Safely concealed within her cloak field, Second Lieutenant Bryn ran alongside the cavalry patrol. Their horses were moving at a steady jog, not at all a difficult pace for the Guardian to maintain. Indeed, she thought, at this gait she would be far less sore at the end of the day than the mounted men. She had been following these particular soldiers on their daily patrols for three weeks. As a force they were impressive not only in their high level of professionalism but also in their fierce loyalty to the King. What kind of man could inspire such devotion?

She saw the travelers just before the men riding point. They looked to be a man and woman of the underclass by their dress but more than that she could not say. The horsemen looked to ignore them, the two lines even moving apart to hug the edges so as to let the travelers keep the middle of the road. As the first riders passed, however, the man made a gesture. Bryn did not see precisely what it was as a horse blocked her view. Nevertheless it caught the attention of the lieutenant in command. At his signal the riders encircled the pair.

“Now then,” said Lieutenant Hardyth, “Who are you? Where are you going? Ah, never mind,” He waved his hand dismissively and launched into a tirade against peasantry. Bryn quickly lost interest in what he was saying and drifted away from the group, fishing about in the pouch at her waist for a handful of dried fruit. Hardyth was arrogant but honorable. If they offered him no trouble, he would let them go. Of course, he was already irritated with the pair as the man had apparently made a provocative gesture of some sort.

Bryn turned back at Hardyth’s command to restrain the two travelers and saw the man’s arm move. Hardyth fell from his horse and all hell broke loose. Although the strangers moved with a speed incomprehensible to the human brain, Bryn’s accelerated visual processing abilities allowed her to follow their spectacular attack. The man snatched a spear from the rider behind him, unhorsing and killing him in a moment. He then, in a display of agility that even the Guardian would be unable to match, bent backwards underneath several spears thrown in his direction.

The woman was also displaying fantastic acrobatic abilities as she pursued and killed the mounted soldiers. She leapt atop the nearest horse, breaking the rider’s neck with her hands and throwing him from its back. As the horse reared, she was off again killing the next man with a sharp, upward strike to his nose. She jumped clear as the second horse stumbled into the third. Both hit the ground pinning the rider beneath them. The elf woman, they had to be of the race known as “elves” since no human on this world could move so fast, crushed his throat beneath her heel as she grabbed the reins of the fourth horse.

Now four others had regrouped to attack the man. They had been unhorsed in the confusion and were forced to confront him on foot. They had no chance, Bryn knew, and her heart twisted to see such futile bravery. No interference, she reminded herself. We only watch. So she watched as the elf-man struck the first soldier under the arm. He collapsed, clutching his side. The elf-man had moved on, slipping between two more of the soldiers and snapping their necks effortlessly before crushing the sternum and lungs of the last with a strike to the chest. The wounded man was still; he’d bled out, Bryn guessed.

She turned back to see the elf-woman struggling to intercept two of the final living soldiers. They were mounted and wary on horses so spooked and twitchy that even the elf’s speed could not give her an edge. The third, one they called Kev, was running like the Storm God himself was on his tail. He was panicked, not trying to catch a horse just trying to get away, and running right for her position.

The elf-man pursued Kev, gaining with each step. Kev dodged from side to side, begging the man to leave him alone. His sobs broke Bryn’s heart. We only watch. “Why are you doing this?” Kev cried. “Please, I leave me alone. I never hurt you or her. Please, gods, please. I have a mother and father and my sweetheart. I’m an only son, only child. Please, they’re counting on me to provide for them. I never wanted to fight. They took me from my home and forced me to join. I’ve only been enlisted a week. This is just my fifth mission. Please, have mercy. Let me go.” He collapsed, exhausted.

We only watch.

The elf-man stopped and Bryn suddenly realized she recognized him. This was Eragon, the hero of the rebellion. And the woman, that must be Arya. There were posters of them in every town. The hero spoke. “We can’t take you and if we leave you alive, you will betray us.” Bryn’s moved closer, horrified by his tone. Surely the hero would risk the danger to spare this unarmed boy?

“Why are you doing this to me? I only did what I had to? I won’t betray you. I’m a good person. Please!” Kev screamed, scrambling backwards on his hands.

We only watch.

Eragon came on, implacable. “People will ask what happened here and your oath of service will not allow you to lie. I know of no way to release you from this bond except through death.”

Bryn had enough. She would not be party to murder. She stepped between the “hero” and his prey and deactivated her cloak field. “Enough. You will not harm this boy.”

***

Eragon froze, startled by the appearance of another person. Was this some mage, some trick of Galbatorix? She was shorter than he by a head and a half and wore a uniform the color of storm clouds. A dirk was sheathed at her belt along with a pouch and a metal box. In one hand she held a strange metal tube of a shape he had never seen before. He could not read her eyes, as they were covered by dark glass and when he touched her mind he felt only a void. “Who are you and where do you come from?” he demanded, trying to regain control of the situation.

The woman spoke, her voice quiet and dangerous. “Who I am and where I come from is of no importance. Withdraw from this place.”

“I am Eragon Argetlam, Rider of Saphira and slayer of the Shade Durza. I serve the Varden and the people of Alagaesia. You will not hinder me in my purpose.”

The woman did not seem to be nearly as impressed as Eragon thought she should be. “Which is what, to murder children? The boy is no threat to you. Withdraw.”

Eragon drew himself up to his full height, forcing the woman to rock back on her heel to look him in the face. “I cannot allow him to let Galbatorix know of our presence here, nor can I release him from his servitude save through death.”

***

Bryn sighed to herself. She had once held a more successful conversation with a rock. Well, it was a sentient silicon-based life form but still… If this was the hope and hero of the Varden they were seriously screwed. And if she were going to be court-martialed for violating a standing order from the Admiralty, she wasn’t just going to toe the line, she was going to jump clear over it. She glanced back at Kev; he was frozen in place, watching them. She also noted that Arya had come to stand behind Eragon.

“This soldier has thrown down his arms and surrendered. Honor and decency demand that you spare him. Withdraw.” She rested a hand on her dirk, keeping her firearm leveled at Eragon and Arya. The next part of the encounter would be tricky, Bryn knew. She was at least as fast as an elf, but there was only one of her. She figured she could get one shot off before the other would be on her.

Arya and Eragon looked at each other. Bryn saw them begin to move and fired. The explosive round hit Arya in the chest, blowing her apart. Eragon screamed incoherently and lunged at her. Bryn stepped aside and grinned savagely. So few in the universe could match the speed or reflexes of a Guardian, she had not felt so threatened in hand to hand combat in over a century. Finally she faced an opponent who was her equal!

***

Eragon was startled by the speed with which the dark mage avoided his blow. No human could move with such speed, but the stranger was not an elf nor was she a dwarf. He remembered how she killed Arya with a strange magic and anger burned through his veins. Arya would be avenged today and he would bring Galbatorix to justice for the crimes of his servant.

He blocked her thrust with one hand and struck at her face with the other. She pulled back her head lightning quick and kicked out with a foot. Eragon flipped clear and landed a few feet away in a crouch. “You will die slowly,” he snarled between breaths.

“Perhaps,” Bryn said. “You, however, will die much sooner.” She gestured for him to turn around.

Eragon stood, confused, and turned to look where she had pointed. Kev’s spear struck him in the stomach. Eragon fell to the ground screaming, trying to stop the flow of blood with his hands. Bryn looked at the dying Rider with her head cocked. She then looked up at Kev, “A wound like that is a painful way to die. I would suggest you finish it.”

***

The young man didn’t respond at first, watching Eragon with a horrified expression. His mare snorted at the blood and tried to sidle away from Eragon. “I don’t know…what should I…who are you?” He looked up, and saw only an empty plain. The rebel Rider who had previously ignored his pleas for mercy, now begged him in turn.

“Just kill me,” the Rider wept. “It hurts so much.” He twisted, trying to relieve the pain.

Kev dismounted, drawing a sword from the scabbard on the saddle. The mare rolled her eyes and pulled away so he dropped the reins. He could always catch her again. He looked into the man’s face and said in a low voice, “This is mercy, dragon rider,” and drew the sword across the rebel’s throat.

He would take the heads back with him as proof of the rebels’ deaths. How he would explain the strange woman, he didn’t yet know.

***

Bryn watched the boy, no, man lope back towards the garrison on his bright bay mare. She had wondered if he would end Eragon’s suffering or leave him to bleed to death and was pleased by his choice. She had no doubt that arrest and trial awaited her return to the ship. The story of a vanishing woman aiding a young soldier in the defeat of two of the King’s most wanted criminals, when they themselves had killed fourteen seasoned horsemen, would spread like wildfire. By the end of the week she would be a goddess and there would be no keeping it from the rest of the observation team. She sighed and wished she had stepped in sooner. If she had only seen the signs more men might be alive. Well, at least she had saved one. Maybe they would even keep her updated as to his status while she was in the rehabilitation program. She had no doubt his life was about to get a lot more interesting.

From the letter I sent to my local paper regarding the cancellation of a local shelter's adoption event, here is what was printed.

"African American community leaders and the NAACP took something designed to benefit black dogs and cats on death row and turned it into a matter of race.

"Shame on you! “Black is Beautiful” was a logical and catchy way of promoting the special adoption event. I didn’t know the phrase was trademarked and was the sole possession of the civil rights movement."

I think it lacks some of the punch of the original, but space saving measures reign.  At least I'm not the only letter writer to find the behavior of our local NAACP chapter abhorrent.