The next two days blended seamlessly together into a mess of hard work, meditation and the occasional moment of pain.

  In the evenings, Dirk, Magnus and Verdan worked with the Fwyn and Cullan to form thick plates of rock which they then shaped into a layered section of armour that was attached to the new construct.

  Holes were bored between the Sigils that Magnus had made, allowing for connecting struts of rock to connect armour and construct. It would also allow for easy repairs or replacement, or at least, that was the idea.

  Cullan provided a surprising amount of expertise to the effort, and he showed that while Elliot was the crafter of the family, he still knew some things.

  The project was coming together, and in the process was giving Verdan and the others something to distract themselves with. The spectre of the final showdown with the Cyth loomed large in all their minds now.

  Silver was trying to keep the alliance army moving as one and focused on their goal, but the stress of the recent battles, losses and internal conflicts was taking its toll.

  They were still moving at speed, but the camp wasn’t being set up or broken down with quite the same alacrity that it had when they first left Gerann.

  As they finished their evening of work, Verdan found himself walking out into the darkness, haunted by the destruction they’d seen during the day’s travel.

  Their scouts had found a pair of farms, both of which had been ravaged and their inhabitants either killed or captured.

  Added to that had been the remnants of some travellers they’d come across, and a merchant wagon. Both sites had been blood-stained and messy, with no way for them to know exactly what had happened.

  Verdan’s imagination was more than up to the task, however, and he felt ill imagining the terror those people must have felt when they saw the Host bearing down on them.

  “Enough,” Verdan said softly, clearing his mind with an act of will before driving his staff down into the loamy soil. “Canfo gward.”

  Attaching the Aether construct to the staff, Verdan sank down into a meditative pose, relying on the spell to warn him of anything that might approach while he was busy.

  Since he’d had the idea of the new construct he’d wanted to create a better spell for it, but the visualisation just wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t find the right Words to fit what he wanted, and he couldn’t define what he wanted well enough to find the Words.

  A circular issue, but one that had left him frustrated.

  It was only when he’d looked at the nearly finished construct this evening that he’d realised the problem. He was trying to twist what he already had to the point that it would be something new.

  What he needed was a new Word, and that meant opening his mind and meditating on the issue. He was still new to this way of learning, but the stories he’d read always said that pressure helped.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  A calm and relaxed mind was allowed for a steady and measured examination of concepts, but the drive to do more was just as important.

  Doing his best to occupy both states of mind at once, Verdan focused again on his spell and what he wanted from it. What he wanted it to be.

  It was hard to know how long he spent out there, but the moon was high in the sky when Verdan eventually came to a stop.

  He was tired, and he hadn’t come to any conclusions, but there was a certain clarity to his thoughts now. He’d gained something from the process, he was sure of that.

  The Imperium’s answer had been for Wizards to use an Arcane Lexicon whenever they wanted a new Word, but as he sat in the cool night air, Verdan couldn’t help but feel that it was disconnected.

  An Arcane Lexicon was a powerful tool, but it was also a crutch, and it was only now that he realised it. A small part of his mind whispered that it might have held him back as well.

  If he’d been meditating like this from the start, he might have found his way to construct-making a lot sooner.

  Then again, back in the Imperium none of these skills would have been as useful.

  Rubbing his face, Verdan decided to leave such musings for another time. He was too tired to ponder the advantages and drawbacks of living in an advanced wizarding society.

  Getting to his feet with a grunt, Verdan dispelled the ward on his staff and pulled it free. Turning, he was about to head back when he saw the edge of a figure in the moonlight.

  Peering closer, Verdan realised it was the outline of a man leaning against a tree. He was barely thirty feet away from Verdan, with a second form laying motionless at his feet.

  Verdan’s initial surprise faded to relief as he realised it was Blane. The stocky Airta was staring off into the trees with a frown on his face, but he glanced over at Verdan as the Wizard walked over.

  Friga lay at Kai’s feet, but she too was watching the dark woods intently. The little Verdan knew of canine behaviour told him she was ill at ease, but he wasn’t sure why. The night was quiet and still, which was why he’d come out in the first place.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Verdan asked, posting up against a nearby tree.

  Blane grunted and shook his head, glancing briefly at Verdan again before returning to his watch. “We can feel something.”

  “You and the rest of the Airta?” Verdan guessed, feeling a chill run down his spine. Friga’s wariness with Blane’s tense posture was at odds with the peaceful night.

  “Not everyone, just the Draskir,” Blane said, pitching his voice low. “Those of us who are most in touch with our cousins.”

  Verdan gripped his staff more tightly as he followed suit and looked out into the darkness. “What can you feel?”

  “Rage,” Blane said, barely loud enough for Verdan to hear him. A decent noise echoed through the trees, and for a moment Verdan thought it was an echoing scream.

  “Do you know what is causing it?” Verdan asked, shifting uncomfortably.

  “No,” Blane said, his frown building. “It is close enough to Fraktiri for us to feel it, but not close enough for us to know it. Despite that, we can feel its rage, its pain, its hatred.”

  The dark woods felt far from the peaceful place that Verdan had originally seen them as, and he abruptly longed for the warmth of his wagon and the comforting security it brought.

  Blane turned slightly, seemingly sensing Verdan’s unease. “You should go back and make sure not to stray any further. We Draskir will stand watch until dawn, but we are few and the woods are deep.”

  For a brief moment, Verdan thought that Blane was joking, that this was all an elaborate prank. Then he saw how deadly serious the Airta was and simply nodded. “I will, and thank you.”

  Blane nodded silently, turning back to his vigil.

  The darkness pressed in around Verdan as he walked back to the alliance camp.

  Few people were still awake at this time, and the camp was cold and still for the most part. An unfortunate few stood watch at the edges, though, and a patrol nodded his way as they walked past.

  Verdan wondered just what the Draskir could sense out there that they thought an entirely other line of defence was needed.

  Whatever it was, Verdan was glad he hadn’t run into it in the dead of night.