Mitchell hunched low behind the now cleared barricade and stared at the mass of people in front of him. There were thousands, all pushed up against the staggered hastily built defensive wall that the occupying soldiers had thrown together over the last day or two. He noticed the various temporary structures that had been erected around the parkland that extended around the palace on his walk with Falen two days prior, but it had been built up considerably since then.

"I thought you said they were all lazy opportunists," Lethelin complained to Falen. "How did they get so much done in a short time."

The man shrugged.

"Usually they are," he said, his voice flat. "But it looks like someone stuffed a drake down their pants on this one. I'm rather impressed."

"Likely they had plans for this in place already," Gilriel said, her experienced eye scanning the roughly built eight-foot high wall that was keeping the crowds at bay. "Once they got the word, they would have made all haste in building those walls and getting their troops behind them."

"That still seems like a lot of work in a short time," Lethelin grumbled.

"On my world, there were a people called Romans," Mitchell said. "Their soldiers could construct a fortified camp in a few hours, sometimes even under enemy fire. The guard and the soldiers had almost two days."

Lethelin glowered at the wall they were going to have to breach rather than answer. Mitchell understood the feeling. There was a knot of tension building in his stomach at what they were likely going to do and he was desperately trying to find a way not to have to do it.

The walls had been anchored into the soil just beyond the cobbled and gravel surface of the road that ran around the palace. There were even some very basic towers spaced along it at somewhat uneven intervals and, at least from where they were standing, no gate was visible.

The smell of bodies was so strong to Mitchell's improved senses that it had made his eyes water as they closed the last bit of ground and took up their position behind the crowd which let off a low, steady roar punctuated by shouts.

"Allora!"

"For Awenor!"

"Death to Milandris!"

A steady stream of stones and other items were being lobbed at the wall that Mitchell could see through the haze that hung over everything. There were scorch marks all up and down the palisades where people had either thrown spells or this planet's equivalent of Molotov cocktails. The heads that he could see poking up over the crudely sharpened stakes mostly ignored the physical objects, but Mitchell had gotten a clear view of what happened when someone used magic.

The reaction had been instant. Spell casters had popped up, followed by archers and they focused on whatever area the assault had come from, blanketing the area with arrows and magical attacks, often leaving several dead or wounded.

"Wouldn't take much to knock the wall down," Vanthella said, to Mitchell's surprise. The woman had rarely spoken in the time that Mitchell had known her.

"Aye," Khardin agreed. "But..."

"But it will get a lot of people killed, won't it?" Mitchell asked, that knot in his stomach becoming something akin to a cannonball. He had made much the same assessment.

"Aye," Khardin said, his tone regretful. "There's not enough of us to charge the wall without the help of the crowd."

Anyone getting too close to the wall or using magic to try and breech it was fired on immediately. Enough had already been killed or wounded that the crowd, for all their anger, were reluctant to cross the last couple of meters and attack the barrier head on. But Mitchell knew that getting the crowd to push forward was their only way through. The wall was not meant to sustain any sort of serious attack, just as those old Roman marching camps weren't. They were meant to slow people down and, hopefully, kill or capture Allora in the chaos. They knew she was coming so all they really had to do was wait for her to stick her head up.

"Lethelin," Allora asked, "did you get a look at what was beyond the wall when you were on the roofs?"

"I did," she said, looking back at her. "I saw pockets of troops, maybe ten or twelve, standing idle at various points. My guess is they're reserves, there to act if there's a break in the wall."

Allora nodded her agreement.

"I've an idea, my lord, aye," Khardin said suddenly.

"Let's hear it," Mitchell said, looking for anything that would help minimize the civilian casualties.

"Well, my lord, it would be better if Stollar ceded the sky to Denass for the day, but after seeing what your…um… the… uh..."

Khardin eyes darted to where Vras sat patiently licking blood from his many claws and his eyes darted away so fast that Mitchell thought for a moment they would fly out of his head.

"Vras," Mitchell offered.

"Aye, Vras," he spat, shuddering at saying the name. "After seeing how well it… I mean he… how well he did against the other soldiers, how fast. If we could get... him over the walls, it would create an excellent distraction."

"But it's daytime," Mitchell reminded him. "They would see him and a lot of what makes him dangerous would be lost."

"Aye, but I've a spell that might help with that," the dwarf said.

Allora and Gilriel both realized what Khardin was talking about at the same time.

"Denass's Void!" they said in unison.

"Aye!" Khardin said with a smile. "Just so."

Allora saw the confusion on Mitchell's face and quickly explained.

"Denass's Void will create a magical darkness that cannot be seen through except by magical means."

"True sight," Gilriel offered.

"Which none of these whoresons are likely to have," Eldrick said then, sounding like he liked the idea. "And which shadow cats do."

"Vras has this true sight ability?"

"Their abilities are not well known," Allora explained, struggling to be heard over the roar of the gathered masses, "But it is believed that they see through invisibility and through magical darkness. It is believed that they can see magic itself."

Mitchell thought about that for a moment and realized it explained a lot. A memory surfaced of how Vras reacted to the Shadow Glen the first time they'd come upon it. How he seemed to see and sense things that none of them could. Then, there was how the shadow cat had been able to tell Mitchell when there were magic users in a group of enemies. Mitchell hadn't really thought about it at the time, it just seemed like one of the creature's oddities, of which there were many. That would be very useful, indeed.

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"So will it move with him?" Mitchell asked.

"Aye," said Khardin, nodding. "I can keep it active for eight, maybe ten minutes."

That was ages in a battle. It would be enough.

Khardin then explained that anyone outside would not be able to see in, it would look like a void moving over the ground. They could shoot into it, of course—it wasn't a shield—but they would be shooting blind. It sounded like an amazing plan. Mitchell relayed it to Vras.

"You can give me the night?" the cat asked, trying to understand the specifics.

"The night will follow you and you can kill without being seen."

"I am gratha," Vras said. "I will taste the blood of many foes."

"Hey, I hate to interrupt, but we're drawing more eyes," Lethelin told the group. "We need to move quickly before we draw eyes we don't want."

Mitchell nodded. They sketched out a very hasty plan that everyone agreed to, then they all turned to face the backs of the crowd that covered the plaza. A lot of people were about to die, he knew. Not all of them bad guys. There were citizens behind that crudely built palisade, city guardsmen who hadn't been given the chance yet to surrender and who might, if they could. But there was no time to negotiate. If they didn't clear that wall and get through the barrier and into throne room, they would all be dead before the sun set.

All around him was chaos but, with the plan settled upon, he found his mind was suddenly calm. The air was filled with the smell of smoke while the acrid scent of sweat and anger clogged his nose like a cloying mist. The sounds of the thousands of people who had gathered to chase out the invaders had become the flat roar of an avalanche racing down the mountain, their occasional shouts like those of trees shattering under the deluge. He could see panicked faces, fearful and angry faces, but also hope as well. The people knew now that the knights were not dead. That their nation was not lost just yet. Mitchell took that hope and made it his own. They were his people now, too. This was his city. Not because he was monarch, or would be when the day was done, but because he believed in it like they did. He believed in Allora, and the knights, and Awen deep underground, and in the history and culture they had forged over the last millennium.

"I knew you would be a fine monarch," Awen suddenly spoke into his mind. Mitchell could hear the smile in her voice. "Fight well."

"Is everyone ready?" Mitchell called out, gripping his sword hilt and flexing his sevith hand. He was unable to keep the grin off his face at Awen's words of encouragement.

More shouts were coming from the back as people spotted the armor of the knights. More people were turning to look and cheer. They had to go now.

"We're ready, my lord, aye!" Khardin yelled, and thrust his giant battle axe forward.

"Aye!" the rest of the group shouted in unison. "For Awenor!"

As one, they stepped out from cover, and charged.

***

"To the wall!" Khardin's magically amplified voice boomed out as they entered the fray. "Break it down! For Allora!"

It took a moment for the throngs of people to get over their shock as suddenly having several fully armed knights in their midst, but then the call began to spread up and down the plaza. Magic began to flare up again as a lot of the people started to attack in earnest.

Allora and Gilriel were at the front, their swords ready to activate the defensive shield if anything came over the wall at them, and in the meantime, Lethelin and Hackett were launching arrows from the back of their two-wide column with deadly accuracy at any of the soldiers that stood up to fire answering volleys at the surging crowd.

Their little formation was noticed soon enough, and Mitchell had to admit, they did stand out. Once they were spotted, he called them to a quick stop.

"Now," Mitchell ordered.

Khardin turned to look at Vras, who had been squeezed tight between them and one of the stones in his krisa glowed. Immediately Mitchell's world went black. Not darkroom black, not moonless night black, but black as though submerged in pitch. Involuntarily, Mitchell felt his chest and throat tighten as some instinct told him that, with such a perfect absence of light, there must also be an absence of air but, after choking momentarily, he regained control of his diaphragm and was able to breath normally. The sounds and smells around him had not changed. He heard several people that were within the radius of the spell scream out in terror as their worlds went black as well. And then, just like that, they were in awash once again in Stollar's morning light.

Mitchell blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to adjust, and saw that Vras was gone. When he looked ahead, the orb of midnight was moving incredibly fast through the crowd of people and he heard the panicked screams of those who were suddenly blinded by his passing. In moments, it was at the wall and, without pausing, the absence of light leapt over the eight-foot-tall barrier as easily as Mitchell would step over a branch in his path. And then the real screams began.

"To the wall!" Mitchell shouted, knowing that they had ten minutes at best before Vras lost the protection of the spell.

The crowd had been pushing forward but the attacks from the other side had kept many back. With Vras on the other side now taking all of the attention, there was no stopping the angry mob. All up and down the line people crashed into the wooden barricade and Mitchell and his squad were in the front row.

Some people began hacking at it with whatever tools they'd brought, others began to dig out at the bottom, assuming the posts couldn't be buried very deep, and still others pushed. Mitchell thought that was the best option given that the structure wasn't very high. He began to push and called the others to do the same. It started to give.

In seconds, a rocking motion began along their section of the wall as people shoved and stepped back, then shoved again. Mitchell could feel the soil loosening beneath his feet as the buried portions began to bulge up to the surface. Cheers went up at the sight of wall beginning to buckle and, with one final heave and the sound of several cracking timbers, the wall collapsed forward enough for them to charge up and over it.

They emerged into a scene of chaos and death. All around the once manicured ground were the bodies of the dead and dying. Mitchell counted at least fifteen as they moved into the park area, weapons at the ready. His eyes darted around, searching for his companion, and saw that several soldiers were crowded around the base of a large tree, firing off spells into a patch of midnight high up in the branches. The sound of the wall cracking and falling drew their attention, however, and Mitchell and his squad charged towards them.

With his heart pounding and rage filling his veins at the idea that they were trying to hurt Vras, he met the first startled soldier and cut him down, before stepping to the next. All around him the sound of steel rang in his ears, followed by the explosion of spells. More than once Allora was there, her pommel stone flashing as she caught attacks meant for him and deflected them wide.

"Thanks, love!" he called out to her as she turned towards a man who had just launched something green and sickly looking at the both of them.

His warrior queen grinned at him savagely, and then took the offending caster's head clean off his shoulders.

In moments, the area around the base of the tree where Vras had been hiding was clear and Mitchell could pause to take a breath. His hair was damp with sweat and he was panting, but he found he wasn't tired. Not really. The adrenaline was pumping too hard for Mitchell to feel fatigued. He felt like he could run a marathon.

He glanced around and saw the wall had come down in several places and fighting was happening in every direction. Up ahead, just seventy or eighty meters away, was the glittering translucent barrier, and then the palace walls. Unfortunately, between them, there were a lot of soldiers.

"They're converging!" Elrin called out. "They know where we are."

Mitchell looked and saw that, across the parkland, squads were yelling and pointing and being drawn in from up and down the line. The fight wasn't nearly done yet.

"You're not worried, are you sister mine?" Eldrick taunted.

"Only that you'll embarrass me in front of our new lord captain and monarch with your shoddy blade work," Elrin shot back, grinning at her sibling.

"A crown a piece, then? Like at that battle in Talinspire?"

"You call that a battle?" she barked a laugh. "They were little more than pirates."

"Still, there were more than fifty of them. And it was just you, me and... what was that other fellow's name?"

"Aye, that was me, ya sniveling dirt lickers!" Khardin snapped, glaring at the twins. "And there weren't fifty, there were only thirty-seven. "Now, look lively. There's killing to be done. I aim to be in a bunk in the palace by lunch, so don't let me catch either of you slacking, aye!"

"Yes, sergeant," they both said grinning in unison.

Mitchell looked to Allora and Lethelin where they stood together at the base of the tree. Lethelin had shouldered her bow and had her rapier in one hand and dagger in the other. Vras was down now, the spell ended, and stood next to Allora. The world was raging all around them but Mitchell had his girls with him and he felt like he could do anything.

"Ready," he asked them.

"Lead the way, my lord," Allora said.

"Nearest gate is to the north," Gilriel said. "There are a lot of soldiers between here and there, but they're mercenaries, mostly. They've been getting fat and lazy. Easy pickings. Everyone swap stones as needed and push north. Let's move!"

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