Act I: "The Outriders of Veil'driel"

     

      The frozen night sky was on fire, blazing with the horrifying beauty of magical warfare, and splashing the countryside in flashes of every color. It was a contradiction to which the Republic of Veil’driel Vanguard had grown accustomed, and under that storm of extraordinary chaos, their camp on the plains carried on routinely, becoming a contradiction in itself.

      From his vantage point high atop a ridge overlooking the plains, General Simian Creed gritted his teeth. His entire brigade, six legions, reduced to a sea of sparkling idleness as the kaleidoscopic nightmare reflected in their silver armor. Even now, some stared like fascinated children. To the west, the aura of the distant Fairlawn Cityscape still pulsed defiantly against the attacks. Though the general could not see the devastation those comets inflicted, he could imagine it well, every time one vanished on its course, arcing over the trees, out of sight.

      All he could do was shift in his saddle and watch, the impotent commander of thousands.

      “Curse them,” the general blurted, apparently echoing the feeling of his comrades, for they nodded and mumbled agreement under their breath. Senator Tillian Bren and Constable Fenlow Thean were motionless on his flanks. Tillian was the first to speak.

      “They’re so close,” he said, rolling his head to follow the path of a fizzling lavender comet.

      Creed offered a sidelong glance to the senator.

      “Not close enough,” he said, turning back to the plain in disgust. “Never close enough.”

      Tillian could only nod, the grimness on his aged and tired face unchanged by the general’s words. It was hard to believe that, only a month before, he could barely contain his enthusiasm for this mission. To be named liaison to the senate and news correspondent to all Veil’driel was a privilege he could not put into words; to accompany the legions sent to intercept the mysterious invasion was an honor. Morale had peaked when such mighty force was brought to bear in time to repel the enemy.

      But the enemy never came.

The first of the attacks began less than a week after General Creed’s forces set camp on the plains outside Fairlawn, and a day after the first scout failed to return. Three more had disappeared into the Fairlawn Woods within two weeks, and as the hellish bombardment continued, the politician’s confidence was wiling into despair. All the men in the world were useless against an unreachable enemy, and here on the doorstep of one of the Republic’s great cities, the senator found himself seriously contemplating the fall of Veil’driel. There was a time he would have scoffed at the idea

      But he knew, as they all did, that the destruction of Fairlawn would be the beginning of the end.

      “We should march on them, general,” he said.

      “We’ve been over this, senator,” Creed said. “I will not march blindly on an enemy I know nothing about.”

      The senator tilted his head slightly, blowing a warm breath into his fist.

      “Well if I may,” he said. “How can you explain this as a more appropriate tactic? You say you refuse to march on an enemy you cannot see, but no scout has returned, and your plan, sir, appears to have us sitting here night after night until these attacks demolish everything worth defending!”

      Tillian realized he had gone too far, even as the words left his mouth. He could feel Creed’s gaze burning into him, and suddenly felt small and ashamed. “Forgive me, general,” he said, hanging his head. “Frustration chooses my words, not sound judgment.”

      The scowl of the general had been imagined. His eyes never left the glowing ring of braziers that encircled his camp below. “Unfortunately, I find it to be both, my good senator,” General Creed began. “And if it is any consolation, I no longer deem waiting an option.”

      There was something different in the commander’s tone as he spoke, and it brought the senator’s attention back from the ground with intrigue on his face. “That strategy,” Creed went on with scornful emphasis, “has failed us for the final time.”

      It was the first time the word “failure” had been used, and now the safety net of denial was cast aside. Something was about to change, and Tillian felt that early excitement unexpectedly brewing. The general looked over then to the third man in their trio; his trusted confidant, and commander of all mounted forces, Constable Fenlow Thean.

      “Send for the outriders,” he said.

      Tillian’s shoulders sagged immediately. It was not the brilliance he hoped for.

      The general breathed deeply, and glanced upward into the burning sky. His hands were white-knuckled on the reins. But the senator looked utterly lost.

      “More scouts,” he said.

      The words were not formed as a question.

      Constable Thean’s eyes were narrowed on the camp below, and he seemed irritated by a sudden shift in one of the legions, as if he had noticed something the other two had not. When he finally spoke, he did so serenely, as if he were staring out at a beautiful sunset.

      “Not scouts,” he corrected distantly. “Outriders.”

      Tillian massaged the bridge of his nose, and a look of bafflement crossed his features. It was as if the whole world had gone insane. Noticing the senator’s reaction, General Creed offered a subtle smirk. “An elite order of scouts,” he said. “But trailblazers is probably more accurate. Their skill on horseback is unparalleled. Outrider point teams of old were behind some of our greatest discoveries.”

      The senator looked up at this, raising his eyebrows. “Forgive me, general,” he said. “But why then have we waited this long to dispatch them?”

      The general now appeared to take notice of the shift in the Third Cavalry Legion, and he squinted at what looked to be a lane emerging within it. “Because they’re also the commanders of my cavalry,” he said, his attention never wavering from what he sought in the sky.

      The senator was beginning to grow impatient; the feeling of being ignored was an unwelcome novelty to him, just as unusual and, he had to admit, disturbing as the sense that there was something deeper here he did not understand. He looked to Thean, hoping for answers.

      “And it is not without risk,” the constable added.

      Thean’s relationship with the general went further back than the senator knew. There was a dynamic there, as well, he could not understand, but he found himself appreciating it. “Send for them,” the general repeated. “But summon only two of the four. I will not risk the orderliness of my cavalry.”

      Thean nodded, staring at the lane again as the general tugged the reins to back his horse slowly from the ridge's edge. “I leave which two to your discretion, constable, and await them in my tent." Without another word, the general galloped away to the small cluster of command tents a few hundred yards behind. Thean had departed as well.

      As quick as that, the senator was left alone, watching the constable vanish into the ranks below.

***

      Relican Avery was leaning against one of the massive braziers that lined the perimeter of the camp, staring at the woods less than a mile away, and sipping a steaming cup of beef broth as he contemplated the attacks. Remotely, he wondered what caused the varying colors, if they meant anything at all. Perhaps they were meant to mesmerize the enemy as they had done before he'd grown so numb to them. Maybe they were signatures of the beings who created them.

      For just a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of movement off in the sylvan shadows, and narrowed his eyes, staring a while before dismissing it as nothing. He did not enjoy the hostile aura those trees seemed to cast on the camp, especially when the land belonged to the Republic not more than a month past. Rumors ran rampant about tales of unknown deviltry dwelling in those woods, and though the young captain was quick to put an end to such talk, some part of him admitted he sometimes hid behind his duty to vanquish his own fear.

      The mounting human toll, all scouts who failed to return, only made things worse. Though he would never admit it, his dreams were haunted by the memory of a riderless white horse screaming across the plains from the direction of the silent wood; saddle shaken off, mouth foaming, eyes swiveling wildly from some unknown terror.

      It had been an entire month since the force mobilized. Still they waited.

      A gust sent a shiver through him, and his heavy gray cloak did little to dull the chill. Exhaling deeply, he turned around to face his legion, and his solemn expression vanished. “Enjoying the light show, ladies?” Relic asked the men behind him. He had known their eyes were on him; somehow he always felt it, and he started back to the loose ranks a few dozen paces away.

      A few light smiles flashed his way, intermingled with soft chuckles. He could appreciate their nervousness. They did not expect combat, but they would have welcomed it. Not knowing what was out there was far worse, and idleness was lethal. Waiting was the hardest part of war, and in the frigid winter air, the waiting was all there was.

      Relic wondered if the enemy knew the brilliant effect their tactics were having. Did they know the victories they tallied night after night without ever meeting on the battlefield? And how many peoples had they conquered this way? It was a disturbing thought, and one he dismissed as he saw it reflected in the eyes looking back at him.

      “Did you see something, captain?” one of the men asked. A tall soldier holding his sword unsheathed. There was something sad about the sight, and Relic approached him.

      “No,” he said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder as he handed him the cup of steaming broth. He continued to smile as he walked down the line, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “Unfortunately, no.”

      None of his men were in the saddle; their mounts were kept in makeshift stables where they were tended constantly by squires. The damnable routine had been learned well over the month, and though Relic drilled them frequently during the day, there was no substitute for battle. This was no frontier, and no one could desert, but the desperation grew with every passing day.

      “Cowards,” one of his men said as he passed. “The lot of them, sir.”

      Relic nodded, his attention seized as a huge blast arced overhead, the greenish sphere crackling with a long tail like a falling star as it vanished into the distance. Soon, it was only a faint smear of energy, like a bruise on the night, and then it was gone, landing somewhere in the city they were intended to protect. The captain winced, imagining the damage it had done.

      Glancing around, he sought out anyone who might have noticed, but his men were transfixed as well, the sheer size of the assault drawing every eye on the plains to the arcane fireball until it was gone. He was thankful no one had seen his reaction, but the sense of awe he could feel almost palpably from his own troops was almost as unnerving.

      Clearing his throat, he bellowed over the last, lingering hiss of the strike.

      “We’ll have our chance at ’em, boys, you can count on it,” he said, and then swung into the saddle of his horse. “That you be ready is all I ask! Remember the hate of nights like these! Make that into your strength!” Relic wheeled toward the woods as if he were on the verge of leading a charge. He threw back the sides of his cloak to reveal his crossbows dangling from a belt at each hip.

      Caught up in the moment, Relic put too much pressure on the reins, and the horse responded, rearing back on two legs, and catching him off guard. A lesser rider would have lost balance, but Relic’s quick reflexes saved him. The men behind him cheered loudly, screaming into the night in defiance of their terror. It struck him all at once that they thought he had planned it this way.

      The horse settled, and Relic could feel his men's gazes burning into his back as he continued staring into the wood line. He felt the first trickle of embarrassment as the theatrics subsided and nothing more followed. He considered issuing some order that may divert their attention, but that ran the risk of only intensifying the problem. Luckily, a loud call rang out behind him.

      “Constable Thean approaches!” one of his sergeants shouted. “Column to attention!”

      Relic smiled as he heard the disciplined shift of his men, and was so pleased that he didn’t consider the implications of his mentor’s arrival. It couldn’t have been just another message if Constable Thean was there.

      Relic turned to the side in his saddle, and with a light tug of the reins, urged his horse to follow until he was facing the constable’s approach. The man was advancing in years, as his graying hair attested, but his body was solid as rock, and he rode as gracefully as an eagle gliding through the air.

      Relic saluted the man as he came to a skidded stop beside him. “Constable,” he said.

      The burly man returned the gesture vacantly as he surveyed the area, but said nothing. Even when he finally spoke, he seemed intent on the surroundings, as if expecting to see something more. “Where is your counterpart, captain?” he finally asked in his gravelly voice.

      Thean had known Relican Avery and the other captain he sought since both of them were boys, but he always treated them the same as any other officers. It was a reality Relic had grown accustomed to, and after the long years of being the constable’s pupil, he had learned to accept his treatment as an equal – or at least anything better than a servant – as gratification enough.

      “He wasn’t at the head of his legion, sir?” Relic asked.

      The constable exhaled deeply, abandoned his searching, and looked Relic in the eyes.

      “He was not.”

      For the second time in as many minutes, Relic was thankful for a sudden distraction that resolved the tension. An eruption of cheers rose from one of the adjacent legions, drawing the attention of both men. The constable never looked back to his outrider.

      “Come with me,” he said, and broke off toward the ruckus. Relic couldn’t help but smirk as he thought about what they would find at the source of those cheers, and when he looked down to his men, found that many of them were sharing the sentiment.

      “At ease, boys,” he said with a sigh, and then cracked the reins.

     

***

      Captain Jace Dabriel stood in the stirrups of his saddle, staring down the wide avenue formed by his men before him. It stretched nearly two hundred yards, and his men cheered wildly as he threw back the sides of his cloak, revealing his crossbows as he withdrew a small flint box lighter in the same fluid motion.

      Dabriel's garb would have been identical to Relic's if not for the addition of a narrow tri-corn cap that shared the grayish hue of his cloak and eyes. He struck the flint and tilted his head as he ignited the thin cigarette between his lips, and then the contraption was gone. Stealthily, he surveyed the flanks of the passage in front of him, as the dim orange glow of hot ash splashed over his features. Men were loading their longbows on both sides, and when the task was complete, Jace spread his arms wide, inciting their cheers to a startling new degree.

      At the edge of his vision, Jace noticed crowds flocking towards the scene, and it pleased him to see that word had spread well beyond his own legion. All about the young outrider, legionnaires were staring into the grassy lane, pushing and jostling for a better vantage, some even scaling the high catapults and other war machines.

      The spectators knew better than to address the archers, for this was an event that did not happen often, and one could make their name in an instant with skill. Those who had the good fortune to stand on that line and ready their weapons waited patiently for Jace to make his break, while from all around the noisy throng, bets were shouted by trusted collectors.

      Taking a few more moments to savor the anticipation, Jace sat once more in his saddle, and someone whistled to silence the crowd. There were no more bets called, no laughter. There was only the weight of excited tension. For that moment, the infuriation of being powerless against the enemy was overshadowed by the upstart captain who gathered up the reins – cigarette still smoldering between his fingers – and leaned forward in the stirrups with confident nonchalance.

      It was eerily quiet as all observers held their breath, and Jace narrowed his eyes straight ahead. An uncanny fervor flashed through his ashen eyes, and the transition from showman to outrider was complete. Without breaking his line of vision, Jace patted the mane of his horse, took one last centering breath, and was ready. Then, without warning, he clacked his heels into his steed's flanks, and they together thundered ahead into motion.

      Pandemonium exploded as the onlookers gazed after him, hooting and hollering, watching the breath of rider and horse spurt furiously like steam from a forge. The mighty beast’s hooves pounded into the earth like hammers, and the outrider bent low in his saddle, his cloak swirling behind him like a banner amidst the windstorm in his wake.

      The first arrows missed him outright, his blinding speed enough to evade such hasty attacks. A single shaft whistled toward him, aimed and timed to intercept his course, and like a cat jumping up from water, Jace shifted his weight to his forearms and leaned forward against the saddle horn. Releasing the reins, he pushed himself upward so the arrow passed harmlessly below. At the speed Jace was moving, it could have been suicidal; as gravity caught him, he barely snagged the rear edge of the saddle, hurling himself squarely back into it.

      Above the oohs and ahhs the strident curses of the archer who had missed carried all the way to Jace, who smirked when he heard them, but there was no time to savor the victory before a flurry of several well-aimed shots launched him into a series of dizzying twists and turns, then finally a complete 360-degree spin that left the crowd in an awestruck frenzy.

      By the time Jace blasted into the final stretch, even those who bet against him were cheering.

      "Hold 'er steady now, lad!" a large man bellowed as the blur that was Captain Dabriel roared past. He was holding an enormous battleaxe high above his head, and by the look of his thick, bushy beard, he was a member of the infantry.

      Jace was less than fifty yards from the end when the last, desperate salvo was unleashed, and he distributed his weight forward, this time to kick his legs skyward so that his body was completely vertical, and the arrows spun straight through a vacant saddle.

      As spectacular as it was, when he fell back into his seat it was just dumb luck that the shaft of another grazed his back, mere inches from the mark. Knowing the end was too far away to ride it out, Jace shifted his balance once more. He was about to slide sideways so he could ride the horse's flank

      But the outrider was an instant too slow, and he gritted his teeth as he felt the impact of a masterful shot drill him directly under his collarbone. The force sent all of the breath from his lungs, and worse, struck him after he had already begun to move. Balance disrupted, he tumbled from the saddle and rolled violently as he hit the ground.

      It was over in seconds.

      His officers made a mad dash towards him as he lay still staring up at the sky, his ears ringing and his mind filled with abrupt and agonizing pain. But when his men looked down on him, they saw something almost as impressive as his acrobatics. He was smiling.

      Nervous chatter passed throughout the crowd as they looked on, all eyes searching the small gathering of officers encircling the waylaid outrider for any sign of his condition. "No one could have survived that!" a soldier remarked loudly. His face paled with worry as he bobbed side to side, trying to look around those in front of him to catch a glimpse of the rider.

      The man standing beside him did not look so concerned, and he shifted the breastplate of his silver armor so that it rested in a more comfortable position as he spoke. "Don't you be worryin' yourself over the captain," he said in his strong north province accent, sounding as if he spoke from experience. "An outrider he is, and they be readyin' themselves for spills just as rightly as they move to avoid ’em."

      Two of Jace's men reached down to him, and he clasped both offered wrists as they pulled him up, responding to their claps on his back and shoulders with a smile as he regained his bearings. The crowd roared at the sight of him standing, and Jace acknowledged them with a wave, taking a deep breath as he noticed the shaft that had struck him lying on the ground not four paces away.

      Leaving the men behind, he walked toward it.

      The outrider’s right hand unconsciously drifted up across his chest to press where the bolt had struck him as he bent to pick it up, and then he started over towards the lane from which it came. He never had to speak, for those he approached stood aside to reveal the man who had let the arrow fly.  He wore the deep green of the Veil'driel archers, crossed with a dark blue sash to indicate his legion, and Jace was amazed that he seemed still a teen. There was a glimmer of something like fear in his eyes as the captain came up to him, and he held his longbow beside him, clenched tightly.

      "What's your name, kid?" Jace asked quietly, leaving even those closest straining to hear his words, and the onlookers across the lane grumbling in disappointment.

      "Bowman First Class Hawkins, sir," he said, snapping to attention. His mouth was painfully dry, causing his tongue to feel heavy as the veterans around him smiled with empathetic amusement.

      Jace was still panting, swallowing hard before continuing, and wiping some of the sweat from his brow with the rough sleeve of his cloak. "What's your first name, Bowman First Class Hawkins?" he asked.

      "Malcolm, captain," he said, thankful that his voice hadn't cracked.

      Jace held up the arrow that had struck him, tapping the specially padded arrowhead against his chest. "And are you responsible for this?"

      The archer tilted his chin upward just slightly, risking a subtle glance downward at the arrow Jace held. With as much sternness as he could muster, he answered. "Yes, sir." For a drawn out moment, Jace said nothing, only stared into the boy's face with expressionless scrutiny. When he noticed the kid’s grip on his bow had turned white-knuckled, he smiled widely and clapped him hard on the shoulder.

      "Sergeant Caulurn!" he yelled loudly, not having to turn to know he was there.

      An enormous mountain of a man came up to Jace's side. His head was shaven clean, and a long ragged scar stretched down from his temple toward the corner of his mouth. He was impossible to miss, and Jace had been glad to see him.

      "Yes, captain," he boomed.

      "Is this your troop?"

      "He is, sir."

      Jace nodded, still staring into Malcolm's face.

      "See to it that he gets as many extra rations of food and wine as he can hold tonight," then he took a step back and talked loudly for all to hear, motioning to the blazing sky with the arrow that had struck him down. "Just as soon as tonight's FIREWORKS display has come to an end!"

      Cheers rose to the sky, and Jace’s public spectacle appeared to be wrapping up. When he turned back to the bowman, it was in a manner of punctuation. "To Malcolm Hawkins!" he yelled, holding up the arrow. "Best bowman in the legions!"

      From every direction, the rhythmic chanting of “Malcolm!” came back to them, and Jace turned back to the kid. "Your trophy," he said with a wink, and he clasped the boy’s wrist as he handed it over. "That was a hell of a shot."

      The ongoing chorus of voices chanting his name sent chills down Malcolm's spine, and he could not contain the flustered chuckle that escaped his throat. Already, friends and supervisors were ruffling his hair and jostling him around in congratulations. "Thank you, sir," he managed to say, and their grip released.

      Jace nodded a final time before turning away, and Malcolm disappeared behind him into the crowd that seemed to swallow him up. As he made his way back to the open lane that still held, Sergeant Caulurn matched his stride.

      "You've certainly made that one popular," he said.

      The gigantic man was reputed to be a cold-blooded warrior who never smiled, and he had been Jace’s instructor in the art of short-swordsmanship before his own skill was surpassed. He should have recognized the mischievous gleam in the outrider’s eye, but missed it, and was caught completely off guard when he jumped slightly from his feet and grabbed him in a headlock

      Jace laughed as the exhilaration from the ride began to manifest itself, and the sudden release of tension overwhelmed him. There was something fascinating about the sight of the man, who could have effortlessly torn Jace apart, allowing himself to be pulled forward a few paces, to the amusement of all who watched.

      As they reached the open lane, Caulurn hoisted his captain up into the air like a rag doll, wowing the crowd even further before lowering him to the ground. When the giant released his grip, they briefly embraced, laughing hysterically amidst a crowd that shared their mirth. Jace said something to the man that could not be heard, and with a nod, the sergeant walked off, still smiling and easily spotted even as he became immersed in the press of bodies.

      "Alright," Jace said to the team of officers who were waiting for him, and he looked down to adjust something near his wrist. "You know what to do."

      The men who had helped him up, nodded, and exchanged a few words before returning to their posts within the legion and reestablishing organization. Quick hand gestures and whistles followed, and the legions moved into place with mechanical efficiency. The lane collapsed as his men assumed battle square formations, and those who were not his left, already reminiscing about the show they had seen. It was a routine they had been through countless times, and Jace would never have orchestrated such a display had he the slightest doubt whether his ranks could be instantly restored.

      One of his officers lingered to hand him his cap, and Jace was smiling at something he said when another rider rode up beside him. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. He could tell by the scent he was addicted to.

      "Lose something, captain?"

      Jace walked up to his horse, petting the nose, and it snorted, nuzzling him almost apologetically.

      "I did, captain," he said. "And I appreciate it."

      “Someone got you this time, I see.”

      Her tone remained stern, and though Jace nearly smirked, he was determined not to break first, and merely shrugged. “Can’t win ’em all, Iz,” he said, still pretending to be more interested in his horse than the outrider who had brought it back.

      Isabelle Talabray gave a little sigh of frustration and kicked at him from her saddle. “You’re gonna get hurt, you big idiot,” she said emphatically; but the first inklings of a smile betrayed her. Jace was smiling widely, his dark hair pasted to his forehead, still damp with sweat. He looked up to where she towered over him in her saddle, and the streaking colors of the enemy attack glimmered over her shoulder.

      “What do you mean gonna?” His hand drifted up to his shoulder with an exaggerated wince.

      Isabelle opened her mouth to say something, her words lost in a loud call from behind them.

      “Clear a path!” someone was yelling. “Clear a path for the constable!”

      At that moment, Jace bowed his head, and there was no need to exaggerate the sigh that followed – like a student who had been caught being mischievous and now awaited the reprimand. He could feel the thunder of a pair of horses, and watched as Isabelle saluted the figure behind him.

      “Good evening, constable,” she said with a crisp salute.

      The constable did not return it.

      “Yes, Captain Talabray, it would be,” he grumbled. “Had I an affinity for your dereliction of duty. Return to your post immediately.”

      “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I was only trying to return Captain Dab-“

      The constable had already diverted his gaze down to Jace, who still had his back turned, and was forced to snap his stare back to Isabelle when she spoke. “Immediately!” he repeated.

      “Sir,” she acknowledged, then whirled her mare around and darted back to her legion.

      Jace took a moment to steady himself. He could handle Thean’s criticism, he had to, but he could not tolerate it directed at Isabelle. Still, somehow, Jace maintained the wits to realize the rumors of his involvement with her were as rampant as they were undeniable, and he was certain Thean would pounce at the slightest confirmation. It was strictly forbidden, the edict as ancient as the order, coming from the time of the heroic point teams from whom they were descended.

      Jace cleared his expression, and his mind, as he turned to face Thean.

      “She was returning my horse,” he said without salute, staring up at the man without fear.

      “A task made necessary by one of your famous stunt rides, no doubt,” Thean said. “What do your men call it?”

      “Riding the gauntlet,” Jace answered plainly, his gaze darting down from Thean to eye level after he spoke. He was pleased to see that the wide lane had closed.

      “I did not spend years of my life imparting those techniques so that you could use them to impress your men. This is a battlefield, not a carnival, is that clear?”

      For just a moment, Jace considered answering. Maybe tonight he would finally say what many of his men felt: that he was born with his talent and never needed tutoring, but knew that he had pushed the old constable far enough. “As crystal,” he said instead, much to the relief of Relican Avery, who was watching from behind.

      Thean turned to ride away even as he spoke his final words.

      “General Creed requests your presence,” he said, and seemed to vanish on the air as he rode.

      Relican watched Jace swing himself up into his saddle and waited.

      “The general, huh?” he asked, examining the grass stain on his elbow as he rode beside Relic.

      “Yep.”

      Jace shrugged, placed his cap back on his head and snapped the reins, Relic beside him, and the men parted before them both. Not fifty yards outside the perimeter of braziers, a ramp of shale led up to a wide crest of gently sloping hills beyond which several command tents overlooked the battlements below. From this viewpoint, the force's sheer grandeur could be appreciated, and the glowing orange ring that marked out their land pulsed in the frigid night breeze.

      Constable Thean rode first, with the outriders on his flanks just slightly behind so that they formed something like a triangle as they approached General Creed’s tent. As they drew closer, the view of the camp disappeared behind the drop, leaving the young outriders focused on their summons.

     

***

      A few sparse lanterns supplied the only light in the command tent, their dim flicker casting long, contorted shadows over the small assembly within. Senator Bren sat quietly off to the side, engaged in quiet conversation with his personal scribe, who he had called to record the meeting. He was fascinated by what little he had managed to glean about the outriders as they he awaited their arrival. He had always been quick to spot a chance for good publicity, and he needed something to stir the people's courage once again

      If these outriders truly manage to succeed ... But no. It was no time for such childish thoughts.

      A wide map was spread over the surface of a large wooden table in the center of the tent, held down by several led weights. The general hunched over it, rubbing the bristles on his chin as he poured over one area where the marked squares and triangles that indicated his troops gave way to a blank expanse of grassland. The sudden commotion of grunting horses, followed by the rustle of footsteps heralded the trio he expected, and he was already looking up as the tent flaps were thrown back.

      “Outrider Relican Avery, sir, Captain of the First Calvary Legion,” he said with salute, and Jace was standing beside him, now holding his hat in his hand.

      “Outrider Jace Dabriel, general, Captain of the Third.”

      The general returned their salutes, nodding as he straightened behind the table.

      “Your reputations precede you both,” he said. “Please. Stand at ease.”

      The outriders spread their stance just slightly, crossing their hands behind their backs.

      “I will not waste time, gentlemen, for we do not have it. I’m afraid we’ve reached a crisis.”

      The general shifted his weight just slightly, crossing his arms to the sound of shifting metal that indicated heavy armor under his cloak. “What I am about to tell you is of the utmost secrecy, and it is not to leave this tent. Is that in any way unclear?”

      His gaze rested squarely on the two young officers before him, and they answered the question quickly, with a simultaneous: “No, sir.”

      The general nodded. “Good,” he said, and motioned to the map, drawing the outriders’ attention to his hand as if a string were attached to their eyes. He was pointing to a wide-open area sandwiched between the Fairlawn Woods to the east and the city of the same name to the west.

      “As you well know,” he said. “We are here.”

      The general stopped for a moment, though only Relic looked up. Jace was focused on the map, watching as the general slid his hand off to the east, and tapped his finger on the other side of the Fairlawn Woods. It was another broad plain.

      “I need to know what is here,” he said.

      Relic hesitated a moment, not quite understanding. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Jace voiced his concern for him. “I’m not quite sure I understand, sir,” he said, in deep focus as he studied the map. “It’s clearly shown here as a-”

      “Yes, it is a plain,” the general finished. Relic realized he had over thought the situation. “I’m not interested in the geography. I need to know what causes these attacks,” he said, and glanced upward to the roof of the tent as it rippled like a canvas ocean against the whipping wind outside.

      Jace did look up at this; on the verge of commenting further, then hesitated. The general made the decision for him, having noticed his conflict. “Speak plainly, captain,” he said.

      Constable Thean leaned forward, placing his hands on the table as he watched. It was a subtle warning that Relic caught immediately, and much to his surprise, Jace nodded slightly in the constable’s direction. The general appeared oblivious to the exchange, his expression unchanged as he waited for Jace to go on.

      “Yes sir,” he began. “I won't presume to understand the intricacies of the campaign as you do.”

      Some of the tension seemed to ease from the constable’s shoulders.

      “But have you considered giving the order to march?” Jace’s eyes drifted briefly to the woods on the map, the thin sliver of trees that ran down from the main concentration up north. “The woods separating our plain from theirs are no more than ten miles thick.”

      The senator smiled at this from his corner, and the general frowned.

      “To engage a phantom enemy on such grounds is to invite disaster, Captain Dabriel. These attacks are meant to instill rage, frustration, and impatience.” The general paused a moment as all around him watched. Even the senator’s scribe seemed on the edge of his seat, waiting eagerly to move his quill with the next spoken words.

      Finally, Creed went on, and the feather was moving furiously once again.

      “No, gentlemen. I fear these attacks are just an elaborate form of bait.”

      As Relic stood soaking this in, it was Jace who voiced his thoughts.

      “Bait though they may be, sir, we could turn that around on them.”

      Creed saw something of himself behind those gray eyes.

      “How so?” he asked, more as a teacher presenting a question he already knew the answer to.

      But Jace was only too happy to go on. “How many legions do we have backing us here? We may be the Vanguard, but we’re not alone. Even if we pursue the source of these attacks and are caught out of position, the enemy forces would not dare march on the city.”

      Senator Bren was enjoying Jace's swagger, but the general knew where potential gave way to the audacity of youth. They had no way of knowing the size of the enemy host or how their forces were arrayed. Even if they were facing a disorganized foe – which went against the general's every instinct – to move out of position would risk far more destruction and death.

      “You’re right, captain,” Creed said at last, and Jace perked up at this. “You do not understand the intricacies of this campaign.” The proud expression left Jace’s face and he nodded slightly, looking back down to the map.

      Relic was studying the dotted lines sketched with different names. He recognized scout paths.

      “If I may, sir, why send any of the scouts north?” He noticed the last two scouts had gone in that direction instead of directly east as the first two did. General Creed exchanged a meaningful glance with Thean before he answered.

      “Because none have returned.”

      “Not even the two who went north?” Jace asked.

      The general shook his head.

      “That is why we have called on you.”

      Jace was running his hand back and forth over his chin as he considered, in a strange mirror of the general's posture only moments before he arrived. This was news to both outriders. They were aware that their scouts had failed to return, but that two had taken such a roundabout approach and still gone missing was bizarre.

      “Have you considered sending Lieutenant Calloway, sir?” Jace asked. “He hasn’t yet made outrider, but he’s more than an accomplished scout, and he was raised in Shady Brook, not thirty miles from here.”

      The general nodded solemnly. “You missed one of the names, son,” he said. “Calloway was number one. Disappeared more than three weeks ago.”

      The vision of the riderless horse sprung into Relic’s mind, but it was not fear that saturated the image: it was anger. As he exchanged a glance with his partner, he saw the same expression, and then both looked back to the general. Jace was silent as he reviewed the scouts on the map. He recognized them all, and he knew Relic did as well.

      “What are our orders, general?” he asked.

      “Same as the scouts before you,” the gruff commander growled. “To get through those trees and bring me information. I cannot formulate a proper strategy without eyes penetrating those woods.” He looked to Jace. “Then, perhaps, we could follow those thoughts of marching to their conclusion.”

      He looked to Jace, but the expression on the young outrider’s face was like stone.

      “I leave the method of your approach to you,” the general said. “Ready yourselves and set out.”

Relic and Jace snapped to attention and rendered a pair of lively salutes.

      Giving a final salute in answer, the general went on. “Remember that you carry with you the reputation of your order, both past and future, which will be decided by your actions. Dismissed.” Both of the outriders were gone in an ambitious flash.

      “They are brave,” Tillian Bren said to the constable, looking down over the shoulder of his scribe as he finished writing the word “dismissed.” The senator put a hand on the boy’s forearm to indicate he stop recording and fumbled a pair of bifocals onto his face as he reviewed. “Are they really so different than scouts?”

      Thean never looked away from the open tent flaps, offering his disinterested reply as if he were reciting the words from a textbook. “You cannot compare the two,” he said. The senator swiped the bifocals from his face, frustrated once more by Thean’s recalcitrance. “I still don’t understand,” he said, and seemed genuinely surprised when the constable responded.

      “After tonight,” he said, turning to face the senator. “You will.”

     

***

      Relic finished his preparations first, assembling his gear and fastening his cloak around him in concealment of all that lay beneath. He and Jace decided on the entry point before they parted. It would be the section of woods directly before Relic’s legion, the very stretch he had found himself staring into earlier. We'll finally see what the real menace is behind those trees.

      It was as good a plan as any.

      They had no information on what they may face, only the knowledge that none had returned.

      “That can't be helped,” Relic told himself quietly, and his expression grew hard.

      The decision had left Relic with nothing to do but wait, and he filled the time by appointing a commander in his absence, though he knew there would be no action until he returned. That depends on us, he thought. Me and Jace.

      Just as the name fluttered through Relic’s mind, he heard him approaching. Isabelle Talabray rode at his side, along with Cedwyn Knight, and when the three reached him, the entire squad was together. Relic was especially surprised to see Isabelle, never one to rebel and already reprimanded once for leaving her post.

      “Hey Isabelle,” he said cheerfully, after a deft leap into his saddle.

      “This isn’t right, Relic,” she said.

      “So I guess you’ve heard then,” he said, snapping an accusing glance to Jace as he did.

      “Hey, don’t look at me,” he said. “They were waiting at my tent when I got there.”

      Relic looked back to Isabelle.

      “It doesn’t take long to hear when outriders are summoned,” she said. “Jace just filled us in.”

      Cedwyn spoke next, more composed, but just as annoyed.

      “Is it true, Relic?” he asked. “They’re sending you two out?”

      “Yeah, it’s true,” Relic said, looking unsure just what he was defending against.

      “They should be sending the whole team, Relic, and you know it,” she said.

      “She’s right, man,” Cedwyn chimed in. “We should be going with you.”

      “Look,” Relic began, spreading his arms. “I agree with you guys, and if I were a general, you would all be going, but what do you want me to say?”

      “If you were a general, I’d go AWOL, Avery,” Jace said with a smirk.

      “But why?” Isabelle asked, knowing full well that Relic had no answer. “We’re useless here. No one’s come back from that place, and we won't be there to watch your backs.” Without warning, tears pricked into her eyes. Jace heeled his horse softly to sidestep closer to her. When his shoulder was against hers, Jace ran his hand beneath Isabelle’s cloak and around her waist to pull her closer, whispering something into her ear.

      Relic watched the exchange with an uneasiness that grew worse as he looked around to see his entire legion deathly silent and gawking. The sight of all four outriders together was one to bring cheer, but what they thought of the display of affection, he could not tell. If the rumors were common before, they would be dangerous now; with that thought, Relic looked up to warn Isabelle only to realize Jace had already broken away from her. Whatever he said seemed to work, and she appeared calmer.

      “Be careful, both of you,” she said.

      Cedwyn reached over and grasped Relic’s forearm in the outrider fashion.

      Isabelle followed suit, smiling at him.

      “We will be,” he said.

      After turning to his side with the same gesture to Jace, Cedwyn urged his horse away.

      “I’ll see you guys when you get back,” he said, then turned to Jace, pointing at him.

      “Outriders don’t die,” he said.

      Jace pointed back. “They just regroup in heaven.”

      Cedwyn nodded with a wink, and with a whistle and a snap he was off.

      Jace felt Isabelle's cold stare boring into the back of his head.

      “I hate that motto,” she said, a trace indignant – he knew the situation only made it worse.

      “It's tradition,” he said smoothly, looking at her. “The point teams used to say it.”

      “There's no proof of that,” she said, her usual protest softened by a quick pout. “Besides,” she went on, raising a finger for emphasis, “point teams used to sail around the world, and explore whole islands singlehandedly.”

      “Hey, one thing at a time,” Jace said with a laugh, and she couldn't help laughing too.

      Relic began easing his mount away, waiting until their mirth subsided before he said, “I'll alert the ramparts of our departure.” Then looking at Isabelle, he touched his right temple with two fingers. “See you later, Iz.”

      “I’ll see you soon, Relic,” she said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

      Relic nodded as he reared his horse around and rode out to one of the tall towers just out past the braziers. Holding his arm up into the air, he waited for the sentinels to acknowledge that they saw him. Just after, he balled his hand into a tight fist, held up two fingers and then chopped his hand forward to convey the message: Two riders, in the open, outbound.

      In the night, however illuminated by the sparkling comets and full moon above, it was difficult to tell if a rider was approaching or riding away on an open plain, and the signs were instituted to avert confusion. Relic had been told of instances where the sentries fired on friendly riders, or sounded false alarms at the sight of their own men. Whether the stories were true or just part of command's losing battle to maintain discipline through the dark nights, he knew not.

      Relic’s horse shifted restlessly, but in perfect balance with its rider, anticipating the charge across the plain. Relic reined him in. In truth, he had only gone out to sign so Jace and Isabelle would be alone, trying not to concern himself with that aspect of his closest friends’ lives.

      Tonight, there were more critical things at hand.

      In the dim glow of the tower platform torchlight, the sentinel repeated the sequence and saluted. Relic returned it, and when he looked back, Jace was already riding towards him. Everything seemed to converge on the charge to come.

      “Thanks for that,” Jace said.

      Relic was leaning to the side. Whether he was making an adjustment to his stirrup or something on his boot was impossible to tell. “No problem,” he said. “Just save me a seat at the court-martial.”  Jace stood in the stirrups, stretching his back and legs, and flicking his head from side to side. When he finished, he sat and ran his right hand across the narrow front brim of his cap. “Will do,” he said.

      Another moment passed, and the riders exchanged a meaningful glance. They had known each other since boyhood, and their ability to have a wordless conversation was a luxury taken for granted. All around them was still as all who could see them watched anxiously, and those beyond waited.

      Relic balled his fist and held it up to his side, his elbow half-extended towards Jace.

      “Bet I beat you to the wood line,” Jace said, and he tapped his fist against Relic’s before hunching forward in the saddle, ready to bolt. Their mounts were riled, snorting wildly and stepping in place, itching to be turned loose almost to the point of madness.

      “I hope so,” Relic said as he took position. “That way whatever’s in there will get you first.”

      Out of the corner of his eye, Relic saw Jace smirk as he rolled his shoulders in a nervous action, hands flexing on the reins. They stood motionless half a moment longer, like racers waiting for a starting horn. Jace was the first to break. Relic snapped his reins an instant after, and a thunderous cheer raised up from the ten thousand cavalry behind them.

      The noise mixed with the rush of the dash was intoxicating, spurring them on as Relic closed the gap to ride on Jace’s shoulder. Despite their joking, neither was racing; instead they kept their charge disciplined to face whatever came as they passed the threshold together.

      Far behind them now, Isabelle’s dark silhouette flashed under the raging light overhead. The deafening tribute did little to unnerve her mare, and she took a deep breath as she closed her eyes. By the time they opened again, it was to see Relic and Jace vanish into the sylvan depths.

     

***

      If it had been a training exercise, Thean would have been furious, and as the outriders crashed through the thick foliage bordering the woods, Relic could almost imagine the man stepping out from behind a rock, screaming of how quickly both of them would be dead if it were real Only it was real, and they had made no attempt at a discreet entrance, caught up in the mania of adrenaline.

      At that moment, Relic and Jace were the greatest hope of the legions, and of Veil’driel itself; trusted with the kind of task every child dreams of. But as they crossed that thicket threshold, reverie ended in a swift, cold transition.

      Even as it happened, Jace realized they had made a terrible mistake, and for a single, ghastly moment envisioned a perversely comical anticlimax of being instantly cut down in a hail of enemy fire. It was the fear of embarrassment, not death, which scared him most. To face death was one thing; to have a death that his comrades would curse as foolish sent a chill into his bones.

      Under the canopy of gnarly treetops was a dense mass of shadows and darkness where only the outriders’ instincts saved them. They veered around immense boulders and tree stumps amid snaps and crashes on their tenuous path, in most cases never knowing what it was they were dodging before they moved into their next maneuver. Relic was barely able to bring his mount over an awkwardly fallen tree that Jace had cleared easily, but beyond it their opportunity was waiting.

      They had come by some stroke of luck to a glade. There were few animals either here or near the forest, at least not many that could be seen; only old tracks of deer and raccoons. Whatever could migrate in the wake of the blasts had done so, as if the magic itself had spoiled their homes. As they entered, a few scampering grayish shadows marked out the presence of cabbits, nature's consummate optimists. Their catlike eyes burned like embers between the tall grasses as they watched.

      No words were called out, no signs flashed between them, but both of the young outriders acted as one, executing the same measure with a twitch of the reins and a clicking noise that dropped their animals down under the concealment of the high brown grass all around them. Through it, Relic could see Jace petting the mane of his horse, lying flat-out on his back and breathing heavily. He could only hope they hadn’t been spotted by whatever was out there.

      Another glance over saw Jace staring back at him, apparently assessing his own well-being, so Relic waved to show he was alright, taking a few more moments to let things settle, and judging the passage of time by his horse’s recovering breath. Then, as satisfied as he would ever be, Relic rose from the saddle and began the slow crawl over to Jace.

      “You all right?” he asked.

      Jace answered still lying on his back.

      “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

      Relic nodded.

      “You see anything before we went down?”

      Jace took a second to pick a piece of grass from his mouth. “Yeah.”

      Rolling up to his side, he continued: “My life flash before my eyes.”

      Relic’s face went blank with concentration as he considered risking a peek over the grass.

      Jace spoke as calmly as if they were enjoying a drink at the tavern back home.

      “Dismounted reconnaissance?”

      Relic peered over the drab horizon, seeing nothing but gloomy silence.

      “No,” he said. “Not yet, at least. We have no idea what’s out there and whether we’re on horseback or on foot isn’t going to change that.” Relic rolled back onto his feet, now crouching. Jace needed no convincing, and assumed the same position as the two prepared to stand.

      “On three?” Relic asked, and Jace nodded.

      “One … two …” and on “Three!” they rose, standing absolutely still, and feeling naked with the sort of numbing liberation only complete abandon can provide. The sensation was fleeting, however, and Jace spoke first.

      “What do you think,” he asked, just above a whisper. “Feel like we’re being watched?”

      There was no change in Relic’s demeanor as he studied his surroundings.

      “Yes,” he said, and then shrugged. “But I always do, so I guess that doesn’t mean much.”

      Suddenly, Jace let out a whistle so loud and shrill it caused Relic to make a startled jerk. At that instant, in a rustling shuffle of dead leaves and cracking twigs, both horses stood. It was a brash test, but efficient, like pulling off a bandage in a single rip.

      “Well,” Jace said after observing another few changeless moments. “Either we’re still alive, or heaven is incredibly disappointing.”

      Relic nodded. “Yeah. Let’s mount up,” he said, and then walked over to his horse, leaping into the saddle with Jace following likewise beside him. Relic reached into his saddlebag, taking out a rolled parchment. After unfurling it, he held it on his lap with his elbow as he withdrew a short sliver of charcoal. “Alright, we’re here,” he said making a mark, looking up for a moment and taking a quick glance to the east. “Basically.”

      Jace accepted this. Even the most inexperienced forerunner was well versed in pinpointing location on a map, and for outriders, sense of direction came as natural as breathing. Relic slid the side of his hand to the east, stopping on a windy dark brown line stretching to the other side of the woods.

      “The road’s about four miles east,” he said.

      Jace thought he might have heard something and looked up into the trees with a start, but when he saw Relic still studying the map, unfazed, he dismissed the concern. “The road?” he asked. “You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

      “No,” Relic admitted, reviewing the paths of the scouts that had gone before. He had traced them from memory as they appeared on Creed’s gigantic version. “Even though staying off it might be our instinct, it didn’t help Rackham, Shardson, or ...” he glanced back down to confirm the name of the third scout. “Darkblade,” he finished. “Only Calloway took the road.”

      “Yeah,” Jace said. “But last I checked he didn’t come back either.”

      As Jace started to speak, Relic seemed more attentive to rolling up the map than his words, so he waited until that task was done before going on. “We have skills that they could only ...” he stopped, seeming to rethink his words in respect. “We have skills that they didn’t,” he said, and then motioned to the thick brush before them. “We could sneak through this unseen and unheard even if the gods were out there listening for us.”

      Relic took a deep breath.

      “And how long would that take, Jace?” he said, glancing upward to where the barren treetops subdued the sorcerous barrage. “Would there be anything left of Fairlawn by then?” Jace sighed and nodded, rubbing his hand back and forth over his clean-shaven chin.

      “You’re right,” he said.

      There was something deflating about Jace’s tone, and Relic watched him, clearly sensing the doubts assaulting his friend’s mind. In that moment, he realized how much he depended on Jace’s attitude. Confidence or arrogance, it didn’t matter.

      “C’mon, man,” he said with a smirk, throwing a light backhand into Jace’s chest to lure his eyes. “What better way to draw them out than by riding in the open?” Jace nodded, placing his palms on the saddle horn as he stretched his back with the tension. But it wasn’t the assurance Relic was looking for. “Relax, man” he tried again, and then resorted to the most valuable card in his deck. “Or I’ll tell Isabelle you were acting like a scared little kid.”

      Relic was taken aback by the seriousness of Jace’s gaze as it snapped to him in an instant. It was impossible to read what was in his gray eyes, something foreign even to Relic, and then he twisted in his saddle towards the direction of the road.

      “You don’t have to psyche me up, Relic,” he said. “And you’re terrible at it, by the way.”

      Relic smiled at this, his concern transmuted to curiosity as he listened.

      “It’s just funny that you mentioned her.”

      Jace was looking down toward his saddle again; fidgeting with the flat front brim of his cap.

      “You know that feeling you have right now? In the pit of your stomach?” he asked.

      “The cocktail?”

      Jace nodded. “The adventurer’s cocktail: excitement, dread, spiked with a shot of adrenaline. That's what I feel whenever I see her,” he said quietly, and suddenly looked up at Relic. “Sometimes just by thinking about her.”

      Relic listened with an indifferent expression that betrayed nothing. He was astonished now; in all the years he had known him, could not remember such a display of affection. And then all at once, the reason why dawned on him like the enemy's missiles obliterating the night sky.

      “You’re making it back, Jace,” Relic said seriously.

      “If I don’t, you tell her that,” he answered, looking down again as he did. “Tell her if we weren’t both outriders, I would have said the words a long time ago.”

      “You’ll tell her yourself, Jace. Now stop talking like that, you’re scaring the horses.”

      The beginning of a smile that never quite came to fruition twitched across Jace’s mouth.

      “I don’t know, man,” he said. “I don’t have the best feeling about this one.” He looked down again towards the cold, dead leaves, and the high, lifeless grass that blanketed the glade. “Just tell her if I don’t.”

      “I will, man,” Relic said, resting his hand on his friend’s shoulder, then after a few moments, tightening his grip and joggling him. “And when did you become so dramatic?” Jace smirked and Relic could feel some of the tension leave his shoulders when he looked up.

      “Four miles you said?”

      “Yeah,” Relic answered, and the subject was closed. “I suggest we stay close.”

      Jace leaned forward in the saddle a bit, squinting in vain to make out anything substantial.

      “No argument here,” he said, with a hint of his old bravado, and then looked back over to Relic with an upward nod. “After you, captain.” Relic never looked away from the obscure path before them, snapping the reins as he spoke, his words trailing after him.

      “Gladly, captain,” he said.

      Jace broke beside him, darting from the relative openness of the glade and into the thickset woods; swerving through trees and dead hanging vines by the same chaotic means as before. They moved with a masterful quickness, two more shapes in the shadows.

***

      The Fairlawn Thoroughfare was thronged with whispers, the ghostly creaking of extinguished road lamps, the chains that held them to their steel posts rattling with each shift in the wind. The road stretched on as far as the eye could see, the posts rising regularly in the darkness. On any normal evening, the high road would have been packed with jostling travelers, merchants in rich silks, farmers, brigands. Relic felt as though he could hear them, too, or the echoes of them - though he had never seen the road in person until now. The outrider found his fist clenching at the thought that any of them should die beneath the magic onslaught; even the outlaws deserved better.

      The lantern glass mirrored the shine of a small crimson comet as it arced across the dark sky through the treetops and descended into the city. Looking down so he could retrieve his water skin and take a drink, Relic’s attention was drawn to Jace. He was pulling one of the lanterns from the long metal pole on which it sat – or trying to, at least. It screeched in protest as they realized, simultaneously, that the lantern's casing was riveted securely in place.

      Jace returned to his horse, scouring the darkness as Relic produced a map.

      "What are you looking for?" he asked.

      "A milestone," Relic answered.

      Jace spotted something about a dozen feet ahead and urged his horse forward. Bending down, he discovered the small shard of masonry, engraved with the crests of the Republic of Veil’driel and Fairlawn City, the proud seals flanking a number that was faded and worn.

    "Twenty-seven," Jace announced.

      "Nine miles from the other side," Relic observed, marking the parchment fastidiously with a bit of charcoal. Jace rode back as he listened. Relic was still examining the map, looking for something further.

      "I say we ride out to marker thirty-five and leave the road," Jace said.

      Relic stabbed at the map with a finger. "There's a sentry post in that area," he said.

      "Good," Jace said, a mischievous smirk on his face. "We can ask them for directions."

      They cantered on, lost in their thoughts as the landscape rolled by, yielding up mile markers one by one. The silence became heavy, held back only by the thundering of their steeds. Every so often, comets would sail by so large and so close that they threw an unnatural parlor over the fields: gray, a choking, phantasmal void. Jace snapped his reins, hurrying faster. Though he knew that they were rushing into danger, he could not shake the feeling that he and Relic were fleeing.

      A blood-red blast grazed the darkness, and it was by this light that Jace first spotted something, turned sharply, and moved toward it without a word of explanation. By the time Relic caught up with him, Jace was rearing to a stop beside a blackened outcropping. He leapt from his saddle.

      "Jace!" Relic's own voice echoed in his ears. His crossbows snapped up into his hands as though under their own will. "What is it?"

      "Dead --" Jace's face was grim, his teeth clenched. "Damn it, it's Calloway!"

      Damian Calloway's neck had been broken, such that his remaining eye stared at his own mutilated body. Relic fought against a gasp as he first caught sight of the man, lying literally shattered, as though thrown from a great height. Jagged shards of his knees poked through his clothes, and his blood had dried in a vast, ugly swath around him, the color of rust.

      The image of the riderless horse flashed in Relic's mind, ethereal and intense.

      "There are no arrows," Jace observed. "What could have done this?"

      Jace looked to Relic as though expecting an answer, but the other had none. Relic stepped closer, peering down at what remained of the scout.

      "Coins," he said.

      "What?" Jace's tone was acrid.

      "Coins for his eyes," Relic said.

      Jace had pulled off his cap, holding it against his chest. He screwed it up in one hand as the other patted his pockets. "Haven't got any," he said. "Mark this out, and someone will pick up the body later."

      "No," Relic said, shaking his head. "We can't leave him like this."

      "What'd you expect?" Jace was no longer looking. He slowly paced around the scene, replacing his hat, at first crooked, upon his brow. "There's nothing we can do for him now except finish the mission."

      "We should burn the body," Relic declared. He was staring at the ground by Calloway's boots.

      "There's no time for that," Jace said. He forced himself to look back at Calloway, standing on the opposite side of the corpse from Relic. Gingerly, he dropped to one knee, pushing aside the dead man's cloak to reveal his belt. From this, he pulled off the man's knives, water skin, and -- unexpectedly -- a wine skin.

      "Look at that," Jace said, sounding angry. "If he hadn't dulled his wits with this, maybe he would've gotten back." He secured the knives to his own belt, and dumped the burgundy liquid to the ground. “Maybe.”

      Relic hadn't looked up. "Isn't that bad luck?"

      "Friends don't let friends ride drunk," Jace said sardonically.

      "No," Relic said. "Disturbing the dead."

      "He won't be needing it where he's gone," Jace said, steeling. "Come on."

      "Wait," Relic said. "Wait."

      Relic continued to examine the ground, moving aside in crabbed steps, careful to keep himself away from the corpse, but never looking at Jace. He began to mumble under his breath, and spent several long moments in deep concentration, so that Jace could feel anger boiling up in him again, twisting his already tight stomach into sick knots.

      What's left in the box behind the shoes, Relic seemed to whisper.

      "If you want me to read your lips, you'll have to turn around," Jace answered, annoyed.

      Relic pivoted, still crouching, toward Jace, frowning intently.

      "What has hooves like an ox, but only two?" he repeated.

      Jace didn't seem to understand at first, walking a few paces further down the road before turning, arms crossed, to face Relic squarely. Suddenly, his eyes widened, the whites visible from many paces away.

      "Relic," he said, "that'd better be the beginning of a joke."

      Relic reached down and touched one of the imprints in the dusty dirt. He rose.

      "Not unless you think minotaur is a funny punch line," he answered.

      Jace felt the itchy tingle of perspiration break on his forehead, and the cold seemed to vanish into a simmer of unnatural heat. A few solitary facts clouded his mind, spoken by forgotten lecturers. Things like: “highly dangerous, even unarmed, sledgehammer blows, not above biting, horns aren’t just for show.” It was impossible to sort any of it out, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded when Relic slapped him on the arm.

      “He was left here to lure us,” Jace said, coming to.

      Relic nodded, looking around slowly now into the trees. He had no doubt they were being watched, and it didn’t surprise him they had gotten this far without being attacked. Unlike Jace, Relic remembered every lesson he was taught, and he was well familiar with the minotaur. They were known to toy with their prey, waiting for the moment to make a spectacular kill.

      He knew then that even if they wished to, there was no turning back.

      “Listen to me,” Relic said, scratching his nose and trying to appear nonchalant. “We have several things in our favor right now.” Jace hung on every word, suddenly consumed with an intense gratefulness for Relic’s academic devotion.

      “First, we’re on the open road, so when they come at us we’ll have some room to maneuver.”

      Jace nodded a little numbly. “Good. We can deal with a straight fight, no matter who the opponent is. We're working the issue, and that's good.” That was what outriders did. “All right, what else?” he asked.

      Relic broke eye contact and looked down to his feet. He took a deep breath, brought his hands up to his hips and then glanced off to the side. “Well,” he drawled. “We have one thing in our favor, at least.”

      Relic was just about to suggest a dash back to the horses, not twenty paces away, when he noticed movement in the shadows over Jace’s shoulder. The silhouette was about seven feet tall, and the sheer size of it was ominous even from such a distance. It looked as if it were built for battle, with a body like an obscenely muscular man. Broad shoulders supported the neck and head of a monstrous bull, complete with a set of a sharp horns and eyes that glinted crimson in suffocated moonlight.

      But more chilling than the thing’s appearance, was the way it just stood there; staring at them.

      “Jace,” Relic said. “There’s a ...“

      “You too,” Jace said.

      “How far?” Relic asked

      “Sixty ...” he squinted. “Sixty-five yards.”

      Relic nodded.

      “Mine?” Jace asked.

      “Same,” Relic answered.

      “Will they go after the horses?”

      “Not until we’re dead,” Relic said, then admitted: “I think.”

      “Any particular plan?” Jace asked.

      “No short-swords,” Relic answered. “I doubt we could swing them hard enough to get under the hide, and you don’t wanna get that close anyway.”

      A moment of silence passed.

      “Alright then,” Jace said.

      Relic turned to face the minotaur behind him, amazed by how identical his enemy appeared in the way it stalked him. A cool serenity swept over him then, and he took comfort from the knowledge that even if he and Jace fell, they were about to be far more of a challenge than these beasts could ever expect.

      Jace spun about without warning, shedding his cloak, and throwing it aside in a single, fluid motion. This revealed the arsenal underneath, including a pair of crossing short swords strapped to his back, and three crossbow bolt belts – one tight around his waist, two others on his shoulders that crisscrossed his chest. Each bolt was evenly spaced, positioned delicately for the tricky reloading action that only the outrider had mastered.

      The inhuman grin on the mammoth monster’s face curdled slightly in surprise at Jace’s bold gesture, but by the time Jace began his slow pace toward it, the minotaur’s face was a mask of primal exhilaration, welcoming his attack

      Jace unhinged the crossbows and fired them with two simultaneous cracks into beast's chest, knowing they had hit the mark without seeing. His mind was far away, letting his hands do their exquisite reloading. He rammed the empty crossbows downward so the spring recoil snapped into the bolts on his belt and again he would re-aim and fire, one after the other, sometimes simultaneously if his hands were fast enough. One after another, and the belt was nearly spent as he resorted to the bolts on his back. When Jace felt the last one lock, he unfastened the belt and moved one of those on his chest to his waist by unsnapping it, spinning in a circle, and using the momentum to whip it around his waist and lock it in place.

      The adrenaline seared through Jace’s veins like an inferno, with all of his fear, his outrage, the anticipation and torturous tension unleashed in a storm of bolts. His heartbeat exploded in his ears like an earthquake, but only in the brief fraction of an instant, when he moved to shed the second belt and position the third, could his mind protest. Quite suddenly, Jace realized he was within ten yards of the titanic creature, and it gazed down with wild glee. He had expended two belts, sixty bolts, and the beast still gaped at him. Seeing it from afar for the first time had been stunning. Seeing it up close filled Jace Dabriel with a terror beyond imagination.

      The minotaur’s stare blazed with the fires of hell, and the jagged teeth chomped with promise; yet even with the knowledge that he was about to die, some part of Jace noticed, as he marveled at the beast’s horns, that there was something majestic about the thing. He gawked at the ridiculously powerful muscles that rippled and stretched like mountains over the entire body.

      Outriders don’t die, he heard himself think suddenly.

      Somehow, Jace managed to take a full step backward, and another, each movement an act of heroism in the throes of crippling fear. All the minotaur had left to do was attack and the outrider would have accepted his doom, staring like a dumbstruck child. But when the creature lumbered forward, an expression like shock contorted its features. It seemed grotesquely out of place.

      In that instant the roles reversed, and the minotaur looked to Jace as if expecting some sort of answer. Instead it looked down to its body, and for the first time realized the countless bolts spread over its unarmored abdomen, two dozen killing blows. Whatever had numbed the creature until now, its massive body would no longer allow. The minotaur looked up at Jace again in blind rage as it recognized its fate, and the beginnings of a roar emanated from deep within.

      But it was drowned in the wave of blackish-yellow bile that surfed up out of its mouth, and through the nostrils of its bullish snout. With a jerk, the creature convulsed, involuntarily shifting its weight to its hind hoof and then falling into the dust with a booming thud.

      Jace’s crossbows hung limply at his sides as he stared at the fallen beast. It didn’t seem possible that he killed it, and he stood transfixed by the thought as well as the sight. Then, with a sudden start, a viselike force grabbed hold of his shoulders, pushing the breath from his lungs. Another minotaur had him in its clutches. What appeared to be a sledgehammer flew past him as he found himself suddenly thrown to the ground.

      Relic leapt up, and Jace realized he was the one who had pushed him down, and had done so moments before the hammer would have crushed him. When Jace scrambled back to his feet, he was going through the lucid motions of the fight, looking up the road to where Relic was dodging a fierce barrage of blows. A quick glance behind and Jace realized that Relic had managed to bring down his minotaur, and when he looked back, he remembered his last belt of crossbow bolts.

      Relic’s acrobatics were a sight to be seen, but he was on the defensive; parrying, dodging, knowing he could not hope to win in hand to hand combat. Jace acted fast, landing four bolts in a neat line down from the minotaur’s forehead to where the snout became pronounced, and the beast shook its head violently, slapping at its face as if warding off an insect. But then the motions grew clumsy, and the minotaur fell into the brush off the road; tumbling out of sight.

      A silent glance passed between the outriders as they stood trying to catch their breaths.

      Relic pointed frantically for Jace to turn around.

      It was too late.

      Jace was hoisted up into the air like a rag doll, and oddly, the first thing he thought of was Alaric Caulurn tossing him up earlier in the evening. Jace was flung through the air back toward where the battle had begun, careening into one of the metal-cane light fixtures with a crash that made Relic wince. The minotaur ignored the other outrider completely, stomping after Jace with a speed and grace that didn’t seem possible. Relic could see Jace was hurt; lying flat and arching his back, but he only had one crossbow, the other destroyed against the first minotaur he faced. Relic loaded quickly and fired quicker, but with only one weapon it took twice as long to inflict the kill.

      A spike of panic shot through him as he realized there was nothing he could do to save Jace.

      Jace could hear the wild stomps of the beast coming towards him, lying next to the fallen road lamp at his side. The metal cane tipped, broken clean at the base where he'd hit it. He started to reach for his crossbows only to realize he had no time to load. Reaching down to his belt, Jace withdrew the flint box lighter instead, and blocking out the minotaur’s blurred approach, struck it and held the flame in front of him.

      A pair of bolts snapped into the back of the beast, and it hesitated, looking back at Relic.

      That was all the time Jace needed.

      Rolling over onto his side, Jace lit the large lantern, grabbed the metal cane and stumbled to his feet; his entire body illuminated brightly in the golden light of the road lamp. The abrupt blaze brought the minotaur’s instinctive attention back to Jace with a vicious snarl, and it looked somewhat quizzically at the strange assembly of metal staff and dangling lantern.

      Jace swung the makeshift bludgeon so that the lantern struck the minotaur on the side of its massive head, shielding his eyes as it exploded in a ball of fire that ignited the beast’s entire upper torso with a sickly smell of oil and burnt hair. A bloodcurdling roar echoed over the woods as the creature writhed in panic, taking a few aimless steps before collapsing into a crackling heap. Immediately after the screaming ended, the morbid firelight revealed three more minotaurs charging through the trees.

      The outriders could not stand and face them. They knew they would not survive. As they tore through the trees in retreat, Relic's voice came in a strangled puff. “Hey Jace,” he said, and, not waiting for an answer, he continued. “I've been wondering ...”

      “Yeah?” Jace asked, straining frantically through the dark.

      “Before we left ...” Relic gasped between strides, “When you whispered to Isabelle, what did you say?”

      Exertion made Jace's face flush under a thin sheen of sweat. “You really wanna know?”

      “Yeah.”

      “I told her ... I'd bring her ... a souvenir!”

      “Are you serious?” Relic asked.

      “No,” said Jace, “but that's a great idea, huh?”

      Cabbits and other scavengers scampered away ahead of them, but the horses were nowhere to be seen. Jace whistled frantically, wincing and leaning slightly as he pressed his hand against his injured ribs. Relic had the same idea, and breathed an uneasy sigh of relief as on Jace’s third attempt, both horses dashed into view on the road, drawing closer.

      The animals rode side by side as if there were phantom riders in their saddles, and Relic gave them the signal to continue. Jace glanced at Relic briefly with small annoyance. He readied himself for the sharp pain that was sure to come, then turned his attention fully on the horse, timing it for the stirrup to catch his boot. With a grunt and a swing of the legs, Jace distributed his balance and catapulted himself into the saddle.

      As they rode almost shoulder to shoulder, Relic felt relief; Jace’s injury had not stopped him.

      They rode without speaking, hard and fast at breakneck speeds, away from the nightmarish fray. Miles ticked away like minutes with no further sign of the minotaurs, for neither dared to look into the trees, and just as they blasted past mile marker thirty-four, the sentry house came into view.

      “There it is!” Relic bellowed over the hurricane gallop

      They had just begun to slow when a fast moving shadow emerged from the trees, and another minotaur, displaying unlikely agility, stepped directly into their path. It was a shock, but the beast had made a critical error it could not yet understand. If it had expected to frighten the horses, it was instantly disappointed, left to confront the outriders in the saddle; and so to await its own death.

      Without the slightest hesitation, Relic slid two adjoining copper cylinders from the side of his ornate saddle, dropping down a bit lower. Wrapping his hand tightly around one of them, he held the apparatus at his side. “Jace!” he yelled without looking; after a quick glance, Jace took the other cylinder in his hand.

      At first it looked as if the riders would try to trample the beast, riding directly towards it within arm’s reach of each other. The minotaur readied itself with a crouch, holding its arms in front of its body to prepare for two devastating blows before ripping the riders to shreds. When the outriders suddenly spread out, widening a gap of eight feet between them, it let out a wild roar of frustration as both moved out of reach.

      It did not see the razor wire that coiled from the cylinders, now strung tightly across the gap.

      The outriders whipped past on both sides. The minotaur twisted as they passed, but only its torso turned as the tree trunk legs and hooves remained sturdily planted on the road. Crimson spots sprinkled the dust, turning to pools.

      The upper body of the minotaur fell, as the lower half still stood eerily in place.

      Jace simply let his cylinder go and it recoiled back to the one Relic held. As the copper clinked back together, Relic slid it back into its holster on the side of his saddle, and neither looked back at their work. They skidded to a stop before the sentry house. A short, black gate lined the perimeter, and the iron joined in an archway over a cobblestone walkway leading to the entrance.

      Relic and Jace leapt from their saddles swiftly, striding to the door as if daring anything to stand in their way. Nothing did. The door was knocked from its hinges, and Jace kicked it away, glancing at Relic to make sure they were on the same page.

      “Ready?” he asked.

      Relic nodded.

      They stormed inside with their backs up against each other, sweeping the circular room in wide arcs, ready to fire at even the slightest disturbance. It’s clear,” Jace said. Relic didn’t say a word, only disappeared through the doorway. When he returned, he led Jace’s horse by the reins, stepped back and led his own inside.

      The sentry house was not particularly large, but it fit the two horses and men quite comfortably. In the center, atop a rickety wooden table, a few plates and eating utensils scattered around the rotting remnants of somebody’s half-eaten meal.

      “Hungry?” Jace asked as he passed it.

      Relic glanced down at the table, following Jace past it towards the materials on the farthest wall; where a long stone ledge extended outward and lined the entire curve. Documents and maps were scattered on it, and in the center, just below a thin vertical slit that overlooked the road, a massive book with heavy metallic covers was bolted into the shelf. It was the sentry house log, open to the last entry, and Relic approached with interest as Jace watched.

      “It’s from seven weeks ago,” Relic announced.

      “What does it say?” Jace asked, taking out the materials to roll a cigarette. He grinned mildly down at the little cylinder that took form beneath his fingers, clearly pleased that everything he needed had survived the skirmish.

      “Report filed,” he began slowly. “Orders via scout. Scout name: Sebastian Rackham. Authenticity: Confirmed. Message: Vanguard under command of Brigadier General Simian L. Creed en route to position on plains west of Fairlawn Wood. Imminent threat approaches from the east. Post no longer deemed secure. Abandon until further notice.

      Order carried out forthwith.

      Third Lieutenant Clive Barringer

      305th Sentinel Legion, City of Fairlawn, Republic of Veil’driel”

      Below was the signature of the sentinel followed by that of Scout Rackham and the official seal of General Creed he delivered to authenticate the order. Relic ran his thumb over the name of the scout, knowing he likely shared the same fate as Calloway, somewhere hidden in the darkness.  The message had been his last success, his final mission left forever incomplete.

      “Anything on those oversized cows?” Jace asked. His hands were still trembling.

      Relic didn’t respond, flipping back a few pages until he was several months prior. There were the occasional reports of highwaymen, an escort request to Fairlawn for some unnamed dignitary slated to pass through the woods, and a whole slew of light patrol entries where a rider ran the entire length of the road ensuring each road lamp was lit. Each patrol was marked with the time they set out and returned, and Relic smirked as he realized the times were sometimes identical on consecutive nights: the sentinels had simply scribbled in the times and neglected the task.

      “Relic,” Jace tried again, finishing the process of rolling his cigarette.

      “No, it looks like they got out of here before then,” he said thankfully.

      Relic moved to the near beginning of the heavy book, enthralled.

      “It’s amazing how far this goes back,” he said, reading. “The sentinels who made these first entries are probably generals by now.” Now and again, the crackling of old paper would waft up on the dusty air as Relic quickly, but reverently, turned a page.

      Jace, who had the flint box lit right before the cigarette, stopped just short of lighting it. “That’s great, Rel,” he said, a confused tone matching the expression on his face. “But maybe we could concentrate on a way to live through this instead.”

      Relic scoured through everything, skimming through leather or hide-bound books and vellum scrolls. Here was a fat treatise on legionary protocol and regulations. There, a sheaf of old notes for the academic portion of a promotion test, occasionally rewritten through the years. The only things worth his attention were a few maps outlining a more in-depth workup of the woods, including several byways that would have been helpful not half an hour before.

      “Listen, Jace, there’s something strange about this,” Relic said, gathering up the maps.

      Jace followed him with his eyes, expelling two thin laces of gray smoke from his nose.

      “Something strange about those minotaurs that goes against everything we know about them.”

      “Speak for yourself,” Jace said. “The only something I find strange is that we survived.”

      Relic finished stowing away the maps, and was refastening the leather straps on the saddlebags when Jace realized it was his saddle Relic was putting them in. Before he could question it, Relic was speaking again. “That’s because you never studied,” he said. “Minotaurs are not mindless beasts. They’re notorious for their cunning as well as strength.”

      Jace took a deep breath.

      “What’s your point, Relic?”

      “The minotaurs that attacked us never changed their strategy, even after we took a few of them down. They must have realized we were not as easy prey as the scouts they faced before, and yet they came at us the same way, again and again.”

      Jace shook his head and started towards Relic still standing next to the horses.

      “You’re over thinking it, Relic, as usual,” he said, and nudged him aside as he reopened the saddlebags. “And that’s my horse you put the maps in. Pay attention.”

      Just as Jace withdrew the folded maps, he felt Relic clasp his wrist before he could fully reveal them. “Listen to me, Jace,” he said. There was an intense seriousness in his eyes that Jace didn’t expect. “A minotaur army would be devastating, right?”

      Jace didn’t answer.

      “And yet all throughout history, how many times have they organized to invade foreign lands?”

      “I don’t know,” Jace admitted.

      “None,” Relic informed him, and finally dropped Jace’s wrist. “Their need to prove their own superiority has always been their downfall. Fighting on the battlefield wouldn't hold the same attraction because the victory would be due to the many. Even once they won, they would fight each other afterwards just to get the glory.”

      Jace could sense Relic was on he verge of a tangent, but found himself too interested in the information at this point to stop him. “And their armor, Jace. Why weren’t they wearing any? They’re loners, each with a set of individualiz ... ”

      “Alright, alright,” Jace finally broke in, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. “But if we don’t get out of here soon we’re gonna find ourselves a messy contradiction to that history lesson, so can we get on with it?”

      Relic frowned, but there was no arguing with Jace’s logic.

      “It seems like whatever’s responsible for the aerial attacks has managed to unite the minotaurs,” Relic finished. “But nothing about it seems natural.” Relic threw back his cloak to reveal the single crossbow left at his side. “I only have one crossbow, we barely have three bolt belts between us, and you’re favoring a side with two or three bruised ribs. Broken, maybe.”

      Jace, still holding the cigarette, looked sharply to him. “Yes, I noticed,” Relic confirmed, then motioned to Jace’s cigarette as he snatched the maps back. “And poisoning yourself hardly qualifies as a remedy.”

      “They’re not broken And while we’re on the subject, you're hiding an injured shoulder.”

      Relic smirked. “At least I ...”

      The call of a minotaur interrupted them. It was far off in the woods, but enough to make Relic flinch, and when he looked to Jace he saw him absolutely still as if awaiting another. A frigid gust howled through the trees, and creaked the ancient rafters.

      Jace brought the cigarette absently to his lips and spoke after a quick inhale.

      “Time to go, Relic,” he said.

      “We won’t survive another fight like that,” Relic said. “We have to split up.”

      And there it was. It had been said, and Jace stopped in his tracks, hanging his head with a sigh.

      “One of us has to go back and put a face on what’s patrolling these woods,” Relic went on. “To report what we’ve faced,” he glanced down to the maps in his hand and used them to motion towards Jace. “And to get these to Creed.”

      Jace nodded, looking off into nothing.

      “Even the smallest victory would be something. You know I’m ...“

      “Damn it, Relic,” Jace interrupted. “Stop trying to sell it, I agree with you.”

      Jace looked over, pushing the hand Relic held the maps in back into his chest.

      “You go back, I’ll see what the story is on the other side.”

      “No way. This is my idea, I’ll do it.”

      “You might have been the first to say it, Relic, but you weren’t the only one thinking it,” then Jace looked at his friend with a smile. “I’m the better shot, and I’m quicker on my feet,” he said. “I’ll go.” There was a pause as the two watched one another, neither quite believing their own story. “It’s a compromise,” Jace said. “I agree to your proposal, you agree to my terms.”

      “I could always just order you,” Relic said.

      “You wish you could, you mean.”

      “It’s called seniority, pal.”

      “By three days?”

      Relic shrugged. In a quick motion he slipped out of his cloak and handed it to Jace, whose own still lay back on the road. Then he took off the last full bolt belt he had, leaving himself with only a few shots. Jace took it, snapping the belt around his abdomen and throwing on the cloak in the same fluid motion. When it was done, he expelled a deep breath. Time was running short.

      “I’ll take to the woods,” Jace said, flicking the cigarette into the darkness. “Dismounted reconnaissance. If it’s only a mile it shouldn’t take long, and I don’t wanna come to the end of this road and walk into plain sight. I’ll spy it out from the trees.”

      Relic nodded, saying nothing.

      Jace unhinged his crossbows as he turned and walked outside, scanning the area quickly. All was still, and he turned back to Relic leading the horses in the doorway. “Clear, let’s go.” Relic led the horses to the archway, then turned and secured the maps in his bags.

      When he finished, he turned to Jace and they clasped forearms.

      “Be careful, man,” Relic said. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

      “Relax,” Jace assured him with a wink. “It’s not the first time we’ve had to split up. It’ll be just like that time in Ebilen.” The outriders released their grip, and Relic’s horse neighed impatiently, fidgeting with the knowledge of what lurked in those trees.

      “Right,” he said, patting the animal’s soft muzzle. “Except for the whole fate of the entire Republic in our hands thing.” Relic whirled around and leapt into his saddle, looking down on Jace. “Don’t get lost now,” he said.

      Jace smiled.

      Relic was gone with a crack and a plume of dust, making a beeline in the direction they'd fled from, vanishing from sight in seconds.

      Jace had gathered up his reins, and was starting on foot towards the trees when something caught his eye. The shift torch, the ancient symbol announcing the presence of the watch, hung dormant beside the archway. It was crafted into a miniature replica of the sentry house itself, worked in extraordinary detail.

      Jace pulled the flint box lighter from his belt, sparked the flame and held it to the torch, watching the first smoldering embers flicker and crackle. The immediate area shimmered in a pulsing, golden halo, and he clinked the flint box closed once again, leading his horse around the back of the house and disappearing into the wood. The torch burned brightly in his wake.

      The Sentry had returned to Fairlawn.

     

***

      The contour behind the sentry house was far different from where Jace and Relic had entered the wood, rising and falling in high, wavy hills that created narrow crevices, steep slopes, and wide pits all across the terrain. Jace had left his mount lying well concealed at the base of an outcropping. He moved at a near sprint, weaving in and out of trees, leaping over stones and roots, and sliding down slopes. He knew he was closing in on the wood’s edge, for he could now see the bright explosions of color through the trees in front of him as they blasted upward en route to the city. Jace found himself timing the blasts, ducking into the frozen mud with each bright light.

      A quick series of blue, orange, red, and green drenched the surroundings and Jace dropped accordingly, using the illumination to search the trees for minotaurs. He knew he was close, he could smell the faint scent of sulfur hanging on the air, watching the attacks rocket upward like blinding vertical bars through the trees. Somehow they seemed more real now, and that realization of devastating power compelled Jace to hurry.

      He jumped to his feet, running again.

      Jace had only taken a few steps when a blinding flare of violet dropped him like a sack of rocks, pressing his palms against his eyes and trying desperately to blink the starched afterimage out of his vision. It was a painful way to learn just how close he was, and in those seemingly endless moments he lay there helpless on the ground, thanked whatever gods were listening, and rolled to his back in relative certainty that nothing was watching.

      Even after Jace could see again, it was ten minutes before he could make out anything past indefinite, misty shapes. Nice job, hero, Thean’s voice berated him in his head. It was a trait Jace developed during his academy days. Only Isabelle knew about it. She said it was probably because ...

      Right, outrider, think about Captain Talabray. That’ll get the job done.

      Jace slid a small tablet from somewhere on the back of his belt, forced himself to his feet, and began the slow, clumsy climb up the hill beside him, using the strangely angled trees as footholds and braces as he made his way steadily to the top. When he reached the summit, he looked away for one more blink before gazing through the thinning trees and out over the plain.

      There he saw, for the first time, the phantom enemy afflicting his people, spread out over the plain in what appeared to be séance circles. They had no idea they were being watched, and that fact sent a rush through Jace’s body. At that moment he was the single most influential person in the Republic. Though he didn't want to admit it, he liked that very much.

      A glance downward to the skirt of the hill he crouched upon revealed the group that had blinded him. Though it was hard to tell, he could make out humanoid forms in cowls; quickly, he began recording all he could see. Extending back across the plain were nine more identical formations, and a host of minotaurs hauled heavy wooden carts filled to the brim with reagents; fuel for the hellish fire lighting the sky above.

      Faster, boy, Thean’s voice came. Write faster.

      Jace could not see exactly what those reagents were, but the process was clear. The minotaurs dumped carts out into the center of the séance circles, and after, the robed figures waved their arms in eerie unison with the ingredients twirling into a narrow twister of flickering sparks. The ensuing frenzy was so beautiful it was hard to look away from, so much so that Jace just barely broke his half-trance before the mystical concoction detonated into an exploding starburst and spiraled into the air. Jace followed its path, taking note of the streaking golden comet it formed, as it vanished behind the trees.

      A huge concentration of reagents was held in a massive wagon, and situated directly in the center of the collective séance circles to complete the ring. No doubt the minotaurs had hauled it as well, although it must have required all of their strength put together. Judging by the amount the hooded figures used, they could keep up their assault for days at a time.

      In another flash, Jace thought he noticed something off on the southward horizon, appearing only in flickers and faraway laces of smoke. The closeness of the attacks kept him from using his spyglass at first, but this was worth the risk of the enemy catching a glimmer off his lens. Jace took the small cylinder from his cloak, and stretched it out before bringing it up to his eye.

      Soon he was certain of what he saw, taking the scope down and looking away, stunned. It was the camp of the enemy host, their army, and he praised Creed as he scribbled their general location in relation to the woods and the plain. He could still hear the man’s words in his head.

      No, gentlemen. I fear these attacks are just an elaborate form of bait.

      And had the general taken it, Fairlawn could have been lost. The legions backing the Vanguard were more than a day’s march from Fairlawn City, and the enemy force looked to be less than seven hours. They would have liked for nothing more than to see Veil’driel’s forces march out onto that plain – providing they survived the minotaurs. The enemy could then move into Fairlawn unopposed.

      One more time, Jace reviewed the activity before him with the spyglass, adding more detail to his notes and descriptions. It proved wise; as it was in this final pass that Jace saw the stones around the robed figures’ necks. One group wore amber, another sapphire, a third emerald, and on through a veritable rainbow of stones that he could not identify. The color of these looked to dictate the hue of the blasts.

      Jace had all of the information he would be able to gather, and he knew it. But something seemed to hold him there. In that moment he wished more than anything else that he had his cavalry legion with him. He would lead them down the hill and fall on those robed cowards like a hammer, sending them scattering, and with that thought he found himself reaching underneath his cloak and running a hand over the partially expended bolt belt he had left.

      Don’t you even think of it, boy, the imaginary voice of Constable Thean started abruptly. The information you’ve gathered is invaluable. Your partner should be back to camp by now, and I suggest you join him.

      “One more pass,” Jace said, and brought the spyglass up one more time.

      He needed something else to record, anything to keep him there just a little bit longer. Greedily, his attention fell to the carts. Under the heaviest magnification he could see the reagents clearly, speaking each out loud as he wrote them down.

      “Ginseng, mandrake root, sulfurous ash, nightshade…”

      Jace stopped when he looked down from his tablet and saw the a being approaching the woods, and in some ambiguous way, had almost been expecting it. It had undoubtedly seen the glint off the spyglass; in the back of his mind, Jace knew that he had done it on purpose.

      “Why would I have done that?” Jace asked, slowly condensing the spyglass with his palms.

      The imaginary Thean had no answer.

      The cowled thing entered the trees without caution, never breaking its stride. Its features were covered in the hood, though it was hardly necessary in the inky blackness of the woods, and it stood near motionless in the shadows. None of its counterparts seemed interested. Had it been otherwise, Jace might have considered retreat, instead he stood up in plain sight, feeling half in control.

      A quick series of clicking sounds followed, and then slowly the featureless cowl looked up to him. Jace could not afford to expend his bolts, on some level he realized he would need them later, and so he reached back and slid one of his short swords up from the back of his cloak.

      The standoff was brief. With a step forward and strong overhand throw, Jace sent the weapon spinning end over end. The robed figure only had time to back away slightly before the sword disappeared into its hood, and even as the body began to fall, Jace was sliding down the hill toward it.

      His hands seemed to do their work without him, as if he were watching someone else strip the body of its robe and slip it around himself. Some corner of his mind kept telling him it was a stupid thing to do. He had gathered all of the necessary information he was sent to. He had a responsibility to the Republic to go back while he still could.

      But then there was that other part of him. The part that separated him from the others, the part that kept Thean up nights, and had him laying his own cloak over the body of whatever he had killed. Jace pulled the cowl of the dark, rough cloth over his head. It was passion alone that drove him.

      In his mind's eye, he could see children running through the streets and hiding under beds as the hellish terror rained down, the heroic emergency personnel doing their best to save lives and put out fires, all the while having no way of knowing what was attacking them or why. Death without meaning or any end in sight. And all while the enemy, these vile, hooded things, launched comet after comet without any fear of being challenged.

      Relic’s information would have to be enough. Tonight Jace would visit destruction upon them.

      Jace was just about to take his first step out of the tree line, when he noticed a pulsing emerald glow beneath his cloak. He picked it up, seeing for the first time, or perhaps realizing for the first time, that the creature he had killed was not a creature at all, but human, and the pulsing light was an emerald necklace dangling off the side of his neck. Jace reached down and removed it, pulling the neck up off the ground before the chain finally broke and the head fell back to the earth with a sickening thud. The glow faded instantly after separating from the corpse, and to Jace’s horror the face simply dissolved, years of decomposition passing in seconds. The sword he had used for the kill eroded before his eyes into a useless mound of crumbling rust. By the time the process had finished, the weapon appeared aged with the passing of centuries. Jace slipped the necklace onto his belt without another thought.

      Jace never hesitated, discarding his useless weapon and taking a step outside the woods, onto the plain and into the open, with lethal eyes upon him. He moved among the phantoms that had been the bane of his nation for a month, and he did it casually. Somehow, he was able to put his fear aside, making observations on the way those around him moved and interacted.

      The group paying him the most mind was the incomplete ring standing at the wood line’s edge, whose true member was lying rotten in the cold and not before them. At least they’re not telepaths, he heard Thean say.

      What makes you say that? Jace asked himself.

      iBecause you’d be dead by now.

      Underneath the dark cowl that hid every aspect of his countenance, Jace nodded. But he would have to offer some kind of acknowledgement to the small cluster staring after him as he passed. They made no noise, nor did they show any sign of alarm. But they were staring, and though one could only judge by a subtle shifts in their bodies, it was easy to imagine the confusion on their hidden faces.

      They’re probably wondering why I'm walking towards their reagent wagon, and not to them.

      Well, you better do something, imaginary Thean scolded.

      Turning half to the side, back towards the woods where the group stood, Jace gave a wave that he knew was absurd as he did it. It looked like the kind of gesture one might offer a friend to show that there were no hard feelings.

      Oh, that was slick!

      All at once the hooded heads jerked backward as if they'd been simultaneously pushed. Jace grew ever closer to the giant wagon. Rainbow comets glistened all around, each adding to the thin haze of sulfuric smoke that hung in the air like the morning mists, and Jace kept his head tilted to lessen the sting in his eyes. He was close enough now that he could rely on his sense of smell, for the exotic assortment piled in that giant wagon stank of nightshade. The stink brought him back to himself, far from the capital and his home; completely immersed in a stomach-churning sea of enemies who would soon be trying to kill him.

      Jace didn’t see the minotaur approaching on his left until it was on him, the loose sides of the hood blocking his vision. His hands shot instinctively to his crossbows, and it was only at the very last instant that he kept them at his hips. It was not an easy task, and he had to turn his head slightly to the side as the thing brushed past. It was so close that Jace felt the dark fur brush his cowl, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief as it vanished out of view.

      The wagon was only a matter of feet from him now, with two more minotaurs loading their smaller carts. He would have to wait for them to move away before doing what he planned, and used the time to glance behind him.

      All five of the hooded humanoids from the circle he broke were in quick pursuit, drawing the attention of their brethren. Jace could feel the eyes burning into him, the evil of it, and though his slowness was excruciating, he was determined not to draw the two minotaurs still loading their carts. In a moment or two, that would be inevitable, but they were already starting away, so he waited.

      And then Jace reached the wagon, just as the whirlwind broke around him.

      Jace spun on his heels, shedding the robe and unhinging his crossbows. By sleight of hand he had struck the flint box lighter and tossed it into the wagon. What he was now facing, as the world sped up, was robed figures ganging up from all the different circles and charging from every direction. Minotaurs were approaching with menacing sneers, dragging massive clubs that left long grooves on the ground beside them, or resting heavy hammers against their enormous shoulders.

      The world was no longer waiting on the edge of Jace Dabriel’s actions; a whirlwind of desperation and terror was in full flight. His hands did their work automatically, swiping the crossbows downward against the belt on his waist, running through their reloading trick with defiance as Jace watched the enemy come.

      Only now did he realize that he hadn’t thought ahead any further than this.

      Now what are you gonna do, outrider? Thean asked.

     

***

      “I understand that, sergeant,” Captain Talabray was saying, scouring the page the man had just handed her. “What I’m asking for is a description beyond ...” she looked back down to read the watchman’s exact words. “A possible shadowy object along the wood line.”

      “I apologize, captain,” Caulurn offered. “But that is all the lad saw.”

      Isabelle sighed and turned her back to him, crossing her arms with the report still in hand. Though the man dwarfed her, her own fiery presence more than compensated. “So you could be going to the general with reports of a deer … or a bear, perhaps?”

      “Actually, ma’am, no.”

      Isabelle turned around with a stern expression.

      “There are no species of bear this far east of the capital,” he said. “Hunted to extinction over a century ago, to my understanding.” Isabelle’s eyes narrowed on him a moment, almost suspiciously, but the man only smirked under her scrutiny. She giggled suddenly at the sergeant’s humor, shaking her head before tilting it back up to him.

      “You’ve been hanging around Captain Dabriel too long, sergeant,” she said, smile never fading.

      “Maybe so,” he admitted.

      She turned and placed the paper against the saddle of her mare, signing her approval and surveying what little information there was one last time. “Well,” she said. “I doubt much will come of it, but you have my permission to proceed.”

      Isabelle didn’t think much of the man’s silence until she turned to see him staring at the sky. The flurry of activity all around them had likewise halted, and every living thing seemed lost in the heavens above. Finally, she looked up, and the report fell from her hand.

      There were no blazing comets. No choking trails of roiling, black smoke. There was only the moon, and the twinkling stars that shimmered like frozen sparkles in the crystal clear night. Isabelle gathered all of it in as if it were for the first time.

      “That was fast,” the mountainous man said.

      Isabelle managed to tear her gaze away and aim it at Caulurn, who was still staring upward.

      “On second thought, sergeant,” she said. “I think I’ll take this report to the general myself. You should get back to your post.”

      Caulurn was already moving. “Way ahead of you, m’lady,” he said, and was gone.

      The mood around her was one of intense optimism as the reality of the situation started to sink in, and whispers of the invincible outriders were already on the lips of every one of her men. It was a time of hope and excitement.

      But for Isabelle, it meant a whole new kind of fear.

     

***

      There was no strategy as Jace dodged and fired into the maelstrom on targets so close that the bolts often connected less than a foot away. The ache on the side of his chest throbbed without mercy, and he thought he might just topple over and it would all be over.

      But he did not. He stumbled, reloaded and fired again.

      No more comets came, but the scepters his foes withdrew from under their robes were not much better. It was strange that the one he killed had not possessed one, but there was no time to ponder, for at any moment he was expecting to feel the teeth of their barbwire heads tearing him to shreds.

      For now, he felt nothing.

      Firing the last two bolts on his belt, Jace rolled sideways and with one hand reached around his back to unbuckle it, shedding the thing completely, and loading his weapons with the last he had left. Twice more he fired, but the enemy was too close. For every one that fell at Jace’s feet, three more came forward, and his ribs were on fire now. Sweat poured into his eyes and stung them, forcing him to shoot from the hip for survival.

      Just in front of him, Jace could see the opening of where the road entered the woods, mocking him from its impossible distance before another hooded enemy arrived. Jace ducked under its first attack, feeling the wind sweep down on him as the metal staff slashed overhead, and an instant later he was rolling backward as the robed figure cut the weapon short and stabbed straight through. The ragged wire cut deep into his shoulder. He rolled to the side with catlike quickness before rising to his feet once more.

      Jace was in full retreat, running for the road he knew he would never reach. A few more stumbling steps, and he was forced to turn again, spinning and unloading his crossbows into the dark mass where the figure’s face was hidden. Recovering his balance, Jace broke into a sprint. Despite the outrider’s best efforts, the road only seemed to be growing further and further away, and he barely saw the two shadows closing in on his flanks at the last second.

      Without thought, Jace extended both arms and fired, cutting down the enemies at his sides before breaking into a feet-first slide to reload, crossing his arms across the belt like a sash on his chest, spinning on the heel of his rear foot, and using the distance to snap two shots into his pursuers.

      Jace was running out of tricks. It was a miracle that he had somehow been able to weave out of the bedlam, that the wide arced path he had taken to draw his attackers behind him had worked, and that nothing stood between him and the woods but open plain. The bloody taste in his mouth was only getting worse as the cold tore his lungs and throat raw. His chest was a racking throb, as was his shoulder, and as he felt the presence of more bodies closing in on him.

      Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Jace held one of his crossbows behind him and fired blindly, knowing he had probably hit nothing, and yet having the strange sensation that his pursuers were gone. It was impossible, he knew that, but what did he have to lose?

      So he looked back.

      And paid for it, losing his balance and falling to his back. He expected to look across his body just in time to see one of those barbed metal staffs buried in his stomach. Instead, he saw only a crumpled mess of robed bodies. At first glance, it was as if that single blind shot had done it. But then he saw what was happening.

      One of the minotaurs had thrown its massive hammer, maiming the cluster that had been closest to the outrider. The minotaurs were busy attacking the robed figures, and fighting each other. It was amazing, blissfully surreal, like a nightmare he had suddenly gained control of. On top of it all, the slow work of his flint box had begun to catch like wildfire, and a few enemies were running towards the wagon. Smoke billowed high into the air, and Jace watched a minotaur pick up one of the smaller dispensing carts and use it to crush a robed figure foolish enough to attack it head on. The cart exploded into splinters, and the beast turned to throw what was left of it.

      Arduously, Jace moved to do something he never expected to do again: rise to his feet. He was running again, not looking back, and the road started to get closer.

      The minotaurs had gone berserk. Some fought each other, others attacked the robed figures. Amidst the echoing roars came the most awkward human screams Jace had ever heard, sending a shiver through his body as he ran. There was something different in the sound of it, and he found himself more afraid of the minotaurs now than he had ever been.

      One of them broke away when it noticed Jace alone, pursuing him with dreadful speed.

      Jace was able to gauge the beast’s distance by its blustering grunts, and realized with a frown that he would have to turn and face it. He was less than fifty yards from the road now, and it was possible, at least possible, that he would have been able to hide somewhere in the brush and wait it out. But fate had made this choice for him.

      There was something different in its eyes, that bizarre crimson glow now replaced by a frightening vitality more careful and calculated as it slowed. Its frosty breath came in short spurts through its bullish nostrils, and still the minotaur waited, showing respect that the others had not.

      Jace realized that he had not reloaded the second crossbow, and quickly swiped it upward across his chest. The bolt clicked into place, and Jace’s eyes widened large as saucers as the creature rushed in.

      The minotaur came overhead with its colossal sledgehammer, and Jace went left, then right to dodge and roll as the weapon rained down with the force of a falling building. Coming around with the crossbows, Jace fired. A rain of bolts hardly slowed the beast as it dived forward, trying to crush him under its bulk. But the outrider was too fast, leaping up and firing two more shots.

      The minotaur’s fighting style differed from before, its back was no more protected, and its growl was one of pain. It seemed it would be slow to get up, and Jace took the time to reload only to find his weapons made no familiar click as they passed the belt across his chest. He patted all around himself, but realization soon caught him by the throat.

      Jace was out of bolts.

      Out of options, he cursed, wondering why they had taken so little ammo. Humbled and beaten, he could not run, and he couldn’t fight it hand to hand. In a last ditch effort, Jace darted to the minotaur’s sledgehammer with the head buried deep in the earth, and the thick wooden handle angled into the air. With both hands, the outrider grabbed it, but he may well have been trying to unearth a tree. The attempt seemed sad and comical all at the same time, and as the minotaur rose to its feet to face him again, Jace brandished his last short-sword.

      “Take this!” he screamed, throwing the blade with all of his might.

      The minotaur swatted it away with its forearm.

      “Damn.”

      Once more he made eye contact with the beast, huffing and puffing from the exertion of the strain, and with an almost embarrassed glance down to his hands, balled them into fists and assumed a fighting stance. The minotaur grinned at the display, tasting victory along with the blood dripping from its mouth and staining its remarkably straight teeth.

      And then it happened.

      The wicked sneer shifted in a flash to confusion and pain, and it took a labored step that caused Jace to move warily back. But the minotaur had no intention of striking him; instead it turned around towards the woods, and as it twisted, howled in pain, jerking back again.

      Jace did not have enough room in his mind to think on the third crossbow bolts in the minotaur’s back when he knew he had only fired two. He didn’t care about the details, or how the impossible had happened. Impossible was the theme of the night.

      He reached down to pick up his crossbows right where he had dropped them only moments before, took a step so close to the beast he could feel its fur against his skin, and jammed his crossbows against the creature’s back. With a furious yank, Jace nearly lost his balance and stumbled backward as his ammunition pulled free. At last the beast swayed as it stared back at Jace. The outrider had regained his balance, and with a step forward he aimed the twin crossbows, with their bloody bolts, directly into the creature’s face. Jace pulled the triggers at point blank, jerking the creature’s head back so violently its neck cracked as it fell. It crashed to the ground, twitching in its death throes.

      The victory should have invigorated him, but it did not. It seemed to simply show how futile his struggle had become. Jace would not last a moment against another attack. Not by a minotaur, or one of the robed figures. He felt something he had never experienced before: Complete resignation.

      Whatever the shadow was charging out of the woods would be his final nemesis.

      Jace's weapons hung useless at his sides, and it was only by habit that he reattached them to the belt around his waist. Now his wounds asserted themselves, and the pain only added to his despair. The pounding hooves of what sounded like a ravenous pair of minotaurs were almost upon him now, and exhaling a long breath, the outrider looked up to meet his fate.

      And in that instant, the dwindling fire in Jace Dabriel’s heart, exploded into an inferno. The pain he felt all but vanished in a wave of adrenaline, and he reached for the hand he saw outstretched before him.

      “I thought I was the dramatic one!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

      “No!” Relic shouted as he snapped the reins. “You’re the idiot!”

      With Jace's weight behind him, Relic was slowed, and to make the turn back to the road required a slow arc around that took them dangerously close to the ongoing skirmish. “They turned on the robed guys!” Jace screamed, his voice wavering with the rough ride. “I can’t explain it!”

      Relic was aiming his crossbow at one of the robed figures that had stopped to challenge him with its staff, crouching down to spear the horse as they passed. It never had the chance. Relic’s shot was dead on, sending the writhing body to the ground.

      “Get that thing, Jace! Get it!”

      Jace caught his meaning immediately, leaning to the side and using the saddle to slide nearly vertical and snatch the barbed wire scepter even before its holder had fallen. “Bank right!”

      Jace used the momentum to spring himself back upright, distributing all of his weight onto his forearms and swinging into a reversal in the saddle so that he sat back to back with Relic. The gash in his shoulder shot a searing pain through his body as he made the adjustment, and it was only by some stroke of luck that he managed to stay on the horse.

      Relic turned when he heard Jace scream in pain.

      “Are you alright?!”

      “Right as rain, brother!” Jace yelled back.

      “Those robed guys are warlocks of some kind!” he bellowed. “And I think the distraction you caused broke their hold on the minotaurs!” Relic waited for an answer as he completed the wide turn and cracked the reins to hasten their dash towards the road. “They’re not guarding the road anymore! I told you there was something strange about it!”

      No answer came from the fellow outrider behind him.

      “You still with me, Jace? Jace!”

      “Yeah, I’m with you!” Jace yelled, but he sounded distracted.

      Relic breathed a sigh of relief. “What are you looking at?”

      Jace was squinting through the battle as they hurried past, focused on the smoldering wagon. It was completely engulfed in flames now, but that was not what had drawn his attention. It was the way the warlocks were scrambling away from it. The flames had not grown worse, but the robed figures ran with abandon. Some fell blindly into violent minotaur attacks. Then the pigment of the flames suddenly changed, from yellow and orange to deep purple. Bright sparks blazed up in every direction, crackling and falling on minotaurs and warlocks alike for hundreds of yards.

      “Jace, what are you ...”

      A massive explosion instantly reduced the wagon to a starburst of blazing cinders, blasting a rainbow shockwave that vaporized everything around it, and a rocket of smoke miles high. Even from so far away, the outriders felt a warm back draft brush past them.

      “Yeah!” Jace yelled, laughing at the sight. But the glee was short-lived.

      An entire troop of riders rode through it, leaping over mounds of fiery wagon debris, and cutting down dazed minotaurs with frightening ease. They were approaching from where the enemy army was camped.

      “Relic, riders on our tail!”

      “How many?”

      Jace watched their pursuers form lines of three abreast, preparing to enter the woods.

      “A lot,” he finally answered.

ID: 1507351   (Rated: E) Act I: "The Outriders of Veil'driel"  ~Continued~ by The Last Browncoat