General Zacheri watched as smoke rose from the outer wall, the gray plume illuminated by the flames below. To him, it almost looked demonic.

As the cool spring breeze brought the smell of death to him, a soldier ran up, dropping to one knee.

“General! Reports are saying that a group of Salizian guards led by General Calahan have attacked the guests attending his banquet. There are also unconfirmed reports that an unknown group of warriors are helping them.”

A grimace appeared on Zacheri’s face as he heard the report. “Calahan, you fool,” he muttered, looking up at the crescent moon. He had not expected Calahan to go this far.

As much as he hated to admit it, Zacheri knew he had ignored all the warning signs right under his nose, his Alumus upbringing blinding him to the action of a fellow believer—it was a painful and bitter realization.

Cracking his fingers absentmindedly, he recalled a conversation with his mother he had a couple of days ago. During the discussion, she had told him she had received a message from Alumus himself, telling her that Zacheri would help bring about a new Alumus Kingdom.

At the time, he had assumed it was her usual talk of the Light, but now he wasn’t so sure. Was she hinting that something like this would happen? Was she involved in this situation? And if so, how involved was she? Had she, or someone else tried to influence him?

Rubbing his hands over his face, he reflected on all his interactions with his fellow Believers of the Light in the past couple of weeks. Now that he knew what to look for, the sign that something was amiss was clear. From the unusual movements of Calahan's soldiers and how they always moved in groups, to how they whispered and silently nodded to each other whenever he entered the room. Most noticeable of all, was the fact that the number of soldiers attending the daily sermons had doubled.

Standing on the wall, Zacheri watched as the pillar of smoke grew larger, his mind reeling from the chaos below.

He came from a deeply religious family. His earliest memory was praying with his mother in a small Alumus temple. He knew that he had risen to the position of General largely due to his family’s standing within the Alumus faith. At the beginning of his military career, many people had dismissed him as just another pawn, a political appointment by the Queen. But Zacheri had worked hard to prove them wrong, slowly building a reputation and respect befitting a true General.

During the Great Cleansing—a time in which corrupt government officials and members of the Queen’s family were executed—Zacheri was imprisoned due to his family’s ties with the Queen’s family. At the time he had assumed he would be executed, but Prince Hector had intervened, speaking on his behalf. Hector had argued with the King, telling him that Zacheri deserved to be a general and that his skill and loyalty were essential to the Kingdom. Prince Hector had saved his life.

Placing his hands on the wall, Zacheri berated himself. How could I let my faith blind me from the truth? How could I allow things to get this bad? Alumus would never want this! How could Calahan believe this is what Alumus would want?

Honestly, Calahan was not a good leader in Zacheri’s opinion. While he was a skilled warrior and talented tactician, he was too hot-headed for politics. His greatest flaw was his singular focus on Alumus, often failing to see the needs of the people. If he came into power, Zacheri was sure that the Kingdom would suffer much more than before.

As the faint noise of fighting reached his ears, he took a deep calming breath.

“Soldier! I want you to gather everyone and bring them to the inner wall. We have less than twenty minutes before Calahan can get there. There, we will hold off the assault until General Todo can arrive with reinforcement.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Running for the inner wall, Zacheri felt his mind clear for the first time in days. Perhaps, deep down, he had always suspected something was amiss, and now that he was finally acting, a sense of clarity returned. The cool night air pressed pleasantly against his warm body as he picked up his pace. He needed to reach the inner wall and set up a solid defense before Calahan and his men could reach it. Calahan had to be stopped!

As Zacheri reached the inner wall, he quickly took charge, addressing the soldiers milling around the gate.

“Attention! All Soldiers to me!”

Hearing his voice, the nervous expressions on the soldiers vanished. It was always a relief when someone in charge took over.

“Sir!”

“Close the gate! I want all soldiers on standby,” he barked. “Pillar, take your men to the top of the wall and start preparing oil and arrows. We hold this gate until reinforcements arrive!”

“Yes, Sir.”

Looking around, he singled out a young soldier. “You! Send word to the Great Lords asking for support… You can ignore the Eastern Lords—they’re the most likely to wait and see who’s winning before committing troops.”

“Sir.”

Not even taking the time to make sure the young soldier fully understood, Zacheri ran up the stairs leading to the top of the wall. Once out in the open, he scanned the area, his enhanced vision cutting through the darkness. The Arcane Warriors and I can see through the darkness, but the soldiers will have a hard time. We need more light.

“Light the torches leading to the wall! I want eyes on the ground at all times! Double time! We need to close the gates again once we light the torches!”

“Sir!”

Hearing his command, his well-trained soldiers sprang into action, the long hours of training finally paying off. Adjusting the sword on his waist, Zacheri grabbed a quiver of arrows, slinging it on his back. Arrows would be practically useless against Arcane Warriors, but as long as they slowed them down, they would serve their purpose.

“I see movement! From the left!” a yell went out, just as the last torch was lit and the gates were closing again.

Heart pumping in anticipation, Zacheri hurried over to the left wall, his voice yelling out. “All of you, get back to work! Only those that are supposed to be on the wall stay! We need arrows, spears… and axes to cut rope! What’s the status of the oil?”

Ignoring the loud answers from his soldiers, Zacheri observed the rebellious army charging towards them, noticing that many of them still wore their party outfits, now covered in blood.

Motioning to a Pillar he whispered. “Pass the word around, I want three out of every four men to crouch down, only the ones standing are to show their spears. And keep their bows and arrows hidden.”

“Sir,” the Pillar saluted before running along the wall at a crouch, his back bent as he spread the command.

Zacheri felt his heart beat wildly, his hands shaking from fear and a rush of adrenalin. It was time! Time to once again walk down the dark unlit road. Alumas Light the way.

In what felt like seconds, the enemy soldiers came storming towards the gate—a wave of blood-crazed bodies, screaming as their minds were lost to the flames of violence. Religion was the spark, but death, adrenalin, and bloodlust were the fuel.

Peeping over the wall, Zacheri calculated the speed at which they were running. Fast but not fast enough, there were still too many rational soldiers in the group.

“We need to rile them up more,” he whispered to a soldier standing near him. “I want you to scream and run down the wall, try to take some of the standing soldiers with you, then hide near the stairs.”

Nodding in understanding, the soldier started to scream, running along the wall he beckoned some of the standing soldiers to follow him, his facial expression and tilt of his head toward Zacheri, explaining his actions.

Good man. If this doesn’t rile up the enemy, I don’t know what will.

Just as Zacheri had wanted, the enemy army lost all reason when they saw the running men, even their leaders rushing forward with a shout. Believing the wall was unmanned, they threw themselves at the gate in a mad frenzy, their bodies slamming into the wooden doors.

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Knowing he would be killing people who shared the same faith as him, Zacheri clenched his fists together. Alumas guide my hand. Taking a sharp intake of air, he gave the signal.

Room-temperature oil splashed down on the rebel forces below, the excited yells turning into shouts of panic. Normally, the oil would be boiling, but they did not have time for that. But that did not matter —cold oil would catch on fire just as easily as boiling oil.

Standing up, Zacheri gave the order.

“DROP THE FIRE! All SOLDIERS LOOSE ARROWS! SHOOT TO KILL!”

In unison, all the hidden soldiers stood up. Drawing their bows, they shot down a deadly volley of arrows, followed by a single lone torch. As the torch touched the oil, night turned to day, a roaring sun rising among the howling soldiers. Drawing his bow Zacheri, aimed at the men not touched by the fire and shot. They had to kill as many here as possible, especially when they were in a state of panic. This would be the only surprise attack they could spring until reinforcements from outside of the capital came.

Trying to get away from the burning oil, the enemy soldiers started to trample each other, a chaotic mess of limbs and bodies, the dying men trying to climb over their friends and comrades, anything to get away from the fire. Throughout the chaos, Zacheri kept shooting, each arrow finding a target. Reaching over his shoulder to grab another arrow, he heard multiple sets of footsteps approaching from behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw General Todo hurrying towards him with his men.

“General Zacheri! What's the situation?”

“General Calahan and his men have rebelled. There are also unknown warriors with them. Judging by the speed they recovered from my surprise attack; the unknown warriors are extremely well trained.”

Cursing out loud, General Todo studied the retreating soldiers. Most were Salizian guards loyal to Calahan, but hidden amongst them were foreign warriors whose composed movements were distinct to the trained eye.

“General Zacheri, take your men and go rest. I will hold the wall for now. If we are attacked again, I will call for you. And General, you have done an excellent job.”

Back at the outer wall, Calahan kicked over a chair in anger, his face contorted in a snarl.

“General Zacheri sided with Todo!” he yelled, disbelief in his voice. “It looks like he was a traitor to our God!”

Clenching his teeth together he pondered his options. With Zacheri working with Todo, the chances of taking the castle in less than ten days had become extremely difficult—almost impossible.

Trying to calm down he commanded.

“Send messages to all loyal Alumus soldiers within the territories of the Great Lords, we need to slow down all information. Every news or message regarding the capital must be destroyed or delayed. We must buy as much time as possible. It is our only way of winning!”

Turning to Godric he whispered. “There is one more plan I have that I would like you to do.”

“If Alumus commands it, I will carry out his word,” Godric replied, tilting his head slightly to the left.

“Good. At this moment, the two princesses are cared for at the merchant Maliri’s residence. Bring them to me. Todo will open the gates if we control the princesses.”

“The Maliri guards are quite famous for their strength, I would need to take half of my men to accomplish this.”

“Fine, take the fifty and go!”

“I will be back by morning.”

“I am counting on it.”

Almost as if he were made from smoke, Godric silently vanished from the room.

Blinking at Godric’s ability to hide his presence, Calahan felt the weight on his shoulders lessen. “Godric must be an Arcane Master,” he whispered. He had suspected this when they had first met, but now, he was sure. Only Hector is his equal in combat. Everything is still going according to Alumus’ plan. Clasping his hands in front of him he prayed. “Alumus, thank you for sending such a strong ally to me in my time of need.”

Godric ran down the road towards the Maliri manor, his feet barely touching the ground. He was followed by fifty of his best men, two of them Arcane Lords, the rest Arcane Knights. This small force had the combat power most small Kingdoms only dreamed of.

As they silently ran through the night, the midnight air cooled their sweat-covered bodies, the faint flapping of their clothes the only trace of their passage. They had been running for nearly three hours, yet their energy held steady. Drawing on the surrounding Aether they kept their strength up.

Godric knew that without horses, they would be a little slower, but he did not mind. In the darkness, the risk of a horse breaking its legs was high—running on foot was the smarter choice. As they approached the outskirts of the Maliri property, they came to a halt, taking a moment to regain their strength.

“We stop here for fifteen minutes. Catch your breath.”

“Yes, Father.”

Patiently waiting for his men to recover, Godric scanned the area, his breath steady. As an Arcane Master, he would need to run for days before he felt tired. In fact, if he had moved by himself, he would have reached the Maliri manor in less than an hour. Unfortunately, he could not fight and carry both princesses without risking their health—and keeping them healthy was of utmost importance. Their future children would one day be the leaders of the Kingdom. He had to bring his men.

Stretching leisurely, he wished that his men were stronger but stopped himself. Alumus blesses each person with power befitting their position in life, he reminded himself. It is foolish to wish for anything else. As long as we walk in the light of Alumus, we shall reach the Land of Light.

“What information do we have about the Maliri Guards?” he asked, not caring about the answer.

“The Maliri Diamond Guard is famous for their strength. It’s reported that their leader, Zenrom is a former First Pillar—an Arcane Lord,” replied one of his men, his arms pulled up in a stretch. His breathing was finally steady. “There is one more Arcane Lord in the Diamond Guard, but he is barely an Arcane Lord. I can take him. The rest of the guards are reported to be Arcane Knights— but they are experienced.”

“Make sure none of our men fight by themselves,” Godric calmly replied, his tone of voice casual. “I will kill this Zenrom. Even if he is a former First Pillar, I doubt he can last more than five strikes.”

“And why would you need to kill him?” asked the old man, who was sitting on a log beside him.

Godric jumped, confusion, alarm, then fear pouring onto him in a flash. There was no way he could not have noticed the old man sitting next to him—yet there he was, holding a basket of herbs, his face covered in shadow.

“Who’s this old man?” one of his men yelled, anger and alarm causing him to draw his sword.

“QUIET! Don’t move!” Godric demanded; his right hand extended to his side. He couldn’t afford for any of his men to act rashly.

An icy cold shiver ran down his spine. As an Arcane Master, he knew only a select few could sneak up on him and avoid his senses. The answer caused his stomach to drop—an Arcane Grandmaster!

Feeling a trickle of sweat run down his face, Godric tried to reign in his senses, why would an Arcane Grandmaster be here? he asked himself. That’s impossible! This man is not an Arcane Grandmaster.

Carefully studying the old man, Godric felt the tension in his body ease as his suspicion was confirmed. The man was short and old, having a respectable beard and strong forearms—features that none of the three Arcane Grandmasters on the continent had. He’s not a Grandmaster.

Forcing his body to relax, Godric tried to measure the old man’s strength, stopping when he realized he could not. Why can’t I tell how strong he is? He wondered. He has no aura. It’s like trying to measure the strength of a rock.

“I am sorry to have disturbed your night, my lord,” he finally said, bowing deeply. “If I may, please tell us your name. I am called Godric, a servant of the Divine Light.”

“I gave up my name and title long ago,” replied the old man, absentmindedly picking out a twig from his basket and tossing it to the side.

“My question to you and your men remains the same. Why do you need to kill him? What are you doing here? Counting the number of men, you seem to be up to no good.”

Godric swallowed, trying to keep his calm. Can I kill this man? He wondered. He’s unarmed and I have fifty soldiers with me, but I can’t tell how strong he is.

“Respectable Elder, we are just passing by,” he cautiously voiced. “We have no intention to cause trouble. We will be on our way.”

“You say you have no intention to cause trouble, yet you can’t erase the smell of blood on your clothes,” the old man coldly replied. Bending down he picked up a stick. “Leave and do not return. This is the only warning I will give you.”

Godric took a split second to make up his mind.

“Fifth formation! Now!” he commanded, jumping back, and positioning himself at the head of the formation. As if they were waiting for his command, his warriors swiftly fell into place. The Fifth Formation of the Light was the most complex and divine killing formation on the continent. It was said that once caught in it, even Arcane Masters would have trouble getting out alive. With Godric himself being an Arcane Master, the formation’s power would be exponentially strengthened.

As the killing formation moved, it slowly closed in on the old man, each warrior having the ability to attack or defend at any time. As the first warrior attacked, Godric shouted in excitement—the old man only had time to stand up! He had been overcautious. The old man was a nobody!

What happened next turned Godric’s shout of excitement into one of panic.

Godric could not understand what was going on, it was too simple to understand. Every lazy swing of the old man's stick decapitated a man, every slow step causing the Fifth Formation of the Light to effortlessly crumble around him—almost as if they had done it themselves.

Eyes wide in disbelief, he watched as the old man slowly killed seasoned warriors as if they were frozen in time. What’s going on?! How is this possible?!

Trying then failing to keep the formation from breaking completely, Godric staggered back almost tripping on a dead body.

As the old man closed the distance between them, Godric lashed out.

“EVERYONE ATTACK!”

Using the full power of the formation, as well as his own, Godric and the remaining warriors attacked. From every angle, sword strikes crashed down like thunder, warriors leaping forth with all their might. They blanketed any hope of the old man retaliating.

Looking bored, the old man took one quick step forward. The span between him and Godric vanished as if it were never there.

Godric held his stomach in dismay, the wooden stick the old was using was driven cleanly through him.

“How? Who?” he could not formulate his words, confusion and fear overwhelming his mind.

The battle was over in seconds—if it even could be called a battle.

As his vision slowly turned dark, Godric saw the old man standing amidst a pile of corpses, not a single speck of blood covering his worn clothes. Calmly tottering over to his basket of herbs, the old man examined its contents before picking it up. Humming a verse that sounded like a nursery song, he vanished into the darkness.

“Fly little horse, with your wings so strong,

Fly little horse, past the golden sun,

Fly little horse…”