Raveirmom Dear burst into the medical quarter with such haste that he was forced to slow his pace when confronted with stretchers covering nearly every inch of ground. "Where is Lady Lostya?!" he demanded of each guard he encountered, his voice carrying across the entire area.

  "My lord, I must insist on quiet," a physician admonished, his head emerging from a white tent. "We have numerous wounded attempting to rest."

  "Very well, surgeon." The duke moderated his volume, though his tone remained unmistakably severe. "I seek Lady Lostya. Can you direct me to her?" He had already assumed the man would be ignorant and was preparing a cutting remark.

  "Over there." The surgeon indicated a pale-yellow pavilion to Raveirmom's left front, noticeably larger than the surrounding white tents.

  "...Very well." The duke swallowed every sharp word he had prepared. "My thanks, doctor. Return to your duties." The surgeon offered a respectful bow.

  Raveirmom nearly tore down the entire entrance flap in his haste to enter. "This area is reserved for—"

  "My apologies!" he proclaimed loudly. "I understand—this is the ladies' pavilion!"

  "In that case, perhaps you could lower your voice," Aurelia said, her gaze sharp enough to flay skin. "Lona needs to rest."

  "Forgive my intrusion." The duke's eyes fell upon Lostya Huggins lying pale and depleted on her cot; his previous irritation evaporated instantly. "I witnessed an explosion at the barrier, but remain ignorant of the precise circumstances."

  Lostya opened her eyes, the amethyst depths kindling with a faint luminescence. "Lona breached the Magic barrier for your forces—with Ash's assistance," Aurelia explained, seated at the bedside with her right hand protectively covering Lostya's. "She suffered injuries in the process."

  "On behalf of every warrior in the empire, I extend our profound gratitude for your service," he declared with the formal stiffness of an official ceremony. "I had not anticipated such a severe toll on your person."

  Aurelia deliberately withheld certain details—or at least, did not reveal the complete truth. Lostya's current state of exhaustion owed not solely to her magical exertions at the Goldbrick Wall; Ivan Northes had made his own significant "contribution." Aurelia would never forget the look on Ash's face when the three of them saw Ivan Northes stumble out of Lostya's tent, his breeches half-fastened: a perfect portrait of shock, warring with a flicker of pure, unadulterated glee. Lostya acknowledged the duke's gratitude with a slow, deliberate nod.

  "If your purpose was to visit the wounded, my lord, I believe you have fulfilled that obligation," Julia remarked from her plain wooden stool, weariness evident in her features. "We all require recuperation."

  Ash Davan lifted her golden head and shook out her magnificent mane of hair. "We... expended too much of ourselves."

  The duke swept his gaze across them, naked disbelief written in his expression. "I recognize your skepticism," Aurelia said. "I understand precisely what you're questioning. But I must inform you, with complete candor and sincerity—we are neither jesting nor attempting to evade our responsibilities." She accompanied her explanation with precise hand gestures. "You, my lord, like almost every layman, are mistaken about mages. You think we are all-powerful, or something close to it. The truth is, what we can do is not so far removed from what you can do. Setting aside the varieties of Magic we might theoretically command, the very act of casting depletes both our magical reserves—our Source—and our physical vitality. When Primal Source is abundant in our surroundings, the situation differs considerably. However, in our recent situation—below ground—there was absolutely none available. We were restricted to the Source we personally carried to fuel our spellcraft. Under such circumstances, two or three significant workings represent our absolute limit. You cannot understand what over-casting feels like, my lord. Imagine the worst sickness you've ever had, a fever that brings a churning gut and a spinning head, where the world splits in two before your eyes. It is... completely crippling."

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  "I now understand more clearly." The duke released a slight sigh. "I conceptually acknowledged that your sorcery had limitations—but never imagined those constraints were so restrictive. I've heard claims that powerful mages can maintain continuous incantations throughout an entire day."

  "Undoubtedly the boast of some market peddler—hawking stale black bread or questionable alchemical concoctions," Julia remarked with wry humor.

  "Pure fabrication," Ash Davan continued seamlessly. "Fantasies about Magic invented by those who have never actually encountered a true mage. If a mage could truly cast spells for a full day without rest, the world would be an entirely different place. The battlefield would not belong to your knights, my lord. It would belong to us, to legions of mages chanting in unison."

  "Perhaps such a day shall eventually arrive."

  "Perhaps not," Aurelia countered, deflating the duke's optimism. "Even identifying a single individual among ordinary folk who can perceive—let alone manipulate—the Primal Source presents extraordinary difficulty. I am not a pessimist by nature, but it is my belief that we humans are simply not built for magic."

  "Agreed," Ash affirmed tersely.

  "Regardless, my ladies, I have personally witnessed your exceptional abilities. You are truly remarkable."

  "We deeply appreciate your recognition, my lord." Julia rose and executed a courtly curtsy with as much elegance as her exhaustion permitted. "Now—might you allow us our much-needed rest?"

  "I would gladly grant that request—but regrettably, circumstances prevent me."

  "I see. Your visit was not merely to inquire after the wounded."

  "That, Lady Davan, constitutes merely one aspect of my purpose here."

  "Raveirmom," Lostya Huggins addressed him directly. With Aurelia's supportive assistance, she managed to raise herself from the cot and settle against the headboard. "...My lord," she added, employing the proper honorific. "Inform us what new complication you've encountered."

  "The barrier remains problematic."

  "Is that so?" Ash arched an elegant eyebrow. "What possible issue could remain? We shattered it—created a substantial breach. I cannot conceive how that construction could continue to impede your forces."

  "In reality, the breach has been repaired."

  The blood drained from Ash Davan's face, leaving her snow-white skin the color of ash. "That is impossible." She shook her head emphatically, sending golden tresses dancing. "I assure you with absolute certainty, my lord—such repair is impossible."

  "With its original medium intact, it would indeed be impossible," Lostya clarified for her. "Has the barrier relocated from its previous position?"

  "Precisely. Following your creation of the breach, the barrier began contracting—and continued that process steadily."

  "As I suspected. Only through such contraction could the damaged section be regenerated."

  "But in that case," Ash Davan crossed one leg over the other with deliberate poise, "the resulting barrier would be extraordinarily fragile."

  "It has indeed become significantly thinner—sufficiently so that a battering ram should penetrate it effectively."

  "Then it should no longer present a substantial obstacle."

  "However, that Magic barrier has now adhered itself directly to the gate."

  A profound silence descended upon the pavilion. "You refer to the Gate of Cynthia itself, my lord?"

  "Yes—that monumental portal that defies comprehension. Initially, against such an immense structure, our battering rams proved nearly ineffectual. With the addition of this Magic barrier, our advance has completely stalled. This may be our final, desperate gambit. Our men are forced to work the rams under a constant rain of stone, arrow, and boiling oil from the walls. They are dying for every inch." He deliberately portrayed the situation as more dire than necessary. In truth, conditions on the battlefield exceeded even his own understanding of their severity.