“Out of the way!” Riley screamed, flailing at the poor horse desperately with his riding crop.

Riot dove to the floor, and the horse's hoof pounded the road an inch from his face as the animal jumped clear over him. He scrambled to his feet and saw the series of glowing red lights in the mist before the Faelen cavalry burst through. The lead riders eyes opened wide in shock, and he let fly the burning red dart he held, which missed Riots face by inches.

Blinded by the red light, Riot swung wildly, smashing the blade into the mouth of the horse and the beast reared up, kicking the air and throwing its rider. Riot pounced on Faelen and stabbed him, the blade sinking through him until he felt the tip scrape on the road. The faelen gripped the naked blade and tried to speak, but the light faded from his eyes and blood welled up, staining the yellow uniform and turning the white silk sash red.

With a strangled cry, another rider hacked down with his sword, and somehow Riot managed to sidestep the blade, letting the tip rip through his uniform instead. Riot swung in a desperate defense, and the flat of the blade smacked the rider in the face, stunning him long enough for Riot to drag him from the horse and finish him.

A charging rider came from behind and sliced at Riot's back. His pack took the brunt of the blow, but he was sent sprawling to the floor, and as he hit the ground, a part of the barrier that kept out the ley line simply broke off.

Ley power surged into his body, bunching his muscles and making him gasp as his lungs failed to take in air. The power thrummed against his senses, and he was blinded by the gray light, thrashing desperately against the tide. With a force of will that almost made him pass out, he managed to shore up the breech, a fresh scar of stone that marred the face of the fortress he had built. The flow reduced to a trickle, and the sounds of battle returned to his ears.

The rider, who had struck him, sawed at the reins of his horse to force it to turn and kicked with his heels to urge it into another charge. Riot shook his head to clear his vision and barely managed to parry the wild swing before the rider was gone, charging toward the fight behind him, where swords clashed as men fought and died.

Riot hauled himself to his feet and stumbled forward, only to trip on Riley's white horse and fall face-first again. The animal was dead, a burning hole in its side. Riot quickly searched the saddlebags, found only a map, and cursed. There was no sign of the packages that Kerne had given the arcanist.

Leybound were sprinting past now, and Riot joined them, hurrying across the flat ground to the side of the road, each step fearing the thunder of hooves and the hiss of a sabre that would end his life. He shouted as he ran, his sergeant's voice booming out into the mist as he reached the gentle slope of the hill and started to climb until he reached a collection of rocks and threw himself behind them.

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More figures hurried through the dark, and he called for them to join him, willing them to run faster to escape the Faelen cavalry who now hunted in the valley, galloping after those foolish enough to try to flee up the road and cutting them down with their sabres. More leybound reached the safety of the heights, all of them watching with breathless horror the massacre below.

“Fitz?” Riot asked one of them.

“Dead,” the leybound said grimly, pointing to the road where the frail lieutenant's body lay broken on the road. He had tried to flee and been cut down, and even now, a Faelen rider dismounted next to his body and bent to search him.

“What do you think, Crease? Have a go from here?” another of the leybound asked.

A gray light welled up in the hands of the lean leybound who had been on the road with Riot when they had found the boy, Norton. He grunted as he crushed the dirty gray light in his hands, taking time to force it smaller than any others Riot had seen, and with a quick glance at his target, he released it with a crack. The Faelen, who had been looting the corpse of poor lieutenant Fitz, was plucked backward as though he had been pulled by a rope around his neck and lay on the road unmoving.

“Gods, crease, what was that, sixty yards?” The other leybound slapped him on the back and chuckled.

The young northman, Loic, was the last survivor to haul himself up the slope. His eyes were wild, and he sported a bloody wound on his cheek. He cursed the faelen in his own northern tongue, formed a gray charge in his hands, and sent it with a crack toward the riders who had dismounted and sought to pursue them up the hill. The other leybound joined in, and the hunters were quickly dissuaded, returning to the easier pickings on the road.

“They’ve got Riley,” someone muttered.

The white-haired arcanist stood in the middle of the road, and though they were too far away to hear his words, his shouts of indignation echoed throughout the valley.

“He’s a fat prize,” another commented.

Riot knew it was true; the Arcanum would pay handsomely to get him back; whichever rider had caught him was now very wealthy indeed. He scanned the enemy forces, counting twenty of them, and noticed a hooded rider at the rear of the group dismount with difficulty. He wore the yellow uniform like the others but moved awkwardly as if his hands were bound. Cautiously, he moved forward, unnoticed by the Faelen who were gathered around Riley.

“Something's wrong,” Riot muttered.

He had barely spoken the words before the hooded figure lunged forward and drew the blade that hung at one of the Faelen officers hip. Then, with a practiced thrust, he buried it in Riley's stomach, kicking his body off of the blade so it flopped onto the floor.

A stunned silence emanated from the small group of survivors around him before Loic lunged forward with a roar, and Riot and the others had to drag him back into the shelter of the rocks.

“Don’t be a bloody fool, if we go down there, we’re dead,” Riot snarled.

“You’re a gray-eyed coward; Riley was a prisoner, and they killed him in cold blood.” Loic trembled with rage, and Riot thought for a moment he might attack him, but instead he shrugged off those who held him and turned back to watch the scene on the road.

The hooded man was savagely beaten by the Faelen before being dragged up and hauled onto one of the horses, where he was tied securely. The cavalry rode out of the valley, and Riot was sure that the hooded figure watched the slope as they departed, as if looking directly at the small group of leybound.