“Tell me, are you touched? Or just a fool?” Simmeon had shouted at the young officer before him. “Try again!” He barked.

  The young man raised his hands again, a channelling crystal in one hand and the other open, and began to channel a flame in front of his open hand. He shot it at the dummy just ahead, yet the flame faltered and died before it reached its target. Simmeon scoffed. “You’d be more useful in the crystal than you are with the crystal.” Simmeon said in disgust as he yanked the Channeller from the man’s hand and pushed him away, not even noticing when the young officer hit the ground with a thump. “Next!” he had shouted. Another young man approached. “Present name and rank!” The drillmaster conjuror ordered.

  “Lance Kron sir, Private, assigned to the Ancient’s Third Cuirassiers Division sir!” He barked back. Simmeon nearly slapped him.

  “Oh, and aren’t you proud?” Simmeon said with a false smile in a voice dripping with malice. “Did I ask what fucking division you’re a part of?” He shouted. The young man dropped his eyes to the ground and shook his head.

  Simmeon shoved the Channeller into the young man’s chest. “Kron, huh? For your sake, I hope you’re not so useless a Render as your brother.” Simmeon said mockingly as the young man quickly scurried into position. “Fire!” Simmeon had shouted, ordering him to channel the easiest of the elements. Simmeon watched appraisingly as the young man, in a method effortless, channelled a great ball of fire before him and shot it at the dummy. The dummy burst into a blaze which some of the dregs standing guard quickly put out.

  Simmeon nodded. “Could have disintegrated it, but not totally useless.” Simmeon said. “Ice.” He ordered as the dregs set up a new target. The young officer quickly did as commanded, effortless again. A mist of tiny but razor sharp blades of pure hardened ice shot across the field at the dummy and hit it in a manner that turned Simmeons stomach to imagine such a thing hitting himself.

  But Simmeon was a hard man to impress. “Now send the dummy into the Veil.” He commanded. The young officer looked at him, shocked, as such conjuration was quite advanced.

  And yet, we never saw that one dummy again, Simmeon thought to himself. Simmeon remembered when Lt. Limas had first approached him and asked him if he had heard of the missing scouts. Simmeon nearly had him sent to the brig for approaching a senior officer so carelessly about such a trivial manner, but when he had heard that Lance was involved… everything changed. The Lieutenant wouldn’t let on to what he thought, but he was adamant that it wasn’t merely desertion and so, like the gullible fish, Simmeon fell hook, line, and sinker.

  Though, between the dreg and the shattered blade, Simmeon was enraged - it seemed to him that, for once, he was the one in the dark. With Feanias following the trail of the few who escaped the deadly encounter, Reiner dark and sullen as always, and David taking count of rations while they walked, the great conjuring lord was forced to talk to the peasant. “You know more than you let on.” Simmeon stated simply to Lyial. Lyial looked at him in mild annoyance.

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  “Oh? Is that right my lord?” He said in his indignant manner before looking away to spit. Simmeon wanted to backhand him, but practised patience with the ill mannered giant.

  Simmeon nodded. “Indeed, it is.” He answered. “You’re the one piece of the puzzle that doesn’t fit.” Simmeon explained in an inquisitive manner. “Reiner is here for his brother, simple enough.” He said. “I’m here for my student, once again, simple enough.” He added. He thought for a moment about the other two before having an epiphany. “Ah, yes, David and Feanias would go to Void and back for that Kyn fellow.” He said, not remembering what the young Lieutenants name was. He thought it might be Renan, or Ronald, or some such R name. He cared little. “Yet, we have the… talented yet unexplained Hussar.” Simmeon explained, wanting to say upstart but choosing talented, expecting that an insult wouldn’t exactly endear the giant to him. “So, lieutenant, why are you here?” Simmeon asked quizzically. “You’ve no connections to the Cuirassiers except for through… what’s his name, Marco?” Simmeon asked.

  Lyial thought for what Simmeon supposed was the first time in his life. The giant looked around at the other men, chewing on his words. He hawked and spit again, a rather disgusting habit that Simmeon decided to tolerate. When he did reply, he said “Marcus.” correcting the lord.

  “Right… Lt. Marcus Limas.” He remembered, as if it mattered, “-And so, you deserted for what? A favour to a friend?” Simmeon said, furthering his interrogation. Lyial looked uncomfortable for a moment before smiling, as if he had won some sort of game. The giants brown eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment, so pleased he was.

  “So you’re telling me that Marcus knew what was going on, but high and mighty Captain Simmeon de Graf, feared Conjuring Lord of the Tyrian Plains had no idea?” He asked in a comical tone dripping with amusement. Simmeon fumed for a moment, but drew himself back yet again, biting his tongue.

  Swallowing his pride, he answered in a tense voice “I suppose so.” He said, though the words tasted like poison. “If you would recount what you know…” He said, considering his next words carefully… “I’d be thankful… and, when we return - assuming we aren’t hung - I’ll recommend you for promotion… and cover the commission..” He said, humbling himself and offering a grand prize in a manner most agonising to the proud lord.

  Lyial chewed on that for a moment, before shrugging, having clearly made up his mind. “We’ll all likely be dead soon anyways, what the hell?” Lyial mused. “The Second Battle of Roughriver, you know it?” Lyial replied simply. Simmeon thought for not even a second, recalling quickly the era starting battle.

  “What does a battle from near two millennia ago have to do with anything?” The conjuror asked, patience drawing thin.

  “Death always makes the Veil teem with new life, so imagine what would happen where demigods fell.” Lyial said, referencing the Eclipse that marks the beginning of the calendar. The Twin Princes, the Sun and the Moon of Raedon, Typhon and Eaphysus, had fallen there. It was said that the Sun, Typhon, was struck down by some great hero of the south (or villainous devil, depending on the one telling the tale), and that Eaphysus, after discovering this, took his own life discovering that his other half was also dead. After this, the Empyreans were defeated and the age of conquest came to an end, ushering in the current era: Anno Eclipsis, the Time of the Eclipse or Year of the Eclipse, depending.

  Simmeon thought, his mind running faster than he knew it was capable of. “And Lance’s disappearance has something to do with that?” Simmeon had asked, now intensely curious.

  Lyial nodded. “Marcus certainly thought so.” He replied cryptically. Before he could reply, a shout came from ahead.

  It was Feanias. He found something. “Buildings!” he called.