And it was his understanding they took only coin, jewels worn by women, timepieces from men, thanked the travelers for their generosity (to the point a lady’s hand was often kissed, to her swooning with desire), bid them good eve, then went about their way.

At least that was what the tales told.

Why would they give chase to him?

He bent over his steed’s neck, slapping its reins, and cutting toward the trees, desperation driving him, for in truth, he knew he had no hope of outrunning a highwayman. They were legendary riders.

But if he could get into the shadows of the barren trees, and find the right turn to take, he could stop and be right there, but disappear, and his pursuer would ride right past him.

He heard shouting, his name bellowed by Daemon, and a commotion, but he kept speeding toward the trees.

He made them and raced into them, the lower branches whipping his face. He had to duck and sway this way and that to avoid stouter ones, but his lovely horse, to his delight, did most of the work.

And in no time, the gods shined fortune on him for he saw a rise, a tall mound that he hoped he could ride behind with enough time to gather a magical cloak to shield him.

He called upon his power, feeling it sing through him, gather in his balls, and oh…there it was. Unused for so long, it was mighty.

For the first time in a very long time, Jellan smiled.

Then he rode behind the mound and put his hand to his face, his fingers extended, before he drew it over his head, through his hair, to the back of his neck.

And he and his steed were hidden.

He rounded his horse, pulled it to a stop so the beating hooves of an apparently invisible animal would not sound in the dead leaves, or be seen thrashing them, and he threw his hand up, out and over himself, magically muting the noises of his and his mount’s labored breathing.

Jellan then watched as the highwayman chasing him rounded the mound, rode the length of it and beyond, disappearing into the night.

He held steady and did not move.

He gave it time, listening to the faraway shouts of men, Marian’s repeated screeching of Daemon’s name, feeling morose that the fantasy of those highwaymen would be no more.

He then heard his name being called by both Marian and Daemon.

Gods.

It was done.

These calls echoed into the night and got farther and farther away until he could hear them no more.

Eventually, the one who gave chase after him rode back and Jellan had to fight calling out to warn him not to find Marian and her creature.

But in order to look after himself, something he was adept at doing, he won that fight, sat astride his horse and waited.