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from the training regimens of the Veryan army. That was not to say that he was predictable, for each cut may have been from the book, but they followed one another in such a vast profusion that his opponent appeared stunned by the rapid strikes. Rhocas was to cover Taflen’s right flank, but the recruit hung back, his sword arm low and his shield held high, an entirely defensive posture. Seeing the opening, a Lianese soldier charged into the side of Taflen, sending the historian sprawling and following with a mace strike. Taflen’s shield came up to block, but the force of the blow cracked the shield, and he knew he could not survive another such attack. Rhyfelwyr cried out and sought to lunge towards his downed squadmate, but the wound in his leg took the speed from him, and he would arrive too slow to save Taflen.
    The strike that would finish Taflen began to descend, and tears sprung to Rhyfelwyr’s eyes, for he had known Taflen many a year, the two men growing old and surviving battles together. He had always worried one of his squad would die in combat, but he had been blessed that he and these other four had been able to keep one another hale. It appeared now, in this place and after all this time, that Rhyfelwyr would lose one of his friends.
    It was then a great shout rent the battlefield, and with it a burst of fire leapt forth to intercept the incoming strike, blasting it backwards and searing the arm of the Lianese soldier clean away, the flames blue from their heat. The sergeant halted in amazement and looked over to see tears pouring down the face of Rhocas as he gestured with one hand, the fire streaming from the air about him to build a shield of scorching heat over the downed form of Taflen.
    Seizing the opportunity, Taflen rolled away, keeping himself low and under the flame until he stood next to Rhocas, the billowing cloud of cinders making the Lianese shrink back in fear. Not one to be stunned by any turn of events, Llofruddiwr took advantage of their distraction to plunge his longknives into the backs of two of his foes, and with that strike, the battle resumed. It was over, however, for the sight of the fire had heartened the Veryan soldiers and stolen the morale of the Lianese.
    Soon it was that Rhy, his leg bandaged, was standing over the only living remnant of the Lianese patrol, who had surrendered unhurt after Llofruddiwr had chased him down when he sought to flee.
    Before questioning the prisoner, Rhyfelwyr glanced over to where Taflen and Rhocas sat, talking quietly to one another. That was a mystery that needed to be explored, and quickly. The sergeant saw Locsyn shake his head, wondering at the new revelations. All of the patrol was stunned by the realization that Rhocas was a firemage, although untrained. Firemages were something to be feared, their rank high above that of the common soldier, and yet here was one wandering around on patrol. Trying to clear his head of the thoughts that whirred about, Rhyfelwyr turned to the prisoner, who was bound and sitting on the ground.
    “So, what brought your lot out here? Scouting our army?” The prisoner glared back in response, his jaw clamped firm.
    “Make it hard on yourself if you’d like. If you aren’t going to talk, I’ll hand you over to Llofruddiwr and his longknives. I don’t have the time to wait around for you to warm up to me.” The prisoner’s head swivelled to where the assassin was sitting on the ground, polishing his weapons with bits of cloth taken from the Lianese he had slain. Llofruddiwr didn’t look up in regards to the scrutiny, just kept examining the blades until he had each one shining perfectly.
    Rhyfelwyr smiled. “Yes, the ghost over there. He’ll be as nice to you as he was to all of your fellows.”
    The prisoner glared once more, then spat on the ground. “I get it. What do you want?”
    “What were your orders?”
    “We were shadowing your army for a few days, and then on the way back to report. Been