On the furthest outskirts of the Finklenook grounds, Dahlia practiced her preliminary exercises, Gunther and Gregory watching her silently as she ebbed and flowed, her movements smooth and unhurried. It looked more like a dance than a workout as the sorceress prepared herself for battle, flexing and contorting her body, slipping, twisting and seemingly knotting her entire frame up as she did her routines. She wore a heavy leather vest over her t-shirt as did her two companions.

Fellow Protectors Alita Vasquez, Andre Washington and Paresh Singh walked up, also dressed for battle in vests, t-shirts, fatigues and boots, their faces grim. Alita’s long black hair was wrapped in a bun much like Dahlia’s and a wicked dagger was sheathed at her side. Her dark eyes rested on her companions.

”Is everyone ready?” she asked in a no nonsense manner with a soft Spanish accent. She was the leader on this mission. Leadership rotated among the Protectors from mission to mission.

”As ready as can be,” Gregory replied, his brown eyes hard as he patted the scabbard tied to his side. He was ready to take out the clerics with great malice.

Dahlia said nothing, her hazel eyes cool as Alita looked her over and nodded with approval. Unlike the others, Dahlia didn’t have her weapon visible. She conjured her sword when it was actually needed. Carrying weapons went against her Aikido training. Only her wand was visible, tucked in the waist of her fatigues.

Ailita examined the rest of the Protectors. She looked down at Andre’s feet, frowning slightly.

”Andre, lace that boot up better. We don’t need you tripping over your laces when a cleric is charging you,” she snapped at the black sorcerer.

Andre looked down and saw one lace was indeed trailing the ground. He bent and quickly tied it, Paresh grinning at him. Maria scowled at the sorcerer.

”There’s nothing to grin about, Paresh,” she growled at him. “This is a serious matter.”

Paresh immediately looked quite sober and bowed ingratiatingly, giving her a standard, genie-like flourish of his hand. It was quite good, considering he was wearing his standard blood-red turban. He always wore a red turban when facing clerics.

”Yes, mem sahib,” he said in a stereotypical, lilting, song-song voice.

”Cut it out,” Alita hissed.

Paresh grinned again, his teeth startlingly white against his smooth brown complexion. The Indian sorcerer usually spoke in perfect English without any kind of accent. He was just being a smartass, as usual.

”All right, let’s mount up,” Alita instructed, pulling out her wand.

The others did the same.

Dahlia once again conjured the snow white stallion, which reared and pawed the air dramatically, whinnying.

He really was a show-off.

Panesh conjured a stallion also, smaller than Dahlia’s with a reddish coat and wearing a bright red feathered plume on his head.

Andre conjured his “steed,” hopping on a motorcycle and gunning it. Oddly, it made no noise. But then again, silence was important and he was a sorcerer after all, with degrees in Physics and Technical Design.

Andre didn’t do “animals.” Raised in the Bronx, he was a city boy.

Gunther conjured his steed. It was an enormous black Clydesdale. Well, Gunther was pretty enormous himself and needed a large horse.

Dahlia rolled her eyes when Gregory created his steed.

It was Snarle, one of his own biological designs.

Snarle was an enormous wolf, big enough to ride. He was gray, shaggy and wore battle armor with spikes on the chest. His fangs were over-large and he was designed to absolutely HATE anything in cleric robes. He was also the first thing the clerics usually went for, since he charged them immediately. He had never managed to make it through a battle since Gregory created him, being dissolved within minutes of the fray. Still, Gregory conjured him almost religiously, although once in a while he surprised them by riding a rather ordinary unicorn.

Snarle snarled at his creator as Gregory mounted up and patted him on his furry neck.

”And a merry hello to you too, Snarle,” he said to the wolf affectionately, “let’s see if you can manage to get a cleric or two down before you dissolve. Now, do you smell anything?”

The others watched as Snarle lifted his nose and scented the air. They were rewarded with a low growl of negation.

”We’re going to have to search for them,” Alita said, reining her own horse around using her heels to direct it.

It was a spotted Appaloosa, without bridle or saddle. Alita leaned low and gripped his mane.

”Let’s go,” she ordered, taking off and leading the group toward the North Woods.

******************************

Standing on a distant rise and watching the group through a pair of binoculars stood Artimus Rogue and his familiar Steede. The educator wore all black. Black tunic, black pants, and black riding boots. Black riding gloves covered his hands. A long black cloak finished the presentation. His dark brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail tied with a black leather thong and he held a crossbow in one hand, a quiver of arrows strapped securely to his back

If Artimus had wings, he’d make a fair Angel of Death.

His horse Steede was girded in black leather with silver pointed studs that covered the animal’s strong chest. Black leather socks, also wickedly studded, wrapped around all four of his fetlocks above his shiny hooves. The sharp points glinted and he wore no bit in his mouth, just a kind of harness high up on his muzzle to which the reins were attached, leaving his mouth free. Artimus lowered his binoculars as the Protectors set out.

”Artimus, we weren’t invited,” Steede said to his master, tossing his head.

”Any time clerics enter the magical realm, it’s an invitation to kill them,” the sorcerer said grimly, hanging the crossbow and binoculars on the saddlehorn and swinging up into the saddle. “I don’t need to be a card-carrying member of the Protectors to do it either. Now let’s go, but don’t get too close. I don’t want a confrontation with them.”

Steede took off at a trot, following the group into the forest.

********************************

Hiding among the trees, invisible to the Protectors were a number of evilly grinning kobolds, ready to be entertained. They slipped from tree to tree with amazing speed, easily keeping up with the group as they sped through the forest.

”How many?” the creatures whispered to each other, their pointed teeth showing as they grinned.

”Six!”

”Only six? This ought to be good!”

Yes, kobolds were definitely not to be trusted. Their idea of entertainment was rather brutal.

Suddenly Snarle let out a snarl and leapt forward, racing through the trees, passing Alita in his haste.

”He’s caught the scent!” Gregory called back, leaning low over the wolf’s neck as the wind whistled by him.

The others broke out into a run as well. The clerics were located.

”They’ve found them, Artimus,” Steede said, scenting the clerics himself.

”Keep up!” Artimus hissed, leaning low as Steede began to gallop through the trees.

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