Alex didn’t move as the commander approached.

He was a handsome man, standing perhaps an inch over Alex’ six foot one, and wider at the shoulders. His brownish hair had mostly slipped out of its knot, and hung down to his chin, framing a face made from stony planes and angles. Blood, sweat, dirt, and the stubble you get after a few days on the road gave him a rugged, yet noble appearance. His eyes—though narrowed in suspicion—were as brown as his hair, and seemed to almost flicker with intelligence as he tried to calculate his chanced to walking away alive. His armor had been stained during the battle, but still shone in the sunlight, and his cloak, though tattered at the edges, shone red, like a herald of dawn. But despite his appearance, he seemed young, Alex could not say for certain, but he did not seem older than twenty-five.

He stopped a dozen feet before Alex, his hand resting upon the pommel of his sword. “I’m Charles Boulet of Nydawin, commander of the royal guard,” he said, sounding as calm and collected as the ground upon which they stood, but Alex could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “May I ask who you are and from where you come?”

Alex gave the commander a tired smile, hoping it would help him come across as harmless. He was too tired to fight anyone, especially a platoon of trained soldiers. “The name’s Alexander Blackwood, though you may call me Alex. I’m a magician by trade, and I am—I suspect—a long way from home.”

Charles furrowed his brow. “You are not a paladin? I thought you used holy magic to aid in your fight.”

Alex bowed his head. “I did,” he confirmed. “I can cast many forms of magic. Though I would not describe myself quite so righteously.”

Charles didn’t pursue the line of questioning any further instead he motioned towards one of the many charred spots where a voidborn had fallen. “You know those creatures then? I’ve never seen anything like them, thank the gods.”

“Voidborn,” Alex said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “Though lesser such. They are drawn to fresh meat and blood, it matters not who or what it belongs to. Though some are known to favor that of humans, for what reason I cannot say.”

“These voidborn, then,” Charles said in a tone that showed his distaste, as if tasting the word and finding it vile. “Will there be more?”

“No. They travel in packs of thirteen, and only one pack slipped through the rift.”

“Rift?”

“A rift in space, the same one I came through.” Alex didn’t like lying, but not telling the whole truth was another matter. “I sealed it after I had arrived here.”

It was clear the commander didn’t know what Alex was talking about. Though he hid it well, if Alex had not had a lifetime worth of experience dealing with people trying to hide things from him, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Can you give any guarantee that there won’t be more?”

“Nothing beyond my word, whatever that’s worth.”

Charles hummed, and stayed quiet for a moment as he considered Alex’ words. A calm breeze passed through the clearing, swaying treetops and throwing summer-green leaves into a dance. It brought the smell of flowers at bloom: of lavender and lilac, of daphne and roses; mixing with a heavy sent of pine, and a hint of rain. Alex dragged a hand through his hair in an attempt to flatten it into place. Charles mirrored the action, perhaps without even realizing it, though—on account of having longer hair—he also pulled strands away from his face.

Then he spoke up. “You were hunting these creatures then? You seemed to know how to handle them,” he asked.

Alex shook his head. “I came through for other reasons. But it’s not the first time I’ve had brushes with creatures of the void. Though, I’m glad I found them before they could cause more harm. They are hard to kill, as I’m sure you noticed. I am sorry for your losses, but if they had found a town or village first… I shudder to think what would have happened.”

Charles nodded in agreement. “Indeed, there are no towns large enough to keep a competent priest—much less a paladin—for a few days ride, though the road is speckled with smaller villages.” He glanced at what remained of one soldier. Torn armor and clothes could do little to hide the mess of flesh and blood, out of which crushed and half-eaten bones poked at strange angles. He sighed, and slumped a little. “They were soldiers, they knew the risks.” Then he turned back to Alex, it seemed like he had a question at the ready, perhaps one wondering why Alex had come through the rift, but he held it, hesitated. Then he shook his head as if angry with himself. “Gods have mercy; here I stand, interrogating you like a common criminal after you saved our lives. My family would be ashamed.”

Alex chuckled. “I’d say a bit of suspicion is warranted.”

Charles shook his head again. “I’ve never known a dishonorable man to risk his life to save those of strangers. Though you are right, I suppose. But this assignment has me jumping at shadows. You might have already guessed, but by saving us you’ve saved a member of the royal family, prince Elliott Lemoine of Nydawin.”

“Yes, the banner gave you away,” Alex said and nodded towards the one still standing. “I’ve never seen anyone but a royal use either gold, nor such a shade of purple.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Where is your charge now?” Alex asked, though with how the remaining soldiers were still clustered around the same spot, he could hazard a guess.

“I fear he fainted during the attack,” Charles said, as if it was only natural, but again, Alex could see something flicker in his eyes: contempt, or perhaps even disgust. “I’m sure he’ll wake any moment. And he’ll want to meet his savior when does.”

“If you are asking me if I want to stick around, I’d be honored,” Alex said, then—not bothering to hide his smile—he added, “I’d be especially honored if you had any food to share, I’m starving.”

Charles bowed his head. “That can certainly be arranged. If you would give me a moment to speak with my men?”

“Of course.”

Charles turned for the soldiers. They had clearly followed the conversation as best they could, whilst still keeping an eye out for more of the creatures. But as Charles spoke, they stood down, and with efficiency that displayed their excellent training and discipline, Charles split them into three groups. He sent the first to gather up the animals that had torn themselves lose and fled at the scent of voidborn, another to reclaim their camp, and the third to bury what was left of the fallen soldiers. The last was a gruesome task of collecting strewn bones and pieces of flesh and armor, yet they did it without question or complaint.

Charles soon returned with a small pouch, which he handed to Alex. “Since we travel along the king’s road we are not carrying much provisions. This is what I can give you for now, but tonight we will dine in a village a couple hours south.”

Alex accepted the pouch and looked inside, finding fluffy bread and cheese that almost seemed to glimmer like gold. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure I could have eaten a horse, if it was offered.”

Charles gave him a quizzical look. “A horse?” The word seemed strange in his mouth, as if it was not part of his native vocabulary, and whatever took care of translations hadn’t found anything that matched. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word. Is it another creature of the void?”

Alex tilted his head. A different world meant different rules, he knew that. But everything had seemed so familiar up until that point that he was thrown off for a moment. “No,” he said. “It’s an animal. Eh…” He wasn’t sure what animals existed on this world so he didn’t know what he could use as a comparison. “Four legs, about eight feet tall at the head. Used for transportation; either by riding or pulling wagons.”

“Sounds like you’re describing a dalama,” Charles said after a moment of thought. “Though they are mostly used for pulling wagons and farm equipment… and they have horns.”

“Never heard of it, though it sounds like an ox.”

Charles shook his head. “Ox also sounds strange to me.”

Alex hummed. “But if you do not ride horses,” he said, remembering Charles had mentioned days ride as a unit of measurement “Then what do you ride?”

“Moas,” Charles said simply. “My men should be returning with them soon.”

A shout drew their attention. The soldiers had finished digging graves for their fallen comrades and were calling for the commander to perform the rites that fell onto him as the highest in command. The bodies of the fallen had been laid out beside the graves, covered in banners pulled off spears and poles, their swords laying atop, perhaps as a way to honor their pledge to the blade.

“I suppose I will await these mysterious creatures with bated breath,” Alex said and pulled a piece of bread out of the pouch. He wouldn’t invite himself into a burial for those whose deaths he inadvertently caused. Charles nodded and turned towards his somber duty, but before he could take more then a couple steps, Alex realized something.

He quickly swallowed the bread. “Charles,” he said, drawing the commander’s attention. Standing up, he pulled the sword he had been leaning on out of the ground, and held it out, saying, “A soldier should be buried with his sword, should he not?”

Charles stepped back to Alex and accepted the weapon. “He should,” the commander agreed with a sober expression. “I’ll make sure it’s given back to who it belonged.”

Alex nodded, and again watched him go to the soldiers. Breaking off a bit of bread he stuffed it into his mouth and took a bite of the cheese. When the ceremony began, he turned his back and walked back to the road. There he picked up his cloak and dusted off the worst of the dirt, before turning back. He let it hang over his arm, putting it on would have been to warm in the summer heat.

Walking back to the camp he did his best to avoid the soldier’s running by, salvaging what they could from torn tents and strewn equipment. Three soldier’s were still standing around an unmoving body on the ground, clothed in velvet and silk of royal-purple and evening-blues. His boots matched Alex’ in quality, and seemed to be of soft calfskin. This was the prince then, Alex assumed, as he studied the boy’s face.

For he was no more than a boy, perhaps sixteen years of age. Old enough to be counted a man, certainly, but not old enough to be treated as such. His face was thin and his complexion pale, and his hair—a sand like blond—hung in soft strands to his chin, in what was most likely the fashion among noble boys. His features were sharp, putting Alex in mind of a hawk, but of one that had barely left the nest. They were still soft, lacking the hardness that came with age and experience. Unlike Charles, Alex did not blame the boy for fainting during the attack, voidborn were harsh foes to encounter for even the strongest of fighters, and not something a fledgling prince should be forced to suffer through. Though, he supposed it wasn’t fair for anyone to be forced to suffer through such a thing, but you couldn’t save them all.

A sudden loud chirp snapped him out of this thoughts, and he looked across the clearing to where soldiers were returning from their task, with what must have been moas in hand. They were massive… birds? Alex wasn’t sure what to classify them as, but they had feathers and beaks, and one even showed off an impressive set of wings as it strained its long neck towards some low-hanging fruit, fluttering its long, broad tail-feathers. They stood twice the height of the men that led them, with legs covered in scales and thick as tree-trunks, ending in over-sized feet of four clawed toes—three forward and one back. Their beaks were large and serrated, like the teeth of a saw, and above sat two surprisingly intelligent, forward facing eyes, with an iris and pupil, unlike anything Alex had ever seen on a bird before.

A score of them were being led into the clearing, and from the sounds of it, more were on the way. Most of them had dresses of yellow feathers, but a couple had black, and one was even purple! Though Alex could guess to who that one belonged.

“Impressive, eh?”

Charles had managed to sneak up on him, an impressive feat for a man his size.

“Quite,” Alex said. “Though, I’m not so sure how you are supposed to ride them.”

“That’s simple enough. Throw a saddle on their back and bridle around their neck, and they’ll carry you to the ends of the world.”

“You sit on their backs?”

“Yes.”

“Can their legs really handle that kind of weight?”

“I don’t see why not; it’s what they are bred for.”

Alex hummed. “Can they fly?”

“No. Though, flying moas are a bit of a legend. Supposedly, they exist far to the east where mountains are tall enough to touch the sky. But I’ve certainly never seen one.”

“That’s a pity,” Alex mused. He could fly on his own—any self-respecting archmage could—but doing it on the back of a massive bird just seemed like a lot more fun. Maybe he would travel east then, and see if he could find one. Unless he came across something more important first, that is.

“Commander,” one of the soldiers around the prince exclaimed. “He is waking up!”

Alex followed as Charles made his way over to the prince and his two sentinels.

The prince groaned as he woke; slowly at first, his eyes fluttering open and taking a moment to focus on the clouds far above, before flickering to the face of Charles, and the two soldier’s that flanked him. Then he seemed to remember why he had fainted and his eyes widened with fear. Instantly he shot up, stumbling before one of the soldier’s could steady him. “Where are they?” he asked, panic in his voice. “Are they still here? Are they gone?” His eyes darted around the clearing, before landing upon Alex, taking in his appearance, then upon Charles.

“They are gone, your highness,” Charles said. “Vanquished by this man, Alexander. We owe him our lives.”

“Oh.” Elliot straightened and pulled at his tunic in a vain attempt to smooth out the creases that had formed during his time unconscious. Lifting his chin to to the sky he managed to display some semblance of nobility, though the image was spoiled by his bed-hair and dirt-streaked clothing. “Commander,” he sniffed and snapped his fingers. “You may reward this man for his valor in service of his prince.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Alex did not need the glance from Charles to know he shouldn’t correct the boy, but he did appreciate the sentiment. Alex bowed his head, perhaps not as deep as would have been strictly appropriate, but the prince did not notice, as he had already turned away.

“You may ride with us,” the prince said as if it was the greatest of honors. “But at the end of the column.”

“Of course.”

The prince sniffed again and left for the remains of his tent, the two soldiers flanking him. Charles came up to Alex and handed him another pouch, this one small but heavy, and it clinked as Alex accepted it.

“Twenty gold,” Charles said. “I wish I could give more, but this is what we have to give away.”

“Don’t worry,” Alex said and weighed the pouch in his hand. “I did not do it for money.” Though he was glad to have a stash of local coins, no matter how much they were worth. “Though, I’m surprised a royal escort is not carrying more. Were you in a hurry when you set out?” It wasn’t just the money. He had noticed there were too few tents for the amount of soldiers, and even if no one had strictly dirty armor, all soldiers showed signs of wariness and the fatigue of the road.

Charles furrowed his brow. “You’ve got a sharp eye. But yes, you are correct, of course. We have barely an hour from command to leaving the palace in Esterlake. We’ve been on the road since then, from morning to evening, with only a short break for lunch.”

“Something big has happened then, I gather.”

“Aye,” Charles said, his face turning somber. “The old queen died unexpectedly. We are traveling to Spellhedge to collect the young princess.”

“My condolences,” Alex said.

Charles nodded. “There’s a few things I need to check on. We leave as soon as the camp has been broken.” He looked around, and sighed. “We were going to spend the night here, but after these events I think its better if we travel for a few more hours. I’ll make sure you get a moa to ride.”

Charles left to tend to his duties. Alex watched him go, and then he canceled the last sign—the sign of Gecit—since he no longer needed the escape route. As the coin he had dropped in the mud returned to his hand with a soft pop, so did what little magic the sign had held, like a drop of water in a desert. He rolled the coin between his fingers, letting the cold metal cool his warm skin. He really wasn’t sure what to do about the situation with his magic. It would refill naturally from the ambient levels of magic, but that would take months, if not years. Meeting up with Emily would let it refill faster, as together they could access cosmic stores of magic, but he couldn’t depend on that happening any time soon. For he had no idea when fate would deign to bring them together. The coin had grown warm and he sighed as he dropped it into his pouch; there was nothing he could do but wait and see.