Screams of panic and regret echo behind me as we approach the infestation site six minutes later, but I ignore the distraught workers in favor of mapping out the surroundings. Straitated red and brown rock seem to dominate the landscape, which is punctuated by innumerable valleys among the tall crags.

  As desolate as the place appears, with only minimal shrubbery, there’s a wild beauty to all the sharp edges and geometric oddities.

  A series of criss-crossing crevices and canyons converge up ahead, all leading toward a shallow bowl in the ground. A natural amphitheater without a stage. Borrowing the overhead view from my falcons, I finish getting a sense of the topography. The leading lines terminate in a cave that’s unnaturally dark, a hole that swallows light.

  Within, I sense the telltale mana fluctuations that can only mean one thing. A wild Rift is tearing its way through reality, disgorging its hideous denizens onto our plane of existence. The threat can’t be allowed to stand, not with a city so close by.

  Besides, the monsters are blocking our path forward. It’s only fair that we inconvenience them in turn.

  “You look downright evil when you grin like that,” Trevour announces as his pony comes to a stop by my side.

  “Thank you!” I reply, beaming at him.

  “Wasn’t a compliment,” he mutters.

  Glancing over my shoulder at the string of ponies trailing my trusty mount, I can’t stop laughing at the horror and dismay etched on the faces of the rest of hte caravan workers.

  Everyone is clinging to the mane of the pony on which he or she rides, grim and terrified. Only Trevour seems immune to the terror. For all his dread of spiders, he’s utterly fearless about hurtling across the ground at breakneck speed.

  Just like me, he’s laughing like he’s having the time of his life. I hope he’s still having as much fun once the battle begins. I’ll do my best to keep everyone out of danger, but there’s no guarantee of safety when monsters are involved.

  “Never again,” Marta groans, sliding off the side of her horse. She clutches her stomach like she might be sick.

  Klaarson swings his legs off the pony and hops down. He immediately kneels and kisses the rocky ground. Rising, he glares at me. “I’ve decided I hate horses. Or maybe just [Mages]. I think I’ll walk back tonight.”

  I chuckle and point above us. “Gather ‘round, everyone. Nicanor just got here.”

  Up ahead, a dark figure is silhouetted against the bright blue expanse. He soars through the sky almost as quickly as my falcons. Light explodes out from the man high in the air above us, and Nicanor accelerates like a fallen star.

  He crashes down to the earth, a vengeful meteor in human form. The shockwave of his impact shakes the ground all the way to where our ponies are prancing and pawing at the dirt.

  Even from this distance, his mighty shout echoes in our ears, unmistakable as a joyful warcry. The Second Threshold [Spear Commander] lets loose with his spear, his new weapon reaping monstrous lives in a whirlwind of destructive fury.

  “C’mon! We can’t let him have all the fun,” I shout, beckoning for workers to follow as I gallop off again.

  None of them follow but Trevour.

  Behind them, my army of golems is just now catching up to us, since they’re built for war, not racing. Far above us and up ahead, the falcons are diving down, cruel talons flashing in the lobby, already in the midst of the fray.

  They swoop around Nicanor, never getting too close, but crippling as many of the monsters as they can for his stalwart pair of [Honorbound Bodyguards] to finish off.

  Three or four minutes later, my little cadre reaches the battlefield.

  All of them are on foot.

  I snort, but my amusement dies a swift death as I catch sight of the nausea-inducing swarm creatures. My lips twist into a grimace, finally understanding why the scouts argued so staunchly about turning around instead of fighting.

  Pale, bloated worms carpet the canyonlands ahead of us as far as I can see. The creatures are roughly the size of my arm, with rings of triangular teeth in too-large circular mouths. Biting and snarling, they writhe in an endless mass of aggression and hunger, consuming each other as much as the shrubbery and small animals around us.

  Swampy with green bile, the very ground underfoot is soggy with the acidic vomit they spew everywhere. Vile as it is to look at, the stench is even worse, eliciting a round of violent cursing from the caravan workers as soon as the smell assaults their nostrils.

  Despite years of training against all sorts of threats and delving into Rifts left and right, I find myself hesitating instead of leading the charge. Steeling myself, I blast away the noisome miasma of vapor and acid with the full force of my Domain, clearing out a sphere of clean air for us to breathe.

  “Steady!” I shout.

  Grateful murmurs reach my ears as the people around me gasp in fresh, sweet smelling air. I ignore them. No time for pleasantries; we have an infestation to clear.

  Directing my golems to attack, I spread the concept of sharpness across my Domain. In an instant I yelp and reverse course, horrified as the swarm of ugly larvae start biting through the foliage and rocks even faster.

  They can access higher-order concepts?

  My shock lasts only half a second before my training kicks in. Targeting the army of glass, I share sharpness again, this time keeping it constrained to the connections I already formed between me and my golems.

  They respond with a surge of vicious satisfaction, which reverberates along our bonds with such intensity and approval that I almost forget I’m communicating with golems instead of people.

  Claws extended and razor limbs elongating, my glass golems fall upon the terrifying, abyssal spawn like a beast wave of my own. They scythe through the horde, turning predators to prey, and soon kill everything within a few hundred foot radius.

  “[Mages] are ridiculous,” Trevour breathes out beside me. His face is scrunched up as he watches the carnage, and I’m not sure if he’s grumbling or complimenting me. Maybe a bit of both; I can’t fault him for his envy.

  I always thought pure glass was the best, but magic is, well, awesome. Earning a hybrid Class is maybe the greatest boon that’s ever happened to me.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Peh, nothing special,” I deflect, grinning at him. “A few years of near-death experiences and unimaginable pain, and you’ll be right there with me.”

  He gulps. “This is normal for you?”

  I shug one shoulder. “I’d say yes, but that would be lying.”

  Trevour claps his hands together. “I knew it! You’re just putting on a brave face. No one fights hordes like this regularly.”

  “Oh, no, the enemies are weak. This is just stinkier than most of the Rifts I’ve cleared,” I follow up blandly.

  “Face it, lad, he’s got you beat,” Klaarson hoots. “This is what real talent looks like.”

  “Shut it, Klaarson.”

  “Hey, I ain’t talented either,” Klaarson replies. “Good thing, too. Else the boss would make me fight creepy-crawlies like that!”

  Shuddering, the two seem to come to an accord, nodding in unison. Who wouldn’t bond over mutual hatred for disgusting worms trying to burrow into you and devour you from the inside out?

  “Might wanna retreat,” I suddenly urge, my voice going low and intense. “Nicanor’s about to start fighting for real.”

  “That’s him warming up?” Klaarson scoffs.

  I don’t waste my time explaining myself, already turning and urging my mount into a quick trot. Based on the intensity of the mana building up in the [Spear Commander], he’s not holding back any longer now that he’s put his new spear through its preliminary paces.

  Everything he’s done so far is the result of his physical prowess and his opening Skill. Now, I suspect he’s about to tune in to the conceptual framework of violence and immolation imbued into the spear.

  Overcoming their skepticism, the workers follow my lead and fall back to the other side of a craggy ridge. That should keep us safe from collateral damage. I hope.

  “Can’t see the fight now,” Trevour complains.

  I wave my hand, although it’s largely theatrical since magic only requires my mental or spiritual impulse, and not a somatic element.

  Unfolding into existence like a flower opening its bud in the spring, a glass window pane materializes right in front of us. I link it to the scrying sensors on my flying golems, and the chief falcon’s point of view projects onto the polished sheet of glass.

  A giggle bubbles up before I can catch myself. For a split second I’m mortified, but then I shrug. I don’t care if I sound like a little girl. Manifesting mana into glass will never grow old, not after losing the ability for so long. I’ll never take my Skills for granted again.

  Each one is incalculably precious.

  “Why’d we have to come all the way out here on those death-trap horses if you could just do that in the first place?” Marta asks in a strangled voice. “You took about ten years off my lifespan with that insane run!”

  “I hate to give Marta any credit,” Trevour says, flashing a grin at the sour expression on her face, “but I have to agree. Couldn’t we have watched from the comfort of the caravan?”

  “My range is too short,” I lie.

  They seem to accept that explanation without complaint, but I file away that detail and remind myself never to reveal just how far I can push the connection between my golems. If I tried, I could probably create a mesh network to relay the signal from falcon to falcon, reaching all the way back to camp.

  Thankfully, a flash of light from the scrying image distracts them a heartbeat later. A chorus of excited exclamations rise up from the assembled crew as Nicanor’s spear extends to thirty feet long and whirls about him, bisecting dozens of the distended grubs at once.

  The manuevor isn’t done yet. Nicanor pulses mana through the spear, and the vortex of violence explodes outward in a wave of incandescent fury as immolation works its wonders. Flames as tall as trees race along the ground, combusting the creatures and destroying them in puffs of thick, oily smoke.

  “I need one of those for dealing with rats in the wagons,” Marta mumbles, earning a few chuckles from the rest of her team.

  Trevour rolls his eyes at her, but I can tell he’s thinking the same thing. “Like you could afford a weapon like that.”

  I sigh dramatically and draw on [The Glassmith Masters All] to materialize more mana into glass, shaping simple belt knives with foot-long blades. Imbuing them with sharpness, unbreakable, and immolation takes a mere thought now that I know how to expand the canvas of my mind to include a full vista of experience and emotion.

  “Fine, fine, you’ve convinced me. Hope this makes up for the ride.”

  “Barely,” Marta says, thinning her lips and doing a poor job of disguising her excitement. “But what about the smell? You owe us, mister [Mage].”

  “Marta!” Klaarson hisses in warning.

  I just laugh. “You drive a hard bargain, mistress [Keeper of the Caravan’s Hearthflames]. Whew! That’s a fancy title.”

  She flinches. “How did you know my Class? Can you read my mind?”

  “No mind reading,” I assure her, but she still looks skeptical. I roll my eyes.

  “Look, you’re safe enough. I can see Skills and Classes, not your thoughts. I can’t help showing off sometimes. When we’re back at camp, I’ll think of a suitable gift for you all. Though some might say witnessing this clash is payment enough. Who knows what new inspiration you may draw from the Skills you’ve seen today? I’ll warrant a couple of you will rank up your heat-related and hospitality Skills if you think about how to copy some of what you’ve watched us do.”

  “Can you really see our Skills?” Klaarson blurts out. Instead of fear, embarrassment, or open distrust, which are reasonable and common reactions when people learn of my ability to View their core space, all that I sense from him is excitement, shot through with an undercurrent of trepidation.

  I nod curtly in response, though I’m wondering if I just over promised. Just because I can see what’s going on doesn’t mean I know how to lend my aid.

  He leans over the scrying mirror from where he stands on the opposite side of me, and an expression somewhere between longing and desperation contorts his face. “Please, you gotta—”

  “Klaar! You’re blocking the view,” Trevour cuts in. “Fitting, since you’re always whining about your blockage. Ask him for help later. I’m trying to watch the show.”

  Oh? I’ll have to take a look at Klaarson’s core. When the battle’s over, I promise myself. I only hope I can help.

  Still, that’s a problem for later. The “show,” as Trevour put it, is still going full force.

  “Watch this!” I call as I sense a powerful working of mana pooling in Nicanor’s chest. If the concentration of energy is anything to go by, he’s about to finish this fight right now.

  Everyone leans closer to get a good view. Marta elbows the much larger Klaarson out of the way, and he shifts over with a chagrined expression just in time for her to see the show.

  Explosive waves expand in rapid, concentric rings of force from where Nicanor slams his spear into the ground, flattening the gruesome grubs and popping them like grapes trodden underfoot in a winepress.

  Even from here, I sense the resonance of authority at work. It crushes the monsters in an unrelenting wave of violence and domination that works even better than I’d anticipated. In less than five heartbeats, thousands of the nasty creatures are ground into green and yellow paste on the rocky ground.

  Nicanor shines with inner light, a look of pure bliss on his face as he stands between the hordes of monsters and the people in the caravan behind us.

  The swarm breaks. Their mindless aggression shifts into naked terror, and they scatter as they try to get away from the death-dealing [Spear Commander]. Fleeing and hiding doesn’t help them, however, not when my Domain picks out each beast with pinpoint precision and directs my army toward them to deliver swift and brutal justice.

  My ground-based glass golems advance, cutting through the remaining infestation, and after ten minutes, not a single beast is left alive—save for the few stragglers I let through to give the scouts back at the caravan something to do.

  I’m not worried about whether or not they can handle it. Mikko and Avelina can clean up the few hundred beasts with ease if they need to intervene. I’ve already sent a swift falcon back to camp with a message for them, just in case.

  I fling my arms wide and take an abbreviated bow. “Congratulations, friends! Your first infestation, in the books. That’s how professionals do it.”

  “Promoting yourself, eh Nuri?”

  We all turn as Nicanor bounds down from a nearby cliff, cratering the dirt beneath him with the impact of his landing. He grins at me, twirling his spear, and I suddenly have a sinking feeling about what’s coming next.

  He grins at me, a predator’s smile. “Guess that means you’re ready for more advanced training. I hope you’ve enjoyed your vacation so far.”

  All I can do is cover my face with my hands and groan. Me and my big mouth!