The Golden Shield
of IBF

CHAPTER FOUR:

Erg'Ran gave heed to the advice proffered him in the miller's cottage by the Virgin Enchantress, that he must look to options other than Swan's magic for the survival of the Company of Mir. Pursuant to the dire warnings that Swan's spell would no longer confound the Horde of Koth in their search for the encampment should the Queen Sorceress make good her death threat, Erg'Ran threw himself into directing the building of additional fortifications behind the Falls of Mir, consulting maps to pre-plan escape routes and rendezvous points in the event their encampment had to be abandoned. In the midst of these endeavors, and sooner than the time allotted by Swan's mother's ultimatum, an arrow was brought to Erg'Ran in his tent. Reading aloud the writing wrapped to the arrow shaft detailed an eye witness account of the Mist of Oblivion appearing near the castle residence of the Virgin Enchantress, how the Mist of Oblivion was seen to consume the castle and all within before, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished. Erg'Ran collapsed to his knees and wept. He felt the hand of Gar'Ath, mightiest warrior in the Company, clasp his shoulder.

Erg'Ran raised himself to his foot and peg, the tears still flowing from his eyes. Through the open tent flap, he felt the cold wind which had blown from the precipice over which the falls cascaded for the last several hours. Somehow, it was colder to him now.

Struggling against the emotion engulfing him, Erg'Ran blurted out his words in staccato phrases. "The Virgin Enchant -- Enchantress may not be -- be dead, may have esca --escaped, may have escaped and -- and if she did we need to find her immediately before her mother's -- her mother's minions find her. To horse, Gar'Ath, with five -- five others and I will go -- go, also." Snorting back his tears, or at least attempting to do so, Erg'Ran's eyes scanned across the assembled Captains of the Company. "We must assume -- " Erg'Ran cleared his throat. We must abandon the encampment at once except for a small, highly -- highly mobile unit which can escape -- escape at an instant's notice when, if the Horde arrives. We will meet -- meet by the old summer palace, within three days. We must assume -- assume -- that -- Swan is -- that Swan is dead."

Erg'Ran sank forward over his maps, head aching, his throat so tight that he could barely breathe, heart hammering within his chest. He wanted to say that he would somehow, no matter the cost, avenge himself on Eran, the Queen Enchantress, kill her and obliterate her hideous evil from Creath. And, if Swan were dead, whatever price he must pay, he would exact revenge. Erg'Ran wished to say all of that, but could not utter even a solitary word. He could only weep and touch his fist to his forehead, invoking the courage of Mir...

***

Alan Garrison stood up, brushing the snow from his Levi jeans. "We're dead, right?" So, maybe Swan was an angel; if looks were the benchmark for angelic nature, she was that benchmark personified.

On two sides of the barren expanse on which Garrison stood were precipitously high, snow splotched walls of granite, mountains coursing upward to vanish within the low, heavy overcast. Behind him, the plain stretched for what seemed an interminable distance, disappearing past the horizon. Ahead of him lay a deep wood, snow accumulating heavily at its boundary, within the wood an assortment of trees both familiar appearing and strange, unlike anything he had ever seen.

"We are not dead, Al'An."

"Where are we, Swan?"

"Creath."

"Where is Creath?"

Swan did not answer him, merely stood there, wrapped within her cape, its hood so obscuring her face that he could not read her expression.

The snow felt like snow, the air smelled like air. Garrison rationalized a scenario. Somehow, when the explosion came, he was knocked out, near death (unless he was really dead). The bright light had been the same light people talked about in near-death experiences. If he wasn't dead, then they had been kidnapped while unconscious, drugged perhaps, abandoned here for some obscure reason. One of his .45s was still in its shoulder holster, the other in the waistband of his pants, where he'd placed it when he tackled William Brownwood. From their heft, the pistols were still loaded. He could check them in greater detail in a little while. His third pistol and his knives were where they belonged.

Garrison reached for his cell phone. "Where's my cell phone?"

"Cell phone?"

"The thing I was talking into," Garrison re-phrased. "Your magical advisor? You flung your magical advisor to the floor as you joined battle with your foeman there in the great hall through which all who entered passed."

"No matter. In the mountains like this, we're probably nowhere near a cell, anyway. So, tell me what's up."

Swan's right arm emerged from beneath her cape and she gestured toward the cloudy sky. "That is up. Are you well, Al'An? Was your head injured?"

"No, I knew which way up was, Swan. That's not what I meant."

"Then, you were testing me?"

"No, that's not it. What I meant to say was that I wanted you to tell me where we are and what's happened, if you know."

"Of course I know," Swan answered defensively, moving closer beside him. He could see her face quite clearly now beneath the folds of her hood. There was nothing but honesty there, honesty and loveliness. "You were about to be killed by the grenade bomb." Garrison let her English usage slide. "I summoned all of the magical energy that I could, while reciting backwards the incantation which brought me to your world from mine originally. At the same time that the grenade bomb was about to release its energy, and perhaps kill you, I brought us here. And, there is probably no reason to be afraid for Angie and Gardner and Brenda the half-cat, half-female. Before my mother's minions attacked and the Mist of Oblivion was summoned to devour my castle and all life within it, I chanced upon a spell useful in combating the energy force of a volcano. I thought that it was a clever spell and committed it to memory. I cast that spell over the grenade bomb. In the moment that my magic took us from the great hall through which all who entered passed, the grenade bomb exploded. I am certain that the spell worked. But, I could not be sure beforehand, which is why I brought us here at that moment."

Garrison frisked his pockets, found his cigarettes and his lighter. This was nuts. He placed a cigarette between his lips. His hands shook with the cold and the lighter didn't work the first time. As he made to roll the striking wheel again, his cigarette lit itself and he heard Swan laugh. "That is the easiest kind of magic. The energy is all around us; I merely direct it."

Slowly, Garrison said, "This is Creath."

"Of course it is!"

"And this magic of yours can bring us back to Atlanta?" "Not now," Swan responded, shaking her head. "You see, Al'An, magic is measured by quality and quantity. It is something which can be temporarily exhausted and then must renew itself."

"You just lit my cigarette with magic," Garrison insisted, amazed that he said such a thing.

Swan smiled indulgently. "If you run for only a short distance, do you have trouble breathing afterward?"

"No. Even though I'm smoking, I don't do it very often and I take health and fitness very-- What's running have to do with magic?"

"If you run very rapidly over a great distance, your breathing does not immediately return to the way that it was before you began to run."

"Obviously. So what?"

Swan smiled, triumphantly this time, as if she'd just taught him the meaning behind Einstein's theory of relativity. "That's how magic works, Al'An. The harder the magic, the longer it takes for the magic to return to the way it was before it was used. Just like running long and fast. But, even after running long and fast, it is usually possible to take a few steps, and sometimes it is better to walk while breathing becomes normal again. Giving fire to the end of your cigarette, or anything like that is just a tiny step and simple to do, requiring virtually no energy at all."

"So, we can't go back."

"It will be a day or longer for my magical energy to be sufficiently renewed. Bringing the two of us to Creath consumed more magic than when I alone left Creath to go to your world. And, anyway, I need you to be my Champion, to fight beside me with the Company of Mir against the Horde of Koth and my mother's evil magic. That will take some time."

"Look," Garrison began. "I have -- " Before saying another word to Swan, it dawned on him to question himself concerning what he really did have in his world, assuming again that he really wasn't dead or dreaming and actually had been brought to Creath. He had a job, one that he was good at (usually, at least), an important job that gave him a great deal of satisfaction, but not the job he wanted. Ever since high school, he'd been aching to get fantasy or science fiction published and he had never gotten anything finished to the point where he could even hope for a form rejection letter. Garrison had boxes of unwritten stories and novels, always jumping from one idea to the next.

The rest of his life wasn't that much more goal oriented, so far. At the insistence of his parents, after college he got a law degree. But, Alan Garrison had no interest at all in being an attorney. The FBI was head-hunting healthy guys with law degrees and, the next thing Garrison knew, he was a recruit under the hot sun at Quantico.

He could have used some of that hot sun in this place; Garrison's entire body was shaking now, shivering in his unlined bomber jacket with nothing but a shoulder holster, a T-shirt and his body armor underneath. Instead of asking Swan to find some way to take him back to his world, Alan Garrison bit the bullet and asked, "Is all of Creath cold like this?"

"In the winter season, yes, this part of Creath, all of the inhabited part, is cold. But, it is hot in the summer, hot like Atlanta."

"Is there someplace we can go, something we could do to escape the cold?"

Swan's brow knitted with thought for a moment. "I don't have sufficient magical energy yet to cast a place-shifting spell. And, my castle has ceased to exist because of the Mist of Oblivion. But --"

Swan's hands appeared from beneath her cape. She stepped toward him, so close now that their bodies almost touched, her cape falling fully open. She raised her hands to the cowl of her hood, then swept them back and down along her sides to her cape's hem, crouching so low that she was almost kneeling.

Swan rose to her full height. Her fingers seemed to vibrate slightly as she tented them together. Swan raised her clasped hands toward him, over him. He felt her hands touch at the crown of his head, move back and down along the sides of his head, his neck, along his shoulders, starting down along his arms, mimicking how she had swept her hands over her own body.

A cape began to enshroud Alan Garrison, from a deeply cowled hood over his head to the hem at his ankles. And warmth spread through him. "Thank you," Garrison told her.

"It is a very manly greatcape, not trimmed with fur like mine, Al'An. It looks well on you. Would you like a different color other than brown?"

"Brown's fine," Alan Garrison reassured her. He decided that he could try to help Swan with this champion thing that she wanted him to do, for a day or so at least, until her magic was strong enough to send him back. Or, he could think of an excuse to stay for a while longer...

***

It was nearly full darkness. The light from the twin moons' would not penetrate the low, dense overcast this night. But, the whiteness of the fresh snow helped to diffuse the light from the magical globe which the Enchantress had given to him. Erg'Ran could see quite well enough to keep to the trail. In daylight, the globe seemed like an ordinary ball of heavy glass, but as night fell, it began to glow, stronger the darker the night became.

Erg'Ran slowed his dark brown mare's pace along the once well-used road leading toward the Castle of the Virgin Enchantress, reined back so that Gar'Ath's mount would come abreast of him.

Erg'Ran had to see the devastation for himself, or not see, as was more likely the case. He had to know for certain that the Mist of Oblivion had totally consumed the massive structure where Swan had lived alone for so long, in willing exile from her mother's residence at Barad'Il'Koth.

As he drew guidance from the globe's light, so did Erg'Ran draw faith from it, faith that somehow the Virgin Enchantress still lived. If she did not, how could her magic still power the globe which lit their way?

Gar'Ath drew up beside him. "Is there something wrong, old friend?" Gar'Ath tossed back the hood of his cloak, his dark hair falling free of the hood and across his shoulders. In the globe's light through the more heavily falling snow, Erg'Ran could see the younger man's face quite clearly. The smile seemed forced, but genuine; considering the circumstances this night, it was the only sort of smile that could be possible.

"We are near to leaving the wood, and from the boundary we should be able to confirm whether or not the Mist of Oblivion accomplished the Queen Sorceress's foul work. If I know the workings of her evil heart, there will be a scouting party of the Horde -- at the very least -- lying in wait lest we should hear of the castle's destruction and go in search of the Virgin Enchantress."

"Then we fall right into their plan, old friend. Yet, there's no choice, I think. I am with you that we must know the Virgin Enchantress's fate. And, if the castle is, indeed, vanished from the universe, she may still live."

"We cannot give up hope, Gar'Ath."

"My soul and my sword are with you, as always, old friend, however we end."

"I know that, lad. I rely on them both."

"Should I scout ahead, do you think then, Erg'Ran? One man will be less noticed than seven, I'd wager. And, if I come up from the far side of the plateau and stay near the rock walls, I'll have a better chance of seeing any of the Horde before they should see me. They are predictable, these bastard foemen we fight. They will expect us to come from the wood."

"Take no chances, if you do go ahead, Gar'Ath. Your plan seems a good one. But, we cannot afford to lose you, tonight or ever if we are to take the fight to Barad'Il'Koth." And Erg'Ran touched his clenched fist to his forehead, invoking the courage of Mir at the thought of the evil stronghold of the Queen Sorceress.

"If I ride around to the far side, you and the others should be only a short while behind me when I get there."

"We will be there, lad."

"I'll be waiting then!" Gar'Ath's eyes were younger, stronger. He would not need the globe's light to guide him through the wood.

Gar'Ath's mount veered off the path and into the darkness.

Erg'Ran called after him hoarsely, "Not through the wood, lad! Not at night!"

But, Gar'Ath was gone, either out of earshot or choosing to ignore the warning. Since the Horde of Koth swept through the wood, all living things that remained were creatures of darkness. They might not have the courage to attack a company of seven men, or even six; but, one man who strayed from the path might be too tempting for the foul beasts to resist. Erg'Ran touched his clenched fist to his forehead once again, invoking the courage of Mir to be with Gar'Ath...

***

Swan made light appear from her left hand, to guide them through the swirling gloom, her right hand in the crook of Al'An's elbow. His right hand grasped one of his weapons. The wind blew more strongly and the snow fell more rapidly than before. The snow piled up in ever deeper drifts the nearer they approached to the boundary with the wood.

Once there, she would search for the track that had been the road, the track over which she had lately ridden to the miller's hut on her strongly built little white horse. The gentle creature was devoured, of course, when the Mist of Oblivion enveloped the castle and all within it.

Upon reaching the wood, Al'An and she could spend the rest of the night with some protection from the cold and wind and snow. By morning, her magic would be stronger, adequate at least to cast a place-shifting spell that would bring them to the encampment behind the Falls of Mir. And, adequate to get them out of there quickly if need be. There was a strong chance that the encampment had already been attacked, or that Erg'Ran, learning of Swan's mother's use of the Mist of Oblivion, had wisely decided to break camp and go deeper into hiding. She would gamble on finding her compatriots in the Company of Mir, but only when she was strong enough should her worst fears prove out.

It was probable that her magical energy was sufficiently restored to place-shift them at this very moment. Yet, if she did so, her magic would be too depleted to whisk them away again to safety should the encampment have been overrun, occupied by the Horde of Koth. That she could not risk.

She would wait.

Al'An, ready for danger as best he could be and telling her, "I have a very good reading knowledge of swords, but have never used one. You keep the sword," held one of his pistols ready still. When she had asked if it were a laser pistol, he told her, "Hardly. Aren't any laser pistols for real yet. This is the next best thing, a SIG P-220 .45 loaded with Federal Hydra-Shoks. Rest easy." He had winked his eye; it was most charming. Swan hoped that he would do so again.

Swan did not wish to dishearten him, but a mechanical device could be bewitched much more easily than a sword, which was all but impossible to be cast upon, even by means of magic as powerful as her mother's. Swan mentioned nothing at all of that to Al'An for the moment.

"Once we're in the forest, what next, Swan?"

"I must locate the track which leads to the miller's hut, Al'An."

"We're going to stay at this miller's hut place, then?"

"It is too far to travel on foot, and too dangerous a journey at night," she informed him. "I have more than enough magic to make a warm fire for us, and you needn't know how to fight with a sword to use my sword to get us more wood that might be lying about."

"Sounds like a good plan, except for one thing." Al'An laughed. Swan liked the sound. "I don't eat breakfast."

"Neither do I. What is breakfast?"

"The first meal of the day."

"Ohh."

"And, I didn't eat any lunch. And, on my body at least, if my wristwatch isn't screwed up, it's after nine. I'm hungry. Can your magic make us anything to eat?"

Now, Swan laughed. Men were always hungry, at least as far as she was able to discern. She would ask him about the "wristwatch" word later, unless her language spell provided her with its meaning. As to food, she told him, "I make food appear for myself whenever I am hungry. I have the magical energy to make enough for two."

"Considering how long it's been since I've eaten, any chance that magic of yours can rustle up seconds?"

Swan had no idea what he was talking about specifically, but assumed that he was concerned with the quantity of the food that she could provide. "There will be plenty, Al'An."

As they'd walked, she'd been thinking, trying to fathom what to do after the immediate needs of shelter and reuniting with the Company of Mir were attended to. Despite her mother's vastly stronger magical abilities, magic was still magic. To summon, then direct, then dispel the Mist of Oblivion, her mother had used an inconceivable amount of magical energy. And, because of this, her mother's power would be drastically depleted for at least a day, likely longer. Much of this potentially valuable time was already lost. More would be lost while they rested for the night --and she produced food to fill Al'An's empty stomach.

But, there would still be some space of time left in which she might be able to do something which would later prove useful against her mother.

The question was, what?

They were as near to the boundary as she needed to be to find the track, and the nearer they approached the deeper were the drifts of snow. Swan told Al'An that and they began searching for the track...

***

Lurking on the crest of a knoll in the darkness of the wood, the blackness of his cloak obscured by the whiteness of the snow fallen over it -- he had remained all-but motionless for a considerable time -- Moc'Dar at last spied not only one item to capture his attention, but two.

There was movement in the deep snowdrifts along the boundary of the wood, two figures, one so tall that it had to be male, and the other, considerably less broad at the shoulder and a head shorter, almost certainly a tall female.

There was a development of interest along the track, as well.

From the hand of the figure which Moc'Dar presumed to be a woman, there emanated a light, blue-white, illuminating the couple's steps. A similar light shone from the rutted, drifted track, approaching nearer and nearer.

Moc'Dar rasped to his Yoeman Spellbreaker, "Use your pitiful magic to second sight me what is behind the light moving along the track."

"I am not good at the second sight, my Captain. I have had very little training in its use."

Moc-Dar wished his face could have been visible to the Yoeman Spellbreaker huddled in the snow beside him. But, Moc-Dar was fully uniformed, his features hidden beneath the skin-tight leather battle mask of the Sword of Koth. "Try very hard, boy, as if your life were to depend upon the outcome." Moc-Dar urged him, laughing grimly.

"I, uhh -- I see riders ahorse. Five, my Captain."

"Very good, Yoeman. And, how are they armed?"

There was a pause, a long one, then, "Each has sword and dagger. One has a ball headed mace. There is a great sword lashed to the saddle of one of the men. I see a poleaxe. There is a crossbow and there is a longbow with two quivers of arrows."

"And, how are the horses?"

"Strong seeming, fresh enough."

Moc'Dar was fairly pleased. "Now, to the couple there moving along the boundary. See the face of the shorter one for me and tell me what manner of object is ahand to the taller figure. A weapon or what?"

"Yes, my Captain. I will try."

To try was never good enough, because in trying one accepted the potential for failure as being on a par with the potential for success. Moc'Dar would kill this Yoeman Spellbreaker, perhaps. For the moment, there were more pressing matters and he would reserve his judgement.

"The Queen Sorceress protect me!"

"What makes you take the name of the Mistress General of the Horde in vain, boy!?"

The Yoeman Spellbreaker's voice trembled as he replied, "I saw her once, once only, but I could take my oath that when the wind shifted the cowl of her hood for a moment that I second sighted the Virgin Enchantress, Daughter Royal, my Captain!"

Moc'Dar said nothing. If the boy was right, the boy would live. If not, the boy would die. So far, the boy seemed to be doing well enough that he might, indeed, survive the moment.

"The man with her, Yoeman. Second-sight me what you can tell of him. Before, I asked if a weapon is in his hand."

Moc'Dar waited.

The young Yoeman Spellbreaker began to speak, his hushed tones barely audible over the keening of the wind. "If it is a weapon, my Captain, it is unlike any that I have seen. It is some strange device. I know not what."

"What do you see of the man holding it?"

"He is tall, like you, my Captain. Beneath his great cape, I thought that I glimpsed odd raiment covering his legs. He moves powerfully through the snowdrifts. The woman with him holds tightly to his elbow."

If the Virgin Enchantress had not been consumed by the Mist of Oblivion, what was she doing so long afterward -- a full day -- tramping about near the boundary of the wood with a strange man beside her? This man, Moc'Dar mused, might prove very interesting to question.

With Moc'Dar, not counting the Yoeman Spellbreaker who was borrowed from an ordinary unit within the Horde, were twelve from the Sword of Koth, more than enough men to handle five from the Company of Mir (doubtlessly the origin of the five riders approaching along the track). But, the presence of the Virgin Enchantress, with her very powerful magic, altered the equation considerably.

Did he dare attack, or should he follow his orders to the rune and only observe?

The Queen Sorceress, when personally charging him with this foray, had not said to avoid engagement, only that his purpose was to closely watch the plain where lately the castle of the Virgin Enchantress had been.

If he could strike quickly, Moc'Dar reasoned, quickly enough, he could capture alive at least one, likely two from the Company of Mir. Should his own methods of persuasion fail somehow to loosen the captives' tongues, the Queen Sorceress's ministrations would not fail. Success here could lead to the speedy and permanent obliteration of the Company of Mir. If he did not act, it was inevitable that the Virgin Enchantress and her enigmatic companion would join with the five riders -- perhaps this was a planned rendezvous -- and all hope of seizing a prisoner for interrogation would be gone.

Moc'Dar's decision was made.

In a future time, Moc'Dar mused, there would be some magical spell much like the second sight, but one which would enable a commander to talk with those who served under him while they were positioned for battle, a way in which whispered words might travel through the very air.

For now, however, there was the Action Cord. Carefully, disturbing as little as possible the snow camouflaging him, Moc'Dar unwound the black cord from the spike he'd driven into the snowy ground when he'd first taken his position.

Moc'Dar tugged on the Action Cord, a series of long and short pulses, the Action Cord Code that each new recruit to the Queen's Sword of Koth had to commit to memory within a single night or suffer a hideous death the next morning. Moc'Dar applauded the skillful use of subtle incentives to bring out the best in a man.

The message he sent read, "This is Moc'Dar. Every second Sword of Koth joins me beneath the Ka'B'Oo tree at the edge of the boundary near the track. Move with silence and stealth. No fireswords. Enemy forces nearby. Ends." Moc'Dar relashed the Action Cord to its stake.

Moc'Dar's lieutenant, Bog'Luc, would hold to his operational orders and hold this position, continuing to observe. "Go to Bog'Luc, Yoeman," Moc-Dar ordered. "With stealth. Inform the lieutenant of the details you have reported with the second-sight. Serve Bog'Luc well. Go!"

"Yes, my Captain."

The Yoeman Spellbreaker was up and moving with surprising rapidity. Moc'Dar would have laughed at him had there been the time. Instead, he was moving through the wood, battleaxe in hand. A firesword's red gleaming steel would alert the Company of Mir.

Moc'Dar reached the small bower overhung by the enormous branches of the Ka'B'Oo, the track lying only a few warblades beyond it. Soundlessly, first one, then another, then soon all six of the Sword of Koth he had summoned were with him there.

His voice low, Moc'Dar rapidly issued his orders. "You three will cross the track. Five men from the Company of Mir, all ahorse, well armed. They move along the track beyond the glow of light. They are perhaps five lancethrows back. Move with speed and stealth. Standard ambush pattern at contact after confirmation. Be wary, lest the Virgin Enchantress, who is about some distance from here along the boundary with the wood, should hear and alert them with her magic, or interfere with the attack. I want prisoners who can be made to talk. Questions?"

There were none.

"Remember, axes only and silence at all cost. Be about it then, Sword of Koth!"

The three he had designated to cross the track moved first, disappearing soundlessly among the trees. Moc'Dar gauged the time that it would take them, then summoned the three who remained with him to follow him, paralleling the track. deeper into the wood, toward the light from the five riders...

***

Erg'Ran cautioned his four companions, "Weapons close and ready, lads. We near the boundary."

There was no way to exactly judge the distance, one stretch of the track looking so very much like another, but he had a good feel for the time which had so far passed along the track, and based on that Erg'Ran gauged them to be under four lancethrows from the boundary of the wood with the plain beyond.

Gar'Ath was somewhere out there in the snowy darkness, perhaps overseeing their progress, perhaps observing a Sword of Koth scouting party. If there were such a force lying in wait for them, Gar'Ath would warn his companions, or surely die in the trying.

When Erg'Ran chopped off his foot, his balance in the wielding of a weapon had somehow been altered for the worse. In his youth, he was a fair hand with a sword, although his skills approached not at all those of Gar'Ath. None's did. Since the loss of his foot, Erg'Ran (although he still wore a sword) had taken to using the very implement by means of which he'd lost his foot. He carried an axe. It's shaft, carved from the trunk of a stout Ka'B'Oo, was just less than five spans in length. Its head, of the finest hand-wrought steel, measured two spans from the tip of the dorsal spike to the outermost arc of the curved blade.

Many men would name their weapons, but Erg'Ran did not. It was his axe, and that was all. He longed for the day when its only purpose would be that of a decoration over the hearth of some pleasantly remote cottage.

They continued along the track, Erg'Ran riding at the little column's head, periodically craning his neck to reassure himself that the rearmost man -- young Bin'Ah -- had not been taken by surprise.

So far, there was no cause for concern, and this concerned Erg'Ran quite a bit. It would be impossible to imagine the Queen Sorceress not sending out a scouting party. So, where were her minions?

As Erg'Ran looked back once more, the answer came to him, Bin'Ah swept from his stout red mare and into the shadows, the gleam of an axe blade caught for an instant in the light from the globe.

"They attack!" Erg'Ran shouted to the remaining three of the company, wheeling his horse about so suddenly that the ordinarily sure-footed creature nearly went down under him.

Sword of Koth swept at them from the shadows, four of them, axes only. Why did they not use their fireswords? There would have to be a reason, but there was no time to worry it. A giant of a man, black cowled hood over black battle mask, charged toward Erg'Ran, axe swinging, but for the legs of Erg'Ran's mare.

This was a captive hunt, not a murder raid!

Erg'Ran's axe was just as quick, and stronger, its long downstroke hesitating only an instant as it severed the other axe's shaft, the axe head flying. Its flat struck hard against Erg'Ran's right thigh and he winced with pain. The giant Sword of Koth who'd wielded the axe threw his body weight against the mare. The horse fell, Erg'Ran spilling from his saddle, nearly pinned.

Unhorsed, his axe flown from his fist, Erg'Ran drew back, reaching in desperation for his sword.

The giant Sword of Koth had the greatsword carried by Fo'Len only an instant earlier. How he had gotten it was no mystery. Another Sword of Koth stood over the fallen Fo'Len, axe dripping blood, readying for a second, killing strike.

The greatsword swung and stopped, a span only from Erg'Ran's throat. "Yield, old man!"

There was the whooshing sound of steel against air, then the crack of bone. The head of the Sword of Koth who had been about to finish Fo'Len separated from its body, flew into the darkness. "I don't think he's wanting to do what you suggest, you evil black-masked bastard!" In the same breath as his words, Gar'Ath's sword swung into the light, interposed itself between the greatsword and Erg'Ran's throat, arced upward along the greatsword's blade flat and forced the greatsword up and away. "Why don't you try me, hmm?! Maybe you'll have better luck than your headless friend did."

"I am Moc'Dar, Captain Leader of the Third Company Sword of Koth, Elite Guard to the Mistress General of the Horde. You should know the name of the man who kills you!"

"That's an awful lot you're asking a simple country lad like myself to remember, Captain. But, if it's proper manners to know the name of the man who kills you, then I'd better tell you my name, and rather quickly, too!" As Gar'Ath spoke, he lunged, Moc'Dar's stolen greatsword making to parry the thrust, but Gar'Ath's sword not where Moc'Dar had thought it would be.

Gar'Ath, gleaming bastard sword flying in his fingers, was the embodiment of grace and strength, the perfect co-ordination of every aspect of body and nature, death incarnate, magnificent to behold. And, Gar'Ath knew it and laughed about it. He was that way.

Gar'Ath had sidestepped, forcing Moc'Dar to move off balance in the attempt to recover. Gar'Ath's sword was still in motion, never stopping, with elegant fluidity executing a drawcut across Moc'Dar's right forearm and wrist. The greatsword spilled from Moc'Dar's hands as blood spilled from Moc'Dar's arm. Gar'Ath wheeled, his blade arcing hungrily for Moc'Dar's throat.

But there were suddenly two more Sword of Koth springing from the darkness.

"Beware!" Erg'Ran shouted, the time for being an enrapt spectator ended.

Moc'Dar fell back into shadow as Gar'Ath changed the vector of his blade, for an instant only parrying one enemy's axe. Gar'Ath dropped to one knee, disengaged from the first of the two Sword of Koth, on the back swing, Gar'Ath's sword opening the second man from crotch to chest. Gar'Ath threw himself to the side, the already dead man's axe cleaving downward into the ground. Gar'Ath thrust the skull crusher pommel of his sword forward, into the abdomen of his remaining foeman, as Gar'Ath rose to his full height his fist hammering upward into the Sword of Koth's face. Gar'Ath backstepped, his blade wheeling in his other hand, both hands gripping the sword's hilt as Gar'Ath arced the blade downward from and through his foeman's shoulder, cross body slicing deeply through chest and belly.

There was not a pause in the blade's motion, steel arcing through night air, searching for engagement. There was none.

Erg'Ran, axe in hand again, shouted, "Bin'Ah -- we must find him if he lives!"

"Ohh, he lives all right, but there's a bump on Bin'Ah's hard skull big enough to remind us all of this night's misadventure for a quite a goodly time to come."

"Usually," Erg'Ran began, collecting his wits and calming his breathing, "the smallest Sword of Koth scouting party is comprised of ten line warriors, a master warrior, a lieutenant and a captain, not to mention a spellbreaker. I know you don't like my asking, but -- "

"These two, the one who was about to finish Fo'Len, the one who unhorsed Bin'Ah. Add in that big bastard of a Captain who ran off, and there's another dead one over there. That's six accounted for."

"There are eight left, nine if the Captain survives his wound well enough to fight."

Erg'Ran turned away from Gar'Ath, getting down awkwardly to his knees beside Fo'Len. Another of the company already attended the man, but he would not live through the night. "The castle is gone, vanished every stone of it," Gar'Ath supplied, unbidden. "But, at the same time that I spied these Sword of Koth moving against you, I saw a man and a woman trudging through the drifts along the boundary of the wood. Perhaps the Virgin Enchantress lives. Who the man could be, I cannot say. Under the circumstances, old friend, I think we should take horse and ride to intercept this couple before the Sword of Koth chooses to do so."

Erg'Ran nodded his agreement, then shouted his orders. "Bin'Ah -- you help watching over our good lad here. We'll not abandon Fo'Len until his spirit has gone from him. And, we'll not leave his body here for the creatures to sport with." Erg'Ran looked at his men in the light from the globe. Exhausted, frightened half-out of their wits. "Gar'Ath and I will ride on alone. If we are not back by sunrise, go to the rendezvous point." Erg'Ran was not about to mention where that was, since one of the Sword of Koth could be hidden. listening somewhere out in the darkness of the wood.

Erg'Ran intended to leave the light sphere with those who waited behind, but before doing so he swept its beam over Gar'Ath. There was a darkening bruise near his left temple, and a redness leading down to his cheek. The left sleeve of Gar'Ath's black shirt clung to Gar'Ath's arm by blood alone, a long but not terribly deep gash leading from his shoulder half-way to his elbow. Gar'Ath swung his cloak round his body. "None of those wounds are from the fighting here, are they lad?"

Gar'Ath smiled wickedly. "The creatures of the wood had a mind to eat me, it appeared. I didn't let them," and he laughed.

Erg'Ran told him in a fatherly way, "We'll get a healer to look at that gash, lest it become fouled with sickness. Now," and he looked around to the others of the company, "would somebody please help a peg-legged old man to get mounted?"

Bin'Ah, of the great bump on the head, accomplished that, and as Erg'Ran eased up into the saddle, he told the fellow, "You and the others keep a watchful guard. There are at least eight of the many abroad in the darkness. Be vigilant!"

Gar'Ath swung effortlessly into the saddle, and Erg'Ran and his brash young swordsman friend were off along the rutted track. They held their animals to a tight rein, lest one of the horses should move too quickly and break a leg...

***

"I felt it when one of them used the second sight. Looking at us." Swan whispered, her lips close to Alan Garrison's ear. "It was probably a new Yoeman Spellbreaker, because, normally, the second sight isn't felt. The only time it is felt is when whoever's using it isn't very good at it. Yet."

Without warning, Swan had jerked at his elbow, urging him, "Remain perfectly still while I cast a shadow spell. Then come with me quickly."

Since he'd had no idea what she was talking about, there had been no sense arguing.

The shadow spell turned out to be a remarkable thing. And, Swan's magic seemed so essentially effortless. Alan Garrison had grown up watching re-runs of Barbara Eden folding her arms and doing shoulder shimmies, Elizabeth Montgomery crinkling her nose, but Swan's magic was nothing like that. And, so far, the results hadn't proven humorous. They were, however, effective. Her shadow spell, however Swan did it, created two vaporous-looking replicants of his own shape and hers, black and featureless, but perfectly formed.

Swan evidently held the shadow beings in perfect synchronization with her body and his own as they began again to labor their way through the snowdrifts Then, as they passed a singularly heavily trunked tree, Swan whispered to him, "Hide here with me quickly, Al'An."

Garrison did as he was told, looking back, amazed to see the shadow shapes continuing onward, as if they had somehow taken over in the search for the road leading through the wood.

When Garrison asked, "How are your controlling those things? Swan responded only with a smile. And, he could barely see that, because the light which had lit their way had ceased to emanate from Swan's left palm. Instead, a literally disembodied light was visible from the hand of her shadow counterpart. "We've been spotted," Garrison said, stating the obvious. "Where and how many?"

She told him she had no idea how many persons watched them, but she was certain that they would be warriors in the Sword of Koth, her mother's elite guard. The where would be a knoll, itself barely visible through the swirling snow, perhaps two hundred yards distant as Garrison judged the range. Too great a distance for a pistol, at least in his hands.

Asking how Swan knew they were being observed had elicited her response concerning second sight. "We can't stay behind this tree forever," Garrison informed her, stating the obvious. "Can't you make us invisible or something, so that we can move without them seeing us?"

"Invisibility is not part of nature, and such magic as that requires spell-casting of the most difficult type. And, it would consume virtually all of the magical energy remaining to me. The same would be true if I were to spell-cast those who watch us, so that they alone could not see us. And, anyway, I don't quite know where they are or how many of them there might be. But, whoever second sights us will likely continue to observe the shadows which I summoned. Before it is realized that these are shadows only, we can hatch a plan."

This wasn't an opportune time for Theory of Magic 101, but Garrison had to ask her. "What do you mean when you say that you summoned the shadows?"

"They are our shadows. Now, the light is so dim that we cast no shadows. But, our shadows are a reality, only unseen because of circumstance. I merely summoned the shadows from the darkness by means of light. The summoning wasn't hard, but separating them from ourselves takes some continuing effort. I cannot maintain the magic for more than a short while longer, Al'An."

Guessing from Swan's remarks that they had been spotted some twenty minutes earlier, that allowed plenty of time for her enemies -- his enemies, for the moment at least -- to have done any number of things. Garrison had no military background, but was well-familiar with the concept of an envelopment, in this case the bad guys circling around behind the good guys in order to get the good guys caught in a crossfire. Anybody who had ever watched a western movie knew that much of small unit tactics.

The key element to surviving an envelopment was to be someplace else besides where the bad guys thought their prey would be when they struck. Evidently, there was some equivalent to the western movie on Creath, because what Swan whispered in Garrison's ear perfectly echoed his own thoughts. "We need to betake ourselves from here, into the wood, so that if there is an attempt to trap us, we will be out of the trap before it closes."

The snow drifts were no deeper where they were than anywhere else. Garrison suggested, "How about entering the forest right here? Shall we?"

Helping her to manage the highest of the drifts while still attempting to stay crouched and low, Garrison started forward, Swan beside him.

Once beyond the boundary where the vast, empty plain behind them met the forested area ahead of them, the drifts were considerably lower and the going was easier. "There are evil creatures which dwell here, the further from the track, the greater their strength. Be cautious, Al'An."

"Are you any good with that sword?" Garrison asked Swan, mainly to get her mind off boogie-creatures and monsters and stuff.

"For a woman, yes."

"That's a sexist attitude toward your own gender, isn't it? What I've read about sword fighting -- unless you're talking the really big two-handers -- always made me think it was more a matter of skill than strength alone."

"Yes, but a woman ordinarily has other skills that she must learn to ply beyond combat, and there is less opportunity to practice for combat. I acquit myself well enough, Al'An."

It dawned on Garrison that she must be getting a much better handle on English, because she hadn't been asking as many of her weird questions, such as, "What is shit?" That was a really good one. He'd have to get Swan to do a language spell on him so that he could become fluent in something like Japanese or Chinese. Either language would be a real plus for his career with the Bureau -- if he stayed with the Justice Department.

There were several yards within the treeline, visibility poor. Garrison thought he heard something. He ceased all movement but placing a finger to his lips in what he hoped was a universal symbol for silence. Very slowly, he edged down from a crouch to his knees, Swan did the same.

He had heard something. Hearing it again, he recognized the sound as a voice. Waiting, listening, barely breathing, Garrison realized that there were two voices, speaking to one another in hushed tones. They grew almost imperceptibly louder, nearer. Garrison's right fist balled tightly around the butt of his pistol.

There was something odd, odder still than anything he had so far endured. He could understand these voices, about every third or fourth word. That should have been impossible, however he did, as clearly as if--

Garrison turned abruptly on his knees in the snow beside Swan, almost shouting aloud. His hands went to her shoulders. Her eyes glanced toward the pistol, then back into his. Swan's eyes were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

Evidently, Swan heard the voices as well. There was an impish look in her eyes, then she shrugged her eyebrows and her lower lip looked pouty. He'd never noticed her lower lip looking that way before. She shrugged her shoulders under his hands, then smiled broadly.

Garrison heard one of the voices almost perfectly clearly now, however subdued. "...says that the only way to take the life of the Enchantress is for all of us to rush her. I will do as my Captain orders me; but, by the Queen Sorceress, I hope Moc'Dar is right."

"Some of us may perish, Gol'Hoc, but she cannot magic us all at once. And, whoever is the man accompanying her, he is likely not a sorcerer, merely mortal."

"She is powerful, this Enchantress, or otherwise how did she survive the Mist of ..." The last word faded off.

The sounds of boots softly crunching snow faded as well.

There were two questions Alan Garrison had to ask Swan, and immediately. His left hand pushed back her hood far enough that his lips almost touched her ear. "Did you use a language spell on me without asking me?" Garrison whispered emphatically.

"Yes. It seemed the best thing to do under the circumstances. I can lift it in an eyeblink, should you prefer, Al'An."

Garrison was tempted to tell Swan just that, but being able to use the language here would be an asset while he was here, wherever here was. Garrison asked his second question. "Why do they talk about me as just mortal? Are you not mortal?"

"I would only die after the course of many human lifetimes. I am as human as you, but it is the magic which prolongs my life. I have never been truly sick. I've had aches in my head or my belly. I feel other pain, hope someday to know the pain of childbearing. I broke a toe once, but it healed within a day. Had I used my magic, the bone would have grown together instantly. The magic lets me cure myself -- and others, too -- for the reason that I told you. Most magic is only the acceleration of what would happen naturally. And, I heal myself even if I am unaware of being ill. In that way, I am not mortal at all. Unless someone or something were to take my life -- and, in that way, I am as mortal as you, Al'An," Swan whispered back, her lips beside his cheek.

Garrison was tempted to try the old movie routine, and ask her to pinch him so that he would wake up. Logical fallacies inherent to the idea aside, it never worked in the movies. And, if he were to awake and she were gone-- The thought made him momentarily as cold as he had been before she magically wove the warm hooded cloak cape which he wore. Garrison started to speak, but Swan held a finger to her lips now, her eyes staring off in the direction the men belonging to the voices had taken. She turned to Garrison quickly. "I used the second sight. They are Sword of Koth, those two. There should be thirteen or more of them. We must leave this place."

Garrison started to agree with her, but stopped as he heard the soft beating of horse's hooves. Swan heard it, too.

Swan stared toward the new sounds. And, a smile lit her face with a radiance beyond any he had seen there since coming to Creath.

Little girl-like, Swan whispered, "It is Erg'Ran, and Gar'Ath! Erg'Ran is the smartest man who ever lived, I think. And, Gar'Ath the finest and bravest swordsman who ever lived. They have come to aid us, Al'An, to follow you, my Champion!" And she kissed Garrison on the cheek.

The smartest guy ever. The best swordsman ever. Under his breath, Garrison posed the rhetorical question he hoped none would hear. "And these guys are gonna follow me?"

Swan crept past him, toward the sounds of hoofbeats. Garrison crept after her, to meet his troops...

***

Surrounded by trees and on the far side of the track from where the Sword of Koth were apparently positioned, the snow falling much more heavily now and muffling sound, Swan, Al'An, Erg'Ran and Gar'Ath were able to stand and talk freely for a few moments, with little if any fear of detection. Al'An offered his open right hand to Erg'Ran. The gesture was slightly different here, but Al'An's meaning was unmistakable. "Alan Garrison, Special Agent, Federal Bureau of Investigation, United States Department of Justice, USA, Earth."

Erg'Ran took Al'An's hand and held it. "I am Erg'Ran, Counselor to the Virgin Enchantress, Daughter Royal, Princess of Creath; Chief Scribe, the Company of Mir; acting Commander of the Host since the death of Ir'Ba, Commander General. You are the one, then, the Champion."

Gar'Ath mimicked Al'An's hand gesture. Erg'Ran released Al'An's hand and Gar'Ath clasped it. "I am Gar'Ath, Champion! You can count my sword as yours, and my life, Champion."

Al'An laughed, saying, "Look, guys. Just call me Alan, okay? Otherwise, I'm gonna start thinking you're confusing me with Gene Autry's horse."

"I do not understand the reference, Champion. Forgive my ignorance," Erg'Ran said.

Gar'Ath interjected, "I'd be more of a mind to debate this name over that after we take care of the bastards --forgive my slip of the tongue, Enchantress -- the lads lying in wait for us."

"Gar'Ath is right, Champion," and Erg'Ran turned to face Swan. "Enchantress, although I do not wish to further jeopardize you, especially after almost losing you to the Mist of Oblivion, I must agree with our swordsman friend. If you have the mind to use magic to aid us, we could fight them a few at a time."

"My magical energy is sorely depleted, Erg'Ran, so I can do but little, hopefully enough. My sword arm is unaffected, however. What is the plan?"

"Champion will need a stout blade, Enchantress," Gar'Ath suggested. Unsheathing his sword and turning toward Al'An, he offered, "Take mine. There's no other like it in the Land, Champion!"

Swan was proud of Al'An as he answered. "I am not a swordsman, and I would not risk dishonoring such a blade, despite my best intentions. I have weapons in which I, also, hold great store. You've honored me, Gar'Ath."

Gar'Ath re-sheathed, shrugged his shoulders, then asked, "So? How do we go about killing those nasty -- uhh -- men?"

"We arrest them, then let a jury decide their fate," Al'An informed them, as if such procedures were commonplace here.

"You propose, Champion," Erg'Ran inquired, "that we should attempt to take captive Sword of Koth, alive?"

Al'An answered, "If they resist to the point where deadly force is justified, then that will be their choice, not ours."

Gar'Ath seemed about to speak, but Swan noticed that he held his tongue. Such restraint was uncharacteristic of Gar'Ath, and extraordinarily wise at the moment.

They formed their plan, such as it was, that she would create a diversion, once the main body of the Sword of Koth was located. With eight or nine the most likely number to be dealt with, the Sword of Koth would send three of their number to hold the track more deeply in the wood, keeping the horses, as well. Meanwhile, the rest of their force would lie in wait to make a lightning quick assault on what they should still she assumed were herself and her companion.

Maintaining the shadow spell which hopefully still misled the enemy force was wearisome, depleting Swan's magical energy to the point of physical exhaustion. She judged that, after releasing the spell, she should be able to cast something which would divert attention long enough to give herself and the others the element of surprise. After that, there would be nothing left of her magical energy.

Moving cautiously, without light, as soundlessly as they could, they set out. Horses tethered well away from the track (and hopefully out of harm's way from the evil creatures of the wood), they clambered over the steadily heightening drifts at the boundary between wood and plain. At one point, where the mounds of snow were nearly to the height of her waist, Al'An gallantly swept her up into his powerful arms, carrying her. Al'An's touch stirred things within her which she had never experienced, making her feel at once embarrassed yet wonderfully happy, despite the grim purpose for their travel.

They exited the wood well over a hundred warblades distant from the track, moving even more slowly, more stealthily than they had.

The second sight -- that was a skill, not magic --allowed her to see the positions taken by the Sword of Koth. There were five in all at the point where the track left the wood and met the plain. Erg'Ran had mentioned that Gar'Ath grievously wounded the Sword of Koth Captain, one named Moc'Dar. One of the five held a battleaxe in his left hand, right arm heavily bandaged. This would be Moc'Dar.

There were horses for none of the Sword of Koth save Moc'Dar, the beast perfectly still, lying beside Moc'Dar in the snow. The animal, to be so quiet and unmoving, would have to be a Rac'Ar'Kar, spellchanged by the Queen Sorceress to be perfectly obedient to the will of its master. There were few such animals, and that Moc'Dar had been given such a great gift by the Queen Sorceress spoke well of his success in battle and the esteem in which he was held.

Swan signalled halt, huddled with the three men who were her companions and whispered to them what she had seen with the second sight.

Erg'Ran nodded. Gar'Ath rubbed his hands along his stockinged thighs, flexed his long fingers, then soundlessly drew his sword.

Erg'Ran, who had been using his axe as a staff to assist him in walking, set down the weapon and began to cock the prod of a crossbow.

Al'An nodded his understanding, drawing from beneath his cloak and the bomber jacket under it a small book covered in leather. But, as he opened it, it proved to be no book at all. Pinned within it was a golden object emblazoned with the runes of his world, and other symbols as well. Al'An opened the pin clasp, removed the object from its cover, then pinned the object to his cloak, over his heart.

If this were some magical talisman to protect him in battle, Swan could not feel its energy. Attributing this to her temporarily weakened powers, she promised herself to ask Al'An about it later.

Al'An took first one, then another pistol from within his clothes.

Gar'Ath stared at these in amazement, as did Erg'Ran. Al'An smiled, raising his thumbs from the pistols and gesturing skyward. A battle ritual of Al'An's world, perhaps.

They started moving again, closer and closer to the track. Ahead, Swan could make out the shadows she had spell summoned. Soon, Moc'Dar and his Sword of Koth would see the shadows for what they were, and Swan could release the spell, create her diversion. And, if her magical energy were sufficient, she had just the perfect distraction in mind...

***

Erg'Ran, crouched as low to the snowcover as he could while yet retaining hope of being able to stand unaided, waited. And, he wondered. The Champion was not what he had expected. To be sure, he'd had no definite idea in mind, but still. The Champion Al'An was tall, broad of shoulder, but not particularly formidable seeming. The strange attire visible beneath his cloak when he'd unsheathed his weapons was unlike anything Erg'Ran had ever seen. What were those things covering the Champion's legs, a type of heavy stocking?

And, the weapons! Objects little over a span in length, with no visible blade. They were not magical, but technological. Such technology was unknown to him, so he tried to resist being critical out of ignorance. But, what could these objects do?

Erg'Ran had the feeling that he would find out, and very soon. His crossbow ready, it was the Champion who would signal the attack.

Erg'Ran waited.

The shadow's which Swan had spell-summoned vanished. There was movement from the hiding positions of the Sword of Koth. The very air where the shadows had seemed to walk an instant earlier pulsed, a vortex forming a few spans above the ground, rising higher and higher, from within the vortex a tongue of flame appearing, licking into the wood, vanishing with a crack like thunder. Swan's diversion was spectacular to behold, however brief its duration. And, it served its purpose. The five Sword of Koth, their Captain included, appeared momentarily hypnotized by the image.

Their attention diverted, a strange battle cry now echoed through the wood. The Champion rose from behind a snow-blanketed dead fallen Ka'B'Oo, shouting, "FBI! Federal Officer! Freeze! You are all under arrest!"

The mysterious objects called pistols were clenched in the Champions hands, pointed toward the Sword of Koth.

No one moved, neither Erg'Ran with his crossbow, Gar'Ath with longbow or sword, nor Swan.

The villainous Sword of Koth, including their Captain, Moc'Dar, remained motionless as well. Somehow, despite their features being wholly masked save for eyeslits, mouth and nostril holes, the enemy gave the appearance of being weirdly perplexed.

The Champion took a solitary step forward.

Moc'Dar bellowed the order, "Kill him!"

The enemy nearest the Champion, red glowing firesword in hand, lunged. The Champion Al'An spun toward his attacker, shouted, " Halt! Drop that weapon or I'll fire!" The Champion backstepped as his attacker charged.

A tongue of flame, like that Erg'Ran witnessed in Swan's diversion, spat from the front of the pistol. In the same instant, the Champion's foeman was hurtled backward, sprawling to the ground, lifeblood spilling into the snow.

Erg'Ran touched his clenched fist to his forehead, invoking the courage of Mir.

Moc'Dar shouted, "Withdraw! Withdraw!" His great black mount rose from the snow beside him, Moc'Dar, despite his injury, springing into the saddle. The Roc'Ar'Kar leapt into stride, a hail of snow and dirt and rock thrown up in its hooves' wake.

The three remaining Sword of Koth sprinted from their positions, making for the track. An arrow whistled from Gar'Ath's longbow, piercing the throat of one of them. Erg'Ran brought the crossbow to his shoulder and fired, his bolt burrowing deep into the chest of still another. Swan, not to be outdone, stepped into the third enemy's path, sword raised in challenge. "Hold villain, or show steel!" Swan cried.

The Sword of Koth unsheathed firesword from scabbard to test her steel.

The Champion, his cloak gone from his shoulders, angled toward the firesword armed enemy. Would one of his pistols spit the deathflame again, Erg'Ran wondered?

But, the Champion's pistols were nowhere to be seen.

In the blinking of an eye, the Champion fell upon his enemy, the Champion's body lunging toward its target in a manner strange, yet very impressive to behold. Both feet vaulted from the ground, then hammered against his foeman's upper body. Firesword tumbling from black gauntleted hand, the Sword of Koth collapsed into the snow, but only for an instant. As he jumped to his feet, the Champion wheeled about in a half circle, one foot kicking the Sword of Koth in the ribs, then the other raising, kicking his opponent in the stomach, then in the chest, then the groin, each alternating blow hammering the Sword of Koth back and back. Springing fully into the air again, the Champion kicked his foeman square in the chest with both feet, simultaneously. The stunned Sword of Koth reeled, dropping like a felled tree beneath a final axe blow as the Champion's left fist, then his right punched his foeman's face.

As if in the same motion, the Champion Al'An fell to one knee beside the vanquished foeman, rolled him over onto his chest, then wrestled his hands behind him. Strange manacles emerged from beneath the Champion's even stranger garb, a leather doublet but unlike any Erg'Ran had seen. Clamping the manacles to the wrists of his fallen adversary, the Champion Al'An began reciting a litany, perhaps an invocation of thanks for triumph in battle, but strange to hear. "You have the right to remain silent," it began.