The weather had cleared over the past few days and blue skies beamed sunlight down upon the three weary travelers. The improved weather did nothing for the mood of the group, though. Ever since they had left Farrow they had exchanged only the briefest conversations with one another. Even Dere, ever so talkative, brooded quietly. The silence became their fourth companion, ever-present, both unwelcome and welcome.

Arlette led the three of them down a wooded path, pushing a frantic pace. Florian trailed her and Dere trailed him. Dere stared at the mud brown mane of his horse. Florian seemed lost in his own world. Only Arlette paid attention to the road ahead. She drove them forward with reckless abandon. The road stood between her and Marcella and she intended to eat it up as fast as possible.

Night was fast approaching. They were six hours ride out of Karn. Arlette wanted to press on through the dark. Dere thought differently. Exhaustion consumed his entire being. Days of hard riding, broken only by a few hours restless sleep. Wounds, once closed by Arlette and time, kept throbbing, draining away at his body’s endurance. He had barely eaten. He had barely slept. The wounds had gotten worse, not better. Sometimes he’d lose control and sway in his saddle for a second. Other times, he felt hot, unbearably hot, and he didn’t know why. Florian, or even sometimes the still mad Arlette, would turn to look at him on occasion. At rare times they’d even look concerned, but they pressed on.

By this point, Dere had had enough. He opened his mouth to speak, to voice his protest. However, something stopped him. A sense long forgotten tingled in the back of his mind. Pulling on the reins he halted his horse. Arlette and Florian turned to look at him. “Arlette, we need to stop and rest.” Florian said. “Look at him. He can barely stay in the saddle.”

Arlette opened her mouth to speak, but Dere interrupted before she could. “No, no, something’s wrong.” His foggy grey eyes scanned the treeline. Then, he saw it.

“What do you mean?” Florian asked.

Dere didn’t bother answering. Instead, he just tumbled right off his horse towards the hard dirt road below.

Alarmed, Florian pulled his own horse around to go fetch him. However, when he got there, Dere was gone. He had disappeared. “What’s he doing?” Florian murmured. Arlette pursed her lips and looked around, aggravated by the delay.

Unbeknownst to them, Dere had fallen into the shadow of his horse and reappeared elsewhere. He currently sat in the shadow of a mighty oak, about fifty yards off the main road, right behind the five men who had been watching them from the cover of the treeline. The five of them were huddled together in some bushes. They wore sparse armor and were covered in dirt, possibly as cover or possibly just because they had been camping in the woods for too long. Dere crept forward and caught bits of their whispered conversation.

“Where’d he go? Can you see him?”

“I can’t. He’s just… he’s just gone.”

“Don’t be absurd, the horse is just hiding him.”

“Are you sure? I can’t see him.”

They continued like that for a bit longer. The argument went back and forth. Dere tried to guess at what they were. He initially thought bandits, but there was something a little bit more professional about them. Bandits were forced together by proxy and desperation. They sought strength in numbers, nothing more. These guys were a unit. Dere took another hesitant step forward, hoping to figure out more.

The fifth figure, taller than the others and wearing a long cowl over his face, eventually spoke up. “Enough.” He said it quietly, but his voice carried the unmistakable authority of command. “Lucius, flank along to the left. Try to get a visual on the third figure. Adam, Jeremi, move forward a few yards. Look for any signs of affiliation on their horses or garb. We need to know whether they’re friend, passerby, or foe.” The men obeyed without question. That all but confirmed to Dere that they weren’t bandits. This was something else. Besides, he recognized the voice of the leader. He couldn’t quite place it through the haze that enveloped his mind. There was something about the tenor, though. The dry but commanding way the man spoke.

Dere shook it off. He needed to focus. He decided to follow Lucius, the man who was moving to the left. He stepped backwards into the underbrush and trailed him from a moderate distance. Lucius’ footsteps were quiet and trained, but Dere’s didn’t even make any sound, even in the dense vegetation. In tandem, they moved through the forest. Lucius kept glancing at Florian and Arlette in the distance. Dere tried to see what they were doing, but a sudden wave of exhaustion clouded his vision. Shaking his head once more, he focused on Lucius. For another half-minute, Lucius kept moving further and further away from the rest of his troop. Eventually, Dere decided the man was far enough away to strike. Pushing his exhaustion aside, Dere darted between the trees and drew his sword. A second later he had one hand over Lucius’ throat and the other holding the sword across his neck. “Move and you die.” Lucius nodded very gingerly, afraid to cut himself on the blade. “Who are you? What are you doing here? I don’t think I need to tell you what happens if you shout. I don’t want to hurt you.”

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Slowly, Dere removed his hand from the man’s mouth and moved the sword away just enough that he could speak. “We’re soldiers of Highlord Maurius.” Lucius whispered. “We wish you no harm. We were just checking you out.” His fear carried through in every shaky syllable. He spoke through it, though, like a soldier. Dere nodded at the response. Maurius, he knew Maurius. He was the renegade Highlord. One of the three that still opposed Duval. There were other details about the man that Dere used to know. Whatever they were, his worn out mind struggled to recall them at the moment. It was something he had heard at the meeting. His holdings had been destroyed or something. Maybe something about his family as well. The other Highlords had been upset about it.

Dere kept hold of Lucius. He had another question. “Who’s your captain?”

Lucius fumbled out an answer. “Markus Alard.”

Even in his current state, Dere knew that name. He groaned. “Alright, I’m going to let you go. We’re on the same side. I don’t recommend trying anything.” In one smooth motion, Dere removed the sword from Lucius’ throat and returned it to his scabbard. Lucius took one stumbling step forward then rubbed at his throat. Dere sighed. “I know your Captain.”

“Too bad for you.” Lucius responded absentmindedly, still rubbing his throat. He grimaced a second later, aware of what he just said.

Dere laughed weakly. “Yeah, it’s unfortunate. Come on, let's say hello.”

He stomped back through the forest with much less care for noise than earlier. Lucius followed behind, unsure of the situation. It only took them thirty seconds until they reached Markus’ position. The other three soldiers and Markus were waiting for the two of them, swords drawn. Upon getting a closer look at Dere’s face, Markus groaned and sheathed his sword. Dere held his arms out wide in a mocking gesture. “Miss me Markus?” It came out differently than he had expected. More of a rasp than an arrogant question. Markus got the meaning all the same.

“You’re a man I never expected to see again.”

“Expected or wished?”

“Both.”

Dere smiled and Markus rubbed his eyes. “How’d you sneak up on us?”

“I have my ways.”

Markus sighed. “Who are you travelling with?”

“Arlette’s down there, on the grey horse. That’s Florian with her. I don’t know if you know him.”

Markus raised his eyebrows. “I know who Florian is. Not sure why he’s with you two.” He scratched his stubble. “We should greet them.”

Dere nodded and led him through the forest back towards the path. Markus’ other soldiers followed behind them. After a brief hike, Dere reappeared onto the trail in front of Florian and Arlette. They had been arguing but stopped when they saw him. Arlette opened her mouth to say something. Then she saw Markus and the words halted on the tip of her tongue. “Uh… Markus?”

“It’s me.” He murmured as he walked past Dere and ignored Arlette for the time being. He made it to Florian and held out a hand. “Been a long time.”

Florian grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Good to see you Markus.”

“Likewise.” Markus glanced around and then looked back at Florian. “What are you doing with these two?”

Florian swallowed. “Don’t know if you’ve heard. Sylvian’s dead. Figured Marcella’s cause was as good as any to pick up.”

Markus nodded sadly. “Heard the rumors. Thought Sylvian would have made it out. Toughest bastard I ever met. It’s a shame to lose a good man.” Even when giving condolences, Markus spoke like a soldier.

Florian didn’t seem to mind. He nodded as if he appreciated the words. “Yeah, it’s a shame.” Florian drifted off for a half second, lost somewhere else, before snapping back to attention. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“I’m here for the same reason you are. They’ve got Marcella and I aim to get her back.”

“And these men?” Arlette broke into the conversation. She had been examining the four soldiers while the two of them spoke.

“Maurius’ troops.” Dere answered. It came out as barely more than a rasp, so he repeated himself. “Maurius’ troops.”

Arlette gave him an unreadable look before turning back to Markus. “And why are you in league with Maurius?”

He shrugged. “He wants the same thing we do. Always been a loyalist to his core.”

Arlette seemed oddly concerned but chose not to voice whatever she was thinking. Florian, on the other hand, seemed relieved. “Having Maurius’ backing will be a huge boon.”

Arlette said something in response, but Dere didn’t catch it. He felt very hot all of a sudden. He shouldn’t have used his powers, took too much out of him. His legs wobbled underneath him. His breath started coming in short gasps. His mortality suddenly become very apparent to him. The world started spinning and the ground felt shaky underneath his feet. He fell to his knees. The others turned away from the conversation to look at him.

“Roger?” Arlette said. “Roger, are you alright.”

“My name’s not…” He never finished the sentence. Before he could, he collapsed to the ground.