Silence fell over the battlefield after Grant put up his barrier. Even the Crimson Reaver chanting fell silent as both sides got a chance to breathe.

  At least, down on the street level. Up on the roofs, Davon was busy keeping an eye out for more Assassins.

  Before the dust could settle between the two sides of the conflict, mocking laughter erupted from atop the inner walls.

  “Yes, cower before your betters like the vermin you are!” Tenebris growled viciously. “Take your time, dead fools. You are only delaying the inevitable. We will wait, patient as the tide.”

  The general’s voice was still echoing in his ears when Davon spotted Lyla. Carried by conjured winds, she floated up from the street below and hopped down onto his rooftop.

  “Awfully cocky, isn’t he?” she remarked, walking towards Davon.

  Davon grimaced. “Considering how badly he beat us last time? I’d say he earned it. Not that it makes me any less angry at the bastard.”

  A momentary silence filled the air as the two sat down on the roof.

  “Where’s Kai?” Davon asked.

  “He insisted on staying at the front, in case the enemies decide to attack,” Lyla explained, reaching into her cloak. “To be honest, if Grant hadn’t ordered the mages to the roofs, I would’ve stayed down there as well.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  Lyla began flipping through her spellbook.“Because, between the two of you, Kai is much more likely to do something stupid and need immediate healing.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Davon said with a smile.

  He let the silence filter in again, occasionally checking over the roof’s peak to make sure the situation hadn’t changed.

  A few minutes later, the rustling pages went still.

  “I know this might not be the best time but…” Lyla sighed. “Do you remember, after our first death, how I mentioned having some… memories?”

  “Patterns and voices? Yeah, I remember. Why do you ask?”

  Lyla took a while before responding. “Because… every subsequent death we’ve experienced has brought more clarity with it.”

  Davon furrowed his brows. He watched as Lyla placed her quill on the paper, her normally perfect balance disrupted by her shaking hand.

  Before he could say anything, she went on: “That’s why I’ve been taking our deaths worse and worse. As it clarified, the pattern has become ingrained in my mind. It’s… it’s been driving me crazy, quite frankly. I feel like I’m at the very edge of understanding what it is, but every time I try to note it down, it becomes jumbled in my head. It’s like it wants me to know it, but doesn’t want to be known… and I realize that makes no sense.”

  “Could it be some sort of message from your Reliquary?” Davon suggested.

  Lyla looked quickly at Davon. “Have you been speaking to yours too?”

  “Speaking is a strong word for it.” Davon paused. “It’s more like… sharing feelings and ideas. Mutual understanding, rather than an actual conversation. It recognizes my thoughts, though.”

  Lyla’s face scrunched up in concentration. “Interesting. Yes… that’s what it felt like to communicate with mine, before our second round in the Imbuement Chamber.”

  “So do you think that’s it? Maybe you’re picking up on the Reliquary’s thoughts?” Davon prodded.

  “No… no it’s different. I’m certain of that.” Lyla shook her head firmly, then sighed again. “Anyway, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  Davon raised a curious eyebrow and waited.

  “Distract me,” Lyla demanded. Keeping her quill pressed against the spellbook, she locked eyes with Davon. The shaking of her hand suddenly ceased. “Talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “About anything. Just… keep me distracted.”

  Davon regarded his friend for a moment. Then he nodded slowly.

  “Yeah, alright. I can do that.”

  Pulling on good memories, Davon launched into an account of his time on the Night Runner. He told Lyla about the many times he and Rand got in trouble on the ship for all manner of things, from slacking off to pranking the other sailors.

  He reminisced about the quiet days at sea, then all the times storms did their best to drown the whole crew. The long nights in port taverns getting drunk. His first bar fight, when he fought alongside Kai and Rand. How poorly that night ended for the three men, retching on the Port Perle walkways.

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  Davon recalled the day when Grant and Mia first came aboard the Night Runner, hired to guard some high-value goods. His first meeting with Emma on the mainland. The day when Grant offered to teach him some basic sword-work, and how that transitioned into Davon’s first lessons with a bow.

  Lyla was enraptured by his story. Her eyes stayed locked on his. Yet, the whole time, her hand never stopped writing in her spellbook.

  When she looked down at what she had written, her eyes widened.

  “It… it worked,” she whispered. Then, more loudly: “It worked!”

  She turned the spellbook towards Davon, shoving it giddily in his face. “Look! It worked!”

  Davon did his best to understand the writing, but as usual, his cursory understanding of magic left him thoroughly baffled.

  Gently, he placed his hand over Lyla’s and pushed the book away. “I’m glad to hear it, Lyla, but that means nothing to me.”

  “It’s the pattern! Or… part of it, at least.” Lyla glanced down at the pages, her brow furrowing again. “It’s… arcana, of some sort. But it’s unlike any of the spell work I’m used to seeing. These runes are all wrong. Even if I compare them to the closest possible runes, the structure is… well, again, all wrong. It makes no sense. What if…”

  Lyla reached into her cloak and pulled out a notebook, rapidly flipping through it. When she landed on a page, she took several minutes to compare something between the two books, her expression changing from confusion to excitement and back again.

  “No… even comparing it to the most ancient records of spell-crafting, it still makes no sense. But, at the bones of it, this IS some form of spell.”

  Davon watched Lyla carefully. Though he could barely follow what she was saying, he was glad to see her so invested in something.

  But the gladness was tinted with concern. He knew Lyla well enough by now to know how fixated she could become on these topics. The middle of a battle was not a good time to be obsessing over arcane knowledge.

  Finally, to his relief, she closed both of her books.

  “I… need some more time with this.” She looked up at him with a rare smile. “Thank you, kindly, for helping me out. This is a breakthrough the likes of which I hadn’t dared to hope for.”

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. You would’ve cracked it sooner or later. But, you’re welcome.” Davon returned her smile, then glanced wearily over the roof’s edge. “I wonder what the Crimson Reavers are planning.”

  At streel level, not much had changed. Vanguard forces stood beside the barrier, forming a three-layered line of defense. A sea of Crimson Reavers waited on the other side. Davon spotted Grant and Emma talking beside the Godslayer engine. On the other side of the field, Tenebris lounged atop the gatehouse of the inner wall.

  Vanguard mages were busy amidst the bodies in the street. From the Crimson Reavers, they harvested what they could and burned the rest. The bodies of fallen Revenants were gathered into neat rows and then left in the snow.

  While he knew it was all the Vanguard could do with their fallen siblings-in-arms, and that it ultimately wouldn’t matter in three weeks' time, it still irked Davon that the bodies weren’t treated with more reverence.

  “I don’t think they’re planning anything at the moment,” Lyla replied, her expression carefully neutral once again. “Each and every one of them seems arrogant to the point of stupidity.”

  Davon settled back into a sitting position. “Can’t deny that. Aelius, Tenebris, even the Red plume to an extent…”

  Lyla raised an eyebrow. “The Red Plume? You mean that Duelist captain?”

  “Yeah… sorry, I started calling her that during my scouting expedition,” Davon explained. “Her last words to Tenebris were… bold.”

  “How so?” Lyla asked, stowing her spellbook away in her cloak.

  “Let’s entertain the very real possibility that we fail here,” Davon began. Ignoring Lyla’s brief scowl, he pressed on: “What do you think is the first thing a creature as arrogant and conceited as Tenebris would do? Especially to someone who had proudly renounced his conquest?”

  “Hunt down and execute the traitor himself,” Lyla replied calmly.

  “Exactly. And the Red Plume either didn’t consider that as a possibility, or she believes herself to be capable of avoiding or besting Tenebris.” Davon shrugged. “Either way, some amount of arrogance was involved.”

  The duo considered this for a few moments before Lyla broke the silence.

  “Their arrogance really is the Crimson Reavers’ biggest weakness.”

  “Yeah.” Davon glanced towards the hulking figure of the draconic general. “I wonder how Tenebris will change his tune when the Godslayer is fired.”

  Lyla sighed wistfully, her eyes sparkling. “The pinnacle of arcane engineering. So ancient, yet still unsurpassed… what I’d give to be able to study it.”

  “Well, maybe when we finish this fight, you’ll get a chance to,” Davon offered.

  “I don’t think you realize how big of an ask that is,” Lyla shot back. “That would be like a deck hand, fresh from their first voyage, asking to captain a galleon.”

  Davon shrugged again. “Fresh deck hands don’t end historic invasions.”

  “Well, if we don’t kill Tenebris, it will be a moot point anyway,” Lyla said flatly. “Speaking of… how long do you think Grant will wait before ordering us to continue the siege?”

  Before Davon could reply, a familiar Vanguard war horn sounded, calling all present Revenants to attention.

  “Guess that’s our cue,” Davon said through a groan, pushing himself up to his feet.

  The pair, as well as other Revenants nearby, stepped up to the roof’s peak to look down at the street below. The Vanguard had finished clearing the street of all dead Crimson Reavers. Davon could see a smoke stack beyond the walls.

  Burning the bodies so the Necromancers can’t use them, he noted. Good.

  The main Vanguard force, made up entirely of melee Revenants, had once again gathered by Grant’s barrier. The old Revenant was looking around at his soldiers, seemingly counting them in his head.

  Davon could see fury and defiance in the eyes of all the gathered Revenants. His own heart leapt in response, stirred with the desire for vengeance. Though the day hadn’t gone nearly their way, the Vanguard was ready to continue the fight.

  Grant’s face was grim as he placed a hand on the great sword he’d stuck in the ground. For a brief moment, the barrier shone even more brightly.

  “My siblings-in-arms,” Grant called, drawing the attention of each and every Revenant. “The day will yet be ours!”

  With his free hand, Grant raised a fist to the sky, provoking raucous cheers from the Vanguard’s soldiers.

  “Show our enemy that we do not fear death! For we are the first and last line of defense for humanity. And WE. WILL. NOT. BE. STOPPED!”

  A wave of golden light erupted from Grant’s position, bathing all gathered Revenants in its warmth.

  When the wave of energy hit Davon, he felt reinvigorated. The defiance in his heart grew tenfold, and he felt a surge of strength rush through him.

  Now it was time to push once again.