Notwithstanding his own conclusions about what must be done, the Exarch had his scruples, and he would not set the Crystarium on the path to war without the assent of its people. (The fact that he could do so, likely without even a word of protest from the citizenry, vexed him endlessly.)

He wished it had not come to this. The thought that some of the jubilant voices he had heard the previous night might be ever silent after the coming battle left his soul feeling leaden. Nor could he celebrate the death of any Eulmoran soldier, most of whom were peasants themselves, conscripted with promises of a better life.

But the road was long, and he could not falter now – and they could not afford to lose Minfilia. She was simply too crucial to the battle ahead, never mind the tragic fate that doubtless awaited her beyond the Glory Gates. If Vauthry put her to death, it would only allow the Oracular cycle to begin anew, with some other Minfilia; no, were she to return to Eulmore, the Exarch was certain she would live a long life – as long as any of them had left here, that was, which was not a very optimistic reckoning.

It was not a complete surprise that the Crystarium’s Council had agreed to declare war. (Neither was it exactly a relief, but he could not spare to waste time in gloomy contemplation of the likelihood that their agreement was predicated upon their faith in his judgment – at least not today.) Their manifold talents and perspectives, however, had proved as invaluable as ever in devising their plan of attack.

As he slipped across the battlefield, the Exarch could scarcely believe how successful that plan had been. For every Eulmoran soldier on his feet, five lay sedated, drugged into a heavy and dreamless sleep by the powder scattered from above by amaro. Most of those who continued to fight were disoriented or weakened and easily disarmed by the Crystarium guard. He held no hope that General Ran’jit would be so easily dealt with, but to see that the conflict thus far had been almost bloodless was a relief beyond words.

And yet there was no immediate sign of Minfilia – nor Szet, nor Ran’jit. The suspense left his heart thundering in his chest.

The Exarch heard them well before he found them, as the clash of their swords rang out with a ferocity and urgency unmatched by any skirmish elsewhere on the field. By the time he reached the far side of Laxan Loft, Szet and Ran’jit were at a stalemate – and had been for some time, judging by the elaborate patchwork of scorch marks and gouges scarred into the earth beneath them. Some yalms away, Alphinaud and Alisaie knelt by a blonde child, all apparently injured, considering that they would be in the midst of the fray otherwise.

Szet stood between the general and his prize; it was not difficult to infer what had transpired before his arrival.

“Concede,” Ran’jit hissed over the scrape of metal, his blade locked with hers as each of them strained to break the other’s guard. “You cannot best me. Surrender now and you and your comrades may yet be granted a merciful death.”

Szet’s eyes were murderous as she glared back at her opponent, but the Exarch saw them shift slightly, registering his presence from where he stood atop the ruins. If Ran’jit noticed, he dared not turn his head to see what had caught her eye in the distance.

“You will not take them.” Her voice was a flat promise, spoken with a grim certainty that gave her words the ring of truth through force of will alone.

“Arrogant girl,” he snapped back. “Struggle will only prolong your suffering.”

“You will die,” Szet swore – was she smiling, or baring her teeth? the Exarch could not tell from this angle – “with your guts on my blade.”

Without warning, Ran’jit whirled away from her. An instant later, the crack of a gunshot split the air, dust and splinters of stone flying as the cartridge that had narrowly missed Ran’jit struck a ruined wall. Like a shadow cast by shifting light, Thancred came into view from seemingly nowhere, dark smoke still trailing from his gunblade. Szet scarcely flinched at either the sound or his sudden appearance – she must have sensed his presence well before Ran’jit’s belated realization.

“Sit still, would you?” Thancred was close on Ran’jit’s heels as he closed the gap between them with another clash of blade against blade. Szet circled them like a hungry tiger, watching for an opening.

“Fools to a man,” Ran’jit shot back. It had been some years since the Exarch last saw him fight, but the general was just as unsettlingly quick as he recalled, dancing between Thancred’s blows almost unscathed. “By denying the inevitable, you only torture the girl with false hope. Cease this folly and I shall return to her a peaceful life.”

“Oh, I’m sure the cage you’ve built her is quite cozy,” Thancred snarled, with a heavy swing of his blade. This was an over-extension that Ran’jit did not hesitate to take advantage of, striking with enough force to hurl his opponent back several fulms.

From his vantage point above, the Exarch could not help but wonder if this slip was intentional – an irresistible misstep calculated to draw out their adversary and allow Szet an opening. Or perhaps they were simply so comfortable fighting side by side that no rehearsal was needed. In either case, he was left with the unsettling impression that a moment much like this one had been the last for more than one fool unlucky enough to cross blades with the pair.

Thancred managed to land in a crouch as he skidded backwards, carving a deep gash in the soil with his blade to slow his momentum. He came to a stop not far from the children. Before Ran’jit had slowed, Szet had already pounced, growling as she crashed down on him with a blow that could have shattered a weaker man’s arm. Even Ran’jit was forced to dig in his heels to avoid losing his footing as he met her sword with his own.

This was the chance the Exarch had himself been waiting for. His spell was already primed, and in a matter of moments, Thancred and the three children had blinked away in a flash of blue light.

The teleportation spell did not, in fact, cause any such light; that was a bit of stagecraft on his part, as was the even brighter flash of blue from beyond the southern wall of Laxan Loft a few moments later. In the distance, the Crystarium gleamed in the amber sunset, an obvious safe haven for any fugitive from Eulmore’s so-called justice.

The Exarch could not see Ran’jit’s face from where he stood, but he saw the sharp turn of the man’s head at the flash. This shift in attention was a miscalculation, if only a slight one, as Szet instantly seized the opening to press her assault with a sudden shift in her weight that left Ran’jit momentarily off-balance. Only by sidestepping at the last moment did he narrowly escape a blow that might have taken his arm off. Rather than matching her blade once more, Ran’jit disengaged and dashed out of even Szet’s long reach. It was a pity, but the Exarch supposed it would be too much to hope that she might fell their nemesis so conveniently.

“There shall be a reckoning for this, Exarch,” Ran’jit snapped, voice icy and loud enough to be sure he would be heard, before he rushed southward in pursuit of his fleeing quarry.

The Exarch could not help but feel a thrill of excitement as he watched a master tactician swallow his carefully crafted bait, but he had not the time to exult in his victory. There was no way to know how long Ran’jit would be diverted before he realized the Exarch’s trick – perhaps only minutes.

Szet had the sense not to chase after her opponent, only glaring southward as she lowered her blade and shifted out of a battle stance. Based on her lack of surprise to see the Exarch teleport to her side, she had been expecting him. In truth, the greatest risk to his plan was that she would take the bait and make him chase her down. “Where are they?” she asked instead, leaning on her greatsword and digging its point into the savaged earth beneath her feet as she caught her breath.

The Exarch’s words were quick and hushed. “Your comrades are destined for Il Mheg, the Fairy Kingdom, to the north. The fey magic of that land means the Eulmoran army shall not easily follow – it is out of even my reach. You will be safe there, for a time. You will find another Lightwarden there, but know too that it shall not be slain so easily as the last.”

That was a grievous oversimplification, but he lacked the time to elaborate on the complicated affair of the Fairy King’s imprisonment.

“Find Urianger as quickly as you can, then seek out a pixie by the name of Feo Ul. They are more… reasonable than most, and will be an invaluable ally.” His rushed words slowed to emphasize his warning: “Take care – the pixies are a fickle, mischievous, and vindictive folk, and you shall require their aid. Do your best not to anger them.”

“Feo Ul,” Szet repeated, still panting as she caught her breath.

“Do not forget the name. Have you other questions?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Then take the road northeast and follow the flowers. And good luck.”

It took only a moment to weave another teleportation spell; without so much as a glimmer or a whisper, Szet was gone.

He cast his eyes over the edge of the cliff and toward the horizon. On a bluff far across the valley, she was barely visible in the growing twilight as she turned and ran, soon vanishing over the hills leading toward the forest. The Exarch only stared after her for a few moments, before he turned back towards Laxan Loft. This was not over yet.

“You’ve really become quite proficient at that,” a voice drawled from behind him, before he could take a step. “Much improved. I daresay you might’ve had me fooled.”

The Exarch gritted his teeth. After a moment’s consideration, he concluded it would be better not to turn and look; at least that had the slim benefit of potentially miffing the Ascian. It was all too easy to imagine him, in any case, gaunt and leonine as he leaned against some suitably dramatic piece of rubble. No doubt the deepening shadows of the early evening suited him.

“You flatter me, Emet-Selch,” he replied, his diplomatic facade beginning to stretch thin. “But I am not in the habit of receiving social calls on the battlefield.”

“Implying you’re in the habit of receiving social calls…”

“I’m leaving now,” the Exarch said pointedly, and began to do so.

“Oh, come now. You’re not still mad about that, are you?” When he received no reply, the Ascian’s lethargic tone sharpened. “You’re taking quite the risk with that savior of yours. How will she fare without you there to ensure she follows the path you’ve laid for her? Would you even know if she went astray? If I recall correctly, that mirror of yours does not reach Il Mheg.”

The Exarch stopped, begrudgingly, but did not look back. “Your point?”

His antagonist had drifted forward from whatever vulture’s perch he had occupied as he watched events unfold, until he stood some dozen paces away. Even from that distance, the Ascian loomed over him – a fact the Exarch, as always, pretended to ignore.

Emet-Selch spread his upturned palms in a shrug. “They all have to grow up sooner or later, as the saying goes. It isn’t easy to let go and let things go to plan – particularly when the stakes are so high.”

The Exarch bristled. “We are not alike.”

“Say it all you like.” The Ascian waved a hand dismissively. “I shall be brief. My point is that I would hate for you to go mad in the meantime and spoil whatever it is you have planned – and thus, as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll keep an eye on your pet for you while she’s away. The Lightwarden is none of my affair, but I believe I can manage to keep her from turning into shrubbery, if nothing else.”

The Exarch’s mouth fell open, but he found himself at a loss for words. “You –”

“No need to thank me. Now – ” The air split into a rippling pool of black at the Ascian’s touch. “– weren’t you saying you had somewhere to be?”

Emet-Selch stepped into the portal and, as quickly as he had arrived, was gone once more. The tear silently sealed itself, leaving reality unblemished where the void itself had been a moment before.

The Exarch did not notice how tightly he was gripping his staff until he heard a worrying noise from his marble hand, and forced himself to relax his hold and breathe. The audacity – !

No. He did not have time for this – not when the sounds of battle had not yet died out and Ran’jit seemingly had yet to discover his mistake. However skilled the Ascian had become at infuriating him, the Exarch would not give him the satisfaction of disrupting his plans.

There would, regrettably, be plenty of time to consider his grievances as he awaited Szet’s return. At least she wouldn’t come back in a flowerpot, the Exarch thought sourly, as he began a brisk walk southward.