Swoosh! The javelin, augmented by the diving wyvern's speed, flew by Kent with an audible whistling sound. Kent needed only a second to gauge the wyvern rider's path of flight. He drew his own javelin from his side, raised it, and threw the weapon at where he hoped the wyvern rider would be in the next moment. He was not disappointed. With a scream, the wyvern rider fell from his steed, Kent's dart protruding from his neck, half in the front, and half in the back. The wyvern, deprived of its rider, flew to the north to join the rest of its kind. Their heads were turned in the same direction as the fleeing wyvern. The royal wyvern riders were retreating beyond the palace.
Kent rode west, toward where he saw a gathering of the group. There were the three lords, Marcus, and the tactician. Upon seeing Kent's approach, Piter broke from the conversation and walked towards Kent. He signaled the knight to stop; Kent did so, and dismounted. The tactician handed Kent a sheet of paper, rolled into a scroll.
"You are to ride south, around the mountains, and give the units this order," Piter said, his voice never changing from the monotone of business. "You are to tell them that they will return to join us. Tell them that they are not to head east once they've come north of the mountains. We will be pursuing the enemy from the path west of the palace."
"Yes sir, but..." Kent hesitated to question Piter. The tactician did not like skepticism regarding his decisions. "Why not send Florina? She should be able to get there faster."
"Florina is with Lord Pent. She is being treated for her wounds in a scuffle with an enemy shaman. Apparently, the royal mages were issued a new sort of magic that could breach a Pegasus' natural resistance. I wouldn't dream of sending Sir Marcus," the tactician replied, giving a melodramatic emphasis on the word "dream." Abruptly, his haunting, entirely blue eyes turned downwards. "The useless old goat," the tactician muttered in an aside that was all too audible. Kent wondered if it was even meant to be an aside.
"Make haste," Piter waved his hand, signaling the end of his orders. Kent mounted his steed and rode westward, going around the mountains.
"Farina, Fiora, Heath, Isadora, Lowen, Prisiclla, Sain, a mobile shock force," Kent thought as he went over the names on the list of combatants Piter gave him. The mountains surrounding Bern's palace made the movement of anything not mounted on the nearly tireless steeds, winged or grounded, nearly impossible. "A formidable natural defense, and it serves Bern well. It is well that Bern has not yet made war on its neighbors," Kent thought grimly.
Presently, his steed strode past two fallen horses. The crest of the Black Fang showed clearly on the fallen knights' armors. Ahead of the two fallen knights, beyond a wall of shrubbery, came a steady rustling sound, mingled with some grunts. Kent reached for his lance, and pulled on the reins of his horse to signal it to slow. Steadily, with as little noise as the horse could manage, Kent approached the bush. When he was near the wall, he spurred his horse, and it galloped through the brushes, nearly colliding with a rotund stallion leisurely feeding on the grass. To the right of the stallion a square cloth was neatly spread. On it sat Lowen, carving a piece of ham. The grunts Kent heard had evidently been the young knight's attempt at severing a piece of the tough meat.
"You, and the rest of the forces, are ordered to join the forces to the north immediately, Sir Lowen," Kent said, his manner rather brusque, his mind agitated both by the anticipation of an enemy and Lowen's leisure. "Ride north after you have cleared the mountains. Do not go east to Bern's palace. We will gather to its west."
"Yes sir," the gluttonous knight made a surprisingly disciplined salute and began packing his picnic with speed that told of long practice. As he stuffed the piece of ham into his bag, he paused and looked to his left. He gave a quick shout. "Lady Isadora! We are ordered to group!"
Kent looked in the direction of Lowen's shout. Presently, the sound of hooves alerted him to a mounted knight's approach. A few seconds later, Isadora came into view, her sword still drawn, a weary alertness on her face. "Somebody, at least, is still vigilant," Kent left Lowen to pack, and Isadora to glare at him in impatience.
Kent's next find was not quite as unusually as his encounter with Lowen and Isadora. He happened upon Heath and Priscilla on the edge of a forest, both unusually pale. The former was engaged in an attempt to restore animation to the latter, which involved the exchange of breaths. Behind the two were their mounts: Priscilla's pony was standing in a manner of nonchalance, and the more intelligent wyvern, Kent thought, had what resembled a smug grin on its face.
"What happened here?" Kent asked before delivering Piter's orders.
By this time, Heath had passed the phase of alarm and gathered sufficient faculty to answer Kent's question without stammer, though still with a flush in the face. "I was just telling her a story of my former commander, and she passed out."
"I see. As soon as you are able, head west and then north. Keep going north, and you will meet with the rest of the army."
Having delivered the orders, and made sure that Heath understood that he was not to approach the palace, Kent still hesitated to go. An opportune gust told him that it was an unnecessary worry, for it was Farina alighting on the patch. Kent repeated Piter's orders to her and left the three. His last glance was of Heath and Farina in some exchange, and Priscilla's awakening.
Kent had entered the forest south of the outer mountain rim, and still he caught no sign of Sain or Fiora. His mind was just beginning to conjure up all sorts of ominous images—ranging from the two bound and dragged behind enemy steeds to Sain's elopement with a lovely Fang—when a muffled defiant echo reached his ears.
"I am always the very picture of health!" It was Sain's boastful voice.
"Enough of that! Just let me... Oh! Your forehead is burning! Have you been fighting like this all day?" Fiora's soft contralto answered in reproach. Still, Kent could not locate the two. His mind cursed the thick woods around him, which gave a muffled echo whenever a person spoke in great volume. He dismounted his destrier and tied it to a tree, hoping that he could locate the two better without the sound of hooves tramping the ground beneath him. He was not disappointed, for the voices grew louder and clearer.
"But... I have promised you. I must protect you!" Sain's jubilant tenor stayed Kent. A strange variant of curiosity yet foreign to Kent held him in place, waiting to hear the end of this conversation. Sain answered Fiora's question with the cavalier reply whose variants had become ordinary to Kent during their acquaintance, yet he perceived a tone of earnestness and anxiety he had seldom heard before in the familiar "It is the duty of all knights to protect woman! In the face of that duty this ailment is but a blush! ....." He was thus engaged in deciphering the exchange when a cry behind him roused him out of his reverie. A brigand, with a large steel axe in hand, rushed at him. Before Kent could draw his sword, his armor was stained with the dark red of blood. He stared stupidly at the slumping figure a moment before a piping voice drew him to his senses.
"Sheesh, Sir Heath was right. It was a good idea to go after you," Farina said. "What were you doing, zoning out like that anyway?"
"Ah... I..." Kent could find no reply.
"Lets go. We don't have all day."
With that, the Pegasus knight dragged Kent through the foliage behind which he hid to deliver the last of Piter's orders.