Nothing marked the border between Mythel and the Uthain kingdom, except trees. On the Uthain side was open field that had overgrown with grass, an ocean of green and the occasional prickle of color popping out. On Mythel side were trees that lined up as far as the eye could see. Technically, the border was probably a few meters from the treeline, past where they rode their horses, but for them the treeline was the border.

They rode north, men silent as horses huffed and feet galloped over the land, the grass forming a trail behind them as it was squashed under their horses. The leader of the group, Riger, signalled to them, and they slowed to a trot, moving west as one. They entered the woods together, each of them taking out a vial of liquid and pouring it over themselves. None of them knew what it was, just that it smelled strong, the stench like a knife to the nostril. The scent faded over time, but it still kept the animals away. Keener noses, Casser guessed.

Sunlight rarely came in beams through the forest ceiling, and otherwise the forest was dark, barely lit but the glorious sun above. There was enough light to see, but their eyes would take time to adjust fully. Until then, they moved at a crawl as their horses trotted after Riger’s own.

Frogs croaked in the distance, and Riger turned his horse, moving toward the sound. At times the sound seemed to come from every direction, the sound bouncing around the trees. They kept inching closer, regardless, and eventually came upon the Mythel camp. At the center sat a man upon a log, cloaked in dull steel and black cloth that covered his limbs and head. His face turned from the knights, a green glow emanated from within the cloth, coating a small horn of white. The man blew into the horn once more, releasing the croak of a frog once more.

“Have you seen a silver bird flying around?” Riger asked. The cloaked man turned, and Casser saw what caused the glow. Eyes of brilliant glowing green stared back at them. A seer.

“Nay, only brown and gold.” The man stood from his log, exchanging a nod with Riger. He mounted his own horse. “Follow,” he said.

They followed behind, forest trees growing ever more sparse as they went, falling away into open space and even ground. Easy to travel through. Eventually, the sky above began to reveal itself as well, little by little, the dark green of leaves and pine needles replaced by light blue. And a column of black.

Riger stopped as the seer held up a fist, everyone else following suit. The seer turned to Riger first, then to Casser, eyes glowing brightly enough to wash the man’s head in a green aura. “You,” he said, pointing to Casser.

“Me what?”

“The smoke ahead. Darstin. They will head north, as we will. You must distract. Then, north.”

“Not kill them?”

“They are many.”

“Not much of a problem for a Domicus,” Riger replied. They were not mere knights. No task was too brutal, too bloody, too dangerous.

“Run and shoot, then,” the seer replied. Casser nodded to the man, then to Riger, leading his horse and his men slightly south. There was no arguing with a seer.

He turned his head back. “Will we live?” He asked. The seer’s face lit up again, then faded to a faint glow.

“You must,” he said. “There is more for you yet.”

The camp numbered somewhere between twenty and thirty men. Only a handful were fully armored in plate, but all were soldiers. Whatever the seer saw, it must have been accurate. A direct assault wouldn't work. Casser sat in his saddle, bow in hand, watching and waiting. His men had done the same, all of them spread out and ready. He raised his bow, and they mimicked him. Run and shoot

They let loose their arrows in silence, Casser first and his men following, the arrows zipping through the air to their targets. They struck four men huddled around the campfire, piercing through them in a mix of location, only two instantly lethal. The Darstin soldiers reacted at once, scrambling about, yelling as they dove for cover or grabbed their shields and weapons.

Remaining seated in their saddles, Casser’s group awaited the Darstin men as they knocked their arrows and let loose another volley. Some charged straight at them, sword or spear in hand, and were put to eternal rest in quick order. Others formed shield walls around their horses as mounted knights rallied them to order.

Wind greeted Casser’s face as he urged his horse into a gallop. Slow, at first, he circled the camp, loosing arrows at mounted knights and shielded soldiers alike, only one lucky enough to pierce through the eyehole of a knights helmet. The man’s body fell, a foot caught in a stirrup, dragged across the ground as the horse attempted to flee, the knight’s body catching a soldier’s foot, tripping him the ground.

A wave of soldiers finally began chase on horseback, following after the retreating group over open plain. Casser twisted in his saddle, launching another arrow at the closest soldier and barely piercing the man’s chest. Spurring his horse faster, wind filled his ears, blocking out even the footfalls of his companions’ horses.

An arrow zoomed past his head with a clink, helmet rattling against his head as the arrow embedded itself into the ground below. Behind them Darstin soldiers with bows followed the example they had set, knocking arrows and taking aim. He turned in his saddle once more, bow in hand, ignoring the arrows clinking off his plate armor as he returned fire.

Man after man fell dead from their horses, bodies crumpling to the dirt below, others balanced neatly on the backs of their steeds. Dwindling in number, the Domicus was left alone with his knights, riding through green brush. They halted, turning back from whence they came, each alive, nary a scratch save an arrow sticking from Jof’s shoulder. Ahead of them were the approaching Darstin troops, too far to bother with arrows yet.

“How many did you get? Totals.” Casser asked the knights.

“Two,” Jof replied.

“Three, maybe four,” Bronel said.

“Same as Bron,” Lenn said. Cass got four himself, maybe five or six.

“A little over ten, then.” He smiled beneath his helmet, though he knew they couldn’t see it. A sad thing, to have emotions hidden unwillingly, but better than an arrow or sword to the face.

“A decent chunk,” Lenn said.

“Aye.” Knocking an arrow, Casser took aim at the approaching men. “Let’s not make this a final stand, shall we?”

“Aye,” his men replied. He loosed his arrow first, as before, piercing the leg of a soldier. A bad shot. He tried again, this time killing a soldiers horse, the beast collapsing to the ground only for another to crash into its corpse. Others fell to the arrows of his companions, leaving two armored knights left, charging with spears in hand, both aimed at Casser. He jumped from his horse, the spears slicing through the air of where had been. One had aimed for his horse, the poor beast screeching as a spear stuck into its body.

He knelt low by his horse as he took aim, his arrow thunking into the closest knight, the other being turned into a human porcupine. They fell, dead, Casser’s horse doing the same, though death greeted the animal slowly. He knelt at its side, patting it in some vain attempt to calm the dying beast. It was always the hardest part, for him, to see his animals die. They could be mean, at times, but only humans could be evil, or so he liked to believe.

It lay in the grass, surrounded by its own blood, giving one last whimpering sound he didn’t know a horse could make, then fell motionless. He stood, then, and walked from yet another fallen steed, pushing the corpse of some Darstin man from the saddle of a brown mare and mounting it in quick order. War did not give time to mourn for long, if at all. A fact every knight knew, the Domicus especially.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We’ll go to their camp first, then north.”