Their slow and steady pace of the two groups worked to our favour; it meant we caught up just as they were about to meet. The train had existed only in abstraction against my mind through our travel, but seeing its people gave me pause. Most were women, burdened by wooden carts filled with barrels, boxes, supplies, and the old and infirm; children moved between the lines, ignorant of the threat behind them; and dogs, sheep and cows which walked before and between them, so many of them thin and sickly.

The men created a perimeter at the rear of the group, ushering the slow to move faster while sneaking glancing behind them – there was desperation in how they clung to their shoddy weapons and farming implements, as if those would do them much good in a fight.

My eyes went to the soldiers who trailed behind them, dressed finely in their armour, their horses healthy and hearty, and a bitterness crossed my expression.

“Kings and queens protecting their power.”

The words that left me were low and harsh, filled with an anger that had long been restrained.

Matthaeus turned to me, his eyes showing a hint of emotion that passed before I could take it in. My heart hammered and I felt hot. This was usually the point where fear rushed over me like the hightide, threatening to drown me with indecision; but now, imbibed with Ji-ho’s potion, I felt driven by an anger that cut through everything.

“And in many cases their power trumps the lives of commoners,” I continued. In the castle it wouldn’t have been allowed – even now it was transgressive when Matthaeus was so close, but I didn’t care. The words were morally correct and that mattered above all.

“Is your world so much better that you can so harshly judge us?” Matthaeus asked, the words even, not even allowing me the satisfaction of being outrage that he was speaking against something that wasn’t worth a discussion.

“Better? Yes. Good? No,” I said. “It’s the same problem that’s repeated over and over again. People with power doing their fucking best to keep that power at the expense of others. Much though I like your brothers — and I hate that I do — they’re a part of this system, one that’s forced those people to flee.”

“Unsaid, but you also point the finger at me,” he said. I bristled as I realised that he was doing something I’d become familiar with while in the castle – banking on his status to keep me from being honest and upfront.

“Yes,” I said, without a second’s thought, my eyes meeting his, almost challenging him.

Did he know he was leaning on the tools he’d grown up with, tools that made the entire dynamic around the nobility so frustrating?

“They’re moments away from reaching the train,” Surya said. The Falconer’s gold breastplate glimmered as it caught the light. He stood before, leaning on his spear and his eyes set on the distance. “Marcus, their numbers work against us. We have to get them on the backfoot, use the shifting terrain to our advantage. Split them off from the train, destabilise them and the rest of us will swoop in, taking them before they can regain their wits.”

“Corneleus must not die,” said Matthaeus, a kingly authority in his voice.

I was glad to see that he wasn’t the only one surprised. Surya and Hatim’s expression became hard, with the latter slightly outraged, while Ji-ho simply raised one eyebrow. A flicker passed through Matthaeus, for a moment his shoulders drooped before he steeled himself for what was about to come.

“You’re still protecting them?” Hatim said, a low heat finding his voice. “Even now?”

“I think of you, too,” said Matthaeus. “Imagine how my father would react if someone within the royal influence were to die.”

Hatim muttered a word that didn’t translate. “That’s only an excuse,” he said. “There is already a price on our heads. We knew it would happen when we protected Khaya. How is this any different?”

Matthaeus said nothing, only accepting Hatim’s anger. My eyes went to Luther, sitting to one side, his chest rising and falling while his expression scrunched in ever building anger; he had faced the selfishness of the nobility and this – Matthaeus looking out for their interests – would rile him up.

“He’s family,” said Ji-ho, “and you want to protect him.”

Matthaeus’ mask broke for the barest of seconds and that was answer enough.

“What are the consequences of you protecting going to be?” I asked, the resentment in my voice.

Are you really okay with the idea of someone dying? I thought, surprised by how deeply the effects of the potion ran. The thought was discomforting, sure, but the emotion was at a distance away.

There was a long moment of quiet before Matthaeus said, “Give me this. I will take Corneleus away from this battle and these people will be free to go about their lives in Susserton.”

“You’re intentionally missing the point,” I said, frustrated.

Hatim let out a loud breath through his nose and focused on his horse which had begun trotting in place; the beast was a braid of muscle, disgusting to look at as it radiated a feeling of death. Hatim ran a gloved hand over it, calming it down.

“That point is not to be discussed now,” said Surya, his voice with a different flavour of irritation. “I understand that we all feel strongly about Marcus, but is it all so important that it should stall us from helping these people? Marcus, you will add your powers to ours, yes?” Matthaeus nodded. “Then let that be enough. Khaya and Luther, comfort those people and serve as ranged protection in case anyone goes past us. Now fly!” he said.

Luther and I rode off, the mage atop Surya’s borrowed horse and me on Rollo. The terrain was angled, not so steep that I could call it a hill, but offering a good view of the two groups. Matthaeus’ opening move came a moment later: the sound of rock splitting rose into the air, getting softer as the effect ran towards its target; and then there was a deep roar as the earth shuddered violently. Luther and his mount shook as the tremor passed over them, but on Rollo I felt nothing.

You’re probably used to these types of things aren’t you? I thought. You’re from the mountains, a rock-type beast. The only thing that can probably hurt you is water.

The chuckle that left me left me off guard. It wasn’t driven by panic, but a strange sort of detachment from the craziness Luther and I – people who weren’t warriors – were running into to; the effects of the potion felt similar to burnout, but where I didn’t care and felt the urge to do nothing in that state, now I could move without forethought.

Matthaeus’ work cascaded out, a crack that spread like thunder, lancing out and then widening, becoming a fissure so wide and deep horses would have trouble jumping past; the effect was slow moving, giving Corneleus and his people time to get in formation before it threatened to split them off from the train.

It also gave them space for a counterattack. Corneleus Marlin jumped off his horse and brought out his weapon — a flail whose head was connected to its handle by a very long chain. The weapon was so big it was unwieldy, but as he started to spin it over his head it moved with expert skill. Corneleus spun it three times before he heaved and slammed the head against the ground. The effect of his earthen weapon differed from the hammer, it wasn’t a crack that lanced out but a ripple of something liquid, slowly rippling away as it grew, forming a red-hot wave whose tail cooled and hardened into black rock.

“Fucking lava,” I muttered under my breath.

Science lessons and pithy remarks online flitted through my mind. I didn’t think Luther and I would have to fight Corneleus, but I reminded myself that heat was something I’d have to worry about if he got close. It took a fuck-ton of heat to turn earth into a sludge; fire gems reworked that, perhaps, but even when they darkened there was no telling how hot those walls he was forming could be.

The two effects met and Matthaeus’ power won, stabbing through and past the wall of dark rock. Matthaeus’ fissure lost its momentum, producing a meagre crack before the effect petered out.

Another bang followed, but its rumble was much softer; hands tightly clenched around Rollo’s reins, I glanced back to see a cloud of dust materialise from the ground, whooshing towards Corneleus and his soldiers. Hatim, Ji-ho and Matthaeus had disappeared within, while Surya circled the skies.

Four against an army that was twenty people strong – was that bravery or stupidity?

“I don’t like how you talk to him,” Luther’s voice reached me. There were still hints of uncertainty in how he rode — not leaning in with the horse, his body bumping more than it needed to — but his expression betrayed no fear, only resentment.

“What?”

“His Highness,” Luther muttered. “He is a prince — once future king. He isn’t to be spoken to with such flippancy.”

I frowned, letting the words roll around in my mind before I said, “But…you hate the nobility.”

“Prince Matthaeus is not nobility. He’s royalty,” said Luther, as if that made a difference. “There’s a difference,” he added, as if reading my mind. “I understand that you’re a Champion, that you’re equal to them, but they still deserve respect. The way you question him so brazenly, speak to him so wantonly…” Luther shook his head.

I sighed, a little irritated. Was this what Surya had felt like when we’d been arguing instead of planning to help these people. We were moments away from reaching the tail of the train, and it seemed that Luther had felt an amount of resentment that found it easier to move to the surface with the Hardened-Heart elixir running through his system.

“Your inability to speak to them is part of the problem,” I muttered, not taking too much care in how I presented my argument. “How can they know they’re treating you wrong if they don’t hear your voices? If you can’t speak out?”

“You said to Hatim that they weren’t the same,” said Luther. “Some of them are good. The king and his family amongst them.”

We reached the tail of the train before I could even think of a response and I had to put the argument away, focusing on the present. There were twelve men holding shoddy swords, pickaxes and sickles; their eyes were wide and many of them shook, stepping back as we came forward. Most were old, thin and frail, while those at the back were younger, their eyes harder and their expression curled in restrained anger.

They’re afraid and they don’t know which side you’re on, I thought, leaning on the temporal ring to give me more time to think. They’ve probably never seen someone like you before. Keep that in mind.

I was supposed to bring them comfort, but if I was other, how much of that could they extend in the first place?

“We mean you no harm,” I started, trying to get a sense of them. “We’re here to help. In whatever way we can.”

“Who’re you?” a guy near the back asked, carrying a spear.

“We have no money,” another said, his voice hollow. From the way everyone stood around him, I had the sense that he was their leader.

“Robbed by the last of them who’re just like you,” a young man spat.

I really hope that by the likes of me you mean warriors and not foreigners, I thought.

My gaze went to Luther and I thought on his words. I felt like there was a lot I didn’t understand — part of being a foreigner in this world, which meant that I could do nothing but lean on the lessons I’d been taught here.

A lot of my interactions with the nobility had been about the importance of status and legacy. I didn’t like being the Champion — the rewards were nice, but the burdens were so bad the nice stuff just wasn’t worth it — but that was something I could use to break the ice when I was surrounded by distrust.

“I’m the Althorean Champion Jordan,” I said, “and I’m here to help.”

A low murmur started, eyes widening in wonder while others scowled. “I heard the Champion’s in the castle with the king and queen.”

“Not anymore,” I said, stopping myself from telling them I’d escaped. Luther was a large part of that, they might see me as ungrateful if they heard it put in those terms. “The royal family and I have different ideas of how commoners should be treated. I don’t like the idea of you being so bound to a place that you’re hunted when you go in search of a new life. That’s why I’m here and why I want to help.”

“We need you to stop them,” one of the younger boys said, his voice filled with a resentment and anger I couldn’t understand.

“Gellert,” a man chided.

“Our friends are trying to do that,” I said, gesturing back at the thick of things just as the ground shook so fiercely that people stumbled. The rest of the train hadn’t stopped and I could feel their terror, the little gasps that escaped and the wail of a baby that joined the rumbles. “We’re here…”

Because we’re not fighters and the others were afraid we’d get killed if we joined the fight.

“We’re here as the last line of defence,” I said. Because that was what these people needed.

For Rowan and the people of Washerton, this is what it means to have a Champion, I thought. Not a tool for the royals and the nobility to keep their power, but someone working in the interests of the common people.

That could be you. A chance to do something beyond great, like nothing you could ever achieve in the other life.

The Hardened-Heart Elixir meant that I was braver, that the fear was put further away and where this thought would have shaken me to my core — something I would have pushed away and not thought about — now I couldn’t help but think about it.

I wanted to go home because it was home, my life was there and that was where Grandma was. I missed her so, so much, missed my friends and my family even though they could be shitty when they were all together. But I was bound for university, away from everyone I had known for all of my life and onto a new environment.

How were these two situations so different?

For one I’ll be able to see Grandma again. She won’t think whatever she’s thinking right now since I disappeared.

But Grandma was also someone who had lived through Apartheid for most of her life. She had seen and felt injustice, and even if she wasn’t a revolutionary she had taught us to be good people.

I remembered her rebuking Uncle Fikile. He’d been boasting about roughing up a drunken man who’d been belligerent — teaching him ‘respect’ — and she’d told us the story of how one of her brothers had died at the hands of police, beaten so badly he had been unrecognisable, and all of it because he’d been part of a local branch of some defunct black political party.

Would Grandma rebuke me if she’d known that I’d had the chance to help people and decided against it? Would I be able to face her if I returned home with that on my mind?

“Champion?” said Luther.

I’d been quiet too long and the people for me were waiting for my word.

“We’ll move with the train, but we should be prepared to fight if any of them get through.”

Two rumbles reached us, one louder than the other, against my spatial sense I could feel as the ground shifted, groups pushed aside so they were in smaller groups; within the chaos there were a few people who kept moving without trouble, and in the air Surya circled around the group, sometimes visible when he speared out of the dust, pointed his spear and shot something I couldn’t make out before plunging down once more.

“Will you let us help you?” I asked. There were a few nods, begrudging at best. “Then I need one of you to gather all those who can fight. They should gather at the back, ready for battle. We’ll stand and wait until the train is further away, then follow, repeating the process until we’re well away from the fighting.”

Luther turned my way, brow rising in question. Just like me, he could feel the group of six that had used the dust to slip past, coming towards us. It was a life, but it felt better. I didn’t think these guys would be able to stay here if they knew they would be fighting sooner rather than later.

***

Nineteen of us against six of them. A reversal of the odds that Surya and the others fought against, and yet in my heart I was still scared we’d lose people. The wind shifted and the dust broke, revealing a massive, tattooed pig with an equally tatted up rider on its unsaddled back, the two running ahead of their footmen.

Leonidas. Caller of the Dire Boar, a beast that has powers like Rollo, but he’ll be more powerful and variable than either of us; and if that’s not enough, the man himself is a spatial mage of unknown talent.

The boar was about the same size as Rollo and just a bit shorter, but he had a ton more muscle than the goat. In a match of strength alone, without any magical powers to augment them, I was certain Rollo would lose. It wasn’t fear but an apprehension all the same, a worry that I might lose Rollo.

I can’t allow that to happen.

My pistol was in my hand, the grip loose but firm. The temporal ring was on my finger and I used it liberally to give myself time to take things in and think. Surya and the others were too far away, embroiled in combat hidden by a heavy cloak of dust; they wouldn’t be able to see us or offer aid, and even the bangs from my pistol were liable to get lost within the rumble each time Matthaeus or Corneleus struck the ground.

This would have to be our fight to win or lose.

“Open things up,” I said to Luther. An image of his swords coming down and punching through Anthony’s armour flashed through my mind and turned my stomach. I pressed my lips together even as my heart felt jittery, uncertainty seeping into my thoughts and breaking a focus I had started to take comfort in.

“Shimsha!” Luther intoned and the air began to ripple, dark points appearing and congealing into swords that began to rain down. Leonidas was the target, but the man seemed unworried. He pointed both hands, fingers bent like Odysseus’ did when he worked his pendant; a series of ripples started, not as wide an effect as the sceptre was able to accomplish, but taking away the swords that would have cut into him and his boar.

The air in front of us started to ripple.

Turning our attack against us.

I let go of the ring, prepared to shout a warning, but Luther was already on it.

“Shimsha!” The ripple before us disappeared before the swords could materialise and in the sky the hail of iron and steel vanished; the air behind Leonidas rippled and the swords — retaining their momentum — stabbed up in a wide spray. Leonidas couldn’t use the same manoeuvre again and chose to duck low, relying on the pig to tank the storm.

“Fuck,” I muttered as the tactic worked. Most of the blades flew aside as they hit against the pigs hide; some managed to stab in, but the boar didn’t seem affected and the swords were thrown off as the pig continued his forward run.

We’re going to have trouble getting through that hide. Any chance of victory will depend on if we can take down the rider.

“Focus fire on the soldiers,” I said. “Keep them from getting close.”

All with the knowledge that their armour isn’t enough to tank all of those swords. People are going to get hurt or killed and it’ll be on you.

“You have to protect him if those guys get close,” I told our warriors. Bravery or stupidity? “I’ll do my best to deal with Leonidas.”

It was easier to tap on all the victories I’d had, the experiences I’d gone through. I’d fought a bear, fallen from a great height and I’d managed to mouth off long enough I’d evaded capture from Latimer. The odds didn’t seem good, but I was smart as a whip and had enough trinkets that they could augment my ability.

Bravery, not stupidity, I told myself.

I kicked and Rollo started forward in a run, not faltering even as the ground shook again — the same couldn’t be said for the pig and that was more in my favour. When we were close enough that my gun’s power wouldn’t be too feeble I brought up my arm and shot in the same motion; three balls of fire left my gun. Leonidas ducked low, dodging two blasts of fire that nearly hit him, while the pig snorted as I hit it in the snout — it continued forward.

“Keep going, bud,” I told Rollo as adrenaline raced through me, giving me a heightened and screwy sort of awareness. My fight with the bear ran through my mind as I used the circlet to make myself lighter. I started to stand on the goat’s back, using Rollo’s horns to help my balance.

Closer now, I could see a confusion and caution flickered on the face of a man in his late thirties, skin tanned like leather and marred by tattoos that were black and speckled with white dots. The goat, on the other hand, radiated with excitement, picking up speed as it readied itself to clash with the goat.

“Wend westward wayward wanderer!” I shouted, a war cry as I leapt off — a mouthful but it had given me enough time. Rollo disappeared and I saw the surprise on Leonidas as I sailed through the air above him, the hammer of my gun pulled back and my finger on the trigger. I squeezed and pulled back the hammer even as the recoil ran through me with extra kick, playing with my momentum.

Leonidas, seeing no other option, leapt off his mount to escape the worst of the blast. It still hit, though it wasn’t on target. He, unlike me, didn’t have a circlet, and the clothes he wore revealed his arms to better show off his tattoos. The man hit the ground harshly, rolled uncontrollably, and then managed to find his feet, limping to a stop.

My turn to control my fall, I thought as the ground approached. Shoulder first, there’ll be a jostling impact and I’ll have to move with it.

There was an ugliness in my stomach as I used Jaslynn’s lessons from dodging practice. But — as I landed in that roll, my armour taking the brunt of the impact and aiding my movement as I came to a stumbling stand and turned around, gun levelled — I couldn’t help but be thankful that she’d forced me through that work.

Leonidas had a limp and his pig would be slow to turn – or maybe not. The pig turned on its axis as if it was nothing, retaining its momentum as it ran for its master.

I shot and the air in front of the mage rippled, calling forth a massive shield — unadorned by any diagrams or celestial gems — that tanked the blast without trouble.

He’s a mage. Expect tricks.

“Rollo, come!” I shouted, and started to run. The goat appeared and didn’t hesitate before it galloped. I jumped and between the circlet and armour I sailed further. My landing on Rollo was rough, but I managed to keep from getting thrown off. What almost made me fall were the impressions I felt winking out behind me as Luther screamed Shimsha!

Rollo and I ran around the shield and fired. Two quick blasts that forced the pig to step over Leonidas to offer him cover. The pig was without a saddle and that limited how Leonidas could climb with how hurt he was. All Rollo and I had to do was keep him from climbing onto the pig and we wouldn’t have to worry about it.

We kept going around and shooting, forcing the pig to keep doing that turning on its axis thing to keep track of us and protect Leonidas.

The sky let out a long sigh and I looked up as a shadow fell over me. A boulder, about as tall as I was and a lot fatter. It didn’t have any spatial stones on it which meant it was likely something he’d pulled from within view — from the battle between two people whose artefacts worked with earth.

I hope it’s not the lava rocks.

Cranking the circlet to its highest setting, I leaned Rollo away from the rock. It hit the ground hard enough it shook, not that I felt the impact. Leonidas was doing his best to give himself the opportunity to climb his pig and I had to make sure he didn’t have that.

Rollo and I kept moving, putting me in view of Luther. I raised a hand and pointed at the mage. He was down and I needed to keep him so. I couldn’t do that on my own. Hopefully the few remaining soldiers wouldn’t want to brave Luther’s continued assault.

“Shimsha!” the mage shouted and his swords rained down from the sky. They must have lost all their momentum if he was letting them fall from such a height. I felt as the impressions of Leonidas and his pig bled into each other — under it, not on.

More of the swords met their mark and bit into the pig, still not enough that I was comfortable it was under control. The assault stopped and the pig moved, jumping on the spot and diving into the ground.

Auk was what ran through my mind as I felt the pig swimming through the ground, not at me but at Luther. He felt it too and with a last Shimsha he shouted for everyone to scatter and broke away from the group.

I had to trust that they could hold their own. Leonidas was on the ground and he was unprotected. Rollo and I ran towards him even as the air rippled around the man, likely calling up another shield. Balls of fire left my gun and hit the thing just as it settled into reality, but Rollo and I didn’t slow, the shield was short enough that I could jump over it.

But what if he’s expecting that? I thought. He’s a mage and he’ll have a weapon in his hand. It could be ranged. Then he’d keep the shield so that he could hide whatever it was. I could have Rollo just bash through it and that would hit him. But what if his shield was like Owain Junior’s? What if there was a gravity aspect to it? Inviting attack only to throw it back?

Another plan.

“I don’t know how the other side looks, bud,” I said. “But I need you to keep your momentum. You’re gonna have to headbutt that guy no matter what happens.”

The pig breached the ground, not getting as high as auks could, but still getting considerable height and carrying large rocks within its field of influence. Thankfully Luther was its only target, which kept the commoners from being hurt by the assault. The man himself was saved by Surya’s horse which darted through the hail of rocks.

It’s been around Matthaeus and his hammer. It knows how to traverse that terrain and field its dangers.

Luther — hopefully — could take care of himself. I need to make sure Leonidas was no longer an opponent we needed to fight.

I said the phrase as I jumped, gun at the ready. It was as I’d expected, Leonidas had called forward a crossbow that was ready to be shot. I felt a moment’s vindication seeing that I was right, that the diagram work on the shield was at the back, revealing three stones — spatial, gravity and earth. Leonidas let me shoot first and danced aside; he’d noticed how the recoil messed me up and waited for it before shooting.

The bolt pierced the air and felt like what I imagined a gunshot would feel like as it punched into my chest, stopped from piercing through my armour. There was still enough momentum that I spun around in the air, my stomach lurching moments before I hit the ground in a rough tumble.

Pain sang through my body but I focused on the plan. He’d used a crossbow and those weren’t as easy to reload as a gun — and hopefully there was no magic involved — there would be time.

“Rollo, come!” I shouted, and the goat appeared still running but going slower. He quickly picked up speed.

The appearance wasn’t neat, but the direction was about right. Rollo, head down, quickly closed the distance and slammed into the man, throwing him through the air and sending him flying away.

Gotta finish the job.

“Rollo, come,” I said and the goat appeared. Pain still coursing through me, I grabbed his fur and used that to help myself up. My hand was empty and I had to look around before I spotted the pistol thrown to one side — time that Leonidas was getting his bearings.

In the distance I heard as Surya’s horse cried out in pain and panic, and with my spatial sense I could sense as three forms overlapped in a way that could only mean trouble.

Can’t focus on that, I thought, taking solace in the fact that there were still three impressions in my mind.

Still in pain I closed the distance, then froze as I felt the pig appear beside the man.

Leonidas. Caller of the Dire Boar.

People had been surprised that I could call Rollo to me and this was magic even the royal family didn’t have. So I’d taken it for granted that I was the only one with the ability in Althor.

Gotta get the gun. Gotta get the gun.

I limp-ran towards it, balancing on Rollo. As much as it hurt, I spun around ready to shoot as soon as the pistol was in my hand. But it was too late, Leonidas had already climbed onto his boar. I didn’t think I could do half the things I’d done when my body was so hurt.

“Shimsha!” Luther screamed and the air above Leonidas and his boar began to ripple.

The man barked an order and the two ran off, not towards the battle nor the train.

We’d won and our battle was over. I was too tired to stand, so I sat on the ground, watching the dust cloud that still hid the dregs of the battle. Behind me I felt as the commoners approached, two groups — one towards Luther and the other in my direction.

“Champion,” a man said as they stopped near. “There’s a healer amongst our people. We can lead you there. They’ve walked far enough away from the battle.”

“Luther?” I asked.

“Alive, but his horse broke its leg,” another said.

I nodded. “We’ll have to move. Keep up with the train. Help me onto my mount.”

There were none of the reservations I’d seen before, and that I appreciated.