Caldaera studied the passing landscape intently, watching every tall blade of grass that swayed, brown, in the sun. It was all that could be seen for miles. Her mare trotted along the narrow path through the grasses easily, weaving the path that so many had woven before.

Nervously, she twisted the ring on her finger. Crafted of gold and set with a small blue sapphire, it was altogether unremarkable. Only she knew its purpose, and what power the craftsman had endowed it with. That she bore it was no small matter.  It meant many things--foremost among them that she was of great power and influence.  Just looking at it made her smile, a triumphant little grin.

Yet still, she worried. Even had she wished to, Caldaera could not have explained the sickening knot that ground in the pit of her stomach. Studying the rippling brown hindquarters of the gelding loping before her—Baran's horse—settled her nerves somewhat.

A small flicker of movement set Caldaera's heart thumping before she realized it was a small squirrel running through the grass. Unwittingly, she let a wisp of the green poison gas trail from her fingers. Horror-stricken at her carelessness, she cupped the filth in her hands and let it seep back into her veins. Sometimes she wondered what she had done to deserve a power that would kill her friends as well as her enemies. Now was not a time to lose control. Taking a deep breath, she Looked.  Ahead, not ten miles, was the castle. What once was a castle.  Now it was death.

 ☙

It happened. The sun glinted off a burnished helmet.  Fools.  They should have known better than to polish their stupid armor.  Pride--blasted pride was what it was.  Caldaera's hands trembled on the reins. Now was the moment where everything could go wrong. She turned to Vir, riding beside and just behind her. A flicker of her finger indicated the direction of the large party of men mostly hidden behind the sprawling ruins of the castle. His nod was tiny, so tiny she could barely make it out.

Caldaera gathered the reins, and heeled her horse.  The startled animal burst forward with a huge leap, sprinting as fast as her legs would allow.  Still, her rider slashed at her sides with the spurs.  It must not go wrong, it must not.  Vir galloped beside her on that warhorse of his, long gray cloak billowing in the wind.  He looked grim.

            "Vir!" she hissed.  "The mask!"  Vir nodded, and pulled the steel mask from his saddlebag, fitting it over his features.  His breath rasped behind it.  It sounded eerie, now.  She couldn't see his face.

Turning back to face what lay before her, Caldaera brought out her right arm, letting the mist flow.  It swirled in her palm, creating a sphere.  A sphere of death and destruction.  She galloped toward the ruins, watching the soldiers' impassive faces.

            "Nock arrows!"  Caldaera heard the command dimly.  "Draw!"  She threw her arms forward, releasing the ball of death.  

            "Release!"  She ducked low against the side of her horse.  The volley of arrows sounded like whistling screams.  One of the missiles grazed her arm, her leg.  The soldiers rose as one through the green mist swirling about them, each with a steel mask fitted over his face.

☙

Caldaera screamed inwardly.  Screamed in despair.  This was not supposed to happen.  It was not supposed to go like this.  The soldiers...it was all wrong.

            "What of your plan now?" Vir asked, suddenly right beside her.  His voice sounded...dangerous.  "You thought you could win this.  It looks as if you are wrong."

Hoofbeats sounded.  Vahr pulled his horse up short beside them, blue eyes wide with disbelief.  His horse's sides were flecked with foam, and it was panting for air.

            "Caldaera, what's wrong?  Why isn't the gas killing them?" he asked, his voice puzzled.

            "I have developed--over the course of some years--a design for a face mask that could prevent the wearer from being killed by my powers," Caldaera replied, suddenly weary.  She watched the soldiers approach, not really caring what they did.  Not now.  "It appears that whoever is controlling these men has gotten his hands on my work."  Vahr cursed, clenching his first.

            "I suppose this means we'll have to fight them, then," he said grimly.  Caldaera nodded simply.  She unsheathed her sword and held it at the ready.

            "You know we will not win," Vahr said.  Caldaera looked at him.

            "No, we will not win tonight.  We will die.  And the Skay-Kern after us will carry on the war that we have started."  Vahr nodded.  

            "Let's be at it, then."

They charged the ranks before them, knowing full well that they would never see the sun rise again.