Chapter 1

The storm appeared seemingly out of nowhere, sending crackling streaks of bluish lightning ripping across unprotected ground, scorching stone and causing trees to explode into flaming shrapnel, melting lines of earth into glittering, flawed glass.

The explosion of sudden sound drew the attention of a rider not far away, and he turned his horse to investigate.

xxxx

Sa't opened her eyes to the odd sight of someone in clothes she hadn't seen outside a movie set or museum in a few hundred years kneeling next to her, a concerned expression on his young face.

She blinked a few times, the rest of her vision swimming into focus before hearing kicked back in and the man's voice registered. The sounds were familiar, half-remembered and little understood. She shook her head a bit, trying to clear it, when the flashback hit.

"Form up the right flank! No, you fools—the right flank! They're behind!"

Arrows slashing through air and flesh, wet heat splashing over sand and stone, staining once-clean white bright crimson. Screams from men and horses, the clash of steel—the intended ambush dissolving into a bloody skirmish from which both sides fled with more wounded than well and numbers diminished greatly.

Ah. More familiar, now. Some form of Ancient Latin, touched with traces of Greek and her own mother-tongue in accent and structure.

The question came again, more urgently this time, and now she caught the words—though even without them, the meaning would have been clear enough by the boy's expression.

Sa't caught that thought and nearly snorted. The boy—by sight he probably seemed ten years her senior, at least!

"Are you well?"

She considered the question and ran a quick inventory. Head still attached, all limbs in place… some nasty internal injuries from the fall, if the tingling sparks of Quickening running through her torso were to be believed, but all in all… "Well enough." Besides which, she'd completely deserved that—whatever that had been.

She started to sit, but the young man firmly pushed her back with a hand on her shoulder, "nay, child, lie still. Some hurts make themselves known more slowly than others."

Sa't shook her head stubbornly and sat up despite the protests, "I am not seriously injured." For an Immortal, that was true.

"At least let me take you to shelter, little one," concern showed bright in gray eyes, "Why are you out here all alone?"

Sa't looked around at the devastation ranging about ten feet in every direction and the smoldering bits of wood scattered further beyond that. She shook her head slowly as she registered that the trees around were similar to the ones she knew, but not quite right. "I…" she broke off for a moment, considering how best to put it. "I was at Stonehenge… a man, he killed my…" Student? Daughter? "He killed Karen. I challenged him—I shouldn't have, not there, but I was so angry…" tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, and she dashed them away, the reality still harsh and cruel. Karen had been so young… so bright and alive. Not yet jaded by too many years watching friends die, having to constantly be on the move before someone noticed the unnatural lack of aging.

"There was Quickening—blue lightning—it caught the stones, then…" she shook her head, "I woke up here."

Silence answered her and she chanced a look at the man's face. He seemed troubled and stood without a word, offering her a hand as he whistled sharply.

The quick thud of hooves answered and a brown horse trotted into view, head held high and tack silent. A scout or ranger of some kind, then—metal clips weren't dulled or wrapped in leather for any other reason.

"Come, little one," he instructed, "Ride my horse. My camp is not far."

Sa't nodded, suddenly far too tired to argue. Oh, Karen… she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, barely noticing the tears that welled again her eyes. No matter how many times she lost someone, the hurt of losing another was never dulled.

Half an hour passed and the young man let her cry herself out without comment or question, merely offering her a handkerchief and leading the horse on.

Another twenty minutes later, after her tears had dried and their winding path had 'mysteriously' gotten much more direct, when a slight shift in the shadows above caught her attention.

She was reaching for twin katana before she realized what she was doing, drawing attention in the direction of the previously unnoticed weapons, but a quick abortion of the movement and a subtle strengthening of what Karen had jokingly called the 'Sword? What sword?' technique, and the man leading her merely blinked and seemed puzzled.

"Are you certain you are well, child?"

Sa't nodded slightly, sending a quick glance at the narrow trail before gesturing upwards. "Movement in the tree. A man, dressed like you, but carrying a bow."

Stormy eyes flickered in her direction, surprised. "A guard," he explained. "I am impressed that you noticed—few see a Ranger who does not wish to be seen."

"Among my people… awareness is survival. That lesson was hard-learned and never forgotten."

Surprise turned to something darker, sadder. "You speak with a tone of great age, little one."

Sa't considered briefly, then shrugged, moving to slide off the horse as they reached a good-sized camp.

"Ah—gently, child. I fear for your health, still. The blow to your head must have been strong for me to have found you still unconscious atop the hill."

Sa't snorted, "I do not have a concussion. Believe me, I know what they feel like by now."

"Co—con-cussion?" Puzzlement.

"When a blow to the head causes the brain to bump into the side of the skull, causing bruising," Sa't fell into lecture-tone on pure habit, "Bruises to the brain are serious, sometimes resulting in memory loss, prolonged periods of unconsciousness, coma, death, or sudden and extreme changes in behavior and personality. Each time a human gets one, it is easier to get another. I know the symptoms and have had them before—they turn me into a wicked grouch." Until my quickening kicks in and takes care of it.

The stare she received in response to the little lecture was somewhere between amazed and confused.

Sa't shrugged slightly, "I have learned from the healers in my country."

"You have learned well," he commented, leading her between scattered tents and waving off the attention from others in the camp. "You are certain?"

"No double vision, no fuzziness, no nausea, balance is fine, I'm thinking clearly, and I'm not biting your head off. Yes, I'm quite sure."

"Biting my head off?" The incredulity that touched the repeat of her words was almost amusing.

"Forgive me, it's a figure of speech. It means I am not using angry words when I speak to you."

"Ah," he ushered her into a tent, "I shall find a spare bedroll for you. You may have this tent tonight—we will get you your own later."

xxxx

True to his word, by morning Strider had found her not only a tent and a bedroll, but also a horse. However, the group was not planning on moving camp for several weeks, so Sa't took to following the only person she knew, surprising him several times with her unintended stealth. Old habits were hard to break, after all.

After the second time he turned only to nearly run her over, he favored her with a bemused look. "Why do you follow me?"

"Well… you're the only one I know, and I have no idea what's where?" the comment was half question.

He shook his head slightly, a smile on his lips. The child was doing no harm, and he was certain she would not be discovered, even while scouting. He hardly knew she was there, and she had not moved more than ten paces from his side!

"Very well. I am going to go scout—you are welcome to come with me, but you must promise not to place yourself in danger."

Sa't smiled, a little sadly, "I swear to you I will not place my life in danger."

And she wouldn't—but that wasn't actually saying much, as Immortals were damn hard to kill.

"Horses, then," he instructed, "We may need their speed."

Sa't nodded and turned away, testing a theory as she did, reaching out with that twist of Quickening that allowed the older, more experienced Immortals to hide weapons in plain sight. And smirked at the startled gasp behind her as she appeared to simply vanish from sight.

It was… not tiring, so much as awkward to hold it over her entire body as opposed to just weapons, though. And as difficult as it was when first learning the trick to hide weapons—it kept trying to slip away from her control, cracking out in random directions like the storm it would become if she died.

Perhaps it would be better to practice alone for a while.

She waited a until she was out of anyone's immediate sight and released the twist of Quickening in a surprising crackle of static before going to find the horse she had been given. A battle-trained silver-gray stallion named 'Mithril', much larger than the desert horses she was accustomed to riding, with an even temperament she knew she could grow to love.

His bridle she took, easily slipping it onto his head and checking that the straps lay comfortably out of long-instilled habit, before leaping up onto his bare back.

She had been riding since before saddles in her world—it would take nothing short of full war to convince her to use one.

She made it back to the rendezvous point several minutes before Strider—apparently he had gotten over enough of his shock to fetch his own mount—and waited with all the patience of someone who had lived millennia… and all the quiet alertness of any Immortal who'd been targeted by some of the older Headhunters.

He appeared on the back of his own bay, watching her with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Sa't simply waited.

He stopped the bay in front of her and her gray, "You can… disappear?"

Sa't smiled slightly, "Not… exactly. I simply convince you that you do not see me—those old enough, confident enough in their senses… they might see me anyway." Most of the older Immortals would see weapons where no one else would.

"So, Elves would see you, but Men cannot?"

"Perhaps," Sa't stated, "Having never met an Elf… I do not know."

Strider smiled slightly at the response, "Fair enough."

xxxx

The forest was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that came only when great predators were on the prowl.

Strider silently signaled a halt and dismounted, Sa't following his lead, and they crept forward, leaving the horses under a particularly gnarled old tree.

It came faint, but there was sound in the distance—cracking twigs, the dull rattle of poorly-forged metal against hardened leather, the thud of booted feet striking the ground—and Strider signaled again, indicating the need for their own silence, then started making his way towards the sound at an angle, so the wind was blowing their scent away from whatever was coming.

Sa't followed, reaching up to loosen her twin katana in their scabbards.

Something told her that this could turn very ugly, and, quite frankly, she didn't want to be the only one walking away.

And then the nastiest… things she had ever seen came into sight from where she and Strider crouched in low brush.

And the wind shifted.

xxxx