\hypertarget{chapter-52-sortie}{%
\section{Chapter 52: Sortie}\label{chapter-52-sortie}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``Swift wars are long in the making.''}

-- Stygian Proverb
\end{quote}

The army set out from Neustal on a warm, sunny morning.

I'd been up since before dawn, when our outriders had set out -- the
Osena and Volignac light horse -- so I was well into my day when the
columns got moving. The Dominion forces of Razin and Aquiline served as
our vanguard, an `honour' they'd asked for and few had cared to contest.
Given how light on their feet Levant infantry could be, raiders at heart
that they were, my main concern had been that they'd get too far ahead
of the rest of the army. To ensure otherwise I'd put General Hune and
her Second Army behind them, since the lordlings were likely to curb
their enthusiasm if they were leaving her in the dust.

Behind the Second I put our Alamans forces, the veteran Volignac army
and the fantassin companies Princess Beatrice had picked in my name.
With the Firstborn under my Lord of Silent Steps behind them, they made
up the `centre' of our army on the march. At night I'd let the drow
loose on my enemies, but during day marches they needed to be protected.
While beyond the drowsiness around dawn the Firstborn weren't
\emph{harmed} by daylight, it really was a waste to have them fighting
by day considering how much more effective they were by night.

Our rearguard would be the Third Army under General Abigail: if there
was anyone likely to see an ambush coming a mile away and leave no stone
unturned looking for it, it was my sole Callowan general.

The Proceran troops were still filing out of the front gate in a
semblance of good order -- it looked like Princess Beatrice had spread
out her own infantry between fantassin companies, using the rhythmic
pace-setting of her drummers in an attempt at setting a marching beat
for all Alamans soldiery -- under my watchful eye when Hakram came to
see me. Not in the stronghold as I'd claimed one of the watchtowers
overlooking the trenches, half a mile away from Neustal, as a temporary
base while the army got moving. It was a good vantage, and I'd been
killing time talking with Pickler when Adjutant arrived.

There was no real way for him to come up, considering the top of the
watchtower was accessible only by ladder, so I wove myself a few solid
tendrils of Night. I anchored them to the edge of the tower rampart and
went over the edge, guiding them to gently lower me in a landing before
the orc. The sight was common enough that my escort -- knights of the
Broken Bells -- did not even visibly react. Night was a lot less
eldritch a power to their eyes, these days. People could get used to
anything if it happened regularly enough.

``Catherine,'' Hakram greeted me. ``Here are the last dispatches before
we leave.''

He offered me a few parchments with his skeleton hand and I took them. I
noticed the Apprentice wasn't around, even though he'd ended up
accepting her presence as a helper. He must have left her behind for the
trip.

``Thanks,'' I replied, folding them open one after another.

The first was ordinary diplomacy: well wishes from Hasenbach and the
Highest Assembly in our offensive. The second slightly more important,
word from the Iron Prince that the dead had begun testing his army with
large-scale night raids as it went up the mining roads. So far his
pickets had caught them in time, but Prince Klaus believed it likely
that his preparedness for a battle was being measured. That was
promising, considering we quite wanted the undead army holed up in
Juvelun to come out and fight him.

The last might be the most important of the three, though it was by far
the least ornate. Just two sentences scribbled in a familiar
handwriting: \emph{It went well, the work has begun. I am on my way.} I
allowed myself a thin smile. Good, that was a load off my back. I passed
the parchments back to Adjutant.

``We've sent word to Papenheim we're on the move, right?'' I suddenly
asked.

``I handled it this morning, as soon as the first soldier walked out the
gate,'' he agreed.

Thank the Gods he'd handled that, it'd entirely slipped my mind. Looking
at him I began to speak then closed abruptly closed my mouth. My
conversation with Vivienne last night had been fruitful, including her
finding a candidate for talks with General Sacker -- the steward I'd
left to rule Marchford in my name, who was both minor nobility and
fluent in Mtethwa as well as familiar with goblins from the tribe
settled in my holdings -- and suggesting the Jacks begin infiltrating
the deserters' camp. The part that'd surprised me, though, was that
she'd also been in favour of arms sales to the orc clans rebelling in
the Steppes.

She'd even urged me to discuss the matter more in depth with Hakram
instead of dismissing it as I had, something that'd weighed on my mind
since. Vivienne might not have stated it outright, but there'd been more
than politics behind that piece of advice. Was now really the time,
though, just as our offensive was beginning? \emph{If I don't make the
time, I'll never have it}, I chided myself.

``Adjutant,'' I said. ``When we discussed our options in the Wasteland,
yesterday-``

``The decision was made,'' Hakram calmly cut in. ``There is no need to
revisit it.''

``Maybe there is,'' I said. ``Put in an hour for it tonight, in my
schedule. Give me an idea what the monetary costs might be of selling or
sending armaments.''

His eyes narrowed.

``Vivienne is meddling,'' the orc gravelled.

It wasn't a question.

``She made a suggestion,'' I shrugged. ``I found worth in it.''

His face grew very hard to read for a moment.

``Pity is a poor basis for a queen's decisions,'' Adjutant stiffly said.

``That's not what this is,'' I sharply said.

``Have your reasons for choosing differently yesterday become any less
true?'' Adjutant said. ``No.~Nothing has changed, save that you spoke
with Vivienne.''

``I'm not saying I'll do it,'' I bit out, ``I'm saying I might have
dismissed the possibility too quickly, and I want to know more about
what would be involved.''

I was trying to stay calm, but it was like he was \emph{trying} to put
the worst interpretation possible to anything I tried. I'd had to deal
with that from others, but coming from Hakram of all -- I made myself
breathe out. That was kind of the problem, wasn't it? I wasn't used to
this from Hakram because he'd always made it easy for me. Having this
conversation with someone else wouldn't have felt nearly as grating. I
was not sure I liked what that said about either me or him. He studied
me, face once again unreadable.

``I'll see to it,'' Adjutant said. ``I have two subordinates in the
adjunct secretariat capable of making the proposal skilfully. They can
handle the matter.''

The tone had gotten challenging by the end of the last sentence. The
unspoken part was easy enough to parse: \emph{if this is a legitimate
interest, it won't matter I'm not the one doing the talking.} And if it
wasn't a legitimate interest, then he wanted nothing to do with it. I
forced myself to remain expressionless and nodded in agreement.

``Is there anything else?'' Adjutant asked.

``No,'' I quietly replied. ``You can go.''

I shouldn't have listened to Vivienne, I thought. This path was a dead
end. I couldn't use the authority of the queen to fix the troubles of
the woman. I clenched my fingers as he wheeled away downslope, towards
the two phalanges waiting to help him into the litter he used to get
around where the chair wouldn't work. It was not a pleasant, realizing
that I had no idea how to even begin to mend this. \emph{If it can be
mended at all}, a treacherous voice whispered in the back of my mind. No
amount of gestures would grow his limbs back or change that he'd lost
them in my service.

Forcing a calm expression back on my face -- people were watching,
people were \emph{always} watching -- I pulled on Night and went back up
the watchtower. I still had a war to fight, and it cared nothing for my
worries.

---

By Noon Bell we were all on the road and the first reports from the
outriders were trickling back in.

I'd abandoned the watchtower as soon as the drow were out of Neustal,
instead taking Zombie on a ride and joining the Second Army. Morale in
the ranks was high, though considering the backbone of the Second had
been with me since before the Tenth Crusade I'd expected as much. I
traded jokes and wild boasts with soldiers as I rode at their side, a
Taghreb sergeant startling a laugh out of me when he confessed he'd
promised his wife a mansion in Keter after the war -- his fellows jeered
it was why he was still here, afraid to come home and face her
displeasure at failing to deliver -- but eventually moved to ride at
General Hune's side.

The ogre was not one for small talk but I hardly minded. She wasn't
Juniper or Aisha, I had no good old days to get misty over when it came
to Hune Egelsdottir. In a way it was refreshing, the simple clarity of
our relationship: queen and subordinate, nothing more or less. It was
with her I entertained the first reports from the outriders. The
Volignac horsemen had gone east and west, since as natives to these
lands they knew the grounds better, while the Osena had been sent
straight ahead up Julienne's Highway. The benefits of the road ensured
the latter came back first even if they'd gone further out.

There were few dead ahead, they'd told me. Three different warbands of
maybe a hundred skeletons had been glimpsed about two hours of riding
ahead, but no larger force. A band of two hundred riders under a cousin
of Lady Aquiline had decided to forge further ahead to see how far he
could go before encountering resistance, though only after swearing once
more to obey my orders against skirmishing: he'd turn back the moment
fighting became inevitable. The Beastmaster had kept going with him, so
I was likely to get a good look ahead out of the venture. The Volignac
scouts returned later and with uneven timing, bearing equally uneven
news.

To the west the lowlands seemed empty save for small undead warbands
like the Osena outriders had seen, though there'd been half a dozen
instead there instead of a mere three. The Hainaut lowlands were full of
small hills and dips, though, and the Dead King a patient foe: it was a
favourite trick of his to hide small bands like these and then suddenly
assemble them in a larger army to hit a weak point in our defences. This
time, though, the threat seemed to be coming from the east. A Volignac
captain reported seeing a force of two thousand undead, mostly skeletons
and Binds with a few ghouls, wandering to our northeast.

``Most likely a force meant to ambush one of our patrols,'' General Hune
rumbled, and I agreed.

In a way that was a good sign: the detachment wouldn't be out here if
Neshamah knew we were coming, as with our numbers and equipment we could
easily smash it with paltry casualties. The Dead King was not so
wasteful as to throw away two thousand for no gain, profligate as he was
with bodies. I asked the captain if the undead had seen his riders.

``I do not believe so,'' the mustachioed man replied, ``but the Enemy is
a cunning foe, Your Majesty. I cannot be certain.''

I wanted the Dead King unaware of our march as long as possible, even
though it'd been impossible to hide that we were gathering troops in
Neustal. Part of the reason the army under the Iron Prince had begun to
march a week before us was to draw the enemy's attention, after all. The
trouble was that the Hidden Horror could see through the eyes of his
undead, and the moment he got a look at the army marching up Julienne's
Highway he was going to send his closest army to halt our advance at the
natural pass called Lauzon's Hollow.

We wanted that to happen, as if that army wasn't drawn forward our
surprise strike at the Cigelin Sisters behind it would likely fail, but
we wanted it to happen as \emph{late} as possible. We didn't know
exactly what Neshamah had in reserve, so if he had too long to prepare a
response it wasn't impossible for him to fortify both Cigelin and the
Hollow. That wouldn't necessarily make it impossible for us to win, but
it would make that victory\ldots{} costly, to say the least.

Fortunately we'd established Neshamah could only `see' through one
corpse at a time, as it required a focus of his attention. But the
Arsenal -- more specifically the Repentant Magister and Hunted Magician
-- had also proven there was a working seeded inside Binds and Revenants
that allowed them to `call' for the attention of their master if they
believed it warranted. So the tightrope to walk now was how we could
wipe out that force of two thousand undead to our northeast
\emph{without} prompting them to tattle to their master. If we sent too
large a force they were sure to do so, and if our heavy hitters -- Akua
or myself -- went out personally the result would be the same.

We couldn't just ignore it, though, since with Binds in command they
were sure to scout in our direction sooner or later. A pack of zombies
or bones could be counted to display staggering stupidity, but Binds
could actually think. There was a reason it was standard Grand Alliance
tactics to target them first if we could find them among the horde.

``If we wait after nightfall the drow can wipe them out cleanly,''
General Hune suggested.

``That's rolling the dice,'' I replied. ``There's no guarantee they'll
wait that long to move towards us, and half the day still lies ahead.''

The undead did favour night fighting when they had the choice and Binds
around to make it, since unlike humans the necromancy that allowed them
to see was not particularly affected by the dark, but it was hardly a
rule. So far the Dead King should not have been alerted to our advance,
as riders on the distance were hardly anything new. The Grand Alliance
fielded regular mounted forays into the territory he held. Yet there was
always the change he'd notice that a \emph{lot} of his warbands had seen
quite a cumulatively large amount of outriders today. There was no way
to tell if that was the case, though, so no real point in worrying about
it.

``A Dominion raid, then?'' Hune said.

Could work, I mused. The Osena elites, the slayers, they were skilled at
ambushes. And with one of Razin's kin having died in ambush recently,
Keter might even buy this was just a vengeance raid if we added some of
his warriors to the force sent out. It thinned our vanguard, though,
which I didn't like even if the road ahead was supposedly bare. I had
other tools to use, though.

``We've got raiders of our own,'' I replied. ``Send for Special Tribune
Robber, would you? And Sapper-General Pickler as well.''

Robber's band of marauders was still a mere cohort of two hundred,
though the audacity of his raids with them meant few of the goblins in
it were the same as when he'd first been given the command. I wouldn't
send him alone against two thousand undead, though, especially given
that ghouls were just as quick on the feet as goblins and a \emph{lot}
meaner in a fight. It was time we gave Pickler's new copperstone
ballistas a proper trial in the field -- which Neshamah should buy as a
reason for a raid north, if he ended up looking in -- but to add a bit
of muscle I'd throw in regulars backed by Levantines.

They'd get pissy about honour otherwise, so I might as well borrow a
warband of two hundred Osena slayers as well as an escort for the
engines in the form of a cohort of regulars from the Army of Callow.
That'd mean around nine hundred soldiers, which I was comfortable
sending out considering they were drawn from several parts of my column
instead of thinning out one in particular.

I spoke to my goblins first, Robber proving eager for the task and
Pickler insisting on going along with her ballistas. I couldn't deny
having her there would be useful when it came to assessing their
performance, so I allowed it. Hune detached a cohort of regulars and
briefed them herself while I went to the Levantines. Aquiline proved
flattered that I would call on her elites in particular, which meant she
was disinclined to argue when I requested her officers heed the
instructions of the senior Army officer on the field -- in theory
Pickler, though in practice it'd be Robber. The forces were mustered
within an hour, my Special Tribune running off ahead to pick his
grounds.

Eventually the rest of the forces mobilized set out east after him and I
stayed seated on Zombie, resisting to urge to ride her up in the sky and
have a quick look. I had another ride with the ranks just to distract me
with the urge. I missed fighting, I could admit it to myself. I'd
learned to use other means, as violence had so rarely been enough to get
me through the kind of messes I stumbled into, but there'd always been
something viscerally satisfying about smashing your enemy personally.
Instead I had to wait like a decorative lump as Noon Bell slowly crawled
towards Afternoon Bell, receiving continuing outrider reports and
waiting for news of the skirmish in the northeast.

Robber came back half an hour before Afternoon Bell, dusty but flushed
with preening malice, and I knew it'd gone well before the little shit
even opened his mouth.

``They fell for it, Boss, like Alamans told there's a wine cellar at the
bottom of the well,'' my Special Tribune cackled.

It'd gone off without a hitch, he explained. His raiders had harassed
the dead by snipping at their flanks with a few ambushes, then fled into
their chosen killing grounds as the enemy ghouls pursued. The Osena
slayers hidden along the paths had scythed through the ghouls like wet
parchment, then joined the flight with just enough of a delay that the
commanding Binds were tempted into committing the entire force to
pursuit. That brought them to flat grounds where Pickler's waiting
ballistas pounded them to smoldering dust with their copperstone
munitions. The regulars came forward to prevent the dead from leaving
the flat grounds, hitting from the front while the slayers and goblins
turned to hit the flanks.

It'd been a massacre.

Maybe two hundred skeletons led by the last Bind had fled but they were
being pursued even now and bones were slower on the feet than even tired
goblins. The entire affair had cost us fewer than forty casualties,
making it a remarkably one-sided beating. When word spread through the
ranks, I thought, it would raise morale significantly. There was nothing
like an early win to make soldiers eager for further battles.

``I guess you get to eat with people instead of the horses this week,
then,'' I mused. ``Congratulations on the victory, Robber.''

``I was going to what now?'' the Special Tribune said, sounding alarmed.

``Don't worry about it,'' I winked. ``I'm sure your right to eat
anything other than oats is not at all contingent on bringing me more
victories.''

I winked again, just to piss him off, and ignored his increasingly loud
attempts to question me over what he'd done to warrant this treatment.
Verbally stepping on him put me in as good of a mood as the victory
itself. It really was the little things in life, wasn't it? I didn't
bother sending someone to ask Pickler for a report on the performance of
the copperstones, as to be frank I'd be getting one whether I wanted to
or not. The smile stayed with me until I got a visit from the Silver
Huntress.

``There are dead on the horizon, Your Majesty,'' the Huntress said in
that startlingly girlish voice of hers.

I cocked a brow. Like Indrani she had an aspect related to sight over
long distances, but I'd kept the two of them close to the van to sniff
out ambushed instead of sending them out too far. For the first day, at
least, I considered that a better use. So how had she seen something no
other Named -- or myself -- had?

``You saw them?'' I asked.

``Word from Beastmaster,'' Alexis replied, shaking her head. ``He sent a
falcon.''

``Ah,'' I hummed. ``In that case, if you'd elaborate?''

She pointed a finger upwards. To the sky. \emph{Shit.}

``Buzzards or vulture?'' I asked.

The former weren't much of an issue, just large undead birds the Dead
King liked to use as scouts. A `vulture' was a necromantic construct,
though, and though much smaller than a wyrm we'd seen a lot more of
those on the Hainaut front. For their size -- none was smaller than a
house -- they were damned quick, and hard to put down. Usually Keter
used them to pick off patrols or strike behind our defensive lines, but
on occasion they could serve as a sort of heavily armoured scout.

``One vulture,'' the Huntress said, ``with a flock of buzzards around
it. Headed straight towards us down Julienne's Highway, he says.''

And there went my good mood. The Dead King \emph{had} noticed something
was up, then, and he wanted to confirm the nature of threat with eyes up
in the sky. I closed my eyes and thought. Those couldn't be allowed to
come too close, but at least the Huntress had warned us with time to
spare. If we smashed the flock and vulture we'd still keep Keter from
having direct eyes on us. Our overall campaign plan wasn't threatened, I
thought. Even if the Hidden Horror knew my force was going up the
highway, it wouldn't take away the strategic threat that was Prince
Klaus' host taking Malmedit out east and collapsing the tunnels there.

Now that Neshamah had caught on to my own army's advance, though it was
effectively impossible to beat his own force to Lauzon's Hollow. The
force Keter had stationed between Cigelin and the Hollow was under a
hundred thousand, we believed, but it was a mere three days' march
between those two fortresses and the dead could walk through the night.
It'd take them a day at most to move to one to the other from their
current camp, hence why I'd wanted surprise on our side: even after
today's march, our quickest possible pace on Creation would take us
another six days getting to Lauzon's Hollow.

That was not truly a setback: that Keter would find my army had been a
given, even if this was \emph{much} quicker than I preferred. You
couldn't walk seventy thousand people up a road and expect them to go
unseen. By swatting the birds out of the sky we could still keep our
numbers somewhat obscured, anyway. And strategically speaking my entire
army was bait, in a sense, since the first blow in the offensive would
actually come from our reserve sallying from the Twilight Ways and
taking the Cigelin Sisters while my host drew the defensive army into
Lauzon's Hollow.

Nothing had truly been lost, I knew, save that the Hidden Horror had
more time to prepare his defences than I'd wanted to give him. So why
did I feel so uneasy?

``Go find the Summoner,'' I finally said, opening my eyes. ``And tell
him I have need of his services: something that can fly and carry two
people.''

The Silver Huntress slowly nodded.

``Am I to go with him and destroy the dead?'' she asked.

She seemed rather pleased at the thought of combat, if not the company.

``Not alone,'' I replied. ``They'd see you coming from miles away and
scatter.''

She cocked her head to the side, waiting for me to continue speaking,
and I was startled with how closely it resembled the way Archer did it.

``I'll be going as well, to weave an illusion that'll hide us,'' I said.
``Archer will share my mount.''

If the Dead King was going to learn something was headed his way no
matter what, I grimly thought, I might as well give him something to
\emph{really} worry about.

---

All my affairs had been packed off for the road, so I had no tent to
use.

I rode up to one of two wagons holding my affairs, though, and asked the
phalange handling the reins to slow for a bit. I made my way inside,
waking the magelight and going through my clothes. I no longer wore
plate, these days, but I'd not forgotten my growing fragility: I dug out
a plain steel breastplate and a helmet from a coffer. The helm was a
nice bit of smithing, open-faced in the legionary manner but worked to
have subtle golden inlays above my head evoking a crown. It'd also been
forged to accommodate a ponytail, since I wasn't going to be fighting
anyone with loose hair.

The wagon was shaky even at the reduced pace and armour was always
tricky to put on alone, so I waited for Indrani join me -- I'd sent for
her before coming here -- and instead grabbed something else from the
coffer: a sword belt, with a sheathed blade on it. I slid the goblin
steel out an inch, fingers tightening around the longsword's grip.
Well-weighted, made especially for me. I'd refused a sword once, in
Liesse-Become-Twilight, and I would not walk back that choice. But this
was war, and sometimes a staff and a prayer were not enough. I slid it
back into the sheath and was tightening the belt around my hips when
Indrani entered.

She cocked a brow at the sight.

``So it's a fight, then,'' Archer grinned.

``Help me put my armour on,'' I replied after hesitating a beat.

I'd almost not gotten the words out. It was not her, who usually helped
me with this. Perhaps sensing she was treading tender grounds, Indrani
was efficient about it. The breastplate settled comfortably over my
torso, and after I tightened the clasps on my helmet she made sure the
ponytail went out through the proper furrow at the back of my neck.

``War boots,'' Indrani reminded me after.

I'd still been debating that, as it happened. I'd never been a splendid
rider and I was more comfortable in the saddle without steel on my
boots, but then Zombie was not a difficult mount. Might as well. I sat
on a trunk and reached into the pack by the side of it, only to freeze
in surprised. There were my old campaign boots there, those I'd been
dragging with me since I'd emerged from the Everdark, but also another
pair. New, by the look of the leather, but pressing on them with my
hands it was clear they'd been broken in. \emph{Scribe}, I thought. It'd
been idle talk when I'd mentioned the detail to her, but details were
her trade.

``Cat?'' Indrani asked.

They were just boots, I told myself. And still I took the old ones.

``Give me a moment,'' I replied. ``As soon as we've got these on, we'll
gather our war party and head out.''

---

The Summoner was a backbiting, entitled prick but he did have a lot of
combat utility.

Masego had been fascinated by his magic -- said the man had, in a sense,
failed so badly at both diabolism and fae-binding that he'd ended up
making something entirely different from both -- but also added it'd be
effectively impossible for anyone but a dedicated apprentice to learn,
so the man had stayed on the front instead of heading to the Arsenal.
His `summoning' was effectively shaping creatures out of magic that had
limited sentience, with those summoned repeatedly gaining greater
substance and intelligence as they `hardened'.

It didn't sound like much, until you realized that given access to
enough time and magic the man could make effectively any kind of
creature he could think of. We'd later learned he had limits to the
quantity of magic he could actually sink into a summoning, which did set
a ceiling to the possible size of the summoned creature. His bigger ones
tended to be highly unstable, too, so it was often better to aim below
the ceiling and end up with something of better quality. Considering the
man was whiny and grasping but not particularly violent, I might have
ended up halfway fond of the Summoner if he'd not also kept insisting he
was Callowan. What he \emph{actually} was, though, was the son of a
nobleman gone into exile and a Proceran lady. He'd never even set foot
in Callow.

All his hinting that as a Callowan villain he should be my favourite
achieved was increasingly strain my patience. Today, though, I had good
reason to cut through the stupidity without coming across as overly
high-handed. His summon, a wyvern-like creature without scales and
imbued of a ghostly glow, was eerily. Not one he'd used often, then. I
cast a curious look at it, then at the villain who'd crafted it and the
Silver Huntress by his side. I reined in Zombie by their side, Archer in
the saddle behind me. She waved at the Silver Huntress, whose face
tightened in reply, and I elbowed her sharply.

It didn't do shit through her mail, but the message was received anyway,

``Your Majesty,'' the Summoner smiled. ``I am pleased that you found use
in my-``

``There will be time for courtesies later, Summoner,'' I said. ``The
enemy is on the move, and we do not have the time to spare. I need you
and Lady Alexis on the back of your creation, and close to me: I will
weave an illusion with Night that will obscure our approach.''

Indrani snickered behind me, not all that subtly, but the look on my
face clearly did not brook argument. They climbed the creature, the
Summoner nestling close to the neck and the Silver Huntress further
back. Zombie eyed the other mount involved with disdain, horrible little
snob that she was. I spurred her to get closer and she obeyed even as I
began to pull heavily on the Night.

``I have tread black stone and halls grown cold, freed of restraint by
the blessing of my patron,'' I murmured in Crepuscular, weaving the
Night around us, ``Though feeble, I have devoured might. Though
listless, I have stolen the wind. I call on you, Andronike, to veil eyes
and ears so that I might triumph in your name.''

The Night pulsed with approval, and I felt a breath around the back of
my neck as the eldest of the Sisters leant her touch to the blessing.
The air in a wide sphere around us, at least forty feet in diameter,
grew hazy and smoky. The Summoner let out a little gasp.

``Stay close and don't leave the sphere,'' I ordered. ``It won't last
forever, so let's get moving.''

Zombie's wings opened with a flourish, the wyvern-thing hastily
imitating her, and with a gallop she began our rise upwards into the
afternoon sky.
