Thunder rumbled in the sky overhead. Matt glanced upwards into the steadily falling rain, still blinking away the spots from his eyes. The lightning hadn’t been close, but the flash had still been enough to light the darkness enough to ruin his night-vision. Around him, he heard grumbles about the weather from the troops that stood with him, and he restrained a grimace. Launching this kind of assault in the middle of a storm was not ideal, but it was better than coming all this way not to do anything at all. He only had so much time to deal with the situation before he needed to be back in Redspire; the recalcitrant fools in the castle ahead of him had wasted enough time for everyone already.

  Another flash of lightning backlit the town on the hill, and Matt winced as the silhouette of Windguard Keep was drawn in stark relief against the shrouded night sky. Windguard was the southernmost town still recognized as part of the Copper Hills. For generations, it had watched over the border between the Hills and the Ponthuul territory to the south. It had traded hands repeatedly over the years as the Leaffall Orcs had feuded with their Elvish neighbors. The Orcs had been the last ones to capture it, only five years prior, in a campaign that had sent the Elves running back home.

  Now it was still held by Orcs, but they weren’t the victorious servants of Matt’s kingdom. They were the last remnants of the Leaffall resistance to his reign, having retreated from the rest of the Copper Hills already. Many of their troops had already surrendered; between the advance of Margraves Morteth and Karve and their abandonment by their former friends in the Alliance, the majority of the Leaffall soldiers had seen no reason to die for nothing.

  Those who disagreed had been forced to fall back to avoid being outflanked or outnumbered. They had even abandoned the capital of the Clan, gathering their remaining loyal troops into this final place. He wondered what they thought they would accomplish. Were they waiting for reinforcements from the Alliance? The last he’d heard, the Elves were still trying to regroup after losing their Queen, and the Wizards of the Circle of Heaven were too far away to come to the rescue.

  The only other group in the Alliance anywhere near close enough were the Wizards of Greymark, but they were in no position to help anyone. Not now.

  Matt winced as a memory went through his head again. His headaches had lessened as the Copper Hills had been reclaimed, but it hadn’t helped him sleep any better. It seemed like every time someone mentioned anything even remotely linked to Greyhenge, he saw that whirling funnel in his mind, or felt the earth shaking beneath his feet. He knew it had been necessary, but the memory of what he’d done in destroying the place haunted him. A part of him hoped that it always would.

  He shook his head at the morbid thought and looked back towards Windguard. Gwelfed had left nearly an hour ago. Which meant that any minute now—

  “Sire.”

  Matt barely restrained a curse as he jumped in Nelson’s saddle. He turned to glare at the Grimfen Goblin, though it was pointless. He couldn’t see all that well in the dark, after all. “Report.”

  The scout nodded. “No patrols that I could see, sire. Just sentries standing on the walls. Doors are locked up tight, though, and I didn’t see any sign of our messengers.”

  He grimaced. They had sent a small group of Leaffall Orcs into Windguard with a message demanding the rebels’ surrender. It had been risky, but Matt had hoped that seeing their kin ask for them to stand down would have convinced the fools. “No bodies on the walls, right?”

  Gwelfed shook her head, and Matt sighed in relief. He’d heard stories of dissenters being butchered and displayed during the occupation. Hopefully, the Orcs wouldn’t use the same tactics against their own people that the Alliance had used against them.

  Someone cleared their throat nearby, and Matt looked over at Margrave Morteth. The Imp was barely visible under the pelting rain and the branches of the surrounding trees, but Matt could still catch the glint of his eyes. He gestured for the Margrave to speak, and Morteth shifted on his feet.

  “There is no point in delaying any longer, my liege. The sooner this is over, the sooner the Kingdom can be whole again.”

  The Magrave seemed a little hoarse; the Imp had been struggling with some kind of cold the past few days, something that probably didn’t help his patience for the situation. Of course, he’d also been fighting this campaign for weeks now. Matt couldn’t blame him for wanting to be done with it.

  He looked back at the dark shape of the keep as thunder rolled. “The sappers are in position?”

  Morteth nodded again. “Captain Curalesh sent word that they are ready. The High Guard are prepared as well, and Lady Einreth’s troops are also waiting for the word.” He saw the Imp shift again, apparently a little unhappy that the Red Moon Orcs’ leader had followed Matt to the Copper Hills to steal some of the credit for the final victory, but Morteth was too good a soldier to allow such points of pride to get in the way. “We only await your command.”

  Matt looked back at the fortress one last time. At last count, there were probably close to three or four banners of troops inside. They’d be a mix of hapless Leaffall militia, with barely any combat experience to their name, and trained Leaffall soldiers like Defiants or Leapers. Few would be veterans; the Leaffalls had never had a good chance to recover after the losses under Teblas, and the Alliance had forced them to throw their most experienced soldiers away in a bid to spare the Elves and Wizards any ‘unnecessary’ casualties.

  It was a small force, one that would have been swallowed up by most of the armies that Matt had led over the past few months. At the same time, they’d be fighting inside a keep, using the cramped corridors and blunt fortifications to make up for their lack of numbers and experience. The wisest course would be to lay siege; with civilians inside the town, there wouldn’t be much of a chance that the rebels had taken in enough supplies to keep themselves fed. Their defiance would make things take longer, but it could have been worth the wait.

  At the same time, he had no choice. The Alliance might be shattered now, but they would eventually come back to the field. They had to; the Oaths that they had sworn left them no choice. Just as the pain had driven him to reclaim the Copper Hills, the leaders of the Alliance would be scourged by agony until they hunted him down and killed him. For all he knew, the Ponthuul had already gathered their remaining troops and were on their way here, ready for a futile strike.

  If they were on their way, it would be better to face them from inside the walls of Windguard Keep, rather than from the camps outside. Besides, as he glanced up into the clouds again, he had to admit that the prospect of sleeping under a roof was beginning to sound nice.

  With another grimace, Matt nodded. “Begin, Margrave.”

  Morteth bowed. Then he turned to his aide, who immediately channeled a bit of power into a small, flickering fireball. The construct was not the color of normal flame; instead, blue fire appeared in the signaller’s palm for a moment, before changing to green a moment later. Matt looked over towards the castle and saw other orbs of flame showing green. Then they vanished, leaving him staring into the gloom and waiting for the noise to start.

  Part of him wanted to push forward along with them. After all, he had ridden down from Redspire to lead them in this final push. Morteth had believed it would help the morale of his war-weary troops, and Matt had agreed. It felt wrong to sit on Nelson and watch as the troops pushed forwards. They’d be using magic to try to breach the castle walls so that they could gain access. His magic could have done that in a single gesture, widening a gap wide enough to charge a banner through.

  Or at least, it could have. Not anymore.

  Matt looked down for a moment, trying to hide a frown as he toyed with the mace at his side. His magic had not… recovered well after Greyhenge. Melren had been unflaggingly optimistic, but even his magic tutor had started to worry as Matt’s Sources had failed to rebound from the abuse he’d put them through. Neither Source that he’d taken such pains to create could sustain a single spell. Even trying was an agonizing waste of time; the energy simply refused to be channeled, brushing aside the frameworks meant to make the power useful and scraping against Matt’s soul instead. It was not the most pleasant experience.

  Melren was still searching the libraries and spellholds of Redspire for an answer, but for now, Matt was as helpless at magic as he’d been before he’d left Earth. His frustration over that fact had only grown as the campaign had progressed over the past three weeks.

  Still, he’d stubbornly started the Foundation for his next Source. The mantras for Fire had been the highest quality he’d ever seen, which made sense considering Melren’s former specialties. Morteth and his troops had been more than happy to lend him a few tips as well. He was making quick progress, but if there was anything as dangerous as he’d faced before, inside the Keep…

  His thoughts trailed off as crackling sounds rose over the noise of the rain. He saw flames again, this time much brighter swathes of fire that washed up and over the battlements of the outer walls. Sentries cried out and bells rang. Matt saw a ramp form on the outside of the fort, built by the Gnomish Hill Guard who had been fighting their way through the canyons and ridges north of the Copper Hills for weeks. Their mastery of Earth magic made his former skills look like child’s play—a massively powerful child, maybe, but still a novice in every way that mattered.

  The enemy would have known about the Gnomes, however. They would have been expecting the Hill Guard to build some kind of entrance into their keep. Even as Matt watched, he heard the pitch of the wind shift and build as it whistled through the hills and trees. In the light of the fires, Matt could already see armored Orcs running along the battlements, their own magic dispersing the flames in whirls of air. More shouts and screams drifted back towards him as the thunder rolled.

  Nelson shifted. The warbuck had grown used to the sounds of battle, and it seemed like his mount was just as restive as he was sitting out the assault. Matt calmed the warbuck with a stroke, even as he strained to hear the next part of the attack. Somewhere on the opposite side of the fortress, some of Melren’s best students would be moving forward in the dark…

  While the initial part had to have been hidden in the thunder, the resulting shouts and screams were not. Matt peered through the dark and saw some of the Leaffalls reversing course, running in the opposite direction compared to the rest of their companions. He fought a grin. Using a group version of the burrowing spell he’d mastered, some of the troops had breached the Keep from the other side. Two entire banners of Einreth’s best troops were probably pushing into the castle now, their heavy armor ignoring the Defiants’ arrows and their weapons making a mockery of any militia inside.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  With their forces divided and the walls breached in two places, Matt doubted that the fighting would last long. Stubbornness was one thing, certain death was another. All his troops would need to do would be to…

  His thoughts trailed off as the tenor of the bells changed. He glanced at Morteth, who was now nodding to himself in satisfaction.

  When he looked back, he saw the gates of the Keep swinging open. A flash of lightning revealed an entire banner of Leapers leaving the Keep at a full gallop, their bicorns thundering over the road. Their course was obvious as they veered from the beaten path, heading straight through the trees to where Matt was waiting.

  Matt saw them coming and sighed. “You were right, Margrave.”

  Morteth cleared his throat in a way that just seemed smug, somehow. “I thought the Alliance would have compelled at least a few of their servants to take the Oath here. Some of their puppets showed a little too much stubbornness and strength. It must have seemed like a good way to reward their loyalty.”

  “As well as making sure they couldn’t turn on their friends, too.” Matt shifted in his saddle, making Nelson shift as well. “I would have thought they’d already be dead, though. How have they survived this long?”

  “Orcs can be tough, sire.” The wry tone of Morteth’s words made some of Matt’s lifeguards chuckle.

  Rethferd, a Hard Scythe Orc leaning against a nearby tree, looked over at Balred. “Seems Leaffall Orcs more than most.”

  The Leaffall Orc in Matt’s retinue just shrugged the supposed compliment aside. His eyes were fixed on the charging Leapers, his fingers tightening around his sword. Matt read the tension in his stance and grimaced. Ignored and scorned he might be, but Balred wasn’t made of stone. He was watching the last, futile charge of many of his kinsmen.

  It didn’t seem quite so hopeless as the Leapers crashed through the vegetation towards him, though. The bicorns were tough, almost as sturdy as warbucks. Their riders were armored and carried weapons that could cut Matt down without any trouble at all. Behind them, the fighting had moved behind the walls; Matt could see small figures streaming into the Keep from the ramp as flames burned below. Clearly, the noblemen on the mounts ahead of him had thought it worth abandoning their comrades in order to strike at Matt directly. Maybe things would have turned out for them if they managed to take the Tyrant’s head, especially if one of them could claim the throne afterward.

  Of course, Morteth had made sure they would never get the chance.

  Roughly one hundred and fifty meters from him, the earth abruptly sprouted into a solid, chest-high barrier. The sudden wall was a product of the Gnomish spell known as the Earthson’s Bulwark, something every member of the Hill Guard learned as one of their first spells. It wouldn’t last longer than an hour, but it was more than sturdy enough to emulate a brick wall if one of the bicorns slammed into it. Against most cavalry, it would have been a deadly trap, sprung by a banner of Hill Guard that Morteth had kept in reserve.

  The Leapers, to their credit, reacted instantly. They called on their own magic to use the spell for which they were named. Bicorns shot into the thunder-torn sky, a flash of lightning revealing them as they arced over the impromptu wall. A shudder ran through Matt as another image flashed through his mind, that of several banners of Orcish Leapers and Elvish Prancers all sweeping through the sky on their way to kill him.

  Things hadn’t ended well for them, and they wouldn’t end well this time, either.

  A second banner of Hill Guard responded just as the bicorns came down. The spell they used was called the Granite Thicket’s Growth, and it spawned an entire hedge of spikes in front of Matt’s position, right where the Leapers had meant to land. They had no chance to evade. Bicorns howled and Orcs shouted as they descended directly into the trap, their limbs flailing uselessly as their silhouettes vanished into the shadows of the night.

  Several crunching, wet impacts drifted up out of the forest below him, and Matt was briefly thankful for the darkness. He’d already seen horrors enough; he didn’t need to add the fate of the fools below him to the list of memories.

  He glanced to the side at Balred, but the lifeguard’s only reaction was a brief tightening of his grip on his sword. When the last of the shouts and screams had vanished into the groans of the wounded, the Orc took his hand from his blade and sat back. His features were unreadable in the dark, something that seemed like a kindness.

  Matt looked back at the Keep, where fires were still burning. The shouting there was starting to die down as well, and his troops were moving into the castle as if the resistance inside had crumbled. Without their fanatical leaders, the militia was probably already trying to lay down their arms. He looked at Morteth. “Shall we head in?”

  The Imp reached up and latched a hand onto Nelson’s bridle. He shook his head. “No, sire. We wait until they send word.” There was a firmness in Morteth’s tone that made Matt grunt sourly. The Margrave had been told about Matt’s current… condition, and the man had apparently decided that it meant Matt needed to be treated like he was made of glass. Perhaps it was just a bit of overprotectiveness from a practiced mage seeing someone fall victim to what had to be a magic user’s worst nightmare, or perhaps it was some desire to keep Matt from doing something as risky as he already had. Either way, Morteth clearly did not intend to let him get anywhere near the fighting.

  In the end, they were forced to wait until one of the High Guard had mounted the wall and sent the signal, a simple white ball of flame. Grumbling to himself a little, Matt spurred Nelson forward just as Morteth let go of the warbuck’s tackle.

  He needed to get his magic back, or his own officers were going to put him out to pasture like an old, lame horse.

  Even though the Keep was mostly in one piece, it had clearly seen better days.

  As Matt entered the courtyard, he saw the entry point Melren’s specialized troops had created. It was a jagged, cratered hole in the eastern wall, one large enough that Einreth’s troops had clearly stormed through without issue. Blackened stones were scattered around the courtyard, some of which appeared to have crushed Leaffall defenders beneath the rain of debris. He heard Morteth grumble something under his breath, but he ignored it to look around at the rest of the Keep.

  There were still bodies everywhere, though at least the High Guard was already getting the flames under control. They had already lit a string of fires around the courtyard, hanging them in midair as if they were chained to invisible torches. Einreth’s soldiers were already sorting through the dead and shouting surrendered prisoners into line, while others were bent over their own, trying to help them staunch still-bleeding wounds.

  He saw some of the Hill Guard standing around the hole blasted in the wall, shaking their heads in clear dismay. The Hill Guards were utter masters of siege warfare and undermining fortifications. It was no surprise that they were less than impressed with the handful of Knights that he’d ordered Melren to train in the ways of magic, but it still made Matt snort in amusement at their unhappiness.

  The handful of Mage-Errants in question were standing in a group all by themselves a short distance away, ignored or avoided by the other soldiers. As Matt approached, their bannerman saluted him. “My liege.”

  Matt smiled and returned the salute. “Sargent Horsend. Good to see you survived the battle. You did well.”

  Horsend nodded, his flushed face showing a moment of awe as he realized Matt remembered him. “Thank you, my liege.” He glanced at the lifeguards, who were regarding him with a variety of expressions ranging from hostile to curious. “Is there anything more we can do for you, my liege?”

  He shook his head. “No, Sargent. Get your men into order, and be ready to march. I’ll be taking you back with me to Coppercrest.”

  Horsend bowed and then turned to herd the other Mage-Errants away. Morteth watched them go with narrow eyes.

  Matt raised an eyebrow at his Margrave. “So? What do you think of them?”

  Morteth didn’t answer immediately, his gaze still following the Knights as they walked. “They are dabblers and amateurs, especially when it comes to Fire.” He paused, his reluctance clear. “Yet I see potential. Perhaps they will continue to be of use.”

  “Not for much longer, I’d wager.” The brash words cut in across the conversation, and Matt looked over to find a blunt-faced Gnome approaching. Captain Curalesh wore the same heavy armor that the rest of the Hill Guard wore, and the only reason that Matt could see his face was because the barred visor had been lifted. His war pick waved over his shoulder as he gestured to the hole in the wall. “That hole shows all the signs of clumsy digging, honestly, and it’ll take a lot longer than two years to grind that out of them. That’s if they don’t just turn on us first, anyway.”

  Matt restrained his initial irritation. Curalesh, as he’d come to know, was as blunt as his features, but he was honest. He didn’t much like Knights, or Wizards, or Dwarves, or Orcs, or Goblins, or other Gnomes… or anyone really, but he fought hard, and he knew how to bring a fortress down. Morteth had spoken highly of him, which was a high recommendation in Matt’s book. After all, the High Imp wasn’t known to like the Gnomes very much, either. “You suspect their loyalty, Captain?”

  Curalesh shrugged. “These days, I’d say that about anyone, my liege.” He looked around the Keep with a jaded eye. “Still, if we have to rely on a bunch of farmers-turned-magelings, I suppose we could do worse. Even if they are a bunch of ham-fisted sappers with no respect for the soil.”

  With a glance at the hole, Matt frowned. “Were they slow getting through it? They were supposed to use your people’s spell.”

  “Oh, they did, sire. Autumnal Crushing Force, a respectable, working man’s spell. Could have punched through the wall with another two or three uses, I’d guess.” Curalesh shook his head. “They didn’t just use that, though. The moment the wall cracked, they threw that cursed High Imp nonsense at it. The one with blast in the name?”

  Morteth blinked. “Blasting Flower? They used Blasting Flower on the wall?”

  Curalesh waved his hand at the nearest blackened rocks scattered around the courtyard. “Those rocks didn’t come out cooked for no reason, Margrave. The whole wall shook for a bit, and now, look at it! It’s going to take us a week or two to repair that spot.”

  Matt looked back at the hole, seeing it with fresh eyes. He hadn’t expected the Mage-Errants to improvise a kind of breaching charge, but in hindsight, it was a brilliant technique. If anything, he hoped that the actual mages would start to catch on to the idea—though the expressions on both Morteth’s and Curalesh’s faces suggested otherwise. They both looked like his new recruits had voluntarily eaten dung and then spat it at the Leaffalls instead of breaking through the wall for them.

  He took in a breath to calm himself. They had a long history with these spells. It wouldn’t help anyone if they thought he was being flippant with them. “Still, they did the job?”

  The Gnome looked unhappy, but he nodded. “Oh, they did, all right. They did.” He looked off in the direction that Horsend and the others had disappeared inside. “Hopefully next time they don’t accidentally blow the rock back onto us, or mix up the order of the spells, or some other such nonsense, but they worked well enough this time.”

  “I’ll let them know they have your endorsement then, Captain.” Matt tried not to grin as Curalesh spun to look up at him in horror. He continued before the Gnome could get a word out. “How many prisoners did we take, Captain?”

  The Gnome’s features twisted as if he was chewing on a tough bit of gristle before he responded. “I’d say close to two hundred. Maybe more.” He glanced at the hole again. “The breach was quick enough that they were still getting organized, and the blast at least knocked them silly for a bit. Once the bicorns went out the gate, the rest of them tried to fall back to the inner keep, but the Bloodsworn were right there in after them. It didn’t last long after that.”

  Matt nodded. “Did any of their leaders surrender?”

  “No, sire.” Curalesh shook his head. “They all went out after you, or died fighting. Most of the prisoners we have now are just militia or hired swords, honestly. Not much worth keeping around.”

  Matt thought it over for a moment. His forces had already taken plenty of prisoners on the march through the Copper Hills, but these would be notable for their stubbornness. Still, with their leaders already dead, there wasn’t much point holding onto them—except as a way to make sure that they didn’t vanish across the border to join the Elves. He was halfway sure that plenty of the more cowardly Leaffalls had already done so, but he didn’t want to give the Alliance another couple of banners for free.

  “All right. Get them under guard, and we’ll march them north once the rain lets up. The Bloodsworn should be able to guard them.”

  Morteth looked over at him, his expression neutral. “Just the Bloodsworn, my liege?”

  Matt gave him another nod. “Yeah. Captain Curalesh and the rest will stay here a while to shore up the defenses. At least until some of the Crown Guard can arrive.” There were a couple of banners already on the way. They would be more than enough to hold off an attack if the Elves tried anything. “In the meantime, we’ll head back to Coppercrest and announce that the Hills are ours once more.”

  The Margrave nodded solemnly. “Of course, my liege. I will see to it.” He turned and strode off through the Keep, already giving orders in a calm, composed voice. The troops around him, Orc, Gnome, or Imp, responded as if he’d been shouting, and Matt grinned. Clearly, his Margrave had already earned plenty of respect.

  More than that, however, he had just felt a sweeping sense of relief. It was hard to pin down, but obviously some part of him felt as if the mission was over. The Oath that had been tormenting him with constant headaches must have considered the Copper Hills retaken, and his Kingdom safe.

  Now he just needed to make sure that things stayed that way, for however much longer it took.