Hexenzeit
The third ring came quietly.
Iris had expected something dramatic. An epiphany. A flood of mana so violent it drove her to her knees. Every story she had ever heard about Circle advancement involved revelation, a battlefield, or a near-death experience.
Instead, she stood barefoot on packed dirt before sunrise with both hands raised toward a wooden target and realized that the mana inside her no longer resisted her.
For five years, every time she reached for earth magic, there had been a flaw in the flow.
Mana left her cores, passed through the channels, entered the ground, and then lost a fraction of itself before it could take form.
And now she could see it.
Iris exhaled slowly.
Her feet pressed into the cold ground of the communal training yard. The yard sat behind a row of old warehouses on the eastern edge of Hexenzeit, boxed in by brick walls and rusted iron fencing. The House's proper soldiers trained at the estate's grounds, where stone targets repaired themselves and fire wards prevented stray spells from burning half the city.
The rest of them trained here.
Contract soldiers. Garrison auxiliaries. Guard detachments. Anyone useful enough to receive a uniform but unimportant enough to be denied private space.
The yard had six practice circles.
At dawn, every one of them was occupied.
A pair of young fire mages worked through formation drills in the far corner, their hands shaking from cold and exhaustion. A wind caster stood beside a cracked wall, trying to sustain a compression field against a suspended sandbag.
Iris had claimed the last strip of ground by arriving before the sky turned gray.
She had been awake since well before dawn.
That was what advancement cost when you had no family name worth protecting.
You woke early. You trained while the streets were dark. After patrol, you trained again.
You trained until your shoulders hurt and your hands shook and your mana circles felt scraped hollow.
Then you slept for six hours and did it again.
Iris lowered her arms.
The loose stones scattered across the dirt trembled.
There were twelve of them. Each one roughly the size of her fist.
She reached inward.
Two luminous rings formed around her left forearm.
She pulled harder.
The third circle appeared.
A line of pale light emerged above the others, thin as thread at first. Then it widened. Locked into place around her arm.
The mana around her changed.
She changed.
The stones on the ground no longer felt like separate objects she needed to seize and force into movement. They were part of the earth beneath her feet. Every crack in their surfaces, every grain packed beneath them, every weakness in their structure became obvious.
Iris curled her fingers.
The twelve stones rose.
They lifted one by one, revolving in a slow circle around her body. Dust drifted from them. Small pebbles broke loose and fell in a soft patter.
She looked toward the target at the eastern end of the yard.
A wooden post reinforced with a thin sheet of hammered iron. Fifty meters away.
At Second Circle, she could have thrown a single stone hard enough to dent it.
At Third Circle—
The stones stretched.
Their surfaces compressed. Edges sharpened. Twelve rough chunks became twelve narrow spikes.
Iris let out another breath.
Then drove her hand forward.
The earth spears crossed the yard in a dense brown blur.
Nine struck the target. Three hit the iron plate hard enough to split it. Two punched through the wooden post. The last three wavered in flight: one missed by less than a handspan and buried itself behind the target, one struck the ground short, and one clipped the outer edge and spun away.
Iris stared at the damage.
The target leaned backward, groaning on its supports.
A fire mage in the next circle stopped his drill and looked over.
"Third Circle?" he asked.
Iris did not turn.
"Yes."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
The mage watched the target for another second.
Then he looked at the glowing rings around her forearm.
"You made that look easy."
"It wasn't," Iris said.
He looked embarrassed.
"Right."
She turned back to the target.
The third circle still glowed.
Pride rose in her chest before she could stop it.
"Iris," the fire mage said.
She looked back.
He had lowered his hands. The flames around his fingers had gone out.
"I hadn't heard you'd advanced," he said. "How did it happen?"
"Last week. Same drills as always," Iris said.
He looked at the split iron plate and the earth spikes sunk deep in the target.
"Impressive."
"It was," she said.
The mage nodded slowly, as though trying to imagine it.
"Still," he said. "Third Circle. That gets a promotion, doesn't it?"
"It does."
"Then congratulations, Goldkrieger." He gave her a short, respectful nod. "You earned it."
She let the moment sit.
Five years.
Five years of watching younger Academy students achieve in months what she had struggled toward through blood, blisters, and stubbornness. Five years of hearing she had talent, but never enough to matter. A useful earth affinity but not the kind that made people turn their heads when they heard her name.
Drez had been a Fourth Circle combat mage at nineteen.
Saskia von Winterkrone had reached Fifth Circle before most people could secure a permanent military post.
There were children in noble houses who manifested their Third Circle before they were old enough to understand what it was worth.
Iris was twenty-two years old.
She had spent nearly five years clawing her way from Second Circle to Third.
And she knew that the climb had only become steeper.
Third Circle meant the Magical Army might finally treat her as someone who could lead others.
It also meant Fourth Circle had become visible.
The next step waited ahead, higher and harder.
If Third had taken five years, then Fourth might take ten. Twenty. Maybe never.
Iris looked at the broken target.
Then she set her jaw.
"Again," she muttered.
The stones rose.
This time, only nine.
The third circle glowed around her arm as she shaped the stones into stakes. She adjusted the mana flow through the new Circle, feeling for the subtle instability that had caused the last two shots to drift.
She corrected it.
The stakes launched.
Eight struck. One missed, and Iris swore.
"Again."
The training yard gate opened.
She ignored it at first.
Workers and soldiers came through the gate constantly. Men looking for space. Women bringing messages. Recruits trying to avoid their instructors.
The footsteps crossed the packed dirt quickly.
"Iris!"
She turned.
A garrison runner stood just inside the gate, breathing hard. He wore a gray Hexenzeit uniform with the crimson flame crest stitched onto the shoulder. Mud covered his boots to the ankle. His horse waited outside the gate, flanks heaving.
"What?" Iris asked.
He looked at the earth spikes still hovering around her.
Then he remembered why he had come.
"Goldkrieger Iris," he said. "Command wants you at the north barracks. Immediately."
Iris lowered her hands.
The spikes dropped into the dirt.
"Which command?"
"Captain Voss."
The name meant something.
Voss commanded the reserve detachment assigned to House Hexenzeit's northern trade roads.
"What happened?" Iris asked.
The runner swallowed.
"There is fighting in Kaltbach."
Iris went still.
"Kaltbach?"
"Yes."
"Kaltbach is near the Wolkenmark border."
The runner's expression tightened.
"The message says a tax protest turned violent. Regular Army soldiers were attacked in the town square. There are dead on both sides." He looked down at the ground for a moment. "The garrison detachment requested immediate support. Captain Voss has orders to send a Third Circle officer with a squad."
Iris looked down at her arm.
The third ring had faded.
"I thought I was assigned to the expedition," she said. "The one heading south."
The runner shifted his weight.
"Not yet, ma'am."
"What do you mean, not yet?"
"The Academy has not approved the expedition's final deployment order." He glanced toward the eastern edge of the city, toward the distant estate grounds. "House Hexenzeit has its soldiers ready. The Ministry has its authorization. But the Academy still has to release the research personnel and sign the operational papers."
Her jaw tightened.
"So we wait."
"Yes, ma'am." The runner hesitated. "And while we wait, Kaltbach needs us."
She looked past him at his exhausted horse.
"The captain said your advancement changes the assignment," he continued. "You are the only Third Circle earth mage available in the reserve detachment. He needs you north now."
"How many soldiers?" Iris asked.
"Captain Voss said you choose the squad."
The runner blinked.
"I choose?"
"You are Third Circle now, aren't you?"
Iris looked once more at the target.
Then she left the training yard at a hard walk.
Silberwald
Three days had passed since the Academy visit.
I was in the factory's back office reviewing the recent sales spike when a boy from Augustin's network appeared in the doorway, out of breath, a folded slip of paper in his fist.
The note was short. Three lines. No signature.
I read it twice.
Then I was moving.
The chair hit the wall behind me. Workers on the production floor looked up as I crossed the space running. Asena called something from the crystal-testing station. I didn't hear it.
The carriage was outside. I gave the driver an address and told him to forget the speed limit.
Augustin's house was six blocks east of the old commercial district. The door was unlocked. Augustin stood at his writing desk.
He looked up when I came through the door.
"You received it too," he said.
"Twenty minutes ago." I pulled three sheets from inside my coat and spread them across his desk. "I need these items by this afternoon. All of them. Whatever they cost."
Augustin's eyes moved down the first sheet. His brow furrowed. He turned to the second. The third.
"This is expensive," he said.
"Yes."
"For this afternoon?"
"All of it. This afternoon."
Augustin set the third sheet down. He removed his reading spectacles and cleaned them on his sleeve. This was the gesture he made when the numbers in his head were fighting each other.
"I understand the plan," he said carefully. "But the prince may not accept."
"He will."
Augustin replaced the spectacles.
"And if he says no?"
"Then we've lost an afternoon. But if he says yes, we need to be moving before sundown." I held his gaze.
Augustin was quiet for three seconds.
Then he folded the sheets, tucked them into his coat, and reached for his hat.
He nodded once.
"I will get things ready."
The eastern wing of the Imperial Palace had a secondary entrance used by military staff, Iron Cross officers, and anyone whose business with the Crown was too urgent or too sensitive for the public gatehouse. Two soldiers stood at the iron door beneath a stone arch carved with the imperial seal.
They recognized me before I reached them.
The taller one, a sergeant with a jaw like a brick, stepped forward.
"Sir. You don't have an appointment scheduled."
"I know that."
"The prince's calendar is managed through—"
"I'm aware of the procedure, Sergeant." I stopped two paces from the door. "This is urgent. Prince Varen will want to hear what I'm bringing."
The shorter guard shifted his weight. His eyes moved from my face to the satchel under my coat and back.
"Sir, we can't admit anyone without—"
"Let me explain how this works," I said. My voice stayed level. "In approximately four hours, information is going to reach this palace through official channels. When it does, the prince is going to ask why no one brought it to him sooner. And when that question gets asked, someone is going to trace the chain backward, link by link, until it arrives at this door." I looked at the sergeant. "At which point the two of you will need to explain to your commanding officer how you turned away the prince's cousin when he was carrying time-sensitive intelligence."
The sergeant's jaw worked.
"I could also just wait," I added. "But that would waste everyone's time. Including yours."
The two guards exchanged a glance.
The shorter one's resolve cracked first. He looked at the sergeant with an expression that said this was above his pay grade.
The sergeant exhaled through his nose.
"Wait here."
He disappeared through the iron door.
Four minutes passed.
The door opened.
"Follow me," the sergeant said.
Varen's working room hadn't changed since the last time I'd seen it. Maps on the walls. Communication crystals on brass stands, each one tagged with a location designation. A desk that was too large for the room and too small for the volume of paper covering it.
The prince stood behind the desk.
He was not alone.
Captain Lorenz von Falke sat in the chair nearest the window, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his uniform jacket unbuttoned at the collar. Major Oswin Brauer occupied the chair by the door, his heavy frame making the furniture look like it had been built for a smaller species. A third man I didn't recognize stood near the map wall with a sheaf of dispatches in his hand.
Varen's nearly black eyes found me as I entered.
"Kaspar." His voice carried the warmth of a man weighing an interesting problem. "My guards tell me you have something urgent."
"I do." I crossed the room and stopped in front of the desk. "I won't waste your time. Since I also don't have much."
Varen's brow rose a fraction. He gestured toward the empty chair.
I didn't sit.
"I have contacts inside three newspaper offices in the capital," I said. "Paid sources. They pass me information before it reaches print."
Falke's head turned. Brauer's expression didn't change. The man by the map wall lowered his dispatches.
Varen said nothing.
"You may have similar arrangements," I continued. "I would be surprised if you didn't. But I received word this morning from one of those contacts that a situation is developing in the north. A town called Kaltbach, near the Wolkenmark border."
"Kaltbach." Varen's tone was flat.
"A tax protest. It has turned violent. Regular Army soldiers were attacked in the town square. The garrison detachment has requested reinforcements."
The room shifted.
Brauer uncrossed his arms. Falke sat forward. The man by the map wall began flipping through his dispatches with sudden urgency.
Varen's eyes stayed on me.
"When?" the prince asked.
"The violence began three days ago. The news is traveling south on the trade road. It will reach official channels by this afternoon. Tomorrow at the latest."
"A mutant town," Brauer said. "Kaltbach has a large mana mutant population. Frontier settlement with minimal Crown investment."
Varen's fingers rested on the edge of the desk.
"And you came here before the official report arrives," he said. "Which means you don't want to inform me." A pause. "You want something."
The corner of his mouth moved.
"Let's hear it."
"I want this as a mission," I said. "Send me north. I'll resolve Kaltbach and keep the revolt from spreading before it reaches the trade roads." I met his eyes. "Another victory for the Iron Cross. Another headline with your name attached to it."
Varen studied me.
"You're offering me a headline," he said. "And I imagine there's a price."
"I want the land and a title."