Act II: "Whistlers"

      Cleo Bright was well familiar with the skill of Veil’driel's sharpshooters.  They were the best bowmen in the nation, some said the world, but it was not their reputation that concerned the young page as she made her way to the tent of Malcolm Hawkins. It was their tendency towards frayed nerves; a consequence of days spent lying motionless, ignoring all inkling of human need through the most adverse conditions, just waiting for the moment when a single shot would be taken.

  A shot that often meant damnation for the brave soul who dared to take it.

    Waking a sharpshooter out of a sound sleep could end badly.  It was with this in mind that the hand she rapped against the canvas of his tent was glazed with clammy perspiration. “Senior Bowman Hawkins,” she tried. “Are you awake?”

    What she wouldn’t have given for a solid door at that moment; something that could create a barrier between the two of them.  It might even have prevented what she would now have to do.

    “I’m coming inside,” she said, doing her best to sound confident.

    She parted the tent flaps with both arms and stepped inside, hesitating one last moment in the hopes that he might acknowledge her.  He did not. Leading with the hand that held a steaming cup of corn chowder, she took her first step inside.

    The entrance flaps fell loose again behind her, revealing an interior that was unremarkable, pulsating in the soft, flickering glow of a lantern set low.  Beside the lantern, on a poorly crafted table beside her, several books were scattered about along with letters that appeared of a personal nature.  One of the thicker books caught her eye, and she found herself drawn to it, picking it up and laying the steaming cup on the table.

  Sovereignty of Men and Monarchs by Aleister Duchyene

    She had just scanned the title when a voice startled the volume out of her hands. “If you wanna borrow that, you’re gonna have to wait,” Malcolm said groggily. “Not done with it yet.”

    Her attention was all at once on the bed. She walked over, clearing her throat before she spoke, her gaze prying at the shadow beneath the animal pelts. “Good morning, Bowman Hawkins.  I’m sorry to wake you, but I’ve been sent by the General.”

    There was no response.

    “Bowman Hawkins?” she asked again.

    “Hey, yeah,” he said with enthusiasm, but it was clear he had simply fallen back asleep.

    “I’ve been sent by General Creed to summon you,” she said again.

    There was another pause, and then the bowman yawned.  “Fantastic.” Cleo relaxed a bit at this, some of the tension easing from her body.  Then she watched him roll away from her, pulling one of the heavy pelts over his head.

    “Um,” the page cleared her throat yet again.  “General Creed requests your presence immediately, Mr. Hawkins,” she clarified.

    Malcolm took a deep breath, his voice muffled beneath the blanket.

    “Yes, I figured that, Miss Cleo.  He sent breakfast, which means I’m going somewhere within the hour.  I’m wide awake, I promise.”

    “It’s Miss Bright,” she said, a touch of aggravation creeping into her tone.  “And in my experience, breakfast hardly indicates an immediate mission.”

    “Hmm,” Malcolm said.  “You waitress a lot, I take it?”

    Cleo didn’t answer.  Malcolm didn’t move.

    “Right.  Like I said.  I’m wide awake, Miss Bright.”

    This time she made no effort to hide her mounting irritation.  “Should I inform General Creed that you’re on your way then?”

    “Definitely,” Malcolm said.

    She lingered still and silent for a moment as if expecting something more.  Then she turned without another word and left the tent, slapping the tent flaps out of her way as she departed.

***

      The path to General Simian Creed’s command tent was short and narrow; a series of well-worn trails that snaked throughout the camp upon which Malcolm tread lightly with no sense of urgency whatsoever.  The pre-dawn air seemed especially cold as he sipped his steaming soup, and at times like these he longed most for the days when he was just another anonymous soldier.

    “Creed’s tent again?” a voice said to him from the darkness.  It belonged to a slender man smoking a cigarette in the shadows.  “Might as well move in, Mal.”

    Malcolm shrugged.  “‘Morning, Adrian,” he said with a yawn, then he glanced about.  “How’s your ...”

    “Inventory?”

    The look in Malcolm’s eyes answered for him.

    “Good to go.  You gonna need me?”

    Malcolm looked up to the command tent from the bottom of the walkway that led toward it.  “Think so,” he said, holding up the soup cup.

    Adrian saw it and nodded.  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

    Malcolm never turned back to the man before starting up the gravelly slope. It was less than a dozen paces before the sentinels were stepping aside to reveal the inside of General Creed’s tent. Here we go again ...

***

      Malcolm stepped to the edge of the table and saluted.

    “Relax yourself,” the general said, sitting comfortably in a large chair and making some final additions to whatever he was writing.  Then he looked up, sighing and leaning back.  “How ya feelin', kid?” he asked.

    “Fine, sir.”

    For a moment, the commander of all Veil’driel's forces held Malcolm steady in his sight, saying nothing.  It seemed something weighed more heavily on him than usual, something new to the bowman, and while this didn’t necessarily concern him, it was certainly different. “You know, I’ve been corresponding with your father,” the general said, leaning forward and motioning to the simple wooden chair beside Malcolm.  “Sit.”

    “Thank you, sir,” the bowman said as he did so.

    “He’s very proud of you, as well he should be,” Creed went on.  “Seems you’ve become something of a legend back in Winterwine.  Must feel good.  And you’ve earned it, young man.  Truly.”

    The general smiled and Malcolm returned it, feeling as if someone had just dropped a weight on his shoulders.

    “But you appear as a closed book before me, young sir.”

    Malcolm creased his brow ever so slightly.

    “Whereas once you were an open one.”

    With a raise of his hand, the general sent all of his aides from his tent, and they left without a word or hesitation.  This had all been arranged.

    Now, this was very different.

    Malcolm watched as the small group filed out past him. Cleo Bright remained in an intent but silent vigil in the corner. “General?” he asked, his stare bouncing briefly to the shadow of the tall and slender page.

    “They tell me you’ve grown tired, Malcolm.  Cynical even,” Creed said.

    “They, sir?”

    “Yes.  It’s a polite way of saying I’ve been talking about you behind your back.”

    Malcolm tried to smile but he was too annoyed.  “Well, sir,” he said with a demeanor so nonchalant Cleo widened her eyes.  “You can’t always believe what you hear.”  Then he seemed to remember himself. “Or so experience has taught me, sir.”

    He cast a glance to Cleo, and there seemed a glint of accusation in his eyes.

    The general rose from his chair, and Malcolm immediately moved to jump to his feet before Creed waved for him to stay seated.  He was holding his elbow with his right hand and resting his chin on a fist now, studying the bowman once more.     

      “Not twenty-one years have you been a part of this world, Mr. Hawkins, and I daresay there are few who have had such an impact upon it.”

    Malcolm did not respond. By the look in the general’s eyes he was not meant to.

    “I find that remarkable.  Right now, however, I am wondering how you feel.”

    Malcolm expelled a little breath. “Honestly, sir?”

    The general nodded.  “Of course.”

    “I never really think about it.”

    “So you feel numb,” Creed said.

    At this, Malcolm paused, and he took a moment to exchange another glance with Cleo before turning back to the general.  “Sir,” he started.  “With all due respect, permission to speak freely?”

    Creed raised his eyebrows, consenting with a roll of his hand.

    “Why does this feel like an ambush?  Like I’m being tested somehow?”

    The general smiled.

    Malcolm felt himself wanting to look at Cleo again, but fought the urge.  He suddenly found her presence to be slightly uncomfortable.

    “Am I about to be accused of something?”

    “Accused?  No, of course not,” Creed said assuredly.  “Tested?  Perhaps. There are many different kinds of tests.”

    “So, if this were a test ...” Malcolm paused, opened his mouth as if to say something further, but stopped himself, settling on: “To what end, general?”

    “To learning your state of mind, son.  To that end.”

    Malcolm remained still as the general went on.

    “Six months ago you were as wet behind the ears as any young soldier I’ve ever seen,” he stopped a moment, speaking more slowly as he added:  “in all my years of service.”

    Creed looked away for a moment. Malcolm couldn’t help but wonder if the general was picturing how he had been. It seemed like such a long time ago to him; but who knew how deep a man like Creed's memories ran?

    “Intimidated, inexperienced … humble.”  The general turned back, meeting Malcolm's eyes again.  “This morning you sit before me as my most trusted and talented sharpshooter.”  Creed stared at him for what felt like ages.

    Without warning, Malcolm felt a chill run through him. The room had not changed, but he could hear the wind rippling the canvas walls, and smelt the scent of rain where there had been nothing like it before. It was like a mission; crouched, tensed, waiting. The more he thought about it, the more he could feel the gathering storm.

    Finally, the younger man could wait no more. “And?”

    “That is a very short time to have taken so many lives.  Fourteen, isn’t it?”

    Malcolm’s eyes widened.

    “You look astonished.  Is it really so shocking that I know that?”

    “No, sir,” Malcolm was quick to reply.  “I just ...”

    “I would caution you not to think me oblivious to the demands I have set before you these past months.  Your deeds have been noticed, and unrecognized though you may have felt, trust that in many ways I have walked with you, watching your every move.”

    Malcolm shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He could not help but think Cleo would notice. But it was only Creed's voice that broke the silence, the words suddenly reminding Malcolm of the dry creak of dead branches in the wind.

    “Your promotion to Senior Bowman was written by my own hand.”

    “Have I not served honorably?”

    “Indeed you have. But I fear your spirit has become another victim of your bow.”

    Malcolm’s face was stiff as a mask.

    “I am among those who witnessed this personally, son. I too am among the they.” With that, the general abruptly walked toward the exit and out into the morning.  “Come, Mr. Hawkins.  There’s a chance you’ll leave us within the hour.”

    With a release of breath, Malcolm stood slowly from his chair.  He flashed a glance to Cleo, raised his soup cup to her and then set it down on the table before following the general out.

    The page frowned after him.

***

      Even if the sun were not hidden behind a sky like smears of gray ash, it would have not yet been visible over the eastern horizon.  Still, some gloomy illumination had begun to spread west, back towards Fairlawn City and the young bowman’s home far beyond.  Back to where his mother worried constantly and his father beamed with pride.

    There was no sign of the general now, but when Malcolm looked over to the Sentinels, they seemed to expect the cue, one of them pointing back to the rear of the tent.  Malcolm looked down to the iron pegs, nodding as he stepped over the ropes grounding canvas to earth. Soon the tent was at his back, and he found himself at the top of a gradual slope, at the bottom of which three carriages awaited.

    Cleo Bright stayed close behind, silent but present. Like a ghost, he thought.

    Beside the convoy, General Creed had just joined a woman and two men, their conversation dying into silence as they regarded the pair above. “Well, this is new,” Malcolm said with some interest.

    “Top priority,” Cleo said. “We should both be alert.”

    Malcolm was about to respond when Creed motioned for them to come down before turning back to the woman who was now nodding at some point he must have made. The bowman could already hear their voices, and halfway down, he could hear what they were talking about as well.

    “And this is Senior Bowman Hawkins,” the general was saying, his arm outstretched, and he put his hand on the bowman’s shoulder when he was close enough. Malcolm nodded to them with a polite smile on his lips. He hadn't expected it, but the fresh air was doing him good after the gloom of the command tent.

    “Malcolm,” Creed said, turning to the woman.  “Allow me to introduce Jaden.”

    She was beautiful, her skin glowing with health, and her violet eyes seemed to glitter as if they had absorbed the same sunlight that tanned her. Wherever she had come from, it wasn't close. Malcolm had the feeling it was nowhere he had heard of.

    Malcolm exchanged a handshake with the woman.

    “You’re a wizardess,” he said with some astonishment.

    “I am,” she said, sliding her grip down gently to his fingers.  She ran her thumb over Malcolm’s ring.  “And you must be a very good shot to have earned this.  Refresh my memory.  Is the ring worn on the hand that grips the arrow,” she released his fingers and raised her head to make eye contact,  “or the bow?”

    “Bow,” Malcolm answered softly, his tongue seeming like lead in his mouth.

    “Ah,” she said, her voice oddly soothing.  “A lefty.”

    Malcolm was sure he meant to speak, but found he could not. He looked to Creed.

    “Mistress Jaden has been a liaison of ours since we first managed to push back the enemy’s advance at Fairlawn.”

    “Six months,” Malcolm said, raising his eyebrows.  “That long.”

    The general narrowed his eyes to a point on the young bowman.  “She has been a source of invaluable information that has helped to save many, many lives, Bowman Hawkins.  Your own included.”

    Creed turned back to Jaden.  “It has been only six months also since Malcolm here traded the sash of an archer for the ring of the sharpshooter,” he said, his true point unspoken.

    Jaden smiled. “And his service too has been invaluable, general,” she said, turning to him. “Even if it is a short time,” she admitted. Malcolm’s anger evaporated just by listening to her speak, and he found himself searching her eyes for something he could not name. It was only an instant before Creed drew his attention again.

    “These two gentlemen I’m sure you know,” Creed motioned to the men beside him.  Both wore the open gray cloaks of their rank, revealing the deadly twin crossbows at their hips. “Outriders Ferris Lang,” Creed waited for Malcolm’s first handshake to release and carry over to the second, “and Darvin Nash.”

    “It’s an honor,” Malcolm said to them both as he clasped Darvin's hand.

    “Likewise,” said Darvin.  “You’ve garnered quite a reputation for yourself.”

    “Thank you, sir,” Malcolm replied. The general nodded agreement, carrying on.

    “Darvin and Ferris are the ones who scouted out your destination, and created the map you’ll need to perform your task. You can expect that it is worthy of the task.”

    “Naturally,” Malcolm said; but his relief was short-lived.

    “I do believe it’s high time we’ve come to that task,” Creed finished.

    “Yes, sir.” Darvin motioned toward a wagon.  “If you’ll follow me, Malcolm.”

    The blades of grass beneath their boots were crusted with the early morning frost, raising a crunching noise with each footstep on the way to the center wagon.  The coachman wrapped the reins around his hands with the ease of practice, calming the horses with just a faint twitch of his hand.

    The carriage they now stood before was more fancy than the others, built for comfort. On the side hatch was a golden-laced emblem; a rune symbol Malcolm had never seen before that quickly swung out of view as Darvin Nash opened the hatch, reaching for a parchment scroll atop of one of the plush crimson seats.  Glancing over to ensure Malcolm was close, the outrider used the bottom of the carriage as a table.

    “Tell me, Mal,” Darvin began.  “Bryce Valley. Ever been?”

    Malcolm shook his head just slightly, fully engrossed in the map.  “No.”

    The outrider’s eyes were on Malcolm, but as he spoke, they followed the bowman’s line of sight so that he too examined the map.  “Know anything about it?”

    “Not much,” he admitted.  “It’s the gateway to the Kingdom of Sindell, if it’s still there.”  Malcolm shrugged and looked up to Darvin.  “And it’s on the edge of our territory?”

    “Indeed,” Darvin nodded, lowering his hand so that he was touching the map.  He dragged his finger across the parchment, stopping at some point of interest.  “It’s also right around the corner,” he said, looking to Malcolm again.  “Less than two hour’s ride.”

    “The fourteen lives you’ve taken over the course of the past six months have been very carefully and meticulously planned,” the general spoke up, suddenly drawing Malcolm’s attention.  “Each of them stepping stones leading to this opportunity.  To what we hope to accomplish today.”

    “Opportunity for what, sir?” Malcolm asked, and as he looked around he had the distinct impression he was the only one who didn’t know. It was a discomforting thought.

    “To build a bridge,” Jaden answered.  “A bridge to an alliance that could offer real resistance to the forces threatening this world.”

    Malcolm stared into the wizardess’ eyes again, but this time his stomach churned.

    “Veil’driel has opened a window of opportunity,” she went on.  “But it is a window that will not stay open forever.  The forces arrayed against you may have severely underestimated your nation’s,” she paused, her gaze floating over the outriders and back to Malcolm, “adeptness for fighting from the shadows, but they will not be held at bay much longer.” She exchanged a glance with the General before adding:  “A full scale engagement looms large.”

    “You would certainly know,” Malcolm said bluntly.

    Darvin Nash and Ferris Lang exchanged a significant glance.

    “With all do respect, sir,” Malcolm went on after a half-turn to Creed, “I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.  And to be honest, I’m not sure I want to.”  He took a step toward Jaden, all self-consciousness gone, driven out by his emotions.

    The General held out a hand to stop the young bowman in his tracks, a caution unnecessary, as Malcolm stopped short. “You speak of this … enemy as we do, but you’re clearly one of them. Your necklace of strange runes and stones, your clothes; I know the enemy when I see one.  I’ve killed enough of them to know when one is standing in front of me.”

    “Malcolm!” the general bellowed and where he had been lenient before, now lines of dangerous irritation were etched into his face. Malcolm did not stop, found that he could not stop, but only stepped closer. Creed may as well have been speaking from deep within a ravine, a distant echo that the young bowman ignored.

    “That Veil’driel hasn’t fallen,” he went on, focusing solely on Jaden’s violet stare.  “That this is a war being waged in shadows is an illusion!  I’ve been scared to death and almost killed on every mission I’ve been on.  A lot of my friends never came back from those missions,” he nodded over to the outriders, “It’s cost outrider and sharpshooter blood to maintain this stalemate; human blood and a hell of a lot of it!  We keep the wizards like you in our outer provinces away from the first of our cities.  This isn’t free.  You make it sound so effortless, but it’s not!” Malcolm looked back to the General.  “And frankly, sir, I’m not entirely sure why you seem so willing to ...”

    Near the cart, Darvin’s eyes widened and beside him Ferris Lang bowed his head.

    With all of his strength the general pushed Malcolm hard against the carriage, causing him to grunt as the air was sent from his lungs.  Before he knew it Creed was in his face, his finger stabbing the air in denunciation.

    “You listen to me, boy, for I am only going to say this one time.” He shook Malcolm hard as he shouted: “One!” The bowman's head lolled, snapped up toward his accuser again. “I don’t know when you got it in that head of yours that you have either the authority or the information to comment on war strategy, but when I tell you to do something or to trust someone you just damn well do it!”

    He pointed to Jaden without looking.

    “This woman has been working in preparation of this war long before the enemy even stepped foot on this continent!  Her life is at risk every moment of every day for what she does to help us, and whether or not you can understand or appreciate that is not at issue here!  You cannot possibly fathom the larger elements at work here, and if you insult her again, I promise you Malcolm, you will regret it!”

    Malcolm swallowed hard, still trying to catch his breath. “Might not ...” he attempted before being forced to collect himself another moment.  “Might not understand it, sir.  Sure can die for it well enough, though.”

    There was an unnatural silence, absolute and excruciating for all who watched.

    Cleo was shocked to hear anything other than desperate apology cry out of Malcolm's mouth.  That surprise, however, paled in comparison to what happened next, and the sight of it caused her jaw to fall open just slightly.

    Creed pulled Malcolm against him and into a strong embrace.

    “Malcolm, you will be the death of me,” he said.

    Jaden watched as the general placed his powerful hands on the boy’s shoulders as he whispered something to him under his breath.  She knew Creed’s deep affection for the upstart sharpshooter all too well, and had listened to stories about him deep into many nights.  But it was only now, when she saw the youngest Senior Bowman in Veil’driel history for herself that she began to understand.

    He was honest and strong.  Maybe as strong as they said.

    “I, uh …” Malcolm looked down to the ground and ran a hand back through his hair.  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up to Jaden with the anger melting away, replaced by weariness, resignation, and the first inkling of what he had done.  He paused.

    His head hung as he collected his thoughts. Then he returned an earnest gaze.

    “Please.  Just tell me what I need to do.  Tell me who I need to kill.”

    “No one,” Creed said.  “There’s no killing on this one, Mal.” The general crossed his arms and began to move, interweaving slowly through all present as he spoke.  “And now we’ve come to a crossroads,” he said, coming before Malcolm and stopping.

    “Sir?”

    “You can go on leave right now.  At this very moment,” Creed nodded over to Cleo who held the papers up at her side, tightly rolled from how she'd had them in her pocket.  “Signed, sealed, and ready to go.  For a month, Malcolm, back in Fairlawn City.” The general paused, studying Malcolm’s reaction.

    There was none that he could see.  Not yet.

    “There’d be no shame in it.  Hell, the reason Fairlawn stays so far from danger is due in no small part to your bow.” There was no change in Malcolm’s expression.  No indication as to which way he might be leaning.

    “Or you can take on one more mission before you go.”

    Now the general diverted his eyes to Jaden. She was as still and aloof as a statue.

    “I can offer you no incentive to do so,” Creed said, and then he looked back to Malcolm, waiting until the bowman's focus was on him again.  “But I promise you …  this could very well be our only chance at a legitimate step towards victory.”

    Malcolm only smiled, staring down into the frosty grass at his feet.

    “I’ll go and get my gear, sir,” he said.

    Creed clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you. Miss Bright?”

    Cleo stepped forward.  “General?”

    “If you would be so kind as to go with Bowman Hawkins here and assist him with whatever he needs,” then he turned back to Malcolm.  “Jaden will have the specifics for you upon your return.”

    Creed turned on his heels, apparently a man with more on this morning’s agenda.

    “Sir, it really isn’t necessary for her to ...”

    But the general never turned back as he went to join Jaden.

    Malcolm sighed, turning to find Cleo now standing at his side.

***

      Malcolm’s pace was so quick that he might as well have been jogging to his tent.

    “I’ve never seen anyone talk to the general like that,” Cleo said as she quickened her pace to keep up. He found himself listening to her breath fluttering behind him; she didn't miss a beat, and could have kept up for a long time, he decided.

    “So?” he asked.

    “He must really love you.”

    “Of course he does.  I make him look good. Officers like it when you do that.”

    “Yes, well, there are many who fit that description, and he wouldn’t have tolerated any of them speaking to him the way you did.”

    Malcolm spared her a quick glance.  “You must have missed the part where he threw me into the wagon.”

    “He could have put you in the stockade.”

    Malcolm smiled.  “Believe me, he wanted to.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “The general likes me well enough, but he knows I deserved a night or two locked up to put me in my place.”

    “But he didn’t do it.”

    “Because he needs me.  Despite what he and the wizardess might say, I am not the first sharpshooter they’ve sent on this mission.”

    There was a moment of silence and then Cleo stopped dead in her tracks.

    Malcolm continued on a few more paces before realizing it, and turned around, looking mildly annoyed.  “What?”

    “How did you know that?” she asked.

    “Ah.  Knew that already, did ya?”

    Cleo remained silent as she waited for her answer.

    “Creed doesn’t brush his teeth without at least three days preparation,” Malcolm answered through an impatient sigh.  “He wouldn’t try to squeeze something this critical into a single day’s work unless he had to. Unless something had gone wrong.”

    Cleo didn’t answer right away, her face becoming altogether still as she seemed to take notice of something she hadn’t seen in him before. “They didn’t want to cloud the issue,” she finally said, her tone ringing of admittance.  “It was thought to be better if you could just concentrate on the mission and nothing else.”

    Malcolm laughed, taking a step towards her.  “Sweetheart, the only thing they didn’t wanna cloud is my conviction.  Creed talking about how proud my father is, letting me see the convoy, the outriders, the wizardess with my own eyes right before offering the chance to go on leave?”

    Cleo just stared back at him.

    “Telling me someone’s already died trying to do what they now want me to attempt, isn't exactly the soundest sales pitch.”

    “Well…” The page's voice was quiet. “Since you got this all figured out, then maybe you could explain why General Creed would offer the leave at all?”

    “To make me think I was doing this by choice.  Enhances the quality of work and the likelihood of success when you do that.  And believe me, just in case I still refused,” he turned, taking a step toward his tent,  “they had something else up their sleeve.”

    Cleo sighed, and her mouth scrunched near the corner.  “The Outriders ...”

    Malcolm stopped.  “Mmhm?”

    “They’re not just providing convoy security. They’ve been ordered into the service of the King of Sindell upon their arrival.”

    “So?”

    “So … Outrider Nash is taking his family.  And they’ll be going along on the convoy.  His wife and five-year-old daughter.”

    Malcolm angled his head down, massaging the bridge of his nose before turning around to face her. “Which I would have been conveniently shown if that whole legitimate step towards victory bit didn’t work,” he said.

    Malcolm was walking again, and after lengthening her stride a little, Cleo was once more right beside him. “You’re either very smart, Malcolm Hawkins, or just very cynical.”

    “No distinction,” he said.  “Not in the military, at least.”

    “If that’s your outlook I’d hate to know your feelings on higher authority figures.”

    As they came to the entrance of Malcolm’s tent, he turned to her and shrugged.  “It’s just business,” he said.  “This mission is important; he has an asset that can carry it out.  Creed’s just doing what anyone in his position would.”

    “Is it what you would do?” she asked when they were face to face.

    “Probably,” Malcolm said.  Then he took a half a step closer to her.  “Although I tend towards a more ... direct approach.”  Despite the drastic, sudden closeness, Cleo did not back down, although her smile wavered. She shrugged as if it were nothing.  “There is one thing that does bother me, however.”

    “Oh?”

    “That I am the general’s second choice for this mission.”

    “You were not.”

    The bowman remained silent, expecting an explanation.

    “There was concern that your claustrophobia might be an issue.”

    “I assure you … the rumors of that are greatly exaggerated,” Malcolm said.

    “Hope so.  There’ll be caverns.”

    “Caverns, huh?” Malcolm cleared his throat, doing his best to stay focused.

    “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

    Malcolm took a deep breath and seemed to regain his bearings.  “No problem,” he said confidently, then glimpsed over at the entrance to his tent.  “Listen.  I have a sort of tradition … a routine that I go through before every big mission.”

    The slight crease in Cleo’s brow showed well that she didn’t understand.

    “See, if you go in there with me it’ll throw everything off.  You know, then I get killed, I have to come back here and haunt you for being responsible, it’d be a hassle.”

    “Oh, I would be responsible?” she asked, doing her best to hide amusement.

    “Yeah,” Malcolm said, turning to pull back the flaps.  “Plus,” he added.  “You might try to steal another one of my books.”

    Cleo smiled behind him as he disappeared into his tent.

***

      “Where to this time?” asked Adrian Pierce, biting into a half-eaten apple as he turned to acknowledge the bowman.

    “Bryce Valley,” Malcolm said, making his way over to the corner near his bed.

    “Bryce Valley?” he asked, appalled.  “Sindell prolly ain’t even there no more.  What the hell for?”

    “Don’t know yet,” Malcolm said, looking up briefly from fastening a dagger to his boot. Further consideration of the matter appeared to slip from Adrian’s thoughts and he motioned back to the entrance with a backward nod, lowering his voice to a whisper.

    “That the general’s girl out there?”

    “Yep,” Malcolm said, now fastening the fully loaded quiver to his back so that the leather straps intersected across his chest.  Then, with a final adjustment it contracted, securing the arrows within.

    “Heard she used to take a serious liking to you,” he said, finishing the apple and tossing it towards a small receptacle set beside the table.  It missed and fell to the floor, though that hardly seemed to concern him.  “Used to watch you a lot before you got all popular and arrogant-like.”

    “You know, Pierce,” Malcolm said as he moved to pick his heavy brown cloak off the chair beside his bed, “for some reason, I can never sense if you’re lying or not, and you’re about the only person I know who can pull that off.”  He finished wrapping the cloak around his shoulders, the whole of his attention now focused on the tall infantryman.  “Lucky for me, you’re dumb enough to where I don’t have to.”

    Reaching into one of his deep pockets, Adrian just laughed, pushing Malcolm with his other hand as he did so.  “Ain’t lyin',” he said, “but don’t worry.  Pretty sure she thinks you’re stupid now.”

    Adrian withdrew a small pouch, appearing on the verge of speaking further before noticing the blank expression that had swept Malcolm’s face.  “Aw hell, don'tcha tell me you’re still carryin' that torch?  Thought you’d a learned by now.  You ain’t gettin' to her position ‘less you got ties to high society, and no mistake.  I mean, what’d ya think, Mal?  One day she’d just look up at your mug with those big blue eyes and ...”

    “Her eyes are green,” Malcolm said, looking down and away.  “And shut up.  That’s not what I’m thinking about.”

    Adrian glanced around, a baffled expression on his face as if he had suddenly become suspicious of everything, without cause or distinction.  “Then what?” he finally asked.

    “Should have known,” Malcolm said, but it seemed he was speaking to himself.

    “Mal, I swear if you don’t tell me what’s going on, and right quick, I’m gon-”

    “Thought Creed sent her to feel me out, get my impressions of his command.  That kind of thing,” he said, floating his attention back to the towering man before him.  “But there’s something else.  They’re onto this.”

    At first, Adrian didn’t appear to get it, his face frozen in continuing bafflement.  But then his eyes widened.  “Oh!” he yelled.

    Malcolm pushed him.  “Shh!”

    “Aw, no.  Aw hell no, Mal.”

    “Relax,” Malcolm said, assuredly.  “Might have been a problem if I let her in here and she saw you, but all they have now is rumors.”

    “Well, how you know?”

    Malcolm’s expression turned to annoyance.  “Because if they knew you were dealing to me, Pierce, I’d already be sitting next to you in Fairlawn trying to explain what court-martial means.”

    There was a long pause between them, as Adrian appeared to be processing this new circumstance. Then it was his turn to push Malcolm. “Well, whatchew expect, all those damn mood swings of yours!”  Adrian shook his head.  “It’s a damn wonder this ain’t happened sooner.”

    “It's mood swings, is it?” the bowman snapped, genuinely angry for the first time.

    Adrian nodded, but Malcolm saw weakening resolve in his eyes.

    “How about you hiding in the damn shadows like some thief in the night?” Malcolm said as harshly as a whisper allowed.  “You know who does that?”

    Adrian just stared blankly back at him.

    “Hm?”

    Adrian shook his head.

    “Bad guys, Adrian,” Malcolm said.  “Bad guys do that.”

    Another moment passed and then Malcolm took a deep breath, stepping closer.

    “Listen, it’s no big deal.  We’ll just be more careful from here on out.”

    Adrian was looking at the floor now, pausing a little while before finally nodding.

    “Wait a few minutes after we’ve gone before you leave, alright?”

    There was no response from the tall soldier, as Malcolm could still clearly see him contemplating a disgraced future behind bars.  “Alright?” the bowman pushed.

    “Alright,” Adrian said, looking up at his comrade again.

    “It’s my fault anyway.  Should have seen this coming.”

    “It’s 'cause ya like her,” Pierce said, smiling, and just like that the worry in his eyes gave way to the satisfied perception of having proven his earlier point.

    Malcolm smiled, shaking his head.  “You’re an idiot.”

    Adrian handed the small pouch to Malcolm.  “Listen,” he said.  “My conscience ain’t naggin' at me on account I do believe this done wonders for your sanity over the past few months.  But I ain’t so much an idiot that I don’t notice a thing or two.”

    Malcolm sighed as Adrian went on.

    “Last bag had ‘nuff doses to last you a long, long while, and, keepin' track of your mission count such as I do, this meeting we have here tonight ain’t s'posed to be necessary.  Which means …”

    Malcolm tried to look away, but Adrian wouldn’t allow it, grabbing the bowman’s chin and dragging him back to make stare him in the eye.

    “Which means,” he continued, “you been usin' even when you ain’t had to.”

    “Listen, I respect what you’re saying, and I appreciate what you do for me, but if we don’t have this conversation later, it’s gonna start to look suspicious.”

    Adrian sighed.  “Feverlew ain’t no joke, Mal. Don’t treat it as such.”

    Malcolm nodded, tucking the small pouch inside his cloak.

    “There’s ‘bout enough there for six shots,” Adrian went on, nodding to Malcolm’s cloak.  “A pinch at a time, ya hear?  Any more ‘n that and you might wind up thinkin' you can fly, seein' dead relatives, or some other such nonsense gonna get you killed.”

    “I hear ya,” Malcolm said, taking a step to the side and moving towards the exit.  “See ya when I get back.  Remember what I said.  Wait a bit before you leave.” He had one foot outside when Adrian called him again.

    “Hey, Mal.”

    Malcolm turned around.

    “Think ya might be need'in this?” he asked.

    Bending over, Adrian grabbed the recurved bow from where it was leaning against the table.  He threw it to Malcolm who caught it cleanly.

    After rolling his eyes, the bowman was gone.

***

      Cold gray clouds hung low in the sky as Malcolm emerged from his tent to find Cleo waiting just a few yards away.  It was fully light, and all around them there were low ranking soldiers snuffing out the bright flames of the massive braziers throughout camp. She smiled when she saw him, and looked confused when he started past her without so much as a glance in her direction.

    “Malcolm?” she asked, jogging up to his side. “Get everything you needed?”

    “Define everything?” he asked, his tone as cold as the weather.

    “What?”  Cleo asked, and when she spoke again it was with the flat tone Malcolm had come to expect.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

    The camp was fully awake, buzzing with all the activity of routine and duty. Soldiers were moving all about, and it seemed to Cleo that Malcolm was weaving around them in a way that made it difficult to stay close.  They said nothing the rest of the way to the command tent, and Cleo didn’t make it back to his side until they were standing atop the slope looking down on the convoy.

    Jaden, as expected, was standing near the most elaborate wagon, in serious discussion with General Creed.  Outrider Ferris Lang appeared to be joking with the driver of the lead coach, while Darvin Nash was nowhere to be seen.

    “She’s a good woman,” Cleo said, watching Jaden.  “What the general told you is true.  Even before she came to us, she had been corresponding with key officials in Avaleen.”  Cleo didn’t know what to make of Malcolm’s expression.  It almost seemed he didn’t care at all.  “We owe her a lot.”

    “It’s gonna take a lot more than the word of some future aristocrat to prove that.”

    Cleo turned to him, stung.

    “Of course, if you were more than that … if you were actually out in the field, like I don’t know, ever, you might understand how someone like me might hesitate to trust a wizard.”

    Cleo started down the hill, but she hadn’t taken more than two steps before the sound of Malcolm’s voice brought her attention back to him. “You know, for a page, you sure are privy to a lot of information.”

    “I’m sorry,” she said.  “Have I …  are you trying to imply something?”

    “Me?” Malcolm asked.  “Of course not, I wouldn’t dream of it.  I’m just a dumb, expendable grunt who’s making an observation.”

    Cleo’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly.

    “Still ...” he went on, looking past her to the convoy.  “Pretty girl like you might find other ways of getting ahead in a different capacity.  You know,” his tone obnoxiously pleasant. “Find the general on one of those cold nigh ...”

    When Malcolm looked back to her, into her face, he found all speech instantly caught in his throat.  Cleo’s eyes glistened back at him, and he watched as she swallowed hard amidst uneven breathing wrought of anger and sadness.  He had hurt her deeply, he knew it, and all he wanted to do was say sorry.  All he wanted to do was touch her.

    Without speaking, Cleo turned and walked away from him, Malcolm’s mouth opened to say nothing.

    “Malcolm!” Creed yelled for him from the bottom of the slope.

    Malcolm looked away from Cleo to the general, and the self-hatred he had in that instant only fueled the anger he found he could not escape.

    The general was waving his hand in the air now.

    Malcolm was walking again, and he raised his bow in acknowledgement.

    “We’re just about ready to go here,” Creed said, slapping Malcolm hard on the arm.

    Darvin Nash emerged from behind the third wagon.  Malcolm was just wondering if the outrider's little girl had any understanding of the danger that lie ahead when he suddenly noticed Jaden staring at him.  Her expression showed intense interest, and even after Malcolm looked to her, the wizardess held her stare.

    Ferris Lang joined the group from where he had been making preparations to the lead wagon, and soon they were all standing together. Cleo was nowhere to be seen.

    “Everything’s set and secure, sir,” Darvin said to the general, and then he turned to Jaden.  “We’re ready to depart on your word.”

    “Thank you, Mr. Nash,” she said.

    With a wide smile, Creed shook the outrider’s hand.  “Say hello to General Lockhart for me when you get to Sindell,” he said.

    “Will do, general,” Nash said with a nod, and when their handshake released he snapped a crisp salute.

    “Same goes for you, young man,” Creed said to Ferris Lang, shaking his hand before returning the outrider’s salute.

    The general stepped back and addressed them both. “Fates willing, we’ll meet again when this horrible conflict is over,” he finished.

    Without another word, Darvin Nash made his way back to the rear wagon, and Malcolm watched as he climbed up next to the driver, shaking his hand and smiling at something shared between them.

    Malcolm was just looking back to the general when he heard his name being called by Ferris Lang, and he turned to see the outrider motioning for him to come closer.

    “Sir?” Malcolm said.

    “I just wanted to talk to you about something before Jaden explains the rest of what’s going on.”

    Malcolm nodded, feeling the familiar spike of adrenaline that came with the onset of every mission.

    “After Jaden gives you the map of the valley, I want you to pay very close attention to a particular mark.  A circle I made in red, around a cavern entrance near where you’ll come into the valley.”

    Malcolm was motionless, hanging on the outrider’s every word.

    “I don’t expect it to be an issue, as your mission has nothing to do with it, but just in case it turns out to be relevant,” Ferris paused, staring deep into Malcolm’s eyes.  “Do not, under any circumstances, enter there.”

    “What’s in there?” Malcolm asked without thinking.

    The outrider sighed, almost as if the very question had disappointed him a little.  “Something you want nothing to do with,” he said.  “Or know anything about.  Do you hear me?”

    Malcolm looked off, nodding.  A response that did not satisfy Ferris Lang.

    “Do you hear me, bowman?” he asked again.

    “Yes, sir,” Malcolm said, making eye contact.

    Ferris held his stare for a second longer, and then smiled.  “You’re the best shot I’ve ever seen, kid, I mean that,” he said.  “Just relax and do your thing out there.”

    With that, Ferris Lang was off to his station on the leading wagon, and when Malcolm turned back he saw Jaden, Creed, and much to his surprise, Cleo waiting for him. No one spoke; for a few moments the party, even the perceptive wizardess, seemed each one alone in their own thoughts. Thoughts that were interrupted by the voice of Creed as he returned to them, his eyes on Malcolm.

    “Ah, the man of the hour.  I’ll see you tonight.”

    Malcolm shook the general’s hand and offered his salute.

    Behind him, Cleo climbed up into the carriage, smiling at the driver as she did so.  Malcolm was watching her until Creed tapped him on the back.  “I mean it, son.  I’ll see you tonight.  That’s an order.”

    “Sir,” the bowman said.

    The general nodded and then stepped away.

    "Good luck to you,” he said, and then turned his attention to Jaden.

    Malcolm looked up into Jaden’s carriage, knowing full well that Cleo was looking out of the window on the opposite side intentionally, avoiding his gaze.  He also knew that he was meant to ride in the same carriage with Jaden.  This is going to be fun, he thought to himself.

    “What’s goin' on, Mal?” the general asked him suddenly, and Malcolm turned around to see him standing beside Jaden, quite obviously waiting for him to board the carriage.  “Takin' a sudden interest to the outside of carriages?”

    Malcolm smiled awkwardly and then did the only thing he could.  He turned and boarded the coach and sat down beside Cleo who made it a point to slide just a little bit further from him as they sat on plush crimson cushions.

    For the first few minutes, Malcolm just watched the exchange between Creed and Jaden, muted by the distance between him and them. Though he could not catch every detail, it seemed a strange mix of sentimentality and serious business.  Then he sighed, looking over to Cleo, who seemed just as uncomfortable as he did.

    “You’re not gonna, like … stab me when I’m not looking or something, are you?”

    Cleo rolled her eyes.

    Malcolm turned back to watch the general and Jaden approach the entrance.

    “Well, General Creed.  This appears to be the end of our collaboration,” Jaden said with a beautiful smile.

    “On the contrary, Mistress,” Creed said, and he took her hand as she stepped up to board her carriage.  “I do believe it is just beginning.”

    “May we meet again,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss her hand.

    Jaden gracefully lowered her arm back down and boarded the carriage.  The general closed the door behind her.

    After they were all inside, Creed took a step back and signaled the driver of the lead carriage who instantly let out his call.  It was followed by the second just beside him and the third; soon the small convoy was rumbling past him.

    The general stood and watched as they dwindled into the distance over the flat, grassy plain, finding in that moment that he had time to think about the situation, to hear his own thoughts for the first time.  There was nothing left to orchestrate, nothing left to prepare for.  Nothing left to do but hope, and it seemed to get a little bit colder.

***

      “You look tense,” Jaden said to Malcolm.  It was the first time she had spoken since leaving the camp behind, before now seeming content in observing his awkward interactions with Cleo.

    “Do I?”

    The wizardess nodded.

    Cleo kept her eyes fixated on the window, staring out at the rugged terrain.

    “Must be this feeling I have of being the only one on this convoy who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

    Jaden seemed amused. “You know the mission of this convoy is to make it to Sindell, and the only route connecting the two nations is through Bryce Valley ...”

    A moment or two passed.

    “Right?” Malcolm urged.

    “What you don’t know is that without you, we have no chance of getting through.”

    For the first time Cleo looked away from the window, although she was careful not to look at Malcolm.

    “As I’m sure you’re aware, the outer provinces are largely occupied by ...”

    “Your people?” Malcolm said, eager to move this briefing along.

    Jaden nodded.

    Malcolm glanced to Cleo, and she did not divert her eyes.  She did, however, look at Jaden when the wizardess spoke, leading Malcolm to do the same. “This,” Jaden said, handing him a worn parchment. “Is the Sky Gate.”

    Malcolm leaned forward and took it, staring down at a meticulously detailed drawing of a colossal structure blocking the far northern end of the valley at where it opened up into the Kingdom of Sindell.  It was obviously the work of a master engineer.

    “Looks like a dam,” Malcolm said, turning it sideways for a different perspective.

    “In many ways, it’s exactly that.  Only instead of holding back water, it’s designed to hold back everything else.” Jaden waited another moment for Malcolm to study the diagram before adding: “Your point of interest lies at the top.  To the pulley mechanism that provides the Gate's function.”

    Cleo shifted in her a seat, trying to get a better look over Malcolm’s shoulder at what they were talking about.

    “Right,” Malcolm said, finding it.

    “Your task is to shoot away the rope that connects the lever to the weight system.”

    Malcolm was following along on the diagram with his finger. “Mmhm.”

    “The system itself is advanced,” Jaden went on,  “but it is completely dependent on that single connection.  Once it is severed, the effect will be the same as ...”

    “Pushing the lever to open it,” Malcolm said, but then he looked up from the map.  “Why can’t we just do that, then? Climb up there and push the lever, I mean.”

    Jaden smiled.  “A logical question,” she said.  “Outriders have already tried.  You see that scaffolding leading up to the operator’s platform?”

    Malcolm nodded, looking down again.

    “It isn’t there anymore.  Demolished by whoever closed the gate to begin with.”

    “Maybe it was the King of Sindell who ordered it,” Malcolm said.

    Jaden shook her head, but it was Cleo who offered the explanation.

    “Just before communication with Sindell ceased, the High Council received an official request for aid,” Cleo said.  “A call for military assistance to help defend against winged ... creatures attacking their lands.”

    Malcolm looked up from the map, his face hardening.  “Winged Creatures?”

    “You find that hard to believe?” Jaden asked.

    Malcolm sighed.  “Well,” he said with a shrug.  “When you consider no one had heard of a wizard before a year ago, I guess I shouldn’t.”  Then he took another moment to reflect.  “But … Winged Creatures?  You mean, like ... evil birds or something?”

    “I mean like demons,” Cleo corrected with some annoyance.  “Like it’s no coincidence that the enemy would send flying creatures to attack a nation of airships.”

    Malcolm had only begun to glance toward Cleo before Jaden was speaking again.

    “This entire continent, Bowman Hawkins, and all of the nations on it, are in the midst of a storm centuries in the making. Getting through this valley is only the beginning for us.  The real danger lies beyond.  To where the night waits to fall from the sky.”

    Malcolm sat motionless for a bit, listening to the cold morning air carrying a gust of noise around the carriage.

    “In any case,” the wizardess went on.  “It is highly unlikely that Sindell would ask for aid and then close their doors to it.” 

    “Okay,” Malcolm said, taking a deep breath.  “Tell me about these caverns.”

    Jaden handed him two more maps, the first of which outlined a path through the caverns.  The second was a geological survey of Bryce Valley, on which the first thing Malcolm saw was Ferris Lang’s bright red circle around a cavern entrance near the Sky Gate.

    “These caverns run throughout the interior walls of the entire valley.  We will drop you near one of the entrances, which you will see clearly marked on the map.”

    Malcolm found the spot.

    “Ms. Bright will accompany you there and wait outside after you enter to ...”

    “Report if I get killed?” Malcolm asked, still concentrating on the map.

    “If something goes wrong,” Jaden said.  She twitched her wrist and two thin leather straps fell out of her sleeve and into her hand.  At the end of one was a sapphire.  On the other, a crystal. She handed them both to Malcolm.

    “What’s this?” Malcolm asked, holding one in each hand and looking at the crystal and sapphire dangling in front of his face.

    “Why don’t you touch one and see?” the wizardess asked.

    Malcolm laid the crystal down next to him on the seat, and touched the sapphire, his eyes widening when it began to glow.  He squinted, staring at it.  “What the?”  And he heard his words echo all around the carriage.  It was odd.  “Um,” he said, looking around as that too was heard twice more.

    Cleo and Jaden had taken their own sapphires out and each one was holding her stone balanced in her palm. Both of the sapphires shone with the same arcane, inner light, splashing the faces of the page and wizardess with a subtle bluish glow.

    “Tap it again,” Jaden said, her words echoing all around.

    When Malcolm did so, the sapphire went dormant.  The glow gone, it looked once again like a simple precious stone.

    “It’s a form of communication,” Jaden said.  “You see, all objects transcend their mere physical existence,” she went on, observing with interest as Malcolm concentrated on the sapphire, swinging it back and forth in front of his face as a hypnotist might do with a watch.  “And so is true of these stones which have ...”

    Malcolm tapped it again and all three sapphires sprung to life.

    “A special purpose beyond-” her words echoed again from all around.

    Malcolm tapped it again.

    “What meets the eye,” Jaden’s voice finished normally.  “Soon all of the Veil’driel military forces ...”

    Fascinated, Malcolm touched the gemstone yet again.  The blue glow and Jaden’s voice echoed from the sapphire dangling in front of Malcolm’s face as well as Cleo’s. “…will be trained to use them to ...”

    “Could you please stop doing that!” Cleo yelled.

    Malcolm jumped a bit, startled.  He tapped the sapphire again and the glow was gone.  He looked up to Jaden, who in turn glanced to Cleo.  Looking rather annoyed, the page nodded.

    “If you would be so kind as to take your arm from your cloak a moment,” Jaden said in a soft voice.  Cleo leaned across Malcolm’s lap, picked up the crystal on the leather string beside him and snatched the dangling sapphire from his hand.  Then she looked at him rather impatiently, waiting for him to do as Jaden requested.

    Malcolm turned his attention to the wizardess as Cleo began tying the leather strings around his right arm.  When she was done, Cleo sat back, and Malcolm raised his arm to look at where they dangled from his bicep.

    “After you’ve disabled the gate, you’ll use the sapphire to alert us, and at that point we’ll make our way through the valley.”

    Malcolm looked up.  “And then?” he asked, putting his arm back into his cloak.

    “And then you go back through the caverns, to Miss Bright, and report to the rendezvous site.”

    Malcolm spent some time searching through the papers before him.  “Um,” he started, still shuffling the maps.  “Which is where exactly?”

    “Not far from the valley.  We’ll pass it en route and I’ll point it out then.”

    “And after we get there?” Malcolm asked.  “What then?”

    “You or Miss Bright will use your sapphire to contact General Creed, who will dispatch transportation to return you to the camp.”

    Malcolm nodded, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the wall of the wagon.

    “You have no more questions, I take it?” Jaden asked.

    “Nope.  That’ll do,” Malcolm said, reaching down for his bow that was leaning against his lap.  With his eyes still closed he picked it off the floor and slipped the bow over his head so that he was wearing it like a necklace.

    “That doesn’t look very comfortable,” Jaden said.

    “Can’t sleep any other way outside my tent,” Malcolm said simply.

    Cleo shook her head in disgust as she watched Malcolm doze off, wondering how anyone could sleep at a time like this.  For a moment longer she just stared at him, finding herself, strangely, where they had begun: Malcolm sleeping in her presence.  Then, finally, she just looked back out the window at the rugged terrain flying by.

    Jaden took both of them in, her gaze bouncing from Cleo then to Malcolm.

    She smiled.

***

      Malcolm awoke with a start. Disoriented, he forced himself up, then bent quickly to grab the dagger on his boot.  A soft hand landed on his shoulder and seemed to instantly calm him.  He took a deep breath as if reality had just in that moment caught up to him and he glanced up to see Jaden.

    “We’re coming up on that rendezvous point,” she said, sitting back in her seat and motioning out the window.  Malcolm sat upright, leaning forward and looking out.  “We’re nearly there.”

    Monoliths of solid rock had replaced the green terrain that had been a blur of motion when Malcolm had first fallen asleep.  They were now coming upon the very northeastern end of Veil’driel’s territory.  In the distance, the deep abyss of Bryce Valley could already be seen running parallel to them.

    Here and there they spotted guard towers on the far side, long abandoned.

    “Too bad they couldn’t have built a few bridges across this thing.  Would have saved us a lot of trouble,” then Malcolm rubbed some of the sleep from his eyes and yawned.

    “They tried,” Jaden said.  “For generations, they tried.” Then she waited until Malcolm looked her way.  “Sindell did.  To build bridges. None of them survived.  No matter how sound or strong, no matter how flawlessly designed, not one lasted more than a few days.”

    “None of them?”

    “None. And these are the same engineers who designed airships.  Eventually the Bryce dynasty decreed there would be no more.  It was a waste of money and risk of lives.”

    Malcolm turned back out the window, staring once more to the valley.

    “I suppose you’re gonna tell me there’s something supernatural behind it.”

    When there was no answer, Malcolm turned back to see Jaden smiling at him.

    “Seriously?” Malcolm asked, his face going completely blank and earnest.

    The wizardess just diverted her eyes.

    “There it is,” Cleo said, pointing.

    Now Jaden leaned forward to look for herself.  Close ahead, a spike of rock shot up in the air, no other stones like it to be seen. Beyond that single point the terrain began to rise sharply skyward and the rock outcroppings showed themselves in greater and greater numbers on every side. High cliffs loomed in the distance, their peaks obscured by ragged swathes of pale fog that were already burning away in the afternoon sun.

    From here it was already possible to see nooks in the terrain that Malcolm suspected concealed the entrances to the caverns. If the weather held, he thought, the fog would soon dissolve even among the high peaks, and visibility in Bryce Valley would be more than enough to take the shot he needed.

    From here the caverns were no more than a mile or two away, he suspected.

    “Fates willing,” Jaden started as they passed the spike of rock, “both of you will be contacting Creed from that point by nightfall, reporting that the convoy made it through and everything went according to plan.”

    Malcolm was still staring at the spike, hoping that he would see it again.  He pictured walking up to it with Cleo, pictured standing at the base unharmed and calling Creed to send another carriage for them. As his eyes drifted away from the window he realized all at once that Cleo was staring at him.

    It took him a moment to realize he had missed something.

    “What?” he asked, his concentration shifting from Cleo to Jaden.

    “The sapphire will not reach the camp anywhere before that point,” Jaden said, and it was obvious to Malcolm that she was repeating herself. “The valley will interfere.”

    Malcolm only nodded, as the concept certainly seemed simple enough.  But when he realized Jaden was still staring at him, he nodded at her.  “Okay, I understand,” he said.  “We won’t be able to contact the camp unless we’re at the rendezvous … rock. Spike. Thing.”

    Jaden pointed back down to the map.  “We will enter the valley from the entrance here,” she said.

    “It's a road carved many centuries ago by the druids who lived in the valley,” Cleo said suddenly. Malcolm looked over to her for a moment and there was a pause while neither spoke.  Finally, he groped for a response.

    “Um.  Neat,” Malcolm blurted, Cleo glanced away, crossing her arms and staring out the window once more.

    The convoy began to slow, turning to pass an outcropping on their right. Beyond that stood the cliffs.

    “That’s all?” Malcolm asked Jaden as he turned back to her.

    “Your meaning?”

    “You don’t want me to wait until you're clear?”

    Jaden shook her head and seemed to drift off in her thoughts.

    “No,” she said simply.  “When the gate opens you leave.”

    Ahead, the sound of the carriage drivers' commands to stop echoed off of the cliffs.  A moment later the convoy halted with a sudden jerk and there was a pause when Malcolm just leaned forward to look out the window, taking his initial survey of the rocky slopes leading up and far away.

    The pause seemed longer than Jaden had expected. Finally, she spoke.

    “Is there something wrong?”

    “No,” Malcolm said quietly to himself, still surveying

    The slopes were built of orange rock, slashes of lighter and darker coloration running through them, some as dark as a blood orange sunset, while most were pale as rust. Great boulders stood as if placed there by the hands of giants, towering like a labyrinth beneath a vanilla sky with a sun set in the center like a distant bone-white marble.

    “No,” he said again.  “I’m ready.”

    “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Malcolm,” she said, nodding gracefully.  “I wish you luck.”

    “Same to you,” Malcolm said, popping the door open and jumping off.

    His mind was racing with the mission now, falling into a familiar groove of intense concentration. When he was standing on the rocky landscape he looked back up, helping Cleo down from the carriage, continuing to maintain eye contact with Jaden as Cleo stepped to the ground beside him.

    “I’ll be in touch,” Malcolm said with a smile.

    Jaden smiled and nodded down on him.  “We’ll be waiting,” she said, and then, as she leaned back, the door closed without her even touching it.

    Before the convoy began moving again, Malcolm waited and watched as Darvin Nash and Ferris Lang made their way out of their carriages to sit next to the drivers, their twin crossbows and bolt belts now briefly revealed as their cloaks whipped in a chilly breeze.  When they had taken position, the crack of reins sounded with the finality of thunder; the first carriage began moving forward.

    The sharp shooter looked up just in time to see the third cart roll by with Ferris Lang looking down at him.  As their eyes met he acknowledged Malcolm with a slight nod.

    “Well then,” Malcolm began, watching with Cleo as the convoy dwindled into the distance.  “Shall we?”

    Cleo nodded.

    Malcolm was already reaching into his cloak for the map.

    “You won’t need that yet,” Cleo said, turning back to him as the wagons disappeared.

    Malcolm watched as she started away towards the valley, into the labyrinth of rock.  “Why not?” he asked.

    “I have the way memorized.”

    Malcolm found himself glancing back the way they came, to the spike of rock still plainly in sight, not two miles away from where they stood.  He sighed, drawing in a deep breath before taking his first steps after her.

***

      A few more minutes passed in silence as they focused on the hard terrain, staying close by one another as the ground sloped upward ever more harshly. Their boots brought up clouds of orange dust and sent stones skittering and bouncing down the way they had come.

    At long last, Cleo spoke up again, her tone milder than it had been before.

    “You know the outriders,” she said, staring far above at a point that still lay ahead of them.  The entrance to the valley was within her view by now; Malcolm straightened up and took the last few steps to come up behind. “There are half a dozen copies of that map.  Nothing left to chance.”

    “Ah,” Malcolm said, looking away from her back to follow her gaze.

    Cleo hesitated a moment before looking down away from where she was staring and back to Malcolm.  “What?” she asked.

    “Nothing,” Malcolm said, shrugging, and then looked back into her eyes with a smirk.  “Just good to know that if I die there are plenty more copies of the map.”

    Cleo rolled her eyes.  “Psht.  You’re not gonna die, c’mon.”

    “Please,” Malcolm said, climbing after her.  “Don’t you know how missions like this work?”

    Cleo sighed, turning around to stare down at him from her higher perch.  “No,” she said, and her hand came up to her hip.  “But I get the feeling you’re about to enlighten me.”

    Malcolm smiled.  “I am,” he said, finishing the ascent up to her so that they were on even ground again.  “See, I was cursed as soon as the general told me I could take this mission or go on leave.”

    The two were now walking in step, the path smoothing out a little from where it wrapped around another towering ledge.

    “How do you figure?” Cleo asked.

    “Oldest story in the book,” Malcolm explained, and he appeared to be taking in the majestic landscape, looking far ahead and every which way as he spoke.  “A thief vowing to give up his life of crime after just one more heist.  A grizzled old veteran’s final battle before retiring?”  Malcolm did a double take with her.  “That’s always a death sentence.”

    Cleo smiled beside him.  “Well then it’s a good thing you’re just going on leave after this,” she said.

    Malcolm smiled back, then shrugged.  “Yeah, well, I’m hoping that little technicality will be enough to save me, but we’ll see.”

    “You’re an idiot,” she said simply.

    “An idiot?” he asked, feigning shock.

    Cleo raised her eyebrows and nodded, doing her best to hold back her smile.

    “Well, Page, I don’t mind telling you that I find those comments deeply ...”

    Malcolm stopped in his tracks, his expression turning as hard as the rock they treaded upon.  He just stared, his head arcing, listening for something.

    Cleo heard nothing at all, and Malcolm’s sudden change in demeanor was startling.  “What?” she asked softly, frozen.  “Did you hear-”

    “Shh …” is all the bowman said, and he loosened his cloak, alternating the hand he held his bow with so that it fell free to a pool of dark fabric at his feet.  Then, in one fluid instant he turned around, reached back to his quiver and loaded the bow to face what had been at his back.

    “Malcolm, what is it?”

    “Shifting rocks,” he said, bow steady  “Somewhere beside us.  Stay behind me.”

    Cleo reached into her own cloak, revealing a short sword with an ivory hilt, the sides picked out in an ornate swirling design with what looked like obsidian.  It came out of its sheath with a clean ring and Malcolm risked a brief shift in focus to see it.

    “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said when she noticed the surprise on Malcolm’s face.  “Were you expecting a damsel in distress?”

    Malcolm’s attention was back on the rocks.  “Hoping, actually,” he said.

    “Are you sure you heard something?”

    “Yes,” Malcolm answered.

    A long moment of silence passed.

    “Um.” Her eyes surveyed the landscape in front of them.  “Where is it, then?”

    “Why, standing right behind you, my dear,” said a voice that caused her to spin so fast she almost fell.  Cleo found herself face to face with an old man wearing a straw hat and a tattered old cloak that looked to be falling apart.  His beard was long and white, his boots dirty and covered completely in the orange dust of the cliff side.  The tip of Malcolm’s arrow was mere inches away from his face, drawn back full.

    The old man’s eyes crossed at its point.

    “Would you mind, lad?” he asked.  “I would much prefer not to be shot in the face today.”

    “Who are you?” Malcolm asked.  His face remained blank, and to Cleo he seemed a completely different person.

    “Me?” he asked innocently.

    “Uh … no,” Malcolm paused, his peripheral vision drifting to his right where Cleo was now standing. “The other creepy old guy who just appeared out of nowhere.”

    Well, maybe not completely different, Cleo thought.

      “Gabriel Foy,” he said, turning his back fearlessly and taking a few steps in the direction they had been headed only moments before. As he walked they spotted the stick he carried, bouncing as it balanced the burden of several tied up hares the old man had hunted.  “And if I meant you harm, would I have announced my presence?” he asked, still walking.  “I think not,” he said, his reedy voice echoing off the walls.

    “Have you ever seen that guy before?” Malcolm asked out of the corner of his mouth, daring to lower his bow a little as he did. Cleo was still staring at the man's departure in undisguised awe.

    “No,” she said.  “You don’t think I might have mentioned that?”

    “Well c’mon, children,” he said.  “Come and follow.”

    Malcolm plucked the arrow free and slid it safely back into his quiver, picking up his cloak and draping it over his arm.  He took a step forward as if to follow, and Cleo grabbed his arm just as quickly.

    “Wait, you’re just gonna go with him?” she asked.

    “He’s walking in the direction we need to go, isn’t he?”

    “Well, yeah … but…”

    “Then let’s go,” Malcolm said starting after the man.

    “Well, what if? …” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “You don’t think this is a little weird?” After he took a few steps he realized she would not follow, turned, and drew closer, all the while aware of the sound of the old man's easy tread as he went.

    “What choice do we have?” he asked, spreading his arms.

    “What if he tries something?” she asked, agitated.

    Malcolm shrugged. “Well, it’s not as if you’re a damsel in distress,” he said with a wink, and then turned away in pursuit of the man, who had covered a surprising distance in such a short time.

    Cleo rolled her eyes and jogged up to Malcolm’s side. Together they quickened their pace up behind the old man, leaving him just outside arm's reach.  Just as they came closer up to his back, he began to speak again.

    “Thought you kids might be Outriders at first.  I’ve seen their sort here lately.  Seems my valley has become a favorite spot of the Republic of Veil’driel.” Malcolm and Cleo exchanged a glance behind him but said nothing.  “Not outriders, though.  Could have never gotten the drop on one of those lads.”  He stopped suddenly and turned, looked Cleo in the eye. “Or lasses, beggin' your pardon, Miss,” he said, tipping his straw hat before turning around and starting to move again.

    “I’m sorry,” Cleo said, and she cleared her throat.  “Did you say … your Valley?”

    “I did indeed,” said Gabriel as they walked under a rock formation that arced like a bridge high above them.  “Figure of speech is all.”  He looked back to Malcolm.  “No, not Outriders.  Nope.  But your enemy fears you almost as well.  Your kind has done them damage and gives them pause.  Even the most prideful.  Makes them hate you worst of anyone.”

    They came around another bend, and Gabriel disappeared for half an instant.  Yet in that blink of an eye, the old man had turned around, and when Malcolm and Cleo rounded behind him, they found themselves unexpectedly face to face.

    Cleo yelped at the shock, and then looked over to Malcolm after regaining her composure.  Malcolm was motionless, focused and calm, as if he hadn’t been surprised in the slightest.

    “They call you Whistlers,” Gabriel said, and he stepped forward so that he was less than a foot from Malcolm’s face.

    “Yeah?” Malcolm asked. “Well alright.”

    The awkwardness of the moment seemed suspended in time as the old man took a good while before speaking again. “You can use your bows as deadly weapons, I’ve seen it.  Yes, a bow in the hands of a Whistler is a fearsome thing, indeed.  Even with no arrows about.”

    Malcolm’s eyes narrowed on the man ever so slightly, and he seemed abruptly unconcerned with the awkwardness of their proximity.  “You know a lot about us, it would seem,” Malcolm said.  “Gotta say I find that more than a little unnerving in light of the fact that we just lost one of our own up here.”

    “One of your own?” Gabriel asked, with no hesitation.  “No, not one of you.  He didn’t have a ring.  Can’t be a Whistler without the ring.”

    Cleo took a step back, slowly reaching for her weapon.

    “You won’t be needin' that blade of yours, girlie.”

    “How do you know so much about the man we lost?” Cleo asked.

    “Because I watched you come up here the last time,” he said.  “Watched him go in. Watched him never come out.”

    “He didn’t have a ring, you said?” Malcolm asked.  He was far calmer than Cleo, a fact that seemed to annoy her greatly.

    Gabriel’s eyes were back on Malcolm.  He shook his head.

    “Who was it Creed sent up here?” Malcolm asked, twisting away from the old man to face Cleo.  Her eyes widened and she nodded back towards Gabriel as if to remind Malcolm of the threat.  But the bowman was too curious now.  “Who was it?” he asked again.

    Cleo sighed.  “Shane Bevan,” she said impatiently.  “What does it matter?”

    “Shane Bev-,” Malcolm looked away for a moment.  Then back.  “Shane Bevan isn’t even a sharpshooter!”

    “Look, can we have this conversation later?” Cleo said, angry.  “Or do I need to remind you that you’re due to be somewhere!”

    “Oh, I get it,” Malcolm said, nodding slowly with a tone so calm it mocked Cleo’s. In fact, that may have been the point.  “Why risk the asset of a Veil’driel sharpshooter when you can just send a poor archer kid!  Hey, if he gets killed it’s no big deal, right?  Just a-”

    “Will you please just shut up!” Cleo yelled. “Just because you’re so damned intuitive, doesn’t mean you have to find conspiracies everywhere you look!  If you could keep your brain from eating itself for just five seconds, maybe you would realize that the threat level for a mission like this was initially very low.  The Outriders had found no enemy activity, and the shot was not so difficult that a sharpshooter had to be ordered in.  Shane Bevan requested the mission! He requested it!”

    Malcolm’s mouth dropped open just a bit, and his eyes widened.  “I .. I, uh…”

    “What’s a matter, Mal, nothing to say?  Why don’t you accuse me of not being a real part of this war!  Or maybe you’d prefer insinuating that I slept my way into this position again, hm?  How about that?”

    “Hey!” Malcolm yelled, pointing at her, and for a second it seemed as if he was on the verge of arguing back.

    Cleo just crossed her arms, a smug look on her face as she waited for him to say something.  But he hesitated, and as desperate as he may have been for any kind of retort, his voice calmed.  “I’m sorry for what I said at the camp,” he admitted, and by the time he was finished speaking there was nothing stern about his voice.  “I didn’t mean it, Cleo.”

    The apology took the general’s page by surprise, and she seemed unsure how to react.  Her beautiful features softened, and with her arms still crossed, she bounced a little in place.

    “I actually think you’re great,” Malcolm finished.

    There was silence again, complete silence, but it didn’t last long as Gabriel spoke up in the space.  “They say intuition is the language of the soul,” he said.

    Malcolm held Cleo’s gaze for just a second longer before turning back to face the old man.

    “But I find it’s more of a compass, don’t you?  Used by the deepest of us to navigate the tides of our lives.”

    “You’re one crazy old man, you know that?” Malcolm said, amused.

    Gabriel reached up and grabbed the entire lower portion of Malcolm’s face.

    “Hey!” he yelled, his speech muffled by the old man’s hand over his mouth. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew that Gabriel was no threat to him or Cleo. He felt at ease as he stared deeply into the stranger’s eyes, and watched in stunned disbelief as they shifted through every color of the rainbow right before him. When it was over, Malcolm couldn’t even be sure if it happened; the experience was like trying to remember the fleeting details of a dream upon waking.

    “Not you, though,” the old man said, releasing his hold on the bowman’s face.  “You don’t need to navigate the tides.  People like you can breathe the water.”

    Malcolm just vaguely realized that Cleo had come up to his side.

    “What was that?” Malcolm asked.  “What did you just do?”

    Gabriel only smiled and tipped his straw hat.  Spinning around on his heels, his hares almost caught Malcolm square in the face before the bowman used his quick reflexes to back away just in time.   

    “Yeah, I like Whistlers,” Gabriel was saying; now walking away again as if the entire business with Malcolm never happened. “You’re a contributive lot. It’s useless people I cannot abide.  Cannot abide them in the slightest.”

    “The caverns are just ahead,” Cleo said, and her voice seemed to bring the bowman back to the present in full.

    Malcolm nodded, cleared his throat and took a deep breath.  “Right,” he said.  “Yeah.”  He seemed tight, and so did Cleo, neither one of them knowing how they should act in the wake of their earlier exchange.  “Well, I guess we should get this over with then,” he managed at length.

    “Yes, definitely!” she said with too much enthusiasm.

    Neither took a step yet, and then they accidentally made eye contact.

    “Right, so, we’ll just-” Malcolm pointed in the direction after Gabriel.

    “Yeah!” she said again, and the pair was quickly in pursuit.

    The old man was fast, they were both surprised to find, and they passed several more of the stone spikes before the sound of his passage grew louder again. Now and again they had to pause to scramble up stone slabs that had been gathered almost like stairs by natural forces, and find their way into cracks between large boulders that were noticeable only because Malcolm was intent on searching for them.

    Down a steep dip and around another bend, they came face to face with a giant dragon head carved into the rock, its scaly face contorted in fury and jaw full of once-sharp teeth open in a mighty roar. A few of the front fangs had crumbled away, but the monster still looked as if it could swallow either of the two travelers whole. The plate-like ridges of its body etched into the natural curve of the terrain gave the impression that it could rise up in anger at any moment.

    Malcolm stood just before it and looked up.  “Seriously?”

    “Druids built these entrances,” said Foy, staring up at it with Malcolm.

    “They must have had some kind of dragon fetish,” Malcolm said.

    “Not dragons, not dragons at all,” Gabriel said. “Sea monsters.” The old man snapped his fingers, his attention diverted already. “Ah.” He examined the sapphire and crystal handing from Malcolm’s arm.  “Well it would seem you have an acquaintance among those you fear.  Precious stones, precious stones.  I’ll leave you to your task.”

    And then, with a final tip of his raggedy hat, Gabriel Foy turned and continued on his way.  Malcolm watched him go, part of him wanting to call out to the old man, part of him wondering what he was all about.  “Just when you think you’ve seen it all,” he said.

    Beside him, Cleo smiled, and he turned to her.  “Alright, I’ll be right back.”

    Cleo nodded.  “Be careful,” she said.  Reaching to Malcolm’s arm, she touched the crystal and it immediately sparked to life, shedding its arcane glow all around them.

    He dropped his cloak near the entrance of the cavern.  “I won’t be long.”

    She just stood there.

    “You alright?” he asked.

    Cleo nodded.

    “Yeah?”

    “Yeah,” she said, a weak smile on her lips.  “I just remember Shane going in there.  And he…”

    Malcolm nodded, took a step into the mouth of the serpent’s gaping jowls.  “No sense worrying about what we can’t control. I’ll be careful, and you do the same, alright?”

    The two stood just a moment or two longer, staring at each other, and while an understanding passed between them, there was nothing for it.  There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do but turn towards the darkness.

    “Good luck,” Cleo said as she watched him go.

    Malcolm never broke stride, just held up his hand as he vanished into the void.

***

      The light of the shining crystal dangling from Malcolm’s right arm was extraordinary, and under different circumstances, he might have marveled at the convenience and wonder of it.  At present, however, he was focused only on the hand written map that he held after securing his bow around the quiver on his back.

    The cavern was barely big enough for one man, lacking even the space to hold his arms out at his sides.  The map fell to his side as he realized he did not yet need it, for there were no other paths to follow but this one. Gradually, the tunnel forked to the right so that, after some time, Malcolm realized the last trace of light from behind him was gone.

    Beyond this point he nearly stumbled as the floor, which had been flat and riven with cracks through this portion of the journey, suddenly changed; it was now rounded, as if he was walking atop a slick stone sphere, and threatened to throw him off at every step. Even holding his balance took all of his concentration, and he realized that in the darkness any number of forks could be opening around him, undetected even the faintest movement of air.

    One wrong move and he would surely stumble into one, with no hope of return.

    The light of the crystal was bright and comforting, but it illuminated less than five feet ahead of him, fading away suddenly against the depths of impenetrable gloom that pressed in on every side. The darkness was like a predator, stalking him no matter which way he looked.

    Somewhere he could hear what sounded like the beating of velvety wings, far away – but there was no screeching or other sounds to indicate the presence of bats. The darkness was so intense that for a while, Malcolm had imagined that if he opened his mouth, no sound would come out, and as he heard the distant beasts flying freely, he found himself recalling the Winged Creatures that Cleo spoke of. Evil birds, he remembered dryly, shaking his head.

    Every step seemed to grow more difficult, and the echoes of his own footsteps grew elongated and weird in his ears. His boots were growing heavy, and the leathery flapping noises threatened to overwhelm him with panic; he was tortured now, caught between two extremes of noise and without any respite. The air felt like breathing tar, and he began to believe that the chamber he sought would never come. Surely he had gone farther now than the mere twenty yards the map promised?  Was this what had happened to Shane Bevan?  He could be standing over his body right now and not even know it.

    Malcolm’s breathing began to grow shallow, and he stretched out his hands to the side of the walls, as far as he could go. At first he tried to close his eyes, but that only brought more of the intolerable darkness. He tried to picture the outriders coming this way when they had mapped the route, but that did little to help.

    Now stopped, he found the prospect of taking another step unbearable. What was hidden within that darkness?  What if he took a wrong turn and ended up in here forever? What if? Thoughts of turning back arose in his mind, all the more bitter and feverish for the realization that he could not know for certain where back was.

    A soft blue glow engulfed him all at once, the unexpected change making him jump. “Anything interesting going on in there?” he heard the voice say.  It was Cleo, with obvious tension as she waited to hear him respond.

    Malcolm’s breathing only intensified.  He reached over to the sapphire dangling on his arm beside his light source, but he felt as if he were doing so underwater.  His mind started and stopped, and he felt his equilibrium threaten to give way.  His knees buckled beneath him and the unseen world around him seemed to swirl in a sick vertigo.

    With trembling hands he managed to reach to his belt, snatch the pouch of feverlew and clenched it tightly in his sweaty palm without opening it; with the other hand he finally managed to reach across his body and touch the sapphire.

    “Hey,” Malcolm said, talking with uneven breath.  His voice echoed back to him and he swallowed hard.  “You know that … that whole claustrophobia thing we … talked about?”

    There was a pause.  And then:  “You’re kidding me, right?”

    “No, actually,” Malcolm said, using the conversation to distract himself. He reached into the pouch and withdrew a small pinch of the feverlew powder and placed it in between his lip and back teeth.  “You should see me, you’d get a kick out of it,” he said, pulling the draw string back on the pouch, reattaching it to his belt and reaching for his waterskin.

    “Are you alright?”

    Now if was Malcolm’s turn to pause.  He drank deeply of the waterskin and then slowly attached back down to his belt.  “Are you alright, Mal?” she asked again, more anxiety in her voice.

    Malcolm closed his eyes.  Took a deep breath and then opened them slowly.  His legs straightened strong and true beneath him.  “Yeah, good,” he answered as he took his first steps again in the direction he was going.  “I’ll let you know when I’m through.”

    “You’re sure,” she said.  “If it makes you feel better we can talk until you’re in the valley.”

    He was moving quickly now, coming to a point where the terrain began to slope downward.  The only way to pass it would be to fall to his stomach and crawl down, and he did so without hesitation.  “Thanks,” he said, his voice fluctuating with the exertion of the tight crawl.  More than once he was forced to stop and twist so that the bow on his back could clear a certain point.  “But I’d prefer not to announce my presence to anything that might be waiting for me.”

    “I wouldn’t worry about that,” her voice came back with no hesitation, “if there is something waiting for you it wouldn’t need to hear us talking to know you were coming.  It’d see the light from your crystal.”

    There was another pause, and Cleo must have misread it.  “I’m sorry,” she said.

    “No,” Malcolm answered, sweating now despite the coolness of the caverns.  “It was funny, I liked it.” There was a strong draft coming from up ahead and Malcolm did his best to crawl faster, when suddenly another opening came up on his left.

    “Okay, please be careful,” her voice said and then the bluish aura of the sapphire faded, giving way completely to the clean white illumination of his crystal.

    Malcolm reached down to his side, struggling to fit his arm between the solid rock wall of the tunnel and his body to grab the map and bring it forward.  Examining the parchment now from his stomach, he did a double take between it and the foreboding passage beside him. A passage that the map, much to Malcolm’s relief, told him he was not meant to take.

    “Thank the fates for that,” he said, and continued forward to where the tight tunnel was supposed to open up into a spacious expanse.  Not three feet ahead, that’s what happened.  Still lying on his stomach, he stuck his hand out into the empty cool beyond, to where his crystal revealed a flat, surprisingly smooth floor to it.

    The floor was not far down, but far enough to where Malcolm realized he was going to have to fall out of the tunnel into the expanse.  Sighing, but without hesitation, he did exactly that, somersaulting down onto the hard rock floor.  He found himself on his back, staring up into an inky abyss, with the light around him taking on the hue of blood through his hand as he had gripped the crystal tightly during the plunge.  Now he opened his palm and the light around him expanded outward.

    Two sparkling, snake-like eyes gazed down at him, the vertical slits in their pupils as large as his body. An immense creature was before him, its mouth gaping wide, and he could see rows and rows of dagger like teeth, like the mythical sea monsters that ravaged ships straying too far from shore.

    Malcolm jumped back and yelled, fumbling clumsily for the dagger at his boot, trying futilely to withdraw it in time, but then froze.  He moved his arm so that the dangling crystal shone just a touch higher to see that this, too, was a rock carving.  The furious face of some mythical scary thing staring at him, its eyes made of glassy, volcanic rock that reflected the light from his crystal as he held it ever closer.

    “Stupid … damn ….,” he started, catching his breath.  “… ancient druids!”

    “What happened?” the excited voice of Cleo Bright echoed in to him.  It was not as clear as it had been when she was using the sapphire, but very easily heard nonetheless.

    “Cleo?” he yelled back, his confused look highlighted by the glow in the gloomy cave.

    “Yeah!” came her voice.

    “You can hear me?”

    There was a pause at this, as Cleo seemed to be just now absorbing that fact and the implications as well.  “Yeah,” she said, sounding surprised.

    Malcolm’s face twisted to confusion.  “Then why do we have these sapphires?” he yelled back, face contorted.

    There was a moment of hesitation, as she seemed to contemplate that very question.  “Just to contact the general, I guess,” she yelled back.  “Which I’d really like to do sometime today!”

    Malcolm laughed at that, but not loud enough for her to hear, and once more he took to the map.  According to it, there were seven other adjacent tunnels leading out of here, although he could see none so far. He followed the map to the northern side of the cavern where three of the openings were.

    The map indicated that Malcolm was to take the fork that led furthest left, and when he reached it all three appeared identical: man-made halls carved directly out of the rock, symmetrical and smooth, each tapering carefully to a triangular point and marked overhead with its own corresponding rune symbol. One of the Outriders had also drawn an arrow in chalk pointing to the opening Malcolm now stood before, and he found himself thankful for the extra reassurance as he continued on down the hall, listening to the echo of his walk and pausing every so often to steel his nerves against the feeling that other footsteps were following from behind.

    Every ten feet or so there were metal mounts, some with iron rings still intact and at first Malcolm thought they might be rings used to hold fast the shackles of prisoners, but that grim idea soon gave way to the realization that these were the remnants of torch sconces.  Between each was another rune symbol.

    In that moment, Malcolm became vaguely aware that in circumstances far different, he would have liked to stop and study them.  But these thoughts perched now on the outer rim of his consciousness, as with every step he neared the end of the caverns.

    He came soon to another fork in the hall, and broke left without missing a step, having already studied this part, and now in this thinner hallway he was searching the wall to his right, looking for another opening.

    Another few feet and Malcolm slowed his stride as he came to a stop before the passage with another chalk-drawn arrow.  He walked up to it, started to look up and through, and finally tucked the map away as he saw daylight at the end of what was another crude tunnel; reminiscent of the kind he had already left behind in what seemed an eternity ago.

    With a grunt he lifted himself up and balanced on his stomach on the edge until he could use his arms to pull himself in.  With every inch he grew closer to the world above, and he could feel the cool tease of the fresh air beyond.

    His forearms and knees working in furious tandem.

    Bryce Valley waited.

***

      Malcolm emerged into Bryce Valley to a light that seemed blinding after the dank murkiness of the caverns, despite the fact that the skies had darkened significantly even in the short time he had navigated them.

    The valley seemed utterly desolate, and yet there seemed an indefinable connection to a feeling of vulnerability.

    A quick look over and up and there stood the famous Sky Gate rising high at the far end, towering over him.  The cavern he had walked out of placed him perfectly to disable it, but as he turned around to appreciate the fact, he all at once took in hundreds of other exits in the rock all around him; only now did he truly appreciate just how large the caverns were, and how one wrong turn could have taken him anywhere.

    He looked around to complete silence, to where even the sound of his breathing seemed amplified in his head, as if it threatened to echo down the entire valley.  He also knew his first instinct should be to hide, duck down, line up the shot and take it.  But he couldn’t.  Something in the valley beckoned him; he walked forward, to the edge, staring down to where the road ran along the depths of the terrain, toward the gate.

    There was nothing to be seen from up here.

    It seemed empty with only a bit of brush and a road that looked neglected and poorly kept, although just by the roughness of the area, it must have looked the same even when the road was well traveled.  A quick look to his left and he could see the bend that the convoy would come around as soon as he called them, and before he knew it he was sitting down at the edge, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes and basking in whatever strange energy that seemed to radiate from this valley.

    He looked up at the Sky Gate, its surface engraved with the visages of past kings of Sindell and their airships. Despite all the chaos and upheaval the Gate had borne witness to, the monarchs each had piercing, serious eyes, and their craft seemed ready to leap from the steelwork right into the sky above. Malcolm wondered how such a structure had managed to endure, and unconsciously, his hand drifted downward to the feverlew pouch once again, from which he took a pinch of the herb powder and placed it back in his mouth.

    He closed his eyes, drawing in a generous breath of the frigid, wild air as he felt his pulse increase and the familiar fire kick through his veins.  His eyes opened, his mood elevated and he smiled, standing up slowly, staring down into the valley floor and feeling like he owned it.

    Like this valley was his.

    As Malcolm took a side step, his boot disturbed some of the rocks that clacked down a sharp incline that ran about sixty yards before flattening out into another narrow ledge where it dropped off completely.

    He tapped the sapphire.

    “I’m in the valley,” he said, looking once more at the Sky Gate.

    “Good news,” Cleo’s voice came back.  “Are you okay?  What do you see?”

    Before Malcolm could answer, Jaden’s voice was heard on the sapphire.

    “I think he’s talking to me, sweetie,” the wizardess’ voice came through.

    Malcolm smiled.  “But I imagine you still wanna know what I see,” he said.

    “Well, I wouldn’t complain,” Jaden’s voice came back.

    “So far so good.  Looks like I’m alone.”

    Malcolm walked a few more paces to a small outcropping that jutted out like a vertical axe blade from the imposing rock face, crouching on his knees and leaning his back against it.

    “Looks can be deceiving,” Jaden’s voice came back just as Malcolm withdrew an archer’s glove and slid it over his hand.

    “Good advice,” Malcolm said as he flexed the feel of the glove. He reached back for his bow, to where it hung from his quiver, and then lowered it to his side as he had done countless times before.

    Then he assumed a kneeling position, taking cover by instinct, and squinting for a moment up at the Sky Gate. The rope was clearly visible.  A tough shot, but hardly the toughest he had ever taken.  Another twitch and his quiver loosened. Still concentrating deeply and intensely on the target, his hand drifted to withdraw an arrow and put it in his bow.  He took a deep breath, drew back the bowstring to full and his hands steadied.  Nothing in his mind, his muscles tight with flawless form as he focused in on the rope while the rest of the world fell into a blur.  Slowly, the breath began leaking steadily from his lungs.  Now there was only the release of-

    “We are in position, stopped and hidden under cover around the bend,” Jaden’s voice said suddenly.

    Malcolm flinched and the arrow was released, spinning like a top out into the valley where it disappeared, causing Malcolm to throw up his hands, drop his bow and duck as the finely tuned mechanics of his form unraveled to become a chaotic mess of movement.

    “Let us know when you’ve taken the shot,” the wizardess finished.

    Malcolm took a moment to regain his bearings, his eyes sweeping back over the valley.  He sighed. “Will do,” he said, his polite tone in stark contrast to the annoyed expression on his face.

    And the procedure repeated itself.  His arm drifted back to the quiver, his bow was loaded, and the concentration was coming back.  The breath filled his lungs, it began to leak out.  The world became a blur.

    And a shrill whistle cut into the silence like a knife, echoing off into the valley from what felt like every angle.  The wind currents were out of the ordinary in this valley although he had compensated, his muscle memory was off a bit.  While his shot hit the rope, it had not been directly enough to break it.

    Malcolm had realized this, but already locked into his target he was reaching back into his quiver and reloading the bow before the first shot even missed the mark.  The world was still a blur.  All remained silent.  He was drawn, the arrow loosed, and this time Malcolm instantly rose to his feet in anticipation.

    This time the shrill whistle was immediately proceeded by a grumble, and the inner workings of weights and gear from beyond the massive gate.  There was the loud noise of the rope uncoiling and the sound of a bigger one beyond that being ripped.

    Then suddenly there was a loud thud and what could only be described as the sound of a tree falling, like a loud groan amplified to near deafening heights as it echoed. The Gateway to the Kingdom of Sindell, the Sky Gate, began to creak open.

    Malcolm nodded as he touched the sapphire dangling from him arm.  “Mission accomplished.  Sky Gate’s opening.”

    “Well done, Malcolm Hawkins,” the wizardess’ voice came back amidst the now familiar aqua glow.  “You truly are a special talent.”

    “Not as difficult as you might think, actually,” Malcolm said, as he reached back to pull the strap that would tighten the arrows in his quiver.  “Listen, it might not have been the plan, but I’m gonna stay up here and watch you through.”

    “Much appreciated, Malcolm.  Your name is one I will not soon forget.”

    Malcolm rested the bow around his wrist, where it swayed by the string, and he grabbed for the pouch to take another pinch of the feverlew.  He waited for the rush and then went about fastening his bow around his quiver.

    He was right in the middle of doing that, when he happened to glance back at the gate’s progress of opening, down to the road it was no longer obstructing.

    What he saw brought the rush of a far different nature, and the impact of it almost knocked him back.  There was a wizard, dressed in black, walking casually at the head of two minotaurs and a small contingent of hooded figures carrying barbed-wire staffs.

    Swallowing hard and closing his eyes, Malcolm reached slowly for the sapphire.  “Jaden…” he whispered.  “Jaden, it’s a set up, turn back.  Turn back now!”

    There was no response.

    “Jaden, can you hear me?” He touched it again.  “Cleo?”

    Now Malcolm looked at the precious stone to find what he already dreaded he would.  The mystic glow of the stone was gone.  A few more times he touched it, even though he knew what was going to happen.

    Nothing.

    Then, to make matters worse, he heard someone calling his name. It wasn’t coming from the sapphire, and he knew in that instant that his own life was in as much danger as any one on the convoy.  He knew in that instant what had happened to Shane Bevan.

    “Maaaaaalllllcooollllm…” came a voice in the tone of a child playing hide-and-seek; out from the very cavern opening Malcolm himself had emerged, and the man looked identical to the one now walking the valley floor.

    Quickly, the bowman took cover on the far side of the outcropping, opposite from where he had taken the shot on the Sky Gate.  He had already eluded the wizard and his accompanying entourage down on the road, as they had coasted past his position without so much as an upward glance.  The other one, however, the wizard up here with him, was now making his way straight for him.  Thankfully, with no entourage of his own.

    At first, Malcolm considered loading up his bow and taking a shot, then thought better of it.  To do so would betray his whereabouts, and he couldn’t rule out that the wizard’s presence was meant simply to draw him out for someone or something else that was waiting.  He turned around, growing desperate, and that’s when he saw the other cavern opening not far off.  He might be able to hide in there, and he found himself rising to his feet before remembering the words of Ferris Lang.  Before making the connection of the red circle drawn feverishly around this opening on the map.  But what other option was there?

    Hesitantly, he took a step forward, the outcropping at his back still shielding him from the eyes of the wizard growing closer.  The entrance wasn’t twenty feet away now.  Maybe he could just step in enough to hide; wait for the wizard to go by.  He took another step, and then stopped again.  Almost close enough to see inside.

    His breath caught in his throat, and somehow, Malcolm got the feeling that the blackness in this cavern was far deeper than what he had endured before. He fixed his gaze, hoping for some clue as to what lie just beyond, but his eyes began to water right away; as soon as they closed, the acrid scent of death wafted over him, and the darkness behind his eyes threatened to flare with a deep purple light, like an afterimage of something he had not yet seen burned into his vision.

    He would not go further; he would heed Ferris Lang’s warning and search for some other way.

    There was a spot just in front of him that dropped down into a little alcove before giving way completely to a sheer drop off.  He crawled over to it, not letting himself think, and then cursed when he realized it was no hiding place at all.  Anyone walking by would naturally spare a glance into this crevice, and he thought about loading his bow and taking his chances right then.

    Until he noticed the contour of the valley wall beneath him.  Until he got an idea.

    “Oh, this is just all kinds of bad,” Malcolm said to himself as he lowered his bow against the wall so that it hung over one of the protrusions below. Gingerly, he let himself down so that he hung on his bow, every progression accompanied by the soft uttering of “stupid, stupid, stupid.”  His hands gripping tightly to the upper and lower limb of the bow, as close to the center grip as he could manage.  His full weight on the weapon, there was nothing left for Malcolm to do but tightly shut his eyes.

    And dangle from his bow against the wall.

    The wizard who was calling his name was getting closer, and as it turned out, Malcolm had not tried this stunt a moment too soon, as he could hear his enemy’s voice traveling down from directly above.

    “Where are you, Malcolm? I’m just a quiet whisper away.”

    Malcolm’s eyes remained tight, his forehead touching the rock. The natural adrenaline mixed with the rush of the feverlew preventing him from feeling the strain in his shoulders and arms, which by his craft, were in impeccable shape.

    He just hung there, waiting.  Had he still been in the alcove just above, he would be staring into the face of the wizard at that very moment.

    “There’s no need to evade me, Whistler, I have no desire to harm you.”

    Malcolm was sure the wizard knew exactly where he was, merely toying with him now.  This was it.  It was over.

    “Let’s talk, buddy.”

    But there was something different about the voice now. The words trailed off, away and in the direction of the Sky Gate.

    “Uh oh, you didn’t make the mistake of hiding in here, did you?”

    Even more distant now, as the wizard might as well have been giving Malcolm constant updates to where he was going.  Any tracker knew you never made a noise you didn’t have to. This guy was a fool.

    Arrogant bastard, Malcolm thought, holding his breath when he dared to reach up so that only one hand was on his bow for a second.  Even with the knowledge that the wizard had wandered into that cavern entrance Ferris had warned him against, he still half expected a boot to come crushing down on his hand.

    But it never came.

    Malcolm held the ledge and threw his bow up into the alcove before grabbing the lip of rock with his other hand and pulling himself over the edge.  Grinding his teeth, careful not to make even the slightest noise or grunt, he picked up his bow, crawled out of the alcove, and ran full speed back to the cavern entrance he came from. There was nothing in his mind besides that goal, not even the consideration that there could be other enemies within.

    The wizard reemerged just in time to see Malcolm take his final, frantic steps before diving back into the caverns.  He said nothing, only laughed, while down below the three wagons came rumbling into view.

***

      The lead wagon had already spotted the assembled foes in their path, and the convoy slowed.  They could not dare to try and force their way through; the very attempt would be suicide.

    “Hail, good sir, hail!” yelled the wizard as the carts came to a halt.

    Dust from the road hung heavy in the air, swirling at his feet as he bowed. The driver of the front wagon smiled, nodding a greeting to the wizard even as beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face. The wave he attempted betrayed a trembling hand.

    For a moment, the wizard looked in silence at the driver before cocking his head ever so slightly to the side.  He appeared on the verge of speech when Jaden leaned out from the side of her center carriage.

    “Well, if it isn’t Valith,” she said, looking amused and happy to see him.

    “Lady Jaden!” Valith exclaimed.  “A truehonor.” He clapped lightly, moving closer to her carriage.  “And how might we serve you this morning?”

    “By getting the hell out of the way!” she said, laughing. “I have a schedule to keep.”

    “A schedule, you say?”  Valith looked puzzled.  “I was not aware your Order had any business in Sindell.”  He turned to the minotaurs.  Beyond the steady heaving of their massive, obscenely muscular chests, they were motionless.  The hooded figures arrayed behind them showed no sense of movement at all, each a reflection of the other, holding a barbed-wire staff the same steely gray color of the threatening sky overhead.  “No?” he turned back to Jaden.  “I fear my associates are also at a loss.”

    “Your associates are dangerous,” she said. “And as I recall, bounding the minds of minotaurs was verboten after what happened in Fairlawn.”  A look of concern washed over her features. “I’d hate to think of the consequences if Arkhelan learned you were ignoring one of his most explicit edicts.”

    “Your concern moves me, madam,” Valith said, and he laughed pleasantly.  “Although I do believe Arkhelan might be as equally interested in your attempt to pass through this valley.  Surely you are aware that travel between the realms of this continent is prohibited without his permission.”

    Jaden smiled.  “Well, then we’re both in luck.  For he is half a world away.”

    Now Valith laughed loud and hard. “Yes, indeed!” he howled, the bellow of his voice echoing off the colossal rock all around them.  By the time he calmed, there was nothing left of the artificial mirth on Jaden’s face. “But you are a traitor, m’lady, and I am not.  Which puts you at a decided disadvantage.”

    Jaden dismounted her carriage, standing tall. Refusing to be intimidated.

    “All this fresh air makes me sleepy,” Valith said with a yawn, and reaching into his robe he withdrew a human hand to stifle it.  “Excuse me.”

    The driver of the lead wagon gasped, but the wizardess paid no attention.

    “It’s an odd thing,” Valith went on.  “That there is a shield protecting the capital city of Sindell, is it not?  Took me a long while to decipher how that could be, or who might have provided the knowledge.”  He looked off to the side of the road.

    Jaden followed the wizard’s line of sight to a half-hidden corpse.  It was covered over with some uprooted brush so that only Shane Bevan’s boots could be seen.

    “And then I met our friend here,” Valith went on, gesturing to the body with the hand as if it were his own.  “I admire his courage.  Two days of torture before he told me everything.” His eyes went distant all of the sudden, perhaps recalling the devilish acts he had committed in that time.  “Two whole days.”

    “The only thing you admire is yourself, Valith,” Jaden snapped, no longer hiding her anger.  “Your vanity shines brighter than the sun.  Always has.”

    Valith looked up from the ground, to the fury simmering behind Jaden’s violet eyes.  “Fair to say,” he said with a smile, turning back to Shane Bevan’s body.  “Yet still I commend his fortitude,” and his smile became a grin.  “Let’s give the boy a hand, shall we?”  He tossed the appendage to the corpse.

    “You’re disgusting,” Jaden said. Valith was hardly paying attention to the wizardess, slapping his hands together as one might do when preparing to get to work. “And you’re a hypocrite,” she added.

    At this, Valith stopped to acknowledge her.

    “Two illegally bound minotaurs and a single sky fire unit?” she asked. “Who do you think you’re fooling?  You have no authority here.”

    Now, for the first time, Valith appeared to be truly annoyed.

    “Very perceptive, Jaden,” he said.  “Alas, that’s where you come in.”

    “Is it?” she asked.

    “Indeed.  I hand Arkhelan the traitor who has plagued him for years,” he pointed to Jaden.  “He gives me this,” he gestured all around. “Which we both know is much more than just a valley.”

    “You seem to have it all figured out, then,” Jaden said, doing her best to remain defiant.

    “Yes,” Valith nodded to himself as if this was the first time the thought had occurred.  “You’re right, I do,” and he reached up to his necklace to reveal a crescent shaped sapphire.  “Find our friend yet?” he asked.

    The aqua glow splashed the wizard’s chest.

    “He fled,” a voice almost identical to his own returned.  “Coward ran away.”

    Valith snapped his fingers and smacked his lips.  “Damn.  I really wanted one of those rings.”  He was looking at Jaden again.  “Ah well,” he shrugged.  “What more can you expect from those who only fight from the shadows?”

    “You might be surprised,” Jaden said.

    Valith made eye contact with her, but he did not speak.

    “You forget that I read the truth in you,” she said.  “I can sense your fear.”

    Valith stormed towards the wizardess as if to attack, but Jaden did not flinch.

    “What are you waiting for?” she asked.

    Valith’s face calmed, slowly, and he took a full step back from her, touching the sapphire moon on his necklace once again.  “You know, there was something else our friend told me that must have slipped my mind until now.  Do you remember, Orinus?”

    “Can’t say I recall,” the other wizard answered from high above.

    “There was something about a family,” Valith said, rubbing his chin in thought, walking around behind Jaden.  “Yes, there was supposedly a family on this convoy.”

    “Oh, right,” Orinus said, and he came into view on the cliffs. Even from this distance, Jaden could see the faint flicker of the sapphire he used to converse with Valith.

    “Human women have certain … uses,” Valith said, making his way past the first wagon and down the rest of the convoy.  “And fewer means of resistance, to be sure.”  He whistled, pointing forward, and the two minotaurs started up to join him, shaking the ground beneath Jaden’s feet with the impact of each step they took.

    Just as they had during the course of the entire exchange, the wagon drivers displayed remarkable courage and discipline in the way they handled their horses and kept composure.  It was no small task, she knew, and now they were tested further as the massive beasts walked past them to come to Valith’s side.

    “The little one will go to Orinus, I think,” the wizard went on.  “Although I fear he will have to wait some years to bear the fruits of thatenjoyment.”

    Darvin Nash and Ferris Lang stepped out from behind the last wagon, stopping Valith in his tracks.  Then the wizard raised his hand, stopping the minotaurs as well. “Ah!” Valith clapped, delighted.  “There are our Outriders!”

    Neither Darvin nor Ferris moved a muscle, their crossbows trained steady.

    “I was told by our friend that you would be riding with the wagon drivers,” he said.  “When I saw you were absent, I feared you might have missed this morning’s festivities.”

    “I decided it might be best to have them stay with the woman and child until we were clear of the valley,” said Jaden from behind.

    “Hm,” Valith touched the sapphire again. “Plans have changed a bit, Orinus,” and now he was staring back into the eyes of Darvin Nash. “If you fire on me,” he said, “either of you, I promise your wife and daughter will suffer in ways you cannot even fathom.”  The grin on his face had returned.  “And I promise you will watch.”

    Valith closed his eyes, savoring the mix of terror and rage directed at him, and when he opened them again he found the crossbows in Darvin’s hands far less steady.  “Orinus,” he said again into the sapphire.  “I think it might be time to come down.”


    Another moment passed quietly, and the obnoxious grin faded slowly from the wizard’s face.  “Orinus?” he tried again, looking up at the towering cliffs.  There he could see, much to his relief, Orinus still standing there on the edge, and so he turned back around to the hooded figures standing frozen in place with their staffs.  “You were meant to disable their exchange stones, you worthless charlatans!  Just theirs!” he turned back to the outriders, smiling.  “If you want something done right, I’ll tell ya.”

    But both Outriders were staring up to where Orinus stood, each having noticed something that Valith apparently missed.  The other wizard was still in view, but it had been some time since he had moved so much as a muscle.

    When Ferris Lang’s eyes widened to saucers, Valith quickly diverted his attention back to the cliffs, and to his horror, saw Orinus starting to tip forward over the edge.  “NO!” he screamed, the panic twisting his pitch.

    Malcolm was revealed standing on the escarpment, no longer concealed by Orinus’ propped up corpse.

    Valith screeched as he watched his brother fall.

    Then an arrow whistled through the valley, landing just short of the road.  Another one hit the ground a little bit further.  Valith still hesitated; the Outriders did not.  They began firing almost immediately, hitting the wizard twice before he managed to dive behind Jaden’s carriage.

***

      Malcolm cursed when he realized he was out of range, picking up his bloody knife and not even bothering to wipe it off before placing it back in the sheath.  Bow still in hand, he snatched the sapphire from where Orinus dropped it and took off on a beeline to the steep slope he had earlier sat atop.

    There was only one option; he knew it, but having reached that sharp incline and staring down at the small ledge at the bottom, he hesitated as the chaotic action unfolded on the valley floor.

    Malcolm took a step back, preparing himself, bouncing a bit to psych himself up, closed his eyes tightly.  “To hell with it,” he finally said, and sprinted to the ledge.  He fell into a speedy feet-first slide, lying on his back, arms outstretched, trying desperately to grab any part of the scant shrubbery or catch his boots on anything that might slow him down; terrified with the very real possibility that he would not be able to stop himself and slide right off into the valley.  To those below, it would seem as if he had committed suicide.

    But then he hit the ledge, and it was not so flat as it had looked from above.  Extending his front foot, Malcolm was able to jam it hard against the uneven contour, transferring his momentum to rise fluidly into a kneeling position while reaching back to load his bow. In a heartbeat the world blurred, sound faded away, life slowed and then froze.

    Malcolm loosed the shot.

***

    Valith screamed at the top of his lungs to the group of hooded figures, pointing in frenzy up to where the first arrows came from.  Had he kept his eyes up on the cliffs, he would have in that moment, seen Malcolm sliding down the slope.

    But he was already back to the minotaurs, and at his signal the great, hulking brutes each took a step closer to the wagons they were standing in front of. “Destroy everything!” Valith screamed, his eyes gone bloodshot, “Kill everything!” Now he turned his attention on Jaden.

    The Outriders were doing everything they could, firing a flurry of crossbow bolts into the minotaurs and executing their impressive trick of reloading by swiping their weapons across bolt belts crossed over their chest.  But it was taking too long and both of them knew it.  Their attacks were killing the creatures, but slowly, wasting time they did not have.

    The wagon drivers continue to display their own brand of courage just by doing their job.  In keeping the horses in place and under control amidst the horrors all around them.  Even now, when the minotaurs drew so close that the destruction of their wagons and loss of their lives seemed inevitable, every one of them stayed true.

    Out of the corner of her eye, Jaden took notice of the hooded figures, the sky fire unit, making their way over to the cliffs, and had just begun to turn that way when crippling pain surged through every fiber of her being, dropping her to her knees. The agony and surprise together were too much for her to muster a trace of magic.

    Valith was standing over the wizardess, his palm pressed into the small of her back.  “How does that feel, m’lady?” he cackled.  “Having your spine liquefy in my palm?” She had made the fatal mistake of taking him for dead, and while he wasn’t far from it with two crossbow bolts in the abdomen, Valith had her beat.

    “I’ve heard … you’ve … done this to children,” she managed through gritted teeth, falling forward and scrunching up handfuls of dirt in unimaginable pain.

    “Shh…” he tilted his head to the side.

    Jaden screamed, drawing the Outriders’ attention only too late.

    “It will all be over soo-”

    Valith’s words were choked back into his throat as the first arrow pierced his shoulder, the force spinning him violently to the ground.  Beside him, Jaden collapsed, still within arm’s reach.  Valith forced himself back to his knees, crying out in agony with the action. He started to reach for the wizardess again just as her eyes fluttered open.  “You see … Jaden.  In … the end … we all,” and then half of his face blew off, showering the wagon wheel beside him with blood and gore.

    In that moment, the minotaurs hesitated, the crimson glint fading from their stare as they turned to regard each other, disoriented.

    Ferris Lang was at Jaden’s side, helping her to her feet.  She staggered over to Valith’s corpse, ripping off his necklace and eagerly touching the sapphire. 

    “Malcolm!  Malcolm, can you hear me?”

    “Yeah. You alright?”

    “I am,” she said.  “For the most part.”

    “That’s great,” his voice fluctuated slightly as he reloaded his bow.  There was another shrill whistle and a deafening roar as one of the minotaurs fell.  “Now can you please get the hell out of here?”

    The wizardess didn’t dare waste another moment.

    “Get on the wagons!” she shouted and started running.

***

      Malcolm reached back to his quiver and had another arrow loaded in a flash.  His sights were on the second minotaur, and he released a shot that brought the beast swiftly down.

    He watched with relief as Darvin Nash made it back to the rear wagon, and Ferris Lang helped Jaden into her carriage.  The convoy was tearing through the valley again, kicking up plumes of dust towards the Sky Gate. “These hooded ones look like they’re ignoring you,” Malcolm said, watching as they moved to form what he could only describe as a séance circle. “Any idea what they’re doing?”

    “Malcolm, listen to me,” Jaden's voice came back.  “You need to run!  Are you listening to me?  Do not waste time firing on them!”

    Malcolm lowered his bow before glancing back over his shoulder, up to where the cavern entrance was just out of sight.  “Um,” he looked back to the valley floor. “That could be a problem.”

    Below, the hooded figures, barbed-wire staffs in hand, had begun sprinkling the ground at the center of their ring with something the bowman couldn’t quite make out.  Not long after, the amber stones on their heavy necklaces started to glow.

    Yellow lances of lighting rose in a great cascade, forming a web between them and consuming the reagents in flash. The web exploded up and outward, materializing into a giant golden comet that sailed over Malcolm and landed higher up on the incline, connecting with an explosion that forced him to his stomach.

      Malcolm gripped the bow tightly as a giant crater was blasted out near the top of the slope and he was showered with shards of rock, cutting through his long sleeved tunic and across his back.  The biggest boulders missed him by luck and sailed over him.  Yet his other wounds were so painful that he yelled out.

      Below, as the convoy passed through the Sky Gate, it broke Jaden's heart to hear it.

    “Malcolm, you need to run!” she yelled again.

    Breathing heavily, he looked up.  It would be impossible to climb.  Not even close.  The only thing he got by the effort was a sense of awe, witnessing the size of the massive crater that now blocked his way.

    “Doesn’t look like an option,” he said, his hand drifting down to where he knew he was bleeding profusely.  He felt no pain, only the wetness pooled on the side of his stomach, but his hands were shaking as he moved to inspect the wound.  When the fluid on his shirt felt cool to the touch, however, a look of confusion splayed across Malcolm’s face.  He brought himself to a sitting position and laughed.  He wasn’t bleeding at all; his waterskin had only ripped open during the fall. The relief spurred him to his knees and he reached back to his quiver, eyes narrowing as the arrow released.

    The shot flew directly for the center of the hooded figures, zipping on target to strike the lead wizard when a sudden flash of amber light revealed a dome shield around his enemies, and the arrow fell harmlessly aside.

    “Ah,” Malcolm said, falling back against the slope.  His voice never wavered, but the look on his face betrayed his true feeling. “There’s that shield ability your boy was talking about,” he said.  “Good news for the capital of Sindell.”  He cleared his throat, relaxing after all his exertion.  “Looks more like the bad variety for me.”

    “Malcolm, please,” Jaden’s voice came back, and as he watched the sapphire he had taken from Orinus gleam, the bowman wondered remotely why it was shaped like a star.  “Please, is there no way you can climb?”

      Malcolm did not respond to her, and there was a pause before Jaden spoke again.  It sounded like she was fighting back tears.  “Malcolm are you there?”

    “Yeah,” he said, tumbling the sapphire star in his hand.  “And there’s something I wanna tell you.”

    “It can wait.  You need to know that the instant-”

    “I have a habit of thinking I know everything,” Malcolm interrupted, and it seemed he wasn’t even aware that the wizardess had started to speak.  “I was wrong for what I said this morning. So when you end up saving the world, just pretend like I never doubted you, alright?”

    “Now is not the time for goodbyes, Malcolm, and I plan on seeing you again so if you can’t run, listen.”

    “Yes ma’am,” Malcolm said, smiling.

    “The instant the comets launch, their shield will fall.  But only for a second.”

      Malcolm lifted his head up to stare down his body at the wizards below. “How many would I have to get to stop them from launching another one?” he asked, some hope returning.

    “Three,” Jaden answered.  “In just about two seconds.”

    Malcolm laid his head back down on the rock. The reagents had been piled up between his enemies again. It wouldn’t be long until the next salvo was ready.

    “Malcolm?”

    He did not respond, staring vacantly into the gray sky.

    “Malcolm, can you hear me?” her voice frantic.

    In the background, the voice of Ferris Lang could now be heard.

    “We’re going back for him,” the Outrider said.  “We’re going back to stop those things.”

    “Hell no!” Malcolm held the sapphire closer to his mouth.  There was silence then.  “I already told Cleo to relay our success to the General on the chance I could come back and pull it off.  Don’t make me look stupid.”  Malcolm lowered the sapphire back down at his side.  “As for the shield going down,” and he hesitated.  “I’m good, but I ain’t that good.”

      From his back he could only watch as another golden comet fired overhead; this one was closer, slamming into the slope nearer him.  He felt heat this time, and some of the brush around him caught fire. Again Malcolm rolled over on his side so he could plunge face down in the cliff, again screaming in pain as shards of razor sharp rock rained down on him.

    “Malcolm?” Jaden’s voice grew feint.  She received no answer.  “Malcolm!”

    Malcolm rolled over on his back, coughing as the dust from the blast settled all around him.

    “We’re starting to come out of the valley, and when we do, we’ll lose contact.”  There was a pause before the wizardess continued.  “And if you can hear me, I want you to know … I want you to know that Cleo Bright is in love with you.”

    At this, Malcolm closed his eyes, his face covered in soot.  He just listened.

    “You don’t even need my abilities to recognize it.  She never stopped watching you, Malcolm.  From the first time she saw you as the intimidated, fumbling archer to the moment she came to your tent today, she never stopped.”  For a moment the sapphire’s glow flickered.  “I just wanted you to know,” she said again.

    All was quiet now and Malcolm was still.  He had to admit, if those were the last words he ever heard, he could have done a lot worse.  He was thinking about Cleo now.  He could see her smile.  He could hear her-

    “Malcolm!” Ferris Lang’s voice thundered over the sapphire, and the unexpected sound startled the bowman out of his daydream. “You listening to me, Senior Bowman?”

    Malcolm’s eyes flashed open.

    “We aren’t out of range yet, and I know you can hear me 'cause this thing is still glowing in my hand!”

    Malcolm smiled.

    “This isn’t the end for you, kid, and don’t you dare think it! You wait for that shield to go down and then you cut them down, Malcolm!”  His voice was cutting out, fluctuating and breaking up.  “CUT. THEM. DOWN!”

    And the sapphire faded out.

    Malcolm focused on his bow, reaching for it and wrapping his bloody knuckles around the grip.  The hooded figures were just initiating another blast, the beginnings of that golden lightning cascading between their bodies.  The world crawled to slow motion as the sacred focus returned to the whistler’s eyes.  He was kneeling now, drawn back.  Waiting.

    The comet blazed upward, and Malcolm fired.

    The first of them threw up its arms in pure shock, falling backward without a sound as the arrow disappeared into its cowl.  The second shot, released in blinding succession, collapsed another robed figure into the circle.  The third released just as the magical blast arced overhead, and for a split second, Malcolm’s heart leapt as the robed figure jumped back, dropping its barbed wire staff in fright even as the shield deflected the arrow.

    Malcolm knew he was doomed, but he wasted no time.  Spinning low to the ground, he withdrew another arrow from his quiver and held it to the flames where some of the brush was crackling at his feet.  Then, with the arrow alight, he turned and snapped off a shot toward the body of Shane Bevan.

    Malcolm watched as the arrow flew, listened to the sound of it for the first time as it whistled to the ground. With a gruesome jerk, it lodged into the body, igniting the dry undergrowth meant to conceal him and setting it all ablaze. The echo stayed with the sharpshooter a moment longer, and when it died out he raised his head suddenly in the momentary glow of the comet making contact behind him.

    The explosion sent a shudder through him. Rocks came down at him like an avalanche, and in the chaos his bow was wrenched from his hand, twirling through the air to explode on the rocks far below. He fell to his back, rolling sideways out of the path of falling stones, and his momentum carried him over the edge.  He had dodged a killing blow by the avalanche, each stone threatening to send him down after his bow, to shatter as it had.  For the second time he found himself dangling into this valley.

    This time, however, he thought about something he never could have before.  His strength seemed to be leaving him.  His wounds from the rocks throbbed.

    He thought about letting go.

    There was no hope, he knew it.  Even if he were to pull himself up his only reward would be enduring another blast, perhaps smaller with their diminished numbers, but there was nothing he could do to stop them.

    He looked down.  “Don’t be stupid, Malcolm,” he said to himself, and then kicking his leg up over the ledge, he used the last of his strength and willpower to roll back onto the rock, struggling back to his feet as he did so.

    The valley seemed especially majestic now, and as he took it all in, the feeling of being a part of it crept its way into his mind.  Malcolm paid no attention to the three remaining hooded figures who were in the midst to reorienting themselves for another attack. He didn’t even see them anymore.  Reaching down to his belt, he grabbed the pouch of feverlew, opened it, and poured the entire contents into his mouth, closing his eyes as it dissolved.  Then he reached up and unbuckled the leather straps crossed over his chest, letting the quiver fall loose before tossing it over the edge.  His dagger was next, still caked with the blood of Orinus as it too was hurled over.

    The manic energy, more powerful than Malcolm had ever felt before, surged through his veins and into his mind like a sledgehammer, and he balled his fists with the sensation of being invincible. Another glance into the valley and he thought he might leap clear across it, over his enemies below, and run forever.  Then there was something else; little pecks of cold as if the winter itself were kissing him.

    Malcolm stared into the sky, spreading his arms and breathing the frigid air; wondering how long it had been snowing. He thought about Cleo, he could see her smiling at him.  And suddenly she was standing there.  Looking beautiful.

    “Guess this is it,” he said to her, knowing she wasn’t real. It didn’t matter. Perception was everything, and the hallucination was perceived real enough.

    “What are you doing?” she asked him.

    Malcolm said nothing, swaying slightly. Cleo leaned in closer and craned her head forward, and Malcolm did likewise, the two coming close enough for their lips to meet. “Grab the rope,” she said calmly, stopping just short.

    Malcolm made no movements.

    “Grab the rope!” she yelled.  Malcolm flinched, the hallucination vanished, and he looked down to see the end of a rope at his feet.  Following its length upward, he found Gabriel Foy standing there at the top of the incline.

    “Grab the rope, ya dumb whistler bastard!” he yelled, and by his appearance he was none too pleased.

    Reality slapped Malcolm like a whip, everything forced from his mind but the rope he grabbed; pulling so hard he almost flew up the slope.  Gabriel Foy widened his eyes at the spectacle; obviously taken aback by the freakish, feverlew-induced pace by which Malcolm made progress.

    Just then, a comet obliterated the ledge on which Malcolm had stood, the impact forcing him forward to the ground, but with the drug setting his blood aflame he sprung back to his feet right away.

    “Girlie said you might be in trouble,” Gabriel said when Malcolm reached the top.  He grabbed his hand and helped him forward.  “And I should have left you down there!  Playin' imaginary sucky face the nothin' while I risk my own skin up here!”

    “Cleo?” Malcolm asked.  “Is she alright?”

    “Back to deliver your message,” he said.  Malcolm was trying to catch his breath as Gabriel quickly untied the rope from where he had fastened it beside the cavern entrance. “How can you not have rope?” he asked.  “In my day we always had rope.”  When he finished wrapping it up around his arm, Gabriel leaned forward and put his hand on the whistler’s chin, guiding Malcolm’s face to his.

    “Your day?” Malcolm asked, not resisting.

    Gabriel ignored the question, studying the bowman’s eyes.  “We also knew how to use feverlew in moderation,” and he turned to step away.  “You have a problem. Girlie was right about that too.”

    “Yeah, well,” Malcolm glanced back to the slope. “A minute ago I thought I wasn’t quite long for this world.”

    Gabriel gave no indication that Malcolm had spoken at all, and just before they were about to step inside the cavern, he turned back to the bowman. “The dose coursing through you is not a fatal one, but you’re flirtin' with it, boy.  You up for runnin'?”

    Malcolm was already glancing around Gabriel into the darkness. “Are you kidding me?  I just downed enough feverlew to run through this damn rock if I wanted.”

    Gabriel snorted, turning back to the cavern.

    Malcolm grabbed his shoulder, and the old man spun towards him.  “Thank you, Gabriel,” he said.

    “Nothing to thank me for,” Gabriel shrugged. “It’s like I said,” he disappeared into the cavern.  “I cannot abide useless people.”

    Behind him, Malcolm smiled.  Then followed him into the dark.

*
***
*

      Malcolm held the bow tight in his hands, trying to get a feel for the weapon.  The world slowed, blurred.  Everything evaporated around him.

    “Man knows his bows,” a booming voice broke his concentration, snapping him back to the present. “Finest of my wares.”

    Malcolm looked up, the world swimming back into focus as he recognized the presence of the bowyer whose handiwork he now held. Blinking, he was struck all at once by the sights and sounds of a busy marketplace on a balmy spring evening. There were no wizards here, no minotaurs, and the darkness was not the bleak void he had faced down before. He took a deep breath, returning further into the moment.

    “I’d venture to say,” the robust man continued, “that in the hands of the right bowman, a pretty lady like that might hit a target from … eight hundred yards away.”

    “A thousand,” Malcolm corrected, twisting the weapon to the side, sizing up the weight.

    The bowyer’s laugh rumbled up from a throat touched by too much tobacco smoke.  “You show me a man hits a shot from a thousand, lad, I’ll show you the likes of a talent I’ve never seen.”

    Malcolm hardly reacted, running his hand down the bowstring.

    “Ya got any experience with a weapon like that?”

    He smiled, handing it back.  “Some,” he said, then added.  “I’ll probably be back for this.”

    The man beamed. “I’ll be here, laddie.  Enjoy the festival.”

    Malcolm began to walk, ambling aimlessly through the wide city streets. A refreshing breeze carried the sweet and spicy scents of countless flowers native to the region, most all of them in full bloom now. For the last few days, the famous floral markets of Fairlawn had sprung up like the plants they sold, and bugles and trumpets had sounded whenever a different bloom would begin to open, no matter the time of day or night.

    With the cool sparks of starlight emerging in the sky, the white-walled buildings all around Malcolm were bathed in the crisp glow of colored lanterns being carefully raised and hooked onto cables that ran the streets just above the rooftops. Crimson and gold and azure, they splashed their festive glow across everything the light touched. Not long ago, such a gleam could have meant death, in just as impressive an array of colors. But things had changed, and the festivities of Spring appeared.

    As Malcolm neared the center of the city, he saw that bonfires had been set up, and families were gathering together to share savory kebabs and corn on the cob. Fireflies danced around the flames, some of them straying into the light of the lanterns and instantly becoming whatever color touched them, holding it even as they wheeled and darted one after another in a frenzy only nature could comprehend. Surrounded by a circle of small children, a single cabbit bounced and darted after the crafty insects.

    Further still was one of the man-made rivers that girded the city, its verdant shore already dotted with pale white blooms. Lost in his thoughts, Malcolm watched some of the boats drifting along the water, fishermen's nets cast out to scoop up some of the pearly stones from the depths for good luck.

  All objects transcend their physical existence, he thought.

    He did not know how long he stood there on the riverbank before he realized he was looking down, and that the water was sparkling with a new light. The moon had risen to its zenith, and almost as soon as he realized it, there was the peal of another trumpet and cheers from all around him. His feet guided him back toward the stands, where a young woman held the first lunar rose, its petals the purest snow white. It was alight, as though from within, with a crystal sheen like frozen glass.

    Now the cheers had turned to gasps, even as the white roses opened on the bushes around the pale pavilion. Slowly, with reverence, people began to exchange silver and gold for the treasure. Malcolm watched a while, turned, and began to walk. He had not gone far before he felt a tug at his sleeve that stopped him.

    Behind him was a little girl, and he thought for a moment it was Darvin Nash's daughter, but of course that could not be. She said not a word, but extended one of the perfect blossoms toward him, and he took it. A moment of gratitude and understanding passed between them both without words, and he stopped in his tracks as she skipped away. He had thought to go home, to write back to his parents after he had finally gotten to read their letters with new eyes. But now he was unsure.

    Three weeks he had been in the city, hardly letting himself think about the war, and it had taken every day of that time to come here; for him to realize he needed to.  The Fairlawn City Monument. The names of those who had fallen in the defense of Veil’driel had only just reached double digits with the somber addition of Shane Bevan.

    Nearly a year into this war to repel their mysterious enemy, and still, there had yet to be a single full-scale skirmish or battle, lending the casualties a sort of poetic quality under the inscription: “May their sacrifice serve as a guiding light for those who dare to follow ...”

    In war, it was always outriders and sharpshooters who went first, and all ten of the neatly engraved names were either one or the other.

    Malcolm grimaced at the thought of that horrible day when that polished stone would honor thousands, and he dropped to a knee, wondering what his own name would look like on that wall.  What that would do to those he was close to.  What it would do to his family.  In a way, he would be responsible for devastating their lives.

    Malcolm had been told there had not been a day since the monument’s completion when fresh flowers had not been laid at its base. Now he added one of his own to the assortment; the perfect white rose the little girl had given him.

    “What are you thinking about?” asked a melodic voice.

    Malcolm smiled, looking up to the slightly obscured reflection in the glassy marble.  “That they should have waited for the war to be over,” he said.  Then he turned around to face her and his entire manner changed.  “Before they built this,” he finished, finding it difficult to draw breath at his first sight of her in weeks.

    Cleo nodded slowly.

    “You know ... so they wouldn’t have to keep adding names to it,” he went on.

    Cleo gave an amused little laugh.  “Yeah, I got it,” she said, perhaps realizing the effect she was having on him.

    Malcolm rose to his feet, taking his first steps towards her.  “It’s good to see you,” he said.  “How did you find me?”

    “Oh,” Cleo turned and gestured down the wide cobblestone road behind her.  “The innkeeper said I might find you down here,” she looked back to him, holding her left elbow in her right hand.  “I’m due at the Magistrate House in a few minutes, so I really don’t have long.”

    Malcolm was standing next to her now, taking a moment just to look in her eyes. “So is that what I am?” he buried his hands deep into his pockets, smiling.  “Just a part of official business?”

    Cleo turned her head just slightly to the side, a curious expression on her face as her green eyes reflected the starlight.  “Mhm.”

    Malcolm’s smile vanished.  “Oh,” he said, surprised.

    Cleo laughed again.  “Walk me?”

    They started down the winding path along the river shore, lanterns of every color reflecting their milky light off the gently rippled water as the pair moved beside the silver rope railing, leaving the monument behind them on their journey to the Magistrate House. For a while they simply walked in silence, but then Cleo turned to him again.

    “The convoy made it to Sindell,” she said.

    Beside her, Malcolm tilted his head back, closing his eyes; letting the words he had been longing to hear sink in.  “Any casualties?” he asked.

    “Some,” Cleo answered immediately, having anticipated the question as she glanced his way.  “Two of the drivers didn’t make it.  The King of Sindell lost two of his Sky Knights in the rescue.  Everyone else came through.”

    The visual of the little girl handing him the flower flared crystal clear in Malcolm’s mind.

    “The contact so far has been brief,” she went on, waiting for Malcolm to look at her again. “But Jaden’s optimistic for prolonged communication in the future. Sindell has been using gemstones for generations,” she said.  “So apparently that makes things easier.”

    Malcolm nodded.

    “And that’s not the only development we can hope for…”

    “No?” Malcolm asked, looking out again at the water.

    “She thinks it won’t be long before we can expect airships on the horizon.”

    Malcolm stopped, raising his eyebrows.  “Are you serious?” he asked.

    “I am.  Jaden thinks there are ways to increase their range to reach Veil’driel.”

    Malcolm just stood, retreating into his thoughts, daydreaming before Cleo went on.

    “I’m surprised you’ve never seen one,” she said.  “That you never traveled to Sindell before all this began.”

    They were walking again.

    “I grew up in Winterwine,” he said with a smile.  “Most advanced piece of machinery I ever saw was a windmill.”  He buried his hands in his pockets. “And there was never much time to go anywhere.”

    Cleo smiled but neither of them said another word for a long while as they continued on the walk towards the cobblestone bridge that separated the rest of the city from the central square dominated by the city's Magistrate House.  The bridge arced, high and round, for many feet, and as they passed they could see a few flower petals drifting in the current, bright and delicate like snowflakes.

    When she looked back to him, it was as if she was reluctant to say anything more.

    “General Creed has also asked me to inform you that two weeks have been added to your leave.”

    “Two weeks,” Malcolm said, already sensing where this was going as they stepped off the bridge, past two ornate lanterns that glowed like flickering sentinels of light. As they began to cross the greensward, a couple passed them on their right, headed back the way they came, both Malcolm and Cleo smiled politely in their direction.

    “Which will take your leave to exactly six weeks,” she said suggestively. “Coincidently, the exact time needed to break the physical addiction to feverlew.”

    Malcolm stared off again, looking a little embarrassed.

    “According to your friend, Mr. Pierce, that is,” she added, nudging him with her elbow to soften the mood. “Of course, officially it’s just a reward for heroic service.” Malcolm smirked in reaction to her playful tone.  “Creed’s put you in for the Veil’driel Star.”

    The bowman hardly reacted to the news.  “And what is to officially become of Adrian?” he asked, concerned.

    “Loss of rank.  Two months docked pay.”

    Cleo read the relief and surprise on his face.

    “Leniency in exchange for destroying his entire supply, and for providing his list of… clients.”

    Malcolm nodded as they slowed, the Magistrate House looming before them.

    “And because he honestly believed he was helping you.”

    “So you were onto us that morning,” Malcolm realized, and for the first time since they had begun to walk, he looked deeply into her eyes, and they stopped again.

    “Oh yeah,” she said, as if struggling to recall that walk from his tent to the convoy.  “When you were being really mean to me?” she asked, pouting.  She couldn’t hold the feigned sadness for long, though, and laughed.

    Malcolm wanted more than anything to reach out for her, and it took more willpower than his trials in Bryce Valley to stop himself.  She looked more beautiful than he had ever seen, her every word, every movement the perfect meeting of beauty and intelligence.  Now she brought her elbow up and held it with her hand.  It was something she always did when nervous. A moment of truth had come.  But he had no choice, he knew, and looked away.  The sight of the silver rope cordoning off a beautiful garden behind her popped the perfect opportunity into his mind.

    “What about Gabriel?” he asked, clearing his throat.

    Cleo did not answer right away, having experienced the same out-of-control sensation that had stopped Malcolm cold.  “Um,” she managed before taking her first step into the Square. “General Creed says he’s never heard of him.”

    Malcolm knew her too well.  “You don’t seem so sure about that,” he said.

    Cleo paused, confirming his suspicions. “I don’t know, it could have been nothing,” she said, seeming more serious than before.  “But I thought I saw something in his eyes when I mentioned the name.”

    There appeared to be more.

    “And?” Malcolm pressed.

    They had reached the massive golden gates of the Magistrate House, and two soldiers who brandished giant halberds on either side.  Flowers decorated the archway, in recognition of the Spring Festival, and beyond the elegant structure's slender columns and high, arched doors gleamed from behind a lush green lawn, fountain.  The windows glowed with the promise of activity inside.

    A welcoming sight, but not for Malcolm, who was permitted to go no further.

    They were facing each other again, and Cleo appeared in that moment as if she deeply enjoyed his company. There was something in her body language that acknowledged not only her pleasure of being able to share her thoughts with someone, but to be with someone who knew instinctively there was something else on her mind.

    “Not long after I told the general about Gabriel, a summons was sent out to Constable Thean to report to the camp at once.”

    Malcolm’s eyes widened just slightly.

    Cleo took the moment to elaborate.  “Summoning the head of the Outrider Order is not exactly an everyday occurrence.”

    There was a pause.  "Yeah, I got it," Malcolm said with a meaningful smile. “Could just be a coincidence.”

    The expression on her face showed well that she didn’t believe that and neither, she knew, did Malcolm.

    “Well, whoever he was,” Malcolm nodded in the direction they’d come. “He’s the reason I’m not on that wall back there.”

    Cleo nodded, looking down to her feet.  A long moment passed between them, before she took half a step in place, twisting her body just slightly this way and that.  Then Malcolm too began to fidget.

    “Well,” she finally said at length. “I’m headed back to the front in the morning,” she paused, her smile widening. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks, Bowman Hawkins.”

    Cleo watched as a mischievous smile began to spread across his face.  “Sounds like a plan, Miss Cleo,” he said.

    “Oh!” she cried, punching out at him.  He caught her hand and pulled her in close, and she willingly crashed into him. Cleo was still laughing when she pushed him away again.

    “Take care of yourself,” he said, using the momentum of her push to start taking backward steps.

    And whether she knew it or not, Cleo was biting her lower lip.  When she had completed her slow turn around, to start past the Magistrate guards, Malcolm did the same.  The bowman was halfway across the courtyard when he heard her voice again.

    “Hey, Mal?”

    Cleo’s shoulders sagged gently in the twilight, as if she were on the verge of surrendering something she had previously meant not to say.  Malcolm’s hands were in his pockets again, a curious expression on his face.

    “In Jaden’s most recent communiqué ...” she took a deep breath.  “You know, with the sapphires from Sindell?”

    There was another hesitation, and Malcolm smiled.  “Yeah?” he urged, amused.

    “She said there was something you might wanna tell me.”

    The bowman looked confused.

    “The last thing she said in the valley.”

    Now it was Malcolm’s turn to hesitate, and he hoped he was too far from Cleo for her to recognize he was taken off guard. She was waiting patiently for his answer, motionless as a gentle breeze caressed them both, carrying with it the scents of flowers again. As he made to speak, the sky burst with fireworks, dazzling the sky and splashing the courtyard in their color.

    It was a convenient diversion, and Malcolm tried to collect his thoughts as he craned his neck to watch a blue one explode.  Then, just as his gaze lowered, it settled on the top of the colossal monument still in view off in the distance, and he appeared to calm as he focused on it before turning again. 

    “Wish I could remember,” he said. “If a wizardess said it, I’m sure it was important.”  He tried to smile, but only managed an unsteady breath. “I was in pretty bad shape at the end there.”

    Even from where he was standing, Malcolm could see her bare nod in the moonlight. She stood motionless awhile longer before raising her hand in goodbye.  “Three more weeks,” she said, starting back down the pathway.

    Malcolm’s face contorted into a berating expression as he watched her, only turning in the opposite direction when she reached the door and passed through it. He passed from the Square towards the bridge.

    The fireworks blazed overhead.