I woke to a world on fire.
The sting of smoke filled my lungs, dragging me violently from sleep. I could hear shouts and screams tangled with the clash of steel, and the roar of flames was so loud it drowned out every thought. My fingers found the hilt of my blade by instinct, and I was already on my feet before I fully registered the sound of chaos outside.
The tent flap tore open, a rush of cold air and the copper tang of blood hitting me all at once. I stumbled out, boots crunching against snow streaked with ash and crimson. My eyes darted across the camp.
A lone figure stood in the center, robed in black, a staff—no, a spear—raised high and glowing with sickly green light. Soldiers lunged at him, but with a single downward slash, the air itself rippled. A jagged tear of dark energy shot outward, splitting the earth and hurling men like ragdolls. Their screams barely heard before their bodies hit the ground, limp and broken.
I exhaled sharply. I'd never seen magic quite like that.
This attack wasn't a complete surprise, not really. Alaric and I had expected something. An ambush, maybe a strike on the camp or a probing attack. This though? No, not this. Not sorcery of this scale, or a weapon that flung fire and lightning with a flick of the wrist.
"To arms!"
Alaric's voice cut through the bedlam, raw and commanding.
He stood near the center of camp, a warhammer gripped in both hands, flickers of magic curling between his fingers. Soldiers stumbled toward him, eyes wide with terror, clutching weapons with white-knuckled grips.
I forced myself forward, boots slipping on ice slick with blood.
"Alaric!" I shouted, nearly colliding with him. "They hit us too soon!"
"Tell them that," he snapped, deflecting a bolt of flame with a flicker of light that barely held. The magic dispersed fast, and I could see the strain in his eyes. His own spells weren't enough to stop a direct hit. "Bastards must've known we were onto them."
We had doubled the watch, laid traps, and even rotated shifts twice to keep the men alert. It should have bought us time. Should have let us counter the ambush, or at least given us some warning.
None of it had mattered.
Dark-robed figures moved at the edges of the firelight, hands weaving complex sigils that flared with sickly green light. Spells tore through our ranks. Men screamed as they were hurled back, flesh seared and twisted.
A flicker of motion caught my eye. A recruit barely out of boyhood stood shaking, blade raised against one of the sorcerers. The caster sneered and raised a hand. Lightning cracked through the air.
The boy crumpled without a sound.
"Gods damn them," I growled, turning to Alaric. "Where are the others?"
"Dead or scattered," he said through clenched teeth. His eyes flickered gold, a spark of magic bleeding into his voice. "They came from the north and west, pushed us into a damned bottleneck. If we don't break through…"
"Then we're all dead," I finished.
"There's at least three of them," Alaric said, swatting away a smaller burst of fire with a hasty shield that shattered on impact. He looked pale. His breathing was ragged. "One of them's wielding something… something powerful."
I followed his gaze, and my stomach dropped. It was the same sorcerer I had seen earlier, the one who had torn through our men like nothing. The staff he carried wasn't just a staff. It was a long, jagged spear that pulsed with cold, unnatural energy. Runes spiraled along its length, shifting and flickering like they were alive.
He moved with sharp, deliberate precision. Fire and lightning lanced from the spear's tip, each strike cutting through armor and bone without hesitation. No wasted motion. No pause. Just cold, efficient killing.
His hood was drawn low, but his eyes caught the light. Ice blue. Focused.
"We need to take him down. Now," Alaric said.
"You don't say," I muttered. My heartbeat was a steady thunder in my ears.
"Cover me," Alaric said, voice tight. "I'll deal with the spells. You get that damned spear away from him."
"Wonderful plan," I muttered, but I was already moving, sword in hand.
We pushed forward, weaving between bodies and the chaos. The sorcerer saw us and lifted the spear high. A pulse of energy rippled outward. It hit like a wave, deep enough to rattle my teeth.
Alaric lunged first, bringing his warhammer down with all the weight he had. The sorcerer caught it with a ward, but the blow still knocked him back. The light around him flickered. I stepped in, blade flashing, and cut low across his side.
It barely drew blood.
The bastard just laughed and stepped back, spinning the spear between his fingers like he was playing with us.
"This is the best they send? A hedge knight and a sellsword?"
Alaric spat blood and adjusted his grip.
"Funny," he said. "I was about to say the same."
The sorcerer's smirk twitched.
Then he lunged.
The spear came at me fast, a blur of steel and light. I barely managed to dodge. The wind from the strike skimmed my cheek.
Then pain exploded across my side. A bolt of magic struck me in the ribs, sharp and searing. My knees buckled. I stayed upright anyway. I wasn't dying here.
I moved in again, feinted right and twisted left. The sorcerer shifted with me. Alaric saw it and came down hard. The ward buckled as steel and magic clashed.
For the first time, the sorcerer staggered.
His grip on the spear tightened.
"You are becoming annoying."
We pushed together. Hammer. Blade. Whatever we had left.
His wards cracked again. He slowed just enough.
I stepped in and drove my blade toward his ribs.
Alaric swung at his head.
"Die!" I shouted, voice hoarse and raw.
The sorcerer roared back.
"Enough of this!"
Suddenly magic detonated outward.
Our weapons were thrown back. I barely twisted aside in time to avoid losing an arm. My sword grazed my shoulder as it spun free. Alaric's warhammer flew from his hands and clattered across the ground as he dropped to a knee.
The sorcerer lifted the spear again and began to chant.
The air twisted around him. His voice turned harsh, too loud. The wind picked up. Bolts of lightning sparked from the tip of the spear and lashed the ground.
I tried to move. Too slow.
The chant built. The power climbed.
Then he tilted his head back, reaching the crescendo.
And froze.
The spell cut off mid-word. His voice cracked into a scream.
A roar tore through the sky. Loud enough to shake my bones.
Something massive dropped from above and hit the ground like a meteor. The shock split the earth and scattered the battlefield. Ice ripped through the air.
I was thrown across the snow. Couldn't roll. Could barely breathe.
I hit hard. My ribs lit up with pain. I skidded and came to a stop in the bloodied snow.
Silence followed.
In the crater, a figure stood. She reached down and pulled the spear from the frozen corpse of the sorcerer, and then her golden eyes locked with mine.
A slow, deliberate smile curved her lips.