The Outriders of Veil'driel
by Dan Hiestand
Artwork by Joanna Barnum

Read Part I

Part II

Jace had gathered up his reins, and was starting on foot towards the trees when something caught his eye. With the haste they had entered the sentry house, he hadn't noticed it before, but now the thing seemed to leap out at him. The shift torch, the ancient symbolization announcing the presence of the watch, hung dormant beside the archway. It was crafted into a miniature replica of the sentry house itself, and in extraordinary detail.

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

The Sentry had returned to Fairlawn.

***

The contour behind the sentry house was significantly different from where Jace and Relic had originally entered the wood, rising and falling in high wavy hills that created narrow crevices, steep slopes, and wide pits all across the terrain. Jace had left his mount lying well concealed at the base of one such outcropping, hoping it would maintain the unnatural position in his absence. He moved at a near sprint, weaving in and out of trees, leaping over obstructions, and sliding down slopes whenever it would quicken his progress. No mind was paid to the exact distances put behind him, but he knew he was closing in on the wood's edge, for he could now see the bright explosions of color through the trees in front of him as they blasted upward en route to the city. Jace found himself timing the blasts after the first few, falling down into the frozen mud in correlation with each bright light.

A quick series of blue, orange, red, and green drenched the surroundings and Jace dropped accordingly, using the illumination to search the trees for minotaurs, seeing none. He knew he was close, he could smell the feint scent of sulfur hanging on the air, watching the attacks rocket upward like blinding vertical bars through the trees. The perspective only intensified their intimidation. Somehow they seemed more real now than when viewed at their zenith, and that realization of devastating power compelled Jace to urgency. He jumped to his feet, running again.

But his hasty pace was limited.

Jace had only taken a few steps when a blinding flare of violet dropped him like a sack of rocks, pressing his palms against his eyes and trying desperately to blink the starched afterimage out of his vision.

It was a painful way to learn just how close he was, and in those seemingly endless moments he lay there helpless on the ground, he thanked whatever Gods were listening that his earlier survey of the area had revealed nothing, and he rolled to his back in relative certainty that nothing was watching him.

The recovery was excruciatingly slow, and even after Jace could see again, it was another ten minutes before he could make out anything past indefinable shapes.

Nice job, hero, Thean's voice berated him in his head.

It was a trait Jace developed during his academy days, and it often happened in moments of unbearable stress. Only Isabelle knew about it. She said it was probably because-

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

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

There he saw, for the first time, the so-called phantom enemy afflicting his people, spread out over the plain in what appeared to be "séance circles," laid bare before him. They had no idea they were being watched, and that fact sent a rush through Jace's body. At that moment he was the single most influential person in the Republic, and he liked the power that gave him. He liked it very much.

A glance downward to the skirt of the hill he crouched upon revealed the group that had blinded him, appearing to be humanoids in cowls, Jace began recording it all. Extending back across the plain were nine more identical formations, and a host of minotaurs hauled heavy wooden carts filled to the brim with reagents that were apparently the fuel for the hellish fire lighting the sky above.

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

Jace could not see exactly what those reagents were, but the process was becoming clear. The minotaurs dumped the contents of the carts into the center of the séance circles, and almost immediately after, the robed figures waved their arms in eerie unison with the mysterious ingredients levitating between them and twirling into a narrow twister of flickering sparks. The ensuing frenzy was so beautiful it was hard to look away from, so much so that Jace just barely broke his hypnotic trance before the mystical concoction detonated into an exploding, upward starburst. Jace followed its path, taking note of the streaking golden comet it formed into, as it vanished behind the trees. Never before did his firework association seem so appropriate, and there was already another minotaur moving in with another cartload.

The main concentration of reagents was held in a massive wagon, and situated directly in the center of the collective séance circles to complete the ring motif. No doubt the minotaurs had hauled it as well, although it would appear to have required the joined strength of all of them rather than the small carts they singularly used to dispense them. Judging by the amount the hooded figures used to conjure each attack, they could keep up their assault for days at a time. It was an alarming conclusion to reach.

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

And then he was certain of what he saw, taking the scope down and looking away as the implications soaked in.

It was the camp of the enemy host, the army, and he praised Creed as he scribbled their general location in relation to the woods and the plain. He could still hear the man's words in his head.

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

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

One more time, Jace reviewed the activity before him with the spyglass, adding as much detail as possible to his notes and descriptions. It proved wise; as it was in this final pass that Jace saw the stones around the robed figures' necks. One group wore amber, another sapphire, yet another emerald, and so on. It was the color of these stones that looked to dictate the hue of the blast from their circle.

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

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

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

He needed something else to record, anything to keep him there just a little bit longer, and so greedily turned his attention to the carts. To the reagents, and under the heavy magnification he could make them out, speaking each out loud as he wrote them down.

"Ginseng, mandrake root, sulphurous ash, nightshade…"

Jace stopped when he looked down from his tablet and saw the robed being approaching the woods, and in some ambiguous way, had almost been expecting it. It had undoubtedly seen the glint off the spyglass that Jace had intentionally caused.

"Why would I have done that?" Jace asked himself, slowly condensing the spyglass as if he had planned this all along.

The imaginary Thean had no answer.

The humanoid in the cowl entered the trees without caution, never breaking its threatening stride. Its features were covered in the hood, though it was hardly necessary in the inky blackness of the woods, and it stood near motionless in the shadows. At least it came alone. None of its counterparts seemed as interested. Had it been otherwise, Jace might have considered a careful retreat, instead he stood up in plain sight, feeling half in control of his actions at best.

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

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

His hands seemed to do their work independently, as if he were watching someone else strip the body of its robe and slip it around himself. Some corner of his mind kept telling him it was a stupid thing to do. That he had gathered all of the necessary information he was sent to, and as the only one to have made it to this point, he had a responsibility to the Republic.

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

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

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

Jace was just about to take his first step out of the tree line, when he noticed a pulsing emerald glow beneath his cloak. He picked it up, seeing for the first time, or perhaps realizing for the first time, that the creature he had killed was not a creature at all, but human, and the pulsing light was an emerald necklace dangling off the side of its neck. He reached down and removed it, pulling the body's neck up off the ground before the chain finally broke and the head fell back to the earth with a sickening thud. The glow faded instantly after separating from the corpse, and to Jace's horror the human looking face decayed before him, as if years of decomposition were passing in the span of seconds. Shortly after, the sword he had used for the kill eroded before his eyes into a useless thing of crumbling rust. By the time the process had finished, the weapon appeared as an artifact discovered centuries after its civilization's extinction. At that moment, Jace found himself grateful that he was not in his right mind, and simply slipped the necklace onto his belt without another thought.

But the logical part of his consciousness was screaming for him to stop.

Jace never hesitated, discarding his useless weapon and taking a step outside the woods, onto the plain and into the open, with lethal eyes upon him. He moved among the phantoms that had been the pestilent bane of his nation for a month. And he moved among them casually. For the most part, and much to Jace's credit, he was able to put most of his fear aside, making on the fly observations on the way those he was disguised as moved and interacted with each other. The group paying him the most mind was the incomplete ring standing at the wood line's edge, whose true member was lying rotten in the cold and not before them.

At least they're not telepaths, he heard Thean say.

"What makes you say that?"

Because you'd be dead by now, his imagined mentor clarified.

Underneath the dark cowl that hid every aspect of his being, Jace nodded at his own logic. But he would have to offer some kind of acknowledgement to the small cluster staring at him as he passed. They made no noise, nor did they give any indication towards pursuit or alarm. But they were staring, and though one could only judge by the subtleties in their body language, it was easy to imagine the confusion on their faces, hidden beneath their hoods.

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

"Yep."

Well, you better do something! Imaginary Thean scolded.

He could come up with no response, neither verbal nor physical.

They're soon to know something's up! I trained you better than this, do something!

Still Jace had no response for himself.

Do something, you idiot!

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

"Oh, that was slick!" his own, not Thean's, sarcasm came.

Not only was the gesture inappropriate to the situation, but entirely uncharacteristic of the beings he offered it to. All at once their hooded heads jerked backward as if they had been simultaneously pushed. Luckily, however, they had not yet considered the possibility of an imposter, and that failure bought Jace critical time, as he grew ever closer to the giant wagon.

Rainbow comets glistened all around his peripheral vision, each adding to the thin haze of sulfuric smoke that hung in the air like the morning mists of dawn, and Jace kept his head tilted slightly against it to minimize the sting in his eyes. He was close enough now to where he could rely on his sense of smell, for the exotic assortment piled in that giant wagon smelled strongly of nightshade, and reminded him of Calafree Square on a warm spring morning. But the thought was dangerous, he was a long way from there, far from the capital and his home; completely immersed in a stomach-churning sea of enemies that would soon be trying to kill him.

Jace didn't see the minotaur approaching on his left until it was right on him, the loose sides of the hood blocking the majority of his vision. His hands shot instinctively to his crossbows, and it was only at the very last instant that he kept them at his hips. It was not an easy task, and he had to turn his head slightly to the side as the thing brushed passed him. It was so close that Jace felt the dark fur brush his cowl, and he let out a quiet sigh of relief as it vanished out of view. The wagon was only a matter of feet from him now, with two more minotaurs loading their smaller carts. He would have to wait for them to move away before doing what he planned, and used the time to glance behind him.

To realize he had no time at all.

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

And then Jace was upon it, reaching the wagon just as the whirlwind broke around him.

Everything in that instant seemed to come to a halt, as if complete clarity had swept over the entire world. In Jace's mind, all existence converged to serve a singular purpose, and it was the very task laid before him; the task that he executed as precisely as he had pictured it on top of the hill.

Jace spun on his heels, using the dramatic diversion of shedding the robe and unhinging his crossbows to draw attention from his true purpose. With a clever sleight of hand, he had struck the flint box lighter and tossed it into the wagon. What he was now facing, as the world sped up and caught itself, was a cruel reality check.

Robed figures ganged together from all different circles and charged him from every direction. Minotaurs were approaching with menacing sneers, dragging massive clubs on the ground beside them, or resting heavy hammers on their enormous shoulders.

The world was no longer waiting on the edge of Jace Dabriel's actions. It was a sight of desperation and terror, and a terrible certainty that the entire thing was trying to kill him. His hands did their work automatically, swiping the crossbows downward against the belt on his waist, running through their reloading trick with a defiant efficiency as Jace watched them come.

Only now did he realize that he hadn't thought past the action he had just completed.

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

Only now did he realize he had no plan for escape.

***

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

She wasn't exactly sure what the source for her bitterness was. Regardless, she was clearly guilty of violating the don't kill the messenger code, and fully aware of it.

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

Isabelle sighed and turned her back to him, crossing her arms with the report still in hand. Though the man dwarfed her petite figure, the fiery presence of the girl more than compensated.

"So you could be going to the General with reports of a deer … or a bear."

"Actually, ma'am, no."

Isabelle turned around with a stern expression, clearly expecting an elaboration.

"There are no species of bear this far east of the capital," he said. "Hunted to extinction over a century ago to my understanding."

Isabelle's eyes narrowed on him a moment, almost suspiciously, but the man only smirked under her scrutiny. She giggled suddenly at the sergeant's rare attempt at humor, shaking her head before tilting it back up to him.

"You've been hanging around Captain Dabriel too long, sergeant," she said, her smile never fading.

"Maybe so," he admitted.

She turned and placed the paper against the saddle of her mare, signing her approval and surveying what little information there was one more time.

"Well," she said. "I doubt much will come of it, but you have my authorization to proceed."

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

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

"That was fast," the mountainous man said.

Isabelle managed to tear her gaze away from the celestial display and aim it at Caulurn who was still staring upward.

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

Caulurn was already moving, taking several steps backward.

"Way ahead of you, m'lady," he said, and was gone.

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

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

***

There was no real strategy to Jace's maneuvers as he dodged and fired into the maelstrom all around him, sometimes on hooded figures so close that the bolts connected less than a foot from the crossbows. The ache on the right side of his chest throbbed without mercy, and more than once he thought he might just topple over and it would all be over. But he did not. He stumbled, reloaded and fired again.

The robed figures did not seem to have an attack even resembling the comets of which they were collectively capable, and Jace was thankful for that, but the scepters they withdrew from under their robes and wielded with freakish efficiency were not much better. It was strange that the one he had killed had not possessed the weapon, but there was no time to ponder, for at any moment he was expecting to feel the teeth of their barbwire heads tearing his back to shreds.

As of yet, however, he felt nothing.

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

Just in front of him, past the most recent group of robed figures with their long metal weapons, Jace could see the opening of where the road entered the woods, mocking him from its impossible distance before the lead figure reached him. Jace ducked under its first attack, feeling the wind sweep down on him as the metal staff slashed overhead, and an instant later he was rolling backward as the robed figure cut the weapon short and stabbed straight through. The quick move saved Jace from the brunt of the attack, but he was unable to evade it completely, and the ragged wire cut deep into his shoulder. It was only his years of practice to move without thought that saved him from registering the wound, and he rolled to the side with catlike quickness to create enough space between he and his attacker before rising to his feet once more.

Jace was in full retreat now, counterattacking only when necessary, running for the road he knew he would never reach. A few more stumbling steps, and he was forced to turn again, spinning in a complete circuit and unloading his crossbows into the dark mass where the figure's face was hidden in its hood. And this time, having recovered more of his balance, transitioned into a sprint to gain a good deal of speed. Despite the outrider's best efforts, the road only seemed to be growing further and further away like some cruel joke, and he barely saw the two shadows closing in on his flanks at the last second.

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

The display was remarkable, but Jace was running out of tricks. It was a miracle that he had somehow been able to weave out of the bedlam of bodies and metal, that the wide arced path he had taken to draw his attackers behind him had worked, and that nothing stood between him and the woods but open plain. In short, it was a miracle he had survived this long. But the bloody taste in his mouth was only getting worse as the cold tore his lungs and throat raw. His chest was a racking throb, as was his shoulder, and as he felt the presence of more bodies closing in on him, Jace considered stopping completely and just walking back into the fray to take as many of them as possible with him.

At least he wouldn't fall running away.

Gritting his teeth and holding his breath, Jace held one of his crossbows behind him and fired blindly, knowing he had probably hit nothing, and yet having the strange sensation that his pursuers were gone. It was impossible, he knew that, but what did he have to lose? So he turned back. And paid for it, losing his balance and falling to his back. He expected to look across his body just in time to see one of those barbed metal staffs be buried in his stomach, but it never came. Instead, to his euphoric astonishment, he saw only a crumpled mess of robed bodies, and nothing in his immediate vicinity. At first glance, it was as if that single blind shot had done it, and the absurd scenario seemed distantly amusing. But then he saw what was happening.

One of the minotaurs had thrown its massive hammer, breaking and maiming the cluster that had been in closest to the outrider, and all at once Jace realized why none of the minotaurs had attacked him. They were busy attacking the robed figures, and fighting each other. It was amazing, blissfully surreal, like a nightmare he had suddenly gained control of. On top of it all, the slow work of his flint box had begun to literally catch like wildfire, and some of the enemy were running towards the wagon in pathetic attempts to extinguish the reagents. Smoke billowed high into the air, and Jace watched a minotaur pick up one of the smaller dispensing carts and use it to crush a robed figure foolish enough to attack it head on. The cart exploded into splinters, and the beast turned to throw what was left of it, unconcerned with what it caused destruction to as long as it did.

Arduously, Jace moved himself into a sitting position to do something he never expected to do again: Rise to his feet. He was running again, not looking back, and the road actually started to get closer. It was almost sadistic, like fate dangling hope in front of him to see how long he could hold on to sanity.

The minotaurs may have turned on their apparent masters, but they were fighting without any discretion at all. Some fought each other, others attacked the robed figures, but the method seemed solely predicated on whatever was in front of them. Amidst the echoing roars came the most awkward human screams Jace had ever heard, sending a shiver through his body as he ran. There was something different in the sound of it, and he found himself more afraid of the minotaurs now than he had been at any point during the encounter on the road.

And one of them had broken away as it noticed Jace all alone, pursuing him with the dreadful speed that seemed so unnatural for a beast of that size.

Jace was able to gauge the beast's distance by the blustering grunts that coincided with its stride, and realized with a frown that he would have to turn and face it. He hated the thought for more than just the obvious reasons, for he was less than fifty yards from the road now, and it was possible, at least possible, that he would have been able to hide somewhere in the brush and wait it out. Really, it would have been nice just to make it back to the woods after completing his task, even if he ultimately did not make it. Jace didn't know why he thought that, but he did, even as he turned to face the charging beast.

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

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

The minotaur came overhead with its colossal sledgehammer, and Jace went left, then right to just barely dodge and roll as the weapon rained down with the force of a falling building. Coming around with the crossbows, Jace fired, scoring a couple hits but they hardly slowed the beast as it dived forward, trying to crush him under its bulk. But the outrider was too fast, leaping up and firing two more shots in the bullish creature's back.

The extreme close range aided Jace's attacks, and however the minotaur's fighting style differed from before, its back was no more protected, and its growl was one of pain. For a moment, it seemed it would be slow to get up, and Jace took the time to reload eagerly only to find his weapons made no familiar click as they passed the belt across his chest. He patted all around his person, but all belts were completely spent.

Jace was out of bolts.

Out of options, he cursed, wondering why they had taken so few bolt belts before realizing he was not supposed to have launched a one-man attack. Humbled and beaten, he could not run, he knew that, and he couldn't fight it hand to hand. In a last ditch effort, Jace darted to the minotaur's sledgehammer with the head buried deep in the earth, and the thick wooden handle angled into the air. With both hands, the outrider grabbed it, but it didn't budge in the slightest. He may well have been trying to unearth a tree to use that as a weapon. The attempt seemed somehow sad and comical all at the same time, and as the minotaur rose to its feet to face him again, Jace brandished his last short-sword.

"Take this!" he screamed, throwing the blade with all of his might, as he had at the robed figure in the woods.

The minotaur swatted it away with its forearm.

"Damn."

Once more he made eye contact with the beast, huffing and puffing from the exertion of the strain, and with an almost embarrassed glance down to his hands, balled them into fists and assumed a fighting stance. It was the rough equivalent of standing before a boulder barreling down a mountainside with outstretched arms to catch it. The minotaur grinned at the display, tasting victory along with the blood dripping from its mouth and staining its remarkably straight teeth.

And then it happened, all of a sudden.

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

Jace did not have enough room in his mind for anything but the conflict at hand, and he gave no real thought to the odd appearance of three crossbow bolts in the minotaur's back when he knew he had only fired two. He didn't care about the details, or how the impossible had happened. Impossible was the theme of the night.

He reached down to pick up his crossbows right where he had dropped them only moments before, took a step so close to the beast he could feel its fur against his skin, and jammed his crossbows against the creature's back, loading them with the bolts partially embedded in its hide. With a furious yank, Jace nearly lost his balance and stumbled backward as his ammunition pulled free. At last the beast swayed as it stared back at Jace. The outrider had regained his balance almost instantly, and with a step forward aimed the twin crossbows, with their bloody bolts, directly into the creature's face.

The minotaur's last look was bafflement as Jace pulled the triggers at pointblank range, jerking the creature's head back so violently, its neck cracked as it fell; crashing into the ground and twitching in the throes postmortem reflex.

The victory should have been enough to reinvigorate the young outrider, but it did not. If anything, it showed just how futile his struggle for survival had become. Jace would not last a single moment under the weight of another attack. Not by a minotaur, or one of the robed figures. He felt something he had never experienced before in his life. Complete resignation, willingness to compromise, and whatever the shadow was charging out of the woods would be his final nemesis.

Jace had no means of defense, his weapons useless at his sides, and it was only by habit that he reattached them to the belt around his waist. With that fire he was famous for dying, his wounds were not so easily ignored, and the pain only added to his despair. The pounding hooves of what sounded like a ravenous pair of minotaurs were almost upon him now, and exhaling a long breath, the outrider looked up to meet his fate.

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

"I thought I was the dramatic one!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, filled with a joy unlike anything he had ever experienced.

"No!" Relic shouted as he snapped the reins. "You're the idiot!"

With the weight of Jace behind him, Relic's maneuverability was cut in half, and to make the turn back to the road required a slow arc around that took them dangerously close to the ensuing skirmish.

"They turned on the robed guys!" Jace screamed, his voice fluctuating with the rough ride. "I can't explain it!"

Relic was aiming his sole crossbow at one of the robed figures that had stopped to challenge him with its barbed wire staff, crouching down and holding the weapon to spear the horse as they passed. It never had the opportunity. Relic's shot was dead on, sending the writhing body to the ground.

"Get that thing, Jace! Get it!"

Jace caught his meaning immediately, leaning to the side and using the saddle to slide nearly vertical and snatch the barbed wire scepter even before its wielder had completely fallen.

"Bank right!"

Relic immediately did so, and Jace used the momentum to spring himself back upright, distributing all of his weight onto his forearms and swinging into a reversal in the saddle so that he sat back to back with Relic. The plan was meant to cover their rear, but it almost cost Jace everything. The gash in his shoulder shot a searing pain throughout his entire body as he made the adjustment, and it was only by some complete stroke of luck that he managed to stay on the horse.

Relic turned when he heard Jace scream in pain.

"Are you alright?!"

"Right as rain, brother!" Jace yelled back, but the usual bravado in his tone was nonexistent.

Relic realized immediately that his friend was in serious pain, and trying to get his mind from it, went to responding to his earlier statement.

"Those robed guys are warlocks of some kind!" he bellowed. "And I think the distraction you caused broke their hold on the minotaurs!"

Relic waited for an answer as he completed the wide turn and cracked the reins to hasten their dash towards the road. He was deeply concerned that Jace might be losing consciousness.

"They're not guarding the road anymore!" Relic went on with more urgency. "I told you there was something strange about it!"

Still no answer.

"You still with me, Jace?"

"Jace!"

"Yeah, I'm with you!" Jace yelled, but he sounded distracted.

Relic breathed a sigh of relief at the sound, diverting his full attention to the ride.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

Jace was squinting through the chaotic struggle between the warlocks and minotaurs, more specifically at the giant reagent wagon. It was completely engulfed in flames now, but that was not what had drawn his attention. It was the way in which the warlocks in its immediate vicinity were scrambling madly away from it. From what Jace could see, the flames had not increased in severity over the last several or so moments, but the robed figures ran from it with reckless abandon. Some were so preoccupied with creating distance, that they ran blindly into violent minotaur attacks. Then the pigment of the flames suddenly changed, from yellow and orange to deep purple, then crimson, then blue. Bright sparks blazed upward in every direction, crackling and falling upon minotaurs and warlocks alike, spanning out hundreds of yards.

"Jace, what are you looking a-"

But Relic never finished his impatient question.

A massive explosion instantly reduced the wagon to a starburst of blazing cinders, blasting a rainbow shockwave that vaporized the surrounding area, and a rocket of smoke miles high.

The outriders had been far enough away to where the impact was minimal, but even from their distance, felt a warm back draft brush past them.

"Yeah!" Jace yelled, actually laughing at the sight.

But the glee was extremely short-lived.

Jace watched as an entire troop of riders rode through it, leaping over big bulks of fiery wagon debris, and cutting down dazed minotaurs with frightening ease. They were approaching from where the enemy army was camped, probably having been dispatched when the aerial attacks were stopped.

"Relic, riders on our tail!"

"How many!"

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

"A lot," he finally answered.

***

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, and the heady feeling of being a commander again. 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 stated, watching along the wood line where the shadowy object was reported. "She must conduct patrols. I'm not sure where our boys will be coming from, but they'll certainly be coming fast. It will be her task to rid them of any unwelcome parties."

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

Before he could break away, the general called him back.

"And forerunner," he 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 the 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 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. Forerunners. The lowest rank of scout. 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 themselves," 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 across time and 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.

The ability to speak was beyond him.

It seemed like only yesterday.

***

"Arrows, Rel!" Jace was yelling. "They got arrows!"

Relic was doing his best to zigzag along the road, nearly having a heart attack as another one whistled past.

"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.

With Relic's horse carrying two, the new enemy was gaining, but slowly, and at a pace inadequate to overtake them.

But it did not appear that they needed to. Another arrow hissed overhead, and Jace could only watch. The warlock weapon he held was useless against this kind of attack, little better than a stick now, and so with no other thought in mind, he reared his arm back and tossed it like a spear. It fell short, and the mysterious 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 back.

"Maybe you should just tell them you're sorry!"

Jace frowned, finding it far less amusing than his jokes. Suddenly, his 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.

He was having a hard enough time just staying on the horse's croup at these speeds.

"We're rounding it!" Relic said. "I can see the sentry house now!"

Relic only remotely registered that the sentry shift lantern had been lit, not having noticed it before. All of his focus had been on whatever foolish thing Jace had done to stop the attacks.

Foolish and wildly brave.

A crisp blare carried over the clamor, and rose away on the winter air. Jace twisted sideways, gripping even tighter with his thighs, but the latest flurry of arrows missed far enough to make the maneuver unnecessary. He whistled again. His eyes shot wildly all around the woods, and he felt his stomach sink as they passed the sentry house with no response to his call. They were well clear of it now, and even their pursuers were passing, but he tried again. Then he saw something. It banked into shadow, and when it came into view again, Jace knew it was not his imagination. On the crest of elevated terrain, paralleling the road in one long hump, his horse galloped alongside them.

"Relic, slow down!"

"What?!"

At that moment, both outriders were consumed with their tasks, Relic with staying ahead of their pursuers, and Jace with calculations of his own.

"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 simply couldn't catch up

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

Relic turned around violently, furious.

"Jace, I swear I'm gonna-!"

But when he saw Jace's horse, all was immediately forgotten, and he tugged on his reins with a masterful finesse.

The leap would go perfectly, or Jace would fall to his death. Even the outriders' radical tactics for readying themselves for falls would not save him at these speeds.

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 just a fraction of an instant before jumping with a mid-air, sideways spin to his own horse, and landing entirely in the saddle. A strange sensation coincided with the action, accompanied by a noise like a cracking handful of twigs, and Jace didn't know whether he should be grateful or distressed that he felt no pain. Suddenly, he was aware of the hail of arrows whizzing by, and how horrifyingly close the pursuers were.

Their shining crystals were close enough that they no longer looked like shadows. They looked just like the others had. Same flowing robes, same hooded cowls, but with one major 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. They looked as ghosts; with frozen expressions of cold indifference protecting what he only assumed was flesh beneath. Riding with all that armor seemed impossible, even to the outrider, and yet they did so gracefully, weapons firing all the while. They were nothing short of awesome, and it took all of the outriders' 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 way of knowing what had caused the aerial attacks to stop, but Isabelle knew it had been something extreme, and 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 most simple of tasks like the deployment of a patrol perimeter. Her legion was powerful, so was she, and she loved every single one of them.

They had found nothing where the sighting had been reported, only the tracks of where Jace and Relic had entered, and though she was unauthorized to pass into the wood for further inspection, Isabelle was satisfied nothing was there. At her back, the camp was in an uproar, readying itself for sudden mobilization as soon as the location of the enemy army was disclosed. They were pure evil as far as Isabelle was concerned, and part of her hoped sincerely that they had enjoyed the Republic's ultimate response.

But then there was that part that feared what the cost might have been.

"Captain Talabray!" came the sudden call of her forerunner, and she looked to where it was coming from. He was approaching from the road, and for a second all was still.

The young rider reached her with salute, and Isabelle returned it impatiently, eager to hear the message.

"What is it, Griff?"

"Shouting, Captain! Distant shouting 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 on the short distance back to the encampment.

Isabelle sped away with an impressive start, reducing her men with the trees to a peripheral 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 return through the wall of numbness that deadened the wound.

The outriders had not been able to achieve the same distance they had before Jace made the leap to his horse, but they were better off. Their golden 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 since Jace had made it to his own saddle, 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." 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 awkwardly and in strange patterns. "Relic! The minotaurs are attacking them!"

On both sides of the road now, minotaurs were roaring 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 other objects. The outriders passed unscathed, reacting in a constant ballet of turns, ducks, spins, and short jumps by skills incomprehensible to any foe.

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 gruesomely to the ground. Then another. Before long the distance between them had increased dramatically, and the minotaurs' attacks stopped as the end of the road came into view. The relief was intense for Relic, who pumped his fist as he saw the opening to the plains. Jace had not yet noticed, fixated on the sight of the pursuers pulling off over his shoulder, and watching as their crystal lights vanished one by one, and then in clumps, before turning to illuminate the road in the opposite direction. He nodded back as a mentor might do to their apprentice after a hard lesson learned.

As Thean had done to him on countless occasions throughout his childhood.

But his attitude lasted only as long as it took to realize one of them 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 far behind Relic, and he was so sure it was too late to get away that his first thought was to self-defense until he remembered he had nothing to fight with. 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, by his overconfidence.

From up ahead, Relic realized that Jace was no longer beside him. He was still riding but had fallen behind. 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 he could do but watch.

"Jace!" he yelled. But it was in the way one does for lack of anything else.

The golden rider overtook him effortlessly, before Jace had even come close to full speed. He was riding alongside of the outrider close enough to touch, but Jace ignored him for a few seconds, as if it wouldn't be real if he never looked. He waited to feel the sting of an arrow or the cold steel of whatever weapons the things used, but nothing came. As he continued to gain speed, the golden rider only matched him, never making an attempt to pass or strike Jace down. It was a haunting experience, and for lack of any other option, 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 momentum to notice his enemy reach into a deep leather bag dangling from its saddle. He didn't see the fistful of reagents the being withdrew in its black-gauntleted hand. It wasn't until the reagents began to cackle and ignited into an emerald orb that Jace finally looked, and only then because the light seemed so out of place.

"What the hell are you?!" he screamed.

His only answer was a throwing motion that launched the emerald energy on a beeline 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 that seemed to search for answers.

Though the golden rider's expression was hidden, its head tilting to the side confirmed Jace's suspicions that that had not been the intended result. For the first time, Jace realized that his attacker wore crimson robes, and not the black of the others. Not the black he had worn himself to set the reagent wagon on fire. He made this observation just as the rider came to a skidding stop behind him. The whole exchange had been utterly confusing, and Jace couldn't help himself from looking back again, still looking 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 emanating from his crystal, absolutely still. He could have sworn he saw the being nod at him, as a fighter respectfully conceding the round of an unfinished fight. Shaking the strange gesture from his thoughts, Jace turned back to the end of the road and the opening ahead, seeing Relic's silhouette, at great risk to himself, waiting.

"Go, Relic, I'm fine!" he yelled, just as surprised to be hearing his own voice again as he was that the words were true.

He watched as Relic turned and rode out the rest of the way and exited 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, intensifying Jace's desire to finally leave the woods behind. 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 quickly parted for him. Besides his missing cloak, he seemed fine, and she took comfort in that. But when Jace did not immediately 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!" came his less than formal greeting as he reared around so that he too could watch the road. "What are you doing here?"

Isabelle did not respond, and Relic knew he was witnessing the reason for the edict she broke. He should have had his question answered immediately. It was important that he knew the situation, but her ongoing hesitation delayed that. This time it was an annoyance, but it could have just as easily meant the difference between life and death. Relic prayed that test would never come.

"Where is he?" Isabelle finally managed the courage to ask. But the answer wasn't necessary, for Jace 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 answering Relic's question as if there had been no delay at all. "One of the watchmen thought they spotted something right before the aerial 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, her eyes widening as she made eye contact with Relic. "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 military strategists back in Avaleen busy for months."

As much as her relationship with Jace concerned him, Relic could not deny the happiness her change in demeanor caused him. With both of them safely back, the attacks stopped, and the good news of finally having some reconnaissance on the enemy, he saw traces of her personality that had been absent seen since before the invasion. The feeling was contagious, and even though Relic might not have been consciously thinking about the Republic's fall before, he now found himself excited with the prospect that the enemy was not invincible. That they could not hide forever. But then in that moment, when the emotions seemed lightest, when the hopes seemed rejuvenated, 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 line of sight.

Jace had dismounted and was walking away from them, having left his horse behind with one of Isabelle's cavaliers. He did not say a word, just walked, and that was not the only strange element of his behavior. 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. This time, the concern was in abundance.

"He's hurt, Relic," she said. Her tone was urgent, but she only shifted in her saddle, looking like she wanted to act but couldn't in the way of too many thoughts in her mind.

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 don'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. "Looks like you and Captain Avery sure showed'em!"

Jace only smirked, or it could have been a wince. In the kid's enthusiasm, he had not noticed how pale Jace seemed in the bright moonlight.

Jace went down to his belt, taking immediate notice of 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 crazily, turned and was gone, eager to please the outrider. But the outrider had taken no notice of his effort at all. It had taken all of his concentration to maintain the front.

It was as if all of his injuries had simultaneously come out of their dormant state to attack him all at once, and after turning from where he had been talking to the forerunner, Jace found himself nauseous and increasingly 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, his balance inexplicably gone. 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 his upper body 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. It had to. 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 everything and nothing all at once.

Isabelle turned back to the horses.

"Relic!" she yelled, "Get the-," but she trailed off immediately as she realized he was already ahead of her, having gone back for the basic medical supplies. Relic handed her one of the tight rolls of gauze, and she snatched it from him greedily.

"You're alright, Jace!" Relic said, kneeling down opposite Isabelle and watching her wrap his shoulder. "You're alright, man."

He kept repeating it, knowing full well it was not Jace he was trying to convince. In that moment, Relic was more unnerved than he had been at any other point of the night. He noticed the brightly glowing emerald necklace dangling from Jace's belt, and though he did not see how it would help, started to mention the green light he had seen near Jace to Isabelle. But then his train of thought was shattered as Jace began thrashing around, violently, and he was forced to lean and help Isabelle maintain her hold.

"The records have to get to Creed!" he yelled, awkwardly twisting as if trying to stand. "He'll know where to march now, Relic!"

"Easy, Jace," Relic said soothingly. "Easy!"

"The records, Relic!" Jace yelled again, but he seemed to be calming, 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 it suddenly, shocked that she had missed it before. Directly under one of the empty crossbow bolt 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. It was as if his outburst had brought him out from the mental shadows, and he was himself again. 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, but she was making a very conscious effort not to look at him.

"We have to move him, Relic," she said, ignoring Jace as if he was 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 standard fore and aft two-person 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 that had almost killed him 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 attack to come screaming out from the trees, or a hooded rider to emerge behind a deadly hail of arrow fire. But those feelings had all but left him now. He was long accustomed to the voices of patrol teams carrying on the air as they searched the woods for any unusual activity. It had been weeks since there was any, and he took comfort in the lightened tones he heard.

Relic's pace was slow as the pale grayish purples of night transitioned to the copper shades of dawn, and the breath of he and his horse rose up and vanished into the thin morning mist that danced on the air all around them. Above, the thick canopy of trees delayed the lightening, but the bright glowing road lamps running along its flanks were already losing their affect.

And then Relic stopped suddenly at the same point he always did. At the sight they had found Calloway's body and first encountered the minotaurs.

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

Then he heard a sound he knew he was not imagining, and slowly opened his eyes again to look ahead. It was a shadow at first, but he knew who it was immediately. He could tell by her style of riding, and smiled as Isabelle approached through the thin veil of fog. When she saw him sitting there, she slowed.

"Hi," she said, seeming tired, and blowing a warm breath into her hand.

Relic took a final glance at the broken lamp as if officially closing his thought processes on it, concentrating fully on 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, though."

Relic nodded.

"The survey of the city went better, and quicker, than I expected. And I've relayed the general's orders to my legion."

Isabelle nodded, traces of anticipatory amusement in her tone.

"How'd they take it?"

"Oh," he started. "The news that they would be spending the foreseeable future under a new commander, continuing their aid to Fairlawn instead of chasing down the enemy?"

Relic smirked.

"Greeaaaat," he said sarcastically, and then he took another moment to think about it. "Though in truth, they'll probably be busier with that task than the rest. I'm sure 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.

"And so the city's reconstruction is going well, you were saying?"

"Extraordinarily well, yes," Relic said, and the slight raise of his eyebrows showed his genuine interest in the topic, despite the small talk. Then, on a somewhat related note, he added: "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, still smiling but with undertones suggesting there was more than just mirth behind it. She was well aware that this was where they had found Calloway's body, and the story behind the broken road lamp. Noticing this, Relic continued on before she could get too lost in her own thoughts.

"They have a new motto for us," he said.

And Isabelle looked up.

"They're calling us Liberty's Watchdogs."

For a moment, a quizzical look was Relic's only response, but then she smiled all the wider as it resonated.

"I kind of like that," she admitted.

Relic smiled, and nodded, but more out of satisfaction that he had cheered her up than by anything related to the name.

"Yeah," he said. "Looks like Senator Bren's been workin' overtime."

"No," she said seriously, and Relic looked up to her with surprise. "It isn't just propaganda. 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 looked over to her as she went on singing their praises, and as their eyes met she apparently caught herself and looked away, embarrassed.

"The entire Republic … saved by two outriders."

Relic suddenly realized that she was sounding just as the people he had met in Fairlawn City.

"You're an outrider too, ya know," he felt the need to remind her. "And we haven't saved anything yet."

Isabelle only glanced at him, deciding against sharing her doubts. She would feel unworthy of the outrider's sudden rise to stardom on her own time.

"The tide started turning that night, Relic. No matter what happens from here, that night will be remembered forever."

Then she stopped, looking away for a moment before going on.

"As will those who gave their lives."

It was amazing that 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 seemingly unstoppable army was withstood. They would be immortalized, every one. Isabelle felt both immense pride and grief at the thought.

As the conversation progressed, their lazy pace had slowed even further until both outriders were stopped, and the sound of an approaching rider broke them from their exchange. 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 that he touched to the top of each one. As he did so, the glow would dim before extinguishing completely, and he would move to the next and so on. When he noticed Relic and Isabelle on the road, he immediately broke away from the chore and approached them, switching the long metal cane to his left hand, so that he could render a proper salute.

"Hail, outriders!" he said, with an enthusiasm that almost made Isabelle laugh. The long metal pole poked and weaved aimlessly over his shoulder.

Relic and Isabelle returned the salute simultaneously.

"Good morning, lieutenant," Relic said, taking note of the shiny oak leaf insignia on his sleeve. "How's the watch?"

"Blissfully uneventful," the sentinel reported. "But we did find 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, and with the makings of a mischievous smirk. "But only partially."

Relic and Isabelle exchanged a quick glance and a smile.

"Lead on, then."

***

On the opposite side of the Fairlawn Woods, there was no elevated terrain within the relative confines of the encampment, and so the Command Tent was located in the center of the amassed legions. It was not as strategically sound as the camp of two months prior, but there was not a soul involved in the campaign not thrilled by their change of circumstance. Not least of all, 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 who had been busier than ever, as the good news seemed to spew in a constant surge from the politician's mouth. They had gathered in these early morning hours to discuss, finally, 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 since 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 previously knew no defeat. A full two months and seven days all leading to this moment: The relinquishment of their command.

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 the curvature of one of the arms as he contemplated his phrasing. By mid-day, his words 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 or listening to his voice.

At the moment, they were but soft whispers issued to his scribe.

Bren relished the responsibility, especially now that their fortunes had changed. Just as his whispers would soon turn to widespread influence over the Republic of Veil'driel, the Night of the Outriders had done the same. Their one whisper had turned an entire Republic's psyche completely 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 seemingly demoted. While his introduction accomplished that, he was wondering now about his description of the event. 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,"is 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, and handpicked personally. Yet they did not have that knowledge, and despite whatever prominence they enjoyed, they stood abreast in front of their mentor like disciplined statues, staring with the blank expressions that allowed absorption, and nothing else.

"And each of you, is 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 to coincide with the names they would replace. "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 that needed to be said. The names were more than sufficient for the resonance Thean was looking for, and he nodded slowly in secret satisfaction at the middle one's hard swallow. The names and their reputations did his job better than anything else could have, and not even the politician would have been able to weave words equal to their effect.

The Constable let them stew a few more moments, and continued.

"One day," he went on, and then added careful emphasis on: "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 envied his old friend's ability, as he always had. He crossed his arms and continued to watch with great interest.

"We are fighting an enemy you can not understand. An enemy none of your subordinates can appreciate," again he stopped, but it appeared more for choosing the correct words than to provide any ulterior drama. "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."

Senator Bren bent over his scribe's shoulder to insure he was keeping up, nodding at both the quality of dialogue and ability of the young scribe.

"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, and did so.

"And throughout all of this, we must be ready to fight at all times. To be called on at the earliest notice. This is what it means to be a commander in my legions," he said.

"Survival is our mission here. Our own, and most importantly, the Republic we defend."

Creed searched every one of their eyes, looking for even the slightest buckle under the weight of their words. He saw nervousness. He saw traces of fear. But he saw too the flicker of determination, and knew then that his trusted constable had selected the right individuals. With a nod to Thean, he turned all of his attention back down to the giant map.

Thean turned towards the replacements.

"Dismissed," he said, to an immediate trio of simultaneous 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.

"Small is irrelevant, general. Necessary 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. He was well aware of their plans.

"And so that's the end of the preparations," Tillian said.

The general nodded, but more to himself than anyone else.

"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 at least some sense of normalcy was returning to the land.

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

But Relic knew it was an illusion.

Fairlawn had indeed begun its gradual, uplifting turn towards recovery. But the outer provinces had yet to be dealt with, and though the night of the outriders had turned the enemy away, Creed had wisely taken the opportunity to oversee the stabilization of the city, and to prepare the legions for the newly discovered threat of minotaurs.

The robed … beings remained a mystery at best, and at the top of the outriders' to do list.

There was still so much ahead, and though Relic enjoyed the signs of rejuvenation, the reality of why there were still no wagons or long lines of merchants did not escape him. He would not be satisfied until all of the road's destinations were once again safe. Until all of Veil'driel was rid of the enemy completely.

"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 with the bustling activity inside.

"The future maybe," he finished, shrugging as he looked at her.

The sentinel emerged just as Relic finished speaking, 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 abruptly, turning back towards the swinging door to finish a conversation he had apparently expected finished. The outriders watched him as he nodded in response to whatever unseen party had called him back, and then suddenly, their attention was ripped in another direction.

Down the road, a rhythmic clamor as natural to the outriders as rain falling hard on a roof erupted from around the bend. Shortly after, the lone rider they expected to see came racing into view, blasting past the sentry house with not so much as a passing glance. In clear example of their differing experiences, Relic had his cloak thrown back to expose his crossbows, and Isabelle sat having no inclination at all.

"Your replacement?" she asked him.

Relic only smirked. "Probably," he said, though he knew, as did Isabelle, that there was no doubt.

He smiled at the innocence of her gray cloak still concealing her weapons, solemnly wondering how long it would be before she too contracted his inevitable jumpiness. Figuring it would be sooner than later.

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 who was still on edge, 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 resonant 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 to prevent any further delay. Usually, he found the infatuation she seemed to command at will amusing, but today they had something to do. Today they were late for what they had been waiting 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 as if to regain his composure.

"Yes, sir," he said, holding out what had been at his side. As he had begun the motion, he and Relic shared an instantaneous, indecipherable understanding, but it had disappeared just as quickly as he saw what was being presented to him. "We found it on one of our patrols," the sentinel said. "Cleaned it up and everything."

But Relic was no longer paying attention, 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 understood and 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 for certain what she was thinking. Whatever it was, it had taken her away from the present, and figuring she had earned her turn, Relic let it be.

"Is everything alright?" the confused sentinel asked, not sure what to make of the drastic change in atmosphere. Isabelle showed no indication that she had heard him, but Relic answered with only short hesitation.

"Fine," he said with a smirk, leaning forward in his saddle 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 of some kind, but none came.

"We appreciate it, Clive," Relic said as he released his grip. "But it's time we got go'in," and then 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 back momentarily towards the tool, then back to Relic with an understanding nod. He waited for the outrider to lean completely 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 then realized by her faraway eyes he would not get one. The sentinel turned on his heel and started back through the aesthetic 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 expression.

Finally, she looked up to acknowledge something other than what she held in her hands, but it was several long moments before they were once again underway.

***

The sun had risen by the time Senator Bren was finishing what would be his latest, and most detailed, correspondence to the people of Veil'driel, 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 reasoning behind it, and updates from the front spiced with his flair for exaggeration.

He was about to contemplate the title of the entire package when another, more somber matter struck him.

"The monument," he said.

He had not spoken loud enough to draw the attention of 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 elaborated, and he seemed embarrassed by the fact. 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 planned in their honor. It would be a delicate task 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 the politician, "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 certainly 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. His need for permission only added to the awkwardness of the matter.

"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 of such crucial detail."

Creed's stern expression wavered. Unlike the senator, he could see each and 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 all out confrontation that had not yet come. He had only lost scouts thus far, but he knew that couldn't last. It would not be long before an army of ghosts haunted his dreams.

When the senator stopped, Creed knew immediately which name he was missing, and took a moment to prepare himself as to not let his temper respond for him.

"Chapin," came a voice that did not bother with such 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 fully inside the tent, letting the flaps fall back into place behind him as he entered. "William Chapin," 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 in reaction to the general's mirth, or as he slapped him hard on the shoulder. Just past Creed, Thean was staring at him, and Jace nodded a more personal greeting his way.

The senator had immediately recorded the name he was given, swearing he would not forget it again, and ignoring the traces of hostility in the hero's tone as he gave it. This was not an opportunity he was about 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. It was strange that he took no great satisfaction from the opportunity, or in his elevated status.

"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, but the scars left on his psyche went deeper than the wounds he had spent the last two months recovering from. There were just some things he would never be able to see the same way again.

The senator frowned at the reply.

"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.

It was quiet for a moment, and it was clear that information had not been previously shared. Relic's account – the account the senator was on the verge of sending back – told of how Jace destroyed the reagent wagon while Relic waited on the road. Thean raised his eyebrows in interest a moment, but there was otherwise no response.

Senator Bren bumbled hopelessly to find words, but there were just too many questions to ask in too short a time.

"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 out the tent exit.

Before anyone could react, the constable was gone with his outrider. Leaving the senator with a stunned expression, and the general amusedly smiling.

***

Thean walked slowly with the young man he had trained from childhood, and 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. Subtle 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 you, the time a mission takes is the least important part. And 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.

"Of 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, Jace's demeanor unchanged beside him.

"Not a demotion," he repeated. "A reversion."

"A reversion to what?" Jace asked.

"To a time when outrider was not just a title, but a rank. When they existed outside the regular chain of command."

Thean was speaking of the last historic era of the outriders, but being stripped of his command blinded Jace to the reality. He 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 drastic development?" Jace started, his tone full of the defiance Thean was used to. He was still picturing some pretentious fool attempting to lead his men.

But he was silenced by what the constable withdrew and dangled from his hand. The bright glow so clearly burned into Jace's memory, was gone. It looked just like a plain emerald necklace as the gold chain glittered in the sun.

"Right," Jace said, pointing at it and expecting a lecture. "I may have forgotten to mention that."

Two months ago, Thean would have issued a stern reprimand for waiting this long to report such a critical occurrence. This morning he said nothing, concentrating instead on the piece of jewelry 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. He found himself more conflicted than ever. His mind raced with questions, but he sensed something from Thean he had never felt before. He 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."

As the constable continued to divulge his mysterious knowledge, it took all of Jace's willpower not to break into a barrage of hyper questions. For the moment, he managed, only nodding.

"You knew the enemy we faced even before we set out," Jace surmised, finally finding his tongue.

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 departing 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 in the sunlight. At the crests of the furthermost 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. Sure and yet not of 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 clearly recognized, 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 ability gains, may not be completely current."

Jace looked up as the constable finished.

"But it's the best information you have."

Point Teams were the stuff of legend, and just in skimming the pages of Thean's record book, Jace knew it could have been in a museum with all the people and places it described. In light of such developments, the idea of losing his command seemed easier, but Jace still found himself greatly concerned for his men.

"The new commanders of our legions. They're competent?" he asked.

"I have chosen each of them 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.

A moment of understanding passed between them, but true to form, Thean did not let it last very long before moving on.

"It would appear our mysterious adversary is not accustomed to defeat," he 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 first began, Jace wouldn't have considered voicing his next concerns to the constable. He would have been too caught up in appearances. But as they went on, Jace never hesitated. Though he didn't know how long it would last, the man was not his guru at that moment. He 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.

Jace felt Thean's hand pat him on the shoulder, but he did not look up from the book he was once again reviewing. He found himself amerced in a particular section relating acrostics with sketches of reagents the enemy used, detailing the attributes of each. HOPE – Hyacinth, Opal, Pearl, Emerald. FAITH – Feldspar, Amethyst, Idocrase, Topaz, Heliotrope. The lists went on, depicting not only the varying mixtures of reagents, but also the extractions of a far deeper lore and practice 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 confusedly before noticing the three riders approaching him from inside the encampment, one of them 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 sort of send off.

Jace closed his eyes and inhaled deeply as the scent of rose oil hit him, a scent synonymous with only one person. 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 voice 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."

Jace swung himself into his saddle, and unexpectedly found himself at an utter loss for words. The time he had spent away was more agonizing than his injuries could ever have been, and now that he was back, speech escaped him.

"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 expected something similar when the two got together again, especially by Isabelle's reaction on the road when she seemed to contemplate seeing him again. If anything, at least, it was an indication that things were getting back to normal. That is, as normal as things could be. But it did not ease the discomfort he felt whenever he sensed them closing out a world that could still watch.

"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 looked over just as Isabelle craned her head forward to be kissed, and in that moment, his synapses overloaded, unable to comprehend the sheer blatancy of it. He opened his mouth to yell, but nothing came out. Then suddenly, luckily, a shrill whistle made Isabelle jump in her saddle, and Jace glance over knowingly to the source.

"Great idea, guys," Cedwyn said, and he motioned over his shoulder with a semi-backward nod. 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, but Jace let him open it to answer the question himself. "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 tumbled it over in his hand a second, and then looked back to his friend.

"Thanks, man," he said.

Cedwyn just 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 moderately lean crest of her mare like she always did. She stopped to smile sheepishly when she noticed Jace was watching her. Jace turned in his saddle to face completely forward, took a deep breath and then 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 again, he was lighting the cigarette in his mouth and narrowing his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, slipping the flint box securely back to his belt. "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 discretion, but said nothing.

"I wonder if they can truly appreciate the magnitude of what that means."

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

Now he knew they took the Republic with them.

The people could not yet understand what that meant, but they would. By the Gods in th