“Enough doom and gloom,” Nicanor interrupts before our conversation can continue. His tone brooks no objections, though his gaze on me is not unkind. “You’re depressing my student.”

  “He’s terminally depressed,” Avelina snickers, which breaks the tension in the room.

  I can’t help but grin at her teasing. “No wonder, with friends like you!”

  “Pshh! I’m the life of every party.”

  “Parties of one, maybe,” I shoot back.

  “Let’s call this meeting to order,” Mikko hastily suggests, ignoring the playful glare from his betrothed. He glances around the table with a rare pleading look in his eyes, and it occurs to me that he’s ready for a break from all the fighting and subterfuge. He’s earned that much.

  “Yes. Let’s,” I agree.

  Inwardly, I promise to make this all up to Mikko eventually. He’s a [Blacksmith], not a [Spy] or [Soldier]. Talented, but still in need of direction. He has a lot of growth ahead of him, and a quiet life with Avelina to look forward to once they return to Silaraon. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged around the country, caught up in my mad schemes.

  “My informant with the [Mage] cabal passed along a diagram of Tem’s cell, as well as a rough schedule of the guard rotation,” Nicanor announces smoothly, as though nothing at all is happening around us.

  He hands out small slips of paper that include the details, and instructs us to channel a drop of mana into the notes. Immediately, the information attempts to sear itself into my mind, and it’s only an adroit twist of my Domain to lower my reflexive defenses that allows the tiny inscription to succeed. If almost anyone else gave me that paper, I would shred the incoming manna, but Nicanor has earned my trust.

  Once the transfer of information is complete, the paper ignites. The dense series of enchantments targets itself, and soon disappears entirely in a curl of smoke. Nifty.

  I barely recognize half of the runic scripts in the enchantment, which is simultaneously exciting and frustrating: exciting, because there’s such a big world out there to explore, and frustrating, because it went up in flames before I could memorize the runes I didn’t know. I’d have loved the chance to analyze them properly. A glance at Melina confirms that she has similar feelings about the loss of potential knowledge.

  “Now that’s useful,” I murmur.

  “Incredibly useful,” Melina echoes.

  We share a grin, and I know she’s thinking the same things that I am about new runic discoveries, adding to our ever-growing grimoire, and how to apply the combination of mental magic, communication technology, and knowledge runes.

  Now that it’s done, however, we’re all operating with informational parity. We don’t need to worry about not being on the same page as we discuss tactics or timing, which saves us all a lot of time.

  “Ohh, great,” Avelina groans. “Now our wannabe scholars are off in their own world. We might as well cancel the rest of the meeting now so they can daydream about memorizing new squiggles.”

  “Hey! Don’t even think of ducking out. You’re not getting away from this planning meeting that easily.”

  “You’re the one who thinks this needs to be complicated,” she fires back at me. “Just send in a few golems to cut the bars and slip him a note. He can climb down the tower and meet up with us on the way out of the city. Easy.”

  Nicanor snorts. “And if one of the other Golds shows up and crushes all the golems in a heartbeat? Then what?”

  Avelina flutters her eyelashes at him prettily, which she knows full well annoys the man. “Good thing we have you! Big, strong [Spear Commander] to the rescue.”

  Mikko crosses his arms and gives her an unimpressed look, so she leans over and pecks his cheek, which seems to mollify him.

  I roll my eyes. “This meeting is off to a great start.”

  Behind us, one of the [Honorbound Bodyguards] clears his throat. Nicanor half-turns in his seat, regarding Net for a brief moment, and nods. “Let’s hear it. Where did I go wrong?”

  “No offense, Sir, but extraction is a very different skill set compared with killing,” Net says as diplomatically as possible. “She might be on to something with the golems. With how many the [Glass Mage] can create, we can use them for misdirection instead of relying on them to do the bulk of the work. Flood the tower with enough of them, and even the Gold [Swordmaster General] will struggle to know where to strike.”

  Nicanor frowns. “Won’t it be obvious we’re coming for Tem if diplomacy breaks down?”

  Net and First exchange glances, and a rush of significance swirls between them—likely a communication Skill thanks to their unusual shared Class. “Unlikely. There are dozens of high profile prisoners in the Acasseus Towers. There’s no way that they check each one before we exfiltrate Tem, not in time.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “He seems to be in rough shape. We may have to carry him,” Nicanor muses. “That will slow us down, put a target on our backs.”

  “Risky,” Net acknowledges.

  Nicanor drums his fingers against the table. “War is always a risk. That’s no reason to hold back, as much as I hate putting you all in harm’s way.”

  “No way around it,” I say grimly.

  “Unless the golems carry him,” First suggests.

  While I chew on my lower lip in thought, considering exactly how that would work surreptitiously, the two [Honorbound Bodyguards] exchange another look laden with meaning.

  “Don’t tell me you never considered that,” Mikko says, slowly breaking into laughter. He snorts, trying to suppress it, and ends up laughing even harder. “Don’t you use your creatures for everything?”

  “Well, the glass ponies were the first time I ever really rode one of my golems. No one else liked them,” I mutter defensively.

  “Survival is more important that comfort,” First says delicately. He breaks into a rare smirk. “Though I’m not sure if Tem will agree.”

  “Even your grumpy guards are teasing me now!” I protest, gesturing vainly at Nicanor.

  “How would a pony even make it up to the cell?” Melina asks, saving the poor, besieged [Spear Commander] from answering my accusing glare.

  My hands gather up the stray strands of hair on either side of my overgrown beard, and I smooth the unruly facial hair back into shape while I think. “I’d have to make a spider variant to climb the outside. Tough to hide one big enough to carry Tem. Might be noticed on the way up.”

  “What if he flew?” Avelina suggested.

  “Like on a giant falcon?” I run my fingers through my beard again, weighing the feasibility. “Not sure I can lift the weight of a person plus the construct. That would take a lot of glass to make something that big. A lot of mana, too. ”

  “Oh no! Forget I asked. I know you’re about to run out of both,” Avelina snickers.

  I shake my head at her, glad to see her old fire back, even if it’s directed at me. “I suppose it’s only smart to use the best resources at our disposal. I don’t know that I can plan as well as Rakesh, or sneak around as well as Lionel, or hit things as hard as Mikko, but I do have a nearly inexhaustible supply of resources. I’ll experiment with a larger falcon.”

  “Phoenix,” Avelina corrects.

  I’m about to argue that I don’t know how to make a phoenix when my words catch in my throat. Her entire being is on high alert, bristling with intensity in my Domain. Strange. She’s as opinionated as they come, but she’s not usually insistent on such a visceral level. But why does it matter?

  Ah. Right.

  “Your old Skill,” I murmur. “Fitting.”

  Avelina inclines her head . “I’d say it’s wasted on you, Nuri, but I have faith that you’ll figure it out in time. You’re a genius, in your own way. Just a very slow genius.”

  “Wow, Ava. That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I deadpan.

  “Don’t get used to it,” she cackles.

  Net and First exchange another meaning-heavy glance, and this time I swear I can pick out their amused exasperation at sharing a strategy and planning session with a bunch of young civilians.

  “According to Nicanor’s Skill specialist, I should attempt to merge [Glass Animation] and [Adjuration of the Phoenix] anyway. I guess I’ll make that a priority over finally merging [Sanctuary of Glass] and [Greater Endurance]. But even with that boost, I’m not sure it will be enough to transport a grown man through the air. Ground transportation takes far less mana.”

  “You may be surprised at the state in which you find your hero,” Nicanor says. There’s a look of such profound sorrow in his eyes that my heart seizes up, skipping a beat.

  I hunch down in my seat and ask the question on my mind, even though I fear that I might already know the answer. “You know something you’re not saying.”

  “Have you seen the effects of the void?”

  I rub my temples with my fingertips at Nicanor’s abrupt question. Fending off memories of my father’s vibrant, strong body reduced to a shell of himself, I draw on a Skill too often overlooked. [Lesser Resistance: Mental Strain] kicks in, and I recover my balance.

  “You’ve seen my files, [Spear Commander]. My parents wasted away. Do you even need to ask?”

  I break off in a surge of emotion. Why bring that up now of all times?

  “I may have phrased that poorly,” Nicnaor says with a wince. “I don’t mean the actual mana plague, in this case, but the ravaging effects of channeling its power too deeply, for too long.”

  “So he’s a withered husk.” I find myself biting out the words, and it’s only through months of practice that I prevent my roiling emotions from seeping out into my Domain.

  The grim set to Nicanor’s jaw tells me all I need to know. I’m right, and I hate that I made the connection so quickly.

  “We can’t rely on him against a [Death Mage], then. Not when he’s already sapped of all his vitality,” I say slowly, the realization slamming home like coffin nails.

  “In all likelihood, yes.”

  “Then why even risk liberating him before the fight? He’s safer where he is!” I burst out, all too aware that it’s a cruel and petulant thing to say about leaving my friend imprisoned.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down the rising torrent of anger, sorrow, and regret. There’s only so much that a Lesser Skill can do. “I’m not going to ask him to die for me. I can’t. Not—not again.”

  “With respect, that’s not your place to decide,” Nicanor growls. He stands up and paces back and forth in the confines of the tent. Heat rises off his skin as his own emotions churn.

  “He’s a hero—a true hero—of Densmore,” Nicanor continues. “Even if he’s too worn out to fight, he’s got a keen mind and unparalleled insight. He’s an invaluable resource. We need every advantage we can get.”

  “It’s too much! Is that all he is to you? A resource?” My voice goes low and flat. “I thought you were friends.”

  Nicanor twitches once, then goes blank in my Domain. He stares at me, his eyes hard and calculating. Every inch the Army [Commander] now, not my teacher or friend.

  “You’re a hard worker, Nuri. You’ve faced down hardship and prevailed over dangerous fights. I won’t diminish that,” he says, his words steady and unwavering.

  Nicanor flexes his jaw. “But you’ve never seen war. And make no mistake that war is coming. When Tapirs gathers his strength and returns, we’ll fight. All of us. Not just for our lives, but for the continued existence of our entire realm as we know it. No price is too high to prevent him from winning.”

  His voice cracks. “Not even if it means the death of one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. Listen, Nuri. I say this with conviction, not because I want to, but because I must: if Tem is the price for peace, I will gladly pay that cost a thousand times over—and so would he.”

  The meeting concludes abruptly with that declaration. Discussing tactics and plans feels gauche after that.

  By unspoken agreement, we all take our leave, slipping away from the table one by one. No one is in the mood to talk anymore.

  I make my way back to the bedroll in my assigned wagon in sullen silence, feeling like I’m wandering through a thick fog. After an ultimatum like that, there’s nothing more left to say.