NOVEL NEXT Chapter 93: Convergence
Corwin emerged from his workspace on the twelfth day looking like death had taken interest then reconsidered. His hair stuck up in directions that suggested he'd forgotten what combs were for. Ink stained his fingers black up to the second knuckle, and his eyes held the particular redness that came from staring at parchment until the symbols bled together.
But he smiled.
"It's done." He set a rolled parchment on the table where the five sat picking at their breakfast. "The countermeasure. Complete. Tested on myself using simulated dragon influence. It works."
Ember set down her spoon, porridge forgotten. "You're certain?"
"As certain as I can be without actual dragon present." Corwin unrolled the parchment, revealing dense script and diagrams that looked like someone had tried to map the inside of a mind using only geometric shapes. "It's a refined version of a ward against enchantments. Standard structure—invocation, power channeling, target designation. Any mage able to cast fourth-tier spells can cast it."
"How does it work?" Ash leaned forward, studying the diagrams with interest.
"It creates a dissonant frequency in the target's consciousness. Not blocking Nethysara's influence directly—that would require power we don't possess—but disrupting the harmonization process. Her mental touch slides off like water on oiled leather." His fingers traced the outer circle of the primary diagram. "Uncomfortable for the bearer. Constant low-grade mental static. But better than conversion."
"Duration?" Cinder asked.
"Four hours before the ward degrades and needs recasting. Long enough for combat operations, then rotation to rear positions where enchanters can renew it." Corwin sat heavily, exhaustion catching up now that the work was complete. "I've already begun teaching it to the other Enchanters. By tomorrow evening, we'll have enough mages who can cast it to protect the entire coalition."
Pyra whistled. "That's a lot of spell-slinging."
"Each casting can affect up to thirty nearby individuals. Spread our mages throughout the army and you have functional countermeasures for the majority of soldiers." Corwin rubbed his temples. "The effects aren't subtle. But given the choice between brain fog and being turned against your comrades, I suspect most will prefer the former."
"And it definitely doesn't reverse existing conversion?" Kindle's question came quiet.
"No. This prevents new conversions only. Anyone already under Nethysara's influence would need individual treatment, which I can provide but not at scale during active combat." Corwin's expression darkened. "The servitors remain a problem we can't solve with this spell."
Silence settled over the table. Outside, soldiers moved between duties, their voices carrying through shutters that let in morning cold.
"One problem at a time." Ember stood, the decision settling into place. "You've given us what we need to fight without losing ourselves. That's enough."
Corwin nodded, gathered his parchment, and departed to continue teaching. The five remained at the table, finishing breakfast that had gone cold while they'd talked.
"He did it." Pyra's voice held genuine wonder. "Actually solved the problem."
"Now we just have to use it." Ash's pragmatism cut through the moment. "Come on. If there's a war council, we need to be there."
The war room stank of bodies and old smoke. Officers packed the space until the walls seemed to press inward, and the sand table at the room's center drew every eye like a lodestone pulling iron.
Theron stood beside the table, his enhancement runes dark but visible against skin that had tanned despite winter's grip. Around him clustered the coalition's leadership—Valerian Cross with his ever-present stylus and parchment, Viktor Grehm looking perpetually harassed, Kaelin Reed holding a tankard that steamed in the room's chill, Lysander Moreth in armor that somehow still gleamed despite weeks of campaign preparation.
Roderic Thale stood apart from the others, one scarred hand resting on the table's edge while his eyes fixed on the miniature of Belavar rendered in sand and stone.
The Fragmented Flame entered last, finding space near the back wall. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the assembled officers. They'd grown accustomed to the attention, but it still felt like wearing clothes that didn't quite fit.
"Corwin's ward is complete." Theron's announcement cut through the murmurs. "As of this morning, we have a countermeasure against conversion."
Relief washed through the room like a wave breaking on shore.
"How reliable?" Valerian's question came sharp.
"Tested against simulated dragon influence. Held firm for the full four-hour duration." Corwin stepped forward, his exhaustion making him sway slightly. "It won't reverse existing conversions. Won't help against the suppression. But it will keep our soldiers from being turned mid-battle."
"Four hours," Lysander repeated the number like testing its weight. "That's our operational window?"
"For any given ward, yes. After four hours, soldiers need recasting or withdrawal to a safe distance." Theron gestured at the sand table. "Which brings us to the assault plan."
He began placing markers across the miniature landscape, each one representing a dragon territory. Twelve total, spread across the former duchy in patterns they'd mapped during reconnaissance.
"We've mapped their patrol routes. Documented their patterns. Each dragon operates semi-independently, maintaining their sector without direct coordination."
His hand moved across the miniature landscape, touching each marked position. "We can use that against them."
Valerian stepped forward, placing additional markers on the table—small flags in coalition colors, positioned near each dragon territory. "Twelve forces. Engaging twelve targets. Simultaneously."
The room went silent.
"You're mad." One of the lesser nobles spoke what half the room was thinking. "Divide our strength against dragons? That's suicide."
"It's tactics." Theron's correction came sharply. "If we advance as one force, the dragons coordinate. Mass against us. Bring overwhelming power to bear. But if we engage all of them at once—"
"—they can't reinforce each other." Kaelin finished, her mechanical fingers drumming against the table. "Can't abandon their battles to help elsewhere. Can't coordinate a response because they're each fighting for survival."
Lysander leaned forward, studying the markers with new interest. "And the Fragmented Flame?"
"Mobile strike asset." Theron placed a new marker on the table—bright red, distinct from the others. "They integrate to four, then deploy to wherever their ability proves most decisive. They'll move between battlefields in sequence. Help each force kill its target dragon, then proceed to the next engagement."
Ember watched comprehension dawn across different faces at different speeds. Some got it immediately. Others needed the implications spelled out.
"Each dragon we kill reduces the overall suppression," Ash spoke into the silence, her analytical tone cutting through confusion. "First battle operates under full suppression—twelve dragons projecting their fields. By the third battle, nine dragons remain. Suppression is diminished. Our magic functions better."
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"Progressive advantage." Valerian's stylus scratched rapid notes. "Each victory makes subsequent victories more achievable. The feedback loop favors us increasingly as the operation continues."
Grehm straightened from his ledgers. "Force allocation? Twelve groups means dividing fifteen thousand into units ranging from—" his stylus moved across parchment "—eight hundred to fourteen hundred per group. That's thin against a dragon."
"They're not expected to win alone." Theron's hands moved across the table, adjusting markers. "Each force establishes a defensive position near the predicted dragon location. Engages at H-hour. Survives until the Fragmented Flame arrives to tip the balance. Then kill the dragon with their support."
"Survives." Captain Morse's voice carried from the room's edge. "Polite way of saying 'endures being mauled by a dragon while hoping help arrives in time.'"
"Yes." Theron met his eyes without flinching. "First engagements will be hardest. Full suppression, minimal magic, just steel and discipline against scales and frost breath. Forces assigned to early targets need to be the strongest, best trained, and most capable of sustained defense."
Lysander's hand rose. "House Moreth volunteers for the first engagement."
Every head turned. Lysander stood straighter under the attention, his polished armor catching lamplight. "We came north to fight dragons, not watch others do it for us. House Moreth will prove its worth before suppression weakens and glory becomes easier to claim."
Theron studied him for a long moment. "The first engagements are the hardest. Full suppression means your mages will be nearly useless. Your soldiers will face dragon fury with minimal magical support. Are you certain?"
"Glory without risk means nothing." Lysander's voice carried the particular weight of someone committing to words they couldn't walk back. "House Moreth fights at the vanguard."
Silence stretched. Ember read calculation in Theron's expression—weighing Lysander's motivation against tactical necessity. House Moreth's forces were well-equipped, well-trained. Not the strongest coalition contingent, but far from the weakest.
"Accepted." Theron placed a House Moreth marker at one of the early-sequence positions. "You'll engage the dragon patrolling the northern approaches. Expected H-hour plus forty minutes until the Fragmented Flame reaches your position."
"We'll hold." Lysander's certainty felt fragile, but he wore it well.
Other nobles began volunteering their forces for specific positions, and the room devolved into controlled chaos as officers negotiated assignments and argued over tactical advantages. Grehm made notes, crossing out proposals and writing alternatives while muttering about logistics.
Ember moved to the table's edge where Theron had sketched a proposed route for them—a winding path that connected battlefields in sequence, minimizing travel time while accounting for geographical constraints.
"This assumes dragons stay in their predicted positions." Cinder traced the route with one finger. "What if they deviate?"
"Scouts confirm current patterns." Jorin Karska spoke from nearby, his weathered face creased with focus. "But patterns can break. We'll have runners stationed at elevated positions, watching all sectors. If a dragon moves, we signal the change."
"And if multiple dragons break pattern?" Kindle asked. "Converge on one position?"
"Then we adapt." Theron's acknowledgment of uncertainty felt more honest than false confidence. "The plan assumes rational behavior—dragons defending their territories because abandoning them means losing ground. But they're intelligent. They might sacrifice territory to mass forces."
"Nethysara won't." Ash spoke with the particular certainty that came from analysis rather than hope. "She's been building this domain for months. Every settlement, every converted servitor, every piece of infrastructure represents investment. She won't abandon it lightly. The dragons will fight where they're positioned because those positions matter to the larger territorial control."
Valerian made another note. "Psychological assessment supports that conclusion. Dragons are territorial by nature. Even under central command, they'll resist abandoning claimed space."
The room's chaos began resolving into structure as assignments crystallized and officers accepted their roles. Grehm's ledger filled with force compositions, supply allocations, and timing calculations that made the impossible look merely improbable.
"The route," Ember spoke loud enough to cut through the noise. "We start with forces positioned closest together. Minimize travel time between early engagements. Middle sequence hits geographically scattered dragons—buying time for earlier forces to recover and regroup. End with forces that have the strongest defensive positions. They can hold longer if we're delayed."
Theron studied the proposed modification, his scarred hands moving markers around the table. "That clusters early victories. Might signal our pattern to remaining dragons."
"By the time they figure it out, half their number will be dead." Cinder's pragmatism cut through tactical nuance. "And suppression will be weak enough that late-sequence forces can handle themselves better if we're delayed."
"Agreed." Theron rearranged the markers, building the final sequence. "First target here. Second here. Third requires longer travel, but the assigned force has field fortifications already established. Fourth—"
The planning continued, each position debated and refined until the route formed a coherent path through chaos. Ember watched the markers shift, committing the sequence to shared memory where all five selves could access it instantly.
"Eighteen-hour window." Ash's reminder pulled attention back to their limitations. "Four-person integration gives us that much time before curse strain forces reconstitution. The entire operation must be completed within that timeframe."
"How long per engagement?" Kaelin's question carried the weight of someone calculating odds.
"First dragon, under full suppression, with the strongest force?" Ember considered. "Forty-five minutes from our arrival to confirmed kill. Maybe an hour if things go badly."
"Travel time between positions averages fifteen minutes, given your speed." Jorin had done his own calculations. "Assuming twelve dragons, twelve engagements at forty-five minutes each, plus travel time between each... that's nine hours minimum. Twelve if engagements run long."
"Well within our window." Pyra's confidence rang clear. "We can do this."
"You'll have to." Theron's hands stilled on the table. "Because if you can't—if the integration fails or you're delayed or injured—then each force fights alone until you reach them or they break. And breaking means death or conversion."
The weight of that settled over everyone. Twelve forces, twelve desperate stands, twelve gambles that help would arrive before the dragons tore through defenses built on discipline and determination rather than overwhelming power.
"What about servitors?" Someone near the back asked. "After the dragons fall, their forces will still be active. Forty thousand converted soldiers."
Thale's scarred hands flexed against the table. "With suppression gone, Corwin can work on mass liberation. But it takes time. Time we may not have if Nethysara sorties from Belavar."
"We avoid servitor casualties during dragon engagements," Ember spoke before the argument could spiral into familiar territory. "Focus fire on dragons. If servitors attack, we defend, but minimize lethal force. After all dragons are eliminated, we assess servitor behavior before committing to combat."
"Assess how?" Lysander's question carried skepticism.
"If they attack, we defend. If they retreat, we let them. If they surrender, we work on liberation." Cinder's summary lacked elegance but hit the truth. "We're not monsters. We won't slaughter people just because they're under magical compulsion. But we also won't die to avoid hurting them."
Morse spoke quietly. "Some of them won't want liberation. What then?"
"Then we do what we must." Ember met his eyes. "But we exhaust every other option first."
The compromise satisfied no one completely, but satisfied enough people partially. Thale nodded acceptance. Valerian made notes about psychological considerations. Even Lysander looked grudgingly satisfied.
"Final contingency." Theron placed one last marker on the table—pure white, positioned over Belavar. "If Nethysara personally sorties during the operation, the Fragmented Flame redirects to intercept. Buying time for forces to regroup or withdraw."
"Can we fight her?" Kindle's question came quieter than usual.
"No." Theron's honesty cut clean. "She's ancient, massive, more powerful than her scions by orders of magnitude. But you can maybe delay her. Draw her attention. Give the coalition time to respond or retreat."
"Comforting." Pyra's sarcasm masked something darker.
"It's reality." Kaelin's mechanical fingers stopped their drumming. "This entire operation is a calculated risk. Brilliant tactics combined with desperate necessity. If everything goes perfectly, we eliminate twelve dragons in one day and march on Belavar with full magical capability. If things go wrong, we lose forces piecemeal and retreat in disorder."
She met each of their eyes in turn. "You're the fulcrum. Success or failure pivots on whether you can maintain effectiveness across twelve battlefields while your curse tears at you. No pressure."
Ember wanted to offer reassurance, confident words about their capability and determination. But Kaelin had given them an honest assessment. They owed her honesty in return.
"We'll do our best." It came out simpler than intended. "Can't promise more than that."
"Your best killed Cryax." Theron straightened from the table. "If your best holds across twelve engagements, we win. If it doesn't—"
He left the alternative unspoken.
The meeting dissolved into smaller groups refining specific assignments, arguing over equipment distribution, and making the hundred small decisions that turned abstract plans into actionable orders.
Ember extracted herself from the crowd, her sister-selves following as they moved toward fresher air.
Outside, soldiers drilled in the courtyard while enchanters moved through ranks casting wards. The spell work looked exhausting—each enchanter's hands trembling after a dozen castings, needing rest before continuing. But the rhythm held steady. Ward, rest, ward, rest. Building protection one soldier at a time.
"Twelve dragons." Kindle stared at the distant mountains. "In one day."
"We've done stupider things." Pyra's optimism felt forced.
"Name one," Cinder challenged.
Silence stretched. Eventually, they all laughed, the sound bitter but genuine.