The midday sun shone between the bars and onto the polished iron armor of the priest-warriors of Cilath, carrying out the rites of battle. It beat down on the battered leather and hide jerkins of the mercenaries, muttering assents to their pagan gods while shifting nervously about. It broke over the magnificent helms of the Imperial Guardsmen, pacing about the ranks on horseback, brandishing their resplendent swords and whips. It hid in shadows the robed, floating faceless mages of the Imperial Advisory.

Even from miles away, the hoofbeats of the vast horde thundered across the desolate plain and shook the granite walls of the fortress. Dust swirled from the floor around the broken beams of light and collected on the sweaty faces of the waiting troops. The barbarian shamans cannot detect our presence here, Proconsul. The slightly menacing, flickering thoughts of the Subconsul spoke in the Proconsul's mind. Tragus Otallus gazed around the seemingly abandoned fortress while responding. Even if they pierce through the illusion, all they will see is an empty fortification. As it should be.

Glancing outside for a moment, Tragus surveyed the horde. These Northmen had made peace with the plainsriders and were scouring the countryside free of harassment. The flying wyrms were accompanying this army, too. Where did they come from? What were their motives in assisting these barbarians?

What a motley crew these invaders made -- Northern berserkers with their face paint and war yells, the hunchbacked razor-clawed monsters that accompanied them, the giant aesirkin, three times the height of a normal man, the winged wyrms swooping and flying above, the crude war engines of the red-eyed half-men, and the half-men themselves, clad in dark armor, flying rough banners.

Tragus felt the differences between the groups, the divisions that normally kept them apart; simply turn a few minds, enhance emotions in the groups, artificially induce conflict and the mass would fall apart. He started to grasp the small consciousnesses of the men, twist it, warp the fabric of thought...

Screams and cries interrupted him, the ground and granite of the fortress suddenly wrenching themselves apart. What is it? he demanded of the Advisory. Beneath him, a chasm shuddered to existence in the earth and began to fissure the walls apart. The priest-warriors of Cilath drove the men out of the gates, away from the quaking ground, and toward the horde, chanting their rituals of combat.

Immediately the Advisory mages disappeared. Subconsul, you said they had no elemental spellcasters in their army, Tragus angrily thought. There was no response from any of the mages. The quaking stopped, and the rest of the shaken mercenaries reformed outside of the fortress gates. The forces inside the crumbling fortress retreated back to the massive columns holding up the arches. The barbarians were now turning for the fortress, their ranks advancing.

The sound of tearing metal came from overhead, startling Tragus. One of the flying wyrms had dove into the iron grates, and was now trying to lift off with the grates in its claws. A fullisade of spears came from the men below, but was silenced with a massive blast of flame from the creature's mouth.

Those were designed to hold off griffons, not wyrms! Tragus flew from the crumbling fortress as another wyrm dove into the grates, ripping an archway from the walls. Ahead, the surviving mercenaries and Guardsmen were battling the barbarians. Walls of force glimmered around the battle, forcing the barbarians to come two abreast against the mercenaries' line of iron. The Advisory does pay you to fight for us, I see.

The earth again trembled under the mercenaries, and the snout of a huge worm breached the dirt, pulling a Guardsman under. Blasts of fire and bolts of lightning came from the ranks of the Northmen, destroying the defensive walls and ripping into the lines of the Imperial troops.

We do not fight, we defend. The mages' answer was the canonical response of the Imperial spellcasters. Considered flame and lightning useless playthings, and monstrous beasts ineffective allies, did you? Every battle Tragus saw, the alteration and enchantment of the Imperial mages fell to the elemental and summoning magic of the barbarian shamans.

The Advisory refined illusion, warped reality, and manipulated minds -- to what end? The bodies they control are as mortal as any other, and as vulnerable to destruction. They will learn their lesson, but too late. When they embrace destructive magic, Telegon and Ciliano will be ruins and these monsters will be raiding Kadia itself.

Tragus did not wince when the mercenaries below him broke ranks and fled the marauders. His body somehow showed no reaction as he realized that the Empire was doomed, that countless more armies would fall like this, that the continent would be laid to waste. The darkly brilliant mages of the Advisory, scheming and plotting among themselves, would never deviate from their blind paths until they were destroyed. Their "apprentice's toys" would kill them all, and leave the Empire defenseless.

Tragus Otallus dispelled his spellshield with a thought and flung his arms open to the rampaging horde, inviting them to him.