Chapter 7

Qasim glanced from the scroll he was studying and at the desk beside him. Sprawled across it, like an ungainly mop of scales and fur, was his draconic companion, T’ien Lung Hua Ling, the Celestial Dragon of the Magnificat Dawn. He was snoring and beginning to drool on an illustration that their instructor had claimed was the diagram of the Five Most Ordered and Sagacious Elements of Magic, as written down by some oni sage who knows how many thousands of years before.

For Qasim, it was all roughly on par with his training to deal with a nuclear reactor.

The instructor – a spindly oni with a mustache that consumed the entire lower half of his face in a bristling mass of spiderlike hair – did not look up from the tome he was reading from. “And so, the fifth and final and most important of the Most Ordered and Sagacious Elements of Magic is that of Wood, which the fae refer to as life. It is in opposition to no element, being positioned at the southern axis, unlike those of Water and Fire – what the fae refer to as Hydrosophy and Pyrosophy – and those of Earth and Air – what the fae refer to as Terrasophy and Areosophy...” He drew in a whuffling, sniffling breath, one that made his nostrils flare. “This efficacious placement makes the combination of Life and the other spheres exceedingly easy. However, in recent centuries, it has been declared that there is another form of magical power – a form that has been spurned from the Most Ordered and Sagacious Elements of Magic for the dual reasons of its evil and, of course, because six is the least fortunate of the sacred numbers.”

He turned the page.

Hua snored even louder.

Qasim took a note: Wood = Life. Then he looked at the other notes and made a face. If he had known, when he had signed on for being a member of the People’s Republic Army AstroForce, that he would one day be chained to a desk, writing this stuff down ... he was fairly certain that he would have still signed up. Though he might have paid less attention to the first aid manuals, considering how little of it seemed to apply in a world where one could channel magic into another person and instantly heal them of their ailments.

He had first seen that when, after Ning had been calmed down by Hua’s own personal charms, they had been whisked away from the royal harem and the oni guard that Ning had wounded had been healed by one of the Imperial magicians. Qasim had watched, his face impassive, as the red skinned woman in the very tight silk gown had waved her hands and chanted strange words and then ... and then the broken wrist of the guard had fused together, healing instantly. The conversations that had been held afterwards had been...

Well, to call them surreal would be a little repetitive. Since everything had been surreal.

But they had definitely been amusing.

“He’s a hero!” Hua had said. “His first wife is a hero.”

“First what?” Ning had said, looking shocked.

“Wife!” Hua said. “You know, the lady you shower with gold coins and love and affection and make babies.”

At the word ‘baby’, Ning’s face had assumed the expression Qasim normally saw when someone smelled the food coming from the People’s Shield’s cafeteria.

“I-” Huxian had tried to cut in.

“Actually,” Qasim had cut her off, wanting to save Ning the worry. “We are both infertile. We were rendered such to avoid the complications of pregnancy while in the depths of space.”

“No, I fixed that,” Hua had shot back, nodding.

“We-” Huxian again.

“You fixed it?” Ning’s eyes had widened.

“Yup!” Hua nodded. “I booped your womb with my snoot.”

“You what!?” Ning spluttered.

“And your balls!” Hua nodded. “A Glorious Prince of Heaven has to have, like, so many babies. Maybe even four hundred babies.”

Ning had put her hands over her face. Qasim frowned. “Well, good thing this happened after the crash...”

“Oh, you had sex on your flying ship?” Hua asked, curiously. “Was she good? Oh! Do it again, right now! She’s fertile, you’re fertile, win win!”

“Shut up!” Huxian had screamed, all seven of her tails lashing behind her, her ears pinned back behind her head. “You!” She had pointed at Ning. “Back into the harem! You!” Her finger had stabbed at Hua. “Shut up and look regal!” Her finger had then angled to Qasim. “You! Follow me!”

This had brought Qasim into the throne room of the Emperor.

It had not gone well, from Qasim’s perspective.

Everything in the room had been designed to impress the lowly peasants of the Dragon Empire. Huge and bedecked in marble and gold and burnished copper and shimmering tapestries that showed muscular Oni men and beautiful Oni women astride dragons, wielding weapons of great puissance. A spear of fire. A bow that seemed to fire beams of light rather than arrows. An ax that seemed to split mountains in half. A staff that sent monsters flying in every direction, carried by a tailed, furred figure that made Qasim take a second startled glance before he knelt before the Emperor himself.

The problem was all of this was being shown to Jianhong Qasim – a child of the Neo-Maoist state of the People’s Republic of China. The 21st century had not been kind to China. Despite immense efforts to keep capitalism and their ecosystem intact, the class traitors who had led the Party since the late 20th century were eventually rousted out by starving members of the poor classes, put against a wall and shot. This had all been nearly a hundred years before Qasim had been born, but ever since, the popular culture of China had been dominated by a series of historical epics that focused primarily on the decadence and evil of the Imperial period, which was then contrasted with what was commonly referred to as the Betrayal of the Future period.

This meant that Qasim looked at the splendor about himself and immediately began to ask: Who paid for it and how were they compelled to do so? This was not precisely the questions that the Emperor clearly wanted his visitors to think about.

Once he looked past the decorations and the fancy robes and the large hat, he saw only what the Emperor was: A middle aged, balding Oni man with a bit of a belly and a small dragon perched upon his shoulder. Salt and pepper threaded through the Oni’s fringe of hair, which had been tied into a very imperial looking top-knot, complete with several pearl studded pins thrust through it to keep it in place. But it was still the hair of someone who was a little past their prime. Their eyes, though, had regarded Qasim with narrowed suspicion.

“Glorious Prince of Heaven,” the Emperor said. “Welcome to my humble court.”

Qasim nodded, curtly. “My name is Jianhong Qasim. I am a Spacer, First Class, of the PLAA.”

Huxian, looking faintly terrified, had hissed in his ear. “You must bow to your Emperor.”

Qasim frowned. “He is not my Emperor,” he said, simply. “I am a citizen of the People’s Republic of China.” He lifted his chin slightly.

Huxian had put her hands over her face ... and the Emperor had grinned fiercely, sprang to his feet with remarkable adroitness, then strode forward. He clapped his hand to Qasim’s shoulder and proclaimed: “Excellent! Most excellent!” He said, nodding. “You have a bearing of a noble, Spacer Quasim. A Spacer most be highly ranked in your nobility, yes?” He nodded, slightly. “On par with one of our Lancers or a Magister? Are you related to your Emperor?” He clicked his tongue, slightly.

Qasim had glanced at Hua, who was looking at him with huge, shining eyes. He had then glanced at Huxian, who was looking past her fingers, her ears perking upwards. Qasim looked back at the Emperor, who was smiling at him genially – as if he was some poor relation who had come in, but shown plenty of moxie and gumption. Qasim had then glanced past the Emperor, at the heavily armored Oni guards that stood to either side of the room. They had made no move to advance, despite Qasim standing quite near the Emperor – but they still had a kind of watchful, attentive awareness about them that made Qasim feel decidedly in danger.

Qasim had nodded. “Yes. That is exactly what I am.”

The rest of the day had been a blur of introductions, conversations, and tours of the various parts of the Imperial Palace. Qasim had been introduced to the Emperor’s dozen or so brothers, his various nephews and cousins, and to their roster of dragons – many of whom treated Hua with barely contained contempt and irritation. The Emperor had asked Qasim many questions about Earth – though confusion had cropped up almost immediately, since Qasim referred to Earth as Earth, but the Emperor referred to his world as Earth as well. Qasim wasn’t entirely sure who had first used the term ‘Stark’ and ‘Arcadia’, but by the end of his first day, the convention had stuck.

Stark – the world of science.

Arcadia – the world of magic.

And to each of the Emperor’s questions, Qasim had answered as directly and honestly as he could, using as few words as possible, and let the Emperor construct whatever meaning he wanted from that. It had proved alarmingly effective.

“So, you are a direct relation to the Emperor?”

“Not a direct one, no.”

“Ahh, hmm.” A great deal of chin stroking and knowing winks had come from that.

“Is a Spacer a highly ranked position? How many exams did you need to take for it – a Lancer requires three, on each Righteous Discipline!”

“Five: Astrophysics, Nuclear Physics, Field Repair, First Aid, and Damage Control.”

“How astounding!”

And so on.

By the end of the day, it had been decided that the Glorious Prince of Heaven – a noble in two worlds now – needed to learn magic, if he had the aptitude. Huxian had swept in and the next morning, the first of his lessons had come. Through it all, Qasim had managed to avoid getting his head chopped it off, so he supposed that he was ahead of the game. A quiet word to Huxian had gotten Ning moved from the royal harem to his private harem chambers. A quiet word to Hua had gotten her some actual clothes - “Ahhh!” Hua had whispered “Your fetish is peasant girls! Got it! Wink!” - and Qasim and her put their heads together every night to discuss what, exactly, they had to do next.

The decision?

Wait and see.

And so Qasim was in his magic class for the day. Waiting and seeing.

“Glorious Prince of Heaven,” the instructor said. “Can you recite to me the Ten Basic Spells and the basics behind their construction?”

Qasim stood up. “The Ten Basic Spells are created by combining two elements. Earth and Fire makes Lava Dart. Earth and Air creates Magic Missile. Earth and Water creates Grease. Earth and Wood creates Entangle. Fire and Water makes Steam Blast...” As he continued to list the names of the spells – many of them relatively logical (if you ignored the complete contravention of the laws of physics as they were understood on Stark) combinations) – Hua continued to snore. He wrapped up with: “Wood and Water creates healing.”

“Very good,” the instructor said. “Honorable and Just T’ien Lung Hua Ling, the Celestial Dragon of the Magnificat Dawn, please tell me, what are the approved of applications of the Void sphere of magic, the forbidden path taught to the world by the Dark Lord Dalethraxius himself?”

Hua snored even louder.

“Hua Ling!” the instructor shouted, picking up a large rod and whacking Hua in the nose with it. Hua went flailing through the air, his tail lashing and knocking over several stools as his arms thrust outwards and clawed at the air. He fell on his back, shapeshifted into his human form – that of a twenty something man with midnight black hair, a small patch of black scales on his chest, and piercing green eyes – and scrambled back to his seat. He rubbed his nose gently.

“Uh...” Hua said.

“Hua Ling, you were sleeping during my class,” the instructor said.

“No!” Hua said. “I remember exactly the right answer to the question that you-” He saw the small note that Qasim had scrawled on his notebook. Angling said book so that Hua could see it out of the corner of his eyes, Hua beamed, grinned, gave Qasim a huge thumbs up. He then made a pair of finger guns and started to fire them at Qasim, adding a wink for good measure. The instructor watched all of this, his mustache bristling more and more every moment.

“Hua Ling!”

“Right!” Hua looked at him. “Only two, sir! The first is to combine Void with Wood to raise a Jiangshi under the remit of the Most Servile Order of Imperial Necromancers. The second is Void with Earth to render fields infertile, when used against someone declared an enemy of the throne.” He beamed. “Oh, also, if you combine Void with three Water spheres and a Wood Sphere, you can summon this awesome-” He sketched out an hourglass figure.

The instructor whacked his knuckles with his long rod. “Hua Ling!”

“Ow! Nothing! Nothing!” Hua wrung out his hand, then started to suck on his knuckles. “Owww.”

The instructor sighed, explosively. “You will both return to your rooms. I expect you to memorize the next three passages in the scrolls and be ready to run through an examination on each passage.” He nodded. “Dismissed.”

Hua shifted to his dragon form – his small one – and hopped into Qasim’s palm. Qasim set him on his shoulder, then sighed as his own internal sense of time twinged. Though he hadn’t heard the call to prayer in years, a part of him still felt the tug to it. But he felt ... adrift and uncertain when it came to matters of the faith. Here he was on a world that had never heard the word of Moses, let alone Jesus and Mohammad. Not a single prophet from God had come here. Instead, they had their own gods, their own ideas of how the world worked. And they had their magic, magic he had seen working.

Islam had quite a few beings that Christianity didn’t have room for in its mythology and its storytelling, in both the Chinese and the Arab influenced strains of the faith. From Arab, they had the djinn and the genies and all the rest of invisible creatures that were neither human nor devil, neither good nor evil. They could be swayed, one way or the other, by God. But fitting something like Hua, or the teeming masses of Oni, or the fox tailed Huxian, into all of that?

Qasim was a Spacer. He was rated on being the dead man switch in an automated railgun turret. He knew how to do pre-approved maintenance on a nuclear reactor – nothing major, just the minor tasks that you needed to do to keep the whole thing from melting down. He was well versed in maneuvering his own body in microgravity.

He wasn’t rated for questions like ‘is my religion a lie?’ or ‘how does a dragon fit in with God’s plan?’

So, Qasim fell back on what he had been taught: God knows what he’s doing and if he wants you to be damned, you’ll damn well be damned. So don’t worry about it and do your job.

“Wanna go to the harem?” Hua asked, as he asked after every class.

“No,” Qasim said.

“Aww...” Hua flumped down on his shoulder. “You’re the worst Glorious Prince of Heaven ever.” He perked up. “Wanna bang Ning?”

“No,” Qasim said. This was a lie. He couldn’t help but remember Ning’s thighs, tightening around him as they shared a moment of doomed passion in the depths of the People’ Shield. But that had been when both were fairly certain they were going to die. Now? Now they had a long life ahead of them and ... and Qasim shook his head. The memory of Ning’s breasts had swelled in his head. Hua bumped his nose against his temple.

“Yessssss you dooooo!” Hua purred. “Come on, she’s hot, you’re hot. Hotness multiplied!”

“No,” Qasim said.

They emerged into the one of the many gardens that dotted the Imperial Palace. One of the Emperor’s courtesans or concubines was bathing in the pond, flashes of her nude red body glinting between the rippling water’s shimmer. The faint sound of her giggling reached Qasim’s ears as he turned his head away from her – and found himself looking at a rough and rugged looking fellow. The fellow looked as if he had stepped from a historical epic about the Mongolian Khanate – he had the same furred cap, leather armor, and riding boots. The only difference from him and one of Temujin’s men was that he was also bright, emerald green and had a pair of short, jutting tusks that peeked out from his lower lip.

“Glorious Prince of Heaven,” he said, bowing low. “I have been seeking you. I am a courier from the Imperial Courier service, bearing a letter to you.”

He held it out to Qasim. Hua snatched it excitedly from the orc’s hand, making an eager ‘ooh’ sound. He unfolded it and read it, his eyes flicking: “A magistrate asks for the assistance of the Glorious Prince of Heaven! Another magistrate is taking bribes from a...” His eyes narrowed. “Huh!” He looked at Qasim. “Qasim, do you know what a Ross-SEE-kye-ah?”

Qasim frowned. “A what?”

“Because it says here that the magistrate sold the entirety of the northern Drakelands for a single crate of weapons called Avv ... to ... mat ... Kal ... Kala ... Kal ... Kalablahblah Forty Seven. What a weird name.”

Qasim’s blood had gone cold.

“Did you say...” Qasim said, slowly. “That the Ruskies have sold a magistrate a crate ... of AK-47s?”

“Oh, that’s much easier to say!” Hua said, wriggling eagerly.

Qasim nodded – then strode forward. “I need to talk to the Emperor.”

Annie sat on the hill, looking down at the pyramidal shape of San Francisco.

“What the fuck?” she asked, again.

Beside her, lounging on his back like some decadent Roman senator from one of the toga and orgy flics that were all the rage a few years ago, Dale laughed. “How many times are you going to say that, Annie?”

“As many times as I need too!” Annie stood and started to pace. Her hands went to her face and, through them, she groaned: “Oh no, Auntie, I just wanted to chat about the new boyfriend. Yeah, the sex is great, that’s not what I’m worried about. Well, I don’t know how to put it!” She tugged her fingers down, dragging her cheeks then releasing them. “How about he’s a four hundred year old necromancer from another dimension who was exiled because he tried to fucking take over the world!” She spun to face Dale. “What. The. Fuck!?”

Dale shrugged one shoulder. “If it helps, I was only twenty two when I was defeated and exiled. I spent most of the period between my exile and now in a dreamless state of non-existence until mana reached my phylactery.”

“Your phywhat?” Annie asked.

Dale made a complex gesture with his left hand. A glow surrounded his fingertips, concentrating into a purple gemstone that flared and pulsed like a tiny star. Once the pulsing faded and stopped, he was holding a real, physical gemstone. It hung from a loop of chain that shimmered and glittered like moonlight on water. He hooked his finger around the chain and let it dangle, swaying from side to side.

“One of my first inventions,” he said. “The soul, when it departs the mortal coil, imprints itself into a kind of ... fuzziness that pervades the universe.” He grinned at her. “I believe your kind call it zero point energy fluctuations?”

“Uh...” Annie blinked. “Are you saying the soul exists?”

“Absolutely,” Dale said. “I’ve harnessed more than enough of them on my old world.”

“Which was ... Earth?” Annie asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” Dale said. “It was exactly like this Earth in terms of continents and landmass – but rather than being populated by humans, it was populated by elves, orcs, dwarves, oni, brain fiends...”

Annie put her hands over her face again. She started to pace, feeling the wind tickling along her back. She would have normally been slightly anxious about walking around buckass naked in public – but this was far enough away from her Enclave that she wasn’t too worried. California, after all, had a population of a hundred million people, and almost ninety million of those lived in three cities. The countryside was nicely depopulated and given over to forests, farms and Enclaves. She dropped her hands again. “That’s a fucking trip, Dale.”

“Take all the time you need to come to grips with it, Annie,” he said, casually.

“And don’t...” She turned to face him, scowling. “Stop smiling.”

“I can’t help it, you’re adorable,” Dale purred.

“Stop it!” Annie said. “You’re the ... you called yourself the Dark Lord, stop smiling!”

“I said other people called me a Dark Lord,” Dale said, waggling his finger at her. His eyes sparkled. “Though, the name has a bit of a ring to it.”

“Oh ha ha ha,” Annie said, scowling at him. “You were a Dark Lord and you’re planning to take over the world. I should kick your ass for even suggesting that.”

“Why?” Dale asked.

“Because it’s wrong!” Annie said.

Dale arched an eyebrow. “If it helps, I won’t be ruling it very long. Just long enough to smash up the shackles that currently keep ninety percent of your species from reaching its potential.” He smiled. “Then, I admit, I wouldn’t mind taking one of your space fleets back to my Earth through that portal you blew open and kicking the ass of some smug elven magi who banished me into a mana-free hell for four centuries because I dared to use necromancy.” He shook his head. “Motherfuckers.”

“The Dark Lord Dalethraxius just called an elf a motherfucker,” Annie whispered to herself.

“Humans have a lot of fun curse words, I admit,” Dale said.

Annie started to pace again.

“I won’t help you take over the world,” she said, firmly.

“What if I told you that I wouldn’t use violence unless I absolutely had too?” Dale asked, his voice a soft murmur.

“That’s not gonna happen,” Annie said. “Like, there are armies! And navies! And guns and nukes and shit. Even if you play nice, everyone who fights back is gonna level the planet.”

“Not if they don’t know they’re in a battle until after I win,” Dale said. He stood, then, with a panther’s grace. As he stood, he held his hand out to her. His eyes met hers and he smiled ever so slightly. “Annie, I want to show you something.”

Annie looked at his hand. Her fingers tingled and she wanted to take it, to go with him – but her gut knotted. She didn’t like how reasonable, how calm he sounded. Dale ... Dalethraxius ... the Dark Lord. A Necromancer. Part of her still wanted to laugh hysterically every time those words crossed her mind. But she could also remember the way he had whisked her here, dozens of miles, in a single flare of purple energy and glowing light. She could also remember almost a year of his kindness. His charm. Of the best sex she’d ever had in her life. Annie bit her lip.

“Promise,” she whispered. “Promise you won’t do anything unless I agree to it. If you try and take over the world, without me saying it’s okay, we’re done. Finished. Over. Wrapped up. History. Got it?” She tried to sound confident and forthright and only realized how fucking stupid she sounded after she started talking. But by then, it was too late, so she wrapped up the malformed nightmare of a sentence with a huge blush.

Dale looked serious. “I promise.”

Annie looked square in his eyes – and saw nothing but the gentle, heartfelt earnestness she had fallen for when she and he had started to orbit one another like flaring comets. She bit her lower lip, then whispered. “You’re a Dark Lord, Dale, I don’t know if you’ve read Lord of the Rings. I haven’t. B-but I saw the remake, and-”

Dale dropped to his knees. His finger drew a scrawling pattern on the grass of the hill they knelt on – the pattern was etched in purple flames, and it flickered there without actually singing or burning anything. He looked up at her as the symbol flared, then faded to nothingness. He sighed, slowly. “That was a truth sign. If I tell a lie for the next twelve hours, you’ll know.” He smiled. “Here, I’ll prove it. Two plus two is five.”

His eyebrow twitched and his hand clenched. Annie reached down, taking his wrist in her hand, lifting his hand up – and saw that the edge of his index finger was becoming puffy and red. She touched it, tenderly, and felt that it was hot. She looked past his hand, down his arm at her. He was smiling weakly. “Jesus, you could have just crossed your heart and hoped to die, Dale!” Annie said.

“In the words of your people, I am a little extra,” Dale said, grinning playfully up at her.

Annie reached down and poked his forehead. “Dork Lord more like.” She muttered, then took his hand. He stood and magic flared around them. When it faded, Annie was standing in darkness. Her feet pressed to something shockingly cold and filmy, like standing on a fine patina of mud. More magic flared through her and the cold faded to a numb awareness that ... that she was standing in cold, but the cold wasn’t bothering her. It was the strangest sensation in the world – but it was banished when a glowing white light flared from Dale’s hand as he lifted it over his head. They were standing in a bubble of shimmering water – a half oval shape of rippling blackness that reflected the light back at them like a mirror.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“The Atlantic Ocean,” Dale said, then tossed the light. It shot out of the bubble of water – and once the light was shining from outside, it ceased to reflect back at them and instead illuminated the vast, bleak landscape that surrounded them. In the distance, a bleached, rusted hulk loomed from the waters, while what seemed to be an entire forest of slowly decaying, grayish lumps of biomatter spread outwards in every direction. “This is one of the dead zones. Created by acidification and deoxigenation and the dumping of countless toxic chemicals into the seas. Your oceans are a tiny fraction of what they once were – sustained by genetically engineered algae and what clumps of life your United Nations managed to save. There’s several hundred different genetic banks, containing every sample you collected during the diebacks ... but that itself is a fraction of a fraction of what your race never even knew of.”

Annie looked away. Her fingers tightened on Dale’s.

“They knew,” Dale said, quietly.

“Huh?” Annie looked at him, his brow furrowing.

“If you read the UNEC reports, if you watch the depositions, the evidence is all gathered there during the trials. The fossil fuel corporations, the oil moguls, knew this would happen. They knew it would happen in the 1960s, not the 2060s. And they ... did...” He stepped towards her, his eyes boring into hers. “Nothing.”

Another flash and this time, they were standing in a city. The city was dead – deader than any city that Annie had ever walked through. The field that surrounded them continued to be visible, though it wasn’t because of water anymore. Rather, it was from the tiny sparks and pops and flickers that struck it, reminding Annie of static on an old TV set tuned to a dead channel. The buildings around her were sagging and ... melted, as if they had been exposed to a great heat, then left to set. Ghostly shadows were burned into the walls – inverse shadows, patches of lightness surrounded by black scoring. She shuddered and turned to face Dale, who was frowning as he looked outwards.

“Mecca,” he said, quietly. “Victim of a war started, sustained, directed and driven entirely to ensure continued access to petrochemical resources used by corporate entities and oligarchs that are still in power to this day. It was ended with nuclear weapons – those were the dramatic exclamation point. But it was the drones, the war plagues, the starvation, the climate disasters, that did the real killing in the end. Do you know how many people fled the equatorial regions, fled wars and climate change, only to run directly into camps and machine guns, Annie?”

Annie, her eyes blurring with tears, shook her head.

“And the people in charge, the people who ran things, the people who had the power ... did...” He leaned forward. “Nothing.”

Annie couldn’t breathe.

“They did worse than nothing, actually...” Dale whispered, fury burning in his eyes. “They helped. They pushed. They spent the money on the hate campaigns, on the misinformation, on the lies.” He slapped the back of one hand against his palm. “They spent millions on it, just to keep onto their power for one fucking second longer. And do you know what happened, Annie? Do you know what happened?”

Annie nodded, mutely. “Nothing.”

“David Koch Junior is still a billionaire,” Dale whispered. “There are three Bushes, an Obama and two Clintons sprinkled throughout your current administrator. Russia’s just as bad.” He shook his head. “And China managed to learn zero new things in their revolution. Europe?” He spat on the ground. “They put a bandaid on the problem and pretend they’ve fixed it. And the rest of the world is still trying to drag themselves out from under the West’s heel.”

He took her hand and they vanished again. This time, they appeared back at San Francisco.

Annie staggered away from him. Her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes looking at the pyramid.

“What’s your plan?” she whispered.

Dale inclined his head. “The first step is to teach you some magic,” he said, quietly. “I can draw magic into myself – but there’s an upper limit even for someone who has as much practice as me. Each person I trust who can draw on magic is another person who can help me with rituals and there’s going to be a lot of ritual actions. We do have a huge advantage here...” he smiled as he stepped up to her, his hand squeezing her shoulder. “No one else is drawing on magic. And a lot of magic is coming through the portal.”