There was no earthen ramp in evidence this time, thank the luck. The demon turtle from the day before was also missing. Instead, a horde of green. It stretched back all the way to the very base of the gigantic forest titans, which stretched, seemingly endlessly, upwards, their crowns lost somewhere above sight. At this distance, Dalliance felt that if he were amongst the trees, he wouldn’t be able to see the sky at all, the overhanging tips of the branches not far short of the wall itself, the shade from them only a hundred yards distant.

  And on the creatures came. Goblins. So many goblins. When the wizard had dismissed the idea of finding easy goblin encounters for Zenith, Dalliance mused, he'd been speaking of the very local tribes of Talbotton, not the endless green-skinned tide battering the capital.

  Their weird cries, which had been so off-putting in the dark, rose as a roar in their multitude, a physical force slamming into the air, thrumming in Dalliance's chest. And then the archers fired, and it was too late for their [Prediction], but not for his.

  There was no time to tell everyone about to be hit to move, or volume to spare above the din.

  But he could cast [Locomotion], and did.

  A large man with a mallet, a smaller man with a spear—he slammed one into the other, saving both.

  [Whisper]: Sorry, arrows.

  Then back to it.

  A goblin ladder hit the battlements. Dalliance cast [Locomotion], and it was lifted up and over, with its ladder. A flurry of arrows transfixed it in an instant; the ladder fell behind the wall, lost to the enemy.

  [For your use of spellcasting in combat, you have been granted one (1) experience point! Look to your own safety also: no endeavour is more robust than its most fragile necessity.]

  And on they came.

  To his left, the flaxen-haired giantess disarmed anything she could reach, her precision belied by his [Prediction], which insisted she was randomly flailing, unpredictable.

  To his right, a spear held point downwards like a heron beak descending jabbed, pierced, and spurned yet another kill, filthy goblin blood spurting forth and wetting the blade as it withdrew.

  The couple he'd thrown were back on their feet, one of them shouting at him, but he couldn't hear that far away.

  [Whisper]: can't hear you

  Even Whisper wasn't free, though casting the spell was becoming much more instinctual. The token in his pocket burned as his meager affinity sought to draw vis from it, but he remained lessened by thirty-four mana spent.

  Captain Eydis's horned helmet gleamed, her copper hair no less brilliant as she took the field, broad sweeps with her great sword clearing great swaths of on-climbing greenskin.

  There wasn't time to look around. Paradoxically, there was time to see what would happen if he did.

  Effie was running along the walltop, with Circe, two soldiers flanking them. Their target: a fallen woman, wounded. He hadn't even noticed her fall.

  A great goblin crested the walltop, larger by two heads than its kin, ducked the first sweeping sword-stroke, grasped upward like a striking snake, and took hold of the blunt section just below the secondary guard of the greatsword, the part wrapped in leather, and hauled itself up her like a ladder. Eydis had time to look surprised before its own mace whipped in a tight hook, throwing her head sideways, and then it scuttled across her, two feet gripping her shoulder pauldron like they too were hands, and dove from her towards the oncoming girls.

  It met lightning, crashed to the walltop, and spasmed long enough for a follow-up swing to lop its head off.

  "Healer!" shouted the Captain. "See to the wounded. Rookie: Overwatch!"

  She pointed to the ladder that scaled to the top of the nearest tower, where there'd be machicolations to fire through between the supporting corbels holding up the crenelated wall, and Effluvia scrambled for it.

  Oncoming arrow. Dalliance cast [Locomotion]—and, since he was already picking her up, deposited her atop her tower in what he hoped was an upright position. He didn't have time to check before weaving sideways himself, letting two arrows tear through the space he’d just occupied and shatter harmlessly against the ashen stone.

  He was getting better at this, Locomotion seeming to come more easily, but was still down by forty-six.

  His soul strove with the metal token in his pocket, siphoning point by point reluctantly away. Forty-four, down, now. Forty-two.

  He ducked absently as another arrow flashed through the space his head had been, and drew back an arrow. Whatever the Captain said, he wasn't a 'topper' and didn't intend to die today. The mana burn was beginning to really hurt.

  Distracted goblins didn't dodge as well as the ones in the shed had. He watched his fletchings disappear in gouts of goblin blood from one, two, four of the creatures as they desperately avoided the woman on his left.

  [For stoic archery on the battlefield, you have been granted four (4) experience points! Remember: constant vigilance.]

  "No good, Captain! We need to get her somewhere safe!" screamed Circe, her high voice a discordant tone in the tonal sea which was the Wall. Dalliance had to hop to dodge all three arrows this time.

  His leg felt like it was on fire from the siphon.

  [Whisper]: Where do you need her, Captain?

  Eydis met his eyes across the sea of bodies for an instant, then, with what could only have been a command skill, spoke across it: "Wounded and healer to the second walltop, Rather, then return here."

  [Whisper]: Ma'am, yes ma'am.

  Dammit.

  Dalliance ran for Circe and her charge, dipped, scooped, and dissolved into rushing wind.

  Dalliance dropped into person shape and collapsed, head throbbing. He'd moved three people.

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  He hadn't done the math first, either.

  "I'm going to faint," he grunted, before falling to his side. He was dimly aware of the floor thumping into him sideways, but not of toppling itself, as such. It was like the world was freeze-frame moments, and skipped bits in-between.

  "Out of mana, Sir! Right as rain with some rest, sir. No sir, can't do that sir, I'm a [Healer], sir." Circe sounded stressed, but Dalliance had no idea what he was listening to. His head was swimming.

  "Thanks, lad," came a voice with a hand attached to it, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze through his chain-mail shirt. "Huh. Don't look like much, do you? Full of surprises."

  Dalliance looked at the stones on the wall, inches from his head, and tried not to vomit.

  The sounds of windlass gears clicking and the perceptual noise of not just his sickness, but his future selves' sickness, became his whole world for a time.

  "Dereliction of duty?" came the voice that woke him from his sleep. His mind was blank for a subjective eternity, but then he scrambled to a sideways seated posture. He was on a cot. When had that happened?

  "No ma'am, just out of mana. Happens all the time with young mages."

  "I know that! When's he getting back to my walltop?"

  Her voice was tinny. Dalliance's vision swam for a moment, but re-oriented on the mirror held by the soldier by the doorway. He was in another tower. Wall two, he remembered.

  "Depends on how long you want him to stay alive when he gets there, but I could have him there on foot in five if it's life or death to you."

  "No glory lying in a sick bed. Get him up and out, told his Pa I'd give him a good showing."

  Dalliance strained to focus.

  Blink.

  "Sorry lad, better up and at 'em," said the kindly voice, helping him up with a strong hand under an arm. "Down the stairs, tell them Fire-eye wants you bad."

  "Don't tell him to tell them that."

  A woman's voice, old and crotchety. "And no need to go to the front, I'm handling this personally."

  "He's got to go, Dame Alchemist, with respect."

  "Pfah. Your arm, young man," she demanded. "I'll be going to the front myself; may as well accompany me."

  The person attached to the voice was diminutive, five feet nothing, and withered, but her eyes were sharp and her skin unlined. Dalliance stood unsteadily, but offered his arm as he'd been told.

  "Your things, boy, quickly. I haven't got all day."

  His bow and quiver, his spear, his knife—all lay within reach of the cot, but had been removed. He picked them up hurriedly, and recast [Prediction] while he was doing it.

  "Feeling better, lad?"

  The question was belied by the calm assessment of those pale eyes. She took his arm with fingers like steel bands: more than what she seemed, clearly, for an [Alchemist] to develop her physical attributes to that extreme. A-Tier?

  She slowed him slightly in turn as they left the tower, pausing to pick up two duffel bags bearing the Alchemist's Guild mark. That is, she paused to allow him to sling one over his back, and pick up the other with his free hand.

  Their progress was slow, at that point.

  "I've made this trip," she said, her voice notably stronger than it had been earlier. Had she been faking? "So many times without the comfort of an escort. I appreciate the courtesy."

  His mouth flickered with a sideways smile of acknowledgment, but his mind was elsewhere. 'Can't earn glory,' she had said. 'Make your daddy proud,' she had said. 'Your father's been asking about you.'

  He sucked another two thaums of mana out of his token. Two thaums felt like such a small number.

  "Do you mind me asking a question?"

  "I believe," she said tactfully, "that you already have."

  "Is it usual to put us in melee right out of the hunt? My uncle said I was to be a gofer, so I could see what the Wall was like before partaking."

  She pursed her lips. Out in the light, he could see that she was completely unlined, none of the fine age lines around her mouth or eyes. Why had he thought she was old?

  "Bruisers," she said, "go into the melee for a time and then fetch and carry behind the lines. Casters expend themselves and then fetch and carry behind the lines. It's the responsible approach."

  Then why am I going back? he thought.

  "It seems the captain is trying to gauge your mettle," the Alchemist noted.

  Dame. It clicked, suddenly—the term was equivalent to 'Knight'.

  "I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "I didn't bow or anything."

  She tutted. "It's of no consequence." They approached the gate, but at a wave of her hand, the guards stepped aside and raised the portcullis.

  The furor of the battle was louder, beyond the second wall.

  "Best of luck on your endeavors," the woman said pleasantly, releasing his arm. "Now. Stay here until someone is sent to fetch you, or your mana is recovered: that is an order."

  She took the bags from him as though they weighed nothing. He could attest that this was far from being the case, as each contained three gallon-sized glass bottles, heavy with liquid.

  The alchemist progressed up the steps and into the melee with the surety of long practice.

  Effluvia descended the steps, two at a time, a moment later. "Captain says come on up," she reported. "You hanging in there?"

  A lull in the fighting, and a cheer from the walltops. Something good had happened.

  Maybe they wouldn't need him, now?

  "Out of mana," he said. His voice was still a little rough, but he followed her quickly enough, his points in Agility making themselves known.

  "Well. The first few weeks are when mage-knights are looking for squires. Strong showing! Just don't go spreading that."

  They crested the stairs to find a completely different scene than they'd left behind. A golden glow bathed the walltop, transforming fallen corpses and pooling blood into precious metal and divine elixir. A wall of mist shrouded the wall itself, the glow's source.

  There were no enemies to kill. No arrows rained down.

  Just silence from beyond the wall.

  "Dame Linnorm's work," said the Captain as they jogged up. "Not much for you to do here now, and won't be. Run along home—" at his expression, she cut off. "No need to thank me, there's lots of us on the wall as owes something to your pops. Did him proud today."

  Lots of us.

  Dalliance left the Wall on unsteady feet.