Allistar moved across the grassland as if he were gliding. His long, powerful strides looked measured, not fast, but he covered significantly more ground with each stride than other, smaller steeds.

  Just under a mile behind the majestic stallion six tharnwolves loped in a close formation, their black and darkest brown fur waving in the wind. Each lupine had two hobgoblins on its back. Their bounds were loose and relaxed but also relentless; they couldn’t match the horse’s speed but their epic stamina made catching Allistar an inevitability.

  Hōz knew this. He realized his horse would eventually need to rest. If they stopped moving the abominable wolves would catch them.

  Alternatively, he could push his mount without rest, but this would be pointless. Allistar would collapse from heart failure long before the tharnwolves grew tired, for their endurance was even greater than timber wolves.

  The plan was simple. Kill the wolves and their riders and in that order. Tharnwolves were intelligent, malevolent creatures; they would continue in their mission even if all their riders were slain. On the other hand with the monstrous wolves dead the hobgoblins would no longer be a threat as they wouldn’t be able to catch Allistar. Hōz had no special interest in sparing the hobgoblins; he was simply working out the problem-solving logic on the fly.

  The dark elves were not presently a factor but that would likely change. The Nokturim were relentless pursuers.

  It had doubtless been the dark elves who found the blue elf and his steed through the invisibility magic. Both the hobgoblins and the Nokturim, the latter mounted on those damned nightmarish flightless birds, had been on he and Allistar’s tail for a few minutes before being spotted.

  The Nokturim gambled on the superior speed of their mounts in short bursts. The iron beaks could move close to double the speed of a galloping horse but they tired very quickly at that rate of movement and required half an hour of rest before they could travel again. Allistar had poured it on to keep his lead but after only a few minutes the birds were spent; they and their dark-elven handlers were left behind miles ago.

  Hōz assumed the dark elves would find a way back into the chase. He had enough experience with this enemy to never underestimate them. In fact he anticipated they would somehow cut him off before he reached the higher ground where he intended to assault the hobgoblins and tharnwolves.

  The squat, rocky foothills of the Jagged Jaw Range backed up to the nearly sheer bases of the mountains about four miles directly ahead. The blue elf began going over his tactical plan.

  The Nokturim have foreseen your plan Hōz. They are creating a tunnel through the astral fabric to meet you at the start of those foothills.

  The same female moon elf from before spoke directly into Hōz ‘s mind.

  They are about to commence the spell to open the tunnel and within a few minutes they will exit their tunnel between you and the foothills.

  “Well shit.” the blue elf muttered.

  He had taken for granted the black elves would not try to use translocation magic because they were unfamiliar with the landscape and to translocate blindly is incredibly risky. Turns out he had been correct; he simply failed to account for the extent of the Nokturim’s magical repertoire. An astral tunnel was a perfect workaround for translocation, although it took more time to enact the magic, it eliminated the safety concerns as well.

  He grudgingly and for the second time thanked the moon elf for her information, this time telepathically. He steered Allistar hard left to run parallel to the mountains on an eastern heading.

  “Change of plans old boy.” the ranger explained to his horse.

  He looked over his shoulder to see the tharnwolves adjusting course to angle his way. “We need to make some distance between us and where those Nokturim will be exiting their tunnel.”

  He spurred his horse forward at an even faster pace; not a dead run but an impressive gallop. Much had been asked of poor Allistar in the past hour. Hōz kept a watchful eye on his traveling companion, carefully timing the minutes and tracking the miles; he had a good grasp of how far he could push the stallion without doing him lasting harm.

  Six minutes passed and the ranger reckoned they had travelled about four miles since changing course. He estimated close to four perpendicular miles between the foothills and where Allistar had changed direction at the moon elf’s warning.

  Figured at a proper angle this amounted to around six miles of direct distance total from where the Nokturim would emerge from their tunnel and the point at which he allowed Allistar to slow his gallop.

  Hōz was satisfied the tchaka could not reach them at a full sprint before tiring, especially considering the birds had already spent themselves once today. Of course he had no idea what magical remedies the dark elves had on hand to rejuvenate their mounts or even enhance their speed.

  The elite mounts, plus the hobgoblins and their mounts, and the good intelligence on his whereabouts in the first place suggested his pursuers were well organized and well provided for. Clearly this group of Nokturim – whoever they were – had plenty of resources at their disposal.

  Five-hundred gold would be spread thin between such expensive mercenaries. The exotic mounts alone probably have a market value of fifteen to twenty gold each.

  It doesn’t make sense. Perhaps they’re military; some lofty Nokturum lord seeks to make a name for himself with my head and cares not how much it costs him to do so.

  The blue elf patted the stallion three times on the neck, signaling him to slow down significantly. The horse gladly complied and gradually slowed to a trot. Knowing the hobgoblins would assume his horse had tired – which would potentially be true if he weren’t a Khelt steed - Hōz directed Allistar to the nearby remnants of a large cedar tree that had long ago toppled over.

  Seeing the horse slow down and approach the downed tree the hobgoblin leader, Heglart, sneered. “We have him!” he called to his troops in their own tribal dialect.

  Growling cheers erupted from the warriors atop the tharnwolves. Heglart spurred his mount into a sprint and the others followed suit. The driver of each tharnwolf raised a horseman’s flail – a heavy spiked ball at the end of a long chain – and began to twirl it overhead. In the saddle behind each driver the second hobgoblin leaned out and readied weapons; the two on the lead wolves raised crossbows and the four on the remaining mounts leveled spears. The tharnwolves spread out into an assault formation with two spears flanking and slightly ahead of the two crossbowmen and another spear at the far left and right of the group.

  Just short of the downed cedar Hōz slid from the saddle and barked “Cover!” to his horse.

  Allistar circled around the cedar and stopped; the downed tree lay between him and the line of battle his master would draw. This position was nearly another mile past where Hōz had calculated the distance the dark elves would need to travel to reach them.

  His bow in hand with two arrows knocked, one for each of the weapon’s dual strings, the elven ranger uttered the first part of his incantation and raised the bow.

  “ Status magicus sum .” He felt the magical agent course through his body from head to toe; a comfortable and familiar sensation that brought the ancient blue elf some relief from the angst and sorrow of so many years in this painful life.

  In his bow hand he held part of a small steel chain; the remaining six-inches of the chain dangled parallel to the limb of the bow and held three small, copper rods at intervals along its links.

  He could see both glowing red eyes of all six tharnwolves. The abominations snarled and yipped as they sprinted in his direction, now less than half a mile away. The battle cry of the hobgoblin riders neared its climax; a growling chorus of bloodlust and victory prematurely claimed.

  "He'll hit one of two of us before we run him over," the hobgoblin behind Heglart said bluntly as the wolf-beast carrying them bounded towards the blue elf.

  Heglart said nothing. It seemed an obvious enough likelihood but that wasn't what bothered the hobgoblin leader in that moment.

  Something about the elf's posture; something in his bearing. Not desperate enough.

  They had assumed the elf's horse had worn out. Unable to keep running, he stopped to make a hopeless stand against greater numbers.

  The elf ahead did not look hopeless. His shoulders were not slumped, his footing was firm and settled.

  I wish we had a magic-user with us. Heglart lamented.

  The blue elf waited. He could now see the blue-gray tongues of each tharnwolf hanging out the sides of their jaws as they hurtled towards him.

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  “ Fulgur in catena! ” Hōz commanded the magical agent and released the chain holding the copper tubes.

  A brilliant flash of bluish-white illumined the elven archer.

  A crackling flash of lightning burst from where the chain had begun to fall, its crooked fingers not touching the magician who summoned them, and a horizontal bolt three feet wide exploded forward towards the charging tharnwolves.

  Heglart had barely registered the lightning flash when the horizontal shaft of crackling light struck his tharnwolf. The beast and both its riders were blown apart and the lightning arced to both the left and right.

  Secondary bolts struck the two nearest wolves to the left and right of the hobgoblin leader. Both creatures, along with their four riders, instantly became flailing balls of fire.

  Hōz released both arrows straight and parallel to the ground with one slightly higher than the other. In a blur of motion he knocked two more arrows.

  The lightning jumped again out to each side, hitting the wolf farthest to Hōz’s right and the second wolf from the left end of the charging line. Smaller bolts of popping blue energy spread across the wolves, catching areas of fur on fire and arcing into the hobgoblin riders through their metal armor.

  The elf’s first arrow flew straight into the wolf at the far left of the line, driving into its breast with a solid thumping sound. The second arrow struck the driver near the center of the chest; the hobgoblin rocked back in the saddle, exhaling sharply from the impact.

  The tharnwolf staggered and skidded almost to a halt, abruptly dropping to its front knees and rolling its shoulder forward. The two arrows intended for the monster thumped into its driver, who it had positioned to shield itself. The driver fell from the canine's back as the latter recovered onto all fours and turned about. With the second hobgoblin barely clinging to its back the wolf-devil darted back in the opposite direction, away from Hōz.

  The last two tharnwolves struck by the lightning before it dissipated no longer charged. One limped aimlessly off to its right, bloodied and charred. Both its hobgoblins lay on the ground behind it with smoke curling from their bodies. The other collapsed and groaned, twitching and on fire with its driver pinned beneath it; the fourth hobgoblin staggered in the open behind the downed wolf, dazed and scorched.

  Two more double twangs of dual bowstrings and the whisking sound of four arrows preceded the thumping of two arrows into the injured wolf and two into the dazed hobgoblin. Each target collapsed in place.

  The surviving tharnwolf had already covered more than a hundred yards back the way it came, even with the arrow deep in its frontside. As if it knew Hōz watched it retreat, the creature looked over its shoulder, red eyes blazing. It glared at the blue elf with a hatred and knowing before facing back in the direction it retreated and gaining speed.

  Hōz shouldered his bow and hurried to Allistar. He retrieved a large water skin from the saddlebags, scanning the foothills to the south as he opened the vessel and took a swig.

  Holding the waterskin aloft he offered the long, thin neck to the horse, who turned his head sideways to accommodate the drinking spout. The horse drank from the stream of water falling from the raised skin as if it had been days since his last drink.

  With his free hand the blue elf took an apple from the saddle bag. He held the piece of fruit with his teeth and put his hand back into the bag to get a small bottle of dark liquid.

  He popped the cork from the bottle with his thumb then threw the strap of the waterskin over his neck and let the container hang. Taking a bite from the apple he removed it from his mouth and poured every bit of the dark liquid into the fruit through the bite he just made.

  He then passed the treated apple to Allistar. The horse took the fruit, crunched and swallowed it, then snorted his desire for more.

  The blue elf quickly obliged his steed with another apple as he looked south again at the sharp mountains jutting up into the sky. The Jagged Jaws ran as far as the eye could see from east to west. The small but rugged foothills at their base stretched that entire distance with them.

  A cluster of bright red movement jumped out from the dusty gray backdrop of those foothills. Hōz focused on the out of place patch of color, knowing already exactly what he was seeing.

  The blue elf’s eyesight was not remarkable among his own people, yet he possessed what other races would consider spectacular vision. Just under six miles from where he stood, he saw six massive birds running on two legs; each had a small figure on its back.

  The dark elves had emerged from their astral tunnel and made his position. They were now likely moving just below their birds’ full speed in an effort to reach him or at least enter an attack range before the tchakas became fatigued.

  Hōz briefly considered his options and decided not to face six dark elves on his own if that fight could be avoided. The blue elf wasted no time dropping the waterskin back into the saddlebag and climbing onto the saddle. Turning Allistar back to the east he squeezed with his knees to move the big horse forward.

  Allistar moved with a new vigor, his head held high. The healing potion had completely rejuvenated his tired muscles and strained heart.

  Knowing this Hōz clapped his heels gently into the horse twice, then twice more. Immediately the stallion gained speed and continued to do so for the next few seconds until he reached his top running speed. The elf leaned forward into the horse’s neck to reduce the wind drag his profile created and maximize his mount’s efforts.

  The ranger looked back over his shoulder to check on their pursuers. What he saw alarmed him more than a little; the six birds had gained considerable ground in a matter of seconds and were now just over three miles behind them.

  The spiral rune on the back of Hōz’s hand glowed a faint blue. The elf felt cold fingers tapping and stroking his aura but ultimately losing their grip and falling away.

  Dark elven sorcery had been hurled his way and thwarted by the rune tattooed onto his wrist. The mark had been given to him by another ancient elf in his line; he was told it would always protect him from magical attacks made directly against his person.

  The magic of the rune had not failed him in three-thousand years.

  It would also, according to the old elven wizard who placed it on a younger version of Hōz’b’nahzioh, protect family members in close proximity to him. This meant it would shield Allistar as well of course.

  An unnatural, black cloud began to coalesce and form high above. More Nokturum magic.

  The familial rune would keep Hōz and Allistar safe from holding spells, charms, magic to cause blindness, confusion, or illness, and even against magic aimed at changing their forms (into a groundhog and a toad for example) or turning them to stone. It would offer no safety, however, from magical arrows formed of elemental fire or lightning bolts hurled down from the heavens upon them.

  Turning his gaze forward once more the blue elf touched the magical agent within and spoke the words: “ Bolum asinas. Fulmen! ”

  Allistar shot like a bolt from a ballistae across the grassy plains, leaving a trail of dust to drift parallel to the nearby mountains. He and his rider soon vanished from sight as they sped into the distance.

  The tchaka moved at an impossible rate of speed over the plains, propelled by dark magic. Still their Nokturim handlers could only watch as their target jettisoned away beyond visual range.

  Zizzim roared his anguish. “Devils in the abyss! Harajé he has outdone your magic of swiftness. You must further enchant our mounts!”

  “I cannot!” the sorceress hissed. “Not without tearing the tchaka apart in the process.”

  “Ogre shit!” Tjevrisk complained. “They’re fine now and yet we travel many times their top speed.”

  “Yes and this takes a toll on living beings, idiot!” Harajé shot back. “The spell they are now under includes protective magic to keep them from destroying their bodies at this speed. You want them to go even faster? That will require an additional ritual for more protection.”

  “That may be our only option.”: Gefaldin added his voice. “Is there another suggestion among us? Come, let us put our wits together and act quickly lest the blue bastard elude us again!”

  Sjurik Half-Ghost became a specter of himself, translucent and insubstantial. He slowly faded away, leaving his saddle empty top the sprinting tchaka.

  Far ahead of the dark elves and traveling like a streak along the plain Hōz considered his next move. He knew his escape was but a temporary reprieve. Before very long he would be forced to fight; he wanted to gain the initiative and strike his foes before they forced his hand.

  The air on the back of his neck suddenly grew very cold. A shiver ran down his spine and he felt the prickly sensation on his arms and face that often meant danger.

  A mystic and magician of many centuries, the blue elf recognized the presence of spiritual creatures. The malicious ones had a very distinct feel to them and sometimes he even caught a certain odor.

  Allistar snorted and protested. Hōz rubbed his neck and sent calming energy into the animal.

  The Nokturim had conjured an evil spirit and sent it to catch him, he reasoned. Something felt different about the entity he sensed in that moment; it had a faint heaviness about it.

  Definitely a spirit. Hōz thought. But something else as well; something more.

  The specter of Sjurik slowly appeared behind the ranger, hovering in the air just above the horse’s rearend. Hōz saw the ghostly dark elf in his mind.

  “ Exitium !” he spoke a word of banishment, channeling the magical agent through his voice.

  The apparition of Sjurik reached out, smiling cruelly, but vanished before he could touch the blue elf.

  Wonderful . Thought Hōz. One of them is a half-dead .

  ?