Best of Luck

Alaron ran full speed trying to avoid the ram coming at him from the side. It crashed just behind him and shattered a tree, sending a spray of splinters at the man's back. He was glad once again for his magical Guardian's cape, or the wooden shards sure would have pierced him. Instead they glanced off harmlessly.

Arrows whizzed by him. He listened carefully and dodged them without turning around. 'One, two, three…" he counted silently.

"Four!" In front of him, the ground opened into a wide chasm. Alaron leapt on his final count, his legs continuing to move like he was running through the air.

The other wall of the crevice came quickly toward him--but not quickly enough. His body slammed into the rocks as his right hand barely gained purchase on the lip of the ground.

With a groan, Alaron pulled himself up onto the grass above him even as more arrows bounced off the stone wall or pierced the blades of dried grass around him.

The Guardian picked up the pace, pushing hard into his physical capabilities. He jumped and grabbed tree branches to brachiate across a flowing river. The reaching arms of the trees on both sides were enough for him to get across without getting wet.

Dropping to the other bank of the water, Alaron rolled and came to his feet in a flat out sprint. He skipped lightly across a path of raised stones careful not to step on the cracks and release the poisonous darts that sting like death itself. At last he reached the platform and summoned the sword of the first king of Valiant from his Guardian's cloak.

With a mighty swing, he rang the large metal bell. He laughed victoriously. "You almost had me back there with..."

Alaron's chest received a heavy hit that sent him flying as a hidden battering ram slammed into him. The once cocky man was thrown back a great distance, landing in the river with a spectacular splash. He floated helplessly in the shallow water, with his face staring up at the colorful leaves. "You added something new, I see," he croaked when the air finally entered his lungs again.

Justum appeared at the edge of the riverbed and looked down at him with a critical eye. "You did say to surprise you."

"I did. Yes, I did. I had thought you would put it in the course though, not after I had finished."

"Then you would have been expecting it," Justum reasoned. He held out his hand for the man to grasp.

"Fair enough." Alaron swam toward the Fate and took his arm. Dripping, he pulled himself from the murky water. A few fish had attached themselves to his trousers and tunic. The young man stared down in disbelief. He had felt the pricks, but had been unable to identify the source. "Seriously? Biting fish?"

"You said you needed something to keep you motivated," Justum pointed out.

"I seem to say a lot of things," the prince sighed.

Alaron carefully sat down on the shore and disengaged the swimming creatures before tossing them back into the water's flow. His wounds began to heal as soon as teeth were removed from his skin. The cloth, however, was ruined. The man the proceeded to empty the water from his boots. A few razor sharp pebbles tumbled out, having cut the Guardian's feet.

"Sometimes I think you like to torture me," Alaron said blandly.

"Well, you did cause a war and nearly end the world as we know it. Are you really complaining about a few inconveniences?" Justum narrowed his gaze at the young man, whose hood had fallen around his neck.

"No…" The Guardian fell into a melancholy silence. Alaron knew he would never make up for the damage he had caused. Sometimes it seemed useless to even try.

Ignoring the young man's brooding, the Fate went on, "Honesty, I don't understand why you insist on this kind of training. You are very fortunate that the Guardians are not so easy to kill, because the Empress would not look on me very kindly if I let you die under my watch doing something so silly." Justum adjusted his white robe and shook the water from his hem.

The young man rolled his eyes "If I am going to be a proper Guardian, I need to hone my skills somehow. A year of laziness in the Mystic Spires and months of being out in the wilderness with you have made me sloppy. It is time to get back into shape."

"As a Fate, I do not have this problem." Justum's colorless eyes flashed with lightning, which Alaron knew meant he was amused.

"Lucky you," Alaron heaved a sigh. "I didn't have to work so hard either when I had magic at my fingertips."

Justum's back arched at the accusation. "Humans shouldn't use magic," the Fate reminded him indignantly.

"And Fates shouldn't use a human's words against him as an excuse to torture him." The young man raised one eyebrow. The two stared at each other for a long time.

Having spent much of the past two years together, the Fate and Guardian had become quite close. They had also learned to bicker very effectively. While the young man had the advantage of youth and persistence on his side, Justum was still the far more powerful being.

Alaron broke eye contact and marched over to the bell and retrieved his sword. His mind was momentarily distracted as he remembered the moment his mother gave it to him as a gift. He had received it right after Aurora had forgiven him for his betrayal.

That memory and the fact that it belonged to the first king of the Valiant Empire easily made it his most prized possession. "At least this didn't fall in the water. We would be having a whole different conversation."

"Yet another thing I do not understand, human's attachment to objects…" the tall Fate mused aloud. "It is not like you can get anything in return."

"Are you really telling me that you have never been fond of something you owned and wanted to keep it nice…" Alaron remembered the sterile and empty halls of the Mystic Spires. While beautiful in their own right, they were sparse on furnishings and personal possessions. "Nevermind…" he shook his head, exhausted by the exertion and the conversation.

Alaron laid down on the stone platform next to the bell. He turned his head toward Justum, who was still by the water's edge squinting off into the distance. The Guardian opened his mouth to inquire what was wrong when he sensed a small breeze.

Disappearing within unnatural wind, the Fate vanished without a word. The man ran his fingers through his white blonde hair and sighed. He dropped his head back onto the stones and stared up at the green leaves.

"Sometimes I forget you aren't human," Alaron mumbled to his absent companion, "and then you do things like teleport into thin air and abandon me."

"I did not abandon you," a disembodied voice responded before the Fate materialized. "In fact, I come with news."

Alaron sat up, suddenly interested.

"You will want to be on your guard when you return home. Someone is there waiting for you." Justum's eyes were streaked with lightning.

"Someone?"

"Well, two 'someones' to be exact." Justum corrected his first statement. "You will need to be prepared."

Alaron stood and began the trek back to his small cabin. "How do you know they are there?"

The Fate furrowed his brow. "I saw them."

"And you didn't, you know, take care of them?" The man's mouth opened slightly in exasperation.

"I did not, As a Fate, I am supposed to advise humanity and protect them from things that would destroy the human race." The creature in white glided along beside the prince in such a way that the man was pretty sure that the Fate was floating, not walking. "I am a peace keeper. However, I am not supposed to interfere in a way that could negatively affect the future." Justum spread his hands as he made his argument.

"But Hanna intervenes all the time! You couldn't have made an exception?" Alaron held up a finger in objection.

"Hanna and I do not have the same standards when it comes to keeping the peace. She also often seeks special permission from the Maker, whereas I do not think it right to bother him."

Justum could see by the man's expression that his defense was not helping. He pursed his lips and turned to face toward their destination.

"Besides, you wanted a chance to be on your guard and hone your skills, right? What better way than real life practice? Best of luck!" The Fate vanished again, and Alaron knew he had no intention of returning this time.

"Just great…" the Guardian scanned the area and did his best to remain unseen. Two opponents meant he was outnumbered, but he had dealt with up to three assailants in practices at the palace.

Alaron was confident that he could go up against two combatants as long as neither were expertly trained and they didn't get the jump on him. He would have to be vigilant to keep from being surprised.

Eventually his little cabin came into view. While not exactly homey, it was his own so he couldn't complain. The silver-eyed man padded gently forward, careful not to alert his unexpected visitors to his arrival. If he listened very hard, he could hear them moving around and speaking in hushed tones within his house.

"Sloppy," he whispered, ignoring the irony of his speaking aloud. He flipped his hood onto his head and the pale oval of his face became nothing more than a black void.

Creeping up to the house, Alaron pressed his body up against the closed door. Silently, he pulled his sword from his cloak and felt the weight of its heft. Closing his eyes, the Guardian prepared his attack. Relaxing and tensing, the young man counted to three in his mind.

Then he opened the door.