Ana put off spending her Advancement Points until the next morning. She told herself that she wanted to sleep on it, but she’d have all the time she wanted once she opened her Summary. Really, she just hadn't wanted to interrupt that night. Not because it might be her last night with Messy. She wouldn't even entertain the possibility. She’d be dead before she let anything happen to her elfin girl, and she had no intention of dying for a long, long time.

  No, Ana didn't want to interrupt that night because for the first time, she thought she truly understood what people meant when they described love. Messy had been giddy then smug from Vitality overload, and Ana hadn't been able to take her eyes off her. Then, as they lay in each other's arms, the reality of what they were going to do the following day had crashed down onto Messy, and she'd been terrified to the point of tears. For the first time in her life, Ana had promised that she wouldn't let herself get hurt, not because she herself didn't want it, but because it would break someone’s heart.

  The very idea of that made Ana sick. At first she’d thought that she was feeling Messy’s fear and that it was affecting her, but she’d never felt anything that strongly from Messy before. No, this was entirely her own — she didn’t want Messy to hurt. It was a new, strange feeling, a little scary, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it. But she didn’t want Messy to hurt, so she lay there, stroking Messy's hair, promising her that everything would be okay, and singing what few lullabies she could remember until they both went to sleep.

  Taking care of Messy took precedence over spending her points. The next time she awoke, though, that was the first thing she did.

  Twenty-one points. She could do a lot with twenty-one points. She could go three Steps up in either Strength or Vitality, for one, both solid choices for the days ahead. Perception was also an option. And Connection? She could start seriously considering boosting that. She was learning to mask her emotions now, and how to shape mana. And she didn’t need much to get above an effective value of 25, which would get her an Enhancement; only two Steps, 3 points total. Having a full set of Enhancements was tempting.

  In the end, it had to first and foremost come down to what would help her avoid getting hurt and protect others as they went into battle. Strength was awesome, but she could already kill with her bare hands and feet, never mind with a weapon. Vitality was something she certainly wanted more of, but if a few scratches could infect her with this “void plague” that the crazies carried, then a bit more Vitality wouldn’t help her. No. She’d take the two Steps in Connection to get that above 25, and then the rest would go into Agility, all the way from Step two to Step six. Three points for the Connection, eighteen for the Agility, and that added up to twenty-one. Agility would help her stay mobile, and it would help her avoid getting scratched or bitten, and those were the most important things that day. Surviving meant little if it ended with her out of her mind like Jancia, desperate to get to the Waystone, but with over 50 effective Strength when someone tried to subdue her.

  A thought, and it was done. Her Agility shot up by 10 points to 41, and her Connection by 4 points to just over 25.

  Messy was startled awake by Ana’s dismayed cry of, “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” And somewhere, right at the edge of Ana’s hearing, the Wayfarer laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

  There was no training the next morning. Instead, dozens of volunteers for the day’s mission gathered at the yard to get their gear on, form Parties, and psych each other up. There was a lot of tension in the air, but jokes were made, Crystals exchanged hands to get people over thresholds, and a whole lot of nervous bravado filled the air as officers, conscripts, and volunteers prepared to go into battle. Once everyone was ready, once the Parties were formed and the officers had gone through the plan, they all marched out. It was not the most orderly march. Frankly, Ana had never seen a high-school marching band that didn’t have better cohesion. But the will was there, and any problems came from a lack of experience, not discipline.

  They were going out the duskward gate, past the bathhouse. That was the gate closest to their target, the Servemel farm. They formed up there, a line of parties waiting for the gates to open. Additional volunteers were waiting there and at the other gates in case their sally triggered an attack, and a number of non-combat Classers were manning the palisade facing the farm with ropes and rope ladders. They were as ready as they could be.

  As they prepared to open the gate, the gathered militia grew silent, bringing the clanks of armor and the shuffling of boots to the front. The air filled with poorly masked anxiety, both through the mages’ Connections and on people’s faces.

  This was it. Ana knew that in both numbers and individual power they had an overwhelming force compared to what awaited them, but that assumed that no one hesitated. And for all their training, for all their Delving, when it came to fighting people — and the crazies, no matter how rabid, were people — they were all untested. Few of them had even been in a serious fight with another sapient being. Not one of them had killed.

  Against Classless, unarmed humans, they should have been able to easily defeat a force many, many times as large as their own. As it was, Ana hoped for the best and feared an absolute disaster. And if she was worried, how much worse must it be for the others?

  She put on a confident mask, tried to calm her nerves, and did the exercises she’d been taught to mask her Connection.

  There was a walkway all along the wall that passed over the gate. Ana took a deep breath to steady her nerves then handed her crossbow to Messy, who took it with a quizzical look. Then Ana took a running stride and leaped. Her Strength carried her almost the entire way up, and she only needed to boost herself the last two feet with her hands.

  Outside, the enemy waited. She could see them moving at the edge of the forest. She could see them surrounding the farms that still stood, including the dozens that circled the Servemel farm, their target. For some reason none came within bowshot of the outpost, which showed a disturbing level of control, but they’d have to worry about that once they were back inside the walls.

  She turned and looked out across the assembled militia. Her troops. There was her Party, Petra’s squad minus the two volunteers — Braggie and Sadie were still in the Party, but they were too green to go out and had to content themselves with manning the gate. There was Tellak, giving Ana a small, confident smile. There was Simt with her Party — she was level 20 now, thanks to a collection — and there was Wandak, looking up at her with religious devotion. And there were another six small parties, all ready to follow her outside.

  Every eye was on her. Every ear was waiting for her to speak.

  “Don’t think of winning! Think of not losing!” Ana’s voice carried easily through the street, even without raising it. “One of my teachers, a man who taught unarmed combat, told me that. He told me that over and over. He told me that, when I sparred, I was too focused on defeating my opponent. That I allowed myself to take hits I could have avoided just to land one of my own. That I could have won just as well without taking those hits, if I hadn’t been so desperate to prove myself. I want you all to keep that in mind today. Do not focus on winning. When we advance, we will do so in good order. When we return to the outpost, we will also do so in good order. When we fight, we will do so conservatively. We will rely on the advantage of our backline, our mages and ranged combatants. No one here has to prove themself — we are all new to this kind of fight. Every one of you is individually stronger than our enemies — we can afford to be careful. If they charge us, do not flinch. Rely on your strengths, and on those of your friends, and do not hesitate to use them. Our enemies will want to hurt us. They will want to kill us. We must do the same. We will do the same. Because if we don’t, the innocent family trapped behind the walls of that farm will die.

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  “But they have held out this long. They can hold out another ten minutes, or another hour, however long we need to do this right. So long as we don’t break, we will advance. So long as we don't lose, we will win!”

  Ana raised her fist high, and her voice to a roar. “So focus on not losing. Are you ready?”

  “Yeah!” the crowd roared back.

  “Are you ready!?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Open the gates! We’re moving out!”

  The Wayfarer’s laughter rang through Ana’s head, along with five words, electric with approval: Not bad for a newbie!

  Ana dropped back down to the street and joined her group, receiving a quick peck on the cheek from a grinning Messy. The gate opened, giving most of them their first view of the outside in over a week. Then, to set the tone of this whole operation, Ana started walking. She didn’t charge out. She walked, calmly but with her crossbow at the ready, and her Party followed her. When they reached their position, Dilmik, Denikla, and Trilgayeri, the group’s ranged firepower, joined her at the front of the group as the other parties marched out. They formed themselves into a wedge pointing toward the Servemel farm, and then they started moving.

  It was less than half a mile to the farm. With her Perception Ana could easily pick out individual crazies, but they either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about the approaching militia. That changed at about three hundred yards. First one, then two, then dozens of crazies turned their heads, and started moving.

  Ana raised one fist. “Halt! Parties, form a line! Backliners, ready and hold!”

  The militia moved to follow her commands. Not perfectly; there was some shuffling and bumping, but it went quick enough. Ana cocked her crossbow one handed, not even thinking about the heavy draw, and loaded one of the broadhead hunting bolts.

  “Remember!” she shouted as she took aim. “Target according to your position! If you’re on the edge, target your edge! If you’re in the center, target your part of the center! They’re only human! They’re fragile! Don’t double up! And for the love of God, shoot to kill! Now, hold! Hold! Fire at will!”

  Ana’s first bolt missed. She hadn’t practiced since returning with Rayni. With the stock against her shoulder, Ana reloaded and fired again. This time her target stumbled and fell. Beside her Dilmik fired arrow after arrow with a look of absolute terror on her face, and Ana could tell that she was shooting high. Next to her, Denikla channeled ambient mana, aligning it with fire and lightning and shaping it into marbles of incandescent plasma. Deni didn’t aim high or low. Each time she cast, a purple streak burned itself into Ana’s vision, and one of the incoming crazies flared into a stumbling torch and died. But her bolts were expensive, and she was already flagging.

  Too many of the backliners were like Denikla, unconsciously shooting to miss. The incoming crazies were going down, but not quickly enough. They’d reach the militia in seconds.

  Ana gave the command. “Ready for melee! Ready for melee!”

  All along the line, ranged combatants fell back and dropped bows and crossbows to ready spears, which they lowered past the frontliners who took their places. At the same time, supporting casters like Sendra turned the ground in front of the militia into a quagmire of mud, ice, cracked ground and grasping vines, while down the line a fast-moving wedge shimmered away from Simt’s position, hitting a swathe of crazies at knee level, taking their legs out from under many.

  Crazies fell, got stuck, and were trampled. Those who made it through faced spears and shields and other arms, and while far too many of Ana’s troops hesitated, the crazies were so broken up that it didn’t matter. For every two defenders who hesitated, one didn’t. Instead of as an overwhelming mass, the crazies came through the difficult terrain in ones, twos, or small clumps, and that was how they died.

  Ana’s bonuses had activated almost as soon as the crazies were in crossbow range. She didn’t actually need them until one of the crazies tripped at the last second, unwittingly dodging under the waiting spears. At the height she came in — she was an Asian woman with a blonde dye job, in a pink sports top and yoga pants combo — Ana didn’t bother with her hammer. A firm stomping kick to the head stopped the crazy literally dead in her tracks, shattering her neck a fraction of a second before Messy’s sword came down and sliced her head half off.

  Ana hadn’t felt herself absorb any hits, and her confidence grew. She hoped that she wouldn’t; she had no idea how that would work with the infection.

  “No notifications,” Messy said next to her, her voice hollow, and Ana heard similar observations down the line as her bonuses dropped, marking the end of combat. “I killed her, and no notification. Like I’d killed an animal, or an insect.”

  Ana squeezed Messy's shoulder, just to show that she was there. She’d have to follow up on that later. There was no time now. “Support casters! Clear the terrain!” she ordered, and the mud and cracks and vines smoothed out. “Everyone, form up!”

  They finished off the last crazies. Those were the ones who’d been stuck, and now threw themselves at the line, not caring how badly outnumbered they were. Then they gathered their equipment, and advanced. Some of their number needed to be comforted and encouraged, but no one had broken. No one fled, or refused to go on.

  They made it fifty yards before the whole affair repeated, and then they were in range of the farm, and opened fire on the remaining crazies who hadn't moved.

  Wandak’s voice split the air, over the twangs of bowstrings and the whines, cracks, and roars of long-range magic attacks. “From the south! Hundreds of them from the south!”

  Ana fired, then turned her head to look as she reloaded. In the distance a carpet of crazies rolled toward them. They only had minutes. They had to move fast.

  Ana made a decision. She dropped her crossbow, readied her hammer, and strode out in front, turning to face her troops.

  “Melee fighters, with me! Everyone else, back to the outpost and man the wall! We’re finishing this! Move! Move!”

  With that, Ana turned and set off toward the Servemel farm. A third of her militia came with her, and she reduced her speed to let them keep up. The last of the crazies surrounding the farm came around from the far side and sped to meet them.

  The moment Ana saw them, she commanded, “Halt! Halt! Form up! Shields front, spears behind!” and the charging mass skidded to a stop, milling about and getting into formation just moments before the enemy made contact.

  When the crazies hit the line, it wasn’t so much a crashing wave as a patter. It was ridiculous, really. Even without support mages to mess up the terrain, they outnumbered the remaining crazies three to one. The crazies hit, and they bounced, and they were skewered.

  “Finish off any that will bleed out!” Ana commanded. “Any that will survive, bind and gag them! We’re taking prisoners! Tellak?”

  “On it!” the pale woman replied, fishing out coils of rope and prepared gags from a pack.

  The prisoners were for Touanne. They just had to convince her to use them.

  Ana didn’t even stop to look. She’d trust Tellak to get it done. Instead she gave her hammer and her shield to Messy and ran at the wall surrounding the farm. She leaped up it, getting her hands over the top and heaving herself up to look inside. Half a dozen frightened faces met her.

  “We’ve cleared the crazies,” Ana told them without preamble. “More are coming. You have one minute! Out the gate now! Now! Move!”

  The people of the farm went from fearful confusion to a scramble for the gate in moments. One of them, a woman in her early twenties, was heavily pregnant, and wasn’t likely to be able to run far, but they’d planned for that.

  Ana dropped down and looked around, finally finding the man she was looking for. “Wandak! Take your party and meet the farmers at the gate. We’re going to need you, just like we thought.”

  “On it, Chosen!” Wandak replied immediately, taking his four remaining fighters around to the gate. When they returned it was in the company of the frightened farmers, who were carrying whatever they’d been able to grab. Except for the pregnant young woman, of course, who was cradled in Wandak the Swordsman’s arms.

  “I prayed!” the woman said, turning her tear-streaked face to Ana. “I prayed to the Mother, and you came for us!”

  “Damn right we did,” Ana said with a tight smile. “But if anyone, it was the Wayfarer who sent us.” Then she looked at the rest of the rescuers and barked, “No time to dawdle! You see those rabid bastards in the south? They want your blood! Get to the outpost! Wandak, I leave our VIPs to you.” She took her arms back from Messy, then turned to Tellak. “Are the prisoners secured?”

  “Yes, Chosen!” Beside her were two crazies, one in a filthy professional skirt and blazer combo and the other in an Adidas tracksuit. They were both solidly tied up and gagged, each with a couple of spears tied along their back for ease of transport.

  “Good job. Let’s get them back to Touanne. Everyone else! Anyone not carrying a pregnant woman or a trussed up zombie: We’re staying behind the others, and we’re staying close! Is anybody hurt?”

  “Not a fucking scratch, Chosen!” someone called, to a chorus of agreement.

  Ana had seen too many zombie movies to trust that. They’d all have to check each other once they were safe, but she wasn’t going to bring that up now. “Fucking brilliant! We’re almost home safe. Go!”

  They set off. The wave of crazies was still well over a minute out, and they only had less than half a mile to go to the outpost. Everything was going—

  “Ana! Ana!”

  The shout was just at the edge of Ana’s exceedingly sensitive hearing, so faint that Ana might have thought that she’d imagined it. As she ran she turned her head, and then it came again. Unmistakable, and from the west.

  “Keep going,” she barked at Messy, who was right next to her, and stopped. She looked back. There, a third of a mile out, a lone figure was sprinting for all she was worth.

  “Ana! Gods’ mercy, Ana, don’t leave me!”

  “Ray,” Ana whispered to herself. She recognized the voice, and when she squinted, she thought she could recognize the woman. She cupped her mouth with her hands, making her voice as loud as she could. “Ray! There are more coming! Run! Run!”

  Ray wouldn’t make it. Ana could see it. It was cold, objective math. Ray was running fast. At the pace she was going she’d reach the gate faster than the crazies. But there was no way she could keep that pace up, not over the remaining quarter mile. She was sprinting; the crazies weren’t. She’d slow, and the crazies would get to the gate before her, or catch her on the way.

  Ray wouldn’t make it. Not without help.

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