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Dark shapes flew from behind the Hierophant, launched into the air by small trebuchets. Where they fell, the ground exploded, and srebrec dust filled the air in a suffocating cloud.

Burn the barrels before they land, I ordered Cinared.

My fire could ignite the ground, and the fallen debris certainly would. His doubts made me snarl.

Better to burn than suffocate, I snapped.

His massive shape darkened the sky, and I braced myself for the inferno. It never came. Instead, the ground shifted under the horse’s hooves. The earth groaned, shook, then cracked. The horses stumbled to a halt, as did the infantry. The same thing was happening with the enemy as they fell into disarray, the earthquake spreading chaos as far as the eye could see.

My gaze snapped to the Hierophant and his clerics. But the man was on the ground, clutching the banner pole, and his clerics were huddled like terrified poultry.

Below, the Prefect’s pyre was empty.

I searched for an explanation. For something, anything that could trigger tremors stronger than those caused when the Borderland Barrier fell.

‘Fuck. The Gate. But how?’ I didn’t have time to think. If the Gate had fallen, we were on the cusp of winning. ‘Stand the fuck up, you bastards. We can win this! For Dagome!’

At my battle cry, the weary soldiers got back to their feet. Within a few strides, we were loosely in formation. By the time we saw the whites of the enemy’s eyes, we were a cohesive mass of muscle and steel.

The cavalry thundered past, roaring their challenge as the Tangrian shield wall braced for impact.

‘Shields!’ the captain called as a volley of arrows flew from the castle walls. They never reached the target.

An Aethereal shield appeared, blocking the missiles’ descent.

‘The mages! The mages are here!’ The chant reverberated across the battlefield. Out of the corner of my eye, portals opened all over the battlefield, spewing forth humans.

‘Thank you, Arachne,’ I whispered, grabbing a broken lance, and pointed to the hill where the enemy were struggling to get into formation.

The heavy cavalry didn’t hesitate, attacking with sword, lance, and hoof in a bloody harvest. The infantry, now supported by battle mage units, pushed into the gap, cutting down all opposition.

The Hierophant’s last line of defence, his paladins, fell under the relentless assault of my veterans. The final charge was so quick it was almost disappointing. With the Hierophant captured, his soldiers threw down their arms, few willing to fight to the death.

In the silence that followed, dawn finally broke.

I dismounted and walked to the man responsible for all this slaughter. The Hierophant, held on his knees, was much younger than I expected. His dark tan skin contrasted with his curly blond hair, the light dusting of grey at his temples the only evidence of his age. He had a large aristocratic nose, and his faded blue eyes glared at me with hatred. His golden robes, embroidered with purple thread, were now a muddy grey. I added to the stains with the blood dripping from my sword when I pressed its tip to his chest.

‘I lost to a beast,’ he croaked, then burst into maniacal laughter. ‘Tangra is dead. Fallen to the heathen stained with blood… The gods have failed me.’

‘Tangra isn’t dead, you fool. If you’d listened to me, this wouldn’t have happened.’ The Prefect stumbled forward, supported by Irsha. His charred stumps hung uselessly at his sides.

‘Listen to you? And trust a witch to awaken the land? You are a fool, Siras. You could have killed her in the palace. You could have killed her in Niersen’s castle. It is your fault that Tangra is doomed. You kept her alive, and the monsters followed,’ the Hierophant shouted, spraying spittle.

I’d heard enough.

The sword sang in my hand when I took the head from his shoulders. Siras gasped, and when I turned to face him, he swallowed hard.

‘Spare the soldiers. Please. They had no choice but to fight,’ he said, lowering his head. His exposed neck bore the rope burns of a noose.

‘Sana wanted him to live,’ Irsha murmured, holding his bleeding side. His wound must have reopened.

‘Find yourself a healer and leave the rest to me.’ I approached Siras, grabbed his shirt, wiping the blood from my sword before sheathing it. ‘You’re in charge of the survivors. Ensure they surrender, and I will spare them. Gather them by the wharf. And if any healers will grace you with their touch, have them see to your hands,’ I said before heading back to my horse.

I’d won the battle on land, but the sea still rumbled with explosions as unnatural waves crashed over the ships. I wasn’t sure what I would find when I reached the shore.

‘Ivar, you’re in charge here. I’m going to meet the Queen,’ I said, nudging my horse back towards the centre of the battlefield.

Sanika is coming. She’s crying and has closed herself off to me. Cinared’s frantic thoughts reached me just as the dragon dove to the earth, landing in the middle of the battlefield.

Ivar nodded at my frown. He was still issuing orders when I smacked my horse and galloped towards the dragon.

Sana wasn’t just crying. Emerald power surrounded her, harsh, unstable, and threatening. She slid off the bies and rushed towards me, grasping my arms as we collided.

‘Tova shut down the Gate. The damned fool did it all by himself. I need to go to him. Where are the fae that opened the portals?’ She shook me while tears streamed down her tired face. ‘Rey, I have to go to him. Find me a fucking fae.’

‘Lord Alaric stayed on the other side. There are no fae in the ranks that could help, my lady,’ answered a passing mage.

Sana’s magic whipped around, tearing the ground apart. Her gaze drifted to the castle walls.

The castle stood dark and quiet, housing Tivala’s men and the Lumivitae survivors. A vicious grimace twisted Sana’s features, and my body went very, very still when she spoke:

‘I know where I can find one.’