She clutched the hilt of her sword tighter, silver armor catching the red glow of the setting sun. The autumn highlands stretched before her, tawny grasses and gnarled trees set against a sky alight with pinks and golds.

"Fare ye well, my lady," came the gruff voice of her captain. "This quest is yours to carry."

Dara nodded, not trusting her voice. "I will not forget your counsel, Sir Joras. May the gods watch o'er you."

A final salute passed between them, then the captain wheeled his mount and spurred it forward, his men following in a clatter of hooves and clanking steel. Dara watched them fade into the undulating hills, her heart heavy as the weight at her belt.