Bartholomew recoiled.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” he said.

Rafe’s eyes were darting this way and that over the battlefield. I could hear him whispering.

“Where are you…”

Rose demanded sharply, “Don’t we need to get moving? If we’re practically surrounded, we need to travel fast to slip the noose.”

Rafe answered tensely, “Hold on. If we can figure out where Cyril is, we can avoid that area. His perception is acute.”

He kept scanning for long minutes. Amelia disappeared into the trees. When she returned, Rafe was still trying to spot Cyril. I heard mutters of “Volodymyr” coming from the men in the party. The fear in the air was palpable.

“We have to go,” announced Amelia worriedly. “We’re running out of time.”

Rafe pursed his lips. He glared down at the battlefield. The fight was going poorly for the kingdom forces. They were being pushed back slowly but surely even as the mounds of orc bodies grew.

“All right,” he agreed. “We need to get through to the other side. Let’s just hope we don’t run into him on the way. We’ll head in that direction.”

He pointed.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ll take the lead and try to thread us through, but I don’t think we’ll be able to completely avoid the fighting. When that happens, try to stay close and not get separated. I’ll keep the majority of the foe occupied, but there may be a few that get past me that you’ll need to take care of yourselves.”

He paused.

“Whatever happens, just keep going. Don’t worry about me, and don’t let anything you see make you pause.”

Anything we saw? What did he mean? I understood his words half an hour later when we bumped into a couple platoons of orcs that we were unable to avoid. We rounded a hillside to come face-to-face with more than forty of the disgusting creatures. After a surprised pause, the monsters roared and charged forward in bloodlust.

Rafe shouted, “Watch each other’s backs and ride as fast as you can to get to the Paravel side! There’s no hiding anymore!”

With that, the lean warrior flipped off his horse and ran full speed at the attacking orcs. What I saw then both shocked and horrified me. Rafe’s form blurred as he reached the orcs, and blood began spraying everywhere. His twin swords moved too fast for my eyes to follow, and heads and limbs flew through the air. In a heartbeat five of the creatures were down, and two breaths later an entire platoon of orcs lay dead or dying.

They didn’t even know what hit them. Confused grunts and cries rose above the fray as more and more of the creatures were slaughtered. We all sat frozen on our horses in awe as Rafe tore through the orcs like a rock thrown through cobwebs. I blinked and then it occurred to me…

Timeshift.

Everything around me slowed, and Rafe’s swords were no longer blurs. They still moved almost too fast for my eyes to follow, but I could actually see them now when they slowed. I was tempted to keep watching, but I saw my stamina bar dropping rapidly from the corner of my eye. I knew that if I burned more stamina I would be able to see Rafe even more clearly, but considering the effort it was taking me just to be able to follow his motions, I could sense that my stamina would burn out in moments if I tried.

I released Timeshift, and everything sped back up. It was odd. Even sound changed when I was in Timeshift. Noises became more high-pitched and then deepened once again as I returned to normal speed.

Only a handful of orcs remained when another three platoons of the monsters rounded the hillside. Rafe abruptly came back into focus. His leather armor was coated in black orc blood, and I saw an odd darkness floating around the blades in his hands.

He was glaring at us.

“What are you doing!” he roared. “Fly, you fools!”

With that he turned to the newly arrived orcs and leaped forward, cutting into their line like a hot knife through butter. Once again I saw body parts spinning spewing out like chaff being blown away by a swift wind. Blood sprayed in all directions, and wherever the blur that was Rafe went, bodies fell.

“Come on!” shouted Rose as she spurred her horse. The rest of us followed, urging our steeds to greater and greater speed.

Behind us the sound of fighting faded. I turned to see how Rafe was doing, ready to turn back to help him if necessary. Rafe was running to catch up with us, swiftly gaining ground despite being on foot while we rode horses. In the distance I could see orc bodies coating the ground like fallen leaves during autumn. The occasional twitch belied a still living orc, but those twitches were few and far between.

Had he really killed over fifty orcs single handedly in the space of time it took for us to cover less than one hundred yards on horseback? Black blood was soaked even into his hair, and he wore a grim expression on his face.

He flicked a piece of flesh from his shoulder as he caught up with us.

“I’ll kill any groups we come upon. Just keep riding as fast as you can!”

We obeyed. Three more times we butted up against squadrons of orcs. Each time we ran into larger and larger groups, and each time Rafe sliced through them at will. The air was filled with blood and body parts wherever he went, and we easily killed the few that he missed.

When it happened, I didn’t see it. Of course not. He was moving too fast, and I wasn’t using Timeshift or else I’d have run out of stamina. One moment we were barging ahead, riding past the whirlwind that was Rafe, and the next moment our mounts halted as if slamming into a wall. Rafe came flying through the air to land at the feet of my horse.

I kicked my heels into my horse’s sides, but the animal wouldn’t move. It trembled and I couldn’t tell if it was a result of thwarted effort or fear, but the horse didn’t budge an inch.

Rafe climbed to his feet, blood soaked into his clothes as if he were a sponge that had been dipped into a river of the black liquid. He rubbed his jaw and cracked his neck. Despite flying thirty feet through the air, he seemed unharmed.

“I was wondering why my east wing had gotten bogged down. Rafe! What a wonderful surprise! How long have you been in the area? It’s been so long!”

The smooth velvety baritone seemed to slide past me and through me. Whoever was speaking sounded so friendly and engaging that I was immediately warmed by his cheer and wanted to meet him.

In contrast, Rafe’s voice was harsh and discordant as he spat out, “Not long enough, you deranged psychopath. How about we wait another five hundred years before we meet again. You know what they say--absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

That cultured voice spoke again. “Or absence makes the heart go yonder. I think perhaps our friendship has grown more yonder than fonder. It hurts my feelings to hear you talk like that.”

I finally spotted the speaker. He was a tall man with bright blond hair and crystal blue eyes that almost seemed to glow in the sunlight. I could easily tell their color from over fifty feet away. His build was muscular but lean, and he had no armor whatsoever. Instead, he wore a white cloth tunic of some type that was laced evenly across his chest along with a matching set of white pants. He wore some type of sword at his side, but he hadn’t unsheathed it so all I could tell was that it looked to be the correct length to be a longsword. A couple gems on the scabbard reflected light into our eyes.

“What feelings, Cyril? We both know that you only feel anything when you conquer, torture, or kill, you sick bastard.”

“Tsk, tsk, so hostile!” the man exclaimed pleasantly. “Oh Rafe, you’ve misunderstood me so badly. All I want is the best for all of us, we who have been trapped here in this miserable existence for millennia.”

More platoons of orcs had begun to arrive, crowding around us and hemming us in. A couple of ogres marched up to stand silently at the blond man’s sides. We looked uneasily at the creatures around us. It was clear that we would soon lose any chance of fleeing to the Paravel army. The normally uncouth, blustering orcs were completely silent, which was far more unnerving than if they had chosen to attack us.

The smooth-talking man flexed his hand and smiled. “Quite the jaw you have there, Rafe. Solid as Samson’s ox.”

“Not hard enough to break your hand, unfortunately,” Rafe snarled.

The man laughed as if Rafe had told a funny joke. I wondered briefly what the man would say if I asked him why the chicken had crossed the road. Rafe had said there were many possible answers to that particular riddle.

The man pondered, “You know, Rafe, I’m tempted to take offense at your words. If we hadn’t been such good friends before, I’d have already had my troops overwhelm your silly little party.”

“You mean they would have tried,” Rafe grated out as he whipped blood off his twin swords.

The man cocked his head to the side.

“True, if it was just them they probably wouldn’t be able to succeed against you. However, it’s not just them.”

The man drew his sword. It burned brightly in the light of the setting sun. Flames leaped along its edges, flickering and then steadying as he casually held the sword with its tip down.

Fascinated as I was by the conversation taking place before me, I couldn’t help but note that the man’s sword was in a poor position to parry an attack if someone were to jump on the offense.

I heard Clara breathe to my left, “Dawnbringer.”

Though her voice had been all but inaudible, the blond man let his gaze fall upon her as he smiled happily and said, “You’re a perceptive one, aren’t you? You recognize my sword. It’s impressive when people figure out so quickly who I am. So flattering.”

“Yes, you always did love being the center of attention. It’s why you hated that Kyrie was always just a little bit better than you at everything.”

A dark look crossed the man’s face for just an instant before his countenance smoothed over and he was beaming at us once more.

“Ah, yes, Kyrie. And how has our little prince been? Enjoying the world that daddy built for him?”

His tone was mocking, and an ugly glint showed in his eyes as he let his attention wander back and forth over all of us. The tip of his flaming sword dragged perilously close to the ground, and I saw the grass darken where it passed.

Rafe didn’t answer.

“Oh, haven’t you seen him? Surely he’s visited you, his dear friend. No?”

Rafe remained silent.

The man shook his head sadly.

“My, my, does that seem like friendship to you? How long has it been since you’ve seen him? How many centuries?”

“Screw you, Cyril,” Rafe bit out.

A man in full armor stepped forward to stand at the blond man’s side. His obsidian plate seemed to soak up the light, and he wore a full helmet on his head that completely covered his features.

Clara hissed, “The Black Hand.”

The armored warrior balanced an enormous double-bladed axe on the ground in front of him with both hands lightly holding the wooden axe handle in place.

“We were friends once, Rafe. We could be friends again. I don’t abandon my friends.”

Rafe’s voice was flat and full of hate. “Oh, we know what you do to your friends. Don’t we, Cyril?”

The blond man’s smile faded.

“You know, I had hoped we could come away from this in amity and harmonious reunion, but it seems that you are intent on ruining my efforts at peace.”

He paused.

“When was the last time you respawned, Rafe?”

As if on cue, thunder rolled in the distance. Someone behind me whispered, “Luciferus.” And I heard the name repeated several times, voices shaking in fear.

Rafe became very still, and I saw his knuckles tighten on the hilts of his twinned swords.

“It’s been long enough that I can kick your bony ass, so maybe you should just take your pig-faced army and make like a tree.”

Those bright blue eyes glinted in amusement.

“Rafe, Rafe, Rafe. Such courage! Such bravado! Such a great show you put on! You make my heart tremble. In fact, I’m so moved that I’ll let you face my Hand instead of me. If you beat him, I’ll let you go.”

Cyril sheathed his sword and waved the armored man forward. The man in black lifted his axe to his shoulder without any apparent effort and stepped up. Something about him tugged at me. I wasn’t sure...was it his body shape? His movements? I wondered what his face looked like under the helmet.

Cyril grinned sunnily. “What do you say, Rafe? We both know what would happen if you fought me. You won’t get a better offer than this.”

Rafe said dryly, “Let us go, huh? I’m supposed to believe that?”

Cyril shrugged. “Believe me or not. You don’t really have a choice.”

He swept his hand all around us. We were encircled by a mass of orcs several rows deep, and more ogres had stepped up to stand with the orcs.

Rafe said resignedly, “Well, I suppose--”

There was a flicker, and suddenly Rafe was standing behind Cyril. His two swords were plunging down towards Cyril’s back, the darkness around them soaking up the sunlight.

Smack!

Rafe’s swords rebounded from the armored man’s axe handle, where it had somehow been interposed between Rafe and Cyril’s body. I hadn’t even seen the man move.

Cyril’s eyebrow lifted.

“Well, I guess you’ve accepted the challenge.”