They arrived at the base of Mount Redemption, just north of Crescent Hollow, just as night was falling. A vast forest stretched off to the west; to the east were more mountains. Directly ahead, towering over their heads, was the mountain they were… going under?

Windham was incredulous. He’d never heard of this “Underdog” or wherever they were going. It all sounded like nonsense to him. Nonsense piled on top of nonsense.

Lilly had largely caught Windham up on what they had learned in Vithia Rumblebean’s house. Windham remained determined not to draw any attention to himself, seeing as the old woman with the strange bulge in her shoulder was now coming along with them. She was, they said, a powerful psychic. The last thing he needed was his mind read.

Windham was taken aback by the amount of people already here, milling about. They had said the plan was to take as many of the soon-to-be displaced Brightholme citizens with them as possible, but by that, Windham had assumed one, maybe two dozen. The actual number was easily in the hundreds, perhaps larger, with more trickling in. The word had gotten out to the citizens, which had to mean the Order of the Holy Ascension knew about them now too.

Didn’t it? He understood their purpose, other than conquest, had been to capture the Godknight and somehow steal his power for their leader, Lord Malphor. And they believed they had cut off all manner of escape. So even if they did know there was a large gathering of refugees here in the north, would they even care? They’d get to them in due course. The High Elder was with them, and he supposed he would be a prime target. But would they actively be searching for him?

And what about Windham? He knew they were expecting him, but with so many moving parts in the invasion, they might not realize he was not already safely among them. So surely they would be looking for him. Should he alert them to their presence here? The contact with Savina Frost had always been one way—Savina contacting him—but perhaps he could reach out to her, get her attention, let them know what he was doing.

But… what was he doing? He should be with the Order now, and there was only one reason he wasn’t. A silly reason. A foolish reason.

Lilliana Centes.

Ironically, despite doing everything for her—more than she would ever know—he was now forced to keep his distance from her. She had been sticking too close to the psychic for Windham’s comfort, and now that they had arrived at their destination, she was busy relaying their plan to the people.

Worst of all, she seemed to be connecting more and more with the Stupid Fucking Idiotic Dumb Farm Dolt. He had seen them walking side-by-side, whispering to each other. What could they have even been talking about? Surely Lilly knew how low she was stooping, fraternizing with such a commoner. A less than commoner.

A farmer.

People continued to mill about, their way lit by service mages’ light spells. Windham had been pulled along with these people the whole way, and he now found himself again questioning why he was there. What possible reason? Other than his affection—he never considered it obsession—for Lilly, there was no purpose.

Unless, he made one. He had been… well, be honest, he thought. He had been a spy. Sending incredibly valuable information to the invaders. Perhaps he could continue that, just a little bit longer? Travel with them, mark the way, keep the Order aware of what they were doing. He’d have to contact Frost, then.

Windham considered his earlier thought: would they even care about these people? Would it all just be a waste of time? Or, worse yet, a lie he told himself so he could continue his ridiculous pursuit of a woman who was becoming increasingly distant?

His thoughts were interrupted when he spotted a figure standing at the edge of the forest. There were no light spells to illuminate her, and all he had to rely on was the moonlight to even see her. But from his vantage point, he was pretty sure it was a “her.” Young and filthy. What was she doing over there? Why wasn’t she joining the rest of this lot?

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The girl seemed to be scanning the crowd, perhaps looking for someone she knew.

As if to confirm the thought, the girl began to wave her arms around in the air. Windham traced the direction she was waving, and his jaw fell open when he saw who the girl was waving at.

Lilly. Lilly and the Idiot.

Was she picking them at random? Or did she know Lilly, or the Idiot, somehow?

Something about this felt wrong. Very, very wrong. And dangerous.

Lilly and the Idiot must have recognized the girl, or at least her need, because they were walking towards her. As they got closer, the girl seemed to be saying something to them, pointing into the forest with a sort of desperation.

So that was it. Someone, a family member most likely, was hurt, and the girl needed help. Made sense. And, of course, Lilly was going to help. That was just her way.

And yet…

Windham was a service mage, nothing more. Although his Gran Gran had revealed to him his connection to wild magic, and given him an item that was likely magical, he’d never shown any signs of having some secret well of untapped power. Nor had he ever exhibited even the slightest psychic abilities. Yet something within him was stirring. Some dire warning, like an alarm bell ringing deep in his soul. Something about this girl. Something about this moment.

Lilly and the Idiot followed the girl into the forest. Windham broke out into a sprint, covering the distance in just a few seconds. It was much darker in the forest, and he dare not cast a light spell or risk being noticed. And something told him not to be noticed. So he listened, followed their footsteps as they rustled through dried leaves and stomped on hard-packed earth.

They traveled for less than a minute, when Windham saw an eerie glow from ahead. At first he thought something mystical was causing it. But he soon realized they had reached a small clearing and the light of the twin moons’ seemed to be pouring directly into it.

Windham stopped and squatted down. He could see the three of them, all looking down but standing completely still. The girl had led them to something, or someone, and, for some reason, they weren’t reacting. They were just staring.

Windham risked getting closer. Nothing had ever felt more important.

He shuffled forward slowly, squatting, moving from behind one tree to the next. He shifted his angle slightly, trying to get a better view of what they were gawking at.

Finally, he saw. And had to cover his own mouth to keep from shouting out in surprise.

It was the Godknight.

And he was sitting up. Talking to them!

Oh, this was bad. He wasn’t quite sure why it was bad. But he knew it was bad.

Then again, at least now he had reason to contact the Order. This was important information, the most important information there was. The location of the Godknight, who was still alive, despite what the psychic had told Lilly and the others.

He needed to contact Frost right away. But doing so, or even trying, was too risky when he was within earshot of Lilly and the others. He hated to do it, but he couldn’t hear the conversation anyway. So he began backing up, back out of the forest and away from Lilly and the others. Just long enough to reach out to the Order. Then he would have purpose again. A reason to justify staying with these people—with Lilly—a little bit longer. Because, in the end, right or wrong, stupid or foolish or silly… he still did not want to leave without her.

Windham reached the edge of the forest and stopped. He felt for his pouch, to make sure it hadn’t gotten lost while he’d been crawling around in the trees. It was there, latched on tightly. But so was the red sash, the one he had put on that morning to indicate to the invading soldiers that he was one of them. He had used it once already, to save Lilly’s life, but hadn’t had the chance to use if for its true purpose.

The same feeling that had convinced him to follow Lilly into the woods told him now he should lose it. That, somehow, somewhere down the line, it could betray him. Maybe it was the psychic; he was terribly frightened of her, almost irrationally so. There were probably a dozen psychics in the crowd of people, but he had never had trouble hiding his thoughts from the service levels before. This woman was a whole different story.

He unfastened the sash, rolled it up, and tossed it into the forest. Then he shut his eyes, concentrated, and focused all his thoughts on one thing.

Savina Frost.