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Ciri strolled through a lush, sprawling garden at Avallac'h's side. Graceful willows with silver leaves bent over the path, and strange, small birds flitted through the air like winged jewels. Tall sculptures of armored elves, half again as tall as the tallest Aen Elle, stood every thirty feet or so, somehow both lifelike and stylistic in design.

"And now it all comes together," Avallac'h said. "Your allies gather. You make ready to close the tear between the worlds."

Ciri nodded.

"Do you imagine that the man behind it will stay hidden once you undo his work?" he asked.

"No," she said. "He will make his move, and soon."

He looked amused. "Do you still believe your theory, Zireael? That the one behind the Breach is a descendant of the Elvhen?"

"It made sense," she said. "But Dorian doesn't think it's possible."

"Almost anything is possible," Avallac'h said, "But your Mortalitasi friend is correct."

"You know who it is," she accused him.

He smiled and changed the subject. "What do you make of your tutor, Zireael?"

She hesitated. "He's what they believe I am. Isn't he? Recently descended from the ancient Elvhen?"

Avallac'h hummed noncommittally.

"Well, probably," Ciri said defensively. "And he seems lonely. He tells interesting stories, and he's good at teaching. He's standoffish at times, and condescending, but I like him."

His amusement seemed to deepen. "Your blind spots are fascinating."

"I don't – what blind spots?" she demanded.

"You cannot see it, but you will," he said, still wearing that small, infuriating smile. "Beware your pride, Zireael. What you think is true is not always the case."

That stung. "I'll not stay to be lectured by a spirit."

"Just a word of caution," he said. "You are not the only one among your companions who is prone to pride."

She stopped beneath one of the statues and grabbed Avallac'h's sleeve. "I don't understand."

He seemed to loom over her, eyes intense. "There are wolves at the door. Open your eyes."

She blinked, and Lady Yennefer gave her a patient look and nodded to her books and papers spread across the table. She sighed and turned back to her studies. Learning to be an enchantress was far duller than she thought it would be.

Ciri shivered as she left the chantry. The day had dawned bright and cold, and she rubbed her hands together briskly to ward off the chill as she made her way toward the tavern. It was early yet, but Triss and Solas were sure to be there among the first wave of diners.

She frowned. She'd slept well; her dreams had been pleasant. Yet something nagged at her. There was something there, something she was missing. But the more she prodded at the thought, the further it slipped away.

The tavern was warm and bustling, full of early risers. Eyes went to the door as she entered, and a dozen voices called out greetings. She returned them with a smile and a wave, looking around for familiar faces. She spotted Cullen and Cassandra eating together with some of the Templars at one table, and Chancellor Roderick and Mother Giselle at another table with the new Chantry emissary, Revered Mother Kordula of Nevarra City, and a handful of Chantry sisters and brothers.

She'd met the Revered Mother briefly on her return from the Storm Coast. She was, in a word, sharp: sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, and sharp-edged, a tall, thin woman with surprisingly lovely honey brown eyes set in a narrow, light brown face. Ciri had ducked her probing questions about the mages and her opinions about politics, and thus far had successfully avoided having to deal with her. Her luck would run out sooner or later, but she appeared safe enough this morning.

Three different tables held mages – one had Vivienne and Letia and a few of the former Witchwood mages, another had Triss and Fiona and some mages from Redcliffe Ciri vaguely recognized, and another held a group of older-looking enchanters who seemed to be on the outs with both of them. Solas and Varric sat at the final table by themselves, talking casually.

Varric greeted her with an easy smile as she sat. "You ready for the big push?"

"Right after breakfast," she said, raising a hand to get Flissa's attention. "I wouldn't want to try to channel that much magic on an empty stomach."

"No," Solas agreed. "You should be at your best before attempting to hold and direct so much power. If you feel you aren't up to it today, tell Cassandra and we'll put it off. This is too dangerous to leave to chance."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "We're as prepared as we can be."

"The sane part of me is glad I'm staying behind in Haven while you go fight the sky, but I'm a little curious to see how it's done," Varric said. "Promise to tell me how it goes?"

"Of course," she said.

Flissa bustled over with a steaming bowl of porridge and placed it in front of Ciri, beaming proudly. "Morning, Your Worship. We heard today's the day. Anything you need, just ask. We're all ready to do our part."

"And we appreciate all of you," Ciri told her, drawing on her memories of her grandmother at her most gracious. "The Inquisition wouldn't function without you and the rest of the workers."

Flissa blushed. "You're too kind, Your Worship."

"Merely honest."

Another server shouted for Flissa's help, and she bobbed a curtsy and left them to their breakfast. Ciri turned her attention to the hot porridge and ate a careful spoonful, mindful of the curls of steam coming off it.

Delicious. Flissa had outdone herself. Bits of spiced apple and toasted walnuts gave it a rich flavor, and the hint of cinnamon added warmth and complexity. She ate quickly, ignoring the din around her as more patrons flooded into the tavern.

As her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, a large, armored form dropped onto the bench beside her. She looked up to see the Trevelyans and Dorian had joined their table.

"Morning," Owain greeted her. "Sleep well?"

"Quite." She looked about the tavern. It was full to bursting. All of Haven seemed to be straining at the seams with the few hundred new arrivals. Something would have to change, and soon.

"Are you coming with us to close the Breach, Solas?" Evelyn asked. "Most of the Harrowed mages will be there, along with the Inquisition's Templars."

"I have a far greater depth of experience in matters of the Fade than any Circle mage," Solas said rather coolly. "My place is with my student."

Evelyn just smiled. "Your expertise is welcomed, messere."

"Why are the Templars coming?" Ciri asked.

Owain shrugged. "That many mages, channeling that much magic, directly under a hole into the Fade? Where else would they be? I'll be there, too, along with Rona and Raúl. They're pulling in the former Templars. There aren't enough current Templars to match the number of mages."

"Cullen was complaining about that," Ciri said. She made a face and poked her spoon at her mostly-empty bowl. "The mages can handle themselves." But even as she said it, she couldn't help but doubt just a little. Her unease over the atrocities the Venatori and Alexius had committed lingered.

"The Harrowed mages, yes, under normal circumstances," Maxwell said. "Apprentices haven't proven their ability to resist temptation yet, and there's an enormous hole into the world of demons a short walk away. Far be it from me to disagree with you, but the Commander has a point."

Ciri looked at him askance and lowered her voice. "Your family wanted help delivering mages out of Templar hands."

"And into the hands of those who were better equipped to guide and protect them," Maxwell said. "The Circles don't work, but that doesn't mean something isn't needed."

"They'll have time to work out exactly what that something is now that the magister isn't holding them in Redcliffe," Owain said. "I know what I think they should do, but I'm only a former Templar and a knight-lieutenant at that. My words don't carry much weight."

"I don't have a dog in the fight, but the good Templars are worth their weight in gold," Varric said. "We could have used a dozen Thrasks in Kirkwall to deal with the blood mages that kept popping up toward the end."

Evelyn's eyes lit up. "Oh! That's right, you were there, weren't you? You know the Champion! You wrote a book about her. What's she like?"

"Funny," Varric said at once. "Intense. She's polarizing, I guess. You either love her or you hate her, but I don't know anyone in Kirkwall who didn't respect her."

Dorian stirred his freshly delivered porridge and asked casually, "And where is she now?"

"Off doing stuff with her possessed boyfriend." Varric waved his hand dismissively. "Do I look like a social secretary to you?"

"No," Dorian drawled. "You look like a man who knows how to keep his friend's secrets."

Varric flashed him a sharp smile. "No idea what you're talking about."

Ciri was curious but decided not to pry. She had a healthy respect for other people's secrets given the number she kept. "I'll see you out by the gates if you're going out to the Breach."

Owain winked at her as she stood. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

She laughed and started to muscle her way through the crowded tavern toward the door. Owain had a talent for making her smile. He always seemed to know what to say or do. And when he wasn't making her smile, his kindness and gentle touch made her heart flutter.

Perhaps she'd been mistaken to think she could remain his colleague and nothing more. It wouldn't surprise her; she was sorely out of practice in relationships and romance. But she just didn't see it working when she intended to leave Thedas soon.

The walls surrounding Haven didn't offer much protection from the wind, but it was enough for Ciri's needs. She tucked herself into the natural windbreak between the wall and the trees and watched the people on the field come and go.

The training field had been demolished to make way for dozens of tents. Even now, late risers were poking their heads out to greet the morning. She'd met many of the new arrivals, and had not missed the fact that there was a simmering tension between Fiona and several of the First Enchanters, and the First Enchanters and the former Witchwood mages. There was little she could do to intervene, not even if she knew more. The new mages were allies, not members of the Inquisition.

Not far from where she stood, she heard the deep rumble of the Iron Bull speaking with Krem. She edged a little closer to their tent to listen in.

"– Told Dalish to keep her head down. They have enough mages for the Breach," Krem said quietly.

The Iron Bull scoffed. "They're up to their eyeballs in mages. No need for Dalish to get involved. You made the right call. Besides, you heard about what the Chantry made that one guy, Olgierd, do when the boss pissed them off?"

"I heard. We'll keep a low profile. You do your thing, we'll do ours."

"That's the idea, if the boss can unwind enough to extend some trust my way."

"You are a spy, Bull."

"Hey, I'm a perfectly nice guy," the Iron Bull protested.

"Said the spy."

Ciri walked around the tree toward their tent, purposely taking louder steps than normal. Krem looked over in surprise, but the Iron Bull just greeted her with a laconic, "Boss."

"Your Worship," Krem said with a smile. "What do you make of these new trebuchets the commander had placed by the lake?"

She followed his gaze to the nearest one. The tents were set back several yards from it in a rough ring, and two soldiers stood by inspecting its gears and mechanisms.

"We haven't seen the last of the Venatori," Ciri told them, "And that's likely only a small part of the Elder One's army. We're on the alert after foiling his plans with the mages. Undoing the Breach will only anger him further. Retaliation is to be expected."

The Iron Bull nodded thoughtfully. "You want my guys sober at the party, just in case?"

"There's going to be a party?"

"Yeah, one of the sisters let it slip," he said. "They're organizing something for if this succeeds. Some all-day thing."

"Then yes, I think that would be best."

The Iron Bull squinted out at the field as the mages slowly started to gather and crossed his arms across his mostly bare chest. He didn't seem affected by the cold – or if he was, he was making sure not to show it. "You have any thoughts about what the Inquisition's going to do after you close that thing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean, right now you have a handful of people with equal say, and they all have a different idea on what the Inquisition ought to be. You have no leader. No Inquisitor. An organization like this without someone heading it will splinter sooner or later."

His eye wasn't on her, but still, she had to look away. No one had spoken of an Inquisitor. It had never come up in their meetings. Yet his words made a great deal of sense, and she disliked where that sense led. She knew, or thought she knew, what Cassandra or Cullen would do given leadership of the Inquisition, and disliked the idea of them undoing the work she'd done. It wasn't even her world, and yet she found herself a partisan of the mage cause just as much as Triss was. Leliana's politics aligned with hers, but unchecked, the spymaster might do terrible things to achieve her ends. The only reasonable option was Josephine, but taking her away from her role as ambassador seemed counterproductive.

She sighed. "I came here as a bodyguard, you know. All this nonsense about me being the Maker's Hand is just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Right, but now you are," the Iron Bull said. "So what are you going to do next?"

She followed his gaze out to the growing crowd of mages and Templars. Cassandra had made it out there, as had Olgierd and Triss. Both her friends held new-looking staves, and all three of them seemed to be searching the area. For her, most likely.

"They already have me making most of the decisions," she said finally, reluctantly. "I doubt much would change if they made it official."

"Huh."

"What?"

"You almost sound like a Qunari," he said. "We don't pick leaders from the strongest, or the wisest. We pick the ones who can make the hard decisions – and live with the consequences."

Her life was a string of hard decisions she'd had to live with. Better the ones to come be hers than someone else's. "Iron Bull," she said with a final nod. "Krem."

"Boss."

"Your Worship."

Ciri made her way to the crowd of mages, doing her best to return the avalanche of greetings as graciously as possible while she moved through the gathering in search of her friends. Olgierd spotted her first and raised a hand above the heads, calling her name. She excused herself from an effusive enchanter's attempt at conversation and headed in his direction.

"Since when do you two use staves?" she asked him and Triss.

"I'll give it back to the smith once this is done," Olgierd said, looking down at the staff in his hand with distaste. "I'd not have accepted it at all had I not been told it would help channel the magic for this task."

"I might keep mine," Triss said. "I tried a few spells with it, and it seems to concentrate and focus magic well. It could be interesting to try, at least. It has a different feel to it than the staves back home."

"You did want to learn their magic," Ciri said quietly, mindful of the crowd surrounding them.

Triss offered her a smile tinged with frustration. "On the one hand, I'm sure there will be plenty of enchanters willing to teach a half-trained former apprentice. On the other, that gets me nowhere near the people that actually make the decisions. I can't affect any real change here. I can't help."

"I'm sorry, Triss," Ciri said. "I can't help but feel like I stole this from you somehow. You wanted to come and help, and now –"

"No, it's not your fault," Triss interrupted. "Don't think for a second that I blame you. I'll manage. And I can figure out my own way of helping."

"Bully your way into another meeting," Olgierd suggested. "Half of what they implemented for the mages came from your lips, Merigold. If they've any sense, they'll have recognized your worth by now."

"Thanks," Triss said, looking somewhat startled.

Cassandra called out to Ciri from behind her, and she turned to see the Seeker pushing her way through the throng.

"Lady Hand," Cassandra greeted her. "Everyone has gathered for the walk to the Breach. Are you ready?"

"I am," she said. "Have Solas and the Trevelyans arrived?"

"Just now. Come. You should lead the way."

Fiona and Cullen awaited them at the head of the crowd, the two of them talking civilly as they looked out at the assembled mages. Cullen broke from the conversation to greet Ciri, nodding politely to Olgierd and Triss.

"Our scouts made a sweep of the pass early this morning," he told her. "It's still free of demons, and should be safe enough for the walk."

She hadn't even considered that might pose a problem. "Thank you for thinking of that, Commander," she said sincerely. "I appreciate your foresight."

He smiled slightly. "That's what I'm here for. The Grand Enchanter took a headcount of her mages, and we have one hundred and fifty-six willing to assist. Of the Inquisition's mages, all eighteen are present, excluding Minaeve and Jance. And we have the full complement of current and former Templars with us."

"Even Ser Rylen?" Ciri asked.

"He's having a good day," Cullen said. "He's prepared to do his duty."

Ciri turned to Fiona. "Is it safe to have so many mages channeling magic into me?"

"Yes," Fiona said shortly. "Most of them will not be able to channel much of their magic. It will be dispersed ambiently with no danger to you or the environment. But small amounts add up, and the cumulative effect will be as if three dozen powerful mages were channeling all their magic directly into you. There is little danger, so long as you don't try to hold on to the magic for too long."

"Then I suppose there's no time to waste," Ciri said. "Shall we go?"

Fiona inclined her head, gravely formal. "After you, Lady Hand."

The devastated temple hadn't changed much since Ciri had last set foot in it. The fires had died, but the burnt corpses still stood their lonely vigil, and the jutting fingers of red lyrium still hummed eerily at a pitch Ciri could almost but not quite hear. She followed Cassandra and Solas down into the shattered pit below the Breach as Fiona, Evelyn, and Letia directed the mages into position along the sides, with Cullen's Templars placing themselves behind them every twenty-five mages or so.

"Deep, even breaths, da'len," Solas instructed her. "You know how to feel your own magic. Now you must open yourself to the magic surrounding you."

"I understand."

She closed her eyes and concentrated inward as Solas and Cassandra shouted instructions to the assembled mages. Her magic leaped to respond after so many sessions of meditation. She called it to the surface and breathed slowly, steadily, shifting her focus from inward to outward. Then the first wave of magic broke over her, and her own rose in response, latching on and drawing it in.

Then another, and another. And another. She lost count as she rose higher, spiraling toward the heavens on a sea of magic. Her blood practically fizzed with the power filling her, and she held in a giddy laugh. Mustn't make the Templars nervous.

She opened her eyes to find her feet still on the cracked and pitted ground, her skin glowing with the infusion of magic. Her thoughts felt distant. All her worries seemed insignificant. She looked around idly, up to the walls where the mages stood, and blinked in confusion.

They were shadows! Flat, dull imitations of real people! Where had the real ones gone? She could see a few here and there – Triss was a fiery bright glow, and Olgierd a dark flame, both solid and honest, and some of the other mages, like Evelyn, Dorian and Fiona, were almost but not quite present. But most of them were thin and washed out, barely substantial. She glanced about wildly, but nothing changed. The Templars might as well have been hewn from rock for all the life they seemed to have.

"The Breach!" a shadowy Cassandra prompted her. "Do it!"

She looked at Solas and almost cried out in relief to see he hadn't changed at all. "Focus, da'len," he murmured. "You cannot hold this magic. Use it."

She swallowed her misgivings and turned her attention to the sleeping Breach above, thrusting her marked hand skyward. Her own magic clung tightly to the power that coursed through her, but she forced it out, channeling it upwards and outwards in a sparkling stream of emerald light that raced higher, ever higher, until it connected to the gaping wound in the Fade.

It fought, resisted, but she was stronger this time, had the magic of almost two hundred mages aiding her. She bore down on it with all her will, and achingly slowly, then all at once, it slammed shut. The backlash of the connection breaking sent her and the rest of the mages sprawling, and her head spun as the extra magic slowly drained away.

Cassandra, real again, reached her first, holding out a hand to help her back to her feet. "You did it," she said as if Ciri were unaware.

Ciri gripped Cassandra's arm to ground herself, looking around again. People. Real, flesh and blood people. Not stone, not shadows. She took a shaky breath and answered Cassandra.

"We did it. All of us."

Solas joined her, a strange light in his oddly colored eyes. "You seemed to have an unusual reaction to holding that magic," he commented as Cassandra walked off ahead of them.

She shuddered. "I – it doesn't matter. The magic affected how I saw the world, but it's over now. It was just an illusion, or a delusion, something. It was wrong."

They began walking slowly toward the exit, following the mages now making their way from the temple. Ciri smiled at the handful of people waiting for them ahead, not at all surprised to see Triss and Olgierd standing with Owain, Evelyn, and Dorian.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"That much magic...I think it changes how a person sees people," she told him quietly. "I looked around, and most of the mages seemed...flat. Shadows of real people. The Templars looked like human golems."

His eyes flickered with some unnameable emotion. "You believe it is too much magic that causes this perception?" He sounded skeptical.

"It must be," she said. "I know that they're all people, but in that moment, I thought I was surrounded by pale imitations. It was – ugh. Solas, you're descended from the Elvhen, aren't you?"

He cocked his head at her. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry if you were keeping it a secret, but I thought you must be a recent descendant," she explained. "The stories you tell of Elvhenan are so detailed, and the disdain you seem to have for the Dalish…."

He was silent for a long moment, then finally he said. "You are correct, da'len. I did have family from those long-gone days. Why do you ask?"

"From your tales, it sounds like the Elvhen had more magic than the mages of today."

"A great deal more," he confirmed.

"As much as I was channeling?"

"A little less, on average."

"Then – then I don't know that I should ever want to meet one of the Elvhen if one still lived," she admitted. "If holding that much magic made me think all these people weren't real, even just for a minute, what would the immortal elves of the past make of us? I can't help but think it's a recipe for disaster."

She couldn't quite read the expression on his face – bemusement? – as he replied, "I believe I understand. But you should know that any Elvhen would look at you and see a real person."

"That's just it," she said as they approached her friends. "They're all real."

She accepted Triss' hug gladly and smiled up at Olgierd as he clasped her on the shoulder.

"Well done," Olgierd said quietly.

"I couldn't have done it on my own," she deflected.

Evelyn darted in to wrap an arm around her waist, beaming. "That was incredible! I've never been involved in such powerful magic before." She gave her a firm hug and let go, chattering excitedly.

As their small group began to follow the moving herd of mages, she felt her hand brush up against another. She looked to the side to see Owain walking next to her. He gave her a small, warm smile, and his hand brushed hers again.

He's real.

Maybe she'd never see him after she went back home. Perhaps they'd be nothing more to each other than a brief fling. But she needed something after the wonder and horror of holding so much magic, and she didn't feel like denying herself any longer.

She turned her hand and threaded her fingers through his, squeezing his hand briefly. He squeezed back gently, letting their joined hands swing between their bodies as they walked.

He had to think this was silly, holding hands like they were children. He was a man grown, nearly thirty – surely he'd had plenty more experience than she had! And it wasn't like she was a babe in the woods. There had been Mistle, and all that miserable fondling with Auberon, and the liberties she allowed Hotspurn to take before he died on top of her. But still –

Still, this was all she wanted right now. She hoped the childishness wouldn't put him off.

"Stop thinking so hard," Owain chided her, and she looked up to see him still smiling. He raised their hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "This is fine."

She blushed, and to cover it, teased him gently. "Careful now, Ser Owain. You'll ruin your fearsome image with the other soldiers if you play the gallant suitor."

He laughed loudly and pulled her along out of the ruins. "Come on. We don't want to be late to your party."

Even hours later, an air of celebration still held Haven firm in its grasp. Bonfires dotted the village, and party-goers danced and drank. Flissa and her workers brought out two whole ram carcasses and roasted them on spits, and ale and spirits flowed freely. Ciri had paced her drinking and stayed clear-headed, though she made sure to take a turn around the makeshift dance floor with almost everyone who crossed her path, man or woman. Owain claimed the most dances, though not even Solas or Chancellor Roderick had escaped her.

Finally, as the sun set and the moons began to rise, she slipped away from the reveling crowd and found a perch by the wall of the chantry where she could look over the merriment. Sera was a whirlwind of activity, never still for a moment. Varric was surrounded by a dozen eager listeners as he held forth with a riveting tale. But more interesting to Ciri were the people who'd come together.

Olgierd and Josephine had danced together exactly three times, and though they were always well within the bounds of propriety, there was something to Josephine's smile that caught her eye. Blackwall and Scout Malika had snuck off into a dark corner an hour past, Malika tugging at his sleeve and Blackwall red-cheeked and chuckling as he followed. Evelyn and Cullen orbited each other like celestial bodies, drawn together but never touching, all shy eyes and awkward smiles. And Maxwell and Dorian sat out the dancing by one of the out of the way bonfires, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, heads tilted together and deep in conversation.

This was the way it should be, she thought. A pause to enjoy life before the work began again tomorrow. They'd start their hunt for the creator of the Breach in earnest once everyone had slept off their hangovers, and once he'd been brought to justice, she'd finally be able to leave.

She lifted her eyes to the strange, swirling clouds that had replaced the Breach and sighed as she heard purposeful footsteps approach from behind.

"Is the party over?" she asked Cassandra as the Seeker came to stand at her side.

"What? Am I really so dour?" Cassandra demanded.

"No, I just thought – forgive me. You haven't spoken much to me since I recruited the mages from the Witchwood. I assumed you needed me for something," Ciri said.

"That is my fault, not yours," Cassandra said firmly. "I assumed the Hand of the Maker would act in ways that I believed the Maker would approve of. It was presumptuous. I do not need anything. I simply wished to talk."

"I'm always happy to speak with you," Ciri told her.

"It was modest of you to give credit to others, but you were right," Cassandra said. "This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory. And such an alliance will need new direction with the Breach sealed."

Ciri held up a fist and raised a finger with each point. "We find the man behind it and bring him to justice, we close the rifts, we deal with the demon army from the future, we prevent Celene's assassination, we save Lydes from becoming a red lyrium farm –"

Cassandra chuckled. "Perhaps we have too many directions to head in. Whatever the case, I have faith in you, Lady Hand."

"Ciri," she insisted yet again.

Cassandra hesitated. "Lady Ciri," she compromised.

"Fine."

They both looked up sharply as a loud bell rang out across the village. People looked up in shock and dismay as previously relaxed soldiers grabbed their discarded weapons and ran toward the gates. She exchanged a grim look with Cassandra and pulled on her magic to step between, leaving the chaos by the chantry to grab her steel sword from her room. She stepped back a second later, Zireael in hand.

"Come on," she said shortly.

They raced to the gates through the milling, fearful crowd, the bell still clanging ominously. She was relieved to see all her companions there, even Blackwall, his gambeson knotted differently than before. Josephine stood close to Olgierd, smile long since vanished, and Cullen scanned the gathered men and women with stern professionalism.

Ciri addressed him first. "What's happened, Commander?"

"A watchguard just reported in. It's a massive force, the bulk of it coming over the mountain." He gestured to the gates.

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked anxiously.

His answer was swift and hard. "None."

Josephine recoiled in shock. "None?"

"We expected something to happen, though I thought we'd have more time," Ciri said. "Commander, we need to get the men out to the trebuchets –"

Then something heavy banged on the gate. Once. Twice.

She drew her sword.