Reyn was three steps out of the tent behind the assassins. Most of the guards were gone, leaving just two behind. As Maya and Josy ran off towards the source of the commotion, Reyn held back and stood in front of one of the men.

"What is happening?"

The armsman was young, not even seventeen, but he kept his head despite the nervous sweat on his brow. "I couldn't say, my lady. Soon after you went in, there was shouting to the west. Before we could blink, Daylen started talking about spell echoes, then he and the Taskmaster flew off to raise the alarm."

Reyn looked towards the west. She could feel some of the spell echoes, though most were too faint to discern the essences used in the spellcraft. By the way the ground still rumbled, she suspected earth essence was somewhere in the mix.

A plume of fire rose up in the distance to the surprised cries of nearby prisoners. It was far off, but it must have been massive to rise into view above the tents. Reyn could even smell the char, and the sharp and acrid tang that accompanied it could only mean it was dragon fire. The mighty still in camp were converging on the attack, and she could see dark shapes pass overhead as silhouettes against the starlight.

Her thoughts went immediately to Pacifica. She'd be near the surgeon tents which were supposed to be as safe a place as could be found in a war camp. Reyn had faith that the princess would be looked after. The Karst would protect her, and even if the lumbering lout went into battle, then Lord Cobrin would make sure Pacifica was kept out of harm's way.

Reyn was out of her element. She didn't know what she should do. Her world had never included things like battles before leaving Rosewater. That was a new and unwelcome addition to her life.

The young armsman backed away from her. Reyn hadn't realized, but she was grinding her teeth together and a low growl was coming out of her. She was still angry. Her rage towards Garret hadn't even begun to be sated.

A flash of lightning illuminated the prison tents, and it was unclear in the rain if it was natural or spellcraft. Battle cries continued to echo in the air, as did the screams of soldiers dying. Reyn took one step in that direction, then another. She broke into a run, her cloak trailing behind her in the wind.

Her amulet came out from beneath her blouse, and Reyn channeled ether into the fractal imprint. A dozen sigils shone across its surface, defensive wards and self-enchantments. Her legs became faster, and she moved through the tents and groups of milling armsmen and prisoners as if she were made of wind. She needed to see what was going on with her own eyes.

Reyn ran until she reached the edge of the camp and found her answer.

Dragons circled overhead, breathing their fiery breath down on groups of armored warriors. The flames broke over invisible domes of magic, so there must have been arcanists among the attackers. Shan Alee soldiers ran haphazardly towards the formed ranks of the enemy and were immediately thrown back or cut down. The defense was in disarray.

Reyn heard a clear shout from nearby. A woman's voice. "Sunder until unmade, of Fallen, battle-kith of Frozen Waters!"

The cry was answered by enraged howls from dozens of throats. Reyn turned her head to see a line of heavily muscled warriors emerge from the camp with round, wooden shields held in front of them. Each had eyes that glowed yellow in the night.

The orcs were marching.

Their charge towards the enemy rang like the beat of a drum. Every last one of them ran with steps in perfect sync with the warriors at their side. Their shields were raised to defend against spears, arrows, and spellfire. They met the enemy a hundred paces from the edge of camp, and the immediate screams of pain that were torn from human throats was all the evidence Reyn needed for how devastating an orc charge could be.

Dragons and Arcane Knights hit the ground beside the orcs and joined in the defense. The mighty maintained their truest forms, titanic reptilian creatures that stood taller than buildings, but some changed into smaller but no less dangerous forms. Dragons in the form of massive wolves, fangblades, bears, and scale lions leapt about rending flesh with their fangs and claws. Above the carnage, blinding lights flashed across the sky as arcanists cast spells that sent waves of fire and lightning towards their enemies. The ground quaked and split apart. Defensive wards shone in brilliant displays as they repelled the worst of what was thrown against them.

Ogres and goblins joined the orcs. As did human armsmen. Their officers directed the defense with greater clarity, and the legion responded to the threat with far more discipline than at the beginning. Reyn could hear Lord Bannlyth's voice shouting commands to his soldiers. Disregarding her issues with the man, even she couldn't deny he was as effective a commander as the empress could hope to find. He used human armsman as his anvil, fey and dragons as the hammer. Outnumbering and outclassing the enemy forces, the battle turned overwhelmingly towards Shan Alee's favor.

Reyn allowed herself a moment to just witness the power of Enfri's Shan Alee. Southern soldiers, reputedly among the best fighters on the Continent. Unseely fey, born from spirits for the sole purpose of warfare. And dragons, creatures of such strength that they could be called nothing less than the mighty.

As she looked out onto the fighting, Reyn knew the empress would be horrified by it.

From her vantage, there was a lot that Reyn couldn't see. Most important among them was who the legion was even fighting. She doubted it was escaping prisoners; too well-equipped and in too great a number. The same reasons discounted bandits and looters, and if it was more renegades, there'd be dragons among the attackers. It might have been Nadia seeing as they were coming from the direction of Drok Moran. If that was the case, Reyn worried for the empress' safety in the Deep Palace.

What even do they hope to accomplish? Reyn wondered. A nighttime raid was a risky gambit even against purely human legions. Against fey and dragons, opponents whose vision wasn't hampered by darkness, those risks increased exponentially.

There was nothing to learn by standing there. Reyn resumed running towards the skirmish. She flared her sigils as she neared, adding her wards to the arcane forces protecting Aleesh troops. It came in time to intercept a crash of spellfire that would have consumed a group of orcs.

Her run slowed to a walk, and she pulled the amulet from around her neck to hold it in the palm of her hand. Its entire surface was shining with etherlight from the dozen sigils she crafted out of the fractal imprint. She allowed a number of wards to darken, ones she judged wouldn't be needed, and formed others in their place. Raitar and Lothya combined, and she used them to fire lightning from her palm. The spell arced over the orcs ahead to dance across the surface of a ward erected by the attackers. Tarnak within a circle of Vo'kran and Faje runes blasted away the stone obstacles created by the collision of earth spells around her.

Reyn might have been less powerful a scrivener than Lord Bannlyth, but she had one advantage over him. With her amulet, she had no need to waste time scratching a new sigil each time she needed to craft a spell. Her runes appeared with a mere thought, and she could make sigils at will. Her precision with the amulet was advanced enough that she could light successive runes in rapid sequence, thereby creating spells no other scrivener could conceive of.

Ingtar, Morbok, Sucé, Athorus, each essence swiftly modified by the one that followed. Summoned from a circle of second-tier runes. A pulse of violet light shot from Reyn's hand to strike against the enemy wards. The protective magics dissolved like the battlements of a sand castle in the rain, and her next astramancy spell found its mark. Men screamed as their flesh turned to cinders.

That last spell took a lot out of her. The little ether she'd recovered since the wilt curse was taken off her was nearly depleted. She could feel the roiling nausea that accompanied ethershock creeping up on her. It wouldn't be a problem. For a selkie, there were ways around that.

The orcs ahead surged through the opening Reyn provided. More men died as they were hacked apart by axes and swords. The orcs moved deeper into the enemy ranks, and Reyn followed at a walk. As she stepped over the men she had killed, Reyn looked down at them. They were Melcians.

Reyn frowned as she understood what the goal of this attack was. The raid was only a distraction. The real threat was somewhere else, and once it arrived in full, there'd be no stopping it without heavy losses.

"Mistress Reyn!" Krayson landed beside her. His hands wove somatics to erect barriers around the both of them. "Why are you here? You're in no state to be in a battle."

Reyn surveyed the skirmish, eyes searching. "Find me an arcanist, and I will be."

"What am I? Chopped liver?"

Reyn smirked. "An arcanist we can afford to lose."

He eyed her dubiously, then spoke a hurried couplet in the Aeldenn Tones. His witchery sent him hurtling into the sky as the pull of gravity on his body began to draw him upwards instead of down. That was another lost magic like Starra's teleportation, one Reyn would very much like to learn the runes for.

In the meantime, she continued to follow the small squad of orcs. They'd noticed her presence and seemed to welcome her wards. Now that they had no reason to fear spellfire, they pressed forward with less caution. There were points where Melcian raiders attempted breaking through to strike at Reyn, but they never came closer than ten paces before being intercepted. The orcs were well-versed in fighting alongside arcanists and knew to protect them.

The wards were close to draining the last of Reyn's ether, and the draw only grew worse when spells struck against her defenses. She was nearly forced to remove some of the spells when Krayson finally returned. He dropped a man in a high-crested helm at her feet. The Melcian wizard was bleeding from both hamstrings and couldn't stand. Reyn made a note to herself that Krayson was as skilled with his knives as he was with his magic.

"Is this a mage slayer thing?" Krayson asked.

"It is not," Reyn said, then she began to sing. Her Voice pierced the Melcian wizard, and Reyn used it to steal every last vestige of his fear, his anger, and his pain. Every passion a human heart could hold, she removed. In their place, she stoked the fires of lust and avarice.

She made the arcanist want her. He gave no resistance as Reyn drew close and pressed her lips over his. When her Voice went silent, so did the spell that ensorcelled him. The man's eyes became wild with terror, and he screamed into her mouth. His wounded legs kicked and thrashed, and his hands clawed at Reyn to push her off of him. Futile.

Reyn didn't grant him Breath. She took his.

A lifeless shell crumpled to the ground, and Reyn rose to her feet. Ether coursed through her veins once again. It wasn't enough to fill her stores completely, but it would suffice. Her countenance had reverted to its natural state as she stole the life from the wizard. She took a moment to return it to her human face before looking to see Krayson's reaction.

Reyn expected horror. Disgust. She anticipated that Krayson would recoil from her and flee from the monster she was. What she found instead was a complete lack of any such thing. If anything, he seemed fascinated.

"I see," he said simply. "Unexpected."

"Does it not alarm you?"

"Perhaps, but by sword, spell, or selkie, he was dead anyway. I suspect most men would prefer to die while kissing a pretty girl."

Reyn flicked strands of her hair away from her face and stood with one hand on her hip. "You think I am pretty?"

Krayson snorted in amusement. "Objectively."

"If that was meant to downplay the compliment, you failed miserably." Reyn looked around and was gratified to see everyone was too focused on the battle to notice what she did. She imagined few would take it as well as the blood runner. "Now, there is work to be done, and I will need your help. This is not the real attack."

Krayson gave a curt nod. "There are only two possibilities."

"Princess Omolade or Princess Nkeoma."

"While the legion is looking the wrong way, one of them will create a new race of fey with their spirit calling."

Reyn drew forth a spike from her cloak. "I have just the thing to put a stop to it."

Krayson shouted to the orcs ahead that they were leaving them. The orcs nodded in acknowledgement. Before joining Reyn, Krayson placed wards of his own over the orcs and locked them, giving them at least some protection until they could link up with another arcanist.

"Do you have any idea where the spirit caller will be?" Krayson asked once he returned to Reyn's side.

She led him back towards the camp through squads of armsmen and goblins heading into the fight. "Very few, but if you could assist me with a scry, I may be able to determine the location."

"You have a connected imprint to the princesses?"

Reyn frowned. "Pacifica entertained Omolade and Nkeoma in Ecclesia, and the younger princess took a liking to monopolizing my time."

Krayson raised an eyebrow in unspoken question.

"Hardly," Reyn growled. "Nkeoma is an infuriating woman who delights in making those she sees as beneath her uncomfortable. Your typical royal. I spent enough time subjected to her to allow for a scry."

"And if Omolade is leading the raid? It seems more likely. She's the warrior of the two, and if gossip is right, she slays hydras for sport."

"More difficult," Reyn said, "but I have met her. At the very least, I should be able to determine if she is close."

"A dousing would serve better in such a case. I suggest you attempt with Omolade first."

"Agreed."

Divination was among the most useful of arcane schools, though only witches were truly adept at using it. Wizards had some ability, and sorcerers could mimic the spellcraft of any arcanist at the expense of long practice. Scriveners and alchemists could incorporate a bare minimum of the requisite essences, so they were left somewhat out in the cold when it came to information gathering spells.

Krayson, a twinborn who was both witch and wizard, was singularly qualified for it.

Once well out of harm's way, Krayson called for Reyn to stop and stand in front of him. "The dousing will only give you a vague impression of direction and distance. Are you ready?"

Reyn held the image of Princess Omolade in her mind and gave a nod. It wasn't necessary, but she closed her eyes. Krayson spoke a couplet and supplemented the spell with somatics to further increase the power. Several moments passed before Reyn let the magic leave her.

"No good," she said. "Either the connection is too weak, or Omolade isn't nearby."

Krayson frowned. "Nothing at all?"

Reyn shook her head. "I might feel something from the north, but it could also just be my imagination."

"In that case, let's try Nkeoma. Scries are trickier to control, but if your connection to her is stronger than Omolade, it shouldn't matter. You'll be able to see something no matter the distance, and it'll be more precise the closer she is."

Reyn prepared herself and gestured for Krayson to proceed. He spoke another couplet, and Reyn was certain what she experienced couldn't be her imagination.

In her mind's eye, she saw a hilltop overlooking the southern edge of the Aleesh camp. A group of men and women stood near the rise, wary of cresting the hill and coming into view of those below. They were armored as Melcian knights, in full plate with visored helms and pauldrons stylized to look like feathered wings. Their swords were still in their scabbards. Four of the knights stood in a circle around a young woman in a silk dress.

Nkeoma knelt as if in prayer, her eyes closed. She was a pretty girl with a voluptuous figure. Her thick and curly black hair was tied back, and there was sweat running down her heart-shaped face. Whatever spell she was crafting, it was pushing her to the edge of her endurance.

"It's her," Reyn said urgently, opening her eyes. "She is to the south and preparing her elder magic."

"Is there time to gather reinforcements?" Krayson asked.

"I do not think so, and she is not alone. There are a dozen knights with her, and at least four of them are arcanists assisting with the ritual."

Krayson's mouth drew into a line, and Reyn could all but hear the clockworks spinning in his head. "We won't be able to get anyone to follow us in time to stop her. It has to be us."

Reyn thought again of Pacifica. The surgeon tents would be right in the new fey army's path if Nkeoma sent them in from the south. "Then so be it. At the least, we can delay her."

Krayson stepped up to her and put an arm around her waist. "Apologies, Mistress Reyn."

She braced for it as best she could.

There were times on restless nights when she experienced a brief and sudden sensation as if she were falling. It was as unpleasant an experience as Reyn could imagine. The gravity magic was similar, only far more prolonged, and she had to experience it while fully awake and able to appreciate how horrifying it was.

Reyn hated heights, but she wasn't afraid of them so much as she was afraid of falling. And that, unfortunately, was precisely what Krayson's lost magic entailed. Reyn fought back a scream as she clung to Krayson. Together, they plunged into the sky at an angle that took them high above the camp. Reyn had her eyes clamped shut, refusing to look at the widening distance between her and the ground. It only got worse from there. Krayson slowly let the magic fade and allowed real gravity to reassert itself. The result was a seemingly graceful arc and descent, except from Reyn's perspective it was little better than being thrown from a cliffside.

The blood runner must have practiced his landings. As they drew closer to the ground, he deftly adjusted the rate of their descent. His feet touched the ground gently. Reyn, practically climbing on his back by that point, gingerly placed her feet down one at a time as if she feared falling back up at any moment.

They were a long distance from the camp, on the other side of a shallow hill. Reyn could still hear the fighting, but it was a distant roar rather than the ear-shattering clamor it had been a moment before. It was almost too dark to see, even with the half-moon above them. The ground was uneven and covered in grass.

Krayson adjusted his robe as he spoke. "I believe we're behind them now. I saw the moonlight reflecting off of their armor up above us, and I doubt my spell echo was strong enough to alert them to our presence."

"Then let us proceed," Reyn said and started up the hill. "Time is short."

They climbed the hill at a brisk pace. Krayson gave a sending as they went, delivered to Lord Ban. Reyn listened with half an ear as the marshal advised them to be careful and promised that help was on the way.

"Don't be stupid about it," Ban warned. "Delay the spirit calling until I can get forces over there."

"How long?" Krayson asked.

"Ten minutes at the earliest."

Reyn grimaced. In ten minutes, twelve knights could reduce her and Krayson to stew meat. Especially if these were knights entrusted with the safety of one of King Adeyemi's daughters.

"It will be done," Krayson promised.

"Don't die, either of you. Enfri's fond of you both."

Krayson dismissed the spirit conveying his sending and looked to Reyn. "Our work's cut out for us."

"In ten minutes, Nkeoma will have completed her ritual, and she'll be the least of Ban's worries. If the dragons won't arrive in time, we have no choice but to subdue her before they arrive."

"Any ideas?"

"Strike swift and precise," Reyn said. "You need only hold the knights' attention. I will do the rest."

"Do you think it's true?" he asked quietly. "What Lord Ban said?"

Reyn peered ahead as she climbed the hill. "That Her Majesty is fond of you? I believe it has been evident."

Krayson chewed his lip as he climbed. "No one's ever..." he began but quickly fell silent.

"Her Majesty is as soft-hearted as they come," Reyn said. She lowered her voice, wondering how far off the Melcians might yet be.

"Not just her," Krayson murmured. "Lord Ban, also. I've shown little to earn their trust, yet they give it so freely."

"They are strange people," Reyn agreed, "but do not sell short what you have done, Brother Joshuan. You sacrificed a great amount to bring Pacifica back to us."

"Worth it," Krayson said in a whisper almost too low to hear.

Reyn pulled up short and crouched low to the ground. She'd spotted a flicker of movement up the hill. A shadow moved when there was nothing to cast it. "Above," she subvocalized.

Krayson drew her attention to himself and covered his eyes with a hand, then held up his palms with the fingers outstretched. Slowly, he lowered one finger. Then another.

Reyn nodded and set out in a crawl. She continued the countdown in her head. With the ether stolen from her victim, Reyn lit warding sigils on her amulet, including a privacy ward that only extended around herself. She found herself wishing that scriveners had more capacity for the school of illusion. An invisibility spell would go a long ways towards making her feel safer as she crept towards hostile knights.

Now closer to the Melcians' position, Reyn could see them better in the poor light. They weren't watching their rear as all their attention was fixated on the battle in the Aleesh camp to the north. Reyn shimmied closer on her stomach.

The count in her head reached five.

Eight knights stood in a line at the top of the hill, blades halfway out of their scabbards. Their white-lacquered suits of full plate were works of art and didn't even appear to be made of metal so much as glass. The helms were shaped like the heads of birds of prey, breastplates were embossed with feathery motifs, and their gauntlets were worked into the shape of talons. Above and beyond the ostentatious armor, there was something more about those knights. They were each of them exceptionally tall, nearing seven feet.

One of the knights turned her head to glance to the west, and Reyn caught the reflection of moonlight in her eyes. A pair of white lights shone from the depths of the helm, illuminating dark skin that carried an unnatural sheen like silver.

The knights weren't human at all. They were fey.

Four, Reyn thought, continuing the countdown.

The quartet of knights standing in a circle around Princess Nkeoma raised their arms, lending arcane energy to her ritual. Wind rose around them, whipping Nkeoma's hair around her face. She payed it no mind and opened her eyes. They shone with a pale lavender light as her elder magic rose from within her blood.

Reyn felt something new as it approached the world from somewhere far removed. The barrier between the mortal realm and the Ethereum, home of the spirits, grew thin. Ban told her and Krayson to delay the ritual for ten minutes, but it appeared they didn't even have ten seconds.

Three.

Sigils lit within the fractal imprint. Ingtar, Cordek, Lothya, Balmor, and Tarnak. Fire, heat, wind, thunder, and stone. She arranged them along a pentagon within a circle tuned to dispersion. Runes of pressure amplified the primary runes. Reyn pulled the amulet out from under her blouse and pressed it against the ground. Immediately, the entire hillside rang like a bell struck with a hammer.

It'd been vulcanamancy, but Reyn wasn't nearly as proficient with spells of the molten earth as Kimpo the Huntress. Scriveners were as adept at evocation, the school of magic concerned with the manipulation of natural forces, as even wizards. However, the more esoteric disciplines within that school had never been a focus of Reyn's education. She preferred the more fundamental forces of nature, deeper than the elements.

Regardless, the hillside quaked as its core roiled deep underground. It wouldn't erupt-- Reyn hadn't nearly enough skill in vulcanamancy to cause that-- but it made the Melcian fey stumble about as they sought to regain their footing.

Reyn threw herself to her feet and ran towards Nkeoma.

Two.

The fey saw her coming. The four with Nkeoma remained at her side while the other eight ran as best they could with the ground shaking underfoot. As they neared, Reyn saw that their armor more than just looked like glass. It was glass, spellwrought to be as strong as metal and stained white. Their swords came all the way out of their sheaths, and those, too, were made of glass. Fire erupted along the crystalline blades, wreathing the weapons in flame.

Seely fey, the bright folk who were the counterpoint to the unseely dark folk. Such beings would be unable to wear metal armor, as it would burn their skin at the slightest touch. Nymphs, dryads, succubi, naiads, and elves. A dozen or so more. There were too many possibilities of what exactly they knights might have been for Reyn to consider before they were on top of her.

She erected a barrier ward directly in front of her, making it a physical shield to stall their charge. Raitar flashed across her amulet, and lightning burst from her palm to strike at the fey. Glass swords flared with white light as they intercepted the bolts. Two of the fey slammed their shoulders against the barrier ward. It shattered.

"Defend the princess!" one of them roared, and the voice blared in Reyn's ears like a horn blast and reverberated in the night.

One.

They swarmed towards her. The closest three leapt into the air with their flaming swords raised above their heads. They dropped towards her as wings forged from pure light erupted from their backs.

Reyn felt a moment of panic. These weren't mere elves or satyrs. Nkeoma came protected by the race of seely fey said to be the pinnacle creation of House Akazewi's elder magic, brought into the world by the original Akazewi himself by calling powerful spirits of devotion.

Angels.

Reyn closed her eyes as the countdown reached zero.

The light burned her vision even through her shut eyelids. Thunder assailed her ears. The world shook, but Reyn was already moving. She ran underneath the three nearest angels, who hovered on their light-born wings and shielded their faces from Krayson's spell. The rest of their group shouted in confusion and swung their flaming swords around them. Reyn dodged through the flashing swords and sprinted on towards her goal.

The blood runner stunned those eight. That left the final four around Nkeoma for Reyn to deal with.

The princess was almost done. A whorl of white light swirled around her, slowly coalescing. A selkie's nose wasn't as sharp as that of a were or harpy, and certainly not as sensitive as a goblin's. Even so, she could smell the presence of spirits. Reyn could feel their touch on her skin as they pressed against the boundary between the two realities. She felt something deep within her, a primal emotion conjured by their touch on her soul. Through pure instinct, Reyn understood what manner of spirits were answering Nkeoma's call. They called out to Reyn with voices woven of judgement and retribution.

Nkeoma called forth spirits of justice to punish the Dragon Empress.

Reyn ran towards her as fast as she could. A part of her realized how foolish an act it was. She was not a royal assassin, a rune knight, or even a blood runner. She was the apprentice of a paper maker and not a magical warrior who could challenge arcanists possessed of elder bloodlines.

But she was a woman who was in love with a Diamond Knight. There would never be romance between Reyn and Pacifica, but she would fight for her princess regardless. Unrequited love was among the most exquisite of tortures, it demanded much and rewarded little. Even so, Reyn had learned it could become the source of profound strength.

In love, she feared nothing.

The first of the new fey began to come into being, Nkeoma granting it mortal life and form. Around it, more whorls of light began to swirl. A thousand more.

The fractal imprint flared. Fire and lighting shot from her amulet to strike against the angels guarding over Nkeoma. Stunned by Krayson's spell, they were slow to defend against Reyn's attack. The spellcraft blasted them off their feet.

A powerful figure began to appear in front of Nkeoma but remained intangible. The calling wasn't yet complete.

Reyn shouted as she threw herself through the misty form of the new fey and struck hard against Nkeoma. There was no time for thought or deliberation. The Dekaam spike in her left hand plunged down and drove deep into the princess' chest, right beneath the throat.

Her imprint was laid bare to Reyn. Magic coursed across every inch of it. Wards of a dozen different varieties protected Nkeoma, but none of them could guard against the anti-magic of a mage slayer.

Reyn froze the ether in Nkeoma's blood. All around them, the lights of approaching spirits vanished and were thrown back into the Ethereum.

Nkeoma cried out in shock and denial as the light in her lavender eyes winked out. A sensation like a harp-string in Reyn's mind pulsed out from the princess in apotheosis. A massive quantity of ether was torn from the Weave in a surge of power.

"You fool!" Nkeoma screamed. "Wretched, blistering fool! What have you done?"

There was no longer any ether in Nkeoma's imprint. The cost of spirit calling was the sacrifice of a powerful bloodsong, and it seemed the spirits of justice had taken their recompense for the bother of having come all the way from the Ethereum with no mortal forms to show for it. Nkeoma was now a daanman.

Having one's ether stolen wasn't as profound a loss as most thought. Nor necessarily as permanent so long as there was a blood runner around and people willing to donate their own bloodsongs. Being a daanman also granted one ability that Reyn thought only a mage slayer could truly appreciate. Daanmen could no longer become ethershocked. If Reyn wanted to survive the next few seconds, she hoped that Nkeoma and her angels wouldn't realize that fact for the next... nine minutes, she guessed.

Reyn rolled off of Nkeoma and hauled her bodily to her feet. She kept the now useless Dekaam spike pressed to the princess' throat as she addressed the angels coming towards her at a run. "If you do not wish to see your charge dead of ethershock, you will place your weapons on the ground."

The angels surrounded Reyn, burning swords aimed for her heart.

"Ah, ah," Reyn warned. "You do know what a mage slayer is, do you not? I slay mages."

The angels hesitated and looked to each other.

"What are you doing?" Nkeoma gasped at them. "This peasant is going to kill me. Stop her!"

The angels nodded and promptly tossed their swords to the ground. Their wings withdrew into their backs, and the fire wreathing the glass blades snuffed out. The hillside ceased rumbling and returned to darkness.

Nkeoma swallowed, and her voice grew weak. "That's... nay what I..."

The sound of approaching footsteps heralded Krayson's arrival. He took in the circle of angels and Nkeoma in Reyn's grip at a glance. "By your leave and aid, Princess, I will give a sending to your commander in the field. No more need to die tonight."

Nkeoma shook with frustration in Reyn's grip. Her voice was tight as she gave her reply. "I yield. You hold the day, and mine life, in your hands."

Reyn would have sagged in relief and fallen to her backside if she hadn't been under the watchful stare of a dozen angels. She had to maintain her bluff until Lord Bannlyth sent his reinforcements.

Nkeoma looked into Reyn's eyes. "You are nay the mere pretty decoration I took you for in Ecclesia."

Reyn couldn't help herself. She favored Nkeoma with a sly grin. "You think I am pretty?"

One way or another, Reyn meant to win the heart of a princess someday. She thought she deserved one.