As Dzherbon had slowed down his horse, to join Dartelo and Siem, a solitary arrow whistled through the air and embedded itself into one of the guards' horses. The animal cried out in pain and had the guard been any less of a rider, the horse would have thrown him into the air then and there.

"Ambush!" yelled out the guard, his hand reaching for his sword as soon as he had managed to calm down his mount, blood oozing down its leg.

It was as if a great tidal wave was upon them. Arrows started raining down from the sky, as if conjured by magic. The guards immediately took out their shields and aimed them at the sky. Thud after thud could be heard as the arrows collided with the iron shields and slid off towards the ground.

Dartelo looked around in panic as the entourage quickly tightened around Lord Alfors, the momentum of the pack dragging even old Flame nearer.

"Orders, milord?" Dzherbon asked underneath his breath.

On the surface, Lord Alfors seemed to be unable to lose his cool even under the threat of death. But as he looked at Dzherbon, one could tell that thoughts were madly racing through his head.

"How much further until the road?" he asked. The arrows continued to rain down, sparks flying off the shields, but most of them embedded themselves into the ground. The archers' accuracy was pathetically low.

"A few more kilometers, at most, and then a bit further to the nearest town." Dzherbon answered.

Lord Alfors looked around and noticed that the horses that had been hit by stray arrows looked sluggish. 'Damn it, poison! That settles it.'

The Iorissian noble gripped the handle of his sword, pulled it out with one clean motion, and roared at the top of his lungs, "For the glory of Ior, break out!"

As soon as the men around him all heard this, they unsheathed their weapons and cried out unintelligibly. The horses that had been scared witless were kicked and slapped into a frenzy and the ground shook underneath their hooves.

The rag-tag group stampeded across the narrow path, arrows still whistling past their ears. A few of the guards were not favored by the gods and, soon, the group had gone down to a mere nine. Dartelo had clearly seen how an arrow had hit one of the men clean in the throat, the light in his eyes immediately dimming. 'Nine heavens above, save me!'

"Faster, men!" Dzherbon bellowed, angered at the deaths of his comrades. "Siem, a hand!"

Siem was at his side in a breath and the old guard took the reins of Dzherbon's steed in hand, the other men covering both with their shields. Dartelo was scared witless as he held onto Flame for his dear life. He was sweating profusely and his new fire lizard tights were soiled.

The air around Dzherbon seemed to transform, as a thick red aura sprung out of his tall silhouette. It became thicker and thicker until finally, he yelled out. His voice was rough and his words sounded like metal shoes stomping on glass.

'Oh my gods, magic?' Dartelo gasped as the aura exploded outwards and clung to every member, like a second layer of skin. The fifteen-year-old tried to grasp the aura, but his hand passed right through it. Within the blink of an eye it stabilized and each rider looked as if he had been bathed in blood.

"How long?" Lord Alfors asked.

"Ten breaths at most, milord!" Dzherbon answered, looking as if years had been sapped away from his body. He had hunched over, almost hugging his horse. The edges of his lips drew up as he muttered something in that dreadful language.

Suddenly, the entourage's speed seemed to double and in a flash, they left the arrows behind them. The horses looked as if they were mustangs that were running for the first time in their lives. Their strides grew bigger and bigger and it took all of Dartelo's strength just to hold on.

As if losing their minds to bloodlust, the troop of horses moved like an infernal beast, bent on destruction. Dust and leaves were furiously kicked up. The riders held their heads down as much as possible.

Just as the color of the spell seemed to dull and disappear, the group hit the road. Siem, who had moved to the forefront, turned his horse left and lead the way. It was a dirt road, riddled with patches of mud, but the horses' speed seemed to pick up.

"How much further?" Dartelo shakily asked Dzherbon, who still seemed muddle-headed. He shook his head and laughed, choosing not to answer. He turned his head around to face Dartelo and smiled, showing his teeth that were bloodied. The young boy looked on in shock for a moment and turned away, now looking forward.

The road was dimly lit by the moonlight, but he could still make out more than he could within the forest. It was a winding road that kept going lower and in the distance he could faintly make out lights in the distance.

Siem made his way to Dartelo and without a warning jumped off his horse and landed behind Dartelo, grabbing the reins.

"What in the!?!" Dartelo yelled out.

The horse, having been ridden of its heavy load, neighed once before it fell to the ground. A few riders barely managed to evade its corpse.

"Poison arrows." Siem noted, while kicking Flame harshly with his boots. The old mount responded and made its way forward until they were next to Lord Alfors.

"Anything else?" Lord Alfors dryly asked, as the lights ahead of them seemed to draw closer.

"Lone mage, should be clear ahead." Siem said simply. The man seemed to exude confidence.

The group soon made its way to a small town, barely larger than a village. Although it was not grand, there was a relatively high stone wall around the entirety of the town. They had stopped in front of a small gate, barely wide enough for two carts to move side by side.

"Perry Township." Siem explained as he saw Dartelo's questioning gaze.

Two scruffy men in leather armor appeared on top of the wall. "Who goes there?"

"Lord Alfors, son of Kaler." said a member of the entourage and threw up a small emblem. "We have wounded, open the gates!"

The two men looked at one another for a moment, clearly a bit flustered. They had caught the small emblem and while they had never seen the Kaler crest, only noble families were allowed to cast emblems. The Kalers were barons, hence accordingly, their emblem was coated in truesilver.

"Go open the gate, Fier. I'll run down and tell boss about 'em." said one man to the other.

It was rare for noblemen to pass through Perry. Most would choose to continue down the muddy road rather than stay in an impoverished township in the middle of nowhere.

"I trust there is a suitable accommodation for us." Lord Alfors questioned, as the group made its way through the gate. The watchman Fier silently nodded and whistled. Soon, another group of watchmen appeared and, after some explaining, lead the way to the "best inn in town". There wasn't much competition for the title, as there was only one tavern.

The group dismounted as they followed the guides, their horses' hooves clicking against the cobbles. There were lamps filled with azure flames that hung here and there, illuminating the narrow road.

Dartelo was thoroughly miserable. He could barely keep himself up, the strength having gone from his legs. 'Oh gods, I think I'm about to be sick!' he thought, as he felt his stomach roil. He leaned against a nearby wall and retched a few times. Without warning, somebody slapped his back heavily and the contents of his belly cascaded against the cobbles and his new boots.

Dartelo looked up weakly and saw Dzherbon's pale face above him.

"That's the spirit, have a good one, boy. This is just the beginning!"