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

Part I

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

From his elevated vantage point, high atop a ridge that overlooked the plains, General Simian Creed gritted his teeth. His entire Brigade, six legions, reduced to a sea of sparkling idleness as the kaleidoscopic nightmare reflected in their silver armor, with some even staring like fascinated children. To the west, the faraway aura of the distant Fairlawn Cityscape still pulsed defiantly against the attacks, and though the general could not see the devastation those comets inflicted on the city, he could imagine them well, every time one vanished on its course, arcing over the trees, out of sight. All the man could do was shift uncomfortably in his saddle and watch: the impotent commander of thousands.

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

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

Creed offered a sidelong glance to the Senator.

"Not close enough," he said, turning back to the plain in disgust. "Never close enough." Tillian could only nod, the grimness on his aged and tired face unchanged by the General's words. It was hard to believe that it had only been a month since he could barely contain his enthusiasm for this mission. To be named official liaison to the Senate, and the news correspondent to all of Veil'driel was an excitement he could not put into words, and to accompany the legions sent to intercept the mysterious invasion was an honor. Morale as a whole had reached an unprecedented high in the wake of what was considered a major victory to mobilize such a mighty force in time to repel the enemy.

But the enemy never came.

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

The chilling notion forced the old man to speak.

"We should march on them, General." "We've been over this, senator" Creed said. His tone was tinged with annoyance. "I will not march blindly on an enemy I know nothing about." The senator tilted his head slightly, blowing a warm breath into his fist.

"Well if I may," he said. "How can you explain inactivity as a more appropiate tactic? You say you refuse to march on an enemy you cannot see, but no scout has returned, and your plan, sir, appears to have us sitting here night after night until these attacks demolish everything worth defending!" Tillian realized he had gone too far, even as the final words left his mouth. He could feel Creed's gaze burning into him, and suddenly felt small and ashamed. "Forgive me, general," he said, hanging his head. "It is frustration which chooses my words, and not sound judgment." The scowl of the General had been imagined. His eyes never left the glowing ring of braziers that encircled his camp below.

"Unfortunately, I find it to be both, my good senator," General Creed began. "And if it is any consolation, I no longer deem it an option." There was something different in the commander's tone as he spoke, and it brought the senator's attention back from the ground with an intrigued expression on his face.

"That strategy," Creed went on with scornful emphasis, "has failed us for the final time." It was the first occasion in which the word "failure" had been used to describe their efforts, and now the safety net of denial had been removed. Something was about to change, and Tillian felt that early excitement unexpectedly brewing. The general looked over then to the third man in their trio; his trusted confidant, and commander of all mounted forces, Constable Fenlow Thean.

"Send for the outriders," he said. Tillian's shoulders sagged immediately. It was not the brilliance he hoped for. The general breathed deeply, and glanced upward into the burning sky. His hands were white-knuckled on the reins. But the senator looked utterly lost. "More scouts," he said.

The words were not formed as a question. Here the situation seemed most dire, and their General resorts to suggesting synonyms!

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

"Not scouts," he corrected, somewhat distantly. "Outriders."

Tillian massaged the bridge of his nose, and a look of bafflement crossed his features. It was as if the whole world had gone insane.

Noticing the senator's reaction, General Creed offered a subtle smirk. "An elite order of scouts," he said. "But trailblazers is probably more accurate. Their skill on horseback is unparalleled." The senator looked up at this, raising his eyebrows. "Forgive me, General," he said. "But why then have we waited this long to dispatch them?"

The general now appeared to take notice of the shift in the Third Cavalry Legion, and he squinted at what looked to be a lane emerging within it. "Because they're also the commanders of my cavalry," he said, more interested in what he was looking at than explaining himself. "And it is not without risk," the Constable added.

Thean's relationship with the general went further back than the senator knew, and there was a dynamic there that he could not understand, but appreciated. "Send for them," the general repeated. "But summon only two of the four. I will not risk more than that."

Thean nodded, staring at the emergence of that lane again as the general tugged the reins to back his horse slowly from the edge of the ridge.

"I leave which two to your discretion, Constable, and will await them in my tent." Without another word, the General was gone, galloping away to the small cluster of command tents a few hundred yards behind them. Thean had departed as well, and the Senator was left alone, watching the Constable vanish into the ranks below.

***

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

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

The mounting number of scouts that failed to return didn't help matters, and there was one moment of seeing a riderless horse screaming across the plains from those trees that had secretly haunted his own dreams. It had been an entire month since the force had mobilized, and as the commanders debated their next move, Relic did not envy their task. A gust sent a shiver through him, and his heavy gray cloak did little to dull the chill. Exhaling deeply, he turned around to face his legion, and his solemn expression vanished. "Enjoying the show, ladies?" Relic asked the men behind him. He had known their eyes were on him, somehow he always felt it, and he started back to the loose ranks a few dozen paces away.

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

Relic wondered if the enemy knew the brilliant effect their tactics were having. Wondered if they knew the victories they tallied night after night without ever once meeting them on the battlefield. How many peoples had they conquered in this fashion? It was a disturbing thought, and one he dismissed as he saw it reflected in the eyes looking back at him. "Did you see something, captain?" one of them asked. A tall soldier holding his sword unsheathed. There was something sad about the sight, and Relic approached him. "No," he said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder as he handed him the cup of steaming broth. He continued to smile as he walked down the line, speaking loud enough for all to hear. "Unfortunately, no."

None of his men were in the saddle; their mounts kept in makeshift stables where they were tended constantly by squires. The damnable routine had been learned well over the month, and though Relic drilled them frequently during the day, there was no substitute for battle, and he quietly worried about the consequences.

"Cowards," one of his men said as he passed, but his tone eased slightly when Relic looked him in the eyes. "The lot of them, sir."

Relic nodded, glancing upward as a particularly large blast arced high overhead, this one with a dark greenish tint that crackled as it vanished into the distance, landing somewhere in the city they were there to protect. Relic winced as he imagined what damage it had done, but he caught himself immediately, thankful that his men were looking to the sky as well. Clearing his throat, he bellowed over it all.

"We'll have our chance at'em, boys, you can count on it," he said, and then swung into the saddle of his horse. "That you be ready, is all that I ask! That you remember the hate of nights like these!"

Relic wheeled toward the woods as if he were on the verge of leading a charge. As if the armies of the phantom enemy had finally revealed themselves as he threw back the heavy gray sides of his cloak to reveal his crossbows dangling from a belt at each hip.

Caught up in the moment, Relic put too much pressure on the reins, and the horse responded in kind, rearing back on two legs, and catching him off guard. A lesser rider would have lost his balance, but Relic's quick reflexes saved him, and left his men with the notion he had planned the display.

The men behind him cheered loudly, screaming into the night and in defiance of their terror. The horse settled after falling back to all fours, and Relic could feel his men's gaze burning into his back as he continued staring straight into the woodline. He felt the first trickle of embarrassment then as the theatrics subsided and the awkwardness of the anticlimactic finale followed. He considered issuing some order that may divert their attention, but that ran the risk of only intensifying the problem. This was the matter Relic was debating, when the call came out behind him.

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

Relic smiled as he heard the disciplined shift of his men, and was so pleased with the closure it offered that he didn't consider the implications of his mentor's arrival. It couldn't have been just another message if Constable Thean was delivering it personally.

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

Relic saluted the man as he came to a skidded stop beside him.

"Constable," he said.

The burly man returned the gesture vacantly as he surveyed the area, but said nothing. Even when he finally spoke, he seemed intent on the surroundings, as if expecting to see something he didn't.

"Where is your counterpart, captain?" he asked in his gravelly voice.

Thean had known Relican Avery and the other Captain he was looking for since both of them were boys, but he always treated them the same as any other officer on the field. It was a reality Relic had grown accustomed to, and after the long years of being the Constable's pupil, he had learned to accept his treatment as an equal – or at least anything better than a slave – as gratification enough.

"He wasn't at the head of his legion, sir?" Relic asked.

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

"He was not."

For the second time in as many minutes, a sudden distraction seemed to resolve the situation, and in this case, it was an eruption of cheers from one of the adjacent legions. The Constable looked to the commotion and never looked back to his outrider.

"Come with me," he said, and broke off toward the ruckus.

Relic couldn't help but smirk as he thought about what they would find at the source of those cheers, and when he looked down to his men, found that many of them were sharing the sentiment.

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

***

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

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

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

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

Taking a few more moments to savor the anticipation, Jace sat once more in his saddle, and someone whistled to silence the crowd. There were no more bets called, no laughing, no joking. There was only the weight of excited tension that fell on the surroundings. For that moment, the infuriation of being powerless against the enemy faded, and the crackling attacks relentlessly mocking them were overshadowed by the upstart Captain who gathered up the reins - cigarette still smoldering between his fingers - and leaned forward in the stirrups with a confident nonchalance.

It was eerily quiet as all observers held their breath, and Jace narrowed his eyes straight ahead. An uncanny fervor flashed through his ashen eyes, and the transition from showman to outrider was complete. Without breaking his line of vision, Jace patted the mane of his horse, took one last centering breath, and was ready. Then, without warning, he clacked his heels into the sides of the animal, and the horse thundered ahead into motion. Pandemonium exploded as the invigorated onlookers gazed after him, hooting and hollering, watching the breath of rider and horse spurt furiously like steam from a forge. The mighty steed's hooves pounded into the earth like godly hammers, and the outrider bent low in his saddle, his cloak swirling behind him, like a banner amidst the windstorm in his wake. The first arrows missed him outright, his blinding speed enough to evade the hasty attacks, but less than halfway through, dodging required the first of his impressive maneuvers. A single shaft whistled toward him, aimed and timed perfectly to intercept his course, and like a cat jumping up from water, Jace shifted his weight to his forearms and leaned forward against the saddle horn to release the reins and propel himself upward so the arrow passed harmlessly beneath him. It was a move that the outriders referred to as the "jack-in-the-box," and it was challenging even at a slow gallop. At the speed Jace was moving, it could have been suicidal, and as he came down again, he barely snagged the rear edge of the saddle to hurl himself squarely back into it.

Amidst the "oohs" and "ahhs", the strident curses of the archer who had missed carried all the way to Jace, who smirked when he heard them, but there was no time to savor the victory before a flurry of several well-aimed projectiles launched him into a series of dizzying twists and turns, one a complete 360-degree spin that left every arrow deprived of its mark, and the crowd in an awestruck frenzy. By the time Jace blasted into the final stretch of the lane, even those who had bet against him found themselves cheering his success.

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

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

As spectacular as it was, when he fell back into the saddle it was just dumb luck that the shaft of another grazed his back, mere inches from the mark. Realizing he was too far out from the end to ride it out, Jace shifted his balance once more with the intention of sliding sideways down the saddle, so that he would be riding the horse's flank

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

It was over in seconds. His officers made a mad dash towards him as he lay still staring up at the sky, his ears ringing and his mind filled with the sudden humility of abrupt and agonizing pain. But when his men looked down on him, they saw something almost as impressive as his acrobatics. He was smiling. Nervous chatter passed throughout the crowd as they looked on, all eyes searching the small gathering of officers encircling the waylaid outrider for any sign of a new development. "No one could have survived that!" a soldier remarked to no one in particular. His face had paled with worry as he bobbed side-to-side, trying to look around those in front of him to catch a glimpse of the rider's condition.

The man standing beside him did not look similarly concerned, and he shifted the breastplate of his silver armor so that it rested in a more comfortable position as he spoke. "Don't you be worry'in yourself over the Captain," he said in his strong north province accent, sounding as if he spoke from experience. "An outrider he is, and they be ready'in themselves for spills just as rightly as they move to avoid'em." Two of Jace's men reached down to him, and he clasped both of their wrists as they pulled him up, responding to their claps on his back and shoulders with a smile as he regained his bearings.

The crowd roared at the sight of him standing, and Jace acknowledged them with a wave, taking a deep breath as he noticed the shaft that had struck him lying on the ground not four paces away. Leaving his officers, he walked toward it.

The outrider's right hand unconsciously drifted up across his chest to press where the bolt had struck him as he bent to pick it up, and then he started over towards the lane from which it came. He never had to ask the question, for those he approached stood aside to reveal the man who had let the arrow fly. He wore the deep green of the Veil'driel archers, crossed with a dark blue sash to indicate his legion, and Jace was amazed by how young he appeared, not yet out of his teens. There was a glimmer in the boy's eyes that conveyed something like fear as the Captain came up to him, and he held his longbow beside him, clenched tightly. "What's your name, kid?" Jace asked quietly, leaving even those closest straining to hear his words, and the onlookers across the lane grumbling in disappointment. "Bowman First Class Hawkins, sir," he said, snapping to attention. His mouth was painfully dry, causing his tongue to feel heavy as the veterans around him smiled with empathetic amusement. Jace was still panting, swallowing hard before continuing, and wiping some of the sweat from his brow with the rough sleeve of his cloak. "What's your first name, Bowman First Class Hawkins?" he asked. "Malcolm, captain," he said, thankful that his voice hadn't cracked. Jace held up the arrow that had struck him, tapping the specially padded arrowhead against his chest. "And are you responsible for this?" The archer tilted his chin upward just slightly, risking a subtle glance downward at the arrow Jace held. With as much sternness as he could muster, he answered. "Yes, sir." For a drawn out moment, Jace said nothing, only stared into the boy's face with an expressionless scrutiny. When he felt he had pushed far enough, noticing the kid's grip on his bow had turned white-knuckled, he smiled widely and clapped him hard on the shoulder.

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

An enormous mountain of a man came up to Jace's side. His head was shaven clean, and a long ragged scar stretched down from his temple toward the corner of his mouth. He was an impossible man to miss, and Jace had been glad to see him. "Yes, captain," he boomed. "Is this your troop?" "He is, sir." Jace nodded, still staring into Malcolm's face. "See to it that he gets as many extra rations of food and wine as he can hold tonight," then he took a step back and talked loudly for all to hear, motioning to the blazing sky with the arrow that had struck him down. "Just as soon as tonight's FIREWORK display has come to an end!"

The cheers ensued in reaction to his downplay, and Jace's public spectacle appeared to be wrapping up. When he turned back to the bowman, it was in a manner of punctuation.

"To Malcolm Hawkins!" he yelled, holding up the arrow. "Best bowman in the legions!" From every direction, the rhythmic chanting of "Malcolm" came back to them, and Jace turned back to the kid. "Your trophy," he said with a wink, and he clasped the boy's wrist as he handed it over. "That was a hell of a shot." The ongoing chorus of voices chanting his name sent chills down Malcolm's spine, and he could not contain the flustered chuckle that escaped his lungs. Already, friends and supervisors were ruffling his hair and jostling him around in congratulations. "Thank you, sir," he managed to say, and their grip released. Jace nodded a final time before turning away, and Malcolm disappeared behind him into the crowd that seemed to swallow him up. As he made his way back to the open lane that still held, Sergeant Caulurn matched his stride. "You've certainly made that one popular," he said. The gigantic man was reputed to be a cold-blooded warrior who never smiled, and had known Jace Dabriel since the time he was a forerunner. He had been Jace's instructor in the art of short-swordsmanship before his own skill was surpassed, and he should have recognized the mischievous gleam in the outrider's eye, but missed it, and was caught completely off guard when he jumped slightly from his feet and grabbed him in a headlock.

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

As they reached the open lane, Caulurn hoisted his Captain up into the air like a rag doll, wooing the crowd even further before lowering him back to the ground. When the giant released his grip, they briefly embraced, laughing hysterically amidst the crowd that shared their mirth. Jace said something to the man that could not be heard, and with a nod, the sergeant walked back into the crowd, still smiling and easily spotted even as he became immersed. "Alright," Jace said to the team of officers who were waiting for him, and he looked down to adjust something near his wrist. "You know what to do." The men that had originally helped him up, nodded, and exchanged a few words before returning to their posts within the legion and reestablishing organization. A series of quick hand gestures and whistles followed, and the legions moved into place with the efficiency of a machine, the lane beginning to collapse as his men assumed battle square formations, and those who were not his found their way to where they belonged; already reminiscing about the show they had seen. It was a routine they had been through countless times before, and Jace would never have orchestrated such a display had he the slightest doubt whether his ranks could be instantly restored at the first sign of trouble.

One of his officers lingered to hand him his cap, and Jace was smiling at something he said when another rider rode up beside him. He didn't have to look to know who it was. He could tell by the scent he was addicted to. "Lose something, captain?" he heard the expected voice ask him. Jace walked up to his horse, petting the nose, and it snorted, nuzzling him almost apologetically.

"I did, captain," he said. "And I appreciate it." "Someone got you this time, I see."

The tone of the angelic voice remained stern, and though Jace nearly smirked, he was determined not to break first, and merely shrugged.

"Can't win'em all, Iz," he said, still pretending to be more interested in his horse than the outrider who had brought it back. Isabelle Talabray gave a little sigh of frustration, and, tiring of the game, kicked at him from her saddle. "You're gonna get hurt, you idiot," she said emphatically, but the first inklings of a smile betrayed her. Jace was smiling widely, his dark hair pasted to his forehead still damp with perspiration. He looked up to where she towered over him in her saddle, and the streaking colors of the enemy attack glimmered over her shoulder. "What do you mean gonna?" he said, letting his hand drift up to his shoulder with an exaggerated wince. Isabelle opened her mouth to say something, but her response was suddenly ended by the loud call that broke out behind him.

"Clear a path!" someone was yelling. "Clear a path for the Constable!"

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

"Good evening, Constable," she said with a crisp salute.

The Constable did not return it.

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

"I'm sorry, sir," she attempted. "I was only trying to return Captain Dabe-"

The Constable had already diverted his gaze down to Jace, who still had his back turned, and was forced to snap his stare back to Isabelle when she spoke.

"Immediately!" he repeated, cutting her off.

"Sir," she acknowledged, and with a bare glance down to Jace, whirled her mare around and darted back to her legion.

Jace took a moment to steady himself. He could handle Thean's incessant criticism, but had absolutely no tolerance for it being directed towards Isabelle. She was the cleanest cut of the four, by far. Still, somehow, Jace maintained the wits to realize the rumors of his involvement with her were as rampant as they were undeniable, and he was certain Thean would pounce at even the slightest confirmation. A relationship between outriders was strictly forbidden, an edict as ancient as the order itself. So Jace cleared his expression, and his mind, as he turned to face Thean.

"She was returning my horse," he said without salute, staring up at the man without fear or slightest sign of obedience.

"A task made necessary by one of your famous stunt rides, no doubt," Thean said, and Jace made no attempt to respond. "What do your men call it? Riding the gauntlet?"

Jace glanced down from Thean to eye level, pleased to see that the wide lane had closed. His men had already completed their shift in formation, with no indication that it had ever been otherwise. "I did not spend years of my life imparting those techniques so that you could use them to impress your men. This is a battlefield, not a carnival, is that clear?"

For just a moment, Jace considered stating his firm belief that he was born with his talent and never needed tutoring, but decided he had pushed the old Constable far enough for one conversation. "As crystal," he said instead, much to the relief of Relican Avery who was watching from behind.

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

"The General requests your presence in the Command Tent," he said, and seemed to vanish on the air as he rode.

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

"Command tent, huh?" he asked, examining the large grass stain on his elbow as he rode up beside Relic.

"Yep."

Jace shrugged, placed his cap back on his head and snapped the reins, Relic beside him, and the men parted before them both.

Not fifty yards outside the perimeter of braziers, a ramp of shale led up to a wide crest of gently sloping hills beyond which several command tents overlooked the battlements below. From the elevated viewpoint, the grandeur of the force could be appreciated, and the orange glowing ring pulsed in the frigid night breeze.

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

***

A few sparsely set lanterns supplied the only light in the command tent, their dim flicker casting long, contorted shadows over the small assembly within.

Senator Bren sat quietly off to the side, engaged in quiet conversation with his personal scribe, who he had called to record the content of the meeting. What little elaboration the General provided on the outriders in the moments they spent waiting for them to arrive, fascinated him. He had always been quick to spot an opportunity for good publicity, and he needed something to get the peoples' mind away from the dismal reports of their campaign thus far. And if these outriders actually managed to succeed … no, once again he pushed the optimism down below.

A wide map was spread over the surface of a large wooden table in the center of the tent, held down by several led weights, and the General was hunched over it, rubbing the bristles on his chin as he poured over an area of particular interest. The sudden commotion of grunting horses, followed immediately by the rustle of footsteps heralded the trio he expected, and he was already looking up as the tent flaps were thrown back and Constable Thean led his riders inside.

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

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

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

The outriders spread their stance just slightly, crossing their hands behind their backs in the still formal, yet somewhat more relaxed position.

"I will not waste any time, gentlemen, for we simply do not have it. I'm afraid we've come to a crisis."

The General shifted his weight just slightly, crossing his arms to the sound of shifting metal that indicated heavy armor under his cloak.

"What I am about to tell you is of the utmost secretive nature, and it is not to leave this tent. Is that in any way unclear?"

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

The General nodded.

"Good," he said, and motioned to the map, drawing the outriders' attention to his hand as if a string were attached to their eyes. He was pointing to a wide-open area sandwiched between the Fairlawn Woods to the East and the City of the same name to the West.

"As you are both well familiar," he said. "We are here."

The General stopped for a moment, and though it seemed an unusual place for a pause, only Relic looked up. Jace never looked away from the map, watching as the General slid his hand off to the east, and tapped his finger on the other side of the Fairlawn Woods. It was another plain; similar to the one the legions were now camped upon.

"I need to know what is here," he said.

Relic hesitated a moment, not quite understanding. Intimidated by the situation, however, he intended to say nothing in hope of an elaboration. He shouldn't have been surprised when Jace immediately voiced his concern for him.

"I'm not quite sure I understand, sir," he said, in deep focus as he studied the map. "It's clearly shown here as a-"

"Yes, as a plain," the General finished. It was as if he had expected the question, and Relic realized that once again he had over thought the situation.

"I'm not interested in the geography. I need to know what is causing these attacks," he said, and glanced upward to the roof of the tent as it fluctuated like a canvas ocean against the whipping wind outside.

Jace did look up at this and appeared to be on the verge of commenting further, then hesitated, indication that even he was now wondering how far he should stretch the bounds of his military bearing. The general made the decision for him, having noticed his conflict.

"Speak plainly, captain," he said.

Constable Thean leaned forward, placing his hands on the table as he watched. It was a subtle warning that Relic caught immediately, and much to his surprise, Jace nodded slightly in the constable's direction, in a very rare display of respect. If anything, it was a testament to the gravity of the situation. The general appeared oblivious to the entire exchange, his expression unchanged as he waited for Jace to go on.

"Yes sir," he began. "I do not presume to understand the intricacies of this campaign as you do, general,"

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

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

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

"To engage a phantom enemy on such grounds is to invite disaster, Captain Dabriel. These attacks are meant to instill rage, frustration, and impatience."

The general paused a moment as all around him watched. Even the Senator's scribe seemed on the edge of his seat, caught up in the developments and waiting eagerly to move his quill with the next spoken words. Finally, Creed went on, and the feather was moving furiously once again.

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

It was this revelation that the general had referenced to earlier as the utmost secretive nature, and as Relic stood soaking it in, his much more proactive counterpart voiced his thoughts.

"Bait as they may be, sir, we could turn that around on them."

The general was beginning to realize the hype surrounding this outrider, seeming to take a natural liking to him, as most did. But it wasn't just his charm. Creed saw something of himself behind those gray eyes.

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

Jace was only too happy to go on.

"How many legions do we have backing us here? We may be the Vanguard, but we're not alone. Even if we pursue the source of these attacks and are caught out of position, the enemy forces would not dare to march on the city."

Senator Bren was enjoying the upbeat swagger of Jace's rationalization, but the general knew this was where potential gave way to the audacity of youth. They had no way of knowing the size of the enemy host for one, or how their forces were situated throughout the land they had already taken. Even if they were facing an army that was not as organized as the general supposed – which went against his every instinct – to move out of position would risk far more destruction and death than any aerial attack could inflict. It was far too early in the war to be making such bold presumptions. Everything was a hazy fog where it needed to be crystal clear. This was the reason the general had called on them, not to debate his strategy, and he suddenly realized that the discussion had slid off track.

"You're right, captain," Creed said at last, and Jace perked up at this. "You do not understand the intricacies of this campaign."

The prideful expression left Jace's face and he nodded slightly, looking back down to the map.

Relic was studying the dotted lines sketched with five different names; he recognized them as scout paths.

"If I may, sir, why send any of the scouts north?" He noticed the last two scouts had gone in that direction instead of directly east as the first two.

General Creed exchanged a meaningful glance with Thean.

"Because none have returned."

"Not even the two that went north?" Jace asked.

The general shook his head.

"It is why we have called upon you."

Jace was running his hand back and forth over his chin. He had done it whenever something troubled him since the time he was ten years old.

This was news to both outriders. They were aware that their scouts had failed to return, but that two had taken such a roundabout approach and still gone missing was bizarre.

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

The General nodded solemnly.

"You missed one of the names, son," he said. "Calloway was number one. Disappeared more than three weeks ago."

The vision of the riderless horse sprung into Relic's mind then, but his reaction was one he did not expect. It was not fear that coincided with the image, but anger. As he exchanged a glance with his partner, he saw the same expression, and then both looked back to the general.

Jace spoke first after reviewing the rest of the scouts on the map. He recognized them all, as did Relic.

"What are our orders, general?" he asked.

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

The comment was intended to raise Jace's spirits, but the expression on the young outrider's face was of stone. He seemed to have lost all interest in the matters previously discussed, waiting to be released like a predator held back for too long.

"I leave the method of your approach to you then," the general went on after realizing he would get no reaction. "Make your preparations and set out."

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

"Dismissed," the general said, and he was amazed at how swiftly the tide of the conversation had turned upon mention of the missing scouts.

Both of the outriders were gone in an ambitious flash.

"They are brave," Tillian said to the constable, looking down over the shoulder of his scribe as he finished writing the word "dismissed."

The senator put a hand on the boy's forearm to indicate he stop recording and fumbled a pair of bifocals onto his face as he reviewed.

"Are they really so different than scouts?"

Thean never looked away from the open tent flaps, offering his disinterested reply as if he were reciting the words from a textbook.

"You cannot compare the two," he said.

The Senator swiped the bifocals from his face, frustrated once more by Thean's apparent inability to actually answer one of his questions.

"I don't understand," he said, and seemed genuinely surprised when the constable responded.

"After tonight" he started, turning to face the senator. "You will."

***

Relic finished his preparations first, assembling his gear and fastening his cloak around him in concealment of all that lay beneath. He and Jace had decided on the entry point before they parted. It would be the section of woods directly before Relic's legion, and strangely the very stretch he had found himself staring into earlier.

It was as good a plan as any. They had no information on what they may face, only the knowledge that none had returned, and the dangerous implications. It was an unsettling notion, but no longer relevant, for none of that could be helped.

The decision to enter in front of his legion left Relic with nothing to do but wait, and he filled the time by appointing a commander in his absence, though he knew there would be no action until he returned; for whatever that action may be depended on his own success. His and Jace Dabriel's.

Just as the name fluttered through Relic's mind, he heard him approaching, cap on head, but he wasn't alone. Isabelle Talabray rode at his side, along with Cedwyn Knight, and when the three of them reached his position, the entire outrider squad was together. Relic was especially surprised to see Isabelle, never one to rebel and having already been reprimanded for leaving her post.

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

"This isn't right, Relic," she said, not acknowledging Relic's greeting. He had already guessed by her expression that she probably wouldn't.

"So I guess you've heard then," he said, snapping an accusing glance to Jace as he did so, and Jace hesitated a moment, taking a second to grasp the implications.

"Hey, don't look at me," he said. "They were waiting at my tent when I got there."

Relic looked back to Isabelle.

"It doesn't take long for the summoning of two outriders to spread," she said. "Jace just filled us in."

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

"Is it true, Relic?" he asked. "They're sending you two out?"

"Yeah, it's true," Relic, looking somewhat unsure of what he was defending against, confirmed.

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

"She's right, man," Cedwyn chimed in before Relic could reply, "we should be going with you."

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

"If you were a general, I'd go awol, Avery," Jace interjected.

"But why?" Isabelle asked, knowing full well that Relic had no answer. "We're useless here. No one's come back from there, and we should be going with you."

Without warning, tears pricked into her eyes, and though her fundamental expression never changed, it was amazing how quickly Jace's demeanor did. He extracted what was to follow even as she repeated herself, and heeled his horse softly to sidestep closer to her. When his shoulder was against hers, Jace ran his hand beneath Isabelle's cloak and around her waist to pull her closer, whispering something into her ear so that the others couldn't hear him.

Relic watched the exchange with an uneasiness only intensified as he looked around to see his entire legion deathly silent, and gawking at the prominent quartet. They appeared appreciative of seeing all four outriders together, and even more so by the display of affection between Isabelle and Jace. If the rumors were common before, they would be dangerous now, and with that disturbing thought, Relic looked up to warn them only to realize Jace had already broken away from her. Whatever he said seemed to have worked, and she appeared calmer, resigned to General Creed's decision.

"Be careful, both of you," she said.

Cedwyn reached over and grasped Relic's forearm in the traditional outrider fashion, and Isabelle followed suit, smiling at him.

"We will be," he said. After turning to his side with the same gesture to Jace, Cedwyn urged his horse away from the group. "I'll see you guys when you get back," he said, and then turned to Jace, pointing at him. "Outriders don't die," he said. Jace pointed back. "They just regroup in heaven." Cedwyn nodded with a wink, and with a whistle and a snap he was off. Jace felt the cold stare of Isabelle boring into him even before he remade eye contact. She hated that asinine motto, as she never failed to convey after every time he used it. Relic too began easing his mount away from the two. "I'll alert the ramparts of our departure," he said, and then turned back to Isabelle. "See ya later, Iz." "I'll see you soon, Relic," she said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. Relic nodded as he reared his horse around and rode out to one of the tall towers just out past the braziers. Holding his arm up into the air, he waited for the Sentinels to acknowledge that they saw him. Just after, he balled his hand into a tight fist, held up two fingers and then chopped his hand forward to convey the message: Two riders, in the open, outbound.

In the night, however illuminated by the sparkling comets and full moon above, it was often difficult to tell if a rider was approaching or riding away on an open plain, and the signs were instituted to avert that confusion. Relic had been told of instances where the sentries fired on friendly riders, or sounded false alarms at the sight of their own men, but he often wondered if they were just stories told to reinforce the formality.

Relic's horse shifted restlessly, but in perfect balance with its familiar rider, anticipating the charge across the plain; but Relic reined him in, it was not yet time to go. In truth, he had only gone out to sign in order to give Jace and Isabelle a moment alone together, trying not to concern himself with that particular aspect of two of his closest friends' lives, despite the jeopardy it put them in. At least tonight, there were more critical things at hand. In the dim glow of the tower platform torchlight, the sentinel repeated the sequence and saluted. Relic returned it, and when he looked back, Jace was already riding towards him. And everything seemed to converge on the charge to come. "Thanks for that," Jace said. Relic was leaning to the side. Whether he was making an adjustment to his stirrup or something on his boot was impossible to tell. "No problem," he said. "Just save me a seat at the court-martial." Jace stood in the stirrups, stretching his back and legs, and flicking his head from side to side. When he finished, he sat and ran his right hand across the narrow front brim of his cap. "Will do," he said. Another moment passed, and the riders exchanged a meaningful glance. They had known each other since boyhood, and their ability to have a wordless conversation was a luxury taken for granted. All around them was stillness, as anyone who could see them watched anxiously, and those beyond waited for updates. Relic balled his fist and held it up to his side, his elbow half-extended towards Jace. "Bet I beat you to the wood line," Jace said, and he tapped his fist against Relic's before hunching forward in the saddle, ready to bolt.

Their mounts were riled up, snorting wildly and stepping in place, itching to be turned loose almost to the point of madness.

"I hope so," Relic said as he assumed the same position. "That way whatever's in there will get you first."

Out of the corner of his eye, Relic saw Jace smirk as he rolled his shoulders in a nervous action, hands flexing on the reins. They stood motionless half a moment longer like racers waiting for a starting horn, and then fittingly, Jace was the first to break. Relic snapped his reins half an instant after, and a thunderous cheer raised up from the ten thousand cavalry troops behind them. The noise mixed with the rush of the dash was intoxicating, spurring them on as Relic closed the gap to ride on Jace's shoulder. Despite their joking, neither was racing; instead they kept their charge disciplined to face whatever came as they passed the threshold together.

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

If it had been a training exercise, Thean would have been furious, and as the outriders crashed through the thick foliage bordering the woods perimeter, Relic could almost imagine the man stepping out from behind some environmental obstruction; screaming of how quickly both of them would be dead were it real. Only it was, and they had made no attempt at a discreet entrance, caught up in the mania of adrenaline and cheers instead of the lessons he had taught them. At that moment, Relic and Jace were the greatest hope of the legions, and of Veil'driel itself; trusted with the kind of epochal undertaking every child dreams of. But as they crossed that thicket threshold, reverie turned to engendered responsibility; and it came in a swift, cold transition.

Even as it happened, Jace realized they had made a terrible mistake, and for a single, ghastly moment envisioned a perversely comical anticlimax of being instantly cut down in a hail of enemy fire. It was the fear of embarrassment, not death, which scared him most. Under the canopy of gnarling treetops was a dense mass of shadows and darkness, where only the outriders' instincts, and their unconscious implementation of which, had saved them. They veered around immense boulders and tree stumps amid blaring snaps and crashes on their tenuous path, in most cases never really knowing what exactly it was they were dodging before they were into their next maneuver. Relic was forced into a particularly close call, just barely able to bring his mount over an awkwardly fallen tree that Jace had cleared easily, but then suddenly beyond it, their opportunity was waiting. They had come by some stroke of luck to a glade.

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

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

"You all right?" he asked.

Jace answered still lying on his back.

"Yeah, I'm good. You?"

Relic nodded.

"You see anything before we went down?"

Jace took a second to pick a piece of grass from his mouth. "Yeah," he said, rolling up onto his side. "My life flash before my eyes."

Relic's face went blank with concentration as he considered risking a peek over the grass. He had made the transition to conducting his business, the intense focus that was necessary to apply their craft.

Remarkably, Jace didn't seem to have that capability, or perhaps, the need for it. He spoke as calmly as if they were enjoying a drink at the "Gambit Tavern" back home.

"Dismounted reconnaissance?"

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

"No," he said. "Not yet, at least. We have no idea what's out there and whether we're on horseback or foot isn't going to change that."

Relic rolled back onto his feet, now crouching. Jace needed no convincing and quickly assumed the same position as the two prepared to stand.

"On three?" Relic asked, and Jace nodded.

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

"What do you think," he asked, just above a whisper. "Feel like we're being watched?"

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

"Yes," he said, and then shrugged. "But I always do so I guess that doesn't mean much."

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

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

Relic nodded.

"Yeah. Let's mount up," he said, and then walked over to his horse, leaping into the saddle with Jace following likewise beside him.

Relic reached into his saddlebag, taking out a rolled parchment. After unfurling it, he held it on his lap with his elbow as he withdrew a short sliver of charcoal.

"Alright, we're here," he said making a mark, looking up for a moment and taking a quick glance east. "Basically."

Jace accepted the estimation with minimal consideration. Even the most inexperienced forerunner was well versed in pinpointing location on a map, and for outriders, sense of direction came as natural as breathing.

Relic slid the side of his hand to the east, stopping on a windy dark brown line stretching to the other side of the woods.

"The road's about four miles east," he said.

For a second, Jace thought he might have heard something and looked up into the trees with a start, but when he saw Relic still studying the map, unfazed, he eventually dismissed the concern.

"The road?" he asked. "You're sure that's a good idea?"

"No," Relic admitted, reviewing the paths of the scouts that had gone before them. He had traced them from memory as they appeared on Creed's gigantic version. "But even though staying off it might be our instinct, it didn't help Chapin, Shardson, or," he glanced back down to confirm the name of the third scout to support his argument. "Darkblade," he finished.

"Only Calloway took the road."

"Yeah," Jace said. "But last I checked he didn't return either."

As Jace had first started to speak, Relic seemed more attentive to rolling up the map than his words, so he waited until that task was done before going on.

"We have skills that they could only," he stopped, seeming to rethink his words in respect for what was most likely the memory of fallen brethren. "We have skills that they didn't," he said, and then motioned to the thick brush before them. "We could sneak through this unseen and unheard even if the Gods were out there waiting."

Relic took a deep breath.

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

"You're right," he said.

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

"C'mon, man," he said with a smirk, throwing a light backhand into Jace's chest to lure his eye contact. "What better way to draw them out than by riding in the open?" Jace nodded, placing his palms on the saddle horn as he stretched his back with the tension.

But it wasn't the assurance Relic was looking for.

"Relax, man" he pushed, and then resorted to the most valuable card in his deck. "Or I'll tell Isabelle you were acting like a scared little kid."

Relic was quite obviously joking, and so was taken aback with the seriousness in which Jace's gaze snapped to him. It was impossible to read what was in his gray eyes, and then he twisted in his saddle towards the direction of the road.

"You don't have to psyche me up, Relic," he said, and smiled though his friend couldn't see. "And you're terrible at it, by the way."

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

"It's just funny that you mentioned her."

Jace was looking down toward his saddle again; fidgeting with the flat front brim of his cap where the two curved sides converged.

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

Relic nodded. "The cocktail?"

The adventurer's cocktail: excitement, dread, spiked with a shot of adrenaline.

"I feel it whenever I see her," Jace said quietly, and suddenly looked up at Relic. "Sometimes just by thinking about her."

Relic listened with an indifferent expression that betrayed nothing of his feeling. He was astonished by the uncharacteristic earnestness in Jace's disposition, and in all the years he had known him, could not remember a similar display of affection. And then all at once, the reasoning why came to him.

"You're making it back, Jace," Relic said seriously.

"If I don't, you tell her that," he said, and then looked down again. "Tell her if we weren't both outriders, I would have said the words a long time ago."

"You'll tell her yourself, Jace. Now stop talking like that, you're scaring the horses."

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

"I don't know, man," he said. "I don't have the greatest feeling about this one."

He looked down again towards the cold, dead leaves, and the high, lifeless grass that blanketed the glade.

"Just tell her if I don't."

"I will, man," Relic said, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder, then after a few moments, tightening his grip and joggling him. "And when did you become so dramatic?"

Jace smirked and Relic could feel some of the tension leave his shoulders when he looked up again.

"Four miles you said?"

"Yeah," Relic answered, and the anterior subject was officially closed. "I suggest we stay as close together as possible."

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

"No argument here," he said, with traces of his usual bravado, and then looked back over to Relic with an upward nod. "After you, captain."

Relic never looked away from the obscure path before them, snapping the reins as he spoke, his words trailing after him.

"Gladly, captain," he said.

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

***

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

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

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"A milestone," Relic answered.

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

"Twenty-seven," Jace announced.

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

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

Relic stabbed at the map with a finger; Jace waited for an explanation.

"There's a sentry post in that area," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Coins," he said.

"What?" Jace's tone was acrid.

"Coins for his eyes," Relic said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait," Relic said. "Wait."

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

What's left in the box behind the shoes, Relic whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jace felt the itchy tingle of perspiration break immediately upon his forehead, and the cold seemed to vanish into a summer of unnatural heat. He tried desperately to control the chaotic compilation of old lectures dictated by forgotten professors; but the pursuit was near impossible. Only solitary facts clouded his head as the frazzled mind processes misfired. Things like: "highly dangerous, even unarmed, sledgehammer blows, not above biting opponents, horns aren't just for show." It was impossible to sort any of it out, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded when Relic slapped him on the arm.

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

Relic nodded, looking around slowly now into the trees. He had no doubt they were being watched, and it didn't surprise him that they were not yet attacked. Unlike Jace, Relic remembered every lesson he was ever taught, and he was well familiar with the minotaur. They were known to toy with their prey, to await an opening for a more spectacular kill, and the ease in which their journey had preceded to this point was suddenly perfectly clear.

"Listen to me," Relic said, scratching his nose and trying to appear nonchalant. "We have several things in our favor right now."

Jace hung on every word, suddenly consumed with an intense gratefulness for Relic's academic devotion.

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

Jace nodded. He could deal with a straight fight, no matter what the opponent was. They were working the issue, and that was good. That was what outriders did.

"All right, what else?" he asked.

Relic broke eye contact and looked down to his feet for a second. He took a deep breath, brought his hands up to his hips and then glanced off to the side.

"Well," he said. "We have one thing in our favor, at least."

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

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

"Jace," Relic said. "There's a-"

"You too," Jace said.

"How far?" Relic asked

"Sixty..," he squinted. "Sixty-five yards."

Relic nodded.

"Mine?" Jace asked.

"Same," Relic answered.

"Will they go after the horses?"

"Not until we're dead," Relic said. Then admitted: "I don't think."

No one would have surmised this was the first time either had faced these legendary beasts. They were far too calm for that to be true.

"Any particular plan?" Jace asked.

"No short-swords," Relic answered. "I doubt we could swing them hard enough to inflict serious damage, and you don't wanna get that close anyway."

A moment of silence passed.

"Alright then," Jace said.

Relic turned to face the minotaur behind him, amazed by how identical his enemy appeared in the way that it stalked him, and just briefly registered it as a contradicting occurrence before pushing the observation back in his mind. A cool serenity swept over him then, and he took comfort from the knowledge that even if he and Jace were to fall, they were certainly about to be far more of a challenge than these beasts were expecting.

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

The inhumane grin on the mammoth monster's face curdled slightly at the sight of Jace's bold gesture, though it was more a reaction of surprise that the human did not attempt to run like the others rather than any real concern, and by the time Jace began his slow pace towards it, the minotaur's expression conveyed the primal exhilaration welcoming the challenge.

Jace unhinged the crossbows, already loaded with the initial shots, and fired them both with two simultaneous cracks into the chest of the shadowy figure, knowing they had hit the mark without seeing. His mind was faraway now, letting his hands do their exquisite reloading motion, ramming the empty crossbows downward so that the spring recoil snapped into the bolts on his belt and again he would re-aim and fire, one after the other, sometimes simultaneously if it so happened in that lethal ballet that his hands were fast enough to act together. One after another, and the belt was nearly spent as he resorted to the bolts behind him now, strapped to his lower back. When Jace felt the last one lock, he unfastened the belt with the hand brought down to reload and moved one of those on his chest to his waist by unsnapping it, spinning in a perfect circle, and using the momentum to whip it around his waist and lock it in place. The action was performed in minimal time, and the pause in his procedure was barely perceptible before he was firing again.

The adrenaline seared through Jace's veins like an inferno, with all of his fear, his outrage, the anticipation and torturous tension unleashed in the storm of his bolts. His heartbeat exploded in his ears like a maddening earthquake, but only in the brief fraction of an instant, when he moved to shed the second belt and position the third, could his conscious mind protest in the intermission. For quite suddenly, Jace realized he was within ten yards of the titanic creature, and it gazed down upon him with eyes of wild glee. He had expended two belts of shots, 60 bolts, and the maniacal beast still gaped at him, changeless. Seeing it from afar for the first time had been stunning. Seeing it up close filled Jace Dabriel with a terror transcending imagination.

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

Outriders don't die, he heard himself think suddenly, and wondered in his delirium who he was about to regroup with.

Somehow, Jace managed to take a full step backward, and another, each proceeding movement an act of heroism in the throes of such crippling fear. All the minotaur had left to do was attack, and the outrider, the elite of the Republic's forces, would have accepted his doom; staring like a dumbstruck child. But when the creature lumbered forward, an expression bordering shock contorted its features, and the countenance appeared grotesquely out of place on the minotaur's face.

The roles in that instant reversed, and the minotaur looked to Jace as if expecting some sort of answer. Instead it looked down to its body, and for the first time realized the countless bolts spread over its unarmored abdomen and upper chest, two to three dozen kill shots when would have done perfectly fine. Whether it was the sheer speed in which the bolts were fired or its lust for the upcoming kill that numbed the creature until now, its massive body would no longer allow avoidance. The minotaur looked up at Jace again in blind rage as it recognized its fate, and the beginnings of a roar started to emanate from deep in its chest.

But it was drowned in the wave of blackish-yellow bile that surfed up out of its mouth, and through the nostrils of its bullish snout.

With a jerk, the creature convulsed, involuntarily shirting its weight to its hind hoof and then falling into the dust of the road with a booming thud.

Jace's crossbows hung limply at his sides as he stared at the fallen beast. It didn't seem possible that he could have killed it, and he stood transfixed by the thought as well as the sight. Then, with a sudden start, before he could even begin to process what had happened, a sudden force grabbed hold of his shoulders forcing all of the breath from his lungs. He knew another minotaur had him in its clutches, and did his best to assess the situation, cursing himself for hesitating as what appeared to be a sledgehammer flew over and past him as he fell backward.

Relic leapt up, and Jace realized he was the one who had thrown him to the ground, and had done so moments before the thrown weapon would have crushed him from the side. The saving act focused him again, and when Jace scrambled back to his feet, he was going through the lucid motions of the fight, looking up the road to where Relic was masterfully dodging a ferocious barrage of blows. A quick glance behind and Jace realized that Relic too had managed to bring down his minotaur, and when he looked back, remembered his last belt of crossbow bolts and strapped it into place.

Relic's acrobatics were a sight to be seen, but he was entirely on the defensive; his moves meant to parry and dodge, knowing he could not hope to attack such a creature in hand to hand fighting.

Jace acted fast, landing four bolts in a neat line down from the minotaur's forehead to the bridge of where the snout became pronounced, and the beast shook its head violently, slapping at its face as if warding off a pesky insect. But then the motions grew increasingly clumsy, and the minotaur fell into the brush off the road; tumbling out of sight.

Relic had saved Jace's life, and Jace had returned the favor all within the passing of a minute. A silent glance of understanding passed between them as they stood trying to catch their breaths, and then Relic pointed frantically for Jace to turn around.

It was too late.

Jace was hoisted up into the air like a rag doll, and oddly, the first thing he thought of was Alaric Caulurn tossing him up earlier in the evening. The result of the similar action, however, was quite different. Jace was flung through the air back towards the battle's original starting point, careening into one of the metal-cane light fixtures with a crash that made Relic wince. The minotaur was ignoring the other outrider completely, stomping after Jace with a speed and grace that didn't seem possible for a creature so large. Relic could see Jace was hurt; lying flat and arching his back, but he only had one crossbow, the other having being destroyed against the first minotaur he faced. Relic loaded quickly and fired quicker, but with only one weapon it took twice as long to inflict any significant damage.

A spike of panic shot through him as he realized there was nothing he could do to save Jace. Jace could hear the wild stomps of the beast coming towards him, lying next to the fallen road lamp at his side. The clean break made at the metal-cane's base was a testament to the sheer force in which he had gone smashing into it, and though his aching back protested, the fear of impending death spurred him into action. He started to reach for his crossbows only to realize that he lacked the time to load them, and even if he were somehow able, doubted he could do enough damage to save himself. Reaching down to his belt, Jace withdrew the flint box lighter instead, and blocking out the minotaur's blurred approach, struck it and held the flame in front of him.

A couple bolts snapped into the back of the beast, and it hesitated, looking back at Relic, apparently debating whether to counterattack or resume the rush.

That hesitation was all the time Jace needed.

Rolling over onto his side, Jace lit the large lantern, grabbed the metal-cane and stumbled to his feet; his entire body illuminated brightly in the golden light of the road lamp. The abrupt blaze brought the minotaur's instinctive attention back to Jace with a vicious snarl, and it looked somewhat quizzically at the strange assembly of the metal staff and dangling lantern. Jace swung the makeshift ball and chain so that the lantern struck the minotaur on the side of its massive head, shielding his eyes as it exploded in a ball of fire and oil that ignited the beast's entire upper torso.

A bloodcurdling roar echoed over the woods as the creature writhed in agonizing panic, taking a few aimless steps before collapsing into a crackling heap; The smell of its burning flesh and thick hair strangely sweet. Almost immediately after the screaming stopped, the morbid firelight revealed three more minotaurs charging towards them through the trees. The outriders could not stand and face them. They knew they would not survive.

The horses were nowhere to be seen, and Jace whistled frantically, wincing and leaning slightly as he pressed his hand against the injured ribs on the right side of his body. Relic had the same idea, and breathed an uneasy sigh of relief as on Jace's third attempt, both horses crashed through the brush and onto the road towards their masters.

The animals rode side by side as if there were riders in their saddles, and Relic gave them the signal to continue their gallop. Jace understood the need for the command, but glimpsed at Relic briefly with something like annoyance. He readied himself for the sharp pain that was sure to come, and then turned his attention fully on the horse, timing it perfectly for the stirrup to catch his boot. With a grunt and a swing of the legs, Jace distributed his balance flawlessly and catapulted himself up into the saddle. As they rode side by side, Relic felt great relief at the sight. Jace's injury had not escaped him.

They rode without speaking, hard and fast at breakneck speeds, away from the nightmarish fray. Miles ticked away like minutes with no further sign of the minotaurs, for neither dared to look into the trees, and just as they blasted past mile marker 34, the sentry house came into view.

Relic bellowed over the hurricane gallop.

"There it is!" he yelled, though he knew Jace saw it.

They had just begun to slow when a fast moving shadow emerged from the trees, and another minotaur, displaying that unlikely agility and menacing physique, stepped directly into their path. It was a shock to have their focus shift from the sentry house to the sudden foreground of the minotaur, but the beast had made a critical error it could not yet understand. If it had expected to frighten the horses into shucking their riders, it was instantly disappointed, and so was left to confront the outriders in the saddle. And so was left to await its own death.

Without the slightest hesitation, Relic slid two adjoining copper cylinders from the side of his ornate saddle, dropping down a bit lower. Wrapping his hand tightly around one of them, he held the apparatus at his side.

"Jace!" he yelled without looking, and after a quick glance, Jace took the other cylinder in his hand.

At first it looked as if the riders would try to trample the beast, riding directly towards it, and within arm's reach of each other. The minotaur looked to expect this as well, and readied itself with a crouch; holding its boulder arms in front of its body to prepare for two devastating blows before ripping the riders to shreds. When the outriders suddenly spread out from each other, widening a gap of about eight feet between them, their strategy seemed rather an attempt to ride around the beast; and it let out a wild roar of frustration as both moved out of reach.

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

The outriders whipped past on both sides. The minotaur twisted as they passed. But only its torso turned as the tree trunk legs and hooves remained sturdily planted on the road. Crimson spots sprinkled the dust, turning to pools all about, and the upper body of the minotaur fell, as the lower half still stood eerily in place.

The task complete, Jace simply let his cylinder go and it recoiled back to the one Relic held. As the copper clinked back together, Relic slid it back into its holster on the side of his saddle, and neither looked back at their work.

They came to a skidded stop before the sentry house, and the outriders found themselves mourning the quaint beauty it must have presented when all was well. A short, black gate lined the perimeter, set in place for aesthetic appeal rather than legitimate security purposes, and the iron joined in an archway over a cobblestone walkway leading to the entrance. It certainly looked abandon enough.

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

"Ready?" he asked.

Relic nodded.

They stormed inside with their backs up against each other, sweeping the expansive, circular room in wide arcs, ready to fire at even the slightest disturbance as they turned in their surveying circle.

"It's clear," Jace said.

Relic didn't say a word, only disappeared through the doorway. When he returned, he led Jace's horse by the reins, stepped back and led his own inside.

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

"Hungry?" Jace asked as he passed it.

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

"It's from seven weeks ago," Relic announced.

"What does it say?" Jace asked, taking out the materials to roll a cigarette, and pleased they had not been lost in the vicious skirmish.

"Report filed," he began slowly. "Orders via Scout. Scout name: William Chapin. Authenticity: Confirmed. Message: Expeditionary Vanguard under command of Brigadier General Simian L. Creed en route to position on plains west of Fairlawn Wood. Imminent threat approaches from the east. Post no longer deemed secure, ordered to abandon until further notice. Order carried out forthwith. Third Lieutenant Clive Barringer 305th Sentinel Legion, City of Fairlawn, Republic of Veil'driel"

Below was the signature of the sentinel followed by that of Will Chapin and the official seal of General Creed he delivered to authenticate the extreme order.

Relic ran his thumb over the name of the scout, knowing he likely shared the same fate as Calloway, somewhere off hidden in the darkness. The delivery of this message had been his final successful mission, for his next was the same the outriders shared at that moment.

"Anything on those cows?" Jace asked. He was downplaying again, but his hands were still trembling.

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

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

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

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

"It's amazing how far this goes back," he said, reading. "The sentinels who made these first entries are probably generals by now."

Jace, who had the flint box lit right before the cigarette, stopped just short of lighting it.

"That's great, Rel," he said, a confused tone matching the expression on his face. "But maybe we could concentrate on a way to live through this instead."

Relic scoured through everything. A book on legionary protocol and regulations: preparation for the academic portion of a promotion test, reported locations of highwaymen attacks and their descriptions. The only things worth his attention were a few maps outlining a more in-depth workup of the woods, including several byways that would have been especially helpful not half an hour before. The Fairlawn Sentinels possessed an intimate knowledge of the woods they not only patrolled, but also lived near, and it showed in their work.

"Listen, Jace, there's something strange about this," Relic said, gathering up the maps and walking back to the horses.

Jace followed him with his eyes, expelling two thin laces of gray smoke from his nose. He clearly expected Relic to go on, and he did.

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

"Speak for yourself," Jace said. "The only ‘something,' I find strange is that we survived."

Relic finished stowing away the maps, and was refastening the leather straps on the saddlebags when Jace realized it was his saddle Relic was putting them in. Before he could question it, Relic was speaking again.

"That's because you never studied," he said. "Minotaurs are not mindless beasts. They're as notorious for their cunning as they are their strength."

Jace took a deep breath.

"What's your point, Relic?"

"The minotaurs that attacked us never changed their strategy, even after we took a few of them down. They must have realized we were not as easy prey as the scouts they faced before us, and yet they didn't change their tactics."

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

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

Just as Jace withdrew the folded maps, he felt Relic clasp his wrist before he could fully reveal them.

"Listen to me, Jace," he said. There was an intense seriousness in his eyes that Jace didn't expect, and he made no attempt to pull away. "A minotaur army would be devastating, right?"

Jace didn't answer, his expression answered for him.

"And yet all throughout history, in how many instances have they organized to invade foreign lands?"

"I don't know," Jace admitted, but he was no longer dismissing what Relic was saying so easily.

"None," Relic informed him, and finally dropped Jace's wrist. "Their need to prove their own superiority has always been their downfall. Fighting on the battlefield wouldn't hold the same attraction because the victory would be attributable to the many and not to the individual."

Jace could sense Relic was on he verge of one of his tangents, but found himself too interested in the information at this point to stop him.

"And their armor, Jace. Why weren't they wearing any? They're loners, each with a set of individualiz- "

"