"Move out!" Henrik orders at the top of his voice, riding at full tilt toward the battle raging in the middle of Deshawn City's main drag. Christina rides beside him, one hand tightly gripping her wand, eyes focused in the distance. Five full Sword Masters of House Robeur complete the small convoy, surrounding the pair of battle mages in a protective ring of steel. It was a good thing that the rain had cleared, mounting a chase under a downpour would have been far more difficult.

"I didn't expect Mac to be so daring." Christina comments, "Attacking the gendarme so openly."

"He's desperate." Henrik explains, "Nair must know that we are closing in on him. My guess is that the gendarme spotted him trying to escape from Deshawn City and sounded the alarm. He's stopped trying to be stealthy and is just carving his way through."

"Are so many Sword Masters necessary though?" Christina asks, frowning at their escorts. The earlier failure to apprehend Mac Nair still stung at her pride. To admit that someone as lazy and incompetent as Nair could have gotten the better of her lover was a fact that Christina was not keen to admit.

"I'm not willing to take any chances." Henrik frowns unconsciously, "Nair is not strong, but he's cunning. I want to face him on the best possible terms."

The small group makes a turn at the junction, taking the road leading to the main drag. The sounds of battle grow more intense, with the ragged sound of gunfire occasionally punctuating the carnage.

"I don't know why the gendarme even bothers." Christina scoffs, tossing her long hair in derision, "They've no business fighting a magic knight. Even one like Mac."

"Everyone has a role to play." Henrik scolds lightly at Christina's attitude, "We can't be everywhere at once, you know. And if it wasn't for the gendarme, we would not have this chance to deal with Nair."

As Christina falls silent at this response, Henrik smiles inwardly to himself. She's such a beautiful and intelligent young woman. When Henrik was still a boy, eking out a barely tolerable existence in the canal of Deshawn City, he would have never have thought that someone like Christina would be sharing his bed.

A clouded expression spreads across Henrik's face as he recalls the time of his youth, after he and his mother were thrown out of the noble House of Rahm. His mother was a concubine that had fallen out of favor, and House Rahm demanded that she and Henrik never show their faces ever again. So the House guard took mother and son to the canal at Temple district and tossed them inside, to be eaten alive by the rats that made their home in the depths.

That's not how things turned out, of course. Henrik and his mother eventually stumbled on the colony of exiles that had made their home in the lower reaches of the canal. And there they settled into a hard scrabble life, resigned to never see the sun ever again. Henrik wanted to return to the surface, after all, no one in the canal cared whether they stayed or left this benighted community. His mother was nevertheless adamant, there would be no leaving the canal. In the darkness, mother and son were able to cling to life. But if House Rahm ever caught Henrik again, it would be an instant death sentence.

And one day, Robeur came to the canal. And saved Henrik from being forgotten in the darkness. For that single kindness, Henrik would be loyal to Robeur no matter what. It was a boon that he could never repay.

Henrik's features morph into a sly leer as he takes another glance at Christina. That silly girl only knows Henrik as the man he is now. What would she think if she saw him when he was a boy, living in piss and shit? So obsessed with appearances, Christina is. Yet unable to discern the true nature of her own lover. The thought of Christina's shocked reaction if she ever found out that the man she's bedding had his roots as a tramp is almost enough to drive Henrik crazy with lust.

Christina's very good at pretending to be someone she's not. And its just as well that Henrik is her equal in that regard.

"Master Rob -" one of the Sword Masters says, interrupting Henrik's daydreaming.

"Its not official yet." Henrik whispers, a single index finger over his mouth. Christina rides on, her attention preoccupied by the noise of battle, unaware of the conversation.

"What's remaining is just the formal ceremony." the Sword Master says in a hush, "Our presence with you is proof of that."

"I know," Henrik concedes, "and I appreciate the Grandmaster sending his bodyguard to protect us. But until everything is official, I would rather things be kept low profile. The Lodges are not entirely happy with the Grandmaster selecting me."

"Understood." the Sword Master nods slightly, "I just wanted to say that we are almost at the main drag. Any fighting with Nair should be left to us."

"Its what the Grandmaster would have wanted." Henrik comments with understanding. He was just here as a representative of House Robeur's leadership. There was no need for Henrik to actually place himself in harm's way.

"Indeed." the Sword Master affirms.

"Look!" Christina suddenly shouts, and all eyes are immediately drawn to the source of the disturbance.

The main drag had become a slaughterhouse, with corpses strewn all over the street. Blood stains the cobblestones, forming tiny crimson pools in the fissures of the road. Several gendarme cower behind an overturned carriage, desperately firing their muskets at Nair, who is perched on one of the buildings. Nair moves with lightning fast speed, scuttling over the building's façade like a spider without missing a beat. Gunfire tears apart brick and mortar, but leaves the real target no worse for wear.

As the gendarme pauses to reload their muskets, Nair's robe billows and his hand emerges holding a fan of throwing knives. With a disdainful flick of his wrist, the knives are sent flying out, piercing several of the gendarme musket men neatly in the head. The remaining musket men drop their weapons and flee down the street, only thinking of their own survival.

"We got here just in time." Henrik remarks to himself, surveying the carnage.

Most of the Gendarme Elite and their mounts lie piled up as corpses along the road, but those that are left doggedly shadow Nair's movements, trying to keep him penned in until reinforcements show up. There's a palpable sense of relief the moment the Gendarme Elite catch sight of Henrik and his team approaching the site of the battle. The mundane horsemen begin to fall back in good order, a testament to their training and professionalism.

Nair lunges from his high perch, running through one of the Gendarme Elite with his short sword. As the rider's horse rears back in panic, Nair kicks the corpse of its former master off the saddle and forcefully brings the steed under control. Wasting no time, the murderer kicks the horse's side hard, urging the animal to ride hard for the gates of Deshawn City. The rest of the Gendarme Elite stumble about in confusion, not eager to get into another confrontation with the madman, especially after so many of their comrades have been killed tonight.

"With me!" Henrik shouts and sends his own steed flying forward in hot pursuit. Christina and their escort easily match Henrik's pace, with the Gendarme Elite left forgotten in the dust.

Nair struggles mightily with his horse, but retains enough control to gallop through the main gate, leaving the city behind him. This constant fight with the horse costs him valuable time though, allowing Henrik and his own group to rapidly catch up. As his group thunder along the dirt road, Henrik takes a deep invigorating breath of fresh air, free of the various scents and odors of the city. The chase continues, across the flat plains and farm land.

"Now, to end this." the battle mage says, levelling his iron staff at Nair's back.

There's a thundercrack and a compressed bullet of pure force is launched straight at its target. Nair however senses the attack and swerves his horse, forcing the animal to take the blow on his behalf. There's a whinny of pure agony as Henrik's projectile tears through the flanks of the horse, liquifying its organs and sending blood spraying across the grass. As the horse collapses in a heap, Nair leaps off the dying creature's back and lands easily on his feet, confronting the pursuers with his weapon drawn.

"Hold." Henrik directs, and the small group immediately comes to a stop. The Sword Masters escorting him and Christina square their shoulders, ready to dismount and deal the finishing blow to their quarry.

"Let me handle him, Henrik." Christina suddenly pipes up, her eyes silently pleading with her lover.

She's eager, Henrik muses to himself. And on further consideration, taking down Nair would help build Christina's career. As her mentor and lover, its the least Henrik could do.

"I'll allow it." Henrik says ignoring the reproachful look the Sword Master leader gives him. Christina beams in return and raises her wand imperiously, unleashing the full extent of her magical power.

"Call starlight, the judgment of heaven." Christina intones, her magic tearing through the protests of materialism like paper. Even the Sword Masters and Henrik can feel the building metaphysical weight of Christina's casting on their shoulders, the strength of a giant housed within that young girl.

"Strike down my enemy without mercy!" Christina declares to the clouds churning in the sky, "Star Fall Carronade!"

The sky tears itself open as a shooting star plummets to the earth, aimed at where Nair is standing. Henrik and the Sword Masters brace for impact, while Nair stares at the approaching shooting star, his face expressionless. There's no point in dodging, since Nair would be caught in the spell's impact zone no matter what he does.

Then Nair's body somehow begins to blur, causing Henrik to blink in surprise. But before the battle mage can make sense of what he just saw, the shooting star slams into the ground with a massive explosion of force. The entire group covers their faces from the dust storm whipped up by the blossoming mushroom cloud that towers over Deshawn City itself.

"Well done, Christina." Henrik congratulates, "The credit for defeating the Stabber goes to you."

"You're wasting my time." a gravelly voice snarls from within the swirling dust.

"No way." Christina gasps, as the dust storm dies down, revealing Nair standing in the middle of a crater blasted into the plain, dusting his robe off.

"YOU'RE ALL WASTING MY TIME!" Nair shouts, fury overflowing.

"So, this is your real strength then?" Henrik bites his lip in consternation. This assignment is becoming more than he bargained for.

The Sword Masters dismount and draw their weapons, rushing at Nair as one. Henrik quickly pulls Christina back, indicating that they should both retreat for now. After all, the Sword Masters are here to handle the matter.

And Henrik still has so much to live for.