Rowan could see Halen Ashworth getting restless. She scored the next runes in and activated them and then stood, spinning a throwing knife in her hand and hooking its ringed handle through each finger as it rotated. Her eyes jumped up to the palace balcony, which now stood empty, as if the spectators realised they were spotted. Portendorfer's next streak of flames scorched the surface of the barrier. Rowan clapped his hands, crashing burst magic against it. The red rune pushed the edges aside, forcing the defect to grow again.

"Go," he said. Ashworth gave him a startled look. "You need to look for your comrades, right?"

"You're awfully chilled about this fiasco," she said in a sour voice. Rowan shrugged.

"We do what we can. So you do your bit."

She didn't speak any more. With a curt nod, she sprinted forward, her plain black cloak billowing behind her. The clink of the knives at her belt marked each step but that soon got drowned in the cacophony of warfare around. The screams and shouts increased in urgency and volume. Rowan stood up, magic ready.

"We surrender!" called out the soldiers. The remains of the unscorched men who had fought at the demands of Pollin lay their weapons on the floor, their ash-streaked features fatigued and terrified. "Please, Mage Portendorfer! Spare us!"

Portendorfer didn't bat an eyelid and raised his hands.

"Wait!" said Rowan. Portendorfer clapped his hands together as if he hadn't spoken. Magic crackled on his fingertips and the energy exploded outwards. Rowan clapped his hands and, with all his might, summoned a thick wall of sand from beneath. The ground rumbled. A storm of sand tore through the cracks between the paved stones, rushing up in a torrent, striking the flames metres before the surrendered soldiers. There was a hiss and the nose-curling scent of burnt hair. When the flames dissipated, a wall of glass remained, its surface rough and tortuous, mimicking the flow of water, behind which the terrified faces of the men could be seen.

"You want to fight me, Woodbead?" Portendorfer said, his voice light but the murderous intent in his eyes evident. Rowan shook his head.

"I won't win and you know that. No, it's these--" He was cut off. He threw out a handful of flames, scorching the side of a monster that hurtled out of one of the fallen buildings. The soldiers shouted in alarm. A horde of those deformed creations of Seiren Nithercott stampeded over, chattering away, their sinewy muscles rippling with every movement.

"I didn't kill enough of you guys in Acrise!" Portendorfer exclaimed, grinning again, his attention distracted as Rowan had hoped.

Rowan gestured at the men to escape. A few ran, but most picked up their weapons again, grim determination on their soot-dirtied faces.

"What are you doing? Get out of here!" he shouted. Portendorfer was too enthralled in setting the creatures alight to sense what went on behind him. He cackled aloud as the monsters screamed, their flesh bubbling away with his flash magic. He managed to corner them against a three-storey brick wall and settled to reduce them to ashes them one by one.

"If we run, who'll protect the people?" said one soldier.

"You're way out of your depth here. Get out whilst you still can!" Rowan couldn't believe his ears.

"We're soldiers, Mage Woodbead. Our jobs are to protect," said another, although his lips were pale and the gun shook in his hands. "I'll never be able to look at my wife in the face if I cowered now."

"You'll never look at your wife at all if you get killed here," muttered another one, but he squared his shoulders. "But you're right. We aren't cowards. Not like King Pollin or the king's mages. They abandoned us when we needed them the most."

"What do we do, Mage?"

Rowan hesitated, and then nodded and told them the weaknesses. A few blanched at the prospect of regenerative enemies, but those who had fought in the wastelands near Teirrin didn't falter.

"We've faced worse there, with the toxic gases and corrosive soil! Come on, are you men or are you little snivelling children?" roared one of the squadron leaders. The rest steeled themselves and nodded, readying their weapons.

Rowan turned, glad at least Portendorfer managed to spare the remaining soldiers. God knew they needed all the help they can get, even if it was just thirty or so remaining soldiers. A frozen chill skimmed the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine and all the hairs rose on the back of his neck. A cluster of small cracks reached his ears. The enthused murmuring of the men behind him ceased all of a sudden.

"Man, I thought soldiers swore allegiance to the king. They really are gutless little maggots after all."

Her familiar voice made Rowan's blood boil. He whipped around. Swallowed in a giant ball of ice were the soldiers, their eyes bulging in shock and a half-shout still in their throats. The ice encased them in at least a metre's thickness.

Karis Bonneville strode down the street, delicately picking her way amongst the rubble and dead bodies. She unfurled a rune from her pocket and threw it forward, crossing the fingers of her right hand. It glowed red. Rowan dived out of the way. The energy thrust from the opening, aimed to his side, striking the ice ball and shattering it to pieces along with the soldiers. She tsked in annoyance.

"Are you sure you want to stand against King Pollin, boy? You don't stand a chance against a king's mage."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he said in a dangerous voice. Karis Bonneville killed Loren.

"You sound upset, little boy. What's wrong?" she said coyly, grinning. They were the same age, but her arrogance was akin to one with decades of experience. Her right hand reached out from between the folds of her cloak.

"You don't deserve an answer!" Rowan snapped, clapping his hands and throwing out white flames at her. They snaked through the air. He clapped his hands again, bringing in wind to alter the flow of the fire at an even greater speed. Bonneville crossed her fingers, bringing forth a sheet of ice that protected her from ahead. Rowan twisted his wrist. The wind coursed sideways, bringing the flames round the bend. She screeched, throwing up a second sheen of ice that melted on contact with the white-hot flames. She managed to quench the fire, but the hot blast of air loosened her royal blue king's mage's cloak and it flapped away.

Rowan's eyes widened. She dressed in a standard king's mage's dark brown uniform, belted at the waist with a short flaring skirt over loose trousers and leather boots, but the left sleeve was tied at the shoulder, the contents empty. She tsked again, seeming more annoyed than ever.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to do everything with one hand? I mean, of course you don't." Her electric blue eyes glittered as she swept her neat platinum blonde hair out of her face. "I'm sure I can still kick your short ass though, little Woodbead."

He caught her subtle movements. Her fingers twitched. Rowan spun around and clapped his hands. A wall of stone erupted from the ground. Ice solidified in midair and crashed into it, shattering on impact. A chill went down his back. He spun round, summoning flames that encircled him. The projections of ice hit with a sizzle, splashing onto the ground and then vaporising. He dropped the wall, bringing up the water and threw it at her.

She crossed her fingers before her, concentration on her face. The gush of water turned to ice before it could touch her, the tip forming a spear pointed at her.

"You think water can work against me?" she said shrilly, cackling. "Ice is my special--"

Rowan gestured. The sand embedded within the ice shot out in all directions. The ice exploded, the shards showering Bonneville. She twisted round with a scream, hand raised to shield herself. Rowan summoned earth to rise and entangle her feet, sending her crashing to the ground, one arm flailing. He scrambled towards the bloodstained pile of ice slush that were the soldiers and picked up the nearest runed gun. He pulled the safety back. The violet runes on them still glowed.

She groaned, her blonde hair all over her face. She struggled to push herself up with one arm. The other sleeve rolled back, revealing heavy scar tissue and a tiny stump beneath the shoulder. She sat up, clutching her forehead, and gave a bitter grin at the sight of Rowan clutching a gun. The dirt melted away from her legs.

"You sure about this, baby Woodbead? Is this the first time you held a gun? You don't want to point the wrong end at yourself."

"You shut up," Rowan snarled.

"I've touched a nerve." Despite the grim situation, Bonneville appeared unfazed. She sat up straighter, showing pearly white teeth in her smile. "What's the matter? Did someone steal your favourite toy?"

"You killed Loren Rummage," Rowan managed to get out. His vision turned red. He aimed the gun straight at her forehead. Bonneville's eyebrows rose.

"Oho, I did steal your favourite toy. I'm sure she's a toy many have played with already though. Are hand-me-downs your thing?"

He fired a shot. It flew over her shoulder. She flinched, but the mocking look remained on her face.

"The next one will hit," he said, his voice low but dangerous. "You're the one who killed Loren, aren't you?"

"It's hilarious how hopelessly in love she was with you, little Woodbead. And you had no idea. The positivity in her little head was sickening."

"You read her mind?" Blood rushed to Rowan's head.

"Saw it here and there. The organic magic links my mind with whomever I use it on." Bonneville sniffed with disdain. "I have to tell him. And Seiren has to know. Everything was about someone else, not about her. She probably did want to die, being the stupid little martyr she is."

"You sicken me." Rowan's body went cold. "Organic magic was Kristen Harred's discovery and you bastardised it."

"Who do you think I learnt it from?" She snickered, getting to her feet, the loose sleeve flapping. "You should have heard her last thoughts! The desperation! The regrets! Oh, the poor kids at Bicknor, I hope Nurse Poline would be able to look after them! I hope Rowan finds a cause to fight for again! I hope Seiren doesn't lose herself in her quest! I hope--- My god, she could have written a novel with all these piles of shi--"

Rowan flushed and he slammed his hands together. Wind swirled around Bonneville. He drew his hands back, tugging at the composition and altering the density of the flammable particles before clapping his hands together again. Bonneville's eyes flashed. A spark of flames jumped from Rowan's hands, igniting the whirlwind around her, growing into a dense white tornado of flames.

Spiralling spikes of ice shot through the smoke. One grazed his cheek. He flinched away. Blood trickled to his chin. The others barely missed. A rumble behind him caught his attention.

The wall separating Rowan and Portendorfer's killing spree crumpled, Bonneville's flash magic having laced through each brick and shearing them apart. Dust mingled with shards of glass. Seiren's monsters burst out, desperate to escape from Portendorfer's scorches. Their stampede shook the ground. They tore past Rowan, knocking him aside. Rowan rolled, clutching his head to prevent being trampled on, and managed to sidle against the side of the street. Amidst the chaos, Bonneville limped away. Rowan aimed the gun at her and fired. The bullet struck the space between her shoulderblades -- and bounced off. The magic-repelling shield rippled.

Rowan cursed under his breath.

"Portendorfer! You're letting them get away!" he yelled. He finally spied the psychotic mage, cornered by snapping creatures, his usual exhilarated expression replaced by tension as he backed against the wall. A flash of flames ignited with a clap from his hands, searing them into bubbling piles of meat, only for a fresh wave to clamber over for his head. Rowan's eyes darted between him and the rapidly-retreating back of Karis Bonneville. With a groan of frustration, he clapped his hands together, blending wind and fire burst magic and increasing the heat and velocity. The fire struck the second wave of creatures, sending them scattering, screaming in pain. Rowan readied his second blast when a flurry of gunfire overtook his next shot, flooring the remaining creatures. A few struggled to get back up, snarling.

"Ready the second wave, men," said a voice he didn't think he would hear again in this lifetime. He whipped around, astonishment turning his mouth into an 'o' shape.

"Father?" he said in wonderment. "I thought you were--"

"When the country calls, who am I to ignore her summoning?" said Edgard Woodbead. His hair had turned white as snow since the last time Rowan had seen him, two years ago, and his wrinkles had deepened, but his eyes remained sharp and alive as ever. "You've done well so far, my son."

"I--" There was so much Rowan wanted to say: apologies for his failure at Ebbsfleet that dirtied the Woodbead name, promises he would revive what he had destroyed, questions about his future as a state mage rather than a military mage, his redemption to restore the Woodbead name.

"Wait for later, Rowan," said his father with a gentle smile, clapping his shoulder like he used to when Rowan was a boy. "There's a time for everything. Bolliver and I will take care of things here."

He turned his head. His brother stood amongst the second rally of men. He caught his eyes briefly and gave the tiniest of nods.

"You take care of the king's mages. You have magic in you that we do not. I trust your sister is around, too."

"Maura's gone on ahead."

Edgard nodded. "Good. The country has gone to hell in my absence. Let's save her."

Remember to vote!