SOLAR KNIGHT

Apparently alone, a wagon trundled through the rippling sea of grassland. Its cargo was protected by the elements by sheets of undyed canvas secured by hefty ropes, the bulk of which posed little difficulty to the shaggy boar towing the vehicle. Perched on the edge of the driver's seat sat a goblin clad in patchwork overalls, who alternated between calling out encouragement and abuse at the boar while prodding it with a long rod. The boar was enduring the goblin's ministrations with the apathy characteristic of beasts of burden, treating the steady stream of exhortations as polite suggestions it did not have to take. In this way the wagon proceeded at a sedate, consistent pace.

Several silhouettes emerged from behind a ridge looking down on the vehicle. Four more goblins, mounted on boars of their own, charged down towards it, cutting through the long grass like sharks through ocean waves. They shrieked their battle-cries, their spears levelled, and the wagon driver swore. He applied one final thwack to the beast in front of him, then cast himself from the driver's box as the vehicle took off. Within moments he had vanished into the long grass.

As the wagon accelerated away, it revealed a mounted figure who had been keeping pace alongside it. An inscrutable warrior clad head to toe in plate sat atop a massive, similarly armoured wolf-like creature with slavering jaws and fur the colour of desert sand showing through where the barding did not cover. A second figure, a blue-scaled kobold, leapt from behind the first onto the wagon and clung to the rigging.

Azinax levelled her own spear and charged towards the oncoming raiders. Right as they were about to close, the four boar-riders split their formation and peeled away to reveal a fifth, apparently unarmed. Azinax struck at the centre-right boar as it sprinted passed her and it tumbled over, tossing its rider to the ground. At the same time, the fifth goblin gesticulated frantically with one hand as he clung to the reins with the other, babbling an incantation.

Azinax felt her entire body slammed by an immense pressure wave as a staccato crack filled her ears. Razorfang staggered to a halt as Azinax was flung backwards into the scrub. She landed with a clatter and though she righted herself quickly, the three remaining raiders had already encircled her. Further back the mage had held position and was already preparing another spell.

"Go for the mage," thought Azinax. "I can handle these schmucks on my own."

Razor leapt at the goblin mage, snarling. The mage abandoned his second incantation and switched to a third, conjuring up a morass of gelatinous curtains between him and his assailant with a sweeping gesture. Razorfang twisted in midair and thrust his head through a gap in the barriers, his jaws clamping down on the mage's still outstretched hand. The mage's boar mount, its eyes rolling in panic, darted off, causing its rider to be dragged to the ground as Razorfang maintained his grip. The mage's screams caught the attention of his accomplices, and two of the three riders who had been wheeling and feinting around Azinax broke away to come to his aid.

Pinning the mage to the ground with a paw, Razorfang let go of the mage's arm. As he lunged for the head, one of the raiders' spear struck his side. Though it didn't pierce through his armour, the blunt impact was enough to throw off his aim, and he tasted only empty air. He turned away from the mage and towards the raider who had hit him. Uncannily agile for such an ungainly-looking creature, he first darted one side as he charged the raider, then tackled him clean off his mount.

Azinax was still engaged with the one raider who had not rushed to the aid of the mage. He circled back and forth using his mount to his advantage, staying just out of range of her spear while still cutting off every attempt to reunite with her worg steed. Azinax took a step, seemingly in an attempt to manoeuvre past. Her enemy took this as an opening and thrust with his spear. Azinax pivoted, turning what would have been a direct hit into a glancing blow, and grabbed the spear by the haft. She yanked it across, pushing him off his mount and sending him flying to the ground, then stepped forward, still holding on, and ran him through with her own spear. As she pulled her weapon free Azinax looked around, then took off towards Razorfang and the one remaining raider.

Crouching low on the covered roof of the wagon, which by now had come to a halt without its driver, Kaellatch squinted in the general direction of the battle as it unfolded. To her eyes, adapted to tenebrous subterranean caverns, the midmorning sunshine was dazzling. The whispers of the grasses stuttered in their rhythm, and Kaellatch was immediately on guard. She treaded delicately over the lumpen canvas covering. Another off-kilter rustle emanated from her left, and she peered into the scrub.

Kaellatch locked eyes with a slightly battered-looking goblin lurking in the long grass, the same raider who had been dismounted in the first charge. She leapt down from atop the wagon and bolted directly away from the wagon parallel to the ridge. As she scuttled away, the raider stood up and watched before approaching the now-unattended wagon. After satisfying himself that none remained to protect the cargo, he prodded the boar into motility and began driving the wagon in a sweeping arc away from its original path.

Kaellatch listened and waited, and as the wagon concluded its turn she began to slink along behind it.

Razorfang tossed aside the mangled remains of the raider who had dared strike him and Azinax leapt up onto his back. The two of them then turned to face the last remaining boar-rider. The raider rode towards them, not quite a full charge, and at the same time a menacing chill swept in from the opposite side. With one hand hanging limp and bloodied, the mage held up a glinting object in the other.

As Azinax turned her spear on the approaching raider, Razorfang lurched, suddenly rooted to the spot as ice congealed along his limbs. Though her armor again held fast against the raider's strike, her own attack went awry, inflicting only a glancing cut. She adjusted her grip on her spear to throw it, and twisted around to get a better aim at the raider as he rode in for a second attempt. She watched as the raider's boar thundered away through the grass and scrub, waiting for her foe to turn around and close the distance. He did not. Azinax turned her attention to the mage.

As Azinax dismounted, the mage called out to her. Razorfang snarled and struggled, trying to follow, the ice still encasing his legs.

"Look behind you!" the mage shouted. "Your precious cargo is getting away!"

Azinax glanced back and caught a glimpse of the wagon disappearing over a ridge. For a moment she hesitated, and the mage began sprinting away into the long grass.

Through a combination of attrition and distance, the din of battle had diminished, rendered barely audible between the rattling of the wagon and the grumbling of the boar towing it. Kaellatch clambered out from her hiding place on the underside of the wagon and climbed up the rear back onto the roof. The copious ropes made the ascent an easy one, and from there she was able to survey the scene. The carnage of battle was obscured by the ridge they were now descending, and the raider currently driving the wagon appeared relaxed. Aside from occasionally prodding the boar, his job as far as he knew was all but done. He glanced back the way he had come, leaning to the left to see around the wagon. Kaellatch ducked and scrambled down the right side.

Unable to see or hear anything coming over the ridge, the raider settled back into his seat, but a mechanical click, faint yet conspicuously artificial, interrupted his train of thought. He sat up straight and turned around to look up at the wagon roof where the sound had come from. Perhaps it was the cargo, he thought. You never knew when it came to these sorts of jobs. He took out his knife and cut a small hole in the canvas, revealing a smooth black material that almost seemed to consume the light that fell on it. Though uncomfortable on the eyes, from what he could tell it was nonetheless inert.

Then he looked up. He opened his mouth to speak, but the cry gave way to a gurgle as a crossbow bolt buried itself in his neck. Kaellatch was already back at the rear of the wagon's roof, in process of cocking her crossbow for a second shot, when a heavy thump told her this was unnecessary. She gripped the ropes as the wagon tilted a little then settled back into its steady motion. Kaellatch inspected the driver's seat for bloodstains, then lowered herself into position and began trying to encourage the boar to turn around.

Back on the other side of the ridge, Azinax strode after the mage, making no attempt to keep pace.

"Halt," she ordered in a voice that was not her own. It was a voice of bloodied swords and cracked earth, of the laying bare of sins and secrets, and of the silence of a glass sea reflecting the merciless gaze of the sun.

The mage stumbled to a standstill and turned around to see Azinax still walking briskly yet calmly towards him. He began rambling. He would share the cargo with her. She could have the whole of the cargo for herself. He would teach her to perform the arcane arts. He would perform them in her service so she didn't have to. He would do anything she wanted.

"Anything at all?" asked Azinax, tossing her spear down onto the grass.

"Yes, anything!" he confirmed, grinning and twitching. The ice around Razorfang's paws receded as the mage began gesturing behind his back.

He opened his mouth for the final incantation, but a flare of golden radiance rendered it silent. In an almost imperceptible flash of light and movement the mage's head was severed from his body, his face still contorted into a terrified, manic expression. His decapitated body fell to its knees and flopped over. There was no blood.

Though her expression was indecipherable behind her visor, Azinax's posture carried a clear indication of disgust as her gaze lingered on the wild-eyed severed head. She flicked the carbonised gore from her killing edge and sheathed it.

Something shiny rolled out of the corpse's hand. Laying glinting in the grass was a golden-orange gemstone, the colour and size of a mandarin. Azinax stepped over and picked it up.

"Are you just about done?" asked a voice in her head.

"I don't know, are you?" thought Azinax belligerently as she walked back to Razorfang, who had his head buried in the entrails of a boar carcass. Once Razorfang had extricated himself from the remains of the boar, the two of them set off towards the ridge that the wagon had just crossed over.

The raider had fallen off to the ground before he could bleed much, and for that Kaellatch was grateful. This boon from the universe did not linger long in her mind however as it was supplanted by the immediate issue of steering the wagon. Apathetic to her prodding, the boar had ambled off to graze on some wild fungus that it had spotted ahead.

"Turn around, damn you!" Kaellatch swatted ineffectually at the boar's back. When this had no effect, she hopped down to the ground and began tugging on one side of the harness. Finally the boar gauged that resisting was more effort than obeying, and the wagon began trundling back to whence it had come.

As she crested the ridge, Kaellatch waved to Azinax as she rode up the opposite side towards her.

"Y'all good?" asked Kaellatch. Azinax shrugged.

"Good enough. What happened to our chauffeur?"

"He took off as soon as things got hairy," explained Kaellatch. "Haven't seen him since."

Now atop the ridge, Azinax took the opportunity to get a good look at the terrain.

"Get back out here, ya pigeon-livered mongrel!" called out Kaellatch from atop the wagon. "You're the one they'll blame if we're late!"

"I'm over here!" came a distant voice. At the foot of the ridge the wagon driver waded out of the long grass and into view. Kaellatch abandoned the boar and scrambled up Razorfang's flank up behind Azinax. Now installed back in her customary position, she reached into a bag and pulled out a parasol. Without speaking, Azinax passed her the orange gemstone. Kaellatch grinned avariciously before slipping it into the same bag.

The wagon driver jogged past them, and Razorfang growled half-heartedly at him as he came by. Once he was safely back in his proverbial office, they all resumed the trek that had been so rudely interrupted.

To the north, the sun crawled up to its zenith as if winched up on an invisible wire, then crawled back down towards the horizon. By the time the fort came into view, it was almost dusk. A hobgoblin guard peered over the ramparts, his bluish nose poking through his open-faced helmet. Nervousness flashed across his face at the sight of the steel-clad warrior and her sacred bond-beast, but he steadied himself and called down to the group.

"This fortification is the property of the fiefdoms of Essokia. State your business here or begone."

Azinax looked up and glared silently.

"I got an order for Tellius, one wagon, Ratatoskr-class cargo," called out Kaellatch, perched precariously on Azinax's shoulders. The guard ducked back down below the ramparts and there was a pause, followed by a juddering creak as the fortress gate slowly opened.

The wagon rolled in, and Azinax followed. Another guard dressed similar to the first approached.

"Syr, General Tellius wants to see you immediately," he informed her. His words drifted past Azinax without making any impact on her. With the protections of civilisation surrounding her, all of a sudden she felt drained. She took off her helmet and tucked it under one arm, then shook out her braids with her free hand.

The guard pretended to look at the ground as he carefully studied her visage out of the corner of his eye. A hobgoblin just like him, he thought. Terracotta complexion, golden eyes, a coarse mane tied up out of the way in a utilitarian plait. Given the reputation the worg knights of Phaetusia commanded, it surprised him to come face to face with one and find a mere mortal. Azinax dismounted and stared at him in puzzlement, as if only just now registering his existence. Then she straightened her posture, and the atmosphere seemed to sharpen. The air prickled in the guard's throat, and he began to doubt his prior assessment.

"The general's temporary office is a bit of a faff to get to," he elaborated, able to bear the silence no longer. "I can show you the way, if you'd like."

"Lead on, then," said Azinax. She nodded to Kaellatch, who was already untacking Razorfang and delegating various tasks to the fortress's resident menials, then followed the guard out of the courtyard and into a stone building within the fort's grounds.

Inside was dimly lit and sparsely furnished, with a winding maze of corridors that didn't quite seem to fit into the building's exterior footprint. Finally they came to an unassuming door at what was otherwise a dead-end.

"The general is waiting inside," said the guard. Azinax tested the door, and it opened with a faint yet clearly audible creak.

The room within was windowless, yet well-lit. The source of the light was a chunk of quartz sitting on a white dish on an oak desk as it burned with a smokeless flame. Next to it were stacks of parchment and the other accoutrements of literacy all neatly lined up and close to hand. Behind the desk sat General Tellius himself. He had a black mutton-chop beard and keen yellow eyes that seemed to look right past Azinax. His clothes hung slightly loose about his body, and there was a tear on one sleeve that had been unobtrusively sewn back up.

A faint odour of cypress hung over the office. Azinax performed an Essokian salute.

"Syr Azinax, reporting as requested," she said, chopping the gaps between her words sharply.

"At ease, daughter of sunrise," said Tellius. "Take a seat and tell me of all that transpired en route." He gestured to a chair near the door. Azinax could tell just by looking that it was marginally less comfortable than the one General Tellius was already in. She sat down and placed her helmet on the floor next to it, then adjusted her scabbards.

"The pickup and the first leg of the journey went as planned," said Azinax. "The artefact was retrieved from the farmstead without incident."

"That suggests that the same could not be said of the latter part of the journey," prompted Tellius. "What happened next?"

"There were five raiders," continued Azinax. "There was a mage among them, but we fought them all off."

"Quite impressive to overcome such a numerical disadvantage, even for a warrior of your calibre," remarked Tellius.

"Kaellatch helped," Azinax added. At the mention of her attendant, and expression Azinax couldn't quite read crossed Tellius's face. Before she could consider this more deeply, her train of thought was interrupted by sounds of whining and chuntering coming from the corridor. Azinax stood up, her hand close to her sword hilt.

A goblin in a dress uniform festooned with medals, pins and ribbons careened into the office aboard a palanquin borne by four underlings. Two guards struggled to obstruct him without success in spite of the palanquin's poor manoeverability.

"General Tellius," shrilled the ornamented official, rolling his r's with fustian flair, "you are under arrest for conspiracy, abuse of authority, and the misuse of government funds!"

"What kind of slander is this!?" exclaimed Azinax, her sword already drawn. The official stared down his nose at it with imperious disdain.

"You dare threaten me?" he bristled.

"I do," asserted Azinax. "It is the duty of a servant of Phaetusia to root out deceit wherever it may be found, no matter how high or how low the source. This slight against the general cannot stand unanswered!"

"If deceit's the issue, take it up with him," said the official, pointing to Tellius. "He's the one who sent a cohort of iron shadows into Khaldur on his own initiative, nearly started a second Apocalypse War when whatever he was trying to do didn't work, and then tried to blame it all on his personal courier."

"Lies," Azinax snarled, though her brain was churning at this new rumour.

General Tellius sat back in his chair with the detached interest of one watching two beetles push each other around a branch. As the official shrieked in indignation, he danced back and forth on his elevated platform, causing the litter-bearers to scramble to accommodate the constantly shifting weight distribution. A couple of them groaned as they realised the jostling had firmly lodged the palanquin in the doorway.

Finally something in the official's vociferous stream of abuse against all those who had wronged him or might wrong him in the future struck a nerve, and Azinax's initial ire at him barging in was displaced by something more visceral. The ambience in the room frosted over, and everyone fell silent all at once. The tip of Azinax's blade was at the official's throat. Tellius had still not moved.

"Stand down," ordered Tellius. Azinax remained motionless at first, her blade glimmering, before reluctantly stepping away from the official and his entourage. Ensconcing herself in a corner by a bookshelf, she alternated between sending pleading looks at Tellius and venomous ones at her new enemy.

"Thank you for that show of support," said Tellius. "However, it was completely unnecessary. I hand myself over to Essokian people, safe in the knowledge that my cause is just. Just lead the way; I promise not to resist."

By now the litter-bearers had dislodged the palanquin, and General Tellius stood up to follow the official out. For the first time since the official had entered the room, Tellius's blasé facade wavered, and he looked at Azinax with a determined expression, his mouth set in a firm line. He strode across the office and performed an Essokian salute to her in the doorway. Then, they all marched off in convoy with the raucous official at the front and the general's own guards at the rear. Azinax alone was left behind.