The group went quiet at Isolde’s words; all watched the three centaurs heading for the line of entrants on the field.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Lu said. “They certainly look…formidable.”

“Indeed,” Khalik said. “Look at their coordination: they move as one.”

“Yeah…yeah,” Alex murmured.

The Mark confirmed what Khalik had said.

As soon as Isolde had pointed out the centaurs, Alex started analyzing their body language with The Mark. The information he got was kind of…eerie. People usually didn’t move identically to each other. Siblings, friends and family members often took on some of each others’ body language, like how Theresa and Mrs. Lu had a matching gait. He’d also noticed that people from similar cultures might share common gestures or a similar bearing.

But these three went way beyond that…

They were like one person spread over three bodies: Alex had trouble finding differences in the way they moved. He concentrated, watching them trot closer to the stands—raising their bows above their heads in identical salutes to the audience—before he finally caught subtle variances in their movements.

The first one held his shoulders a bit straighter than the other two, the second had a slightly bouncier trot, and the third’s tail moved a bit more vigorously than his companions’.

The heavy thump of their hooves also revealed other differences: distinctions in weight and stride that weren’t obvious to the eye.

‘No way I would have caught those details without The Mark,’ he thought. ‘But what do they tell me about these guys?’

Applying memories of the body language of other people he’d studied, he figured out…not much else.

Their lower bodies were the same as a horse’s: so, any movements below the waist were completely alien to the body language of two-legged folk.

‘What about above the waist?’ he thought.

He went through The Mark’s store of memories, and saw that it focused on guards, Watchers of Roal, Theresa, Grimloch, Hogarth and Svenia.

Trained warriors who had coordination, balance, straight backs and disciplined, easy movements. The three centaurs shared all of those traits.

“Yeah, they’re going to be tough to beat,” Alex said.

“Well, Theresa’s tough too!” Selina said. “She’s awesome and strong and fast and she could shoot an apple off an ant’s head!”

“How would one put an apple on an ant’s head?” Khalik wondered out loud.

“Isolde probably knows a spell that could do that, or at least she’s seen one in the library. She basically lives there,” Thundar said. “Ain’t that right, Isolde?”

“I do not spend all of my time in the library, you know,” she said.

Then fell silent for a moment.

“…but there is a spell-”

“I knew it!”

“Quiet, you!”

“They should make you the librarian!” he laughed. “Hey, Theresa’s parents, you should see her. You’d think she was born with a book in her hand! Probably why she only hangs out with us.”

“I have other friends! You’ve met them!”

“Yeah, but how’s your love life doing?”

Isolde smirked. “How’s yours, Thundar?”

“It’s a work in progress!”

Ding!

Mercifully, the bell signalled both the start of the archery tournament, and the end of their argument.

One by one the archers stepped up to their places on the field of grass.

“Go Theresa! Split an arrow like Robbing Cloak would!” Alex called through cupped hands.

“Go, get them Theresa!” Mrs. Lu cried and Mr. Lu followed up with a loud “Yeeeeeah!”

Brutus barked his encouragement with all three heads.

Shouts and calls of support rose from the rest of the audience, threatening to drown them out, but judging by how Theresa looked over at them and nodded—from the centre of the row of archers—it seemed she’d heard them through the din.

The crowd’s calls died away as the first contest began, and soon the air was filled with the thwack of arrows piercing targets. Some contestants were clearly experts, while others looked like they didn’t spend much time perfecting the skill.

Each bullseye shuddered when struck, then floated backward to the next line on the grass one hundred feet away. Alex tried dividing his attention between Theresa and the centaurs, and watching for anyone who stood out from the pack.

Theresa handled her bow like she was born with it in her hand—like how Thundar said Isolde had been born with a book—but the centaurs were like something from a folktale. They drew their bowstrings back with fluid grace and reverence; Alex noticed each would close their eyes and mutter something just before releasing an arrow at the bullseye.

‘What’re they doing?’ he wondered. ‘Spells aren’t allowed during the archery contest. So what? Self-encouragement? Affirmations? Prayers?”

Alex frowned, thinking back to the reverence in their shooting styles; maybe they were saying benedictions: pleas for divine guidance for each shot. If they were, it seemed to be working: each centaur hit the centre bullseye again and again, even as the distance increased.

As they raised their bows to arc an arrow at the marks, Alex turned to Isolde. “Do folk on the Nephelean Plains worship some kind of archer-deity?”

“Close,” she said. “The deities of their worship are cousins to those of the Rhinean Empire: where weworship the four elements, those on the plains worship the four winds.”

“That sounds cool. Having winds on your side would help a lot when you’re shooting arrows,” Selina said. “Are they using divinities to help themselves?”

“No, they are as forbidden as spells,” Isolde said. “Well, that is not quite true: this is a test of skill, not of magical might. In essence, one cannot actively use a spell or divinity to aid oneself in this archery skill contest. However, if one has innate magic within them—born with supernatural accuracy—a permanent blessing, or life enforcement, then those are perfectly within the rules of this contest. I made sure to properly educate Theresa on the rules so she might avoid the shame of cheating by way of ignorance.”

Alex winced. That must have been a long, dry afternoon for Theresa.

He turned his eyes back to the centaurs. So, if they weren’t using spells or divinities, they must be just praying before each shot. Probably.

‘I wonder if they’re some super devout centaur clan, or maybe they’re priests,’ Alex thought.

He focused The Mark on comparing their body language to that of different priests he’d known…and he’d known a lot of priests in his life. Memories of priests who’d served in the church school, as well as priests who regularly presided over ceremonies at the church in Alric, came up.

There were some similarities.

Focusing The Mark on the task, he realised that the way they brought their hands together over their bows just before each shot, was like a priest putting his hands together in prayer.

Then again, it pointed out that the gesture was similar to what many people did when they prayed: like Carey London, or Khalik, or even himself. Not enough information to be conclusive.

‘Still, if they are priests,’ he thought. ‘Then maybe they’ll have divinities to use on us duri-Wait a minute, what am I doing? The Mark isn’t the only infallible font of knowledge I have access to!’

“Excuse me, Ms. Infallible Font of Knowledge,” he said to Isolde.

Both Khalik and Thundar burst out laughing, and even Grimloch grinned. Svenia and Hogarth were doing their best to suppress any snickering.

Isolde’s blue eyes stabbed into Alex like jagged icicles. “Yes, Roth?”

“Why are you calling me by my last na-Anyway, are our three centaur friends priests? Like the kind that can call on divinities?”

She pursed her lips, looking down at them. “Not that I know of. They showed no such ability last year.”

“Right,” Alex said. “Thanks Ms. Infallible Font-”

Isolde’s eyes grew frostier.

“Oh, come on, it’s better than being a fallible font of knowledge!”

She looked like she wanted to throw him off the stands, while Khalik and Thundar were doubled over with laughter, gripping each other’s shoulders to keep themselves from falling out of their seats.

Svenia, Hogarth, and the others were making a point of looking away from both Alex and Isolde.

He quickly cleared his throat.

“G-go, Theresa!” he shouted, avoiding Isolde’s gaze.

Below, the huntress’ enhanced senses and muscles showed their worth: her movements were smooth, precise, and quick; her arrows hit like hammer blows striking their target. She matched the centaurs shot for shot, hitting her targets even up to the maximum distance of one thousand feet.

When the first contest ended, the point cards showed a wide spread of scores between contestants. Theresa had come in sixth—she’d hit the outer ring of the bullseye at nine hundred feet, losing points—but the five contestants above her weren’t that far ahead.

She closed the gap in the speed round.

With her life-enforcement, her hands moved like lightning, each arrow hit with razor-sharp accuracy, pounding the moving targets like hailstones.

At the end of the contest, she was second overall. The three centaurs began taking note of her, Alex saw them inclining their heads in her direction and talking amongst themselves.

After a break to set up for the final contest: the one that tested power, the contestants stretched, then lined up for the last time.

Crack!

The sound of splintering wood filled the air as arrows punched through targets. Some who’d done really well in the speed contest fell down here; their arrows only pierced one or two wooden targets, while Theresa’s, the centaurs’, and other stronger competitors’ projectiles, speared five or more with every shot.

Alex imagined those spikes going through flesh like butter. He shuddered.

By the end of the power round, the field was littered in shattered wood and shattered dreams; only three competitors would rise to the podium and collect a prize.

“In third place,” called the announcer. “Theresa Lu!”

Alex, his family and friends celebrated at the announcement, and cheered even louder when she stood on the podium to receive her bronze medallion. She was also awarded a bowstring of golden thread: enchanted to be almost unbreakable. Theresa wore a smile, relaxing her deathstalker face, but her body language showed Alex a mixture of both excitement, and disappointment.

Two of the centaurs placed silver and gold, but all three looked like they were in shock that one of them hadn’t placed in the top three to medal. Theresa had come in second in the speed round which had given her more points than one of them and she’d just beaten him in the power round, which then gave her more total points.

The centaurs looked up at the stands, gesturing toward a section of the audience. Alex craned his neck, trying to see who they were looking at, but the crowd blocked his view. So, he stood up.

There.

A group of tough-looking men and women were rising from their seats and heading in the centaurs’ direction.

Alex had a bad feeling that he was looking at the rest of the Outcasts of the Divine Wind.

‘Some people to watch,’ he thought.

He paused.

On the other end of the stands, he thought he saw Amir and Sinbrok’s group.

But, a moment later, they were lost to the crowd.

“Right,” Grimloch stood up as the audience began to disperse. “My turn. Time for the Great Water Hunt.”

If one didn’t know better, they might start wondering if buried treasure had been discovered just off the beach.

An armada of small boats cut through the waters of the Prinean Sea; its turquoise water sparkled in the early afternoon sun. On each boat, divers waited, ready to leap into the water as soon as a bell—a diving bell, they called it—rang.

Salty ocean spray swept through the air, filling the golden sails of a central ship. Dangling over its side was an enormous glass bowl filled with seawater and a school of shining, red-scaled fish. The goal of the Great Water Hunt was for each competitor to scoop up as many of those scarlet fish as they could using a long-handled net, while also finding and collecting flags hidden in the shallows below.

Grimloch stood on a large boat with another pair of divers beside him. The sun gleamed on his grey hide.

“I didn’t account for the wind on that second to last shot,” Theresa muttered darkly. “I thought I did, but I overcompensated.”

“It’s okay, third is really good,” Selina said, patting Theresa on her side as they watched the ocean from their seats.

“Third is well done,” Mr. Lu said. “And talking about a mistake over and over won’t change it.”

“But I over-”

‘Talk of ‘buts’ are not for polite company.’

“Yeah,” Alex said. “And we’re the politest company in the world.”

She glared at him, as did Isolde.

He looked away. ‘Ugh, I didn’t even do anything wrong,’ he lied to himself.

Standing up, he eyed some food stalls selling freshly grilled fish and seafood near the spectator seats. The smell was becoming irresistible. “I’m going to grab a snack, does anyone else want anything?”

“Your winnings from the Duel by Proxy.”

“I’m going to have Claygon throw you into the sea, Thundar,” Alex said, as Thundar laughed and took him up on the offer of food.

He left the group, and headed down the steps two at a time, then joined a long line-up for a stall that sold breaded fish on sticks. He hoped the line was moving fast because he wanted to get back before Grimloch’s competition started.

Alex began looking around, remembering the plainclothes officers who’d become a regular fixture in his life.

He paused, spotting a familiar group lined up at the stall next to his. He did a doubletake at the same time someone else from the group did.

The other person quickly looked away, but Alex was already speaking up.

“Hey, Amir,” he said. “How’s it going?”

Amir visibly winced and turned, giving him a weak smile. “Alex, good seeing you here.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Alex carefully examined his former supervisor’s body language.

Eyes turned down. Feet close together. Shoulders slumped.

The opposite of someone comfortable: nervousness, avoiding eye contact or looking away, lack of confidence and balance. He’d seen the same attitude in people who were feeling anxious.

Although anxiety seemed to be almost a permanent state for Amir…it seemed even more pronounced than usual.

Suspicions began to rise in his mind.

Suddenly, the demon summoner wasn’t so far from his thoughts anymore.