Ulric Grinstead stepped out from the treeline and shaded his eyes with one hand as he studied the angle of the sun. It had already begun to sink down to the horizon, pulling the blue of midday down after it. He judged it would be another hour, maybe two, before dusk settled over the forest.

Behind him a sergeant in the distinct white and red tunic of the Cult stood with his hands behind his back, sweat beading on his forehead. Like all the Cult, the sergeant wore a sword at his hip, and a round helm on his head. The commander was dressed much the same, minus the helm and with the addition of an unusual weapon slung over one shoulder. Each Cult member carried a sword, and there were more than a few crossbowmen among their ranks, but Commander Grinstead had a long bow hung over one shoulder and a heavy quiver full of arrows hanging opposite of the sword at his hip.

"One and a half, maybe two hours if we're lucky," Grinstead said at last before turning a steely gaze on his subordinate. "By then it'll be dark, and we'll need to be in position around their camp, and you're telling me eight of our dozen calvary have misplaced their horses?"

The commander's tone was cool, neutral even, but Grinstead's eyes betrayed just what he thought of his soldier's incompetence. The sergeant swallowed nervously and bobbed his head. "We're looking for them now, sir, they can't have gone far."

"I'm assuming there were no signs of cut lines?" Grinstead asked.

"None," the sergeant said.

"Shadows then," Grinstead hissed with disdain.

"Likely, sir," the sergeant said, hope beginning to bud in his breast. The commander was not a man who tolerated failure, but perhaps there was a chance the sergeant could smooth over the blunder of his men. The Shadows had always been a problem, had always adept at finding ways to foil the well laid plans of the Cult. Perhaps there was a chance the sergeant and his men would be let off the hook if the the commander had someone else to direct his anger towards.

"Don't bother looking for the horses," Grinstead said. "They'll be long gone, or likely unusable in some shape or form."

"But the attack—" the sergeant began but was quickly silenced with a glare from Grinstead.

"Will be perfectly successful even without the help of the cavalry," Grinstead finished for him. "We still have the numbers and the element of surprise. Have the foot soldiers move into position and await the order."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant snapped off a quick salute.

"Where are the rest of the horses?" Grinstead asked.

"Horses, sir?"

"The four who have yet to wander off," Grinstead's eyes glittered with annoyance, and the sergeant hurried to answer.

"They're still in position, sir, awaiting orders. I've got them on high alert," the sergeant said.

"Tell them to relax and look at ease," Grinstead said, his hand falling to brush against the feathered ends of the arrows in his quiver. "We'll take another band and stand watch over them in the trees, and when the Shadows come out of the woods to take these horses like they took all the others, we'll make them regret it."

"Can't be too many more groups," Fell said to Halt. They were crouched behind a smooth grey boulder at the edge of a rise overlooking a small gully. Below, the faint sounds of men's voices drifted up to them from the makeshift camp of the Cult soldiers.

"They don't seem to have caught on either," Halt noted. From their position they could peer down into the gully below where four men wearing white and red tunics were resting. Like many of the groups before them, they appeared only mildly alert. Two were playing a game of chance by rolling dice in a wooden cup and shaking them out onto the dirt between them. The third sat leaning with his back against a tree, his helm tipped forward to cover his yes. As with many of the groups before, the horses were tethered a short distance away, at the edge of the clearing.

There was a soft rustle behind them as Strider slipped from the brush and rejoined them.

"How many?" Fell asked.

"Four horses this time," Strider said. "There's two there at the edge, and two more several paces into the trees."

"This must be the last of the mounted riders," Halt said, thinking back to the tracks he and Gilan had studied on the bank of the Tarbus earlier that day. They had estimated around a dozen mounted warriors and had already spirited away eight other horses from the bands scattered throughout the woods. If they led away the four at the camp nearby the Cult would have no mounts left for their mounted riders.

Spirting them away had been far easier than Halt thought it would be. The Cult bands were comfortable in the woods and hadn't bothered to set sentries or guards. Instead, many were content to talk amongst themselves or lounge about. Halt guessed they were simply waiting for orders and had grown complacent over the past day or so as they waited for the rest of the Cult forces to cross the river and take up their own positions. They likely had been in the woods for days now, their presence going virtually unchallenged until now. The Ranger didn't like the idea of that and set his mouth into a determined line. He would make sure they wouldn't be comfortable for much longer.

"Same drill as before?" Fell asked, looking between his companions.

"Same as before," Halt agreed. The Ranger wanted to do a lot more than simply delay the Cult, but he knew they could only do much with the three of them. Leading the horses off was the safest and most effective way to hamper the Cult without putting their lives at serious risk.

Strider nodded and Halt gestured for the two to head to their positions. "Wait for the signal," Fell reminded Strider before he moved off into the trees in one direction. Strider headed in the other, looping around back to where the horses were tethered.

Halt watched the two Shadows move through the trees, tracking their progress with ease. They certainly weren't adept at unseen movement, Halt noted, but they were better than most. They were nearly in position when Halt noticed something odd. Strider had just moved beyond a dense collection of brush, and a moment or so after the brush wavered. Halt's eyes flicked instinctively to the brush, and he caught the glint of steel for the briefest of seconds before it was gone again. For a moment he thought it might be Strider retreating, but as he watched the brush stirred again, and light once more glinted off something. This time, Halt could see it was the edge of a metal helm.

The Ranger half rose, alarm bells ringing in his head. He looked for Strider but she'd already moved beyond his line of sight. He looked to Fell next, who had just reached his own position and was half crouched. His eyes were trained on the camp, and he didn't see Halt waving to get his attention.

Halt glanced back towards where Strider had vanished, half expecting to hear a shout of alarm or cry of pain at any moment. He didn't know if Strider knew she was being followed, nor how long the followers would simply follow before they took action and attacked her. He looked to Fell one last time, but the Shadow was still focused on the camp before him. Halt decided he couldn't wait any longer, and there was no way for him to get Fell's attention without also drawing the attention of the soldiers. He quickly turned and began to move through the trees, following the path Strider had taken. He kept his bow out and at the ready, an arrow knocked to the string. He was nearly to the horses when he heard a startled shout, and the deafening clash of steel on steel.

Please read and review and let me know what you think! This was originally supposed to be a longer chapter, but I had a bit of writer's block towards the end and decided to post this half while I focus on the next part. Update should be coming along shortly!