The soldier toppled over, the effort too much to contend with his injuries. Vena lay face down in the grass, blood pooling beneath her.

  “Vena!” Shawn screamed, running over. He flipped her over and felt her breathe, ever so slightly. She’s alive! If I can just get to Longstriden, I can…

  Shawn stood, running over to grab one of the fallen soldier’s horses, which had miraculously not run off during the battle. He pulled it over, and tore off his tunic, tearing and wrapping it around Vena’s midsection. He ended up with a passable bandage, although he could see blood seeping through the cloth. He hurriedly cast a rune of Energy, giving him enough strength to lift Vena onto the horse, and to climb into the stirrups.

  He held her upright in front of him on the saddle, and he couldn’t help but notice how much smaller she was than him. Just have to get to the Longstriden. Which direction?

  He whirled around, scanning for a landmark of direction, and saw the path the soldiers had taken to follow them. That must be West, so…Longstriden is this way.

  He kicked the horse, like he’d seen all those cowboys do in movies, and leaned forward. The horse, having been bred for war, needed no other encouragement. It shot forward, immediately breaking into a gallop as Shawn held on like his life depended on it. Well, not his life, but hers.

  The horse flew through the forest, dodging trees and leaping over logs, and Shawn bounced up and down as they went. It was way harder than the movies made it seem. Suddenly, the forest began to thin, and as they broke out onto a large plain, Shawn’s heart leapt. The Dalelands!

  The horse tore across the field, hooves pounding on the grass and soil, and as they reached the top of the rise, a gate came into view in the distance. The Longstriden was a wide, low-walled city of farms, and Shawn could see an entire windmill peeking out from behind the buildings.

  Faster! He measured the distance between them and urged the horse on. He glanced down at Vena, and his stomach twisted. The tunic was almost completely soaked through with her blood, and her face was ashen. He couldn’t even tell if she was breathing anymore. If she died, Shawn would be truly alone. It wasn’t as if he truly knew Vena, but she was the only one he actually trusted.

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  The gates of Longstriden loomed closer with every stride of the horse, and Shawn was soon up against the lowered portcullis. “Help!” he yelled. “She’s hurt! She’ll die if you don’t open the gate!”

  There was no response, and the gate stayed cold and silent. “Open the gate!”

  Nothing.

  Panic seized Shawn and his vision dotted for a moment. She couldn’t die here. “I’m here to see the Masters! Tell them that Vena’s hurt!”

  The silence yawned, stretching forever into the cold, unforgiving night. Then, suddenly, a guard poked their head over the wall. She peered down at Shawn for a moment, then ran back along the wall. A moment later, the portcullis slowly raised.

  Three more armored soldiers ran out, carrying a board between them. They started to lift Vena off of the horse, and a fourth came out, a bored look on his face.

  “You. Get off the horse and come with me.”

  “What?” Shawn asked. “I just want to talk to the Masters. Vena told me that they were expecting me.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they are. Just get off the horse. You’ll be contained until Vena can wake up to corroborate your story.”

  Shawn’s anger flared unexpectedly. He’d already spent a night in a prison, and that had ended up with his own execution being ordered. He would not be caged again. “You can keep me here, but I will not be jailed again.”

  The man looked annoyed. “Look, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Shawn noticed him subtly drawing a short club from his belt. “We don’t have to resort to violence-”

  In one fluid motion, Shawn drew the sword Vena had given him and had the tip poised at the man’s throat. “I really don’t want to, trust me.” He was fairly certain he could win in a fight against this guy. He had a sword, and not to mention his runes. His main concern was the fact that he didn’t want to hurt anyone, not really.

  They stood there for a good minute, the man’s eyes wide and staring directly at the tip of the sword. A small rivulet of sweat dripped down Shawn’s brow.

  Suddenly, the tip of the sword seemed to double—no, quadruple—in weight, dragging itself and Shawn’s arm down to the ground. The soldier stumbled backwards, sputtering and stumbling, as Shawn turned. A man stood behind him, his dark skin highlighted against the night by his maroon robe.

  “He has a family. A daughter. While I am sure that you would not have slain him, I hope you understand the consequences that action would bring.”

  Shawn was perplexed. Who was this man, and how had he gotten behind him without him noticing? He hadn’t even made a sound before he spoke. “Who are you? Will Vena be okay?”

  “Hello, Mr Dennen. Yes, Vena will live. We have healers working on her right now. As for your other question, my name is Master Mikhail Wyrdstone. And Vena was correct. We have been expecting you.”