was spelled to be almost weightless to the wearer and very nearly impenetrable. That was one of the perks of being a soldier in modern-day Koldun: access to sorcery-enhanced weapons and armor.
Seeing that Barson was almost ready, Augusta got up and took her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Her red chaise was already waiting outside. She planned to fly above the battle, so she could observe everything from a safe vantage point.
“We’re going to meet them over on that hill,” Barson told her as they walked out of the tent. “It’s a good spot. Our archers will have a clear shot at anyone approaching, and there’s only one road that goes through there, so nobody will be able to sneak up on us.”
Augusta smiled at him. “Sounds good.” Her lover was as obsessed with military strategy as Augusta was with magic, devouring ancient war books in his spare time.
“I will see you in a few hours.” Leaning down, he gave her a brief, hard kiss and walked off, heading toward his soldiers.
Augusta watched his powerful figure for a couple of minutes before climbing onto her chaise. Pulling out her Interpreter Stone, she loaded in a pre-made concealment spell, so that no one on the battlefield would be able to see her or her chaise. Once that was done, she pulled out another spell, a more complicated one this time. It was a way for her to temporarily boost her senses, enabling her to see and hear everything with as much clarity as possible. She’d used it several times before; in the Tower of Sorcery, it paid to hear every whisper.
A quick verbal spell, and she was flying, her chaise far more comfortable than the carpets and dragons of old fairy tales. Rising high above the hill, she saw Barson’s men heading over to their chosen battleground and the narrow road stretching into the far distance. With her enhanced sight, Augusta could see much better than usual, and she marveled at the beauty of this northern part of the land, with its tall sturdy trees and rich dark soil. Even the devastation from the drought was not enough to diminish the beauty of the local forests.
Augusta had never visited this area before, generally splitting her time between Turingrad and her own territory in the southern region. The city was the biggest on Koldun, and it was the epicenter of art, culture, and commerce. In contrast to the peasant-occupied surrounding territories, the majority of Turingrad was populated by sorcerers, members of the Guard, and some particularly prosperous merchants.
Directing her chaise to turn north, Augusta peered at the dark mass in the distance. It was so far away that even with her improved vision, she couldn’t tell what it was. Curious, she flew toward it.
And when she got close enough to see, she could hardly believe her eyes.
Instead of three hundred men, as Ganir’s spies had said, there were at least a couple of thousand.
A couple of thousand peasants . . . versus fifty of Barson’s soldiers.
* * *
Her heart racing, Augusta stared at the approaching horde. She had never seen such a large gathering of commoners in her life.
They were marching up the dirt road, their lean faces hard with anger and their dirty bodies covered with ragged woolen clothes. In addition to the usual pitchforks, many of them were carrying weapons; she saw maces, clubs, and even a few swords. They were still far from Turingrad, but the very fact that they dared to go toward the capital with such numbers was disturbing on many levels. As someone who had grown up with stories of the Revolution, Augusta knew full well what could happen when peasants thought that they deserved better—that they had the right to take what wasn’t given to them.
She had to warn Barson.
Flying back toward the hill, Augusta jumped off the chaise as soon as it landed and ran toward Barson, quickly telling him what she saw. As she spoke, his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with anger.
“You’re turning back, right?” she
Seeing that Barson was almost ready, Augusta got up and took her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Her red chaise was already waiting outside. She planned to fly above the battle, so she could observe everything from a safe vantage point.
“We’re going to meet them over on that hill,” Barson told her as they walked out of the tent. “It’s a good spot. Our archers will have a clear shot at anyone approaching, and there’s only one road that goes through there, so nobody will be able to sneak up on us.”
Augusta smiled at him. “Sounds good.” Her lover was as obsessed with military strategy as Augusta was with magic, devouring ancient war books in his spare time.
“I will see you in a few hours.” Leaning down, he gave her a brief, hard kiss and walked off, heading toward his soldiers.
Augusta watched his powerful figure for a couple of minutes before climbing onto her chaise. Pulling out her Interpreter Stone, she loaded in a pre-made concealment spell, so that no one on the battlefield would be able to see her or her chaise. Once that was done, she pulled out another spell, a more complicated one this time. It was a way for her to temporarily boost her senses, enabling her to see and hear everything with as much clarity as possible. She’d used it several times before; in the Tower of Sorcery, it paid to hear every whisper.
A quick verbal spell, and she was flying, her chaise far more comfortable than the carpets and dragons of old fairy tales. Rising high above the hill, she saw Barson’s men heading over to their chosen battleground and the narrow road stretching into the far distance. With her enhanced sight, Augusta could see much better than usual, and she marveled at the beauty of this northern part of the land, with its tall sturdy trees and rich dark soil. Even the devastation from the drought was not enough to diminish the beauty of the local forests.
Augusta had never visited this area before, generally splitting her time between Turingrad and her own territory in the southern region. The city was the biggest on Koldun, and it was the epicenter of art, culture, and commerce. In contrast to the peasant-occupied surrounding territories, the majority of Turingrad was populated by sorcerers, members of the Guard, and some particularly prosperous merchants.
Directing her chaise to turn north, Augusta peered at the dark mass in the distance. It was so far away that even with her improved vision, she couldn’t tell what it was. Curious, she flew toward it.
And when she got close enough to see, she could hardly believe her eyes.
Instead of three hundred men, as Ganir’s spies had said, there were at least a couple of thousand.
A couple of thousand peasants . . . versus fifty of Barson’s soldiers.
* * *
Her heart racing, Augusta stared at the approaching horde. She had never seen such a large gathering of commoners in her life.
They were marching up the dirt road, their lean faces hard with anger and their dirty bodies covered with ragged woolen clothes. In addition to the usual pitchforks, many of them were carrying weapons; she saw maces, clubs, and even a few swords. They were still far from Turingrad, but the very fact that they dared to go toward the capital with such numbers was disturbing on many levels. As someone who had grown up with stories of the Revolution, Augusta knew full well what could happen when peasants thought that they deserved better—that they had the right to take what wasn’t given to them.
She had to warn Barson.
Flying back toward the hill, Augusta jumped off the chaise as soon as it landed and ran toward Barson, quickly telling him what she saw. As she spoke, his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed with anger.
“You’re turning back, right?” she
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