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The Maldorans ran as fast as they could. The huge stone fortress that was Corova, the largest, heaviest, and most defensive location in all of Maldora, was now within sight. Their sprint slowly came to a stop as all signs of pursuit ended. Wine and water skins were passed around to everyone who survived the ambushes as they took a breather.

"Alright, everybody take a rest. We continue in exactly five Rounds, so make that time count." Maller said to everyone who remained.

His men lay all about, a scattered, sweat-stained, and exhausted mess of formerly proud people. Shields and swords fell to the ground beside them and their owners were too tired to bother picking them up. The last of those wounded in battle were quickly being tended to by the few who had skills and sufficient supplies to use healing magic.

"Do you think any of them made it?" Conroy asked when his breath and overuse of healing abilities forced him to stop and rest.

"I don't know. But if ever I've known anyone who was hard to kill, it's Sevlow." Maller responded.

"Well, yes. But I meant any of them!" Conroy said and caused everyone to snicker.

"Well, in that cause, no!" Maller said and burst into laughter also.

He saw everyone had a bit of stress removed from them and was glad that his little joke had lightened their moods. Yet...a sinking feeling made itself known to him. They were not safe yet, and might never be safe again at all.

Maller's hand wiped the sweat off his brow and he said with a scoff, "I didn't volunteer for this!"

Conroy turned his tired head to face him and responded in a bit of a shocked voice that also had echoes of suppressed laughter, "You volunteered?!"

"Of course. Didn't you?" Maller answered then inquired.

"I was required to report for service. A man came and knocked at my door, and when I answered, he showed me a writ that stated I had been randomly chosen to help train the new soldiers." Conroy said, taking a deep breath after every few words.

"What were you before all this?" Maller asked him.

"I instructed new recruits in advanced combat training at the Academy, if you remember. What about you?" Conroy answered.

"I was infantry Captain." Maller said, getting a nod that served as his companion's only response.

Conroy let out a sigh and said, "Well, it's not like it matters anyway."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Maller asked.

"It means it doesn't matter what we were before all of this because all that matters is what's happening right now." Conroy said pedantically and without conviction.

"You did well out there. I must say I'm impressed." Conroy said with a smirk of growing respect as he suddenly changed topic.

"You weren't so bad yourself. But do I dare say that you were the reason we stood any chance at all?" Maller asked with a nod of respect.

"It would appear you would. But what made me so important?" Conroy inquired.

"Our men fell quickly. Without you giving them medical attention and sending them back in action, we would have been overrun." Maller said.

"It was nothing. I only did what anyone would have done were they in my position." Conroy said modestly.

"You did way more than that. I've never seen someone so focused on helping the wounded. I don't see how you're even able to stand. That must have been exhausting." Maller said, clearly impressed by his comrade's actions.

"It was. But if anyone else needs healing, they're out of luck." Conroy said, not hiding his exhaustion.

"Why? Did you overexert yourself?" Maller asked; sounding concerned for his friend's safety.

Conroy said nothing but slipped a hand into the pouch at the front of his tunic and removed his spellstone which had turned black and no longer possessed the mysterious beauty all spellstones were known for. He then clenched his most prized possession and it crumbled in his grasp, turned to ash, and blew away in the wind. Maller felt a strange, tingling sensation in his arm. But when he looked to see what it was, the small yet deep cut he sustained in the battle earlier was gone. The spellstone's last usage was on him.

Conroy gave out a depressed sigh, as though he just lost a long time friend, which, one could guess, he did. Conroy then stood up, pulled his sword and its sheath from his leather belt, and used it to support his weight like a walking stick. Only then did Maller realize how much longer his sword was compared to his own as well as the standard issued swords he and his men were carrying. The sword was more than a head and a half taller than its owner.

It carried an exquisite hilt with a blood red gem set in the center and what appeared to be scales on the handle itself also composed the straps on the sheath. Scales were an illegal item ever since the end of the Great War, and couldn't be found or sold anywhere despite their many uses in medicine, armor, and decoration. This gave some answers about how he was able to fight so well, with his weapon's long reach.

But he soon realized that it provided more questions than answers; most of these stemming from the mystery of how he could acquire such a treasure. People owning such items was nothing new, but the last recorded case was more than three hundred Turns ago. His curiosity had gotten the better of him many times in the past, but it was something he would never trade, for he valued knowledge over everything else.

"Are those scales?" Maller asked.

"So what if they are." Conroy asked, his mood sinking into one that seemed that seemed to be of irritation.

"I was just wondering how you got such a magnificent weapon." Maller said, looking up so he could face his companion.

"It was a gift, or, rather, a trophy of sorts." Conroy stated while no longer facing Maller.

"How is it a trophy?" Maller asked.

"A long time ago, my men and I were ambushed by a group of six bandits; and the largest one of them carried this sword. They jumped us and made us surrender our weapons as well as everything else we carried. After a while, they grew bored and decided we would make excellent sport, and told us that, the one of us who got the farthest away could live while the others were shot." Conroy told.

Maller blinked. "'I have a better idea' I told him. 'Those who surrender will be given a quick death, but those who fight will only be allowed to live as entertainment for my men until they grow bored.' Needless to say, they laughed at what they could only assume was a joke. But I was being dead serious, and when the rest of our men came, they wished they had taken my offer."

"What happened to them?" Maller asked.

"Five of them were butchered to pieces." Conroy answered.

"And the other?" Maller inquired.

"The other one begged for his life and, after somehow convincing me he deserved it, I decided to let him keep it, after I took his sword and armor, of course." Conroy said with a smug smile and Maller just then noticed the extra patches of armor he had on him, some looked like they used salvaged parts from all over the realm. The shoulder pad on one side looked to be the skull of a mileark and the other side was missing the shoulder pad entirely. The sleeve on one side appeared to be composed of the same material as the rest of his armor, while the sleeve on the opposite side looked to be boiled leather.

"It has seen much use since I...acquired it, but I have done a fair job at maintaining it, don't you think?" Conroy asked.

"I've never seen anything like it. I must know more about it!" Maller asked which made Conroy laugh.

"You're all right, friend." Conroy said and punched him on the shoulder.

"Ow! Careful, it's still very sore!" Maller said and clutched his shoulder.

"Right, sorry." Conroy said, realizing that his spellstone was expended before he could fully fix his friend's injury.

Maller stood up, taxing what little of his energy remained then stopped halfway while his mind worried for the lives of his men before he stood the rest of the way up. He knew very well he had to give them a respite; for they had travelled almost non-stop and were about to drop from exhaustion if they weren't able to rest. The question was: how long could he allow?

He may have already let them rest too long, but he was afraid to bring it up. His spine tingled; they were not alone, but there was no one visible watching them. His heart pounded in his chest in the realization. His head swam with worry for his men. And his hands shook in fear. There was no choice anymore; he had to get them up and moving again.

"Alright, everybody up! We need to get going!" Maller said; the expected protests and complaints followed.

"No protests, do as I say! We're almost there! Just a bit farther and you can rest as much as you want!" He said and, to his surprise, that ended the complaints and arguments from his men and they got up immediately.

"Look, I know the going has been hard, but it's just a little further!" He said in response as Conroy approached with his weapon sheathed and resting on his shoulder.

"Where to, Captain?" Conroy asked respectfully.

"Keep going. We need to get there and warn them before they find us again. We won't survive another attack, so we need to make haste." Maller answered.

"Yes sir." Conroy said obediently and got everyone up.

It was only at that point that Maller saw how poor a condition everyone was in. Everywhere he looked, he saw someone slouched over and shuffling instead of walking. Some of them had to stop and support those who had legs that weren't cooperating. After a few moments, everyone was moving at a steady pace once again.

Then, Maller began feeling the weight of everyone's mind on his thoughts. Exhaustion came at him like a brick to the face and he fell to the ground when he could no longer stand. Fear, despair, desperation, determination; all these entered his mind when his men unknowingly projected their feelings at him and everyone else.

Then, his eyes broadcast something that terrified his soul. He saw the grass in front of him moving as though from footsteps, yet there was nobody there. His strength came back to him and he rose to his feet, weapon drawn, shield raised, and mouth screaming for all his men to do the same as the transparent footsteps continued.

"Get up! They're here!" He shouted while they scrambled through exhaustion, feelings of hopelessness, and lack of rest to obey.

Very soon, everyone was back up and the shield wall was reformed. Maller stood in front of them with his sword and shield raised, and his entire body was on edge as he waited for the inevitable to happen. He still saw nobody in front of him, yet the grass continued to move and the wind wasn't responsible. He had no choice; he had to get them to come out.

"Come out!" He screamed and thrust his sword into the air in front of him as though issuing a challenge to someone.

Still, no one appeared.

"SHOW YOURSELVES!!!" Maller screamed and demanded, using his mind to make sure everyone heard him as his voice boomed and echoed everywhere.

Slowly, men in green and brown uniforms came into view, seemingly out of nowhere. There was a flash when they became partially visible which was followed by them coming entirely into view. Every single one of them held rifles, which weren't raised up, as if they were still waiting for an order to attack. Maller shuddered at what he saw after they revealed themselves.

There weren't dozens of them like last time.

There were hundreds, and they stretched out in the area behind them as far as the eye could see in close knit blocks and numerous formations. All of them wore the vests they saw on the scout earlier, and Maller did his best to hide his fear so that his men wouldn't be demoralized. It fooled the Maldorans, who couldn't see the face of their commander, but their enemies weren't fooled in the slightest.

He raised his fist into the air and pumped it up and down several times, ordering them to assemble from a shield wall and into a phalanx. A few moments passed; moments in which none of them moved until Maller screamed into their heads with his mind and they scrambled back and forth in a disorganized mess as they piled on top of one another into a pyramid shape with shields raised and spears pointing out.

Maller and Conroy did not take part in the formation and stood shoulder to shoulder in front with shields covering their forms while everyone anxiously waited for something to happen. Unlike the rest of the scouts, neither of them had any weapons drawn. Conroy stayed completely still with an icy calm that unnerved friend and foe alike. Maller, however, was not so formidable and was visibly trembling.

The enemy commander raised his rifle into the air along with his fist, and his men roared at the top of their lungs. When the Captain finally lowered his arm, it was followed by a forward gesture of one arm as he signaled them to charge forward and attack. Every motion made the Maldoran scouts shudder in fear, even though they were already behind their shields and stacked on top of one another.

Maller quickly fled back behind his own massive shield after peering out from it to observe, but made no effort to join the phalanx with the rest of his men. Then, just as everyone in the first enemy column mobilized, they stopped in their tracks as the standard bearer carrying a harlequin flag at the very front of their spear head was suddenly impaled through the face by an arrow.

In the confusion that followed, many men throughout the numerous enemy blocks suddenly became filled with arrows and fell to their knees, then prostrate on the ground; dead. The order of who was killed seemed random at first, until both sides watched and learned that the pattern was of those ready to attack. The origin of the arrows couldn't be determined by either side, and only deepened their fear.

The enemy was certain this was some sort of trickery by the Maldorans, until they saw the same confusion reflected on their faces, minus the fear and demoralization they suffered. All eyes swerved and scanned back and forth as everyone searched for the mysterious attackers. More and more of the hostiles fell constantly until it was deduced that the arrows came from somewhere above.

The entire first formation had been eliminated, and a thunderous roar came as dozens of firearms raised, took aim, and shot at something in the sky. All eyes rose to the sky and shock filled their vision from what they saw.

"Everyone, fire! Kill them!" The enemy Captain said as he, for the first time, spotted the ones who were raining arrows down on them.

Their attackers were not some trick from the Maldoran column, and not even soldiers themselves, but Skyriders; dragon-back couriers that performed every errand from scouting, cartography, transportation and, for the first time in over a hundred Turns, warfare. Their grace and swiftness were the topics of numerous legends, and only then did the Maldoran scouts truly understand why; the dragons blocked out the sky with their bodies in a glorious display of vibrant color before they split up into smaller squads and pursued individual targets.

The enemy Captain had no time to defend himself before an arrow went through his face while in the middle of giving a command. His men went from orderly and organized to shapeless and chaotic as they sped off in all directions; attacking, defending, and dying. Their formations split then fell apart as they were taken out one by one. An enormous shadow covered them as the Skyriders came down by the dozens...then hundreds.

Their arms constantly moved as they launched arrow after arrow, continuing to send down devastation. Several Skyriders swooped and their bows were exchanged for swords and spears as the Riders swept past them and left a mess of heads and limbs in their wake. The mighty five digit hind paws of the dragons uncurled and scooped up a mass of the hostiles and tossed them through the air to smash and splatter on the ground.

Terrified screams followed as hostiles were thrown and bashed against trees, ending their lives almost instantly. Right around this time, the Maldoran survivors disassembled from their phalanx, some stepped forward and raised their shields while the others drew out their bows and loaded them as Maller saw a chance of beating this mysterious and dangerous foe while they stayed disoriented.

"Take aim!" Maller commanded and raised his sword in direction.

All the archers and crossbowman readied their arrows and bolts then kneeled and took position behind the shield wall knights and waited for the order to release their volley.

"Fire! Kill them all!" Maller commanded as a volley of dozens of arrows and bolts followed from their formation with the loud "TWANG" of bowstrings.

Death came down on them like rain while the hostiles remained busy sending bullets into the durable and exquisite hides of the Skyrider's mounts. Most shots simply glanced off the scaled hides of the dragons, but some among the hundreds of rounds found the vulnerable spots in the dragon's body and made them fall from the sky and crash onto the battlefield beneath them.

Men of both Maldoran and hostile forces scrambled to avoid being caught underneath the falling dragons. The Maldorans were so busy dealing destruction upon their enemies that they weren't aware a dragon fell directly above them. By the time Maller warned his men of the massive steed speeding toward them, it was too late, and more than two dozen of his men were crushed.

Maller gasped as he lost more than half his men so suddenly and raced to the surviving group, directing them to continue on to Corova and send for help. Unknown to them, the enemy used these few precious moments to regroup then continue their barrage, but this time, they added explosive rounds, coming from large metal barrels on two wheels, into their attack.

Dirt flew everywhere as the men heading to Corova were thrown off their feet then gunned down before they could get back up. The Skyriders, some of them, at least, had powerful weapons of their own; ones that could match the explosive might of their enemies. Three of the biggest, strongest dragons landed on the ground separating the two groups.

The Riders immediately hopped off their dragons and raced behind them. Their hands flew into their pockets and pulled out small amber colored stones, which were then inserted into a slot on the massive, meticulously carved stone cylindrical objects on the dragon's backs. The cylinders glowed red-hot as soon as the stones were inserted inside.

"Take cover!" The Skyrider Captain ordered the Riders, as well as the Maldoran survivors.

As soon as they started their sprint, the spellcannons went off and sent bursts of white fire magic speeding away from them. They travelled more than a hundred Lengths before they split into more than a half dozen shards, then a full dozen, and would have become two dozen but they came into contact with the enemy ranks; bursting and sending dozens, if not hundreds, into the air only to be reduced to ashes before landing while the rest who were hit were incinerated.

For the enemy, the losses were too great. Their newer, less experienced Captain ordered a full retreat, leaving the only two surviving Maldoran scouts, Maller and Conroy, the victors. The two exhausted sub-commanders finally lowered their shields and came to a full stop when the excitement of the battle left them.

The Skyriders left their field of view and swooped down on their retreating foes, scooping them off the ground by the paw-full and throwing them down. The Riders rapidly switched between swords and bows and dealt mass destruction with each. They then broke formation and went off in many directions; pursuing their individual targets.