NOVEL WEB Chapter 73 - Repetition
Five loops later, Mirian had grown frustrated with the start of the cycle. It seemed no matter what she did, the spy’s headquarters caught on fire. Idras was still forthcoming if his life was saved from assassination, but only to an extent. He seemed conveniently forgetful from time to time, and claimed to have no knowledge of how the security measures in the Akanan headquarters actually worked.
Mirian was sure there had to be some sort of glyph-phrase the spies carried on them that disabled the traps, but though the spies had been thoroughly searched, neither she nor the magistrate could find anything. The spy’s clothes had been torn apart, looking for glyphs woven into the lining, their boots ripped open to see if the glyphs were in the soles, and an arcanist had gone over both the items and the people with dozens of divination spells.
Divination spells of the headquarters themselves uncovered several traps, and Torres had helped Mirian figure out a way to remotely disable the spell-engine that was responsible for the first few blazes.
But there was a backup trap, and while the fire it started was smaller, it was targeted in a room full of papers and safes where all the critical documents clearly were.
Mirian consulted with several professors both about divination spells she could try and how anti-divination wards worked. Despite her advancement in the subschool, she could detect nothing she hadn’t found already. And yet, the headquarters always burned. Raiding it early just meant they tripped some sort of trap. Waiting so they could analyze it further didn’t work; someone was still triggering the immolation mechanism, and in a way that neither she nor the Torrviol guard couldn’t detect.
She was starting to become convinced there was still a spy on the guard, but Magistrate Ada’s background checks came up with nothing concrete, and the guards always covered for each other. Valen had some helpful tips, but it wasn’t exactly something she could crack open. She was there for gathering rumors and keeping Mirian’s ego in check.
Archmage Luspire proved equally as frustrating. The problem was he was a man who was used to people trying to manipulate him. Of course he was; he was a Gods-damned archmage, and everyone wanted him for something. Mirian had never been good at manipulating people in the first place, and the mindset that Nicolus’s weird books wanted her to adopt was antithetical to her usual way of thinking. She usually ended up pissing him off, which made getting access to the Divine Monument harder, not that she thought she was going to make much headway there. Even Respected Jei was struggling with the sheer length of the glyph-phrases that they’d deduced the device was using. Dozens of expert wizards had spent years on figuring it out, and Mirian was still essentially an apprentice. Still, she studied what they had discovered as best she could.
In the battle, things were going better. With now nine spies either dead or captured almost immediately in the cycle and the ruined spire they’d been using to send zephyr falcons put under guard, the Akanans no longer could know Baracuel’s exact disposition and strategy before the battle even began. By now, she could help Torrviol hold out until midday of the 1st of Duala. Then, the same supply issues that were plaguing the Akanans started impeding the Baracuel Army’s effectiveness. While ammunition could run out, the battle magi and sorcerers simply recovered their mana, and then the enemy still had their four to one advantage. When Akana Praediar launched their midday assault, it came all at once, and it seemed unstoppable.
But even that delay had taught her something important: the leyline eruption didn’t occur until the Divine Monument was destroyed. What that implied about the rest of the magical catastrophe that swept across Baracuel and ended with the moon falling, she didn’t know. Her focus was here, and here, she could start to make a difference. Mirian began to hope that maybe winning the battle here did stop the moon.
It was that hope carrying her now. She still dreaded dying. It never stopped hurting. Nor did the pain from watching the faces of her friends turn to despair as they understood—really understood—that they would die.
***
Nicolus sat next to Mirian on the couch reading, then rereading the newest letter from his uncle. It was the second they’d received this cycle. “I think we’re getting to the limits of his knowledge about this all. But yes, he has heard whispers. At one of the Mercanton banquets, he overheard someone say something cryptic about an ‘event’ in Palendurio. He didn’t think to mention it until we did, because he doesn’t seem to realize what they mean by ‘event.’ And there’s another thing. Prime Minister Jondar Kinsman is extremely popular with the regular people of Akana—but the upper crust there hates him. They spent the entire time just complaining about him.”
Nicolus put the letter down. Mirian stared out the window, contemplating it all. “So they know something about the conspiracy there. Maybe once I learn Eskanar, I can stop it. But I’d have to spend my time in Mercanton, or maybe Vadriach.”
“That’s a week to get there at least,” Nicolus said. “Only a day to get to Cairnmouth, two to get to Palendurio, but most of the trips across the strait are scheduled in advance. The regular passenger ships are slow, though at least they don’t have to deal with the winds anymore. Then you have to worry about customs. You’ll need a seal of approval to get in. Not that hard to get, if you pretend to be a merchant, or forge some documents that show you taking an Academy sponsored trip. Nurea can probably help with that, she has some contacts in Cairnmouth.”
Mirian raised an eyebrow. “Syndicate contacts?”
Nicolus laughed. “Yeah, I guess you must already know about that. Anyways, probably four days is the minimum to get there, if you figure out some sort of trick to find quick passage and a way to speed through customs.”
“Not so bad. It’s this place I understand, though. Maybe I don’t even need to get to Akana Praediar. Besides, I don’t speak Eskanar nearly well enough yet. And I wouldn’t even know where to begin in… like… I mean, isn’t Mercanton bigger than Palendurio?” Mirian was only just starting to get a handle on Torrviol. She didn’t want to start all over in a new place, cut off from most of the allies and resources she could count on.
“Three times as big. It’s massive. Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’m sure I can get us in contact with Uncle Alexus. No clue how he’ll react, though. He’s a bit of an odd one.”
They sat in silence for some time, watching the winds across the lake. Then, she leaned into Nicolus, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He was solid, like a rock amidst the waters. A now familiar comfort to hold on to. Eventually, she put her head up and looked into his eyes, and watched his breath catch as her lips curled into a smile.
“All this time…” Nicolus whispered, but Mirian silenced him with a kiss. With his arms wrapped around her, their tongues entwined, she could escape the exhaustion that dragged at her, forget the inevitable pain that was coming, and simply exist in a moment.
***
The war came to Torrviol again, and Mirian led a mixed unit of militia and army arcanists through the underground. By chance, Daith, the student from her combat classes, was part of the unit, though Mirian didn’t mention their history. As she was assigning attack spell groupings, though, she remembered to have him use magnetic spells.
When they came to the spot in the brick tunnels, Mirian called out, “First and second squad, we’ll hit the Akanans from behind. Third squad, watch our backs and keep the escape route clear. Ready?”
“Ready!” came the reply.
Mirian nodded to Jei, whose orb lit up as she carved a hole in the ceiling. A mage moved the debris off to the side while Jei worked. When the hole was finished, a few skeleton bones rained down with the dirt as one of the catacomb alcoves collapsed into the tunnels. Another mage gathered the dust cloud into a tight ball and set it aside so no one would cough and alert the Akanans. With the passage opened, Mirian used her wand of levitation to ascend from the tunnel into the tight passage. She cast a quick divination spell to detect any nearby illusions, and found none. “Clear,” she whispered, and anchored a knotted rope to the wall with a spike of force, then tossed it down.
One by one, they climbed up. While the third squad took up positions and began fortifying the area with wards and enchantments, Mirian moved them through the maze of tunnels. She’d worked to memorize the extensive map of the northern catacombs, which was where most of the underground fighting took place.
“You five, through that tunnel. You five, through that one. The rest of you, with me. All three of the tunnels emerge on their flank. On my mark.”
The Akanans had their own geomancers carving tunnels as they needed, so the tactic wasn’t unfamiliar to them, but Mirian had found they didn’t expect a unit to move up a level, and they thought their flank was secure. From the shadows, she unleashed coruscating lightning, an enhanced spell that sent out more light than electricity, and so was perfect for blinding the Akanans.
The command to attack was, “Company, retreat!” in Eskanar. No one in her unit would confuse the meaning of the foreign words, but the surprise attack and the command might cause the Akanans confusion. As soon as her bolt flashed out, a mix of spells and gunfire came from the tunnels, smashing into the dozens of enemy soldiers. The rifles targeted the auramancers first so that their spells could hit the others unimpeded.
The fighting was brief and brutal. Two militia and ten Akanans died within minutes, and then Mirian pulled her force back.
“Set the explosive traps along this section,” she said after they’d descended back down through the hole. That would kill an unsuspecting squad as they tried to retake the area, then block a key route through the catacombs that would make it easier to bottleneck the Akanans in the northwestern tunnels.
It was strange to be commanding people, and stranger still that they followed. She wondered what they thought of her, and if they really believed what she foretold.
Then they moved east. The Myrvite Studies building was full of some very hungry beasts, and she intended to unleash them on the Akanans who were trying to push into the building. The angry wyverns would inflict the most damage, then fly north toward their nesting grounds, where they would further disrupt Akanan logistics. That in turn would let Hanaran push reinforcements into the north forest and cut off the Akanan entrances into the catacombs. With the felled trees and trenches they’d prepared earlier, the armored wagons the Akanans used to support their infantry would be unable to aid the push, and the cover from the forest and communication delay between the army and the airships would prevent an aerial assault from hitting them until it was too late.
“Come on,” she said, hurrying forward. “We win, or we die.”
They died again, but by then it was just before midnight on the 2nd of Duala. It was the longest Mirian had gotten in the battle yet.
When she awoke in her bed, the exhaustion hit her. By then, she hadn’t slept more than a few hours over two days. Her body had slept—this new one, at least—but the fatigue seemed to travel with her in her soul. Come on Mirian, she chided herself, wishing she could just close her eyes. You’re close. There will be time enough in this cycle to sleep.
She sat up in her bed, ignoring the drip, drip, drip of the water from the hole above her bed plinking onto her head. Then she took a deep breath and stood.
She had a war to win.