Sara eased the sword in its sheath, her eyes scanning the crowd as she moved through the marketplace. She felt no particular threat from them, as she wasn’t wearing her Rider clothing. In the simple tunic and leggings of any common traveler, no one would suspect her true nature, and therefore shouldn’t view her as a threat.

Still, Hirel had told her caution was necessary in this small town, and he took his words to heart. She looked around the crowded marketplace yet again, wondering when her teacher would return from whatever errand had brought them here. He’d told her to wait for him, and had disappeared into the crowd as easily as he did among the undergrowth of the forest.

In truth, it was more than Hirel’s words that made her nervous. How many months had it been since she’d seen another person besides her teacher? Three? Four? Long enough that the first chill of winter had come to the cave they’d been living in. The change in season had seemed to upset Hirel, which had only led to him accelerating her training.

The last few weeks had been the worst. History, swordsmanship, Church doctrine, it had all blurred together until she was barely able to recall anything. And during all of that, he would constantly push her to feel this emotion, embrace that feeling. He would make her imagine a peaceful glade with the sound of birds singing while she cleaned and dressed whatever animal he had brought in for dinner. He would make her imagine horrific battles, filled with death and pain while mending a bootlace, or picture a crying child while fishing in the nearby stream.

No lesson came without his demanding she feel some incongruous emotion. Sometimes, he would force her to bring up the most painful of her memories, and berate her whenever she showed those feelings. He hammered at her over and over again, and she often began to wonder if her mind would remain whole throughout the ordeal.

But now…

She had gained an understanding of herself and her heart she’d never thought possible. It wasn’t that she had learned to control her emotions exactly, but she had learned to identify them, truly understand their source, and to let them wash over her like a cleansing fire. She could still feel the pain of her mother’s death, for example, but she could now let that emotion run through her without fear of it controlling her.

Most of the time, anyway. Hirel told her that she still cried out in her sleep, a flaw she must learn to overcome one day. Still, she felt more sure of herself than she had since her mother had died, and that confidence was beginning to chafe against Hirel’s constant badgering.

Then, without warning, he’d told her they had to go into this small town. She hadn’t asked any questions, too eager to see other people to risk having him order her to stay behind. Then, when they’d reached the town, she’d begun to feel the nervousness.

She felt…different now. Once, she would have perused some of the stalls, perhaps buying the occasional sweet or trinket. She would have tried to strike up conversation with people, asking about local news, wondering how the harvest had gone.

Now, she simply stood by the edge of the small market square, silent and watching. She didn’t feel superior to them, exactly, just…removed. She could tell who had come in from the fields to sell the late-season melons, which people actually lived in this town, and who were total strangers. She identified a blacksmith by his muscled arms and chest and thick leather apron, and a baker by the trace of flour on his sleeves. She wouldn’t have been able to make distinctions like that so easily before, but now it came as easily as breathing.

She didn’t see any better than she had before, but she understood more of what she saw now. On one side of the market, she saw a couple apparently happy with each other, judging by the way they held hands and leaned close to whisper to each other. Before Hirel had come along, that’s all she would have seen.

Now, she could see how their smiles were strained, and that their whispers consisted of short and sharp words. The clasped hands clenched in suppressed emotion occasionally, and then would sometimes almost pull apart at the end of a particularly sharp whisper. Except when they whispered to one another, they stayed as far apart as they could without appearing to odd, and without letting go of each other.

She took all of that in at a glance, her mind gathering the details of the scene as easily as Hirel had taught her to read a wolf’s tracks. The couple were obviously quarreling, but they wanted to keep the knowledge of their disagreement private. She noted how they avoided a certain young lady’s stall, one selling pastries, and Sara smiled slightly. So, he had said or done something where another woman was concerned, and his wife had found out. They’d managed to keep it quiet so far, but Sara was certain that the truth would come out soon enough. They were fairly boiling over with rage and resentment, too much to keep it silent forever.

She paused at this moment of insight. Had things like this occurred in her village as well? She assumed they must have, and she’d simply had not noticed. Still, as she looked back, it made some things make more sense. Certain conversations, statements made in passing, all blended together into a different picture of what she had assumed was a small and happy village.

The ring of hooves snapped her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see a horse pushing its way through the crowded market, the rider cursing at the people to move. She felt a tinge of anger at his obvious arrogance, but remained silent.

It was large horse, more suited for hauling heavy wagons than the man atop it. The saddle and bridle were finely tooled leather, chased in silver and gold, as were the man’s exquisitely tailored boots. His pants and doublet were of the finest wool, and fairly sparkled in the afternoon sun from all the gold and silver embroidered into the fabric.

His brown hair was slicked back in the fashion of the local nobility, a gold ring dangling from his left ear. The sword at his side was as exquisite as the rest of his garb, the hilt wrapped in some kind of glittering hide, the pommel and crosspiece encrusted in jewels.

Sara’s eyes noticed all of this and more. The inseams of his pants were barely worn, which meant they were either new, or he rode rarely. His boots showed only a couple of scuff marks, which meant he rarely set foot on rough ground. His doublet, while well-fitting, was loosened, which, when added to the fact that he was sweating in the cool air, told her that he was not in as fine a physical shape as he pretended.

His right glove did seem slightly worn in the right places, though, which indicated that he did know how to use the sword at his side. Perhaps not as well as he would claim, judging by his attitude towards those around him, but well enough.

She took all of this in with a glance, and then dismissed him from her mind. He was a fop playing at being a lord, and-

The sudden scream jerked her gaze back to him, and her lips thinned as she saw him drawing his boot back to kick out yet again. The woman next to his horse was being held up by some of the crowd, obviously having fallen trying to avoid a previous attack.

“I said get out of my way!” the man snapped as his boot lashed out, catching the woman on the shoulder, sending her reeling. Sara moved then, her body reacting almost without thought.

The man had drawn back for a third kick, probably more for show than any real intention to connect again, but Sara didn’t care. His weight had shifted to one side of the saddle as he prepared to kick the woman yet again, and Sara saw the opportunity. She slipped through the crowd almost as if they weren’t there, her hand coming up to grab the man’s belt as his weight was off-center. With sharp twist of her hips and a jerk of her arm, she pulled the man from the saddle with all the force her trained body could muster.

He slammed into the ground with a meaty thud, and the horse shied away at the sudden change in the weight on his back. One of the nearby merchants prudently grabbed the horse’s reins, leading the horse back and away from what was about to become an altercation.

And Sara knew the merchant was right. Even as she cursed herself for doing something as stupid as draw attention to herself, she turned to face the man, her eyes watching him warily as he pushed himself to his feet.

He whirled on her, his face red with anger. “How dare you touch me, you trollop!” he screamed, his hand swinging out with the intention to slap her across the face.

Only her face wasn’t there. She ducked under his hand, her fingers grabbing at his wrist as she turned on her hips yet again, sending him crashing into the ground without another satisfying crash.

She remained silent as he struggled to his feet, his sword having become tangled in his legs. This time, as he whirled on her, his face had gone white.

“I’ll kill you,” he said, reaching for his sword.

“I am a Rider,” she said softly. “Would that be wise?”

His face remained pale, but she saw the fear and fury warring in his eyes in that moment of decision. His hand clenched on his sword, and his mouth worked as if trying to summon words.

“Decide, you pompous waste of flesh,” Sara snapped. “I grow tired of your presence.”

She had time to wonder why she’d even said those words before his sword came out of its sheath in a short arc aiming for her throat.

In that moment, something seemed to click into place in Sara’s mind. For months, she’d been forced to do what someone else wanted. She’d done as she was told, followed orders like a good soldier should, without ever having any control over what was going on around her.

Now, she was in control. That was why she had goaded him. Not because she should, but because she could. For the first time in her life, she had total control over what was happening around her, and the feeling of freedom was intoxicating.

Her own sword fairly leapt into her hand as she brought it out of its sheath, ducking her head underneath his swing. He seemed so slow compared to Hirel, as if he moved through thick syrup. Her own blade came up like a striking snake, slapping into his blade just before the crosspiece, tearing the weapon from his grasp and crashing to the ground.

“You seem to have dropped your sword,” she said, adding a calculated sneer to her voice. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to use it the right way?”

She had read him right. The barb had caught him in his vanity, and his sudden rage was almost gratifying. Still, he would need just a little more goading…

She dropped the tip of her sword, hooking under the guard of his own weapon. With a flick of her arm, she tossed the blade back to him, and he caught it clumsily, barely managed to injure himself in the process.

“Why don’t I teach you?” she asked. “You obviously need it.”

His rage overcame reason completely, and he screamed as he attacked. She easily parried each blow, never counterattacking, keeping up a running commentary as he tried to land a strike.

“Turn your wrists in a little more for that,” she said. “No, too far. A little faster on the return, and that might work. Oh, that was almost a real thrust. Almost.”

She continued in that vein, her feet never moving as he tried to force her back. She slapped his blade aside again and again, occasionally twisting their weapons together in a lock. Each time she did this, she gave him another pointer as he struggled to free himself.

“Don’t overextend like that,” she would say. Or, “Don’t spread your stance so much.”

She could have continued like that for quite some time, as this man wasn’t doing anything Hirel hadn’t done a thousand times better to her. And a part of her wanted to thoroughly humiliate the man. But she knew she would have to end this soon before it truly became a farce.

Finally, she let a thrust come deceptively close to her stomach, and then her feet moved. She slipped past his guard, driving the pommel of her blade into the man’s wrist with shattering force. His howl of pain was suddenly choked as she slammed a fist into his belly, causing him to double up and fall to the ground, gasping for breath.

“You will apologize to her,” Sara said, her voice flat and hard as she pointed at the woman the man had kicked. “Then, you will get on your horse and leave here immediately. You will leave your sword to that woman so that she might sell it. The money will go to her and her family to redress the wrong you’ve done her.”

“I will do no-“ He froze as her sword touched his throat.

“I am a Moonrider,” Sara said in a near-whisper, feeling a cool sense of power running through her. “You have struck a helpless woman because you lacked the humility to walk instead of ride. You attacked a Rider of the Church despite the laws that govern you. I could take your life and no magistrate would call me to account. I give you a chance at redemption. Do as I say, and seek further penance from your priest. Otherwise, I will spill your blood here and now. Do as your Church commands or risk your immortal soul.”

The formal words of Judgment seemed to flow so easily from her lips, and the rage and contempt seemed to drain out of her, leaving behind only a calm certainty of the moment. She knew that she would kill this man if he refused again, and that she would do so without hesitation. Where that certainty came from, she couldn’t be sure, but it felt…right.

“I…” The man swallowed, and then looked to the woman. “I apologize for my assault upon you,” he said, resorting the formal words. “I will do as the Church and this Rider commands. Will you accept this?”

The woman managed a nod, her eyes wide in shock at what had happened. The man turned back to Sara, his eyes smoldering with rage and pain, but he kept his voice even and calm.

“I apologize to you, Rider,” he said. “My life belongs to the Lord and Lady, and to those that serve Them. I will do as I am commanded and seek redemption for my sins.”

Sara stepped back and sheathed her sword in one motion. “Then go forth, good sir,” she said in the closing words of the ceremony. “Sin no more, and always seek guidance from Lord and Lady, and the Church They have given to you.”

She turned away and stepped back into the crowd, which parted before her. She saw Hirel now, standing at the edge of the market square, a heavy pack slung over one shoulder. She felt herself stiffen in sudden apprehension, but kept moving towards him.

“That was interesting,” Hirel said as she reached him. “Was it necessary?”

“I…I overreacted,” Sara said. “He was an arrogant fool, and I goaded him into attacking me. I wanted to punish him.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Hirel said, waving a hand as if to dismiss her words. “I’m not surprised about that. I meant the Judgment ceremony. We usually reserve those particular words for high crimes against the Church or the Crown.”

She blinked. “You’re…not angry that I-“

“Not really,” he said, interrupting her. “I would have handled it differently, perhaps, but I would have done something myself. In fact, I was about to, but you beat me to him. So, I decided to watch and see how you handled it. I would have stepped in if I thought it was necessary. I didn’t.”

She swallowed, feeling sudden relief. “I thought…I drew attention to myself. I thought you wanted to keep our presence here quite. That’s why we didn’t wear our uniforms.”

He smiled gently, the expression creasing his rugged face. “Sara, we are Riders of the Church. We carry the Church’s justice and law with us. If doing something like that would have endangered a more important mission, than I would have stopped you. We do have our priorities. But being discreet does not mean we ignore injustice when we see it. When we can, we act.”

“I think I understand,” she said slowly. “Still, I feel…guilty about goading him.”

“You should,” Hirel said. “You manipulated him because you wanted to, not because you had to. Still, you recovered well in the end, and acted like a true Rider. Still, why did you use the words of a formal Judgment?”

His words of praise rang in her ears, and she found herself stumbling and she answered. “It just…It felt right. I was angry at first, and I wanted to punish him. But, at the end…” She paused, struggling for words. “I just did what I had to, I guess. The words felt right.”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Indeed,” he said. “Well, it worked. Now, gather your things. We need to get moving.”

“Back to the cave?” she asked as she retrieved her pack from the corner of a building where she’d set it earlier.

He shook his head. “No. Your isolation is over now, Sara. Now, we need to move on, and move quickly.”

She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He looked away from her. “Your training isn’t nearly far enough along, but certain things are forcing my hand. We must go to Ansalor.”

“The capital?” she breathed. “Really?”

He looked back at her, his eyes clouded with some unreadable emotion. “To the Basilica itself, Sara. It is time for you to take the next step, and face your first Ordeal.”

His tone gave the word and importance she’d never heard before. “What is that?” she asked, feeling a tinge of fear.

“I cannot tell you,” he said softly. “No one can tell you. You must face it unknowing of what will come. I am only allowed to tell you two things. First, the Lady will be with you throughout the Ordeal. Secondly, you may die during the Ordeal.”

Her breath felt frozen in her lungs. “Die?” she said in a harsh whisper.

He nodded. “You do not have to go through it,” he said. “Until we enter the Basilica itself, you can choose to end your training and go about your life as you see fit. Think on what you truly want on the journey there. Once the decision is made, though, it is final. Do you understand?”

She swallowed, and nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said, turning on his heel. “Now, let’s get going. It is a long road to Ansalor.”