Act I: "The Outriders of Veil'driel"

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      From his familiar spot atop the hill, General Creed watched the last of his troops move to high alert. The sight filled him with anticipation. Constable Thean was mounted beside him as a pair of young forerunners stood by, waiting to convey the general's orders.

      “Instruct Captain Talabray to move her legion to the front,” Creed said, watching the wood line where the shadowy object was reported. “She must begin patrols. I’m not sure where our boys will be coming from, but they will be coming fast. It is her task to rid them of any unwelcome parties.”

      A scout saluted smartly. “Sir!” he acknowledged, and spun his horse with ease.

      “And forerunner,” the general said, waiting for the boy to turn to him again.

      “General?”

      “Only from here to the road. Her men are not to enter the woods.”

      “Yes, sir,” the forerunner nodded, saluting again, and he was off down the slope.

      Creed turned to his second.

      “Instruct all other commanders to prepare their troops to march. I want them ready the very instant my order is given.”

      “Yes, general,” the lad acknowledged, saluting, and he, too, was soon gone.

      When they were alone, the general turned back to the woods, staring at the jagged pillar of smoke rising high into the distant sky. Thean was watching the two boys as they thundered down to the camp. It could have been Relic and Jace. It seemed like only yesterday that it was. Only yesterday they were boys, delivering messages and cleaning stables.

      Creed was still staring at the smoke as he spoke.

      “It was not in their orders to terminate the threat,” he said. “How is that even possible?”

      When he heard no response, he looked over to the constable.

      Thean appeared lost in thought. It was as if he were contemplating that very question before it was asked, staring out at an unseen distance that spanned time as well as space. He did not answer the general, immersed in contemplation no one else could understand.

      “Fenlow?” Creed attempted.

      The constable heard his name in some far and unimportant place.

      “It seems like only yesterday,” he mused.

     

***

      “Arrows, Rel!” Jace was yelling. “They got arrows!”

      Relic was doing his best to zigzag along the road.

      “Yes, thank you, Jace, I’m aware of that!”

      Their pursuers were masterful riders, and Jace had watched in awe as they swerved together in perfect formation only moments before entering the wood. Brightly glowing crystals drawn tightly to the breast of their horses lit the path before them, flooding the surroundings with white light and rendering them dark silhouettes. It was like being chased by shadows.

      Another arrow hissed overhead, and Jace could only watch. The warlock weapon was little better than a stick now, and with no other thought in mind, he reared his arm back and tossed it like a spear. It fell short, and the riders simply veered around where it stuck, wobbling, in the ground.

      “I’m target practice back here!”

      Relic turned his head to the side, shouting. “Maybe you should just tell them you’re sorry!”

      Suddenly, Jace's eyes widened.

      “Relic! How far are we from the sentry house!?”

      “It’s just around this bend!”

      A look of annoyance splashed Jace’s features.

      “I can’t see the bend!” he shouted.

      “We’re rounding it!” Relic said. “I can see the sentry house now!”

      Jace's sudden whistling carried over the clamor, and rose away on the winter air. Twisting sideways, gripping even tighter with his thighs as more arrows passed overhead, he tried again. His gaze shot wildly around the woods, and he felt his stomach sink as they passed the sentry house with no response to his call. Now they were clear of it, and now again their pursuers were passing it by, but he saw nothing. Then a blur of brown caught his attention. It banked into shadow, and when it came into view again, Jace knew it was not his imagination. On the crest of a hill, paralleling the road in one long hump, his horse galloped alongside them.

      “Relic, slow down!”

      “What?!”

      “Slow down, damn it, slow down!”

      “No!”

      Jace watched his horse bank suddenly down the steep slope and through the strip of road lamps, waving towards himself to urge the animal faster. But it was of no use. Without its master, the stallion couldn't catch up

      “Look!” Jace yelled, desperately elbowing Relic in the side.

      “Jace, I swear I’m gonna ...!”

      But when he saw Jace’s horse, he tugged on his reins with masterful finesse.

      The leap would go perfectly, or Jace would fall to his death. Even the outriders’ radical tactics could not save him from this fall if he took it. Relic held his breath, and his animal steady, waiting, trusting in Jace’s ability.

      He did not let him down.

      Propelling himself up with his forearms, Jace crouched on the horse’s croup for an instant before jumping with a mid-air, sideways spin to his own horse, landing in the saddle. A strange sensation passed through his shoulder and ribs, heralded by a noise like a handful of cracking twigs, and Jace didn’t know whether he should be grateful that he felt no pain. Suddenly, he was aware of the hail of arrows whizzing past. The riders' crystals were close; they no longer looked like shadows.

      They looked just like the others had.

      Same flowing robes, same hooded cowls, but with one difference. Ornate golden armor that shined bright in the arcane light, with full face masks of polished gold, worked with a skill beyond anything Jace had ever seen. Ghostly, frozen expressions of cold indifference protected what he only assumed was flesh beneath. Riding with all that armor seemed impossible, even to the outrider, and yet they did so with weapons firing all the while.

      They were nothing short of awesome. It took all of the outrider's skill to at last pull away. Even at the moment when he should have been most terrified, most hell-bent on survival and escape, Jace could barely fight the urge to turn around again.

     

***

      There was no knowing what had caused the attacks to stop, but Isabelle knew it had been something extreme. She shared the general’s instinct that when her counterparts returned, they might be bringing company. She always enjoyed these moments when her command was enforced, even over the simplest tasks. Her legion was powerful, so was she, and she loved every single one of them.

      They had found nothing where the sighting was reported, only tracks where Jace and Relic had entered, and though she was unauthorized to pass into the wood, Isabelle was satisfied nothing was there. At her back, the camp was in an uproar, readying itself for sudden mobilization.

      Soon, at long last, the Republic would know where the enemy was. They were pure evil as far as Isabelle was concerned, and part of her hoped they had enjoyed the response. But then there was that part that feared what the cost might have been.

      “Captain Talabray!” came the sudden call of her forerunner. He was approaching from the road, and for a second all was still. The young rider reached her and saluted. She returned it impatiently.

      “What is it, Griff?”

      “Shouting, captain! Coming from down the road!”

      It was all that she needed to hear, and though the statement only sparked more questions, she was not about to take the time to ask them. “Take this message to the general,” she said, readying to break. “And inform Constable Thean that I’ve gone to the road!”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he acknowledged, and immediately started back to the encampment.

      Isabelle sped away with an impressive start, reducing all around her to a blur.

     

***

      Jace was even with Relic, leaning forward into the saddle horn and feeling like he was flying. His shoulder ached, and the fire in his ribs was threatening to break through the wall of numbness that had thankfully deadened the wound.

      The outriders had not been able to achieve the same distance they had before Jace made the leap, but they were better off. Their pursuers were no longer shooting, conserving their ammo for a better opportunity. But they were still incredibly fast, and had only become faster. It was impossible to know how many miles they had put behind them, but he knew it was a lot. Time and distance became unfathomable in the chase. The end of the road could come into view at any moment -- but whether they would survive was another unknown.

      “What do you think about taking to the woods?!” Jace bellowed over the loud noise of the horses, and he could taste the dirt of the road from the wild plume of dust in their wake.

      “Too risky!” Relic shouted back. “Don’t forget the minotaurs!”

      Jace risked a glance to his friend, and by the time he spoke was already facing forward again.

      “I thought you said they weren’t guarding the road anymo ...”

      As if on cue, one of the beasts’ hammers spun across their path, turning so fast its motion blurred it into a saucer that crashed into the trees on the opposite side. “Oh, that was weird,” said Jace Quickly, he looked back over his shoulder to where the massive weapon had landed, but something drew his eye sharply to his pursuers. Their mystic lights were shifting in strange patterns.

      "Relic! The minotaurs are attacking them!"

      On both sides of the road now, minotaurs were growling, howling, and throwing whatever they could get their hands on. Not all of them were able to catch the blindingly fast riders, but many hurled boulders, stumps, and debris. The outriders passed unscathed, reacting in a ballet of turns, ducks, spins, and short jumps. Even the masked riders could not match their craft.

      A loud crash of metal behind them was followed by another as two pursuers were hit and fell to the ground. Before long the distance between them had increased, and the minotaurs’ attacks stopped as the end of the road came into view. Relic pumped his fist as he saw the opening to the plains. Jace had not yet noticed, fixated on the pursuers pulling away over his shoulder, and watching as their crystal lights vanished one by one before turning to illuminate the road in the opposite direction.

      But one of the riders had not turned and was bolting towards him with astonishing speed. The burning crystal bounced and bobbed with the ferocious pace, and Relic cursed as he snapped the reins to urge his horse. He had fallen far off the pace and behind Relic, and he was sure it was too late to escape. He broke hard into a trot, snapping the reins and yelling loudly. After everything he had survived, after all of the odds he had beaten, it seemed obscene he would be killed like this.

      Up ahead, Relic realized Jace was no longer beside him. He did not know what to make of it; for by the time he turned, Jace was riding hard again in vain, appearing to have never stopped. There was nothing Relic could do but watch. “Jace!” he yelled.

      The golden rider overtook him before Jace had even come close to full speed. He was riding alongside the outrider close enough to touch, but Jace ignored him for a few seconds. He waited to feel the sting of an arrow or the cold steel of weapons, but nothing came. As he continued to gain speed, the golden rider matched him, never making an attempt to pass or strike Jace down. It was a haunting experience, and now Jace finally faced the rider and pushed out with his hand, grunting as he did.

      “Get the hell ...” he pushed again. “Away from me!”

      This time the rider moved away slightly, but it seemed more of his own will than the force of Jace’s push. Jace was too occupied with gaining speed to notice his enemy reach into a deep leather bag dangling from its saddle. He didn’t see the fistful of reagents withdrawn in its black-gauntleted hand. It wasn’t until the reagents began to crackle and ignited that Jace finally looked.

      “What the hell are you?!” he screamed.

      The only answer was a throwing motion that launched an orb of emerald energy towards him, and he gritted his teeth in anticipation of the impact, helpless to do anything else. He closed his eyes and looked away, and then … nothing. The energy had hit him and simply dissipated, and he looked up at his would-be killer’s metal face with a baffled expression.

      Though the golden rider’s face was hidden, its head tilting to the side confirmed Jace’s suspicions that this was not intended. For the first time, Jace realized that his attacker wore crimson robes, not the black of the others. Not the black he had worn himself to set the reagent wagon on fire. The red rider skidded to a stop behind him. Jace couldn’t help himself from looking back again, hoping for an explanation that would never come. In the instant Jace turned back, the rider was still staring eerily after him, encircled by the light from his crystal, absolutely still. He could have sworn he saw this being nod at him, as a fighter respectfully conceding the round of an unfinished fight.

      Jace turned back to the end of the road and the opening ahead, seeing Relic’s silhouette waiting.

      “Go, Relic, I’m fine!”

      He watched as Relic turned and rode out of the woods, and just like that, one of the two outriders sent to save the Republic had made it back. The second glanced back again, as he reached the threshold at the end of the road, but there was nothing to see. Only the darkness of the empty thoroughfare and the extinguished lanterns. All at once the trees seemed suffocating.

      He held his breath and focused on reaching the plain just ahead.

     

***

      Isabelle’s heart pounded in her throat as she watched Relic emerge from Fairlawn Woods, and the first line of her cavalry parted for him. Besides his missing cloak, he seemed fine. But when Jace did not follow, an intense terror shone from her eyes.

      Relic rode up beside her with a serious expression on his face. He had been surprised, but pleasantly, to see her waiting with her legion, but now he was looking for answers. “Hey!” he said as he reared around so that he too could watch the road. “What are you doing here?”

      Isabelle was silent as the moment slipped by. Relic's teeth clenched quietly, sending an ache through his jaw and his head that he didn't expect. How many times had minutes, or even an instant, meant the difference between life and death tonight? But she suddenly came to herself, and spoke before he could think more on it.

      “Where is he?” Isabelle finally managed to ask. But as she did, he emerged from the wood line.

      Isabelle watched him intently, and she could breathe again. He, too, was missing his cloak, and his hat, but she would hear about that later. “We’ve set up a perimeter from here to the encampment,” she began. “One of the watchmen thought they spotted something right before the attacks stopped.”

      “Minotaurs,” Relic nodded. “But I don’t think we have to fear an attack from them.”

      Isabelle looked away from Jace for the first time, eyes widening in question. “Minotaurs?”

      Relic nodded again.

      “Yes, I’ll explain everything. Right now we have to get to the camp. We have the location of the enemy forces, along with enough information to keep the strategists back in Avaleen busy for months.”

      For all the trouble her relationship with Jace threatened to cause them, Relic could not deny that he was pleased. Since the invasion, she had been somehow distant, her thoughts always to herself except when Jace was around. But Relic could already see a change beginning to cover over her; it was the beginnings of hope, its light reflected in them all. The enemy was not invincible. They could not hide forever.

      But then in that moment, when the emotions seemed lightest, when hope seemed alive again, Relic noticed a sudden change in her expression. “What is he doing?” she asked, albeit in a tone that did not show much concern. Relic turned to follow her gaze.

      Jace had dismounted and was walking away from them, his horse left behind with one of Isabelle’s cavaliers. He did not say a word. There was something in the way he was moving that seemed off. When he finally turned around and signaled for one of the forerunners to approach him, Isabelle spoke again.

      “He’s hurt, Relic,” she said. Her tone was urgent, but she only shifted in her saddle, looking like she wanted to act but was held still by some indefinite doubt. Relic was still watching his friend, and though he felt Jace’s actions were a bit odd, couldn’t notice any one glaring problem. Nothing, at least, to warrant Isabelle’s alarm.

      “Are you sure?” Relic asked. “I didn’t notice anyth ...”

      But Isabelle was already breaking towards him. “I’m sure.”

      Relic sighed and followed.

     

***

      “How’s it goin' tonight, man?” Jace asked as he looked up to the young boy in the saddle.

      “Very well, sir,” the forerunner almost shouted, excited to be talking to the famous Jace Dabriel. “You and Captain Avery sure showed ’em!” Jace only smirked, but it could have been a wince. Enthusiasm blinded the kid to how pale Jace seemed in the bright moonlight.

      Jace went down to his belt, noticing the bright glow from the emerald necklace, but not allowing it to distract him from the task of withdrawing his record book. “Take that to General Creed,” he said. “He’ll know what it is.” The forerunner saluted and was gone in a flash. But the outrider had taken no notice of his effort at all. All of his concentration maintained the heroic front.

      It was as if all of his injuries attacked him all at once, and after turning around, Jace found himself nauseous and short of breath. He had decided not to follow Relic to Isabelle right away, all of his prideful instincts telling him to dismount and wait until he could recover. To wait until the pain subsided again instead of showing his weakness.

      Only it never did.

      The world about him became a blur and he fell. He saw the boots of Relic and Isabelle hit the ground as they dismounted, and then run towards him. He heard Isabelle’s voice calling to him, but it seemed garbled and lost in the storm of disorientation.

      Isabelle fell to her knees, skidding up beside him until they pressed against Jace’s legs and she cradled him in her arms. She noticed the deep gash in his shoulder, but it wasn’t bleeding profusely, and so she moved on in methodical fashion. Her mind had shut down. There were only objectives.

      “Tell me what hurts, Jace,” she said, and he could have been a stranger by her tone.

      “Everything,” he answered, but he didn’t seem lucid, his gray eyes focusing on nothing.

      Isabelle turned back to the horses. “Relic!” she yelled, “Get the ...” but she trailed off as she saw he was ahead of her, already arriving with first aid supplies. Relic handed her one of the tight rolls of gauze, and she snatched it away greedily.

      “You’re alright, Jace!” Relic said, kneeling down opposite Isabelle and watching her wrap his shoulder. “You’re alright, man.” In that moment he noticed the brightly glowing emerald necklace dangling from Jace’s belt, and though he did not see how it would help, was about to point it out to Isabelle. But his thought was shattered as Jace began thrashing, and he was forced to lean and help Isabelle maintain her hold.

      “The records have to get to Creed!” he yelled, twisting as if trying to stand. “He’ll know where to march now, Relic!”

      “Easy, Jace,” Relic said. “Easy!”

      “The records, Relic!” Jace yelled again, taking his breaths in uneven gasps.

      “They’re on their way, partner,” Relic assured him, fighting against the lump forming fast in his throat. “You did good.”

      “Relic!” he heard Isabelle’s voice suddenly. “Hold him just like that, don’t lower him again.”

      Isabelle had noticed the truth suddenly, shocked that she had missed it before. Directly under one of the empty belts, an arrow had struck him several inches below his left shoulder, and then sometime after, the shaft had broken off.

      “How bad is it?” Jace asked suddenly. The pain in his face was gone, and he was staring up at Isabelle who was delicately removing his crossbow belts. “How bad, Iz?”

      “Shut up, Jace,” she said as if nothing was wrong, never looking at him.

      “We have to move him, Relic,” she said, ignoring Jace as if he were somewhere far away and not cradled in her arms. Relic only nodded, scooting back and putting one of Jace’s arms over his shoulders, preparing for a fore and aft carry.

      “I’ll take him on my horse,” Relic said, waiting for Isabelle to assume her position.

      Just as they were about to lift, Isabelle glanced over to realize Jace was staring at her face, and mistakenly made eye contact. She was helpless to look away. “It’s funny,” he said, and she was struck by the purity in his eyes.

      “What?” Isabelle whispered, her guard fallen, her hands trembling.

      “The padded ones hurt more,” he said.

      And then his body went limp in their arms.

***

      Relic had ridden hard from the camp, but he reined back to a more sedate canter as he reached the road where he had almost died two months before. It was not the first time he had spent the ride between encampments reflecting on the events of that night, but in many ways it felt like it. So much had changed since then.

      Deep in the woods he could hear voices, and for the first few trips along this road, he had found himself unnerved, half-expecting a minotaur to come screaming from the trees, or a hooded rider to emerge behind a deadly hail of arrows. But those feelings had all but left him now. He was accustomed to the voices of patrol teams carrying on the air as they scoured the woods.

      It had been weeks since anything unusual was seen.

      Relic paced slowly as the pale gray-purples of night changed to the copper shades of dawn, and his breath rose up and vanished into the thin morning mist that danced on the air. Above, the thick canopy of trees delayed the light, but the bright road lamps running along its flanks were already losing their glow.

      Relic stopped at the place he always did: here they had found Calloway’s body.

      He wasn’t exactly sure why he paused here, or why he always looked to the lamp Jace had broken with his body. He could see it all so clearly, hear the sounds, feel the struggle. Relic closed his eyes, trying to let the images sink in. It may be some time before I pass this way again.

      Then he heard a sound a new sound, and slowly opened his eyes. There was only a distant shadow at first, but he knew it immediately. He smiled as Isabelle approached through the thin veil of fog. When she saw him sitting there, she slowed.

      “Hi,” she said, blowing a warm breath into her hand.

      Relic took a final glance at the broken lamp, then turned to Isabelle.

      “Good morning,” he said.

      “I didn’t think you’d be on your way back yet. They sent me to make sure you were.”

      Relic nodded.

      “The survey of the city went quicker than I expected. I’ve relayed the general’s orders.”

      Isabelle nodded, a faint trace of amusement in her voice.

      “How’d your legion take the news?”

      “What?” he started. “You mean the news that they would be under a new commander, sitting around in Fairlawn until who knows when instead of chasing down the enemy?” Relic smirked. “Greeaaaat,” he said sarcastically. “In truth, they’ll probably be busier than they think. It’ll be better than standing around doing nothing, waiting for us to report the next move.”

      Isabelle’s smile seemed bittersweet, her attention shifting to Fairlawn.

      “So the reconstruction is going well?”

      “Extraordinarily well, yes,” Relic said with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “They’re talking about the outriders on every street corner.”

      “Oh, yeah? What are they saying?”

      “Everything,” Relic said. “Somehow, they know everything.”

      Isabelle nodded; she was still smiling, but something had gone dark beyond it. She knew this spot as well, knew the broken body as well as the broken lamp. A shadow of concern crossed Relic's face before he spoke again. “They have a new motto for us.”

      Isabelle looked up.

      “They’re calling us Liberty’s Watchdogs.”

      First, a quizzical look; after a long moment, she smiled all the wider.

      “I kind of like that,” she admitted.

      Relic smiled, and nodded, the shadow that had passed across them both gone.

      “Yeah,” he said. “Looks like Senator Bren’s been workin' overtime.”

      “No,” she replied seriously.

      Relic looked up to her with surprise.

      “What you two did that night was incredible.” With a clicking noise, and the subtle tug on the reins, Relic beckoned his horse back into the middle of the road, and they started off into a slow trot. “Without you, who knows where we would be. You gave Veil’driel their first victory. You put a face on the enemy. You halted the invasion.”

      Relic glanced over, and as their eyes met she caught herself and looked away, embarrassed.

      “The entire Republic … saved by two outriders.”

      Relic looked at her for a moment, his lips pursed in thought. “You’re an outrider too, ya know,” he pointed out. “And we haven’t saved anything yet.”

      “The tide started turning that night, Relic. No matter what, that night will be remembered forever.” Then she stopped, looking away for a moment before going on. “As will those who gave their lives.”

      In the span of just two months, there were already plans to erect a memorial for the fallen heroes in Fairlawn, along with a recounting of how the unstoppable army was stopped. They would be immortalized, every one. Isabelle felt immense pride and grief at the thought.

      As the conversation went on, their lazy pace had slowed until both outriders were stopped, and the sound of an approaching rider seized their attention. A tall horseman wearing the forest green cloak of a Fairlawn Sentinel was making his way from lantern to lantern with a long metal apparatus he touched to each one. As he did, the glow would dim before extinguishing completely. When he noticed Relic and Isabelle, he broke away and approached, switching the cane to his left hand, so he could render a proper salute.

      “Hail, outriders!” he said, with an enthusiasm that almost made Isabelle laugh. The metal pole poked and weaved aimlessly over his shoulder. Relic and Isabelle returned the salute simultaneously.

      “Good morning, lieutenant,” Relic said. “How’s the watch?”

      “Blissfully uneventful,” the sentinel reported. “But, found something that might belong to you.”

      Relic squinted curiously.

      “Oh?”

      “Yes, sir. We were going to search you out after shift change, but this has worked out perfectly. It would be my honor to bring you back to the sentry house.”

      “You wouldn’t just be trying to use me to get out of light detail, would you, sentinel?”

      The sentinel only shrugged.

      “Maybe, sir,” he admitted, with the makings of a mischievous smirk. “But that's not all.”

      Relic and Isabelle traded a quick glance and a smile.

      “Lead on, then.”

***

      On the opposite side of the Fairlawn Woods, the command tent stood in the center of the massed legions. It was not as strategically sound as the camp of two months ago, but there was not a soul involved in the campaign not thrilled by the changes that had visited on them since then. Not least General Simian Creed, as he stood over a different massive map on the same wide table.

      Constable Thean and Senator Bren joined him, as did the senator’s scribe. He had been busier than ever, as good news seemed to come from the senator's mouth whenever he opened it, which was often. They had gathered in these early morning hours to discuss the next step in the campaign, and the senator narrated the occasion in his usual way as the scene unfolded before him.

      “Dawn in the general’s command tent, a full two months and seven days after what has become known as The Night of the Outriders, when the midnight transition took on an entirely new and altogether historic significance. A full two months and seven days after the intrepid outriders turned back an enemy that had known no defeat. A full two months and seven days all leading to this moment: The relinquishment of their command.” He paused for only a moment. “Three replacements stand across the table from Brigadier General Creed, the ones who will assume leadership over the outriders’ legions.”

      Senator Bren swiped the bifocals from his face, nibbling on one of the arms as he contemplated his words. By mid-day, they would be recited by heralds on every street corner of Fairlawn, in every other city by the following week, and in less than a month, the entire Republic would be reading them or listening to his voice. At the moment, all this was but a collection of soft whispers to his scribe.

      Bren relished the responsibility, especially now. Just as his whispers would soon catch on the air over the whole Republic of Veil’driel, the Night of the Outriders had done the same. Their one whisper had turned the Republic around. When all was said and done, was their function really so different from his own? The politician liked to think not.

      His opening statement was meant to be cryptic, to leave citizens wondering why liberty’s watchdogs were being demoted. But any editing would have to wait until later; Constable Thean was speaking to those who would take over his outriders’ commands.

      “Each one of you,” he was saying, “are assuming a command that could very well decide the future of our Republic.” The constable’s ripped biceps tightened with the weight of his body as he pressed his palms against the edge of the table.

      The three men before him were culled from the elite of his order, outrider prospects, handpicked. Yet they did not have that knowledge, and despite whatever reputation they enjoyed, they stood before their mentor like disciplined statues, staring with blank expressions that betrayed nothing.

      “And each of you, are stepping into shoes you have no right to fill.”

      The constable’s eyes narrowed, and he scrutinized them all, one by one.

      “Isabelle Talabray,” he started, stopping his torturous gaze on each one in turn. “Relican Avery,” and finally, he stopped on the last of them, holding the stare a bit longer for punctuation. “Cedwyn Knight.”

      There was nothing else to be said: these names were enough. Thean nodded slowly in secret satisfaction at one candidate's hard swallow. The names did his job better than anything else could, and not even the politician would have been able to weave words of equal weight.

      The constable let them all stew a few more moments before he continued.

      “One day, perhaps, you will be the ones responsible for revolutionary discoveries. Discoveries that save nations. Your duty now is to use those of others. To be the beneficiary of that information and keep your troops alive.”

      Over the constable’s shoulder, the general crossed his arms and continued to watch, interested.

      “We are fighting an enemy you can not understand. An enemy none of your subordinates can appreciate.” Again, he stopped, but now it was to choose the right words. “You may have read the fables of minotaurs as children. You may have aced the exams in the academy. But I assure you, you have no clue what it is to face a minotaur, let alone a dozen of them.”

      Senator Bren bent over his scribe’s shoulder, reading the words scrawled below and nodding.

      “Over the last eight weeks, your legions have been readying themselves, preparing and learning new tactics to deal with this threat. Under your leadership, they will perfect them.” The constable shifted back to his feet, and the table creaked with the lifted weight. “You are replacing commanders that were revered by their legions, and that will be hard. You will have to earn their respect, and that will be harder.”

      Thean eyed them all, looking for something that only he could recognize.

      “And even if you can manage those tasks, another enemy awaits. One that will require yet more intensive training as we gather more reconnaissance.”

      The general saw his opportunity to chime in.

      “Throughout all of this, we must be ready to fight at all times. To be called on at a moment's notice. This is what it means to be a commander in my legions,” he said. “Survival is our mission. Our own, and most importantly, the Republic we defend.”

      Creed searched their eyes. He saw nervousness. He saw fear. But he saw too the flicker of determination, and knew then that his trusted constable had selected the right hopefuls. With a nod to Thean, he turned his attention back down to the giant map. Thean glanced toward the replacements.

      “Dismissed,” he said, to an immediate trio of salutes.

      Moments later they were gone from the tent, and the general looked to the constable.

      “It is no small task to retrain an entire legion,” he said.

      “Size is irrelevant, general. Necessity is what concerns me.”

      Senator Bren watched the two with interest. Sometimes he wondered if Creed just said those things to reassure himself with the constable’s stoic responses.

      “Then you have faith they will succeed.”

      Thean turned towards the table. “Yes,” he said. “I will see that they do.”

      There was excitement brewing in the senator now, for he knew what was coming next.

      “And so that’s the end of the preparations,” Tillian said.

      The general nodded, more to himself than the others. “You’ve sent for him?” he asked Thean.

      The constable nodded.

     

***

      The unmistakable scent of cinnamon saturated Relic’s senses long before the sentry house was in view, and as they grew ever closer, bacon joined the culinary fray. It was the smell of life, namely the sentries’ breakfast, but most importantly another indication that some sense of normalcy was returning to the land.

      Much like the road, the sentry house was nearly unrecognizable compared to what they had seen that fateful night. The mood, the lighting, the company Relic now found himself in; it was like a different place altogether, a welcoming one. A landscape he had seen in a nightmare once under dark and unnatural circumstances was now in its true, wholesome state. But Relic knew it was an illusion.

      Fairlawn had indeed begun its gradual turn toward recovery. But the outer provinces were still held fast by a determined foe, and though the night of the outriders had turned the enemy away, Creed had wisely taken the opportunity to oversee the resurrection of the city, and to prepare the legions for the newly discovered threats.

      The robed … beings remained a mystery at best.

      There was still so much ahead, and though Relic enjoyed new signs, absence was still the reality here. There were no merchants, no long lines of wagons; no one was permitted in or out without Creed's permission. Relic knew he would not be satisfied until all the road’s destinations were safe again. Until all of Veil’driel was rid of the enemy once and for all.

      “What are you thinking?” he heard Isabelle ask, and realized for the first time they were stopped. It was the second time that morning she had taken him from his thoughts.

      “I don’t know,” Relic said. Their escort had vanished through the doorway, to where the windows shone brightly on the bustling activity inside. “The future maybe,” he finished, shrugging as he looked at her.

      The sentinel emerged just as Relic finished, carrying what appeared to be a half-eaten roll in one hand, and something else in the other. He looked on the verge of saying something, but then stopped, turning back towards the swinging door to finish a conversation. The outriders watched as he nodded in response to someone unseen, and then their attention was seized by noise down the road.

      A rhythmic clamor as natural to the outriders as rain falling on a roof erupted from around the bend. Shortly after, the lone rider came racing into view, blasting past the sentry house with not so much as a passing glance. Relic had his cloak thrown back to expose his crossbows, but Isabelle simply sat there, responding not at all.

      “Your replacement?” she asked him.

      Relic only smirked. “Probably,” he said, though he knew better, as did she.

      He smiled at her innocence, her weapons still concealed, and wondered solemnly how long it would be before she too was afflicted by the same fears of that famous night. It'll be sooner than later, he thought, but there was no time for that.

      The sentinel was now standing within arm’s reach before them, his horse still gone within the house, and though the sudden proximity startled Relic, he hid the symptoms well, and neither the lieutenant nor Isabelle noticed.

      “I don’t suppose I could interest either of you in breakfast?” he asked. The glazed cinnamon roll was gone, but the heat it left in the sentinel’s mouth intensified his frosty breath on the air.

      “Already had it,” Relic said, “but thank you.”

      “Same here,” Isabelle coincided, with a smile that made the sentinel blush. “And unfortunately, we’re running a little late.”

      Relic recognized the look in the young sentinel’s eyes, having seen it many times before, and realizing he would have to intervene. Usually, he was amused by the infatuation she seemed to command at will, but today they had something to do. Today they were almost late for what they had waited two months for. “You said you had something for me?”

      At the sound of Relic’s voice, the sentinel brought his eyes from Isabelle with just enough hesitation to show it was not an easy task, and he cleared his throat to regain his composure. “Yes, sir,” he said, holding out what had been at his side.

      “We found it on one of our patrols,” the sentinel said. “Cleaned it up and everything.”

      But Relic was lost in thought, staring at the gray, narrow-brimmed cap in the sentinel’s hand. Slowly, he reached out to grab it, but when he felt Isabelle’s hand drop on top of his, he slowly pulled away to let her take it. Relic turned and watched her as she sat still in her saddle, running her thumb over the brim, and not even he could know what she was thinking. Whatever it was, it had taken her away from the present, and Relic let it be.

      “Is everything alright?” the sentinel asked.

      “Fine,” Relic said with a smirk, leaning forward with an outstretched hand. “I don’t think I got your name.”

      “Clive Barringer, sir,” he said, shaking Relic’s hand. He glanced briefly to Isabelle, fishing for an explanation but none came.

      “We appreciate it, Clive,” Relic said as he released his grip. “But it’s time we got goin'.” He nodded towards the extinguishing pole up against the masoned doorway. “And for you to get back to those lights, I’d imagine.”

      Clive turned glanced to the tool, then back to Relic with an understanding nod. He waited for the outrider to lean back in the saddle before saluting.

      “Hope to see you around soon, sir,” he said.

      “Hope to be seen, lieutenant,” Relic answered, returning the gesture.

      He looked back to Isabelle one more time, a last attempt at goodbye, but knew by her faraway eyes he would not get one. The sentinel turned on his heel and started back through the gate towards the house. After he had disappeared inside, Relic placed his hand on her shoulder.

      “C’mon, Iz,” he said, smiling into her blank face. Finally, she looked up to acknowledge him, but it was several long moments before they were again on their way.

***

      The sun had risen by the time Senator Bren was finishing what would be his latest, and most detailed, correspondence to the people, but it was impossible to tell from inside the dark command tent. He had everything he wanted; the heroic outriders about to embark on their continuing mission, their replacements in command, and updates from the front spiced with his flair for exaggeration.

      He was about to contemplate a title for it all when another, more somber matter struck him.

      “The monument!” He had not spoken loud enough to draw attention from Thean or Creed, who were scrutinizing some detail on the map, but his scribe looked back over his shoulder immediately.

      “Senator?”

      “We haven’t all the names for the Fairlawn City monument,” Bren said, looking embarrassed.  He should have known them. They had given their lives for their country, and all he was required to do was report their names for the monument in their honor. It would be hard to ask, but he had no choice. Clearing his throat, his attention drifted to the table.

      “Excuse me, general,” he began. “But if you will pardon one final interruption…”

      Creed looked up from the map.

      “Senator,” he said, half turning to him, “as much as I enjoy replying to your final interruptions, I do have a war to manage.” The comment resulted in a very rare smirk on the constable’s face, though he was preoccupied with making adjustments to a strange looking measurement device.

      “Yes, sir, you have been very generous, and I assure you this is my fina … my last order of business.”

      The general sighed. “Then, what is it I can help you with?”

      Tillian hesitated. “Well, general,” he began delicately. “This is terribly embarrassing, but we have only three of the names for the Fairlawn monument. I would not dare send this report, lacking such crucial details.”

      Creed’s stern expression wavered. Unlike the senator, he could see every one of their faces. He heard their voices in his sleep, and felt the pain of their loved ones in his heart. As he listened to the older man read the names, he dreaded the cost of the confrontation that had not yet come. He had only lost scouts thus far, but he knew that couldn’t last. With all his skill and all his care, it would not be long yet before an army of ghosts haunted his dreams.

      When the senator stopped, Creed knew immediately which name was missing, and took a moment to prepare himself as to not let his temper respond for him. “Rackham,” came a voice that did not bother with restraint. It did not belong to the general, and along with everyone else in his company, Creed looked up to the silhouette against a backdrop of fresh daylight.

      The sun was snuffed out as Jace Dabriel stepped into the tent, letting the flaps fall behind him.

      “Sebastian Rackham,” he finished with a salute.

      Both Creed and Thean returned it immediately.

      “At ease, boy, at ease!” the general said, walking out from behind the table to the young outrider, shaking his hand. “You look fantastic! How do you feel?”

      “Much better, sir,” Jace said, and he could not fight back the smile as the general slapped him hard on the shoulder. Just beyond Creed, Thean was staring at him, and Jace nodded his way. The senator had recorded the name, swearing he would not forget it again. He was unflustered by the hostility in the young man's voice. This, after all, was not an opportunity he could bear to miss.

      “Would you care to say anything to the people of Veil’driel, captain?” he asked, as enthusiastically as a child asking his father to tell his favorite bedtime story. Jace thought about it only a second. He seemed to take no great satisfaction in it.

      “Yes,” he said. “It’s too early to be thinking about memorials in Fairlawn.”

      It was not long ago that his answer would have been far different. The senator frowned.

      “The people need their heroes, lad,” Tillian said. He looked down to stop his scribe from recording Jace’s answer before adding: “In these times more than ever.” Something in the politician’s reply seemed to soften Jace’s resolve. It was true, he was just another bureaucrat, but hurting the old man’s feelings had not been his intention.

      “Relic saved my life out there,” he said, and the senator’s eyes flashed wide with delight.

      Quiet fell over the room. The senator's scribe caught his attention with an uncertain look, and realization replaced his glee. Tillian Bren plucked up his courage again, his usually smooth voice halting over the question. “Captain Dabriel, according to your comrade's account ...”

      Thean raised his eyebrows in interest, directing a glance toward Bren.

      “That is ... Captain Avery claimed that you were the he --” The rest of the tent had fallen into a sucking silence, and as the senator glanced around, he realized that there would be no disputing it if he intended to finish his work here amicably. “Thank you, captain,” he said at last.

      “How ...“ he managed to get out, but before he could utter anything else, the constable had stepped in between them.

      “Another time, perhaps, senator,” he said, guiding Jace from the tent. Before anyone could react, the constable was gone with his outrider. Leaving the senator with a stunned expression, and the general smiling an amused smile.

***

      Thean walked slowly with the young man he had trained from childhood.

      There were times, he had to admit, when it was difficult not to see him as that boy. But he noticed a difference as soon as Jace walked into the tent. Changes in the way he moved, in the way he spoke that no one else could see. Their mission that night had been a short one -- but as even a novice forerunner would tell, the time a mission takes is the least important part.

      As they walked from the command tent, through the frenzy of activity towards the edge of the camp, Constable Thean watched with pride and sorrow as Jace ignored the glances and praising whispers of the men they passed. Much of his youth had not survived that night, but the constable knew too that some, at least, would return in time.

      “You remember what I told you in Fairlawn,” he said.

      Thean had been the only one permitted to see Jace throughout his stay with the healers in the city. The outrider remembered it well. He hadn’t slept that night.

      “About our demotion?” Jace’s arms were crossed as he walked side by side with his mentor, his gray cloak hanging loosely about him. As they continued on their slow pace, the interaction became a spectacle to the rest of the camp.

      “No,” Thean said, and stopped.

      Jace halted as well, but showed no emotion as he met the constable’s stare.

      “Not a demotion.”

      Suddenly aware of the attention on them, the constable started moving again..

      “Not a demotion at all,” he repeated. “A reversion.”

      “A reversion to what?” Jace asked.

      “To a time when outrider was not just a title, but a rank.”

      Jace did not appreciate the implications. Not yet.

      “Why now?” he asked. “We can scout the outer provinces and still command our legions.”

      Thean glanced to Jace as they continued.

      “Because there has been a drastic development. One that will require long range reconnaissance, multiple objectives and what are sure to be… extended absences from the vanguard.”

      “What kind of development?“ Jace started, his tone full of the defiance Thean was used to. Still picturing some pretentious fool attempting to lead his men, no doubt. But he was silenced by what the constable withdrew and dangled from his hand. The bright glow burned into Jace’s memory, was gone. It looked just like a plain emerald necklace. The gold chain glinted in the sun.

      “Right,” Jace said, a faint sheepish note in his voice. “I may have forgotten to mention that.”

      Two months ago, Thean would have issued a stern reprimand. This morning he said nothing, concentrating instead on the gemstone as he went on. “Relic told me what happened on the road. And I can tell you that this saved your life.”

      “The emerald?” Jace asked.

      Thean looked up from the necklace, into Jace’s eyes.

      “Yes,” he said. “But it isn’t emerald, it’s jadeite.”

      Jace said nothing, suddenly enthralled as they reached the perimeter of braziers and continued out past them. His mind raced with questions, but he sensed something from Thean he had never felt before. It took him a moment to grasp it, and even after all he had been through, he went to it timidly.

      Yes; Thean was treating him as an equal.

      “The golden riders are the enemy’s equivalent of you, but the rest of their forces are limited in their ability to manipulate these precious stones.” Thean motioned to Jace with the necklace. “To create their magic.”

      Every word from the constable had Jace's rapt attention, and there was not one pause in the speech that he didn't wish to fill with a barrage of questions as quickly as he could ask them. But somehow he held his tongue, only nodding in response until the proper moment came.

      “You knew the enemy we faced before we even set out,” he surmised.

      The constable looked over as they approached the watchtower.

      “Suspected,” he admitted.

      They came to a stop at the edge of where the terrain sloped down to another plain. Through the fading carpet of morning mist, an expanse of tall hills rolled on as far as the eye could see, the valleys between them dotted with lakes that glistened like pale jewels. On the crests of the furthest hills, the gentle grass rose to become a wreath of majestic red trees, their leafy canopy creating shade from which a frothing river arose. Past the forests, the glitter of a waterfall was almost lost to the horizon.

      And beyond that, who could say?

      “There’s no record of anything like this,” Jace said.

      Fenlow gave a little shake of his head.

      “The missions of Outrider Point Teams are rarely chronicled in the archives,” he said, and then reaching into an inner pocket of his cloak, revealed a tattered record book. “And you’ll find there are quite a few in here.” Jace cleared his throat, not quite sure what he had heard.

      “Point team, constable?” he managed, taking it.

      Thean nodded.

      “Yes. You and your team are now the Republic’s foremost resource. Every move we make will depend on your reports.” Fenlow leaned in a bit closer; making sure the young outrider fully understood his next point. “And you report only to me.”

      “Yes, sir,” Jace said.

      There was sincerity in his tone, Thean knew, and again he thought of that boy Jace had been.

      “Everything we learned about the warlocks is in there,” Fenlow went on, as Jace continued skimming. “Every entry is dated before you were born, and as we’ve seen in their apparent strength, may not be completely current.”

      Jace looked up as the constable finished. “But it’s the best information you have.”

      Jace knew that in a more peaceful time the book in his hands would be in a museum, with all the great people and faraway places it described. Losing his command seemed suddenly easier – he didn't wish to reflect too long on the distracting idea that he might someday be in such a book as this – but he could not shake the concern he had for his men.

      “The new commanders of our legions. They’re competent?” he asked.

      “I have chosen each one personally,” Thean assured.

      Jace nodded. That was more than enough for him.

      “Who have you picked to lead the Third?” he asked, anxious to hear the name.

      “I will be your replacement,” the constable said, and Jace could only stare.

      “It would appear our mysterious adversary is not accustomed to defeat,” Thean said. “And I have no doubt that heroic feat of yours has them seeing outriders in every shadow.” The comment made Jace smile, but as Thean went on, the amusement faded. “But I believe their motive for retreating from the field is more strategic than anything else.”

      “They’re playing with house money,” Jace said.

      “While they occupy the outer provinces, yes. Apparently, we have earned their respect, but it would seem they’re waiting for us to make the next move.” Thean was staring out at the distant horizon, highlighted elegantly by the young, shining apricot sun. He almost envied his outriders on the verge of its exploration. “And our next move is you,” he finished.

      When the conversation began, Jace wouldn’t have considered voicing his true concerns to the constable. But as they went on, he never hesitated. Though he didn’t know how long it would last, for this moment the older man was simply a fellow outrider.

      “I can’t figure out why they didn’t just attack our camp,” Jace said, and he turned from the view back to Thean. There were too many questions to express, and so he abandoned the pursuit, shaking his head with a shrug. “It all just seems so unfinished.”

      “The outrider’s job always is,” Fenlow said. With that, he held up the jadeite necklace by the chain. “At the moment,” he said, “the knowledge contained in that book is the most we know about this magic. On your mission, you'll have a better chance than anyone else to discover more.”

      Jace raised a hand to take the necklace from Thean, slipped it in his pocket without thinking. He felt the older man pat him on the shoulder, but he never looked up from the book he was once again reviewing. He was immersed in a section listing acrostics with sketches of reagents the enemy used. HOPE – Heliotrope, Opal, Pearl, Emerald. FAITH – Feldspar, Amethyst, Idocrase, Topaz, Heliotrope. The lists went on, depicting not only mixtures, but also a far deeper lore beyond anything Jace could fathom. He knew it was over his head.

      But Avery on the other hand …

      “This is amazing,” Jace said. “How did you get so much-”

      But when he looked up again, he found himself speaking to empty air, and Thean passing back within the braziers. It was a strange act, and as Jace closed the book, he glanced around before noticing the three riders approaching from inside the encampment, one holding the reins of his own horse.

      Jace longed to be in the company the galloping hooves promised. Things always seemed so much simpler when he was with them, and at the moment, simpler was precisely what he needed. He knew then that Thean had planned this send off.

      Jace closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as the scent of rose oil hit him, a scent forever burned into every fiber of his being. When he opened them again, he found himself standing directly beside the white mare he knew he would see, and was almost afraid to look up at its rider.

      "Lose something, captain?" he heard her ask.

      Jace smiled wider than he had in months, sinking his hands deep into the pockets of his cloak. “I did, captain,” he said, playing along and finally looking up to her. “I appreciate it.” He swing himself into his saddle, and unexpectedly found himself at a loss for words.

      “I assume you’ve been caught up,” Relic said.

      “Apparently not,” came the sarcastic voice of Cedwyn Knight. He was leaned to the side, fidgeting with the buckle on one of his saddlebags. “He still thinks we’re captains.”

      Jace hardly regarded the speakers. He was still having a difficult time finding his voice, and only appeared interested in talking to one person when he found it.

      “Is this yours?” Isabelle whispered, smiling. She held Jace’s hat on her lap, just far enough away so that he would have to lean in to get it.

      “Where did you get that?” he asked, laughing.

      “I don’t know,” she said. “You’ll have to guess.”

      Beside them, Relic sighed. He had been expecting something like this would happen soon enough, ever since he first laid eyes on Isabelle on the road. Things are getting back to normal, he thought, a sour note competing with the first wry impulse to smile. He wanted to be happy for them, but he could not help noticing as they closed out a world that could still watch.

      The first rule of scouting, he thought. Just because you cannot see them, it does not mean they cannot see you. For a moment, it was surreal; everything they had survived, which often seemed to him like only yesterday, had given way to this. It was an unmistakable reality, but Relic wondered if he should say something after all.

      “How am I supposed to guess?” Jace asked, but his attention seemed fully on reaching for the cap. The speech was mere gibberish.

      “I don’t know,” Isabelle whispered, biting her lower lip. Her words sounded just as distant; meaningless filler to in the background of their actions.

      Relic peered over at them just as Isabelle craned her head forward to accept a kiss. He opened his mouth to yell, but it died in his throat with a barely audible croak. As the two closed in, a shrill whistle made Isabelle jump in her saddle, and Jace glanced over knowingly to the source.

      “Great idea, guys,” Cedwyn said, and he motioned over his shoulder. There, mounted on the edge of the encampment, General Simian Creed, Senator Tillian Bren, and Constable Fenlow Thean were all watching them. The realization was enough to sober them both, but it didn’t keep them from smiling as Isabelle handed over his cap.

      “Here, Rel,” Jace said, tossing Thean’s record book.

      “What’s this?” he asked as he caught it. “No way is this what I think it is.”

      “Well, as long as we’re throwing things,” Cedwyn said, and Jace looked up just in time to snatch a golden flint box lighter from the air. “Heard you lost your last one, hero.”

      Jace turned it over in his hand, and then looked back to his friend. “Thanks, man,” he said.

      Cedwyn shrugged, nudging the side of his horse with his heel to face the magnificent horizon.

      “Don’t mention it,” he said, standing in the saddle and cracking his knuckles. “Now let’s go do our thing.” Relic, finishing the line he was on, slipped the small book into one of his saddlebags, and took the reins with both hands.

      Isabelle too was ready, patting the lean crest of her mare like she always did. She stopped to smile sheepishly when she noticed Jace was watching her. “There's one more thing,” Jace said, reaching into his cloak to withdraw something else. “This.”

      The jadeite stone had lost its unnatural shine, and even when Thean spoke of its mysteries it had looked dim and somehow faded. But now, as he held it up to the sunlight before Isabelle's wondering eyes, he felt it seem to grow warm in his hand.

      “Told you I'd bring you something back,” he said, and as they drew close, her hand slipping over his to take the first treasure of their new campaign, he mouthed words that only she could catch: Thank you. She nodded, seeming to understand, and the moment was over in an instant.

      Jace turned in his saddle to face forward, took a deep breath and expelled it slowly as he fit the cap back on his head. For a moment or two, he continued looking down to his saddle, and when his head lifted, he was lighting a cigarette and narrowing his eyes.

      “Alright then,” he said, raising his eyes to the horizon. “Let’s ride.”

     

***

      Near the patch of scorched earth where the reagent wagon had been, General Creed stood still in his saddle, flanked by Senator Bren to his left and Constable Thean on his right. The morning preparations completed, they had ridden out to see the outriders off. It was a historical moment. All of them knew that.

      “So it’s done,” the general said. “The first outrider point team in three decades.” Thean showed no reaction as he watched his elite dwindle into the distance. He was the only one to have noticed Jace and Isabelle’s indiscretion, but said nothing.

      “I wonder if they can truly appreciate all that means.”

      Senator Bren pondered that same question. It was astonishing to think that just two months prior, he was ignorant to what the outriders stood for. He had viewed them as scouts. Now he felt as if a part of him were going with them.

      Now they take the Republic with them, he thought.

      The people could not yet understand what that meant, but they would.

      Tillian’s scribe came up beside him then as he had been instructed to do after editing the passages. It was ready to be sent back to Fairlawn City where it would begin its long journey back to the heart of the Republic, someday soon, pulse throughout every corner.

      “It’s ready, senator,” the boy said, huffing and puffing. He had run up from the command tent.

      All that remained to do was his signature; then every word in the packet would be official. “Nicely done,” the senator said with an appreciative nod, dabbing his thumb against his tongue as he flipped the pages. He had learned to expect nothing less than the highest quality of work, and quickly scribbled his signature. He was halfway back to his ponderings when he heard the boy’s voice again.

      “Excuse me, your grace,” he said. The senator looked down to see an outstretched arm holding the packet and quill back up towards him. “What is it?” Bren asked before taking it.

      “The title, sir,” the scribe explained. “It isn’t official until there’s a-”

      “Yes, yes, quite right,” the senator said, taking it with a smile and bringing his bifocals back up to his face.

      The Outriders of Veil’driel, he penned neatly, and then handed it back to his scribe.