Winter, it seems, has come and passed

Ride good sorcerer; ride fast!

Sunlight poured in hot, dusty shafts through the wide-open door and windows of the Guard House. A lazy breeze played with a dried oak leaf on the worn floorboards and hid behind a faded banner bearing the coat of arms of Remast, the Centaurian nation. Cicadas buzzed in the trees outside, drowning out the sound of a fly that whirred incessantly around the foyer. A young Freeroamer sat at the desk with his feet up and a very tattered book in his lap, the title Equestrian Warfare Tactics stamped into its torn leather cover. He did not glance up at the sound of footsteps entering the room, even when his visitors stopped right before the desk.

"Pleasant afternoon," a voice greeted amiably.

Dogwyn turned a page in the book one-handedly, ignoring it.

"Is your commander in?" the voice continued. "I need to speak with him at once, please, it's rather urgent– Flint!"

The Freeroamer glanced up, only to find himself staring down the bolt of the biggest crossbow he had ever seen.

"Don't… move," Flint warned, watching him intently.

Dogwyn had no intention of doing anything so foolish with such a fearsome weapon pointed directly at his face. He stared back at the stocky black-clad man, motionless.

Then a fly took off from the top of his head and the crossbow turned quickly to follow it.

Requar scowled at Flint. "Put that thing away before I confiscate it!" he said in annoyance. Flint glanced at him, saw from his expression that he meant every word, and lowered the Justifier sulkily, but his eyes continued to track the fly around the room.

Dogwyn's eyes travelled over the visitors. The one with the large hat and even larger crossbow was dressed in typical Bladeshifter fashion: worn black leathers with random bits of metal stitched inexpertly onto his jacket. The tall, graceful white-haired man beside him looked almost his exact opposite: finely dressed and extremely good-looking. It was difficult to determine his age; his features were youngish, but his transfixing blue eyes were like the midday sky hiding an infinite expanse of dark knowledge. They sent a faint chill through him and he quickly shifted his gaze. A long sword of exquisite craftsmanship was strapped to his back, over his beautiful but dusty blue cloak.

Then the Freeroamer's eyes found the third man.

The book slipped out of his lap and fell to the floor, forgotten. His eyes widened, and for the first time, Dogwyn made a sound, albeit little more than a strained gasp.

Nightwalker's dark eyes narrowed beneath his fringe. "Freeroamer scum!" He spat on the desk.

Without warning, Dogwyn leapt to his feet, so fast that he fell over his chair. "LC!" he yelled. "LC!"

There came the unhurried clatter of hooves from the back corridor, and the door behind the desk opened. "What is…?"

Lieutenant-Commander Cairan never finished his sentence. He halted, frozen on the threshold as though encountering an invisible barrier that he could not pass.

"They've caught Eltorian Nightwalker!" Dogwyn said, scrambling to his feet, barely able to contain his excitement. "The leader of the Bladeshifters! The actual leader of the actual Bladeshifters! Can you believe that?!"

Cairan did not respond. He was still standing with his hand on the doorknob, staring at the visitors. His eyes, however, were not fixed on Nightwalker.

On both sides of the desk, Dogwyn and Flint looked between the Centaur and the sorcerer in confusion. The two looked as though they were daring each other not to blink.

"Uh… do you know this guy?" Dogwyn asked Cairan.

The Centaur did not break his gaze. "I do not know who this man is," he replied quietly, "but I know what he is."

Flint sighed and rolled his eyes. "Here we go again," he muttered.

"A sorcerer," Cairan elaborated darkly at Dogwyn's quizzical look.

The room fell completely silent, save for the drone of the insects outside and the sudden hiss of metal as the Constable's blade slid free of its sheath. His expression had turned to anger and mistrust.

"It's a trap," he declared, taking a few steps backwards. "That's not Nightwalker, he's an imposter or an illusion!"

"Oh, I'm real," Nightwalker sneered. "Why don't you come a little closer and I'll prove it to you?"

"Flint, put that weapon down NOW." Requar's tone was so commanding that Flint obeyed without thinking. He dumped the Justifier at once on the desk, knocking several books, papers and a small wooden globe of Arvanor off it in the process.

Even Dogwyn, to his own surprise, dropped his sword with a clatter.

"What is your name, sorcerer, and why have you come here?" Cairan demanded. He still would not move into the room.

"My name is Lord Requar," Requar answered with a small bow. "As for what brings me here…" he gestured at Eltorian Nightwalker, "to deliver a much sought after criminal for safekeeping." He paused. "It is also my understanding that you have apprehended a mysterious young man said to bring Winter wherever he goes. Is this correct?"

Cairan and Dogwyn looked stunned. They exchanged glances. "You are looking for… Ferrian?" the Centaur asked.

"I do not know what name he goes by. I have heard only of his unfortunate activities. He is thought, erroneously, to be a sorcerer…"

"That's him," Dogwyn said, going slightly pale. "He's, uh… he's not here…"

At Requar's questioning look, Cairan continued: "He was here, but he left a little under a fortnight ago with Commander Trice and two other Freeroamers…" he hesitated. "To look for... you."

This time, it was Flint and Requar's turn to look astonished.

Nightwalker snorted with laughter. Flint was so taken aback that he forgot to kick him. "Say what?"

"This boy," Requar repeated incredulously, "is looking for me?"

Both Cairan and Dogwyn nodded.

"Where," Requar inquired, apparently struggling to gather his thoughts, "have they gone?"

Dogwyn swallowed, then replied: "They had no idea where to find a sorcerer, so they've gone to Crystaltina. Apparently, some scholar there knew where to find… er, you.”

Requar stared at him. "Crystaltina? You said they left almost two weeks ago?"

"That is correct," Cairan replied.

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Requar took a deep, steadying breath. "I must leave as soon as possible. Sir," he said, addressing the Centaur, "may I borrow a horse?"

Cairan nodded anxiously. "Dogwyn, see to it."

"Yes, sir." The Constable raced around the desk and disappeared out the front door into the blazing sun.

Requar took a money pouch from inside his brocaded jacket, fished in it and placed a coin on the desk. "Insurance for the mount," he said.

Cairan shook his head. "That is not necessary." His expression had softened significantly now that he had affirmed the sorcerer presented no threat. "You are helping my fellow Freeroamers, therefore we require no payment."

"Consider it a donation to your cause, then," Requar replied.

Cairan hesitated for a moment. Then, finally, he stepped forward and took the coin from the table. It was large and triangular, made of polished red stone with orange facets within that glittered like dying sunlight. A star-shaped hole was cut in the centre.

He caught his breath. "This is…"

Requar shook his head. "It is nothing."

The Centaur stared at him in surprise. Then his hand closed around the coin and he placed his fist over his heart and bowed deeply. "Niharda, Lord Requar. Thank you. Your generosity will not be forgotten."

The basement of the Guard House had once been used as a wine cellar, but the Freeroamers had converted it into a small but sturdy prison. Six cells lined the north and south walls, each enclosed on three sides by solid stone and on the fourth by a row of heavy iron bars. Two narrow grated horizontal slits in the east wall let in a trickle of sunlight, but a single oil lantern hanging from the low, white stone ceiling provided most of the light.

Beneath the light was a tiny rickety table, at which sat a young woman in Freeroamer garb, playing cards contentedly with herself. Her glossy blue-black hair was tied in stubby pigtails at the back of her neck and her features were beautifully Sirinese: large, slightly slanted, deep-sapphire eyes, a round, pixie-like face and smooth, dusky skin. The only other occupant of the prison, a grubby teenager, was snoring softly at the back of his cell.

The Freeroamer looked up as the door opened and Lieutenant-Commander Cairan descended the stairs, which had been modified with wooden ramps to allow easier access for four-legged visitors.

"Hey, LC," she greeted cheerfully.

"Afternoon, Teska," the Centaur returned the welcome.

"Who is it this time?" she sighed as the rest of the group entered behind him. "I've already got one of Middry's sons in here on theft charges, I don't need the other... oh my." Teska's eyes widened as the prisoner was led into the light.

Nightwalker grinned at her. "Are you my gaoler?" he asked. "This day just got a whole lot better."

"It'll get a whole lot worse if you don't shut it," Flint growled, giving him a warning shove in the back.

"That's…" Teska began, staring at Nightwalker.

"Yes," Cairan replied. "The keys, if you will."

"Oh. Yes, of course," she apologised, tearing her eyes away from the leader of the Bladeshifters. Taking a ring of keys from her belt, she hurried over to a cell in the far corner. Nightwalker's eyes never left her as he was herded into the cell.

Cairan closed the door with a metallic squeal and waited until Teska had locked it before ordering the Bladeshifter to turn his back to the bars.

He took a knife from his belt and cut Nightwalker's bonds. Quick as a viper, the man's arm whipped around and lunged at Cairan through the bars, but the Centaur dodged away. Giving Nightwalker a dark look, he backed away and re-sheathed his knife.

"Be careful of him," he said quietly to Teska without taking his eyes off the Bladeshifter. "Do not come within arm's length of his cell, for any reason. I shall deliver his meals myself. No visitors are permitted; no one is to enter this room save for you and I, and prisoners. This is how it will be until I can arrange transport for him to the royal prisons.

"In the meanwhile, no doubt his gang will attempt a break-out when they have discovered where he is being held. I will post sentries around the Guard House and the town to watch for them." He glanced suspiciously at Flint.

Flint spread his arms. "Don't look at me, I've got nothin' to do with those rotten dogs any more."

Cairan looked at Requar for confirmation and the sorcerer hesitated before replying, slowly: "I would not go so far as to say Flint can be trusted, but he will not betray you on this matter. You have my personal assurance."

The Centaur studied them for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. "I take it you divested him of all injurious belongings?"

Requar nodded. "We searched him thoroughly."

"You wouldn't believe the stuff that guy had on 'im," Flint said scornfully. "Unimaginable!"

Requar raised an eyebrow. "Of course, carrying a siege weapon around on one's back is completely different."

Flint looked offended. "Completely!"

"Hmm," Cairan murmured, rubbing his beard and scrutinising Nightwalker, who was leaning against the bars looking amused at the conversation. "Remove your boots," he ordered.

Nightwalker gave him a withering look. "You're not serious?"

"Do it!"

He rolled his eyes, sighing, but did as he was told, placing his boots neatly just outside his cell.

"And your glove," Cairan added.

Nightwalker reached his arm out of the cell. "Kinda hard with one hand," he said, smiling. "Someone wanna help me out?"

Requar stepped forward. "Certainly," he offered, returning the Bladeshifter's smile. Nightwalker withdrew his hand hastily, his smirk vanishing. "Never mind," he muttered. He manoeuvred his fingerless glove off with his teeth and tossed it through the bars. "Anything else?" he asked dryly.

"Yes. Your shirt, please."

Staring at Cairan, he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, exposing a lean, sleekly muscled torso. His right arm ended in a smooth stump just below the elbow, the flesh and skin healed over it so perfectly it was as though his lower arm had never existed. He dropped the shirt beside his boots.

"I can keep going, if you like," he suggested, eyes glittering as he smirked at Teska, who simply stared back at him dispassionately.

"That will do," Cairan growled.

Nightwalker shrugged. "Suit yourselves," he yawned, retreating to the bench at the back of his cell and lying down with his hand behind his head.

"I trust you," Cairan said apologetically to Requar and Flint, "but when dealing with one such as Eltorian Nightwalker, it is wise not to take any chances."

The door at the top of the stairs opened. "Lord sorcerer, your horse is ready," Constable Dogwyn announced.

Requar gave him a nod. "Thank you," he replied. He turned back to Cairan. "I am extremely grateful for your help, Lieutenant-Commander. I regret that my magic causes you distress…"

But the Centaur had already extended his hand. Requar clasped it briefly, noticing the flinch that passed across the other's features as he did so. Centaurs were exceptionally sensitive to magic; it must have taken a lot of willpower for Cairan to touch him.

"I would like to apologise for everything you have ever heard about sorcerers," Requar told him. "Unfortunately, much of it is true..." He paused and closed his eyes for a moment. "But you needn't worry. To my knowledge, there are no other sorcerers left alive save for myself."

Cairan nodded slowly. "Understood," he replied. "May your journey be swift and safe."

Requar nodded his thanks and turned to find Flint. The ex-Bladeshifter was standing by the table, chatting with Teska. The Justifier sat between them, gleaming in the lantern-light.

The young woman was examining it in awed fascination. "What's the draw weight?" she asked. "Six, seven hundred pounds?"

"One thousand," Flint replied.

"One thousand?! Wow!"

“Oh dear," Requar sighed, "don't encourage him…"

"I want one!"

Flint laughed. "I bet you couldn't even draw it!"

Teska gave him a fiercely defiant look. She straightened, putting her hands on her hips. "How much, 'shifter boy?"

Flint coughed. "Get real."

"Six javens."

"Three."

"Four."

"Deal!"

Flint took a bolt from his quiver and set it in position. Teska pushed her sleeves up her slender arms and took a firm hold of the winch handle. Flint stepped back, folded his arms and watched in amusement.

Teska pulled with all her might. Requar made a small, circular gesture with his hand, concealing the movement by pretending to lift his arm to scratch his chin. The winch mechanism turned over smoothly and the huge bolt slid easily back in its groove, clicking neatly into place against the pin.

Teska released the handle, beaming. She stuck out her hand and wiggled her fingers.

Flint gaped. "No way!" He peered at the perfectly-loaded Justifier and the table incredulously, trying to discern if it had been some sort of trick. Then he paused and looked up at Lord Requar, his eyes narrowing.

The sorcerer was examining the lantern hanging over the table with intense interest.

Scowling, Flint pulled out his money pouch and slapped four green coins in the Freeroamer's waiting palm. Teska gave him a bright smile and a small dance, and went to talk to Cairan, who was checking Nightwalker's belongings for weapons and lockpicking devices.

When she had gone, Flint said to Requar in a low, angry voice: "You didn't have anythin' to do with that, did you?"

Requar gave him an innocent look. "You only bet her she couldn't draw it, you didn't specify without help. In any case," he said, smirking slightly at Flint's expression, "I really must be going now." He held out his hand.

Flint looked startled, as though he had completely forgotten their agreement. "Oh," he said. "Er… right." He took the hand quickly and shook it.

For a moment, they both fell into an awkward silence, neither quite knowing what to say. All thanks and apologies had already been spoken. Finally, Requar placed a hand on Flint's shoulder, nodded at the Justifier and said: "Be good."

Then he turned, strode quickly up the ramp and was gone.

Staring at the open doorway, Starshadow Flint couldn't explain the heavy feeling in his heart.

The Freeroamers had provided Requar with a good horse. She was swift as sunlight as she tore down the steep, leaf-dappled streets of Forthwhite, startling many of its residents along the way. Finally, the white mare galloped out onto the vast, shimmering Arlen Plains and her strides lengthened. Her rider's blue cloak and white hair billowed out behind him.

The sound of distant thunder caused the sorcerer to glance over his shoulder, then rein in his horse in a swirl of dust.

Another rider pounded across the plain, flying to catch up. It drew to a halt beside him.

"Decided to head west for awhile," Flint said gruffly. "Y'know, check out the Coastlands. Never been to Sunsee. I've heard that it's… I've heard, um… I've heard of it!"

Requar grinned.

"So, let's get goin'!" Flint yelled, spurring on his horse. "Winter waits for no man!"

"Neither," Requar called back as his own mount charged past in a snowy streak, "do I!"