He originally planned to have the war games play out in nearby Kitros, even though we all expressed concern over the possibility of the densely populated area housing spies that could report back to Mother about the state of our forces and our techniques. It’s Bellanca who suddenly has a stroke of brilliance, suggesting that we use the ruined city of Sykouri instead. The exercise can be even more realistic there. We can use catapults and battering rams, and it won’t matter in the least. The city is already vacant and wrecked.
Decided, we choose our players, gather materials, and then make our way to Sykouri, using the travel days to practice moving heavy equipment over rough roads and working together as a group. When we arrive, we set up a makeshift camp in the abandoned fields around the city and then pick our way up the debris-strewn main artery of the once-magnificent metropolis. On foot, we skirt fallen-down columns, tumbled archways, and crumbling buildings. Everyone is curious to see what’s left of the city. The shattered bones of Sykouri are mostly blackened, burned by a long-ago inferno ordered by one of my ancestors during a Power Bid. He and his Magoi lackey, a Fisan named Phoibos, destroyed Sykouri with Phoibos’s deadly fire, took the lives of most of its Tarvan inhabitants, and then pushed the Fisan border farther west to where it still stands today.
Nervous tension gripped my insides the moment we set foot in Fisa. But the Ipotane, only a day’s ride from here, protect everything to the west, and we’re nowhere near anything important or strategic to Mother. We’re barely into Fisan territory, and we’ll come and go so fast she’ll never know we were here.
More than simple curiosity, our exploration of Sykouri is also reconnaissance. Griffin would never attack a city, even a ruined and ostensibly empty one, without making sure there was no one inside. It would be irresponsible to do so, especially with the increased number of Fisans, both refugees and volunteers, moving toward the nearby Tarvan border. We passed a whole group of asylum-seekers on our way here. Only yesterday, we saw the Ipotane rounding them up to take them to Lycheron for his sniff check. If any of them decide to volunteer for the army, they’ll find Anatole taking names and barking out orders until our return. Beta Team, including Bellanca, is leading the practice attack.
The city is a mess. The destruction makes me shudder. My inquisitiveness turns into a sinking feeling as I take in the depressing evidence of what powerful magic and no conscience can do to a place. How it can rip lives from the world.
The deeper we move into Sykouri, the worse the feeling gets. “Does anyone else feel sick?” I ask quietly, rubbing my arms. There’s a tingle, almost like magic nipping at my skin, but other than Bellanca, our Magoi aren’t powerful enough to disturb my senses.
Kato absently scratches the tattoo on his neck. “Something feels off.”
Anxiety spikes in my blood. I’m pretty sure the Drakon Titos left some kind of magical mark on Kato besides the tattoo. If Kato has a bad feeling about this, I believe him.
My stomach starts to churn. Was that movement amid the rubble?
“Did you see that?” I discreetly tilt my head toward a burned-out building.
Griffin nods. “I saw.”
“Refugees?” Flynn squints in the same direction. “They might not know if we’re friend or foe.”
A blade glints, peeking out from behind the scattered debris and catching the afternoon sunlight.
My pulse leaps. “That’s not something a refugee would have.”
Griffin curses under his breath.
I turn to Bellanca. “Why Sykouri? Why here? Did someone suggest it to you?”
Her eyes widen. “No. No one. I…” She frowns. “I can’t remember. I had a headache.”
My heart sinks like a stone. “It’s a trap.” I unsheathe my sword. “Mother drew us here. She used Bellanca to get us beyond the Ipotane.”
“Compulsion?” Bellanca shakes her head. “But…”
“She can do it. She can get in your head and suggest things you never would have thought of. It comes with a bloody Gods damn headache,” I grind out.
“Oh my Gods.” Bellanca looks sick.
I lift my sword to get our squadron’s attention. “Out! Everybody out!”
As if I were shouting to them, Fisan soldiers crawl out from behind crumbling walls and ruins. They don’t waste any time and attack. Weapons clash. Our men and women fight back. Beta Team springs into action. Lukos joins us, helping to protect Bellanca as she becomes a weapon all by herself. He takes a hard hit but then pushes back. He’s gained muscle weight from Carver’s almost draconian training. He and Carver cover Bellanca as she throws fire at the oncoming Fisans. Carver is back to full speed and strength and looks rabid as he drives each new threat away from Bellanca. Flynn bellows. Kato swings his mace. Griffin and I fight back to back.
With Bellanca in full, flaming force, two of our Magoi, Elemental twins with wind, race over to blow her fire farther into the Fisan ranks. The enemy outnumbers us, and I can definitely feel their Magoi now—waiting, powerful, hiding all around us—but Bellanca is gloriously cutthroat and fierce. Fisans scream. Burn. Run away. With the twins’ help, Bellanca starts clearing a path toward the gate.
As a group, we battle our way toward the crumbling portcullis. If we can get out of the city, we stand a better chance. In here, we’re hemmed in, surrounded, and more Fisan soldiers keep surfacing. Son of a Cyclops! They’re everywhere.
Sykouri should have been empty. It’s been a ghost city for years. Mother’s spies must have gotten wind of our planning a training exercise, and then she used compulsion to lure us here. Bellanca couldn’t have known. Most people never experience the scraping pain of someone infiltrating their brain.
We’re almost to the gate when I feel her—Mother and her polluted magic pulling on the air. I kick out hard, getting rid of an oncoming attacker, swipe my dagger across the chest of another, and then whirl to face her, my sword glinting in the light of Bellanca’s fire.
Mother is next to the exit. She looks at me, and then a great, green blast of telekinetic power rattles the keystone and finishes off the utter destruction of the huge arched gateway into Sykouri. Stones fall with a nightmarish thud, crashing down on top of the nearest combatants, ally and enemy alike, and cutting off our escape.
No! It only takes a second for the demolition to happen. Dust billows. Grit in my eyes. I recoil. I can almost smell the blood.
Horrified, I watch Mother climb atop the fallen keystone. The noise of battle, previously clanging all around us, dies as all eyes turn to her, Sintan, Tarvan, and Fisan. Lingering power makes her black robes billow around her. Her green eyes glint in the sun, and the remnants of her magic reflect off her crown of Fisan pearls. It’s the Origin’s crown, the symbol of absolute power as old as Thalyria itself.
Mother uses a fresh graveyard as her podium, and the look on her face tells me everything I already know: we’re surrounded, outnumbered, and trapped in a ruin without a door.
I throw the knife in my hand straight at her. It veers to the side, right into the gauntleted hand of a Fisan Metal Mage.
Anger pounds through me. Trying again would be a waste of a blade.