“Pallass is under attack.”

It was one of those sentences that you could say too many times. And it was such an innocuous set of words. Pallass is under attack.

If you had no idea of the Walled City the name referred to, much less the significance of that statement, the line would pass you by. In Baleros’ cities, many might ask where that was, or which city. They might recognize it, but again, only from afar. It was not their continent, not their species. Who cared?

But that was a terribly selfish point of view. Understandable, but selfish. Who cared what happened if one of the Drake Walled Cities fell?

The answer was: everyone. Everyone who thought about the future. About the position of the Drakes and their feud with the Human-controlled north. Who knew of the placement of the Antinium Hives. Anyone who knew the Necromancer of Terandria lived.

Not just Drakes. In the Blighted King’s courts, King Othius the Fourth felt a chill. His court fell silent. Yes, it was the Blighted Kingdom of Rhir, separated by thousands of miles from Izril’s politics. And yes, most of Rhir’s people would have laughed at the petty wars and challenges that the Izrilian people regarded as important.

However, the people of Rhir also knew that their arms, the steel they used in battle against their ancient foe was wrought of metal mined in other continents. Shipped across seas by fleets of other nations. And Drakes bled on Rhir’s soil, dying far from home to fulfill ancient oaths.

“Send for my court of war. Bring me more scrying devices.”

Othius looked to his left. Nereshal, his steward, bowed. The [Chronomancer] swept from the room, moving at a walk—but still faster than the running messengers who had brought the news. And Othius looked into the scrying orb that had been placed on the pedestal before him. His nobility stood silent, watchful. Wary.

For anyone who thought Rhir could stand against the Demons alone was a fool. And now, the Blighted King had seen one of the six pillars that held up the Drake species shake. He looked into the scrying glass and saw.

—-

“Wyverns.”

The King of Destruction looked up. His eyes sharpened as he balanced the tiny scrying orb on his palm. He stared into the orb. It was indeed an odd thing, to see an event unfolding across the world in a moment’s notice. Stranger still to think it was commonplace in another world.

But scrying orbs had existed since anyone could remember. The odd thing was that there was now a system in place, and a mentality that allowed events to be broadcast the world over. Wistram was behind it; Flos had heard the shrill sound and flash from the scrying orb. That in itself was highly suspicious, and the King of Destruction had not appreciated the thought that his scrying orb was a vessel that could be…found.

Gazi the Omniscient liked it as much as her [King]. All but one of the half-Gazer’s eyes were fixed on the scrying orb, and narrowed. She looked at the King of Destruction.

“My lord.”

“I know, Gazi. So that’s the way of it, is it?”

Flos stared into the scrying orb thoughtfully. He shook his head, ruefully.

“You warned me as much. But I will take this as confirmation. Still—”

He paused, and grinned.

“It’s too much of a lure for me to resist the bait. Pallass is under attack? Amerys couldn’t break Zeres. And Wyverns, of all things?”

The King of Destruction grinned like a hunting wolf.

“Have you fought such beasts, Gazi? I’ve encountered them only twice.”

“Yes, my lord. They are native to Izril. Chandrar is inhospitable to most species.”

“And how dangerous are they?”

Gazi thoughtfully paused.

“You have fought Griffins, my lord?”

“Of course. Can you ride Wyverns?”

“Yes. And they are larger than Griffins. Scaled. These look like variants of the species. Stronger.”

Flos Reimarch grew more interested by the second.

“[Griffin Riders] were always a dangerous force. Do the Drakes have [Wyvern Riders]?”

“Fissival. Orthenon would know more.”

“Yes. Fascinating. I’d love to be there. And this is the way of it. Whenever something happens now, it must be…”

Flos waved a hand at the scrying orb, and his tone suggested distaste as much as mild interest. He glanced at Gazi. Then at the orb.

“And we watch. I am beginning to understand more of what Trey and Teres tell me about entertainment in their world.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“And one more thing.”

Flos Reimarch looked into the scrying orb. And his eyes stared past the scene of Pallass in chaos. He ignored the frantic Drake’s voice as Noass shouted at Lyonette, and the view swung to The Wandering Inn. One of Gazi’s eyes locked into the image, and Relc’s and Klbkch’s faces. But Flos Reimarch stared into the orb itself. At the magical glass.

“How convenient of Wistram to broadcast this image the world over. Do you see me, Archmage Feor?”

He leaned over the orb. And across the world, a [Diviner] monitoring the spell felt her heart skip a beat as the King of Reim looked straight at her. She backed up and the other [Mages] staring back through the magical connection froze. Flos Reimarch’s voice was pleasant.

“Give me back Amerys. Show her to me, Archmage. I am losing my patience. And I will break your academy to find her.”

That was all he said. Then the King of Destruction sat back and his gaze focused on the image in the scrying orb. He looked at Gazi.

“Even so, fascinating.”

Flos clapped his hands and the door opened.

“Your majesty?”

He turned to the [Servant].

“Go to the treasury, and find a larger scrying orb. I’m sure we looted one from Germina or Hellios. Fetch me Trey and Teres as well. And Mars—send her a [Message] to find a scrying orb.”

The [Servant] bowed. Flos sighed as he sat back. He nodded to Gazi.

“This would be an opportune time to try that ‘popcorn’ Trey kept telling me about, wouldn’t it?”

She smiled. The King of Destruction clapped his hands again. Then he began watching. Such was the luxury of a spectator, and perhaps, the arrogance of [Kings]. But it was true that the world over, people were watching.

And why not? It was one thing to hear of battles won, and great events. Another to see them as they happened. This world was caught by a phenomenon Trey and Teres were well aware of. Flos had yet to put a name to it, but he already saw it, even if he could not yet grasp what it might become. That strange thing.

Spectacle.

—-

They watched the world over. Niers Astoragon paused in a lunch with Foliana. He looked up.

“Wyverns hit Pallass? Impossible. They have a Tier 7, city-wide defensive spell. And the spell is powered by their walls. Even a regular [Mage] capable of hitting them with Tier 7 spells wouldn’t be able to break through.”

“Mm. Wyverns can’t do it usually. Pass the butter.”

Foliana agreed. Niers ignored her; the butter saucer moved past him as Foliana picked it up.

“They must have been caught off-guard. Typical. That’s how they get you. Millions of gold pieces of enchantments and thousands of [Soldiers] and some idiot forgets to activate a spell. Even so—those must be Frost Wyverns. See the snow?”

The [Grandmaster Strategist] was already thinking out loud.

“Bestiary. There must be something on Wyvern abilities. Either they flew above Pallass’ line of sight—creating a blizzard and flying in by stealth? No—get me the [Messages] from the Walled Cities. And a bestiary on Wyverns. All of them.”

He turned to the officer who’d brought him the news. The Titan sat back as Foliana peered at the scrying orb.

“It made a sound.”

The Titan nodded. He leaned back; Foliana had coincidentally placed the butter so that it would obstruct the scrying mirror’s view of the Fraerling. In cover, Niers raised a finger, touched one eye, then traced ‘W’ in the air. Foliana blinked once with both eyes. Neither his face or the Squirrel Beastkin’s moved an inch as he sat forwards.

“Foliana, put that butter somewhere else. There’s enough there to stop my heart five times over.”

“Mm.”

She moved it. Niers Astoragon looked at the scrying orb. Unconsciously, one hand drummed on the table. He had nothing to gain or lose by Pallass’ falling. He knew of the Antinium of course, but from where Niers sat, the fate of a Walled City was less important. Like Flos, he was just an interested member of the worldwide audience.

Except that wasn’t entirely true. If you were looking—and no one but Foliana was—you might see the slightest, tiniest clues of stress on the Fraerling. He told himself it was nothing. It was Pallass, not Liscor. But his eyes searched the inn as Noass turned to face the magic door.

“Help. Someone—”

Niers ignored the Drake’s voice. He stared into the inn. Looking at faces he recognized, vaguely. But searching. Searching for her.

He didn’t see her. And the Titan’s fingers drummed faster on the tiny lunch table. He told himself that he didn’t know. That it was just a guess. Not to make assumptions. And after all, it was Pallass. There was no way. But he didn’t see her. And the Titan of Baleros watched, searching for a face.

Foliana watched too. She watched her old friend staring at the scrying orb. And her attention was more on him than the events in the City of Invention. Because Wyverns were just monsters. But what she saw was fascinating. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted a raw egg to her mouth and slurped it down. The Squirrel-woman paused.

“Nasty.”

—-

If the world was a map, and attention a flickering point of light, then the words summoned a growing sea of lights. First, they flickered on and off, like fireflies. But then there was a swell, a gathering of light from every continent. Some came for idle amusement, others to speculate on the future, for personal gain or because the news affected them in ways large or small.

A father watched his daughter in a scrying pool. A sister nearly choked on the spoonful of gelato as her suitor stared at her in consternation. She dabbed the sticky liquid from her neckline, biting back an exclamation.

“Isn’t that…?”

A young woman’s face, so changed that only her family would be sure, sure it was her. And even then, not completely. Others looked upon the Antinium and shuddered. The Blighted King stared at his foes and his eyes narrowed.

But these were passing sights. The image reflected in the scrying orb was of one thing alone. The attack on Pallass. And the world watched.

…But damn the world. Who cared what they thought? The sentence screamed across the Drake cities, far louder there than anywhere else. It mattered to Izril. Tyrion Veltras watched with cold attention, neither smiling nor frowning. Magnolia Reinhart clutched her dress, white-knuckled. And they were only Humans.

In Manus, the war council sprinted into the meeting room where the scrying orb had been set up. [Hunt Commander] Makhir nearly ran down General Milka. He was panting from the run from the walls.

Dragonspeaker Luciva Skybreath was only a beat behind the others. She charged into the room, and the [Strategist] whirled. In the inner keep of Manus, Luciva could hear more shouts as Wall Lords and Ladies, and the other protectors of the City of War scrambled for a room to see the situation for themselves.

“Report!”

She bellowed. The [Strategist] replied at a shout even as Rafaema stopped, nearly colliding with Luciva’s back. The young Drake woman flexed her wings. She’d flown here. The others clustered around the scrying orb as the Gnoll [Strategist] spoke, words tumbling from his mouth.

“Pallass is under attack. They report a Wyvern assault from the walls. Grand Strategist Chaldion has issued a city-wide alarm.”

“Wyverns?”

For a second those gathered in the room looked at each other. Wall Lord Kishield looked blankly around.

“Does that mean…Oldbloods?”

The other people in the room looked at him. Makhir opened his mouth, and General Milka snapped.

“No! This isn’t a damn code. These are actual Wyverns.”

“What?”

Two more were crowding Rafaema. She turned and they backed up. Dragonspeaker Luciva turned. She nodded to the young Wall Lady. Everyone was on their feet, and slowly they began spreading around the circular table.

“Impossible. Wyverns can’t assault Pallass. No—is it Fissival? Damn them! If they’ve launched a surprise attack—”

“Maybe Salazsar? There was that dispute with the Trisstral Alliance. If Salazsar is replying to Pallass backing the alliance—”

“Impossible. There’s no way they’d have hired Fissival—”

“What about from Elleis?”

The babble of military voices was cut short by the [Strategist]. The Gnoll snapped, his voice cutting his superiors short.

“They’re not mounted! These are wild Wyverns, as far as we can tell!”

Manus’ elite stared at the [Strategist]. Not in offense over him interrupting, but pure shock.

“Impossible.”

This time the word was flat and it came from half a dozen throats. Dragonspeaker Luciva stared into the scrying orb, but it was a blur—someone was running. Sound was filtering through, but it was just a din of shrieks, screams, explosions—

It was the sound of a battlefield. Luciva could pick out the distinctive hunting scream of the Wyverns, but little else. She turned.

“Do we have another viewpoint?”

“Negative, Dragonspeaker. The anti-scrying wards are in full effect.”

“Then the walls aren’t down and the spells aren’t comprised. How did a weyr of Wyverns—?”

“I have a report here. Wyverns sighted, count above one thousand. Liscor spotted them first, and they were confirmed on a southern course, heading straight for Pallass.”

Spearmaster Lulv pounded a furred fist onto the table.

“Liscor! How many attacks has this been? This cannot be a coincidence. Is this the Human’s retaliation?”

“There is no [Beast Master] in the north capable of moving an entire weyr at once. It might be possible if they controlled the leader, say—”

Voices. There was no orderly chain of command where one person raised their arm and went first, nor any niceties like, say, Pallass’ Assembly of Crafts. And that could be a contentious room when things got heated. But in Manus’ circles, the leaders of the Walled City were [Generals] and [Commanders], officers used to taking charge. They shouted over each other.

Luciva Skybreath tuned them all out. Her mind focused, dividing the situation into pieces. The whole was too confusing, the facts unknown. She breathed in and out. And time…

Slowed…

The Dragonspeaker opened her eyes. Her mind raced a thousand miles a second, ahead of the voices. She stared at the scrying orb. And when she spoke, her voice cut through even the loudest shout.

“Oldblood Drakes. I want every single flier capable of reaching Pallass within eight hours moving. No—have them on alert. Officers with speed skills in position.”

The other commanders in the room looked towards Luciva. Some were nodding, but then a young voice spoke up.

“Done.”

The youngest occupant of the room by far folded her arms. Rafaema met Luciva’s eyes calmly as the Dragonspeaker spun. Rafaema, a Wall Lady by rank, seemed one of the least fazed by the situation unfolding in the scrying orb. She nodded at Luciva.

“I ordered them to go to alert when I got the message. Four full wings. They’re already heading towards Pallass.”

The Dragonspeaker met Rafaema’s eyes and surprise flickered in her gaze for only a moment. Then she snapped at the Gnoll [Strategist].

“Send a counter order for the wings to hold their position.”

She nodded towards Rafaema. The younger Drake shrugged, flexing her brilliant wings slightly. Dragonspeaker Luciva looked around the table.

“Even at max flight speed, they will not reach Pallass in time. The intervention might be unneeded. Or worse.”

“Nothing like an unwanted companion to the chase. Pallass would take offence.”

Hunt Commander Makhir nodded. He glanced at Rafaema. The younger Drake shrugged.

“And if the Walled City falls?”

General Milka consulted a tome. The pages fluttered without her touching them as the Drake stared at the information. She looked up and shook her head.

“They will not. I don’t know how the Wyverns took the walls, but they should have…1st Army and 4th in position. Either one should be able to repel the attack. And if the Wyverns possess greater numbers or abilities—they can take cover. A few minutes’ difference won’t change the results.”

“And what are the odds of that? I can’t believe they gained the city.”

“There are precedents. What species of Wyvern are these? If they’re rare variants—Hunt Commander, thoughts?”

The Gnoll scratched a scar along his chin, where he’d taken a wound from an encounter with a Wyvern.

“I’ve heard reports of Wyverns causing volcanic eruptions and launching attacks in the ash clouds. And I’ve seen them with any number of abilities. There are variants in Baleros that camouflage themselves. But in numbers? I have never encountered a weyr over two hundred. And the group I saw was ordinary. I don’t know what they might have done.”

“Pool their breath attacks.”

Again, Rafaema spoke up. Every head turned towards her. Dragonspeaker Luciva inclined her head slightly.

“What do you mean by that, Wall Lady Rafaema?”

The young Drake shrugged.

“I’ve been reading older accounts. Wyverns and Oldblood Drakes can pool their magical abilities together. In fact, A Drake riding a Wyvern can combine his attack with the Wyvern’s. Even different elements. I’ve seen it done. There was a flying wing in Manus eighty years ago that used that tactic.”

Her tail flicked back and forth as she spoke. The other leaders looked at each other. Each one nodded. General Milka nodded to herself, doing a quick check of her tome.

“Report, Dragonspeaker. Pallass’ protections spells did not activate. Some were used, but I’m getting more [Messages]. Summarized—confirmation of Grand Strategist’s alert. Pallass is under attack by feral Wyverns. Frost Wyverns.”

“Impossible.”

Someone muttered it a third time. Not in shock, but now just disbelief. Dragonspeaker Luciva’s lips twisted.

“They didn’t activate the protection spells?”

“Must have been caught off-guard. Idiots. They didn’t get Chaldion. He can fight them off.”

“There’s no way they’ll take the city.”

“But the death toll has to be in the hundreds already. Thousands, maybe. Listen.”

That calm voice came from Spearmaster Lulv. He was leaning on the table, looking at the scrying orb. Now, all the voices in the war room fell silent.

This is what they all saw, the world over. A shaking, moving street. No—someone running while holding whatever was providing the magical image. In Manus, the leaders heard a wheezing pant, a cough—

Shrieks in the distance, tearing the air. Faint at first, and then growing louder. The viewpoint jerked up as a scream increased in volume. The image revealed a huge, plummeting shape. A Wyvern sixty feet long dropped out of the air, diving. Its hunting scream reached a crescendo as it flashed past the onlooker.

The image shook, a visible flinch. And then, pattering footfalls. Someone else ran into view.

“Take cover! Take cover! Get inside!”

A Drake ran into view. The perspective changed, and Dragonspeaker Luciva saw a pair of Dullahans running towards an open door. A Drake was shouting at them, waving at them as he ran towards the scrying orb. Luciva saw a young, frightened Dullahan boy grabbing at a sister. The sister nearly dropped her head as he ran towards the Gnoll holding the door open.

For a second Luciva closed her eyes, seeing the girl’s face. Not because it was someone she knew, but because it was familiar. Then she forced her eyes open.

The first Drake was catching his breath. He looked around wildly, ducked as another shadow passed overhead. So did whoever was holding the magical device providing the image. The first Drake looked up, then spoke breathlessly.

“I—I think we’re clear. Are we still broadcasting?”

“I believe so.”

Someone fumbled with the mirror. Another Drake appeared in frame, and part of his arm. The two Drakes were both male, both familiar. One—the one with the arm holding the magical scrying device—had a monocle, dangling from a chain loop secured around one of his neck-spines. He was expensively dressed. His comrade was less so, but the two were a well-fed pair.

The first Drake spoke in a rush after gaining his voice back.

“This is Sir Relz and Noass, your [Commentators] coming to you live from Pallass! Is ‘live’ the word we’re using, Sir Relz? Where’s the logic in that?”

“Who cares, Noass? Pallass is under attack! It’s been bare minutes and we—”

Both Drakes ducked as a Wyvern shot down past them. Noass shouted.

“Get inside! Get off the streets!”

Sir Relz was speaking into the mirror as he tried to angle it, showing the audience a view of the skies—and then a close-up of the side of his face. He was inept at placing the viewpoint just right.

“Ancestors damn it, get out of the way! Show us numbers! Where’s the army?”

Someone growled in Manus’ war room, but it was otherwise completely silent. Sir Relz was still panting for breath.

“We’re using a portable scrying mirror—and under the effects of [Spectator’s Concealment]! Which we’ve gained as a result of our class. So long as we don’t interfere, it is extremely effective as long as the Wyverns are occupied! This—we’re—Noass, how did this happen?”

The other Drake jumped. His jaw worked soundlessly.

“I—we all heard a massive explosion! Someone on the walls, I think. Then there was a chill—and Wyverns were attacking! Grand Strategist Chaldion shouted the alarm and then—how did this happen? We—we’ll have a better view from the edge of the 8th floor. Come on—”

Sir Relz’s pale face again, then more running. The Dragonspeaker looked around.

“Massive explosion?”

“Combined dragonbreath.”

Rafaema’s voice was certain. Some of the others nodded, looking sideways at her. She was an oddity. Despite her age, they all gave her a level of deference no one else commanded. She was striking. Beautiful, in a way that even the other Oldblood Drakes were not, that even Dragonspeaker Luciva wasn’t, for all her heritage was among the purest of all Drakes.

The young female Drake looked no older than…twenty three. Which was impossible, given the station she was accorded. The way she looked about, the understanding in her eye made her older than her appearance. She was poised, intent.

And she was a Dragon.

But that was irrelevant to this moment. Rafaema’s eyes were locked on the scene unfolding in Pallass with everyone else. And Dragonspeaker Luciva saw the image halt at the edge of the 8th Floor. The two Drakes stared out in horror at their city.

And Dragonspeaker Luciva saw what they did. Pallass, the City of Invention, was under attack. Wyverns flew through the skies, casting huge shadows above the Walled City. It was snowing. And the Wyverns were attacking.

There weren’t many of them. For a city of Pallass’ size, the near-thousand of them weren’t a vast horde that would blot out the skies. But the Wyverns were huge. And the sight of them there, breathing frost and diving down on the small figures below—

It shook the world. It pierced Dragonspeaker Luciva’s heart, and the war room went still. This was the nightmare Manus’ children had sworn to avert. But they were not alone in seeing it.

Watch. Flos of Reim stared at the Walled City and smiled that predator’s grin, his hand itching. The Blighted King sighed. Niers Astoragon cursed while Foliana tried to eat another raw egg.

In his chair, the Necromancer, Az’kerash, watched with a raised eyebrow, almost mockingly. Incredulous more than anything else.

And Tyrion Veltras smiled. His eyes shone with a cold light.

Attention. More and more joined to see. Spectacle. Tragedy. Triumph too, but it was all one thing. And more strange watchers still.

“I see Pallass. It is smaller than I thought. And weaker still.”

“Perhaps, my Queen.”

Xrn of the Centenium spoke softly. The hovering image of Pallass she had conjured reflected off the huge eyes of the Grand Queen of the Antinium. Now, even the Antinium watched. With glee. With cold analysis. With incredulity.

Watch. Noass stared over the edge as the scrying mirror caught part of Sir Relz’s slack face. The Drake’s scales were white, drained of blood. It was the other [Commentator], Noass, who began screaming.

“Ancestors! Look out! They’re dive-bombing the lower floors!”

He pointed. More Wyverns were diving. They hunted like eagles. The huge, scaled monsters dove and struck their prey, carrying them up, tearing at them. If you looked, you could see struggling shapes falling as the Wyverns bit. Or the beasts just breathed their killing frost and tore apart the frozen shapes.

“What happened to the [Soldiers] on the walls?”

Noass screamed. Sir Relz’s voice was distant.

“This isn’t possible. Pallass can’t be—where’s the army?”

The image jerked. There was fighting below. You could stare down into Pallass’ heart. And there was a glint of steel below, running figures. But so far away. And the Wyverns—Noass ducked as one flew past, but the Wyvern ignored the two Drakes. Its serpentine neck was covered in blood. And it looked—it looked like it was laughing.

They had stolen the skies. The two Drakes looked at each other. Noass’ face was frozen with horror, but then he faced the image. And the [Commentator] did the only thing he could: speak.

“Pallass—everyone. If you can hear me! Get indoors! My name is Noass, and I am live on the attack on Pallass! If anyone can hear me—any adventurers nearby, any Drake forces! Pallass under attack! I don’t know what’s happened on the walls! But we’re going to find out. Someone—anyone. We saw the door to Liscor is open. Flee through it! Adventurers, [Soldiers]—”

His voice broke. Sir Relz appeared in frame. Luciva recognized him at last. One of Pallass’ nobility. A Wall Lord, but without the emphasis on rank and station other Walled Cities accorded him. Nevertheless, he looked dead into the image, and Dragonspeaker Luciva met his eyes.

“This is an emergency. Anyone who can hear this in Pallass, seek cover. Indoors! We will broadcast the image as long as we can. We are counting hundreds, repeat hundreds, of Wyverns. If anyone can send help—”

Luciva had heard enough. The Dragonspeaker looked around.

“Send the wings. Now.”

Hunt Commander Makhir raced out of the room. In Pallass, Noass was turning.

“It’s so cold. Dead gods, there’s frost on the upper part of the ninth floor and the ramparts—there. You see? It looks like the Wyverns overtook the walls—we’ll have to get up there. But where…?”

He looked at Sir Relz. The other Drake shook his head.

“I don’t know. Perhaps the explosion? I—I—the stairs? The elevators are surely not working…”

The wide-eyed Drakes were familiar to some viewers. After all, they had achieved a minor fame during their impromptu commentary of the attack on Liscor. And then the other one. Indeed, they’d even gained a class. But this was a new side of the Drake pair.

They sounded a bit harried, a bit stressed. As if this attack was more personal, more immediate than their commentary on any battle before this. And someone watching, from say, Liscor, might have found that a bit ironic.

But no one was laughing in The Wandering Inn. Lyonette stared at the scrying orb and then at the magical door. Relc had dragged it into the common room when they’d heard about the attack. Now—she stared at a street where snow was falling.

“We have to do something.”

Selys was white-faced. She looked around wildly.

“Keldrass?”

“His team’s on the way. He’s in Liscor, getting the Heartflame Breastplate.”

Relc called out tersely. He had his spear out and was tensed, ready to move. Lyonette heard a shriek, louder through the door than the scrying orb. She looked around for Mrsha; the Gnoll was holding Apista, safely behind Pawn. The Antinium were all on their feet. Even Bird was downstairs, staring at the Wyverns longingly.

“The Wings…?”

“They went through. Selys, get back. It’s too dangerous to get near the door.”

Lyonette looked around.

“We shouldn’t have brought it out there. Relc. Bring it back. Put it in the hallway.”

The Drake [Spearmaster] started.

“The Wyverns can’t—”

He looked around. Krshia, Elirr, Gnolls, Drakes—the Senior Guardsman hesitated, then he nodded. He grabbed the door.

“We have to do something. Where’s Zevara? Change the door back to Liscor! Can we send anyone?”

Lism was on his feet. It was Olesm who shook his head.

“No. Uncle. Wyverns are a Gold-rank threat! And the door doesn’t have the mana to send enough people. Let me go to Liscor. I’m getting Guildmistress Alonna and every [Mage] I can find. We have to send the Flamewardens through!”

“What about—get the other Gold-rank teams! Can’t we send anyone else?”

Lism stared around, frustrated. Relc had disappeared and Olesm with him. But the other occupants of the inn? Lyonette was checking on Mrsha. The Gnoll was hugging Pawn’s back. The Worker looked at the Gnoll, into the scrying orb. The two Drakes were trying to shout at people to get indoors. Pawn stood up abruptly.

“I will go.”

“What?”

The [Priest] looked around. Yellow Splatters nodded. The [Sergeant] turned his head.

“Painted Antinium, with me.”

The Soldiers stepped forwards as one. Lyonette spun.

“No! Pawn—”

Belgrade was also present for the inn’s reopening. The [Strategist] shook his head.

“The door doesn’t have the mana for so many, even if Strategist Olesm gets the [Mages].”

“Then a core of Antinium. Pawn, you will stay behind.”

“I must go. I can hea—”

“No one is going through that door.”

Klbkch’s voice ran through the inn. The Antinium and other guests stopped. Everyone looked at him. Klbkch’s arms were folded.

“Antinium are not allowed in Pallass. To go through would be an act of war.”

Yellow Splatters paused. Pawn looked at Klbkch and his mandibles parted. But slowly, he sat back down. Lyonette’s head turned.

“Erin’s over there.”

Krshia found her. The Gnoll’s paw gripped Lyonette’s arm, and her brown eyes caught Lyonette’s. With her other paw, the [Shopkeeper] stroked Mrsha’s head.

“We must wait. Olesm will find reinforcements.”

“That’s right. I’ll—I’ll go to the hallways. Call out to anyone on the streets. They can come through.”

Selys stood up shakily. Lism pushed past her.

“I’ll do it. You stay back! All of you—no one goes in that hallway! If a Wyvern breathes frost—stay here!”

He shoved the door open. Lyonette looked around. No one was speaking. This was like the other attacks on Liscor, but those had been immediate, terrifying, but present. This—this was almost worse. They were watching the attack unfold and it was unbearable.

“Can we…no. No—Ishkr! Drassi!”

The two oldest workers at the inn looked up. Lyonette whirled around.

“Healing potions. Erin has a stockpile. And acid jars! We have some—get me everything you can! We’ll push it through the door!”

They had to do something. Moved to action, the other occupants of the inn began talking. Lyonette ran into the kitchen, Apista buzzing after her, stinger poised. She rushed back out with a crate in her hands, trying not to drop the glowing green acid in the bottles and heard a shout.

There was suddenly silence. Lyonette froze. In the scrying orb, Noass was pointing. The two Drakes were trying to get to some stairs, but they’d come across a Wyvern.

It was flying over the heads of some apartments. Low—and huge. And it was pursuing—Lyonette nearly dropped the crate.

An Oldblood Drake. But a child. The Drake was flying frantically. Noass was waving his arms and shouting.

“Get down! Get below the buildings!”

The Drake wasn’t listening. Lyonette saw the image shake, trying to follow the Drake—and then the Wyvern dove. She heard a scream—the image changed again.

The Wyvern had caught the Drake. And worse, it had heard Noass. The [Commentator] froze as the Skill hiding him failed. The Wyvern landed, crushing the Drake it had caught under one paw. The Drake child was screaming and Noass was backing up. He was fumbling at his belt for…a dagger. Sir Relz’ claw shook on the scrying orb.

“My wand—[Firefly]—”

The two Drakes backed up. The Wyvern was staring at them. A second set of eyelids flashed across its eyes as it stared at the [Commentators]. Narrowly, as if trying to figure out if they were there. But then its maw opened. Lyonette saw a dark red mouth. Opening wide, wide. The Wyvern inhaled and Noass threw himself to one side.

A flash of green hurtled out of the sky. A feathered shape dove. And Bevussa Slenderscale drove the shortsword through the Wyvern’s eye. She landed, and Zassil crashed into the Wyvern’s jaw. The frost breath caught in the Wyvern’s mouth as he slammed the jaws shut.

“Bevussa!”

Lyonette screamed. So did half the patrons in the inn. They were on their feet. Bevussa pushed the sword deeper, and the Wyvern’s eyeball gushed around it. Two other shapes dove.

“Issa! Now! [Pillar of Earth]!”

A Drake landed on the ground as another Drake pointed a wand from above. Kin’s spell caused a section of the street to rise, shoving one of the Wyvern’s claws up. The other Drake, Issa, dove. She yanked the young Drake out from under the claw as the Wyvern recoiled. She was away in a moment.

“Bevussa! Dodge!”

The Garuda flipped backwards just in time. The Wyvern’s head snapped and tore the air where she had been as Zassil was thrown off. The Wyvern screamed, blasting the air, but the four fliers were already away.

Noass and Sir Relz stared as Issa landed next to them. She shoved the young Drake at them. Noass caught the Drake and Issa shouted.

“Get clear! Get to safety!”

She was in the air in a moment. Bevussa, Zassil, and Kin were flitting about the Wyvern. It flapped its wings and tried to tag them with the frost breath. Bevussa’s shortsword was still buried in its eye, and the adventurers used that to their advantage, flying in the Frost Wyvern’s blind spot.

“That’s—that’s an adventuring team! Our team!”

Noass’ voice was stunned. He pointed as Bevussa dove again. The Garuda had a spear this time, pulled from a bag of holding. She was aiming for the Wyvern’s neck as it tried to fly. Bevussa thrust the steel-tipped spear and it penetrated the Wyvern’s neck. Not deep, but as the Garuda yanked it free, blood sprayed and the Wyvern screamed again. It flew, and the Wings of Pallass flew after it.

“I believe that was the Wings of Pallass.”

Sir Relz looked shakily up at the sky. Noass stared. Then he found his voice.

“It was! Pallass’ Gold-rank team! The Wings of Pallass! That was Zassil, the team captain, and Bevussa, their Garuda flier! They’re using boar spears—Ancestors! Look!”

Again the view swiveled, and the audience of the world saw the Wyvern just in time to see it fall. Bevussa yanked her shortsword out of the eye as Issa and Zassil cut the Wyvern across the neck. Their blades opened the cut Bevussa had made and the two Oldblood Drakes pulled the wound open, cutting and slashing.

The Frost Wyvern fell with a scream. Noass and Sir Relz shouted. Lyonette heard a cheer. The Wandering Inn’s patrons were all on their feet. They shouted, screaming for the Wings of Pallass.

For victory. That was part of it, too, spectacle. And now, the Wings of Pallass soared higher, circling the city. Noass pointed.

“After them!”

Lyonette didn’t remember putting down the crate of acid jars. She only realized she’d joined the audience. As Sir Noass and Relz raced through the city, trying to track the four Gold-rank adventurers and shouting commentary, she watched.

But that was the thing. They were all observers, even Sir Relz and Noass, who’d been part of it for a moment. All they could do was watch. But Bevussa flew.

—-

It was snowing. Her city was shadowed by huge storm clouds, unleashing not rain but fat snowflakes. Bevussa felt them on her feathers as she flew, felt the chill. But she’d never felt more on fire in her life.

Wyverns’ shrieks tore through the sky. They filled the airspace of Pallass, diving, breathing—

Wyverns. How had it happened? Bevussa had never seen so many, never all at once. And these ones—they were bigger, and their color was different than what she knew. The Garuda’s mind was racing, but there was only one fact.

This was her city. She flapped her wings for altitude and shouted.

“Wings! On me!”

Bevussa was flying higher, scouting out the city. She was looking for—something. Anything. But all she saw was chaos.

The battlements were gone. The bulk of the Wyverns were still on it, feasting on the dead. Bevussa saw a huge part of the north and western walls was…frozen. Ice covered everything, as if some massive spell had detonated there.

If there was any blessing, it was that the Wyverns had first stopped to gorge on the dead on the battlements. But more Wyverns were diving into the city for more food at the moment.

And the city? Bevussa looked down and saw distant specks. People on each floor running for cover. It had been bare minutes since the alarm had gone out and everyone had been caught unaware. The Gold-rank adventurer’s eyes narrowed as she saw smaller shapes than the Wyvern.

Flying? The Garuda cursed as she realized what she was seeing. Zassil called out.

“Bevussa! Civilians in the air!”

“I see them!”

Dozens—no, hundreds of them. Garuda and Oldblood Drakes, the only species in Pallass with the ability to fly. Bevussa swore a blue streak.

It was the instinct of Garuda to fly when they were in danger. Oldblood Drakes blessed with wings were different, but the young of both species learned from each other. It was idiotic to do with flying Wyverns, but the children had forgotten their heads in their panic! Now, they were in the air, trying to avoid the Wyverns or even fight back.

Bevussa saw an Oldblood Drake shooting lightning at a Wyvern before one dove and crushed her against the ground. Another was pursuing a Garuda and the screaming teen was diving between buildings as the Wyvern gained altitude. Bevussa knew it was about to dive.

“Down!”

She dropped. Bevussa dove through the air and her enchanted shortsword was in her talons. She hit the Wyvern across the wing. Too risky to go for the eyes. She slashed and her sword cut into the thick membrane of the Wyvern’s wing.

It shrieked at the unexpected attack. The Wyvern turned, and the other three Wings hit it. Zassil had his spear and went straight through a part of the Wyvern’s wings. Issa and Kin were throwing spells with wands, flashes of [Light] and Kin’s fire, distracting the Wyverns.

“Back!”

The four adventurers were flying backwards even before the Wyvern tried to breathe. They couldn’t stick around for a fight, not with something heavier and stronger than all of them combined! Bevussa twisted in the air, looking for the Garuda the Wyvern had been chasing. Where was—?

“Bevussa! It’s targeting you!”

Kin’s voice alerted Bevussa just in time. She dove and the Wyvern’s jaws snapped as it nearly bit her in half. She flew, diving lower, but the Wyvern was hot on her tail feathers.

“Captain!”

It was fast! Bevussa was diving, but the Wyvern could accelerate as fast as she could. She spoke a word.

“[Mach Wings]!”

And the Garuda accelerated. The Wyvern screamed and dove, but Bevussa was suddenly going twice as fast with each flap of her wings. She twisted—it was still going after her! Bevussa looked ahead and realized she was heading straight for a group of residential apartments. The Wyvern was trying to box her in!

The Garuda turned. She moved in a tight circle, and hurtled straight at the Wyvern. It wasn’t prepared for that, and its jaws opened reflexively and the long, sinuous head reared back to strike. Bevussa knew that was what it would do. She activated her second Skill.

[Instantaneous Redirection]. One moment Bevussa was flying at the Wyvern—the next, away, perpendicular. It was a move impossible to make without a Skill and the dumfounded Wyvern lashed out at where Bevussa would have been. It floundered, momentum lost, confused, and Bevussa screamed.

“Wings of Pallass, Wyvern-hunter tactics! Neck and wings! Now!”

The three Drakes dropped on the Wyvern out of the skies as Bevussa flew back. This time, the strike was surgical. The three Gold-ranks had lined up their dives as Bevussa distracted the Wyvern. Now, they went for the kill. Bevussa whispered.

“[Sundering Slash].”

She cut the Wyvern across the neck. Issa and Zassil cut the Wyvern’s wings at the same time. Kin spun past as the Wyvern dropped, and one of her precise [Stone Darts] shot through the monster’s eye. The Wyvern dropped, screaming. Bevussa followed it down. It was headed for a building, so she and the Wings rammed it. Just enough for it to—

The Wyvern hit the street with a crunch. Bevussa heard another scream and guessed it had broken its legs. At least. She saw Zassil aiming his spear. Going for a kill at a dive; bleeding a Wyvern along critical spots on its neck was the only real way to kill it for fliers. Or letting it crash and kill itself. It had too much mass to try to get through bone.

“Zassil! Leave it!”

Bevussa shouted at the other Drake, not caring if anyone heard her giving orders to her ‘Captain’. Zassil started.

“But—”

The Wyvern was still moving. In any other situation, Bevussa would have finished it off, but she pointed.

“Leave it! Take them out of the sky! Follow me!”

The Wings flew after her. Bevussa dove along the streets of the 6th floor, shouting at Garuda and Oldblood Drakes. This was a favorite spot with them; the 6th floor had been built up to the ceiling of the 5th. It was an aerial maze, meant for the Garuda populations and a popular hangout. Now, it was filled with panicked civilians. Children.

“Stop flying you fools! You’re making yourself targets!”

Bevussa bellowed as she shot through the air. Her voice made some of the frantic shapes in the air drop. Kin, Issa, and Zassil followed in her wake in an arrow formation, shouting the same instructions.

The older Garuda were wise enough not to fly. And prompted by Bevussa’s voice, more Garuda and Drakes dove, searching for places to land. Bevussa had taught some of the frightened faces she saw. She clenched her beak and dipped one wing, turning sharply.

“On me! We’re dropping Wyverns! Aim only for their wings! Keep moving! If one of them hits you with their breath, you’re dead!”

The frost would kill the Wings in a moment, weighing their wings down, rendering them immobile. Kin paled as she saw where Bevussa was taking them.

Straight into the center of the city. Where the Wyverns were flying at their thickest.

“Bevussa! There are hundreds!”

“Then we bring them down one after another!”

The Gold-rank Captain screamed at her teammate. She flew straight at the nearest Wyvern. Cut along the wing bone. Cut through it! Drop it!

But there were so many. Bevussa looked up. She looked around. She’d fought in the army against a dozen Wyverns. But there were hundreds.

There were so many—

Bevussa felt a shadow pass over her. She looked up. A Wyvern dove. Bevussa tried to dodge, but she’d used her Skill too recently. She went down in free fall, tangled with the Wyvern, stabbing, trying to get free. The other Wings were fighting the second Wyvern that had dived at them.

—-

“No.”

Noass stared as Bevussa’ shape disappeared, falling out of view, fighting the Wyvern. The Wings of Pallass had been there for only a second before they’d been swallowed.

And the Wyverns screamed. More were flying off the walls, deciding to enter the fighting below. More and more. One dropped onto the 4th Floor, hunting for prey. The Wyvern was drooling, in hunting mode. All it smelled and saw was prey.

It looked around, savoring the fear. The Wyvern swung its head back and forth, looking for food. Some of the stone structures had food in them. The Wyvern could smell it. The monster was trying to figure out how to crack open one of the buildings when a door swung open. The Wyvern smelled meat. Lots of it. Sweat too. It opened its mouth to bite before the door could close.

Something hit the Wyvern in the jaws. The Wyvern’s head snapped back. It nearly fell on its back. The monster’s head rang. It looked around, stunned. Its teeth were broken. Something had—it was bleeding.

The Wyvern flopped on its back, getting up, now drooling blood from its broken gums. It tried to howl, but the second discus of lead and steel hit it in the neck. The Wyvern’s neck deformed and it collapsed. It looked up, stunned, uncomprehending. What was hitting it? What was—

A giant Drake walked out of his house. He was huge. The Wyvern was far larger, but this was the biggest prey it had ever seen of its kind. It tried to bite the Drake, feebly. But it’s upper teeth were destroyed. It couldn’t breathe. The Wyvern still tried to lunge.

Grimalkin punched the Wyvern in the head. His fist cracked bone and sent the splinters into the Wyvern’s brain. The monster slumped. Grimalkin cracked his neck and looked around.

“The weights make good impromptu throwing weapons. Apprentices! Find anyone on the street and get them inside! Don’t let a Wyvern eat you! I’m heading up.”

His wide-eyed apprentices stared at him from the opening of Grimalkin’s mansion. Ferkr gaped at the two deformed weights. They were from the weights bar. Grimalkin had hurled the fifty-pound weights like discuses and crippled the Wyvern with it.

“Master—”

“Move.”

Grimalkin didn’t waste words on Ferkr. It had been minutes since the attack. Chaldion’s voice had alerted Grimalkin; the [Sinew Magus] hadn’t heard the screams or explosion in his mansion. Now, he turned. Grimalkin stared up. His eyes narrowed.

“What idiot didn’t activate the [Cage of Pallass] spell? If they’re alive, I am going to kill them.”

Then he ran. Grimalkin of Pallass charged down the street. He ran faster than someone of his size had any right to move. The Drake reached the edge of the 6th Floor and saw.

The Wyverns were still assailing the upper floors. They had the air and fewer of them were reaching the lower floors. Grimalkin saw the flash of armor and magic below.

“The army.”

He looked up and back. The 5th Floor. Grimalkin heard screams. He crouched.

“[Reduce Weight]. [Warlock’s Leap].”

His eyes flashed. Then Grimalkin leapt.

The 5th Floor was being assailed by another Wyvern. It was herding a group of Drakes up, snapping at the ones trying to flee. Grimalkin landed. The Wyvern’s head swiveled. It stared at Grimalkin and then charged at him, ignoring the other prey for this large one. Grimalkin stared at it. He lowered his stance, made one fist. As the Wyvern lunged, he punched.

The Wyvern felt something smash through its teeth. Something immovable. As hard as stone. It recoiled, stunned. Grimalkin pointed a claw.

“[Lightning Bolt].”

A flash. The Wyvern jerked as the lightning struck it. But even a lightning bolt couldn’t kill it. It flopped back weakly. Grimalkin charged in. One clawed hand grabbed the Wyvern’s head. He put a foot on the neck. Then he jerked up.

The Wyvern’s head could move in almost any direction, but it still had bone. It fought weakly as the [Sinew Magus] pulled it up, up, bending it backwards. The Drake’s muscles bulged and he growled. Grimalkin twisted the Wyvern’s head backwards until he heard a snap. Then he dropped the Wyvern.

“Ancestors.”

Someone breathed. Grimalkin turned his head. The Drakes were staring. Grimalkin nodded at them.

“Get to safety. Find the nearest building and get inside. I can’t stay.”

He was already moving. Grimalkin checked the Wyvern’s head to make sure it was dead. The eyes stared blankly at the [Mage] of Pallass. Grimalkin nodded to the Drakes. Then he jumped. He flew through the air, almost weightless, grabbing hold of an elevator’s cable, then leapt again. Onto the 6th Floor. Higher and higher.

—-

“We just saw the Wings of Pallass go down! They were intercepted by the Wyverns—they are still diving! It has been—minutes since the alarm in Pallass was called and the higher floors are getting overrun!”

Noass was shouting as he half-faced the scrying mirror, pointing down at the chaos below. He and Sir Relz had stopped near the stairs to the battlements. The Drake was pointing down into the heart of the city.

“The Watch is fighting to try and reclaim the battlements, but Wyverns are assailing them! I can see fighting on the 2nd floor where the garrisons are located—but there is a bottleneck on all four staircases! And the Wyverns are assailing any large groups! This—this is a disaster! Sir Relz, thoughts?”

The other Drake gulped.

“The army normally deploys outside the city for attack. They’re stationed for sorting, not having to retake the walls. Clearly there’s been an error in their stationing. But normally the battlements have more than enough personnel to repel an attack. But as you can see—”

He turned. A group of armored figures were fighting at one of the staircases. The Watch and [Soldiers] were battling multiple Wyverns, assaulting them as they tried to take the stairs.

“There are too many Wyverns above! And the lower floors are congested as the Wyverns slow reinforcements! We—we could be seeing a disaster. I think there are thousands, thousands dead. I repeat, thousands. The Wyverns are slowing to eat their kills, but whenever they breathe that damned frost attack at a cluster, everyone dies—and we just saw a Gold-rank team fall prey to their diving!”

Noass was nodding, looking around.

“The Wyverns are assaulting groups heading up, preventing anyone from making a foothold on the upper floors. Everyone is retreating. This is a disaster. Where are the higher-level officers? Are they all trapped below?”

The Drake’s voice was despairing. And their commentary wasn’t going to just those watching from outside Pallass. People in the city were picking up the broadcast, watching from inside their homes. Sir Relz turned to Noass.

“Can you see anyone? Noass? Anyone?”

Noass’ voice was bleak.

“I see pockets of fighting everywhere. The Watch is spread out across the city. But Wyverns are a Gold-rank threat. An entire squad can barely fight one, and these are Frost Wyverns. They have a variant of Dragon’s breath, like an Oldblood Drake! Even if our [Soldiers] beat one, two, or three attacking at once? I—I just don’t see—”

The Drake’s voice stopped. Sir Relz looked at him and then tried to angle his scrying mirror.

“What do you see? Noass?”

“I—I see someone moving up! Look! There!”

Noass pointed. Sir Relz’s mirror moved. And then they saw him. A small figure from afar, but growing larger. Leaping. Yes, leaping up the floors. He stopped as a Wyvern dove. The two Drakes peered.

“I don’t see—a Wyvern’s diving at him—”

“Who? An officer?”

“No! It’s—Ancestors!”

The Wyvern hit the huge figure and crashed. The two Drakes gaped as they saw the figure charge it. There was a bloom of fire—the Wyvern’s head was missing. And the figure turned, scanning for opponents. Then he leapt higher.

“Who is that? It’s a Drake—no, it must be him—he must have heard the alarm! Look! It’s Pallass’ Strongest [Mage]! Grimalkin!”

The [Sinew Magus] leapt higher. He was on the 7th Floor now. The two Drakes stared as he landed below.

“Magus Grimalkin!”

Noass bellowed. Grimalkin’s head whipped around. He spotted the two Drakes. They saw him squat, his form perfect, then leap. The two Drakes backed up as a huge shape soared over the railing of the 8th Floor.

Grimalkin landed lightly. He turned his head. His arms and part of his huge neck were covered in blood. But it wasn’t his. The [Sinew Magus] eyed Noass and Sir Relz.

“You two! Get inside! Hide from the Wyvern attack!”

He barked at them. Noass’ mouth worked. Sir Relz took over.

“Magus! Magus, we’re broadcasting live—”

“What? Broadcasting what—”

Grimalkin looked at Sir Relz. He stared into the image and then his brows snapped together.

“You idiots! If you have the strength to use a scrying orb, get people off the streets!”

“But people have to see—”

“Out of my way. I don’t have time for this. I’m retaking the walls.”

Grimalkin had spotted the fighting on the stairs. He sprinted past the two Drakes. Noass turned.

“That—that was Grimalkin of Pallass. Known as the Fist Mage, but also Pallass’ self-proclaimed strongest [Mage]. He’s known for—dead gods! Is he insane?”

The Drake was charging straight at the three Wyverns on the stairs. They’d pushed back the [Soldiers] and [Guards] fighting there. Grimalkin roared as he charged the nearest one. It reared up and Noass gasped.

“He can’t fight three at once! He’s a [Mage], even if he’s known for hand-to-hand fighting. He’s mad. He’s going to die—”

Grimalkin halted as the Wyvern turned on him. He planted his legs and made a fist. He chanted as the Wyvern charged at him.

“[Gauntlet of Force]. [Lion’s Strength]. [Bound Spell: Impact Shockwave]. [Thunder Step].”

The last spell was followed by a sound. Sir Relz’s scrying mirror jerked as Grimalkin exploded forwards. The Wyvern lunged. And Grimalkin struck. He hit the Wyvern’s head as it bit at him. The top of the Wyvern’s head exploded.

The other two triumphant Wyverns froze. They stopped shrieking. Sir Relz jerked. Noass’ jaw dropped. They stared as the fleeing [Soldiers] and [Guards] turned back. Grimalkin turned. He looked at the other two Wyverns.

They dove. Grimalkin blurred sideways and the first missed with its claws. The second he jumped at. He struck it in midair.

“Release.”

[Impact Shockwave]. The spell activated. The Wyvern crashed out of the air as the spell hammered it to the ground. It writhed as a tremor went through its body, tearing muscle and sinew. Grimalkin held out a claw.

“[Siege Fireball].”

A huge flaming ball of fire appeared. The [Magus] threw it and the fireball engulfed the Wyvern in an explosion. The Drake turned as the scorched, burnt form of the second Wyvern slumped, burning.

The third turned. It stared at Grimalkin, and met his eyes. Then the Wyvern tried to flee. It reared back, flapping its wings. Too late.

“[Thunder Step].”

Grimalkin appeared in front of the Wyvern. It was exposed as it reared up, flapping. The head reared back in shock, trying to breathe frost, or bite. Too slow. Grimalkin drew back a fist.

“Pallass’ Strongest!”

He punched through the Wyvern’s chest. The huge beast froze in the middle of rearing back. It moved, a convulsion—Grimalkin tore his claw loose. It was clutching the remains of a heart. He dropped it and the Wyvern collapsed.

Noass and Sir Relz stared. Grimalkin shook the blood off his claws. Then he turned.

“Soldiers! Reform and regroup! Take the 9th! Pallass will not fall!”

His bellow was audible even from afar. The [Soldiers] stared as Grimalkin leapt up the stairs. They charged after him. So did Sir Relz and Noass. They saw Grimalkin leaping up to the 9th floor. Then—

Higher. Noass pointed.

“He’s going up! He’s going up to the walls alone!”

Grimalkin was leaping up on a roof on the 9th floor. He crouched and jumped a final time. The Drake landed on Pallass’ battlements. Sir Relz craned back, running to see him.

The weyr of Frost Wyverns was confused. They were hearing death-shrieks from their comrades. A few, but more and more. More were flapping towards the edge, walking on their two clawed legs to search for prey. It was so easy from above. Easier than in the mountains, even.

Over a third of the weyr still held the walls; the rest were in the city. The Wyverns on the battlements were complacent. Nothing but them was alive at this point. None of them were prepared for the single Drake who landed on the battlements.

Grimalkin. He landed lightly, and looked alone. Hundreds of Wyverns stared, offended and surprised. Prey had come to them? And he smelled like blood. Wyvern blood. They recoiled, and then screamed.

But he did not smell afraid. The [Sinew Magus] stared about, assessing the situation, ignoring the Wyverns closest to him.

He stood on the walls alone. Hundreds of Wyverns flew around him, more diving into the heart of the Walled City. The [Sinew Magus] looked around. All he saw were frozen bodies and blood. Without the protections of Pallass’ magic, the defenders of the wall had been caught off-guard. Overconfident, the Day Strategist hadn’t reinforced them. The Drake closed his eyes for a second, seeing a frozen Gnoll he recognized.

Watch Captain Rekhassha. Something had eaten part of the statue of ice she’d become. Grimalkin opened his eyes. A Wyvern was staring at him. A wyrm, a youngling of its species. It darted its head at Grimalkin, like a snake striking.

He caught it. Grimalkin dodged the head and his right arm encircled the young Wyvern’s neck. It tried to jerk back.

“[Magic Anchor].”

Grimalkin’s feet glowed. The Drake didn’t even budge as the Wyvern tried to pull back. The [Sinew Magus] regarded its flapping wings, the rest of its body. He looked around.

“You pestilential beasts don’t deserve to stand here.”

His muscles bulged. The Wyvern screamed—and began choking. The other Wyverns reared back. Impossible! But Grimalkin kept squeezing. He just squeezed and squeezed the Wyvern’s neck. And then—the Wyvern’s eyes bulged. It jerked, spasmed.

Stopped moving. Grimalkin dropped the Wyvern’s head. He’d crushed its neck, windpipe. The Wyverns stared. And then they shrieked.

A mother dove at Grimalkin. He dodged it, struck a blow that shattered the huge leg. It screamed and Grimalkin pointed. A bolt of lightning hit the Wyvern in the head, sending it reeling backwards. Another landed—Grimalkin held out a claw.

“[Stone Sphere]!”

A boulder appeared in his hand, as large as his chest. Grimalkin heaved it. It went straight through the Wyvern’s opened wings. The second boulder struck the Wyvern in the face and shattered its skull.

The weyr stared. Grimalkin stood there. He raised his arms. Below, Sir Relz and Noass stared. The people of Pallass looked at the image of Grimalkin standing on the walls. The Drake’s muscles rippled as he flexed. He roared up at the Wyverns.

“I am Grimalkin of Pallass! Come, you wretched beasts! I will bring all of you down if I must!”

Alone. They dove at him, screaming. He raised his arm and a gauntlet of stone blocked one strike from a pair of claws. The magus turned, grabbed the Wyvern’s claws and threw it. The Wyvern crashed across the stone. Grimalkin ducked another.

“Weak. Weak!”

One claw grabbed the Wyvern’s tail as it flew past him, dragging it back as it tried to fly forwards. Alarmed, the Wyvern tried to fly. It outweighed the huge Drake several times! It was impossible. The Drake couldn’t—

Grimalkin roared as he heaved. His feet were anchored to the ground by his spell. And the Wyvern lost. Grimalkin threw it back, across the wall. He charged it. And his fist crushed its vulnerable neck. Grimalkin raised one fist and the Wyverns backed up.

“Grimalkin of Pallass! He’s fighting them alone!”

Noass was screaming. He and Sir Relz were jumping up and down, pointing like hatchlings. And the roar echoed them. It came from below, from Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans, and Garuda. They saw him standing on the walls and screamed his name.

“Grimalkin!”

The [Sinew Magus] heard them. He turned and raised a fist. And Pallass roared. The Wyverns wavered at the unexpected sound. Grimalkin looked around the walls. Then he twisted.

A strike to the back. It was so fast that even Grimalkin couldn’t catch it. Something blew him across the battlements. The Drake twisted, catching himself as he landed. He stared at his torn scales, felt his back muscle ripped open. He looked up.

The Wyvern Lord landed, howling its fury. Grimalkin eyed it. It was larger than the lesser Wyverns by a third. At least. And its scales glimmered. There was something intelligent in its gaze as it hissed at Grimalkin. It kept its wings folded, a smaller target. And the Wyvern’s head swayed back and forth as it crouched.

Grimalkin put one hand on his belt. A little vial appeared in his claws and he tossed it down. The Wyvern Lord’s eyes narrowed as Grimalkin’s injuries healed. The [Sinew Magus] nodded.

“You must be the leader. Good.”

The two stared each other down. Appraising each other. Grimalkin looked around, keeping attention focused on the Wyvern Lord. The rest of the weyr was circling, but keeping their distance. He nodded.

“[Bound Spell: Siege Fireball].”

Mana condensed around one claw. The Wyvern Lord’s eyes narrowed. It struck charging, its head snapping. Grimalkin dodged. Or tried to. The biting jaws missed his torso, but the Wyvern’s head struck him. The [Sinew Magus] flew backwards.

“Strong.”

Grimalkin gritted his teeth. He stared at his chest, feeling the bruise on his scales. He looked at the Wyvern Lord—

[Flash Step]. The spell saved Grimalkin’s life. The Wyvern Lord’s tail cracked the air where Grimalkin’s head had been. It had swung around, using its tail to strike a second blow. The [Sinew Magus] saw the Wyvern Lord turning. He pointed a finger.

“[Siege Fireball]!”

The huge orb of fire shot from his claw, larger than Grimalkin himself. The fiery spell hit the Wyvern Lord as it tried to draw back. Grimalkin felt a flash, an explosion of heat. He waited, his guard up. The smoke cleared, and the Drake heard a shriek.

The Wyvern Lord was standing in the radius of scorched stone. Unharmed. It howled at Grimalkin. He eyed its scales.

“Spell resistance.”

The two stared at each other. Grimalkin gritted his teeth. Then he charged. The Wyvern Lord roared as it flew at him. They collided like thunder. And Grimalkin—cursed. Just once.

—-

“Desk Sergeant! There are too many! We have to fall back!”

“Hold your ground! Hold the street or I’ll toss you off the floor myself!”

Kel shouted as a cluster of [Guards] on the 8th floor fought to hold. The City Watch blocked off the streets around their Watch House. Civilians were fleeing past them, through the gaps on either side of the street. And the Watch held the middle.

Barely. A Wyvern flew overhead. The [Guards] ducked. A group of the Watch with bows loosed and the Wyvern howled as arrows lodged in its wings. It breathed—

“Shields!”

The Watch raised their shields along with Kel. The frost froze his scales and Kel shouted in agony. But the shields blocked the worst of the frost breath. The tower shields cracked as the metal couldn’t handle the extreme change in temperature. Kel turned his head as the Wyvern landed.

“Archers! Take out the eyes! Shields, forwards! Push it back!”

The [Guards] advanced. Long pikes braced as the [Guards] with shields tried to hold the Wyvern back as it looked for something to bite. Kel looked past the Wyvern and swore.

A group of Gnolls were running. They stopped as the Wyvern turned. The Desk Sergeant pointed.

“Charge! Protect the civilians!”

The squad of [Guards] rammed forwards. The Wyvern recoiled and the Gnoll family turned to run. Kel shouted.

“[Protector’s Order]! Run! Get past us!”

The Gnoll family halted mid-step. They turned back. The [Guards] formed an opening, striking at the Wyvern’s hide. Their steel weapons barely cut the Wyvern’s hide! It hissed, slammed its head into a rank of shields—then it turned and slammed its tail like a whip.

The first rank of [Guards] flung backwards against the second rank. Kel felt an impact, pushed the Dullahan falling onto him back up. He looked around. The Gnoll family was running into the safe zone. Good, good.

He looked up and saw the Wyvern opening its jaws. An arrow bounced off its head, but missed the eye. The disorganized [Guards] tried to raise their shields, but their formation was filled with gaps. The Wyvern breathed.

Frost engulfed the squad. In his chainmail, Kel felt his scales freeze. He screamed. But the deathly cold hadn’t killed him. Nearly—but it was the Dullahan in the first rank who had taken the frost. The [Guardswoman]’s head dropped from her body as she toppled. Frost covered her armor.

“Damn you. Form ranks! Archers, shoot its eyes out! Shields forwards!”

Kel fumbled for the spear he was carrying. The [Guards] reformed. The Wyvern retreated as more arrows flew. It had killed half of the first rank and some in the second. But Pallass’ Watch refused to die. This time the Wyvern charged, trying to scatter them.

It pierced its chest on their pikes. The long pikes designed for stopping a horse’s charge groaned, but six of them struck the Wyvern’s chest. Two snapped, but the rest buried themselves deep. The Wyvern uttered a scream. It tried to back up, but Drakes and Gnolls and Dullahans cut at it. A Garuda went for the eyes, flying.

It tore the Garuda apart. Another [Guard] died as the Wyvern broke loose of the pikes. It twisted, and the long, whip-like tail snapped around. It struck a [Guard] and the impact cracked the Drake’s chest, breaking armor and bone.

Dead and dead. Kel’s healing potion did nothing to the staring face. So he turned on the Wyvern. The Watch cut the creature’s legs, shot its wings so full of arrows that when it tried to fly, it couldn’t.

Red blood froze on the cobblestones. But it began to melt the frost as the Wyvern fell. The Watch stood, panting, counting their losses as the Wyvern slumped over. They’d done it. Kel, wide eyed, leaned on the rim of his shield.

“We got it?”

He’d never fought a Wyvern. But the Watch had been trained to fight monsters. He looked around.

“Desk Sergeant? Orders?”

Kel looked around. The city was in panic. He was hearing multiple horns calling the alarm. Order dictated he take every [Guard] he could spare and reinforce the area.

But the Watch on the 8th floor was holding this ground. They’d funneled every civilian they could find into the Watch House, the blocks they were holding. And the squad was down a third of their number. Kel shook his head.

“We—we hold this spot. Grab those shields! Pull back down the street. We need to reinforce.”

A shriek. First faint, then growing louder. A wail of fury. Kel turned his head. He saw a second Wyvern land next to the corpse of the first. It looked at its dead companion and then howled at the squad. Kel felt his heart drop.

“Ancestors. Form up. Form—”

He was turning, raising his shield. But the Drake tasted despair on his tongue. Foul. He put himself in the front row, shoulder-to-shoulder with Patrol Leader Medain. Kel looked up as the Frost Wyvern opened its maw, cold vapors pouring out of its throat.

“Archers.”

It was a plea. The [Guards] aimed. And they loosed. Nine arrows flew. Half missed the Wyvern’s moving head. They were [Guards], not expert [Archers].

Four arrows struck the Wyvern’s head. Two along the neck. One glanced off a tooth. The last—missed the eye. Kel closed his eyes. Then he opened them.

“Brace—”

The Wyvern pointed its head at Kel. It inhaled—and Kel heard a voice.

“Guardsman, left! [Rapid Retreat]!”

Kel jerked at the voice of command. He felt his legs move. The Watch surged left, moving fast—faster than Kel could have imagined. The Wyvern exhaled.

Frost stung Kel’s back. Froze his scales against his armor. He cried out, but the Wyvern had missed. It stared at the empty street, then the squad that had dodged as one. The Wyvern recoiled. Kel looked around.

“Fall back! Archers, covering fire! Aim for the wings! Keep it from flying!”

The Watch reacted instinctively. They fell back, showering the Wyvern with arrows. It hissed as the arrows struck its wings. Kel looked around. Where—?

There. A Drake with light blue scales was shouting from a rooftop. He pointed.

“Now! Relc!”

“On it!”

A huge Drake charged past Kel. He had a long spear in one hand. Kel shouted. The Drake was alone! But he was so quick! A blur shot towards the Wyvern. Relc charged into the monster’s huge chest.

“[Triple Thrust]!”

His spear struck three times in an instant. The Wyvern recoiled, staring down at the three holes punched in its hide. It tried to back up, fanning its wings.

“[Attack Formation]! Hit the wings!”

The [Strategist] shouted. Kel saw the [Archers] aiming, placing their shots. The Wyvern’s wings filled with holes. It tried to fly—Relc braced, and stabbed with all of his might. His spear went deep into the Wyvern’s side. It shrieked and tried to get away. The [Guardsman] pushed in. The spear slowly pierced the Wyvern and it writhed, trying to get away.

“Forwards! Watch the legs! Use the pikes and strike it from afar!”

The squad surged forwards again. They joined the unknown Drake and stabbed mercilessly. The Wyvern tried to fly one last time, but like the first it died.

Relc’s spear was embedded halfway through its guts. The Drake pulled the spear out, grunting with effort. He looked around.

“Hey.”

“Who are you? Guardsman?”

Kel recognized the uniform, but not the Drake’s colors. Then a light went in his head. He stared at Liscor’s insignia. Then the stripes on one armband.

“Senior Guardsman?”

Relc grinned.

“That’s me. Hey Olesm! Get down here! The Wyverns will pick you off!”

“I’m surveying the situation! Relc—there’s trouble two streets that way! Another Wyvern!”

The Drake cursed.

“Damn. Alright! Here I go!”

He turned. Kel didn’t even see the Drake start running. Relc was blurring down the street as the Drake on the rooftop took another look around and then ran.

“Squad—injured?”

“They got Shais.”

“No. I’m alive.”

Shais panted. Kel looked around as the squad sounded off. Then he heard a voice.

“Who’s in charge here?”

Kel looked around. The Drake called Olesm was standing in the street. He looked and sounded like an officer, but again, not one Kel had ever met. The Desk Sergeant instinctively saluted.

“Desk Sergeant Kel! 8th Floor’s Watch House! Who—who are you?”

“Olesm. Strategist for Liscor.”

“Liscor?”

The [Guards] stared. But yes—of course! Kel’s eyes widened.

“The door?”

Olesm nodded. He was staring at the sky, adjusting a glowing ring on one clawed finger.

“Liscor’s sending all of its Gold-rank adventurers. I came through as well as Relc.”

“He’s going to fight a Wyvern? We have to reinforce—”

Patrol Leader Medain turned. Olesm barked.

“Belay that, Guardsman! Relc is a [Spearmaster]! He’ll reinforce any squad that needs help! You’re all with me! We’re going to expand the zone of control and find as many civilians as possible. Are they in the Watch House?”

“As many as we can find.”

Kel answered. His mind was in a whirl, but it was a relief to hear the steady note in Olesm’s voice. But he was younger than Kel! Yet no one was questioning him. Medain turned, a faint light of recognition in his eyes.

“Wait. Relc. Was that the Gecko of Liscor…? I heard they had a monster in their Watch—”

Olesm ignored them. He was looking around.

“Desk Sergeant, how many [Guards] do you have? Where are they located? I need a map of the area. And I’m assuming command of your sector as Liscor’s [Strategist]. Unless you object?”

“Nossir!”

Kel saluted. He felt a surge of relief. And then—almost a sense of incredulity. Liscor was coming to help Pallass? He looked at Olesm.

“Is it just you, Strategist?”

The younger Drake met Kel’s gaze. He smiled for half a second and shook his head.

“The door can’t move many people through. But don’t worry, Sergeant. We’re not the only ones.”

He pointed. And Kel saw it at last. It had taken an age. Or maybe minutes. In the scale of the attack, it felt like forever. But he saw the Drakes wearing plate armor. The Flamewardens charge down the street, heading for the stairs. Keldrass wore the Heartflame Breastplate, and it burned with fire as he roared.

“For Pallass! Take the walls!”

—-

Wyverns flew into the city, spiraling down, landing. A dozen had occupied the 4th Floor. A dozen. Watch Captain Qissa was trying to just hold them in place. Her [Mages] were blasting the Wyverns, but they had resistance to spells and they were just huge. Even a [Fireball] couldn’t do more than hurt one.

“Where’s 1st Army? Where’s General Duln?”

She bellowed at one of her Senior Guards. The Drake shouted back.

“I don’t know! They’re all fighting below! They’re making their way up, but—”

“Duck!”

Everyone threw themselves down as all twelve Wyverns breathed at once. The combined breath attack hit a magical barrier—and shattered the spell. Qissa felt the frost eating at her scales. She heard [Guards] screaming. The Senior Guardsman shouted at the Watch Captain.

“The Frost Resistance potions aren’t working! It’s too cold!”

“Keep them pinned! Just keep them pinned—until reinforcements get here! Tell the 1st I need reinforcements now! They need to take the stairs even if the Wyverns hit them! The higher floors are being overrun!”

Qissa was shouting. She saw one of the Wyverns lunging, trying to break the walls of [Guards] behind their steel barriers. They were meant to close a street down, not fight Wyverns! It smashed into the steel and Qissa saw the metal tear. She swore and grabbed the enchanted spear she carried.

“I’m going in!”

“Watch Captain! No—”

Hands grabbed for her. Qissa fought them. Someone had to hold the Wyverns! She saw the [Guards] bunching up as six Wyverns charged them. They were going to be overrun! And then—

Something flew past Qissa’s head. She turned as she saw something. Not a spell. It was too slow. Slower than an arrow. It was a flying…glass…jar. And it shone with red. Like a—

“Down!”

The flask exploded as it hit the first Wyvern in the head. Qissa saw everyone duck. But the Wyverns just blinked as the red, oily liquid covered them. Two of the Wyverns stared at the red liquid on their friends. Then they turned back to the [Guards].

And one of the red-covered Wyverns bit the first in the neck. The other Wyverns recoiled. But then the other three Wyverns attacked their fellows. They screamed, foaming at the mouth.

“Ancestors, what—”

The Wyverns were fighting amongst themselves! Three had gone berserk, the ones covered in the red oil. It had absorbed into their scales somehow, and they were frothing, biting their friends. Qissa stared. How, by the walls…?

Then she heard a voice.

“See, this is why I stay in my cell. I leave for one day, and this is what happens.”

Qissa knew that voice. She turned her head and there he was. A Drake with dusky yellow scales. He was slim, tall. And oh yes, naked.

Saliss stood in the war torn street, juggling a trio of glowing potions. Or—alchemical mixtures. He nodded at Qissa.

“Watch Captain. I open my door for a breath of air and I saw all these Wyverns. What’s going on?”

“We—we’re under attack.”

Qissa replied slowly. Saliss paused. He looked at the fighting Wyverns. The nine were killing their enraged companions.

“You don’t say? How many?”

“I don’t know. The upper floors are overrun. They’ve taken the walls. The 1st Army is trapped below—I heard Magus Grimalkin was on the walls. Alone.”

The Watch Captain searched for more information, but the [Alchemist] just nodded.

“Got it. Well, I guess it’s my turn to earn my keep. Pull the Watch back.”

Qissa looked at him. Saliss. The Drake she’d arrested countless times, fined, reprimanded. Pallass’ number one public nuisance. And Named Adventurer. She turned.

“Fall back! Named Adventurer is advancing!”

The Watch scrambled back. Saliss waited until they were clear. Then he aimed for the Wyverns. They were biting the corpses of their enraged comrades, trying to kill them even after they were dead. They looked up as the three glass jars flew at them.

The first detonated in midair, spraying the Wyverns with a brown-black liquid that glistened. They raised their wings, but the liquid did nothing. The second liquid was clear. It splattered over all of them, again exploding just above the cluster of nine Wyverns. They hissed—the smell was terrible. And the third? The flask covered the lot with a red powder.

And nothing else happened. Saliss eyed the Wyverns as they shrieked their displeasure. Qissa stared at them, but they weren’t possessed by madness. Just—covered by all three substances. She looked at Saliss.

“Alchemist—”

Saliss looked at her.

“I have to know what their limits are. These are variants. They have some kind of magical resistance. Test one. [Flash Sparks].”

He clicked his claws. Qissa saw a flicker of light near one of the Wyvern’s feet as the monster inhaled, aiming at Saliss. And the Wyverns ignited.

All three liquids exploded. The red powder actually exploded. Qissa threw her claws up, shielding her face.

“Ancestors!”

The fire’s heat hit her from afar. And it kept burning, unlike a [Fireball]. The mixture consumed the Wyverns, and they screamed, trying to roll, put the fire out. But it stuck to them. Saliss watched. The Wyverns’ shrieks lasted only ten seconds. Then they slumped. They were still burning, the alchemical substances sticking to them.

“Test complete. Durability’s up from regular Wyverns. But they’re not chilled. Fire does work.”

He nodded. The [Alchemist] turned. The Watch was staring. Civilians looked at Saliss out of their windows. The [Alchemist] paused. Then he posed.

“Hello, Pallass! Did you miss me? Sorry I missed the alarm call—I work in a soundproof laboratory! And I hate Chaldion.”

“You—you—”

Qissa stared at Saliss. The Drake waved at the buildings. He winked at her and pitched his voice so everyone could hear.

“I guess I’ll help out. I’ll bill the city later. Oh, and don’t eat those Wyverns. Mm. I wonder if Lasica can do a Wyvern steak. I’ll find out later. See you, Watch Captain.”

He turned. And he spread his arms wide, revealing his nudity. Pallass’ citizens stared. Some shouted at him, almost as if they were in a normal day. The Drake was acting like it. And his absurdity made them forget their fear. Saliss grinned around. Then he looked up. Qissa looked at him.

“Saliss.”

“Can’t stay, Watch Captain. Take this for the frostbite. Share it.”

Saliss tossed a vial at her. The Drake caught the warm vial and saw Saliss pulling out two vials. He downed each. And then he exhaled.

“Whew. That’s hot. And this—”

The second potion was a Potion of Speed. Qissa recognized it. Saliss’ form blurred. He turned. And she thought she saw him look back for one second before he ran. Ran towards the stairs, already pulling more potions out of his bag of holding.

The [Alchemist] shot towards the stairs. [Soldiers] were trying to fight the Wyverns attacking from above. Others had landed on the northern grand staircase and were snapping at the 1st Army trying to advance. Saliss ran past the Wyverns. Qissa barely saw his arms move. Two potions flew—and burst. One Wyvern swallowed a potion and immediately began writhing in agony, screaming. The second was hit in the head by the liquid that solidified, covering its eyes, its nostrils. Saliss ran past them, not even slowing. He threw a third flask up.

Lightning exploded in midair, downing a Wyvern. It crashed onto the steps. Saliss tossed a potion at its head and there was a bloom of light. Qissa’s jaw dropped. She’d heard rumors of how Saliss fought. But this—she watched the [Alchemist] climbing. Faster and faster, and the Named Adventurer was still naked. But he ran faster, towards the walls. And Qissa watched him. She’d heard what he’d whispered before he left.

She thought he’d said, ‘Sorry I’m late.’

—-

“Grimalkin of Pallass is fighting on the walls alone, ladies and gentledrakes! We saw him engage what looked to be the leader of the Wyverns, but we are not in position to see more! We can only assume Grimalkin is fighting to take down the leader of the weyr! Right now, Sir Relz and I are hearing that the Wyverns are being pushed back by the 1st Army! They’ve reached the 4th floor, but they are far, far from our position!”

Noass was bellowing at Sir Relz and the magical scrying orb. He pointed across the 9th Floor.

“The forges are under attack! The [Blacksmiths] must have been caught completely off-guard. We’re trying to see—I see Master Maughin over there! Look!”

He pointed Maughin’s huge figure was visible against his forge. He had a hammer in hand and was throwing it at a Wyvern that had landed. The other [Smiths] were throwing tools too, crouched behind their forges. The Wyverns weren’t interested in the iron and smoke, but some had still assailed the smithy. One reared back, and a hammer struck it in the face. The Wyvern recoiled, and hissed. It lunged at Maughin—

“Damned Wyverns!”

Pelt’s hammer cracked the Wyvern across the skull. The Wyvern crashed down for a second. Maughin retreated and Pelt raised his hand. His hammer flew back into his hand. He threw it again, and then another hammer his apprentice handed him. He was standing in his forge, protecting his Grasgil bardiche.

“Get everything in the bag of holding! And get to cover!”

The Dwarf roared at his apprentice and the other [Smiths]. They were running for shelter from their exposed forges. Pelt swore as the Wyvern he’d clocked ran at him. He looked around. Then he picked up part of his broken anvil and with an oath, hurled it at the Wyvern.

The huge piece of metal sent the monster reeling backwards. But it kept coming. Pelt ran backwards as the Wyvern snapped at him, trying to bite him. Maughin tackled it from the side. The [Armorer] was huge, nearly the size of a War Walker! But the Wyvern was larger still. It rammed him against the wall of his smithy.

“That’s Maughin and Pelt! Our two best [Smiths]!”

Noass cried out in dismay. Maughin groaned, trying to shove the Wyvern off him. Pelt swore and hammered at the Wyvern’s leg, but it was too large for him to bring down alone. One of his strikes split the scales on the Wyvern and the monster shrieked. It turned its head, aiming at him.

“Pelt!”

Maughin roared. He tried to shove the Wyvern off him as Pelt backed up. The Wyvern opened its maw. And a shadow passed by Pelt. The Dwarf turned. Seborn appeared out of Pelt’s shadow. The Drowned Man grabbed Pelt and vanished.

“What—?”

Maughin stared. Then he saw a shadow. A giant man, as tall as he was, raised a staff.

“[Earthen Spire].”

Maughin felt an impact. The Wyvern slammed into the forge’s ceiling, breaking through it as a spire of stone shot up, impaling it from below. It didn’t pierce the beast’s hide, but it threw the Wyvern off Maughin. He felt someone pull him back as the Wyvern landed on its back, stunned. Maughin stared. He recognized the half-Giant.

“…Moore?”

“We got here as fast as we could.”

The half-Giant nodded at Seborn. The Drowned Man leapt forwards, slashing at the Wyvern as it tried to rise. His enchanted daggers went through the beast’s wings. The [Rogue] slashed a series of gashes through the Wyvern’s left wing. Then he leapt backwards as the Wyvern slashed at him.

“Ulinde! Now!”

The Drowned Man turned. Maughin saw a female Drake—no, a Selphid, run past him. The [Spellslinger] aimed both wands at the Wyvern.

“[Sticky Webs]!”

The white strands engulfed the Wyvern as it tried to rise. It was stuck, and thrashed, tearing loose of the magical bindings. But that was enough. Maughin’s head turned. And then he saw her.

A huge Raskghar—no, someone wearing a Raskghar’s form surged past Ulinde and Seborn. She had a flail in her hands. Now, she whirled it. Bringing the steel mace down on the Wyvern’s head. Again and again. The two-handed flail danced in Jelaqua Ivirith’s paws. The [Iron Tempest] struck the Wyvern’s head as it tried to rise, bombarding the same spot with all her might.

From the other side, Seborn was slashing at the base of the Wyvern’s neck. Moore and Ulinde stood back, staff and wands raised. But the Wyvern never got free of the bindings. Jelaqua delivered the last blow and the Wyvern’s skull deformed. She stepped back.

“That’s—who is that? What in the name of the Walled Cities is that…that’s not a Gnoll!”

Noass was staring at Jelaqua. Sir Relz pointed.

“I recognize the half-Giant and Drowned Man. This is the Halfseekers. That must be their team captain, Jelaqua Ivirith. A Selphid, wearing a…some unknown body. Didn’t we hear about some strange new monster in Liscor’s dungeon, Noass?”

“It might be, Sir Relz! And it looks like two Selphids—they’ve taken down a Wyvern!”

Jelaqua strode over to Maughin. The [Armorer], shaken, looked at Jelaqua. She smiled at him.

“Jelaqua.”

“Hey handsome. I heard the alarm. Sorry we were late. There are Wyverns all over! I can’t stay, but we’ll get everyone to safety. Come on.”

She grabbed him. Maughin stared at Jelaqua, his lover. He reached out.

“You came at the right time.”

The Selphid smiled at him behind a Raskghar’s face. She blew him a kiss. Maughin realized her combat body was male, much to his discomfort.

“I couldn’t let you die, could I? Sorry about the body, but I don’t want to wreck the good ones.”

The Halfseekers formed up behind Jelaqua. Seborn snapped at Jelaqua’s back.

“We fought our way three floors up here for your date, Jelaqua. Now’s not the time to relax!”

Moore shook his head, scanning the 9th Floor.

“Jelaqua, we’re needed.”

“I know. Maughin, get to cover.”

“One moment!”

The [Armorer] ran for his forge. Jelaqua cursed.

“Maughin, I really love you, but now’s not the time to—”

“Here! I finished it this morning!”

The smith hunted around his anvil. Then he tossed something at Jelaqua. She stared at the flail, twice as large as her old one. She whistled.

“Oh wow. Just what I need!”

Maughin nodded. He watched as Jelaqua tossed her old flail to one side. She spun the huge ball of iron, larger than her head with ease. Her huge body could easily swing the flail, and the force behind it—he nodded.

“Made for the Raskghar form. Go. We’ll get to safety.”

“Hah. So that’s the Selphid? Peh. She smells like a dog. Get out of here. Emessa! Grab my bag of holding! We’re not sticking around to get eaten by Wyverns!”

Pelt jogged past Maughin on his shorter legs. His apprentice ran after him. Jelaqua smiled at Maughin. Then she looked up.

“Get clear, Maughin. Halfseekers, on me! We’re clearing the 9th and the staircase! Ulinde, stay behind—no, stay in front of Moore! Your body’s expendable. Let’s go!”

The Halfseekers charged across the 9th floor. Noass was pointing.

“It looks like more Gold-rank teams are entering the fray! They’ve downed a Wyvern—of course, the Halfseekers are a veteran team! Sir Relz! Sir Relz?”

“Noass, I’m seeing more explosions from below. Someone’s—it looks like someone’s breaking through the lower floors! Look! The staircase!”

He pointed. Someone was racing up the steps. And Wyverns were falling, some literally exploding in midair, others crashing down, wings entangled, or covered in a burning mixture. Sir Relz gasped.

“It’s Saliss of Lights! Pallass’ Named Adventurer!”

Here he came. Jelaqua’s eyes widened as the Halfseekers faced down another Wyvern. She brought the flail’s head down crushing the Wyvern’s clawed foot. A glass jar sailed past her face and into the Wyvern’s head. The Wyvern screamed as acid burned its face. Something raced past Jelaqua.

Saliss. Noass was shouting as the [Alchemist] charged up the walls.

“That is Saliss Oliwing, Pallass’ resident Named Adventurer! Saliss of Lights! He’s cleared a path up the stairs all by himself! And he’s going onto the walls!”

The Named Adventurer was climbing higher. Wyverns swooped down on him, screaming. But the [Alchemist] was a blur. He stopped and threw potions. Jelaqua saw one, eight, sixteen—

They detonated in midair. Burning webs, flashes of lightning, alchemical explosions ate up the Wyverns diving at Saliss. Ulinde gaped.

“How did he—”

“That is Saliss of Lights, everyone! The Named Adventurer rumored to have the highest attacking power in the world! He’s a pure [Alchemist]—”

Noass stared, lost for words for a second. Saliss was spinning, throwing objects he plucked from his bag of holding. A Wyvern landed across from him. A potion hit it, covering it with acid. A second detonated, lightning blasting the Wyvern. A third, a fourth—the Wyvern disappeared.

The Named Adventurer stood on the stairs. He turned. And posed. His naked body faced Pallass. And they shouted. He had many names. ‘That naked bastard’, ‘Pallass’ number one nuisance’, ‘that insane [Alchemist]’. But he was also theirs.

“Saliss of Lights!”

He climbed higher. Jelaqua looked up towards the walls. The Named Adventurer had gone alone. She stared at her team.

“We’ll take the 9th. On me!”

Her team ran. And Saliss climbed higher. Into a sea of Wyverns. A naked [Alchemist]. But that was what it meant to be a Named Adventurer. Jelaqua shook her head.

“Not us. Not yet.”

Then she turned and ran towards the next Wyvern she spotted.

—-

Grimalkin of Pallass knelt on the walls of Pallass. He stared at the ground for a second. Then he stood up. He clutched at his arm. It wasn’t moving. And he could barely feel the ice encrusting it.

“You’re fairly strong.”

That was all he said. The Wyvern Lord stared down at him. It opened its mouth again. Grimalkin dodged left.

“[Greater Frostward]—”

He recast the spell, but the frozen breath still hit him. And it froze his legs, his entire right side. Grimalkin stumbled.

Cold. Absolute, piercing cold. It went through his spell—no, the spell was working. But it was just too cold. Grimalkin could see frost forming hundreds of feet from the radius of the Wyvern Lord’s blast. And at the epicenter—he stumbled forwards. Numb. Completely. His right arm barely moved.

“[Flashfire].”

Fire caught. Grimalkin lit up his entire body. Intentionally. The flames burned, warming him. Slightly. But the cold—

Grimalkin saw a movement. He raised his guard. The impact from the Wyvern Lord’s tail tossed him through the air like a toy. He hit the ground hard.

“Greater Wyvern.”

The [Sinew Magus] spat some blood from his mouth as the Wyvern Lord flew after him. He raised himself up. No good. His muscle was as good as dead on his right side. The frostbite had killed it. So he gritted his teeth and spoke a word.

“[Muscular Restructuring]!”

His muscles shifted. Grimalkin felt the dead muscle moving. His entire body rippled as the Wyvern Lord landed. The huge Wyvern stared at Grimalkin. His right arm was gone. Should have been gone. But then the Magus was flexing his arm and moving his legs. Grimalkin grimaced. He looked…a bit thinner? As if he’d shed a bit of mass. He glared up at the Wyvern.

“Looks like I can’t block that breath. I wonder if this is what it’s like to fight a Dragon. It makes me wish I’d invested in better shield spells. Dodging—”

He [Flash Stepped] sideways just in time. The Wyvern Lord had exhaled again. But instead of a stream of frost, it had hurled an orb of frost. It exploded on the walls and Grimalkin felt the chill piercing him even as he dashed further away.

“Continuous ability to use breath attacks, changing the nature of the attack—spell resistance—”

The [Sinew Magus] disappeared as the Wyvern Lord dove. The thundering impact would have killed the Drake if it had hit him. Grimalkin continued, appearing backwards. He threw two [Fireballs]. They exploded on the Wyvern Lord’s scales. But all it did was disorient the Wyvern for a few seconds.

“—And incredible physical strength and agility. Far stronger than a normal Wyvern.”

He waited. The Wyvern Lord turned towards him. It shot towards the stationary Drake. Grimalkin didn’t move. The Wyvern Lord passed through the illusion and halted, confused.

Grimalkin stepped out of his [Invisibility] spell and lined up a punch. [Lion’s Strength], [Gauntlet of Force], [Tremor Wave]—

His punch rocked the Wyvern Lord back as he struck its chest. The Wyvern lurched with the blow, its entire frame moving up with the impact. Grimalkin was already ducking away as the Wyvern Lord whirled. It winced—

And that was all. Grimalkin stared at the place where he’d hit it. He’d have punched through a normal Wyvern’s hide with that hit. But it was just a heavy punch to the Wyvern. He saw it open its jaws.

“[Siege Fire—]”

The explosion as ice met fire hurled Grimalkin back. But the frost engulfed the heat. Freezing him again. Grimalkin blocked his face. So long as his brain wasn’t frozen—he narrowed his gaze, feeling his eyes freezing. He had to stay up. Had to—

The [Sinew Magus] stopped moving. He stood in place, a layer of ice covering his entire body. His eyes stared ahead. The Wyvern Lord howled triumphantly. But it still stared at Grimalkin warily. It looked up, shrieking a command.

Another Wyvern landed. It stared at Grimalkin, just as warily. It shrieked. The Drake didn’t move. It was surely dead, waiting to be eaten. The Wyvern cautiously approached—

Grimalkin burst out of the icy shell. One fist slammed the Wyvern’s head up in an uppercut. The Wyvern rocked backwards as Grimalkin emerged, coughing. Frostbite turned his scales black. He fumbled for a healing potion.

“Feor was easier than—”

He rolled. The Wyvern Lord exhaled again. Grimalkin felt himself freezing and popped the vial into his mouth. He chewed it down, shards and all. Live. He had to stand. The [Sinew Magus] rose.

“What’s taking so long?”

He looked around. The wall was filled with Wyverns. Some were retreating with injuries. They were using this place as a staging ground to attack. They had to be driven off here, and the Wyvern Lord slain or the weyr would never leave. He knew it.

But he was alone. Grimalkin growled as the Wyvern Lord advanced, cautiously. It was checking to make sure Grimalkin was real by fanning its wings, watching the dust hit him.

“Clever.”

Grimalkin looked around. No one stood on the walls. He heard shouting from below. But the walls! Grimalkin looked around. He bellowed, in frustration at the Wyvern Lord.

“I cannot stand alone! I am not Zel Shivertail!”

The Wyvern Lord blinked at Grimalkin. He shouted.

“Drakes do not stand alone! Where are my reinforcements?”

He shouted to the air, to the Wyverns. But he was not unheard. Below him, far below, Chaldion looked up.

“Here.”

[Grand Strategist] nodded to the figures around him. He opened the scroll. The figures around him did likewise.

“Activate [Gateway].”

Grimalkin saw a flash of light. He turned. The Wyvern Lord looked as well. A few feet away, the air glowed. And Chaldion stepped out of the air. He nodded calmly to Grimalkin.

“Grand Strategist is in position.”

More figures stepped out of the light with him. A Dullahan with a huge mace, glowing red-hot and a tower shield appeared. He nodded.

“1st [General] Duln. Apologies for the delay, Magus. I was giving orders and equipping a strike force for battle.”

[Soldiers] rushed out of the air around him. They took up a formation on the walls. A Garuda officer pointed a glowing spear. They were all wearing enchanted gear and their weapons burned. Heat enchantments.

“[Engineers], reclaim those siege weapons! [Archers], ready!”

The officer bellowed. Grimalkin saw the [General] point at the Wyvern.

“[Volley Fire].”

Bows snapped as the [Archers] instantly raised and fired. Each shot landed. The Wyvern Lord recoiled as the enchanted arrows exploded and blasted it back. General Duln pointed up.

“[Phantom Volley].”

A second wave of arrows appeared, exact copies of the first. They blasted the Wyverns overhead to pieces. General Duln pointed.

“[Lineholders], advance! With me! Support Magus Grimalkin!”

1st Army advanced, pursuing the Wyvern Lord. More were flooding out of the magical gateway—until it closed. Nearly four hundred [Soldiers] had leapt through the gateways. And more were surging up the stairs far below. A coordinated push. Chaldion pointed.

“Lieutenant, hit and retreat. Cover the [Engineers]. [Speed Formation].”

A group of Garuda led by the [Lieutenant] shot into the air. They shot through the skies, as fast as Bevussa, flying in formation as they aimed at the first Wyvern. Grimalkin hauled himself up.

“Grand Strategist.”

“Magus. Are you hurt?”

A pair of [Healers] rushed over. Grimalkin looked around.

“The Wyvern Lord is immune to low-tier spells and enchantments.”

“I saw.”

Chaldion pointed. The Wyvern Lord was flying backwards, howling. Wyverns flew around it. The barrage of arrows had barely scratched it. General Duln pointed.

“[Shieldwall Formation]! [Rapid Advance]!”

The Wyverns and the Wyvern Lord exhaled. But this time the ranks of [Soldiers] didn’t freeze as the magical frost struck them. Their shields repelled the frost and cold thanks to the [General]’s Skill.

But it could not stop the ground and air from freezing. The [Soldiers] slowed, shouting in pain as their armor froze from the ambient temperature alone. But they were alive and they kept charging. [Archers] loosed arrows, hitting Wyverns in the wings and pulling them down into the range of the [General] and his elites. The Wyverns died, but the Wyvern Lord landed and struck a blow that sent a group of [Soldiers] flying.

“General Duln can’t handle the Wyvern leader alone. Can you take the walls?”

“Go. Saliss has nearly arrived.”

Chaldion’s one eye flashed at Grimalkin. The [Grand Strategist] looked around as Grimalkin charged after Duln. Chaldion stood alone as the 1st Army fought to take the walls. An [Engineer] swung up a ballista coated in ice. The siege weapon hadn’t been destroyed. He triggered it and a bolt went through a Wyvern.

“I will not let this city fall yet.”

The [Grand Strategist] stared around the walls. The 1st Army had caught the Wyverns off-guard. But there were nearly as many Wyverns as [Soldiers]. Without reinforcements, the group on the walls would be crushed. Chaldion slowly removed the eye patch he wore. His fake, red gemstone eye shone in his left socket. He whispered.

“[Path to Victory].”

The Drake’s eyes flashed. He looked around at Pallass. The [Grand Strategist] nodded.

“I see one road.”

His eyes found the naked Drake charging up the walls. It looked at the Wyvern Lord and Chaldion’s gaze narrowed. Then he stared down at something. The Drake froze.

“What is that?”

The light vanished from Chaldion’s gaze. He blinked a few times. Then he touched a stone.

“[Long-Range Command]. This is Grand Strategist Chaldion! Guardsmen! Fall back from the 8th floor, east! Climb to the 9th and hold the line there!”

Below, on the 8th Floor, Desk Sergeant Kel and the other fighters on the ground looked up. They stared at Olesm and each other in alarm, but then they rushed for the stairs. Chaldion spun. He pointed at the [Soldiers] around him. More reinforcements were taking the walls, seeing the fighting above.

“[Army: Veteran’s Knowledge]!”

A group of struggling Dullahan [Guards] fighting a Wyvern on a staircase paused for a moment as Chaldion shouted. Then their formation tightened up. They advanced, shields held ready. The Wyvern backed up. It twisted—the Dullahans were already bracing as its tail came around in the sneak attack Wyverns loved to use. The Wyvern recoiled as it failed to dislodge the Dullahans.

Seamlessly, the Dullahans hacked at the tail, and two moved left, into the Wyvern’s blind spot. They aimed for the Wyvern’s hindquarters, trying to hamstring it. As if they’d fought Wyverns a hundred times.

Chaldion had. The [Grand Strategist] looked around, surveying the battle.

“[Rapid Retreat]. Fall back—now!”

He pointed. A group of [Soldiers] fled as Wyverns landed, about to encircle their position. Chaldion nodded. He looked at another catapult.

“Catapult! Hit the Wyverns there. [Marked Target].”

The catapult swung around and loosed, hitting a cluster of Wyverns in the air. Chaldion watched the bodies fall. Then he turned. A shadow passed overhead. A Wyvern was heading for the lone Drake, seeking an easy target. The Drake paused. He flipped up his eye patch.

“[Fireball].”

A flaming orb shot from the red jewel in his left eye. It struck the Wyvern in the face. Chaldion shielded his head from the explosion. The Garuda squad flew into the Wyvern as it recoiled in the air.

“Take it down! Protect the [Strategist]!”

Chaldion walked forwards as the Wyvern crashed to the ground around him. He looked around.

“Hm. First deviation. And—now—”

A series of explosions tore apart a group of Wyverns on the stairs. A naked Drake appeared through the smoke as C