Soldiers are marching towards the dusty stumps where the bridges used to be, lobbing small metal balls over the walls. The keep itself is intact, but isolated from the island and the mainland. Stone and mortar dust drifts back over the city.

Leah takes side-streets, avoiding people where she can and sprinting past them when it’s unavoidable. A few reach out to catch her but can’t see her clearly enough through the settling dust to get a solid grip. She doesn’t even bother trying to fight them off, wounded and armed only with a dagger as she is; she merely dodges the arms as they reach for her, and maintains her course towards the keep.

Adrenaline…which one is the heart-rate one?

Leah pauses at the shore across from the south end of the keep’s island, hidden from view, catching her breath. Blood still soaks through her armour but not at a dangerous rate, she thinks. Her heart, however, is struggling from even that short run.

She looks through the charms, and finds the one with the sort-of artery symbol on it. She holds it to her palm, and wonders distantly if there’s any danger involved with taking two spells at once.

“N…” she stops to take a few deep breaths, shaking. “Fuck, what is it? Noi?”

The world almost seems to slow down for a few seconds, as this new feeling sets in. Her hands are still shaking, but from caffeine-jitters instead of exhaustion.

“Oh! This must be what speed feels like,” she giggles a bit, shaking out her arms and legs. Her side is still bleeding. “Focus. Focus focus focus. Don’t joke until you’re safe.”

The river in front of her is fifty metres of deep, fast water, and she isn’t certain of her ability to swim in armour and a cape. She looks back over at the stump of bridge, the noise of people pouring over it from above. She braces herself and steps into the water.

The water is icy – not quite glacial runoff, but not far from it. The current pulls at her feet, and the bank drops off abruptly. She kicks off and starts swimming, fifty metres to the other side.

The current drags her to just past where the north bridge used to be before she feels the shore under her hands. She grabs at rocks and pulls herself out of the water, shivering, her heart pounding and warming her up. A few arrows click against the rocks around her, and she climbs the hill to the nearest entryway. The doors open easily when she pulls them.

There are servants and stable-hands crushed around the entrance, trying to get away from the growing cloud of smoke. A handful of smoke-bombs in the courtyard fill the bowl at the centre of the estate with burning chemical clouds. Many people are moving around blindly, their eyes streaming pink tears, the blood vessels in the whites bursting.

A few people see the open door and try to escape down into the river, tumbling over the rocks. Arrows fly in through the open doors, and someone closes the gate again, trapping the smoke and the people in the courtyard together. Leah helps him lift the bar into place over the door.

Horses are stomping and lashing out with their hooves near the east gate, panicked from the smoke and the screaming. Leah watches a couple charge down the short remainder of bridge and over the edge.

She pushes through the crowd, towards the keep. The walls are solid, and the windows closed; everyone is trying to get inside.

Once inside and out of the press of bodies, Leah runs, taking the stairs two at a time. Her body can’t go as fast as she wants it to go, but it feels good to push it to that limit. She screams out the names of the five, ducking down halls, checking any room she can think of; dining hall, private quarters, Meredith’s office.

Vivitha catches up with her as she doubles back to check the walls. “What happened?” she asks, grabbing at Leah’s arm. “Meredith said you’d volunteered, she said you had a plan, she – ”

“Where is everyone?” Leah shakes Vivitha a bit, trying to get her to focus. “Where did you last see them?”

“Meredith was on the southern turret…Iris was with the night guards, in the garrison…”

“Where’s the garrison?”

Vivitha is rubbing at her eyes, looking confused. The smoke hasn’t reached them up here yet, but even so there’s a faint sting to the air. Leah’s eyes are watering uncontrollably, but she can still see. All her skin is wet from the river, and the powder burns mildly all over. The adrenaline makes her able to ignore it, and the resistance spell seems to include all forms of caustic burning. Thank god. I wasn’t sure how literal the spell was, when he said it would protect against smoke and toxic gasses.

“Vivitha, we need to leave the same way we came. The boats! Will the boats be able to carry us?”

“Kimry was looking for you…”

Leah’s throat closes up. “It can wait. We need to get as many people out as we can, and the bridges are down.”

Vivitha notices the blood dripping down Leah’s side, and her eyes widen. “How did…you shouldn’t be running around when you’re bleeding like that!”

“I really don’t have the time to wait for it to heal, Vivi!” Leah grabs her hand and pulls her along. “Garrison. Where?”

Vivitha shakes off her shock and takes the lead, heading down to the first floor. The barracks are flooded with the smoke, and a number of dead or dying bodies clog the aisles between tables, pink froth foaming up from their mouths. Vivitha picks up two swords from the weapons rack, and hands Leah one. Leah rips off her cloak and gives it to Vivitha, instructing her to cover her nose and mouth, and squint her eyes.

Leah calls Iris’s name a few times, but gets no response. Heading up to the second level of the garrison, they find a few people still alive, stuffing bedding over gaps in the floor, trying to stop the smoke from coming up.

“Close the door behind you, you idiots!” Iris bellows, then turns and recognises them. “Leah! What happened, was it him?”

“It was the powder, wasn’t it?” Vivitha asks, taking the cloak away from her face. “The Great Three? You said it exploded.”

“I think the big explosions are magic, actually.” Leah rubs grime from her face, panting. “The little ones…the smoke bombs, those are the…” she starts coughing, and blood runs burning-hot down her leg.

“Bandages!” Iris yells, and a guard brings her some bedclothes. She pulls off Leah’s soaked outer layers and starts wrapping strips of linen cloth around Leah’s side, tightly. “If we can open the gates, the wind will carry the smoke away; we just need to get people out of the courtyard and away from arrow-fire.”

“There are boats, we can still get out,” Leah says, shaking her head to clear it. “Why did they blow up the bridges?”

“They don’t want us to escape,” Iris says, tying the knot tight. “The smoke only burns when it’s wet.”

“Huh?”

“It doesn’t burn dry skin, but if your skin is wet – like your mouth, or nose, or eyes – then it’s worse than acid. Every one of us is coated in it, and we’re on an island.” She looks at Leah critically. “How by the Gods are you not dead?”

Leah jangles the bracelet. “I’ve put it off for later; better things to do right now than die. Quicklime…fuck, right,” Leah says, deflating. “We can’t risk taking the boats.”

“We wait it out, until Seffon’s forces arrive,” Iris says, firmly, handing her a dry set of guard’s clothes. “We can insulate this room.”

Leah shakes her head. “I need to talk to Meredith.”

“I will not let you leave this room,” Iris says threateningly, grabbing Leah’s arms.

“Then stop me,” Leah says, shaking free. “Stay here. Block the door behind me.” She collects her blood-soaked things and leaves before anyone can raise an argument.

The wall to the east is partially crumbled into the river from the force of whatever took out the bridge. The river churns with small rapids over the new obstacles, and the water level has risen noticeably. Leah walks along the crumpled stone floor, aiming for the mostly-intact turret. She sees a number of Cheden soldiers step forward, bows drawn, and she hurries into the cover of the stone wall.

A press of bodies, panicked soldiers, and among them a familiar shade of red hair. Leah scrambles up and grabs Meredith’s arm; Meredith looks over at her, face travelling through confusion then shock then fear.

“What happened?” Leah and Meredith both ask at the same time.

“This war was definitely staged; the whole thing was incidental to some other goal. Eschen started it, he did everything to start it. He confessed to using a spell to force Jeno to kill Samson, all to provoke a war.”

Meredith nods, pointing out over the new rapids in the river. “They used some sort of magic to dissolve them; the capstones melted away to sand, and the bridges fell in. Some of the walls are down, but we’re still protected.”

“We need to get the smoke out, create a cross-draught. Can we open the gates?”

“They’ve got grappling lines ready,” Meredith says, pointing. “They’re waiting for us to do just that. Without the bridges, there’s no way for them to batter the gates down. We’re trapped, but they can’t get in. It’s a standstill, until we all choke to death and they can walk in at their leisure. We have to hope they’ll run out of bombs before that happens.”

Leah feels a warm point on her wrist, and checks to see if some of the dust landed and is burning; instead, it is the charm. She picks it up and goes down the stairs a bit to hear. The tingle spreads across her palm.

“The main body will arrive in about a day and a half; they’ll be resting after the border, to be ready to fight. I’m sending an advance group straight through, as well. We’ve got them magically supported, so they’ll be fresh when they arrive.”

“When will they arrive, and how many?”

“Six of the best, in six hours. Is Eschen holding back still?”

Leah clears her throat. “The plan didn’t work.”

“Plan? You actually had a plan going into this?” Seffon pauses. “What’s happening?”

“They’ve brought down the bridges. Some sort of spell. And they’ve got gas bombs.”

“What?”

“Quicklime. Burns when wet. Very bad to have on an island.” An arrow bounces off a shield overhead and clatters down the stairwell. “Seffon, Eschen’s got some sort of mission, I don’t know what exactly. He thinks I’m dead, maybe that’ll be helpful in the future, if I don’t just die in here.”

“Why does he think you’re dead?”

“Let’s just say he has very good reason to believe it. Unless he goes back to check for a body.”

“Stay hidden, then; if he thinks you’re dead we can use that to our advantage. Find some amber, if you can; it should help block any scrys.”

The charm goes cold, and the tingle in her palm ends. Leah grimaces, wishing she knew what it was.

“Leah,” Meredith calls down the steps. “Find Lord Valerid and tell him what you heard from captain Eschen.” She walks down a few steps and looks at Leah sincerely. “If this war really is a ploy – if Cheden and Devad are working together to frame Valerin – then Volst needs to know.”

“Why?”

“Because Volst can call in Bair and Algi to join the fight, if we can prove…” Meredith dodges out of the way to let a runner past, up to the turret. “If we can prove Jeno was coerced by Eschen, and that he is responsible for Samson’s death and has been aiming for war all along, then we can prove that this isn’t a war, it’s a usurpation.”

“There’s a difference?”

Meredith gives her an exasperated look. “A war is a balanced conflict, where two or more sides fight over goods or territory or ideology, and where certain rules apply. A usurpation is an unlawful invasion, usually undeclared, intended to eradicate or enslave another nation, or replace its system of government with your own. If this is a usurpation, no other nations will be allowed to sit idly by while we die, unless they want to be accused of aiding Cheden.”

Leah nods, understanding. “Will the Baron listen to me?”

“He’d better, if he has any sense at all,” Meredith grumbles. “By the way,” she adds, before heading back up to the turret, “When this is all over, ask your Lord Seffon about his role in the usurpation of Jun.”

Meredith is back up in the thick of things before Leah can ask for more information. She checks her bandages and goes to find the Baron’s office.

*

Lord Valerid is not in his office: he is on the far wall, not far from the rookery, checking for potential safe routes that boats could take during the night.

He sees Leah coming and gestures her forward, at the same time calling a number of guards closer. Leah slows, uncertainly.

“The last time someone spent any amount of time with captain Eschen and then found herself alone with a member of my family, she committed murder.” The guards eye her warily, the Baron merely bitterly. “You bought us some time, I suppose. Did you learn anything?”

Leah takes a step forward to be in more comfortable talking distance, then turns and looks out over the river. “Eschen knew me very well, before the memory incident,” she says. “He was Jeno’s old guard, before I came along. He wanted to know what sort of person I was, so we spoke often. I must have thought he was up to something, so I entertained his company in the hopes of learning what. Before I could figure it out…” Leah gestures to her head.

“And do you know now what it was?”

“He wanted to start a war over Jeno.”

Lord Valerid turns his head slightly, and narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“He was given a mission, I don’t know by whom. He was told to start a war with Valerin, over any excuse he could muster; murder, deviancy, sorcery, whatever charge he could get to stick. Jeno would be the victim or the perpetrator, whichever was more convenient and more plausible. Either way, Cheden would go to war against Volst.”

“Who else knows this?”

“I discussed it with captain Havren,” Leah says, smirking a bit to use the title. “She said that Eschen’s story suggests that Cheden’s ploy is not for war, but for a disguised usurpation.”

Lord Valerid’s spine straightens. “What proof do we have?”

“He as much as confessed it to me. Seffon has a book, documenting the secret deal struck between Devad and Ben-Lia. The captain used a banned school of magic during our duel, so we could get him with that. He admitted he used a spell to compel Jeno to…Lord Seffon knows the details of that, more so than I. Cheden at large brought their army to your lands before declaring war, pretending to be allies. The missives sent with the blood-pardons are written with Cheden and Devadiss materials, and aren’t in authentic Olues, proving that that whole Enterlan-Valerin conflict was a ruse created by our enemies.”

“Not the whole conflict,” the Baron says with some tautness.

“We have enough to make it plausible, but I’m not sure about certain proof,” Leah says, ignoring this goad. “It hinges on whether Volst would believe my testimony.”

“They would not,” the Baron says, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I do.”

Leah looks at him in wordless surprise.

“My son was set to marry a Baronet’s daughter, from Welleslass. It had been arranged a decade ago. The Duchess contacted me two years ago and proposed this alternative; she wanted it to happen as quickly as it could be managed.” He inhales deeply. “She claimed they wanted better trade deals, up the river, and in return they’d be willing to put pressure on Devad, on our behalf. It was so simple, so honest…and much more credible than that nonsense you were spouting at the execution.”

Leah shrugs this off, waiting for him to continue.

“I fully believed her,” the Baron says, looking out over the water. “Up until the moment Devad declared themselves for Cheden, I fully believed her, even after her daughter murdered my son.” He closes his eyes, his whole body tense. Leah looks away, leaving him a private moment to collect himself. “I let Ben-Lia’s armies into the city, because I didn’t consider that a Duchess might be playing steeper odds than a mere trade deal. But the moment Devad declared for them…I saw the subterfuge. And you were right.”

The Baron turns away and walks back down, gesturing for her to follow. She does, with the guards trailing them.

“You have fully immersed yourself in the world of magic, in quite a short time,” he says, as they walk. “Volst would never accept your testimony, but the other evidence should be sufficient. It must be sent to the other nations; we must plead the case. If we don’t, I am not confident Volst will win this war…and this city will almost certainly be a casualty no matter the outcome.”

“How may I help?” Leah asks immediately, at attention.

“We have only one messenger crow left, and the enemy has shot down every other one we sent out. This message must be delivered directly to Volst; if Cheden knows we are planning to accuse them of usurpation, they will drag this keep into the river to stop us. We must last long enough for your promised forces to arrive.”

“A day and a half,” Leah says, belatedly realising she has not given the update. “A small team will arrive in advance, in about six hours, but the bulk will be here in a day and a half.”

“And the explosives they have been throwing into our courtyard?” the Baron prompts. “How long will they have a supply of those?”

Leah realises that her hour of resistance is probably running out; her heart is still beating harder than it ought, so the second spell is certainly still active. “I don’t know, but it is limited.”

“Can we do anything to stop them?” he asks, opening the door to his office and settling down at the desk, gesturing for Leah to enter. The guards remain outside.

Leah looks carefully at Lord Valerid’s face, the hard lines, the exhaustion. “Not that I know of. Are you asking for a magical solution, or a mundane one?”

“I am asking for my soldiers to not have their eyes boiled out of their sockets, Miss Talesh. And damn what Volst thinks, but if magic will spare them, then I am willing to consider it.”

Without meaning to, Leah smiles. She smothers it quickly, but the Baron has already noticed, and raises an eyebrow in cool disapproval. “I suppose that’s another thing that Volst will never believe, if I tell them it?” she asks, with a small smirk.

“It is,” Lord Valerid says with the tiniest shrug. “But as you have already discovered in Jun, very few ruling families are in total agreement with their larger governments.”

Leah does not comment, merely nodding.

“How grave is your injury?” he asks, gesturing to her bandages.

“I will recover.”

“Can you fight?”

Leah hesitates. ‘Can’ as in physically, or ‘can’ as in ability? I guess that’s up to me. “No, not well enough to be of use.”

“Then go to the hospital and help where you can,” the Baron says, looking down at the papers on his desk and beginning to write. “We must all hold on for another day and a half.”

Leah stands, and gives a half-bow in his direction. He does not acknowledge it. She hesitates at the door, a question tugging at her mind. Don’t do it…don’t do it, you managed to go a whole conversation without him insulting you or threatening you…don’t risk it…

“What changed, two years ago?” Leah asks.

The Baron looks up.

“You said the Duchess contacted you two years ago. What happened then? What might have caused her to start planning this, insisting that it happen as soon as possible?”

The Baron taps his pen against the paper a few times, splattering ink. “Lady Jeno’s original match was from Cheden, one of the other duchies. He died in a duel, as I understand it.”

“A duel over what?”

The Baron slams the pen down firmly, palm flat, and looks up at her.

“Never mind,” Leah says, with another half-bow. “But…”

“But what?”

“Why do you still call her by her title?” Leah asks, quietly. “You’d have every right to not want to give her that respect.”

Lord Valerid’s face clouds, and he picks the pen up again. “Because if I don’t, I’d have to call her Jeno Valerid. Now go.”

Leah leaves as fast as she can.

*

The time is running up on her resistance spell. She goes down to the secret passages through the walls, and carefully opens one of the doors leading out to the west river-branch. Out of range of the arrows, she crouches by the water and splashes it in her eyes, rinsing them out as best she can. She takes some and gargles, repeating until she can’t feel any of the grit at the back of her mouth.

I should rinse my nose too, she realises, grimacing, then very carefully attempts to do so. Immediately she starts spluttering and choking.

“Miss?”

A guard pokes her head around the door, looking concerned.

Leah waves her away, trying to rub the water off her face, wishing she had a towel.

“Miss!” the guard repeats, insistent, and Leah turns to glare at her. The guard points downriver. “Get back inside.”

Leah squints where the woman is pointing, barely making out the ships that are approaching, just entering the river mouth. “Cheden?”

“Devadiss.”

Leah hesitates, watching the distant ships. “It’s only been two days since they declared…how long does it take to sail from Devad to here?”

“They could have been sped by magic, but the how doesn’t matter,” the guard says, taking a step out of the door and holding a hand out towards Leah. “We need every able body on the walls.”

“Mine’s not an able body,” Leah says, gesturing to the bandages. The guard shoots her a judgemental look. I should have taken a few drops less, just so that I could be bleeding a bit more impressively, Leah think sourly, and sighs. “But I can help in the hospital.”

“They need as many helpers as they can get there, yes,” the guard says, accepting this easily. “Come along.”

Leah looks back at the ships one last time as she follows the woman in. Sped by magic, maybe…or lying in wait just out of sight, ready to come in the moment the war is declared, without wasting a moment in transit? Seffon has scouts along the shore…he’d know.

She thumbs the charm, then lets it fall. They’ll be here soon enough. It can wait.

They arrive at a hospice – a large wooden building at the core of the keep, obviously repurposed, with a broad fireplace and a number of pallets on the floor. Almost every one is occupied, holding soldiers bleeding from wounds or with splinted limbs.

Most have some sort of fabric covering their eyes, tinged lightly with wet, pink and puss-filled.

Leah rolls up her sleeves. It can definitely wait.