arm as if the man had struck a dense stone. She snapped her head toward him, and fear became his last expression as she grabbed his arm and kicked his ribs.
She tossed the ripped arm aside, and the guards in the center fell into formation, creating a shield wall. Petros, in its center, cast a spell, and walls of translucent purple sprang into existence on either side of his soldiers, completing the wall and corralling the barbarians.
Helena and Luther were ahead of Petros’s wall now, with the guards behind them, and the barbarians between them. They met each other’s eyes across the battlefield and nodded. Helena and Luther rushed toward each other like two great hammers, with the barbarians caught in the middle.
One of them cried out in their language, and many of them ran, but Luther and Helena were too fast. They ran at two to three times the speed of the fleeing barbarians, knocking them to the ground, wounding or killing them depending on the blows. Fewer than six barbarians escaped, as opposed to the twenty who were dead or wounded on the field.
The fight was over. Helena and Luther dropped their spells as they stood at the widest part of the fortress wall, looking out over the mountain road as it curved. The last of the barbarians disappeared around the bend, and Luther and Helena shared a silent expression of satisfaction at a job well done.
“Ha ha!” The sudden presence of Luther’s father-in-law surprised both him and Helena as the older man threw his arms around his daughter and squeezed her tight. “You were fantastic, honey! Absolutely beautiful!”
“Dad!” Helena barked. She was trying to rebuke him, but with her arms pinned to her sides, the best she could do was adopt an angry tone and hope he’d pay attention.
He didn’t. He lifted Helena off her feet, an impressive display of strength given her height and musculature, and spun with her before setting her back down. “I haven’t seen you in months! You’ve been training! I think you’ve gotten taller, too,” Petros said, pulling back from the hug and wiping a fleck of blood from Helena’s face after he licked his thumb.
“I haven’t gotten taller,” Helena said, rolling her eyes and looking to Luther for help as she batted her father’s hand away.
“Report, Captain,” Luther said, taking command as the local lord. As amusing as Petros’s doting on Helena was, they had business to attend to first. Wulfric would’ve been proud of him for suggesting propriety.
Protecting the valley from incursions was Luther’s responsibility, which was why he employed guards to patrol and man the forts. Today, they were earning their pay, but he had questions.
“What happened?” Luther asked. “What started the attack?”
“You didn’t get my message?” Captain Petros asked, releasing Helena and reverting to formality again. “We’ve been spotting them for weeks, with our scouts coming into skirmishes with them the last few days.”
The guards behind him snickered at Helena, whispering something to each other as they spotted her. They swallowed their amusement when Helena glared at them.
“I’m afraid I haven’t received a messenger,” Luther said. “Our departure wasn’t as smooth as we would have preferred, and we portaled here instead of riding.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’re so early,” Petros said, stroking his chin. “I wasn’t expecting you until nightfall. Well, that was fortunate on our side. Come, let’s go into the fort. We can talk there. Simmons!”
A young woman in a guard uniform bearing a spear appeared beside him in three quick steps. “Yes, sir?”
“Search for any wounded,” Petros ordered. “And hand them over to Fitz. We’ll have to question them. Prepare a group pyre for the enemy dead.”
“Yes, sir!” Simmons saluted.
Luther winced at the order but didn’t overrule it. There was nothing else to do without causing a fuss. The barbarians didn’t burn their dead the way the empire did, but they were in the empire now.
Petros threw his arm over Luther and his other arm around Helena. “Come!” he said. “We’ll talk inside. I’ll catch you up on what you’ve missed.”
Luther had no reason to resist, but he hesitated as he saw the guards moving through the bodies on the ground. They sorted through the dead and wounded, those trying to breathe through broken ribs that he or Helena had delivered. None of them were healthy, though. They’d need a healer if they were going to answer questions. Or that might be the bait offered to them in exchange for information. He didn’t like the idea, but he imagined it could be effective.
He looked through the gate at Althea, who had her hands over her head. She sat with her legs tucked against her body, her eyes down, and her face hidden behind her knees. Had she never seen a battle?
Luther looked at Helena and Petros, who hadn’t yet noticed her. Jowangshin spotted her, though. She moved to her and put an arm around her, whispering words of comfort. Althea shook her head and refused to lift her eyes from the floor.
Ah. Luther looked behind him, to where soldiers dragged the bodies to a pile in the center of the V that the walls formed. Here was a woman who could see and speak with ghosts, sitting at the edge of a slaughter. He wondered what spirits she was seeing, where Criella was, and whether she could see the ghosts.
“Petros, you go ahead. I’ll join you and Helena soon,” Luther said. “I need to see to my guest.”
Petros looked around, then jolted in surprise upon spotting Althea. “Ah,” he said, mistaking her manners for those of an uninitiated person in battle shock. “If you need them, we have someone here who specializes in talking soldiers through their first kill.”
Luther nodded. “It may be necessary. We’ll see.”
Petros nodded, and Helena guided him into the stone building in the middle of the fort. The surrounding soldiers gave them space, but Luther didn’t move to comfort Althea right away. Instead, he took a pair of spectacles from a box in the wagon and placed them on his face. The amethyst-tinted lenses were large and round, but sat comfortably on his nose.
He opened his eyes after putting on the mage-crystal glasses, and the world fell into purple light and shadow. He spotted Criella. She stood at his shoulder, walking beside him. He reached for her hand, as if to hold it, but her fingers slipped through his without sensation. A nearby soldier gave him a strange look, having seen the gesture and the spectacles but not Criella’s spirit.
Swallowing, he turned his attention to Althea and the open gates beyond her. The battlefield had no less than a dozen ghosts as he counted them. They left the fortress and followed their comrades along the mountain road. Luther wondered if they knew what would happen when their bodies burned on the pyre.
If he were right, their spirits would ascend, or so the temple taught. Wherever their destination lay, their spirits would leave this world.
“Althea,” Luther said, keeping his voice soft. “It’s okay. They’ve gone.”
Althea looked at him, her eyes teary, but then her expression fractured, and she laughed.
Jo turned to see what had caused the break and joined in, laughing with her.
“What?” Luther asked, looking around. “What’s so funny?”
“Luther,” Jo tried to explain herself but failed. She was too busy laughing.
“What?” Luther asked.
Jo gestured, and not seeing what was so funny, Luther looked behind him. A passing soldier saw him, made eye contact, and laughed.
Luther removed the spectacles and looked at them. There was nothing wrong with them. They were ornate purple lenses set in round silver frames. He returned them to his head and discreetly signed to Criella. “What are they laughing at?”
“You look ridiculous,” Criella signed in answer. “You have enemy blood on your clothes and the fearsome presence of someone fresh from battle. Then, you have those ridiculous spectacles that make you look like a bug.”
“A bug?” Luther asked.
“I said what I said,” Criella answered.
Luther grinned. Her delivery was dry, but it was an echo of their old banter. It gave him hope. He nodded. “Well, I guess I’ll leave these on, then, since they cheer you up so much,” he said aloud.
“Please do,” Jo said. “You’re like an owl. A bug-eyed owl.”
“Oh, come now,” Luther said, leaning into the jocularity. “You there!” He pointed at a random soldier carrying gear from the battlefield. “What do you think of these glasses? They’re quite stylish, yes?”
The soldier looked to Jo for help, but finding none, turned back to Luther.
“Uh, Lord Le Fey, I’m not an expert on what you’re asking for,” the soldier stammered. “Please, just let me put these away.” He hefted the barbarian armor plates he’d collected.
“No,” Luther said. “Your personal, objective opinion is required to settle this marital dispute.” He gestured between himself and Jo. “The spectacles. Are they stylish? Or do they make me appear to be a bug-eyed owl?”
“Uh,” the soldier cast his eyes about, searching for someone, anyone, to rescue him from this fate worse than enemy swords. “You, uh, look like a buffoon, my lord.”
“Well,” Luther said, as if offended. “There we have it. The whole world is devoid of taste. You are dismissed.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” the soldier said, and dashed away.
Jo and Althea, who had been giggling the whole time, now redoubled their laughter at Luther’s expense, and yet he didn’t mind. He leaned into it, feigning his haughty fashion sense just to see the smile it brought to Althea’s face, to make her forget her sorrow.
“Where did you get those?” Jo asked through her laughter.
“I commissioned Lavinia to make them,” Luther said. He put them away inside his jacket’s interior pocket so Jo could recover.
The soldiers returned from the courtyard and closed the gates behind them. Piece by piece, the guards had taken everything of value, piled the bodies, and secured the wounded. Luther knew what came next, and a single glance at the pyromancer on the wall confirmed it.
The guards who fell? They were carried through the gates. They’d receive pyres of their own and rites, but the enemy? The enemy received one communal pyre, and no one sang the song of ascension to guide them on their way.
“Okay,” Luther said, signaling for them to follow him. “We should join Captain Cerul inside,” he said, his tone growing more serious as he used a minor magic trick to clean his clothes of blood. “Sooner rather than later, Jowangshin.”
Her name snapped her out of her merriment, and Jo glanced behind her to see the gates closing. She nodded and put her arm under Althea’s. Jo hauled the woman to her feet, which surprised Althea. She’d been expecting to stay sitting, but Jo’s strength surpassed hers.
“Come on,” Luther said. “Let’s hear what’s been happening and why these barbarians attacked.”
Luther led the way, leaving the wagon behind and approaching the inner fort building. The guards had lined the wounded barbarian prisoners up against the wall. A healer among the guards checked, poked, and prodded them.
Jo did her best to ignore the proceedings as she guided Althea inside, moving ahead of Luther as his pace slowed while he reviewed the prisoners firsthand.
He stopped in his tracks as a soldier removed the barbarian’s chitinous helm and threw it aside. The blue hair that tumbled from it drew attention. The dye was fresh and colorful, a shade he recognized from his travels. He followed the flowing river of hair to the face that it framed and stared.
“Yasmina?” Luther asked, startling the woman and the two barbarian soldiers beside her.
“Luthie?”