For those who aren't aware, November is National Novel-Writing Month, aka the Month of Insanity for those of us who decide to attempt it! In short, participants are challenged to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. That's about 1,667 words a day, every day, all month. I missed a day ONCE and I'm still behind (thankfully not by much, anymore). It's brutal, to say the least.

The award for finishing? A nifty graphic.

Yeah, good thing for us writers that being insane goes with the territory, right?

Anyway! Twelve days of frantic writing later, I'm actually doing pretty good - and think I've improved at it. NaNoWriMo emphasizes quantity over quality ("editing comes later"), but I've somehow gotten to the point that I like what I've written, mostly... ignoring the filler scenes I did at 2 a.m. for the sake of inflating my word count and nothing more. Tonight I did something new, too - I wrote my first real battle scene. It isn't done (it's late, I did my quota for the day, and I ran out of steam!), but I think it's good - at least for a beginner. So, here it is for your reading/critiquing pleasure! (Seriously, if you have suggestions I want to hear them. Unless the suggestion is to stop rambling. XD)

Second half now added, so hopefully it makes a little more sense!

Tentative book title: Rise From the Fire
Rating: who the hell knows, but safe for work/school
Warnings: completely unedited and incomplete rough draft







Though this fort didn’t have visibility as good as she would like, Sefira stayed in her quarters until the first ward went off; they were set far enough away so the enemy shouldn’t be able to do a thing to them until at least the second ward. Besides that, she just didn’t feel up to patrolling the parameters for hours on end; the alarms would alert them to any enemy presence long before she could.

“There you are,” Janar said when she came up the center stairwell, spyglass in hand. He knew better than to ask where she’d been; he knew. Because Sefira was the Living Legend, she knew he wouldn’t dare reprimand her even if he’d outranked her; even those that did never said a word. And why should they? I still lead us to victory, even when I only come in at the last minute. Time after time after time.

She simply nodded and looked through the lens. “I can’t see anyone yet, but I see something… a spell aura, but that’s all I can get at this distance.” That was undoubtedly the longest unprompted speech she’d made in days, at least.

“That’s still more than the rest of us got,” a man said. She knew he was one of the war mages under her, but they’d been introduced only briefly and she had no idea what his name was.

“Always is, from our general,” Janar replied.

Sefira turned to them. “In brief, we know nothing?”

“A few of us tried to send sky eyes to spy on them,” the other mage said.

She just nodded; as useful as sky eyes could be, they were all but worthless against nearly anyone who knew magic; spells to effectively blind them were plentiful and easy. Scholars theorized that countless people had spent years of time and energy ensuring they couldn’t be used against anyone that didn’t want them around. More practical people said that that conclusion was too obvious to even be called a theory. Regardless, she sent out a pair of her own; she had no hopes or even intentions of discovering anything about them directly, but instead intended to see what bits and pieces she could make out.

From the scenery, natural landmarks and magic markings, they were between the first and second alarm wards; that in itself wasn’t news, but the fact that she could see their surroundings to begin with said they weren’t being as careful as some other battalions had been. Turning to try to scout out the group itself, she found that she could see only a blur where they marched, as though she was trying to look at them through fogged-over, poor quality glass. She could make out colors, though; flashes of metal armor, the dark gray and forest green of their army’s uniforms, the browns and blacks of warhorses. It was all very vague, but as she could only be looking at so many things that helped narrow it down considerably. Years of war experience had given her fairly impressive accuracy; she couldn’t tell how many were in a company save by size, but she could pick out archers and mages from the common soldiers with the best of them.

Not that it does any good to know that they have archers or more than one mage—how often do they not?


She ended the spell after a few minutes and turned to her unit. “They’re not using very much effort on the anti-spy spell; I could see a lot more than just a shadow on the grass. I saw a few mages, but obviously not well enough to count them. Still, I think they’re not focusing much on the magic angle this time; it looked like they had more archers than usual.”

“Idiots,” another mage said. “Do they think you’re on vacation somewhere?”

“Pray that they do,” Janar said, tightening his sword belt. “Word has it this is a smaller force than we usually face; let’s show them why that’s not a good idea. When they get here, we’re to end it sooner than we ever have.”

Sefira didn’t even nod; a show of force would teach their enemy nothing. How many conflicts had they lost this year alone? The casualties only increased with every battle, with the enemy losing more than their side by far… but because they could afford to lose so much more than the country they were trying to defeat, they kept coming. If all it took to make them surrender was a demonstration of power, the war would have stopped by the time Sefira was twenty or sooner.

A chorus of bells rang in the mages’ heads, as well as that of the higher-ranked officers. Janar smiled, a little grimly; this was the first battle he’d heard them too. “Time for me to get into position. The best of luck to you all—may your aim be strong and true.”

“Good hunting,” Sefira replied. Compared to the soldiers on the ground, and even the archers on the walls, the mages had the luxury of knowing they had the safest positions of anyone in the battle.

He nodded to them all, and rushed off.

Despite her efforts to avoid it, Sefira found herself stuck waiting for nearly an hour after that; she knew well that trying to escape long stretches in which there was nothing to do but wait was impossible, but her patience for it was growing thinner and thinner. In younger years, she’d found herself wanting the battle to begin just to get it over with, but now it felt like waiting to be executed; the waiting was unbearable, but
the next event was even worse.

Finally, the other army came into view at the very edge of their range; Sefira snapped to attention and quickly glanced them over. “I see at least one shield with multiple layers, as well as metal ones. You,” she nodded to the most experienced mage of the group, “take it out with me after I break off the first part and try a few strikes against the next one. You,” she looked at the girl whose name she almost remembered, “wait
until the magic shields are gone, and then heat up the metal ones until nobody can hold them anymore. The rest of you, keep an eye out and block the other mages from getting to us. If you can, help anyone that needs it—put up shields of our own if they break around the archers, see if any of the knights need assistance that you can give, and above all make sure no one gets anywhere near the fort. Got it?”

“Understood.”

“Yes, General.”

“Understood completely.”

“I have it.”

She nodded and focused completely on the main shield the enemy army carried, concentrating on it until it filled her vision and she was sure she knew how it was made. Knowing that meant she knew how to take it down and out. It glittered slightly to her vision; she considered for some moments before she started a spell. Even if it didn’t have the full intended effect, it should tell her what she could use that would. It looked at least as tough as it was; shield spells weren’t meant to protect their bearers so much as wear out those trying to take them down. Sefira found them very tiring, but she had enough magic so that taking them out left her enough energy to last the battle.

Her first spell was actually a simple bolt, as fast and as devastating as a lightning strike. It was at its core a simple spell, one all the mages she was fighting with could do; the difference was power. It could be used in something as “light” as forcefully breaking open a container, or to bring down much bigger and stronger
things. Her first strike didn’t work as well as she liked, but the heat of it showed promise; she increased it in her next spell by holding the crackling, sparking ball of light longer and letting it grow bigger before letting it go. Magical shields didn’t usually crack, but when they weakened it showed; the color was starting to fade as its power did. A few more of those and the first layer was down, the second one already weakened a little. “Now!” Sefira ordered. There was at least two layers left and if they were going to truly finish this battle quickly, she did need help.

Working together, they wore away at the shields with noticeable speed. Sefira wasn’t flattering the other by asking his help; double-teaming against something one wanted to bring down worked more than twice as fast by not giving the object time to recover at all. In the brief seconds in which Sefira wasn’t actively casting a spell and so had some concentration to spare, she glanced down beyond the shields, where blade-to-blade combat had been going on for a while. She didn’t know as much about swords as she did sorcery, but it didn’t look as good as she would have hoped. She had no time to help them, though; the other mage’s spell struck his target with a loud crackling sound, and she had to cast her own. Barely two rounds of volleys later, the shield shivered one last time and broke into pieces that vanished before they hit the ground.

With that down, the other side’s mages were unprotected, but also free to really fight back. Sefira still bore scars from several confrontations much like this one when she hadn’t acted quickly enough to prevent strikes against her; older and wiser now, the second the shield was down she released a round of energy blades at them. As she’d hoped, one of her targets quickly tried to deflect rather than redirect them; they burst like shards of stressed, overheated glass, injuring everyone in their path. It was unlikely to kill any of them, but it would hurt and distract them at least long enough to get in a few spells that would.

Power and timing were, as always, the key; most magic spells could be blocked or dodged, and all but the fatal ones could be recovered from if the victim was given time; the trick was making sure they didn’t get that time. Spells like fireball were anticipated, but still not easily defended against with all their shields gone. Sefira followed an unpredictable and devastating pattern she’d been taught; there were a hundred combinations of spells that did considerable damage compared to individually, and Sefira had at one time known them all. She had never written what could be called spells of her own, but she had enough raw power to sometimes do things with spells that most others couldn’t.

In this case she was doing nothing special but a quick succession of spell blasts; some of the other side’s mages—if they were still standing, Sefira hadn’t really looked since the shields came down—could likely tell seconds in advance what she was about to throw at them, but mere seconds was not enough to cast anything in their defense. They all carried staffs, as was common among the other side's magic users, but while the staffs were good defense weapons in themselves—they were most likely specially made and enchanted for that purpose—they were only good for the protection of one. Even worse for them, Sefira had long ago learned how to cast spells that were at least as deadly when deflected as when they hit a target straight on. Not even thinking, just acting, she hit them all, if they were in the vulnerable front lines or not, with a barrage of rapid-fire spells. Lightning to stun them too soundly to dodge anything for at least a few minutes, ice to freeze them firmly in their tracks, and then fire to simply burn them. The fire-then-ice combination was especially destructive; frozen objects heated too fast tended to crack. Like swords, or bows and arrows, or armor. Or unprotected fingers.

Only after Sefira’s vision began to blur from the overexertion of casting so many strong spells in a matter of minutes—making sure they were given no rest meant she got none, herself—did she really look at the battlefield. Her long years of experience trying to determine what she was seeing through a partially blocked sky eyes spell or similar meant she could look at battle scenes without really seeing them, but still get a good idea what was going on. Or at least good enough. It was easier, really, to determine what was going on in a battle scene; all she needed to know was who was on what side, and how many of each were still moving. And things seemed to be going… well enough, as battles went.

She only allowed herself to “rest” (a joke, no one could get anything of the sort during battle) for likely a few minutes, but it felt like a few seconds at best. While she tried to recover enough to cast another round of spells, the other mages were taking turns being the active spell casters, as well; they had enough so nobody, including Sefira, had to try to be casting something without pause from the beginning of the battle to the end. Having enough mages wasn’t usually the issue; what they really needed was more high ranking magic users than they had. While she did that, she finally realized that she was hurt; her upper left arm had a long cut that was dripping blood. It was all running onto the floor rather than her hand, so she’d had little cause to notice it; her adrenaline was running high enough so the pain was still easily ignored. She remembered seeing at least one spell coming her way but thought she’d launched her own in time to double as a defensive spell; she was at least reasonably certain the spell that hit had been a magic arrow of some kind; some of those had nasty aftereffects. I’ll have to try to remember to mention that to a healer after this is finally over. If it even mattered; they were trained to sense those things. Soldiers came back unconscious, or in too much pain to report what had gotten them, or sometimes didn’t know what had hit them. Regardless, she rarely passed out completely after battles; she’d tell the attending healer what she could once she’d gotten through this.

If I get through this.

When she stepped forward to start the next round of offensive spells, she gave the battlefield at least a quick glance; her vision had cleared enough so that was sufficient. There were pockets, more than anything else, of soldiers still left fighting; fewer targets meant she needed to be more precise in her aim, but spell casting wasn’t like archery. Unless the masses of fighters she was aiming at were very close to the fighters she didn’t want to hit, precision was only a small concern. By that point, it was a matter of picking her targets, and then picking them off group by group.

The rest of the battle passed in a blur; a confusing, noisy, exhausting blur, but she comprehended no more than she needed to and remembered even less. When she thought, finally, that it might have ended, she looked for a long moment before reaching for her spyglass to check—had they taken their victory?

A two-note whistle sounded throughout the fort; yes, the battle was over. Sefira let out a long breath and leaned against the wall; one of the other mages, probably the newest, collapsed to her knees. The man Sefira had spoken to first sat next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder and murmuring something, probably words of omfort. Sefira found herself vaguely wondering what; she couldn’t fathom what would comfort someone unused to this. All she wanted after battles was the quiet seclusion of her own quarters.

Two healers rushed in then, and both went straight to her; she waved them off, a little irritably. She knew when she was badly hurt, and the cuts and burns she’d received this time weren’t likely to be urgent. She had no such assurances about the others, so they should be checked over first.

Nobody was taken down to the hospital wing; in some ways, a good sign, since it meant they weren’t too badly hurt. In others it wasn’t so good; one of the mages was bleeding badly enough to need a quick sealing spell to stop it, and the healer just cleaned the wound up and did it right there. It meant less blood loss for the mage, but also meant that the hospital wing was very busy and didn’t need extra patients in there.

Sefira was last to be checked over, a decision she had quickly come to regret; she knew better than to leave before she’d been looked at, but all she wanted was to be alone. Finally, though, the more senior of the healers gave her a quick scan. As predicted, she asked, “Do you know what this is from?” as she brushed fingers near the long gash on Sefira’s arm.

“Some kind of magic arrow, I think. Maybe a bolt.” Sefira looked at the blank stone wall of the fortress as she spoke.

“It doesn’t feel like it’s embedded anything…” she kept probing it with her magically careful touch. Sefira felt little more than a slight tingling. After a few more moments’ searching, the healer just sealed it to stop the bleeding; immediately healing it risked completely knocking Sefira out. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but I advise resting for a while.”

Sefira nodded and just walked out. Her quarters here were luckily on the top floor; she wasn’t nearly as bad off as she had been sometimes in the past, but she didn’t like the idea of trying to navigate stairs. An all-consuming ache had taken hold of her once the adrenaline had faded, and nothing sounded so good as her bed right then.

Once at her door, she fumbled with her key so badly she nearly dropped it, several times. I didn’t think I was this tired or hurt. She looped the key’s ribbon around her wrist just to be safe—she loathed the idea of having to bend over to pick up something so small—and managed, finally, to unlock her door. The lock also opened with magic, but she was too tired to even consider trying it.

She had no intention of getting completely undressed, but she at least tried to take off her boots. The buckles just would not come undone, and at last she gave up; it was too warm to get under the sheets anyway, and she could get someone to clean the outer blanket later. She lay down and closed her eyes; she was hurting badly enough so sleep wouldn’t come for a while, but just lying down like this felt good enough so she could live with it. Exhaustion would eventually win out over pain, and then she would sleep.



It was the middle of the night before Sefira woke up again; she’d have liked to just sleep until morning or longer, but she was so hungry by then that she had no hope of drifting off again until she’d eaten something. She dragged herself out of bed and first just checked the hallway hopefully; nothing had been left by her door. It would have been nice, but it made sense; no use putting out hot food for a person who was unlikely to get it before it turned stone cold.

She’d recovered enough so that she could walk down the stairs without worry; she held onto the railing to steady herself a little, but she made it without stumbling much at all. The mess hall sounded fairly busy despite the hour; she wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t be able to wait until breakfast to get some nourishment.

Some highly practical mess hall worker had set trays of food out on a table near the kitchen door; each had a bowl of soup and chunk of bread. There were different kinds of both, but Sefira honestly didn’t care; she took a tray, sat down, and ate as quickly as her body would let her. She didn’t want to make herself sick, so it was maybe even a good thing that her movements were stiff enough that she couldn’t just gulp her food down and bolt.

She was just finishing when someone called out, “General Dovan!”

Sefira looked up to see a man she was certain she knew; after a moment, she nodded to him and said, “Lieutenant Tamas.”

“Has anyone given you a report on the battle yet?” He had something of a heaviness to him, but this little time after a battle, it wasn’t unusual.

“No. I’ll get one in the morning.” She didn’t want to hear anything of the sort just yet; even she needed time to recover, and then she could deal with the aftermath.

“I understand. Good night, then.”

Sefira nodded, standing and picking up her tray. “You as well.” She took a step, then paused and looked at him. “How’s Janar?” He was always courteous enough to ask after her; she could do the same once, even if it wasn’t directly to him.

He hesitated—never a good sign. “So you didn’t hear… he was killed during the battle. Wasn’t even found until after. Sword to the chest, so it was quick enough.”

Sefira stood very still for a moment; she expected to feel sorrow, at least, because she had known him. Instead, she felt nothing. Finally, she nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll… see you in the morning.” She left before he could answer.