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# GRIM VENGEANCE

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# By Rod Fisher

Book Two of the Antillian Scrolls

Copyright 2016 Rod Fisher

Sweet Bee Press

Whitefish, Montana

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# Foreword

In Book One

After beaching their yacht, the Sea-Eagle on a small island off the coast of Antillia, a war canoe of Gamollian reavers attacked. In the ensuing battle, Felic was left for dead, the yacht was burned and Felic's love, Chessa, was kidnapped. Queen Gwenay, still blind, found Felic's mangled body and nursed him back to health. Together they salvaged the remains of the yacht, hoping to make a raft to get them to the mainland. In the process, Gwenay recovered the Qalandor stone hidden in the burned hull.

# Chapter One

With the ballast removed, the hulk floated off the bottom at high tide. Felic m'Lans was hopeful for the first time since he was cut down by the Gamollians. He was sure they could make it to the mainland before the winter storms, but more important to Felic was the vengeance that was crowding all other feelings from his heart.

Despite the terrible wounds inflicted by the Gamollian raiders, Felic was growing stronger every day. He stood on the rocky eastern shore of the island, studying the channel that separated them from the mainland of Antillia.

To Queen Gwenay, beside him, the scene was a vague blur of darks and lights. She clung to his arm, listening to the lapping of waves and the cries of the gulls. "What are you thinking, Felic?"

"It will take at least two days to make the crossing," he surmised.

"Is there much left to do before we can leave?"

"No, I'll step the mast today and figure out how to rig that storm sail. We should be able to leave in the morning. Hopefully, the weather will favor us."

They worked side by side for the rest of the day. The heavy toil had sapped Felic's returning strength and he was soon sound asleep on the sandy beach. He was unaware that Gwenay was nestled beside him.

In her dark world the feel of his muscled arms and torso gave her a feeling of comfort and security. Although she would have welcomed his love, she knew that Felic's heart belonged to Chessa. She thought of Stet-Arnak, the Dagran priest, who had cruelly blinded her with venom. He would pay, she promised herself.

"We will get to Calix," she murmured to her sleeping idol, "and when we do I will outfit you for a journey of revenge—all the provisions and weapons you desire."

They incurred no unlucky or unexpected incidents in their crossing to the mainland, nor on the trek to the Queen's realm of Calix. Gwenay replaced the missing gem in the Qalandar of N'olla and used its power of renewal to restore her sight. She was once again the alluring beautiful woman that had enchanted Felic when they first met. But that was before Felic fell in love with Chessa. With mixed emotions she sent him away after a few days to seek his revenge.

"I know you are anxious to find those who left you for dead," she said "and eager to find or avenge Chessa. To help you in your quest I had Tword assemble provisions and fashion this special weapon."

She presented him with a two-handed, double edged sword of Calixian steel, tempered and honed by her skilled dwarves. He withdrew the weapon from its scabbard and admired it, awestruck by its beauty. Overcome by her generosity, he knelt and kissed her hand. "This is a wonderful gift. Thank you." He strapped the scabbard across his broad shoulders and started to leave, then turned back. He placed his hands on Gwenay's shoulders and faced her. Her beautiful eyes glittered with tears.

"We may meet again," he said solemnly.

She only nodded, not trusting her voice.

Then he strode away, following the dwarf Tword to the tunnel exit of the caldera.

Felic knew the way to Gamollia led through the valley of Fernilin and across the River Varondel. He walked the downward path through the talus of the mountain slope, picking his way, head-down, lost in thought. He was caught up by an unexpected surge of sadness, the repressed sorrow for the loss at sea of Antelo, his best friend, and the capture of Chessa, the refugee princess from Dagra. He swore to himself that he would make the Gamollians pay a bitter price for her. He dared not hope that she might still be alive. It was likely that they took turns raping her and then threw her to the sharks.

His reverie was interrupted by a tiny drab bird hopping a few paces in advance, admonishing him in cheerful staccato chirps. She escorted him to the top of the next ridge, well away from her nest of chicks, before skimming away into the valley below.

He paused. Through the thin spread of morning haze he could see that the valley was tenanted. Fields, pastureland, vineyards and orchards flanked the river that meandered through the bottomland. A sparkling chain of waterfalls plummeted into a small lake at the head of the valley. The river, snaking down from the lake, eventually spread into a marshy estuary where it entered the sea. The valley looked peaceful, even deserted. Felic estimated it would take the entire day to cross it.

A curl of smoke from a thicket down the slope caught his eye. He proceeded toward it with caution, hoping to explore its source before being seen. Suddenly the air was filled with the jingling of small bells. He looked down at the cord caught on his foot and cursed himself for not seeing it.

He walked ahead boldly, knowing he was expected. A short way into the thicket he came to a clearing. It was more than an overnight camp; the shelter was sturdy with a daub and wattle wall and hide roof. Before the open doorway, a cooking fire, burning under a thin sheet of shale, was browning a quartet of batter cakes. But there was no one in sight.

"The best of this fine day to you," Felic hailed, "I come in peace."

There was no answer.

He tried again, "You should come out and tend your cakes. I do not care to share a burned meal."

"Perhaps you would share your blood. I have an arrow aimed at the small of your back." The voice, flat and emotionless, came from close behind.

Felic hesitated, resisting the impulse to react to the challenge. He laughed instead. "Surely, my friend, you have no reason to kill me. I am but a stranger. Just passing by...a little hungry, perhaps."

"I am not your friend," the voice replied.

There was a long moment of silence while Felic waited for a surge of anger to subside. He took a deep whiff of the pancake aroma, then he spoke slowly and evenly with veiled impatience. "All right. I have silver. I would like to buy a couple of your cakes."

The foliage rustled behind him and a slim young man walked around to confront him. His clothing was in garish contrast to the rustic setting, and he held out a bouquet of mountain flowers. "A paying guest is a welcome guest," he said, bowing extravagantly and waggling the proffered flowers. Felic reached to accept them, but they turned suddenly into a white dove which fluttered up into the branches.

Felic gasped, "What sorcery is this?"

The young fellow displayed a carefully rehearsed enigmatic smile and waved Felic to a seat by the fire. "A mere divertissement. All included in the price of a meal."

"And your threatening arrow...a poor joke for one only half awake."

"Oh, the arrow. It's real enough." He reached up and picked an arrow out of the air. It seemed to materialize in his hand. He tossed it to Felic.

Felic studied it, dumbfounded. "Who are you?" he asked. "What is this magic you command?"

The young man's eyes twinkled. His manner was poised; his speech elegant; his self-introduction a performance: "My name is Mystigan...Mystigan the Marvelous, Demon of Deception, of Imposture, of Illusion...Magical Master of Manipulative Legerdemain, and Grand Wizard to the Court of Her Nasty Fat Majesty, Queen Linifern."

Felic blinked. He took the liberty of turning Mystigan's cakes which were about to burn, then gave the magician a long stare of disbelief.

"You doubt me?" the young man questioned.

Felic took in the mystic symbols on his robe. "I accept your introduction...but, ah...why? Why would the grand wizard of any court practice such skillful deception in such rude surroundings? Why aren't you entertaining the court?"

"My health. My dear health demanded that I seek solitude away from the mad gaiety of the court. So here I am."

"You appear healthy."

"True. But I wouldn't be if I had stayed at the palace." He gave a conspiratorial wink for emphasis.

"You lost the queen's favor?"

"Exactly. And the next step was the indelicate cut...the subordinating slash." He arched his brows. "The loss of my manly jewels by royal edict." He plopped one cake on to the other and, balancing them on the point of his knife, held them out to Felic.

Felic juggled them from hand to hand while they cooled. "Is that usual with Queen What's-her-name?"

"Queen Linifern."

"Yes...does she always use that particular punishment?" Felic continued, "Or did it fit the offense, whatever that might have been?"

Mystigan smiled and sighed. "Most fitting, I'm afraid. I was caught outright. Right in the featherbed of her daughter, the Princess Vayda." He sighed again. "Such a lovely dumpling she is! Ah...sweet, sweet! My blood rushes in steaming rivers at the thought of her!"

Felic let that go by and attacked the steaming batter cakes.

Mystigan rambled on, discoursing on the beauty of Vayda, but Felic's attention was divided. The rhapsodizing had turned his mind to thoughts of another beauty—Chessa, who had conquered his heart.

"...and perhaps you would care to tell me something of yourself."

The young wizard's words brought Felic back to the present.

"For a beginning," he continued, "Who are you, and where does your journey lead?"

"My name is Felic m'Lans."

Mystigan's eyes widened. "You don't mean to say..." He paused. "Oh, I see. You were named in honor of the great warrior."

Felic didn't answer immediately. He studied his batter cakes critically, then looked up. "No," he answered, his voice low, "I alone carry that name."

Mystigan was nonplussed, and he avoided Felic's eyes while he composed himself. "I beg you--excuse my stupidity. I merely thought it very unlikely that one of your fame would have business in this humble valley." His nervous glance took in the premature lines of sorrow and fresh scars that aged Felic's face.

Unconsciously, Felic squared his shoulders. The magician's aplomb was pierced again by an encounter with the steely gray eyes.

"I have no business in your valley," Felic continued. "I repeat myself. I am just passing through."

"Yes, of course... just passing through. And your destination is ...?"

Their dialogue was interrupted by sudden shouts from around the clearing and a whir of sound from above. As they jumped up, a great swirling net wrapped around them and took them tumbling off-balance. Instantly, Felic's dirk was in his hand. He slashed at the cords that tangled about him. Mystigan's rump had landed in the fire; he howled and swore and struggled to move away from it. His frenzied efforts pulled the net this way and that, hampering Felic's knife work.

And then the tittering started. As the two men cursed and tugged, it grew into a chorus of feminine giggles and musical laughter. When Felic cut his head and shoulders free of the net, he found a circle of spear points ready to impale him. They were surrounded by a troop of young women, all uniformed as warriors, with casques and greaves of burnished bronze. They wore short leather tunics armored with rivets, and their eyes were painted with a thin vertical stroke of black paint that joined their eyebrows to their cheekbones. As he struggled out of the net, their merriment sobered and they held their spears in a disciplined military stance.

"Cut the wizard loose. His magic seems to have deserted him." The command, directed at Felic, came from a hawk-nosed woman of middle years, obviously in charge. She was stocky, tending to fat, but muscled as any man, and her helmet was crested with black raven wings.

Felic sat astonished. He looked over the circle of warriors. Most were younger than their commander. Some were shapely with pleasant features; some were chubby; some looked gangly and adolescent. His eyes came to rest once again on the stern double chin of their commander, and he burst out laughing. The prick of a spear only tickled him further. Tears ran down his cheeks. A few more spear pricks and he was waving his arms in hysterical surrender while trying to quell his untimely sense of humor.

"Excuse my boorish manners, 0 Fair Ones. I now see by the drip of my own blood that you mean this seriously."

"Cut the wizard loose!" Hawknose commanded, ignoring his speech.

He obeyed her order, still chuckling, and Mystigan emerged from the net, beating the cinders from his rear and looking quite wild-eyed. The odor of his singed clothes mixed with the perfume from their captors. He gave Felic a look which seemed to say "whatever-you-are-thinking-don't-say-it."

Felic looked on ruefully as they took possession of his dirk and Calixian sword. The two men were manacled--Mystigan with his hands in front and Felic with his hands behind. Then they were lined up--Felic behind Mystigan--and a chain was run under their crotches and locked to their manacles. It was cruelly short. As they moved out they were forced to walk, half-crouching, half-walking, trying to prevent the nip and chafe of the links on their genitals.

# Chapter Two

CHESSA LIFTED her infant daughter from the sleeping basket and placed her tiny body on a square of fur. One corner was sewn into a hood; the other three folded over the baby. The sleepy little eyes followed her movements as she slipped the lacings through the top fold and tied the fur into a cozy bundle.

"There you are, my heart's love," she brushed the fur back from the cherubic face, "all wrapped up for a nice walk." She threw on her own cape, picked up the bundled child, and left the one-room log dwelling.

The sod-roofed cabin was almost invisible in the bower of monumental cedar trees that crowned the bluff. A twist in the path that led through the dripping ferns shut it from view. She took the fork to the village, humming to the baby and bouncing it gently as she walked.

It was a special day in Gamolliat; the sound of revelry carried clearly to the heights above the village. Chessa felt the growing anticipation as she forced herself to have patience and go slowly. The path was steep and an awkward step could send her sliding. As the village came into view, she could see the fires and rush of activity around the new vessel.

Where the path entered the village, Antelo spotted her and shouted. He waved a leather drinking jack, slopping its contents, as he ran to meet her.

"I'll trade you," he laughed, "a drink for a baby!" His face was flushed and his eyes sparkled.

"Antelo! You are drunk already!"

"No, Little Mother...but fee-eeling fine!"

She laid the baby in his outstretched arms and took the cup. He cooed at the little face within the fur.

"You are a silly one," she chided, "the other warriors will tease you if they see you making such a fuss over the baby."

"Hah...I'll kill them if they do!" He chucked the baby under the chin, eliciting a happy gurgle.

"...and if you drink much more," she continued, "you will not be able to take your part in the ceremony with the other chiefs. You'll fall down like an axed boar and go to dreams!"

"Don't worry about me. I can drink all day and all night...and all the next day!" He held the baby up at arms length. "Ay, Anchi...tell your mama." He stopped short and snorted with pleasure. "Did you see that, Chessa? The little cub winked at me."

"Antelo, you are indeed crazy this morning. Anchessa is too young to wink at you."

"But I saw her do it. I swear she did." He nuzzled his face into the fur and gently rubbed his craggy nose against that of the infant.

Chessa sniffed the liquor in the cup and tried a swig. Her eyes went wide and she caught a deep breath as the fiery potheen burned her throat. Antelo laughed at her.

"Here, I'll trade you back," he offered her the baby, "and I'll get you a full measure from the keg."

Chessa coughed and found her voice. "No...not that. It is too strong for me. I'll go to the wine barrel."

Antelo put his arm around her slim waist and escorted her to the fires. The work and merriment along the stony beach proceeded apace with the near completion of a seagoing war canoe.

The hull was carved from the single trunk of a giant cedar. Completed, it would carry a raiding party of thirty. Chessa watched the now familiar operation through the drifting smoke of many bonfires. The wood smoke was pungent in her nostrils and the wine was tart on her tongue. She was caught up in the carefree atmosphere of the occasion.

The men had poured buckets of water into the hollowed hull. Now they levered hot rocks out of the fires and onto a sledge. They dragged them to the canoe, where, with a man on each corner, the sledge was lifted and the rocks were slid, steaming and spitting, into the shallow water within. The women and children followed with broad-leafed branches, which they laid across the gunwales to contain the rising steam. The process continued until the hull was one long bubbling pot with hot vapor shooting out thousands of tiny openings in its leafy cover.

While the dugout steamed, the villagers' attention turned to Sinnihun, their grizzled leader. He mounted a stump with a little help and stood there weaving slightly while the crowd cheered. Someone handed him a fresh-caught squid. With an exuberant hoot he draped the purple tentacles over his helmet. They dangled down and intertwined with the graying dreadlocks that hung to his shoulders. This bit of buffoonery delighted his audience and the cheering got wilder.

He waved everyone quiet. "My loyal comrades," he slurred, "I am, ah...I am proud to..." He stopped to catch his balance, but too late. He toppled off the stump into the waiting arms of his lieutenants who were also drunk. The entire group collapsed into a laughing, grunting heap.

Antelo jumped up on the stump. "Friends, I will speak for our beloved leader--our 'claw of the eagle.' What he wanted to say was..."

Sinnihun interrupted with a good-natured push from behind. It was Antelo's turn to reel into the outstretched arms below him. Sinnihun once again tried to mount the stump, but his feet kept slipping from imaginary steps in the bark.

Antelo came to his aid, and the two of them grunted and fumbled until they stood arm in arm, swaying precariously on the inadequate platform. They took proffered cups of liquor and swung them lustily in a toast to the new canoe.

Sinnihun waved for silence and addressed villagers. "My Antelo, the son I never had...plucked from the grasp of the sea god...he will name this fine new boat," Sinnihun's squid was now askew. "What is it to be, Antelo? Give us a good one!"

Antelo rolled his eyes in exaggerated thought. "It will fly like the wind. It will bring fire and destruction to the foe and bounteous booty to our village." he paused for a belch, then shouted, "I name the war canoe 'Windfire'!"

"Windfire it is. A fitting name for the vessel!" Sinnihun's endorsement brought a new round of drunken cheers from the company; the festivities erupted with new fervor.

When the steaming of the hull was complete, a blast from a ram's horn called the warriors to work. They lined up on both sides of the hull, grasped the gunwales, and waited. Sinnihun, Antelo, and three lesser chiefs stood by with pre-shaped thwarts. On signal, the boughs were swept off. The men lining the gunwales pulled the two sides out with all their strength; the hull creaked and stretched, becoming wider by a third. The chiefs moved in to place their thwarts, bracing the dugout's width into a beamier, more seaworthy configuration.

Chessa's attention was diverted from the boat by the flash of an unexpected, yet familiar face in the group around the liquor keg. She bit her lower lip and looked again, anxious this time. She held Anchessa high on her shoulder so that her face was half hidden behind the fur. She saw the face again, confirming her first impression. It was a swarthy Dagran, the hated Bargonast. A chill of apprehension settled between her shoulder blades.

Turning away, she hurriedly sought out Antelo in the crowd around the boat. She tried to get his attention, but he passed her off with a quick smile, engrossed in the boisterous conversation of his companions. She waited, worried and nervous, but he failed to notice her agitation.

"I am going to the cabin, Antelo." She plucked at his arm and when he turned to her, she told him again. "Antelo, I must go the cabin...are you coming?" He dismissed her with a squeeze of the hand, still involved in the ribald discussion of the liquored-up warriors.

Across the compound, Bargonast stood apart from the others. He watched the Gamollian women over the rim of his drinking jack, plotting the effects of the strong drink on them, and surveying their ranks for a possible bed partner.

His glance was arrested by the bearing and the walk of the young mother carrying her child up the path to the bluff. He let the burning liquor trickle over the back of his tongue. There was something familiar about the slim figure. His eyes narrowed in speculation, and the scarred corners of his mouth lifted in a private smile.

He was feeling smug about the clever way he had positioned himself to benefit from both sides of the coming war. In Valistia, he had encountered Prince Elfrand, heir to the throne, in a country inn. The prince was drunk, his coronet atilt, and insisted on sharing a drink from his demijohn of wine. Bargonast had exploited the situation to win the confidence of the prince who seemed to enjoy pawing at him. That led to an invitation to join the prince in a duck hunt using the royal falcons.

In the following week he was a regular part of the prince's retinue. He played the game of being amenable to the prince's flirtations but never committing. He convinced the prince he would be of great service to him in a battle with the Dagrans. King Valis, the patriarch ruler of Valistia, had rejected the prince's suggestion that Bargonast should be their emissary to seek the Gamollian alliance. But he learned that the burly warrior was a priest-bane and sought by Stet Arnak. He conceded and gave him the pendant, a royal passport that hung below his braided beard.

Bargonast fingered the amulet and pondered the stupidity of princes and kings.

* * *

Chessa sensed she was being followed. She hugged Anchessa closer to her breast and hurried up the path. The feeling persisted; she stopped and cocked an ear back the way she had come. Over the sounds of the celebration in the village she picked up a closer sound; someone was behind her. The baby stirred and she shushed softly. "It is Antelo," she murmured, "he has decided to come home." But the rising lump of fear in her throat told her she was wrong. She paused for a moment, undecided, then giving in to her intuition, she left the path to find a hiding place in the undergrowth.

When the unknown follower climbed into view, she was ripped by a chill of terror. Her heart pumped against the bundle of her baby. The infant sensed the fear and stiffened. Chessa held her closer and whispered reassuringly.

The man on the trail kept coming until she could see plainly the short oily black braids of his beard. It was Bargonast. He passed within a few feet or their place of concealment. Chessa waited until he was well out of sight before she stepped out onto the path and hurried back to the village. The strain in her face relaxed when she moved into the company of the still reveling Gamollians. She took a place near Antelo and waited, secure in his presence. Watching him drinking, laughing, enjoying the fellowship of his comrades, she realized he had not heard her tell him that she was going to the cabin. Indeed, he was not aware she had left or returned. She sighed and tasted for an instant the bittersweet memory of another man--her true and only love. Perhaps, she told herself, his disembodied soul looked over her, caring, wishing her well. She fought to push back a welling sadness that came with her flashback of the bloodied and battered body of Felic'm Lans, lifeless on a distant island. Dead at the hands of these same savage reavers who had raped her; then, after their passions were slated, given her to Antelo.

"Chessa, you are much too serious for this fine occasion. Come...have a drink!" It was Antelo, tickling her cheek with the tail of her golden braid, forcing her into the present. She managed a wan grin. "Yes, my husband. I think I should have one of your drinks--no wine this time. I will try that of the keg."

She watched for the return of Bargonast as the evening progressed, but he never reappeared. Nor did they meet him as they took the path homeward. The day's festivities had included a trial run of the new war canoe, and then a feast, a sumptuous spread by Gamollian standards. Antelo had slept after eating and was now sober enough to climb the trail to the bluff. His mood of a few hours earlier had soured. At the cabin he barred the door for the night and started a fire in the fireplace. His attitude was distant, and he sat watching the flame for some time before joining Chessa in their bed. When he finally crawled between the furs, he turned his back to her in silent rebuff.

She traced a series of looping circles on his naked shoulder with her fingertips. There was no response. "Antelo...why are you so quiet. Have I angered you?"

He did not answer.

"Antelo, I must talk to you, tonight. Something...something happened today."

He was suddenly active; he turned toward her almost violently. "Yes, I know. I saw it in your eyes again. Your dead lover is back to share you...is that it?" His voice hissed with suppressed anger.

"Antelo...please..."

"No... I know when you get that look. You are thinking of him, whoever he is...the great one!" His tone was mocking. "...so great that you cannot even tell me his name. If you would tell me who he was, we might agree that he was only human. After all he did prove to be mortal in the end, did he not? He did bleed real blood, or was it some sweet ambrosia?"

Chessa gasped at his callous attack.

"May the gods damn his persistent haunt to the lowest hell of the Dag-Arnak. Get him out of your mind, woman!" Antelo was shouting. "He is dead. Dead! Can't you believe that? You saw his corpse. Why won't you forget him?"

The baby whimpered, startled by the sound of Antelo's voice. Chessa climbed across her husband and went to the sleeping basket. She patted the child, weeping silent tears, until it went back to sleep.

Antelo was staring at the flickering shadows among the log rafters, his face ruddy in the firelight.

Chessa started again, her voice tremulous. "No...you misunderstand me, my husband. Today I saw a man very much alive, and in our village. I am afraid of him and I don't understand why he is here."

Antelo grunted. "You must mean the Dagran."

"Yes," Chessa's voice dropped to an intense whisper, "I knew him from before.. .before I was captured and brought here. He is evil!"

"How do you mean...evil?"

"I know him. He is a beast. I am afraid, Antelo." She shuddered and snuggled into the crook of his arm. "He is called Bargonast, and, please...he must never see me or know that I am here"

Antelo considered what she had said. "You told me you were raised in Dagra. Is that where you knew him?"

"It matters not. But he frightens me. Keep him away, Antelo. Please believe me ...I must never see him again." She gave another involuntary shudder.

"Can it be that he searches for you for some reason. He says he is here to recruit mercenaries for Valistia. They are threatened by war with Dagra. But, I wonder...why would a Dagran help Valistia in preference to his homeland?"

"He can never return to Dagra while Stet-Arnak's priesthood rules. He is a priest-bane, a murderer!"

"How do you know this?

"Accept my word, O Husband. I know this man for what he is." She paused. "But he is not here in search of me. He does not know that I am alive. And I would keep it that way."

They fell asleep in each other's arms, but before the night was over an insistent pounding on the door aroused them. A voice outside was shouting, "Antelo! Antelo! Get up!" More pounding. "Antelo, do you hear? Open up! The village is being attacked!"

Antelo leaped from the bed and threw up the bar. A bloodied, begrimed warrior stood outside. Behind him a red pall of smoke loomed from below the bluff.

# Chapter Three

IN THE VILLAGE, roiling smoke and patterns of swirling red-orange light from burning huts alternately lit and obscured the struggling combatants. Antelo ran into the battle area with sword in hand, ready but confused. Three black figures hurtled towards him. An ascending shoosh of sparks from a thatched roof backlighted them, and he stood ready for their attack. But they were friends.

"This way, Antelo:" He recognized the speaker's shout. "We defend the boats."

He ran with them, skirting the center of the battle until the sharp shale of the beach clattered underfoot. Five or six Gamollians were there ahead of them, valiantly holding back a close-ranked enemy troop. In the rear, scattered enemies with torches dragged piles of brush toward the great dugouts.

A form bulked in Antelo's path. He raised his shield instinctively in time to take a stunning hammer blow on its riveted steel boss. The rattle of a chain told him the attacker was armed with a mace. As he reeled back, trying to regain his balance, yellow torchlight gilded his assailant's armor. Antelo saw the emblem of Dagra on the bronze buckler. His confidence flooded back. He rolled sideways to evade the second vicious sweep of the mace, then reversed direction to press in on the Dagran. He pushed and beat his shield at the other man with quick, powerful thrusts, forcing him off balance, keeping close, crowding, so that he had no chance to swing the wicked spiked ball. The Dagran tripped and sprawled. Antelo kicked his iron-shod buskin into the prone man's leather battle skirt, and he arched up in pain. With a scream of triumph, Antelo slashed him open from sternum to groin.

He looked around, eyes wild and burning with battle lust. Smoke from the flaming huts alternately lit and obscured the struggling warriors. Close at hand a Gamollian comrade was backed against a war canoe, holding off two enemy swordsmen. Antelo leaped to his support, but he was too late. An enemy blade transfixed the man and he crumpled with a quick pleading look. A stinging rush of hatred lumped in Antelo's throat, and he sobbed convulsively as he charged the two swordsmen. He was all over them, giving vent to a consuming urge for vengeance. Like a raving madman, he committed all his power to every swing and thrust of his sword, parrying their blades, beating down their defenses.

He locked shields with the foremost opponent. They sought for an advantage as they swayed together in a test of strength. Their swords were immobilized, hilt-to-hilt, and their muscles bulged in quivering knots. Across the rim of their shields, their eyes were reciprocal pools of black ferocity, each searching for a weakness; knowing that to weaken was certain death.

From the corner of his vision Antelo saw the second man coming at him, wide open, his sword raised high in anticipation of an easy kill. Instantly Antelo dropped low, jerking his man forward. He threw his weight into the man's legs, catapulting him into the air and over his back. He came up, sword extended, and took the charging man by surprise. Before the Dagran could stop, he was impaled. He tried to rend Antelo's casque with a final death stroke, but Antelo moved in close and the sword clattered from limp fingers onto the rocks behind him. He twisted, hurling the body off his sword and across the other Dagran who was rising to engage him. The man stumbled back, hampered by the corpse. But before Antelo could press his advantage, he was set upon by more of the enemy. His arms were tiring. He backed off, shielding himself, until he felt the war canoe behind him.

The body of the dead comrade he had tried to help hindered his footwork. Blood and sweat fogged his vision; his breath rasped in short gulps. He fought defensively, trying to buy time.

And then the pressure lessened. He knew he was no longer alone. Another fresher and mightier blade was there, hacking and cleaving, shearing off the opposing blades, splitting the bronze shields and crumpling helmets. Wielding the mighty sword was a powerful giant of a Dagran. Antelo was momentarily disoriented. Then he recognized his ally as Bargonast, the mercenary recruiter for Valistia whom Chessa feared. A flush of strength lightened his leaden arms and he struck out with renewed fury.

With the intuitive teamwork born of many battles, they chopped and mangled a circle of crimson. The Dagrans fell back. The exultation of temporary victory wiped out Antelo's fatigue and he threw his head back and sang out--a long, wailing yodel that was the Gamollian battle cry. It was picked up and repeated down the line. Soon the Dagrans were moving toward the beach--first singly, then in groups. They reformed their lines where their galley was drawn up onto the shale. There a stout defense allowed the bulk of their force to clamber aboard, but the rear guard was cut down in the shallows as they tried to disengage and catch the retreating vessel.

Suddenly it was over. Antelo and Bargonast stood in the icy water, numb and silent, watching the rise and fall of the galley's sweeps as it moved off into the ghostly mists of pre-dawn. Behind them the wounded cursed and screamed. Fires still popped and the air was clouded with the acrid smoke from the burning huts. By the war canoes men were stomping out the remains of an unsuccessful fire. There the Dagrans had failed.

As they left the beach, Antelo spoke to Bargonast. You fought your own countrymen. Why?"

The bearded warrior spat contemptuously. "It is no longer my country." He stooped to wipe the blood from his great sword on a clump of grass. Not satisfied, he ripped the tunic from a corpse and rubbed the blade until it reflected the fires.

"A wondrous weapon," Antelo commented, "almost too large for an ordinary man."

"I am no ordinary man," Bargonast growled bluntly.

"Obviously. You handle it with skill. Could this sword have been wrought by Calixian smithies? I am told the dwarves have great knowledge of the tempering of steel."

Bargonast ignored the question. "You do credit to your own blade, Gamollian. Would you fight for Valistia... for gold?"

Antelo answered without hesitation. "Yes. For gold...and for revenge of this." With a sweep of his hand he indicated the ruins of the village.

They approached a circle of warriors grouped around someone on the ground. It was Sinnihun. The circle parted, allowing Antelo to kneel at the chief's side. He was still alive, but the ground was sodden with his blood. His eyes were closed.

"Sinnihun.. .It is I...Antelo. Can you hear me?"

The slack face twitched, but he did not answer.

Gently Antelo removed the casque from the old man's graying head. He bent down and kissed the venerable brow, feeling not the coming of death, but the ending of life--the loss of a spirit so vital, so fervent with zeal for each day, and so generous in sharing that enthusiasm.

"We will miss you, old father," he murmured, close to the dying chief's ear.

There was a hand on his shoulder and someone said: "He is dead, Antelo. You are the new chief. It was his wish."

# Chapter Four

WHEN THE remnants of the Dagran raiding party limped into the harbor at Seaskal they were met at the wharf by the one ruling priest they hoped would not be there. Stet-Arnak and his retinue of bodyguards and toadies eyed the bloodied, diminished force with disgust.

"Take the fool leader of that force to the dungeons and hang him by his ankles," the portly priest commanded.

A squad of his bodyguards trotted off to carry out the order. Shortly the squad leader returned. "The leader and other officers were killed, Excellency. Only your soldiers survived."

"My soldiers! Bah! My soldiers never returned," Stet-Arnak snorted. "Only the cowards survived. And they'll pay for their cowardice. They'll do their soldiering chained to a stinking galley oar henceforth. Arrest them!" With a wave that encompassed the wretched crew, he abruptly turned and walked back to the garrison headquarters.

Once in his room he went to the window and looked at the mountains of Calix. They were shrouded in mist, blue-gray and purple, on the northeastern horizon. His spies had gained information that Queen Gwenay of Calix was forming an alliance with Valistia to foil the Dag-Arnak plans for subjugating the weak kingdom. A third party to the alliance was purportedly the Gamollians, which was behind his peremptory strike at their village.

Guards were herding the manacled soldiers through the courtyard below. He rapped on the open windowsill for attention and yelled down. "Bring one of those pusillanimous dogs up here. Any one will do."

When the quaking soldier was before him he demanded an account of the action.

The soldier looked at the floor to avoid the priest's drilling eyes. "They were expecting us...and they were many in numbers," he replied. "We tried to burn their war canoes but they fought us off, and ..."

"And their chief, Sinnihun, was he killed?" Stet-Arnak interrupted.

"There was much smoke and the darkness...I couldn't..."

"Take him away. Find out if any of the others saw the Gamollian chief killed." With a dismissive wave, the priest returned to contemplating the mountains of Calix. His thoughts lingered on events of the past.

Queen Gwenay and her consort, King Jult, had escaped the priesthood's coup d'etat to find refuge in those mountains. But they had also foiled the priesthood by stealing the immortality machine, the Qalandor of N'olla. To mollify the populace, the priests had propagated the lie that they still had that powerful instrument and that, after the death of King Jult, the queen had become an ancient hag under the protection of the Calixian dwarves. Unknown to the queen, a princess, Chessa, a daughter of King Jult conceived with one of the queen's attendants, was born after the fact. The princess had been a servant of the priesthood until she was of marriageable age. He cursed inwardly, knowing that he had her within his grasp when that storm at sea curtailed his pursuit.

The clatter of arms brought him back to the present.

"This dog says he saw the Gamollian chief killed," the guard announced.

"Yes, well tell it, man!"

The guard pushed the reluctant prisoner forward.

"I...I saw him felled," he stammered. "I think he was ...ah, had maybe a death wound."

"What was his bearing--his manner?"

"He was big...but old. He fought well. He had white hair."

"Hmmm," Stet-Arnak mused. He studied the floor for a moment, then looked up, eyes sharp under beetling brows. "Yes, that would be Sinnihun." And to the guard, "Free this man. Put him back in the ranks." His thick lips broke into a calculating smile. "Without their chief we have nothing to fear from the Gamollians. Without him they are nothing but a ragtag mob of disorganized reavers."

# Chapter Five

FOLLOWING the night of slaughter and mayhem, the Gamollian village was bustling early with activities. Acrid smoke from a flaming pyre of debris hung in the inlet, and workers hauled the ruined war canoe, hopelessly damaged, to the fire. Craftsmen worked replacing the thatch on huts targeted by the Dagran fire arrows.

Further from the beach, some of the women prepared dead bodies, including the old chief's, for a funeral ceremony. The tenor of feelings ran from grief for those cut down to anticipation of the future—a future with Antelo as their chief.

From their hillside cabin Chessa watched the busy groups below. "Antelo, it is mid-day. Shouldn't you be helping those on the beach?"

Antelo opened one eye and yawned. He had retired totally exhausted from the fight. "The Chief of Gamollia doesn't have to get up until he feels like it," he answered, "and I am now the chief."

"You...but what of Sinnihun?"

"He died from battle wounds. He made me his successor." He paused to see the effect of his news.

Chessa did not react.

Antelo popped up to a sitting position. "What...no tears of joy...no well wishes or hearty congratulations?

"I knew you would be the next chief," she said simply, "and Sinnihun would have died soon...even if no battle. You are the only one who could possibly replace him."

Antelo smiled at Chessa's evaluation of him.

"Those were Dagrans that raided our village last night. So it is war. I will raise forces from the other settlements and make them pay for the blood they spilled on our beach."

Chessa paled. "Must there always be revenge?'"

"Revenge is only the half of it, there is also gold. The Valistians will pay us as mercenaries to fight the Dagrans in their cause." Antelo finished his morning meal and strapped on his sword. "Are you looking at a chief?" he asked.

"Oh, yes...a chief destined to be great!" Chessa beamed proudly.

"I know you fear this Bargonast. So stay out of sight. I'll see to it that he is on his way with his answer to the Valistians before the day is over."

"Then you will turn him down?"

"No, I'll join my warriors with the other tribes of Gamollia for the Valistian cause. My men will want to repay the Dagrans for their surprise attack. Comrades lay wounded, dying and dead. This is a chance to get revenge for Sinnihun and be paid to do it," he laughed at the irony, "a rare chance, and one to embrace fully--cold bloodied steel for shiney gold."

# Chapter Six

FELIC AND MYSTIGAN, still hopping awkwardly in their chains, were taken through a postern gate in the southern wall of Queen Linifern's fortress castle. The odor of the inner grounds was repulsive. An open gutter carried sewage across the cobblestones, past a central fountain and pool where more of the female warriors lounged about, some bathing, some practicing at arms.

Their entrance caused an immediate stir. Several of the onlookers called teasingly to Mystigan, veiling their remarks with double meaning; and one, pale with limpid dark eyes, touched him lightly in wordless sympathy.

Their escort prodded them forward into the central tower, through the inhabited lower levels and up the worn stone treads of the stairwell. On the eighth and top level of the donjon they stopped in a short hallway while one of their escort fitted her key in a door. The rusty lock refused to turn. She moved across to a second door; it gave with a submissive screech. Dust and long-dried excrement layered the floor of the cell. Felic shivered; the bars of the shutterless window were no barriers to the chill breeze off the lake.

"Are you going to remove our manacles?" Mystigan asked, as their captors started to leave.

"Not at all necessary," the raven-winged commander shook her head in emphatic negation, causing the wattles of her jowls to quiver like jelly. Felic had heard her addressed as Luvis. "You would have to be chained again for your audience with her majesty." She turned abruptly and stalked out, slamming the door with a rasping clang. They were left standing in their stooped position, the chain still between their legs. Mystigan turned his head as far as he could and looked at Felic out of the corner of his eye. "Sweet, aren't they?"

Felic grunted, ignoring his humor. "Stand still. I'm going to lift one leg over this chain." He got one foot up and on the chain but lost his balance. A hop backwards caused the chain to ride up into Mystigan's crotch.

"EEEyoww!" The magician's shriek accompanied his backward lurch, and the two went down together.

Felic squirmed around in the dust until the chain was out from between their legs. Their manacles were still connected--Mystigan's in front, Felic's behind his back.

Mystigan held himself in agony. "I think you have spared the queen the trouble of castrating me," he moaned.

Felic was not sympathetic. "At least you can rub yours," he retorted.

There was a long silence while they waited for the intense anguish to become a dull ache. As the torment subsided, their eyes met and they laughed at each other. "You are too quick for me," Mystigan said. "Your efforts to get comfortable were premature." As he spoke he pulled a steel needle from his hair. Felic watched open-mouthed as his supple hands twisted to an impossible angle to allow his fingers to manipulate the needle in the lock of his manacles. In a moment he was free; just as quickly, he freed Felic.

"You are amazing," Felic told him.

"Yes. Amazing is an excellent word to describe me," he agreed, "and now I will transform myself into a hawk and fly through those bars for help."

Felic watched soberly, fully expecting it to happen. The resourceful Mystigan stood there a moment and then gave him a long, slow wink. Felic colored, embarrassed to be so easily gulled.

Mystigan chuckled. "No friend ...I am, alas, only human. But I have an idea that will confound our charming captors when they return for us."

The smaller man ripped a strip from his tunic and laid it at the barred window. Then he worked on the cell door lock. It was no challenge; he had it open before Felic could comprehend his method.

"Bring the manacles. We shall move across the hall." He stood aside to let Felic pass and then pulled the heavy door shut and relocked it. Crossing to the other cell, his needle succeeded where the guard's key had failed. He let Felic in, then brushed their footprints from the dust before closing the door. Another deft twist of the steel and they were locked in.

Their new chamber was identical to the one they had left. Felic looked around. "Perhaps you would explain how we have improved our lot."

"Aha," Mystigan raised a finger as if to give a lesson, "I thought it would be obvious. As you can see, the breeze does not blow in this window. The prevailing wind comes from the opposite direction. Therefore..." he stopped and rubbed his hands together with satisfaction, "...therefore we shall be warmer here. Much more comfortable!"

Felic eyed him suspiciously. "Listen, Wizard. I think in the future with you, I will believe what my eyes doubt and doubt what my ears are asked to believe."

"Wisely said. You are very astute, Felic m'Lans. Thenceforth I shall endeavor to be less devious in my dissertations."

"Just tell me, plain out, what is the sense in our move to this cell?"

Mystigan didn't answer, holding up his hand for silence. They listened and heard the shuffle of the guards coming up the stairs.

In the hall, Luvis, leader of twenty, unlocked the cell door and shoved it open. Her dour expression turned to panic as she looked at the empty room. Crowding behind her, a young spear-bearer voiced her thoughts. "I knew we could not keep Mystigan the Wizard locked up. Look to the window! They have flown away! The queen is going to..."

"Silence!" Luvis barked, her voice echoing down the stairwell. "That scrawny snake can not fly. Unlock the other cell door."

"But before it would not..."

Luvis pushed by her and jammed the key into the lock. On the other side of the door Mystigan slipped silently across the room and angled his steel needle into the keyhole.

"Ancient, rusty junk!" Luvis turned the key violently and it twisted off in the lock. "Bah...well, it is certain they are not in there. Search the lower floors! Check every room! Move!"

As the squad jangled away, Luvis knelt immobile by the door, her ear close to its surface. In the cell Mystigan also waited. With a finger to his lips, he cautioned Felic to remain silent.

The game went on longer than Felic thought necessary. But their patience was rewarded when at last a grumbled complaint and a heavy tread told them there indeed had been a listener in the hall.

After an appropriate interval, Mystigan explained his escape plan.

Felic objected. "There is just one thing--the sword that was taken from me. There are few like it in Antillia. It was given to me be Gwenay, Queen of Calix, and is a virgin blade, not yet bloodied by battle. I will not leave without it."

"You value a stupid weapon more than your manhood?" Mystigan questioned. "That is what you are saying."

"The sword goes with me." Felic was stubborn. "I have already lost one such, and I shall not lose another...not to a comic squad of giggling girls!"

"In that case, my friend, we shall go our separate ways. You to your beloved piece of steel, me to freedom. When it is dark I will unlock the door."

As they waited out the daylight hours, they talked lightly of many things. Mystigan learned of Felic's service to Queen Gwenay and the loss of his beloved Chessa.

Felic told how the queen had engaged him to help recover a gem of mystical potency that was necessary to complete the power of the Qalandor of N'olla, a device that could keep her young and beautiful far beyond the human pale. Mystigan listened, entranced by the tale of a quest that had led to far islands and a subsequent shipwreck. He learned that while they were castaways, bloodthirsty Gamollian reavers kidnapped Chessa and left Felic mangled at death's door. How the blinded queen, who had escaped the mayhem by hiding under a pile of brush, had tenderly nursed him back from the gates of eternity.

"We fashioned a raft from the remains of the burnt vessel," Felic related, "and gained the mainland and the Queen's realm of Calix. She replaced the recovered gem in the Qalandor, then used its omniscient power to restore her sight."

"And so you lived happily everafter," Mystigan joked.

"Not at all," Felic admitted, "I hold a consuming fire for vengeance against the Gamollians."

He confessed that he had never understood the depth of his feeling for Chessa until she was gone. His imagination tortured him with thoughts of what she must have endured. Was she still alive? He had to know. And he assured Mystigan that a price would be paid with the blood of her Gamollian captors.

Mystigan filled in Felic on the strange customs of Fernilin, the valley domain ruled by the matriarchy of Linifern.

"The social order of Fernilin is patterned after that of a bee colony," the wizard explained, "with a few necessary adaptations.

"All the male babies are taken to an incubating asylum where they are raised until after puberty. They are never educated nor allowed contact with anyone outside the asylum walls until they are called upon to enter the Conception Temple. This second period could be brief or extend over many years depending on their physical endowments and personality.

"The Conception Temple is open to all the women of the valley during the spring days when the orchards are in blossom. But when the last blossom withers, the queen and the select few that she honors are the only ones to indulge its fleshly pleasures.

"A man who loses favor in the Conception Temple is surgically ushered into the ranks of the drones--the eunuchs who do the menial labor of the valley. Those lucky enough to stay popular with the queen are favored with incredible opulence and luxury."

Felic snorted in disbelief. "Why do the men not rebel? Why not overthrow this foolish system?"

"It is not so easy for them. They do not know anything better. They can't envision a society where men are not subservient."

"And you...are you not of this valley?"

"I was given to Queen Linifern as a gift from the Roarman of Kresh."

"I know of Kresh. But I do not understand why the Roarman would give away his wizard."

"Ah me, it was my own error. I trained an apprentice...much too bright a lad he was. He improved on my wizardry and I became expendable."

Felic smiled. "And here? They treated you badly?"

"On the contrary. It was a veritable paradise until I was caught humping in my lovely Vayda's bed" He paused and sighed. "You see, such performances are absolutely, totally forbidden outside the Conception Temple. But I am totally and hopelessly in love with Vayda. She is clever and beautiful and kind. She made me feel like the king of all Antillia, and...ah, you know."

Felic smiled. "Yes, I do know. I was in love with Chessa but didn't realize it until I recovered from my wounds and she was gone." His smile evaporated. "I rage inside when I think of her in the hands of those Gamollian animals. She was too delicate to survive their brutalities. But I'll make them pay a bloody price for what they've done."

Mystigan noticed he had unconsciously clenched his hands until his knuckles were white.

The light had faded as they talked. In the thickening shadows of the cell, Mystigan went to work on the door lock. He strained and cursed. "That wretched bitch broke her key off in here. Now it is jammed!" He picked away at it for some time before stalking off in disgust.

After a moment, Felic broke the silence. "What's the matter," he asked. "Is your magic failing?"

Mystigan refused to answer, staring moodily at the setting sun.

# Chapter Seven

WHILE MYSTIGAN paced the cold stones of the tower cell, hugging himself against the night chill, Felic worked at the barred window. He was patient, pulling and pushing at one of the iron strips with his great strength, feeling it grow loose in its sockets. It was a slow process, but Felic worked on diligently with a prisoner's patience, stubbornly persistent.

Below on the castle grounds, the lights went out one by one until a single torch remained. It cast an oval of light inside the walls of a small formal garden. A bat flapped past Felic's head, causing him to jerk away from the window in surprise as it winged out into the night. He turned, expecting the wizard to be gone.

"I thought that was you," Felic laughed, "flying off in another form."

"I am no better at bats than at hawks," Mystigan rejoined.

"Too bad...you could turn your charms on the lady who walks in the garden below. Perhaps she could help us."

Mystigan hurried to the window. Felic stopped working the bar in order to let him peer below. Mystigan gripped his arm and pulled him in beside him. "Look there and tell me...does she not wear a triple circlet on her head?"

Felic looked, but she moved to the edge of the circle of light and into the shadows. "I cannot make it out.... why?"

"It could be Vayda." Mystigan was excited by the possibility. "She walks in the royal garden, longing for me ...ah, sweet Vayda...she is unable to sleep. It is Vayda! She is half out of her mind, grieving over our separation. I know it is she; there is no doubt."

Felic shrugged. "So...What if it is?"

"I must get her attention." Mystigan scrabbled along the floor on all fours, searching for the chain and manacles. When he returned to the window, he dangled one end out of the bars and clanged it against the outside wall of the tower.

In the garden below the feminine figure paused, looked around, then looked up. She seemed to be searching for the source of the noise.

"She cannot see you," Felic pointed out.

"Then I have a better idea. Here, you hold the manacles." The magician rummaged in his cloak and produced a flask of powder. After spreading it along the windowsill, he struck sparks onto it with flint and steel. Nothing happened.

"What are you trying now?" Felic asked, "more magic?"

Mystigan rained sparks on the powder, but still nothing happened. "It has gotten damp." He pulled himself close to the bars and shouted, "Vayda ...Vayda. Up here. It is me, Mystigan!"

Below, the tiny figure looked from side to side in a pantomime of fright. Then she was gone, running out of the torchlight toward the castle chambers.

The magician was disgusted. "If the powder would have caught, she would have known it was me. She has seen it burn before. Beautiful. It makes a brilliant bluish flash and billows of smoke...ah, well."

Felic grunted and returned to his work on the bar.

"Why do you bother?" Mystigan asked. "Where can we go when the bar is removed?"

"I don't know. But I cannot just wait."

"Keep watching for Vayda as you work. She may return to the garden."

"Are you certain it was her?"

"I would know her if I were blind."

"But you asked about the circlets. I saw none."

"Nevertheless, it was she." Mystigan's tone left no doubt.

"Well, how about using that flint to some better purpose? Do you have a tinderbox?"

"Yes."

"Then set fire to the door."

Mystigan's teeth shone in the dark. "An excellent suggestion--freedom through fire."

Felic went back to working the loose bar, while his partner of happenstance tried to the door afire. Neither had enjoyed any particular success, when the tramp of guards in the stairwell arrested their activity. They stood in wondering silence on either side of the darkened room, both surprised by the sound.

Then came the voice of Luvis in the hall. "This is it. Go at it."

The thunk of an axe shook the door. Blow by blow, it splintered the wood around the lock until the door gave way. Torchlight flooded the cell. Luvis shoved aside the big eunuch who had swung the axe and motioned the guard into the room. They herded the two men out at spear point and escorted them down the spiraling stairwell.

At the bottom a young maiden waited timidly in the shadows.

"It looks as though your friend in the garden betrayed you," Felic suggested.

Mystigan sniffed. "Not so. It is not Vayda ...I was mistaken."

"Then your yelling..."

"Yes. I called attention to us."

"The prisoners will remain silent!" Luvis' bullish command was emphasized with a prod from her spear.

Angered, Felic whirled on her, ripping the shaft from her grip. He swung the weapon in a lightning arc, knocking spears and torches flying. The girls of the guard fell back in confusion, but the big eunuch, shaven head glistening, sprung forward swinging his axe. Felic ducked. he still held the spear backwards, so he jammed the butt end into the larded middle. The eunuch's eyes crossed and he doubled over with a high-pitched yelp. He went to his knees. Felic seized the opportunity to leap behind him and pull the spear shaft tight across his throat. He braced his knee against the back of the eunuch's thick neck and exerted pressure. The puffy fingers dropped the axe and clawed at the spear. There was an audible crack and in a moment the big body went limp.

Felic let him slump to the floor. As he started to rise, he felt six distinct spear points resting on his back and ribs. Felic looked to Mystigan for help, but the smaller man was standing to one side, seemingly stunned by the sudden violence.

"Down on your face or die now!" Luvis barked, and Felic, having no choice, did as he was told. His wrists were once again manacled behind him before he was prodded to his feet.

They were taken from the keep, crossing the courtyard in the twilight, to the massive double doors of the royal palace. Liveried eunuchs swung the ornate panels inward, and they were shoved into a tiled foyer. The walls were hung with tapestries, their colors vivid in the pools of light from the soft glow of many ensconced oil lamps. The guards snuffed out their torches in blackened pigeonholes set in the walls, then drowned the smoking tips in an oil bath.

After being shoved through the foyer into the throne room, Felic's first impression was the music--two voices of unearthly sweet timbre, rich in overtones, drifting through an aimless contrapuntal pattern. He found the source. From balconies set high above the fluted columns and tapestries on opposite walls, the singers performed. They took their cues from each other's lips, lost in the fabric of the sound they were weaving. Felic was surprised. He expected women; they were eunuchs. Their hands flashed splinters of reflected light as fingertips, thimbled in gold, tapped a tinkling accompaniment on rows of gradated ceramic chimes. Never had he heard such exquisite sounds. The gentle persuasion of the interlacing melodies melted through the shell of his emotions and aroused a longing for something unknown, never experienced. He suppressed the response. He felt self-conscious and exposed. He closed his ears to the music and concentrated on the scene before him. The floor was terraced upward in several levels and against the far end, at the highest level, Queen Linifern held court. She sat in the typical fashion of bored royalty, surrounded by human stage dressing ready to appease her merest whim.

Felic was astonished by the lack of respect shown by Luvis to the matriarch. She ignored the usual protocol common to royal courts. She strode to the front of the throne with no curtsey, stating her business in plain, undecorated language.

"This one must die immediately," she demanded, pointing at Felic. "He killed my eunuch."

The queen was choosing from a platter of glazed pastries, and her answer was mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Stop that singing up there!" Luvis roared at the balconies. "How can I hear the Queen?"

The singing stopped. Luvis squared off before the throne. "Now...what did you say?"

The queen licked her fingertips and gave Luvis a withering look. "It's 'what did you say, your majesty'."

Luvis reddened. She stood stubbornly silent. The queen peered at her expectantly through puffed eyelids, unblinking.

There was a brief silent battle of wills before Luvis capitulated. "Your Majesty, this outland assassin has murdered my eunuch. I demand he be executed immediately!"

"You demand? You...you demand?" the matriarch sniffed and stiffened.

"Request, Your Majesty...request that he be summarily executed."

The queen's gaze softened and shifted to Felic. She examined him with growing interest—her gaze lingering on his warrior physique.

"He seems to have some...ah, redeeming features...possibly very useful."

"He is uncivilized...an intruder!"

The queen's attention remained on Felic, assessing his muscular frame. "Where is your land?" she finally asked.

Luvis shifted from foot to foot. When Felic failed to speak, she answered for him. "He is from beyond the ungoverned lands, Your Majesty."

The queen's eyes blazed. "We are addressing the prisoner!" She motioned for Luvis to move back from the platform. Turning back to Felic, she paused to belch and delicately swab her chins before continuing. "We would have your courteous reply, to our questions, otherwise we shall grant the Leader her request for an immediate execution."

Felic saw that she meant it. "I am from Southern Antillia, beyond the ungoverned lands. But my business is not here. I merely cross your domain to reach my destination to the north—Gamollia."

"And this wanton killing of the Leader's eunuch?"

Felic shrugged. "It was self defense, your highness."

Luvis snorted in the background, but held her silence.

The queen hummed and munched while she considered her decision. Several times she re-examined Felic's imposing sinews before pronouncing sentence. "Take him to the Temple of Conception." She suppressed a giggle. "In the spring, when the sun reaches the ecstasy stone, we shall all enjoy his loving humps."

Felic was marched off at spear point and Mystigan was brought forward to the throne."And our little friend, the wizard...something special...yes," she nodded gravely, "something very special must be arranged for you."

# Chapter Eight

THE TEMPLE of Conception was not as grandiose as the name might imply. Felic was forced ahead to a large central area where groups of men lounged in apparent boredom. His guards then retreated through the heavy doors, followed by the clang of the bar dropping into place.

He inventoried his surroundings—no beds or chairs. The light from a fireplace and various torches created a patchwork of shadows along the walls where reed sleeping mats hung from pegs. A long table, heavily constructed with trestle legs, was central. The ceiling was high. Close under the eaves, beyond reach, a row of windows let in the fresh night air. Some of the occupants were prone on furs, napping or gazing absently at their new comrade. Two sat cross-legged tossing game bones into the space between them. In some small groups some of the men, caressing each other, paused to look him up and down. Nobody spoke to him, which suited Felic fine. He was in no mood for conversation. A fountain bubbled in a far corner. The water splashed into a circular pool for bathing, then sluiced away to carry sewage from beneath a row of stone commode seats built against the wall.

He flopped down on some goatskins and pondered a plan of escape.

* * *

In the throne room the guards pushed Mystigan to his knees in front of the queen. While he squirmed, fearing his fate, she tapped her cheek with a chubby bejeweled finger, searching her memory for an appropriate sentence.

Mystigan peeked up from his humble crouch and saw Vayda. She was hiding behind a tapestry to one side of the throne dais. Her wan face and troubled eyes betrayed her feelings. Mystigan raised his head slightly and gave her a puckish wink. It was not a true reflection of the roiling gall that burned within. He had nothing to look forward to but death or torture.

"So...my foolish wizard, you thought to perform conceptual magic on my beautiful child Vayda," she paused, sniffed, and pinned him with a vicious stare, "and then you would run off like the despicable virgin burglar that you are!"

Mystigan hung his head.

"Look at me!" she screamed. "I have decided to give you the opportunity for a royal command performance. You have demonstrated your guile in picking locks and escaping cells. This time it will be a coffin! We shall look forward with anticipation to see if your skill finds an exit from that final container."

A titter fluttered down from the eunuchs above. The queen's coterie of throne ladies whispered to each other behind cupped hands.

"You should kill him," shouted Luvis, "cut off his balls and pickle them for Vayda's mantle."

"And you should hold your tongue before I cut it out and pickle it!", the queen yelled back. Her face flushed red and her eyes flicked cross-eyed. "Your vulgar boorish attitude is testing my patience. Perhaps we should fit you for a coffin, as well."

Luvis glared back, then curtsied in a feeble show of humility. "My apologies, your highness. I spoke without thinking."

A long silence ensued while the queen calmed her anger and regained her regal composure. Then she ordered Luvis to place Mystigan in a coffin, securely locked, in the town square. "I will want all to witness his miraculous escape," she announced, "and, should he manage that miracle, the consequences to follow will be castration and death." She rapped the butt of her scepter on the floor, indicating the audience was over.

Mystigan was escorted to the square and chained to a pillar while a coffin was prepared.

* * *

Felic was still contemplating an escape plan when his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of food. Guards entered with trays laden with meat, wine, fruits and flavored ices. They were accompanied by double their number in armored spear women. They arranged the victuals on the table with practiced efficiency, then left.

Felic had no appetite even though the roasted meat spread an inviting aroma. He watched as a man sliced off a portion and was astonished to see he was using a knife. He jumped up and approached him.

"Indulge me, sir. May I ask a favor...the use of your knife?"

"As you wish." He passed Felic the utensil, and continued eating.

It had a short blade, not designed as a weapon. Felic cut himself a slice of the roast and returned the knife to its owner. "As I am new here and unaccustomed to the routine of this place, perhaps you could explain how it is the guards allow you to have a knife."

The man smiled, "My name is Orthan...and you are?"

"Just call me Felic."

"Well, Felic, many of the men here have knives...probably all of them. Why do you ask?"

"With so many armed why do they not overpower the guards and escape?"

Ortho's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "Escape! Who in a state of sanity would want to do that?" He laughed so boisterously that it caught the attention of others. "This newcomer wants to know why we don't escape," he shouted. That brought the room to life with laughter and chatter. He turned back to Felic. "Only a moronic fool would want to escape paradise. You don't strike me as that."

Another older man with graying temples moved into the conversation. "Come now, Ortho, perhaps your friend hasn't been tutored on the delights of our temple, seeing it only as a prison." And to Felic, "My friend, I am Cegril. I think you will soon abandon your hope of escaping after a few days here. Here we enjoy the most idyllic life with the best of food and drink and the amorous attention of many loving ladies including beautiful young virgins. Some sects preach this is only available in the afterlife, as a reward for pious devotion. Here, death is not a prerequisite. We have it all now. And the alternative, as you must know by now, is castration."

"You see," Ortho interrupted, "for most of the days here we relax, eat and enjoy our wine. When the moon is full we bless the new virgins," he gave a sly wink for emphasis, "and service others who have earned the queen's favor. When the moon is new we are taken to the fields and quarries for hard labor to tone our muscles and bodies in the sunshine. But that is not like punishment. Mostly we are happy to spend the time outside. After that the delights of our temple are truly appreciated."

"And if you are here in the spring," Cegril chimed in, "it's a full-scale romping frolic. When the sun lights the ecstasy throne they all come pouring in here and your manhood will be strained to the limits." He rolled his eyes and threw up his hands.

"Then you don't resent your role here as breeding stock?" Felic queried.

"Does a ram resent the herder who supplies him with sheep?"

In the course of the day Felic found that the men were contented with their lot and couldn't conceive of a better life. They were the product of their culture and were mostly ignorant of a free life. He had to accept that fact.

As twilight darkened the chamber he took a mat from the wall and, with furs for comfort, he tried to succumb to sleep. But sleep was a coquettish nymph who stayed only long enough to tease. It was deep into the night before his mind quit going over the day's events and surrendered to slumber.

* * *

He was awakened by the gentle prodding of Orthan's foot in his ribs. "Time to rise, my friend. We will soon be taken to the fields or quarry. It is the new moon. Outside work today."

Felic thanked him and crossed the room, bleary-eyed, to the fountain pool. He shoved his face into the water and came up shaking the water from his hair. There was already food set out. His appetite was back and his belly demanding. He appeased the demand with a bowl of porridge and goat's milk, followed by a melon and peaches. He also tried the twisted loaves of honey bread, washed down with a flagon of mead.

Shortly the huge doors opened and the steel tread of the spear women echoed across the floor.

Luvis was in command. "Those of you who want field duty line up there. Those for the quarry over here." Her piercing glare settled on Felic. "You...you stay here. There are other plans for you this day."

The two columns were escorted out and the big doors banged shut. Alone, Felic felt a quick chill of dread, anticipating what the "other plan" might be. But his curiosity had to wait half the day before the doors reopened and two guards entered.

"You are to be honored by the Princess Vayda", one of them announced. "because of your superior physique she wishes to be mated with you in privacy. Please obey the princess and please her. If you fail, you will die." They stepped back and ushered in the princess; then, curtsying with servile deference, they backed out and closed the entrance.

Felic was hosting two opposing emotions. He was angered by this plan that required him to provide sexual service on demand, but at the same time he was awestruck by the beauty of the lovely princess. She was dressed in layers of diaphanous white mesh-like material that allowed the mysteries of her body to taunt his senses. A cape of rich green velvet, artfully embroidered with gold threads, hung from her shoulders.

She approached within a few feet and flashed a smile that conquered his anger. "You don't look ready for me. Do I displease you in some way?"

He was captivated by the sparkle in her eyes and the way the corners of her lips turned up in an impish, teasing smile. He fumbled for words, "I...I am...ah...of course you don't displease me. You are the lovely vision that Mystigan made you out to be. I am confused by your choosing me for mating instead of him. He is also your prisoner."

Her smile faded. "No, he's the queen's prisoner, not mine. If only he were mine," she sighed. "...but it's to help him that I come to you. Be at ease, it's not your manly prowess I desire. Perhaps we can help each other." She threw back her cape, revealing his treasured sword.

"Here...take it," she offered it to him. "Hide it under furs until the time is right, then use it to rescue Mystigan, my true love."

Felic was dumbfounded. "As you can see, I am caught off guard. Am I to be part of a plan?"

"You'll have to make your own plan. I won't be involved, nor will you see me again."

"So you would have me battle my way out of here through the guards, then fight my way from place to place looking for Mystigan's prison?" Felic challenged. "Wouldn't it be simpler to smuggle him the means to pick the lock on his cell?"

"That's the awful part." Her voice broke and tears welled up. "He has been locked in a coffin and placed in the square. The sun makes it an oven. I don't know how he has survived but there is movement noises coming from inside, so I know it's not too late."

Felic gripped her shoulders and spoke with confidence. "You've offered a good trade, princess. This sword is as precious to me as Mystigan is to you. I will get him out and take him safely away. Sleep easy tonight. He will be back in your future. It is destined."

Comforted by his strength, Vayda gave him a look of trust. "Thank you...I'll be ever in your debt." She pulled the cape around her and sat down. "I must tarry here a bit...for the benefit of the guards, you know."

Felic laughed. "Indeed. Shall we make some passionate noises so they can gossip about your encounter?"

Vayda took him seriously, "I wouldn't know what kind of noises to make. I've never been blessed in this temple."

# Chapter Nine

AS THE SUN touched the horizon the work gangs returned. A feast was laid out and they attacked it with enthusiasm. Felic approached Orthan after the meal and begged the use of his knife.

"I am going to leave you tonight, when the others are asleep. I will need your help if you are willing."

"What?...Are you going to fly like a bird through one of those windows?"

"I have a plan. I'll awaken you after dark."

"All right, my friend. Here's my knife. An escapee from paradise." He smiled. "Very droll. You'll be the conversation topic tomorrow."

When all were sleeping and the fireplace only contained glowing coals, the light in the chamber was reduced to one cresset flickering above the fountain. Felic arose and went to work with the knife. He slit several furs into long strips and tied them into a rope. Then he waited until the others were sound asleep and snoring. He crept to Orthan's side and gently shook him.

"I'm awake," Orthan murmured.

Felic guided him to his sleeping pad beneath one of the open windows. He pulled his sword and the makeshift rope from under the furs. Orthan gasped in surprise at the sight of the sword, and Felic quickly placed his hand on his mouth to stifle an outcry.

"How did you get that?" Orthan whispered.

"I have a friend in the guards who smuggled it in," Felic lied. "What I want is to stand on your shoulders."

Orthan knelt down and Felic climbed on, bracing himself against the wall while Orthan stood up. He had the rope tied to the hilt of his sword. At full height he was able to extend the sword by the blade and hook the quillon of the guard onto the windowsill. After determining it was securely placed, he muscled his way up the wall until he could grip the window ledge. He slung one leg over the sill. Gathering up rope and sword, he waved a friendly farewell to Orthan.

Below there was no sign of life in the village square. He used the sword and fur rope to lower himself to the street. Then, with a swing of the makeshift rope, he brought the sword down off the ledge, catching it deftly by the hilt before it hit the ground.

The street was shrouded in mist, and the moon, in its new phase, offered no light. Only the haloed glow from a single torch across the square illuminated the spectral gloom. He wrapped lengths of the fur rope around his sandals so that the rivets in the soles wouldn't clatter on the cobblestones. Then he crept across the square to the coffin. He knocked lightly on the wood expecting a response but there was none. He tried again, louder, but still nothing. Then he smelled death. It was too late. The magician's body was decomposing in that sun-baked oven. As he circled the coffin the odor of moldering putridity was overpowering on the downwind side.

He coughed and cursed Queen Linifern and all her matriarchal mélange but there was nothing more to be done. He quietly slipped out of the village and made his way through the fields. When the sun came up he was well into the wooded foothills above the valley of Fernilin. His path followed a swift flowing creek and led through a narrow defile. Alert to the potential for an ambush ahead, he proceeded with caution.

His instincts proved right. Rounding a blind corner of the path he was confronted by three begrimed wretches, dressed in rags and armed with clubs and knives.

"Hello, friends," he greeted them, "out for a morning stroll? It is very good for your health to get out and exercise on such a beautiful morning."

"It won't be good for your health unless you hand over your purse," growled the smallest of the three. Felic realized that it was a woman, a bony hag well disguised by dirt and rags. She shook her knife at him with a threatening leer.

"So it's not your health but my gold that brings you out so bright and early. As you can see, I'm not carrying a purse. But I do have this." He unslung his sword from behind his back and held it out toward them, smiling.

The sight of the burnished steel changed the menacing expressions to consternation. They backed away stammering and apologizing. "Sorry...sorry...thought you were another. No harm intended." They fled into the woods like startled quail.

By mid-day Felic had crossed the Varondel River. Beyond the river and another mountain range were the barbarian lands of the Gamollian tribes, a loose federation of vandals and reavers.

# Chapter Ten

CHESSA ROUSED herself from a restful sleep. Her infant daughter, Anchessa, had slept through the night without demanding attention. Now she was making the first whimpering sounds that said, "I'm wet, hungry and uncomfortable."

Chessa slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Antelo. She picked Anchessa from her crib."Shh...little one. We mustn't disturb Antelo. He's the big chief now. We don't live in the village of Sinnihun anymore. On this beautiful sunny morning we awake in the village of Antelo." She ministered to the baby's needs, then took her outside to breast feed her on a bench by the cabin door.

Felic watched from concealment.

He had crossed Gamollia without incident, avoiding the inland villages. Once on the coast it was not hard to locate Gamolliat. He reconnoitered the area, realizing he had no real plan now that he had arrived. One thing was certain. He would wreak a bloody apocalypse for the death of Chessa.

From the underbrush on the hillside above Antelo's cabin he watched a young mother bring her infant outside and nestle the child against her breast for feeding. Morning birds were exchanging chittering messages and the sun, barely above the coastal ridge, was already warming the air. It was a peaceful scene. It was not what he had expected. He had envisioned a bloodthirsty charge into a camp of drunken buffoons that he would surprise and mow down with his great sword, harvesting them like grain in the field.

As he watched the young mother she raised her head and looked out to sea. He stifled a gasp of surprise. It was Chessa! His mind reeled. His thoughts fractured with conflicting questions. She was alive, but was she happy? She looked happy. She had a baby...did she have a husband? Could he kill her husband? How could that help? Did she need him now? Would she blame him for failing to protect her during that beach raid by these Gamollians? As he struggled with the mental controversy, he watched her humming softly to the child. It was a portrait of pastoral contentment.

The only thing he was sure of was the surge of love that seeing her invoked in his heart. For a long while he hid and watched, torn apart by contrary emotions, trying to reconcile this new reality with his passion for vengeance. The desire for revenge slowly died within him. Finally he moved stealthily away to leave Gamollia and begin a new phase of life.

# Chapter Eleven

QUEEN GWENAY, deposed ruler of Dagra, had reason to be content. She had recovered the lost gem of the Qalandor of N'olla and restored it to its full mysterious power. As long as it was in her possession she would be immortal--forever a youthful beauty. But being the queen of a conclave of dwarves in the isolated Calix volcanic caldera, rankled her.

"You are the rightful ruler of Dagra," she would tell her mirror image, and repeat, emphasizing each word, "You are the rightful queen of the Dagrans!"

After she and Felic returned to Calix with the lost gem, the completed Qalandor cured her eyes, blinded by the venom that Stet-Arnak had administered. She had a deep, bitter hatred of the priest. She had nursed Felic back from near death. Only scars remained to attest to his fierce one-sided battle with the Gamollian raiders.

Gwenay thought that, with Chessa dead, Felic would show some romantic interest in her. But his mind was only on revenge. She managed to seduce him to her bed, but he was a mechanical lover. If she regained the Dagran throne she would ask him to marry her and become the Prince consort. But she knew she could not win his heart until he had cleansed his soul of vengeance. So she had her armorers make him a sword of Calixian steel, a weapon that would never be inferior to that of any adversary. He left for Gamollia, bent on revenge, with her blessing.

The dwarves of Calix adored her--Tword most of all. He entered the throne room with his bandy-legged gait and stood silently before her. He was chewing his crested nightshade, looking side-to-side for a place to spit his gob.

Gwenay watched his gray beard waggle with amusement. "Go outside and get rid of it," she said with a straight face.

When he came back in he held out a scroll. "My queen...this...for you."

"Thank you, Tword. Where did you get it?"

"Man in outerland. He say, give to your queen. I give to my queen."

Gwenay broke the seal on the scroll, noting it was from the Valistian court. She unrolled it and studied it for a few moments.

"Tword, this is an offer from King Valis. War with Dagra is in the offing. He will trade gold for weapons--swords and pikes. His people don't have the smithing skills ours do. What do you say to that?"

"We need gold, my queen. We will soon need grain and food from the valley women."

Gwenay knew he referred to the traders from Fernilin. Calix did not provide much other than venison and berries. "Then I'll give him my answer. Is his messenger waiting beyond the tunnels?"

Tword nodded.

Gwenay prepared her answer, sealing her own scroll with the Calixian imprint. She looked at it and scowled. It should be the Dagran seal, she thought, then handed it to Tword. "On your way, my brave man."

Tword beamed at the compliment, then waddled out.

Gwenay considered the coming war between Valistia and Dagra carefully. Perhaps it was an opportune time. Maybe she could benefit from their war. She was roused from deep thought when the dwarf returned.

"King Valis is too old," she said. She was not really talking to Tword. She just needed a listening post. "It would be of great advantage to me if he could defeat the Dagrans. I could use our alliance to regain the throne of Dagra. I need to manipulate this situation so that he feels indebted to me for more than just swords and pikes. I could refuse payment of the gold and make the arms a present."

Tword interrupted her soliloquy. "Not good. Need gold. Need food. Please my queen, our steel no trade for nothing!"

She looked at him, surprised by the outburst. "Oh, Tword...you are right, of course. I was just thinking out loud. We will take the gold."

She rose and walked to the window. "I wish Felic were back. He might...." She whirled to face Tword with her hands clasped under her chin, arms akimbo. She smiled. "Felic is the answer! King Valis needs a warrior to lead his troops. Felic can be that leader!"

She prepared another scroll to propose his service and gave it to Tword. "You must take this to King Valis. Leave today. Be quick!" She shooed him out the door and watched as he trotted up the hillside to the exit tunnel.

# Chapter Twelve

TRAVELING SOUTH through Gamollia and the valley of Fernilin, two mortal enemies on parallel paths were unaware of one another. The paths of Felic and Bargonast were not destined to cross at this time and both arrived at their destinations without incident--Felic to Calix and Bargonast to Valistia.

As Felic made his way up through the talus toward the hidden entrance to Calix, Tword, the queen's usual contact with outsiders, appeared to greet him. And from Tword a grunt and a piercing look from beneath bushy eyebrows was all that was offered as a welcome.

Felic was not put off and asked jovially, "Tword, my old friend, how have you been?" But all he got in return was another grunt and a look that said "why should you know".

They made their way through the secret entrance to the mountain stronghold, a narrow passage, tunneled through the rock, to accommodate the dwarves. Felic crouched along behind, bent to keep his head from hitting the rocks overhead. He was relieved to see the heavy ironbound door ahead. Tword beat a signal on the wood with a rock hanging from a lanyard. The answer came in a quick series of knocks. Tword gave the countersign with his rock and the door was opened.

Felic stepped into the sunlight of the ancient crater, took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, scented with cedar, and stretched the crick out of his back. The Queendom of Calix was locked in a giant caldera, a huge cup surrounded by impregnable peaks and crags that held rich deposits of metals and jewels. The little lake in the center was deceptively pretty and inviting. "Please tell Queen Gwenay I am here," He told Tword, then walked to a patch of grass by the lake where he sat and relaxed to await her summons.

But shortly, instead of sending for him, she came in person. She approached along the shore with the polished hauteur befitting her office. Her graceful walk accented the voluptuous curves of her body and her provocative raiment left little to the imagination. The slight smirk on her beautiful lips revealed the conquest she had in mind--not of Dagra, but of this stalwart warrior who had previously shunned her advances.

Felic rose to greet her.

"Felic...how well you look," she stroked his cheek. Her perfume was a delicate aura enfolding them. "I was expecting to see a bloodied and battered warrior, ravaged by Gamollian steel. Did you wreak the revenge you sought?"

"No."

"The fires of vengeance went out?" she asked.

"I have better things to do," he growled, uncomfortable with the subject.

"Good." She offered her hand. "Get up and come with me. I'll assist you in doing those 'better' things." She paused. "Better yet. Stay there. I'll sit beside you. The day is pleasant and it's more cheerful here, than there." She waved in the direction of her cavern palace. "Give me your hand." He helped her take a seat beside him, but she never let go of his hand.

Before he went to Gamollia he would have been uncomfortable with the intimacy but now he didn't care. Gwenay used all her feminine arsenal to arouse him, even as they talked seriously of coming plans.

"My dwarves have kept the anvils ringing since you've been gone," she told him while lightly stroking his muscular thigh. "War with Dagra is coming. I may be able to retake the throne that the Dag Arnak priesthood gave to their puppet, King Cot, when Jult and I were forced to flee. I have made an alliance with King Valis. His country is the target of the Dagran expansion."

"Dwarves against Dagran soldiers!" Felic's eyebrows rose.

"No, no...we are supplying our good steel weapons. The Valistians will do the fighting but they lack leadership."

"And that's where I get involved," Felic guessed.

"Yes. I want you to take charge of the forces King Valis has mustered. He will pay you well, and if I win back the throne of Dagra I will give you the pick of ships in the Dagran fleet. You will have a deck beneath your feet again."

"You are the clever one, my dear Gwenay. You know I'd rather be at sea than be the richest landlubber." He smiled at her for the first time since they met. "I can't resist that offer."

She threw her arms around him. "And I hope you can't resist me. I want to give you the royal pleasures that only a queen can offer." She jumped up. "Come. We'll feast and then I shall make sure you have a delightful and exquisite night. In the morning you must leave for Valistia."

# Chapter Thirteen

THE ROAD to Isha-Valis, the capitol of Valistia, was bustling with the preparations of war. Bargonast threaded his way past dwarves from Calix bent under heavy packs of weaponry. Drovers cracked their whips over oxen hauling stone-laden drays. Two-wheeled handcarts, piled high with bags of grain and baskets of produce, crowded the road. It was apparent to Bargonast that King Valis was preparing Isha-Valis for a siege. As he neared the city walls he saw that masons were filling in the arch of the main gate with a heavy stonewall. The traffic, other than the stone drays, was diverted to the northern river gate. That smaller entrance was on the bank of the River Kald and access was by way of a wooden bridge.

A ragged group of army conscripts were being drilled in an open field by the bridge. They yelled and banged away at each other enthusiastically with wooden swords, shields and pikes. Others practiced archery. Bargonast shook his head. "A sorry lot," he muttered to no one in particular. "the Dagrans will wipe their asses with that paltry bunch."

Isha-Valis was known as the City of Seven Towers. Unfortunately only one of the seven was situated strategically. The other six were built too far from the walls to be of any defensive use. They were designed for beauty, each competing in frivolous and whimsical ornamentation. Four of the towers were connected by aesthetic arched footbridges that dramatically spanned the distance between them, situated at different levels. Flowering vines festooned along the lofty walkways to create a garden in the sky. The largest tower stood sentinel over the royal palace.

Bargonast edged through the busy market street and strode beneath its shadow to the elegant portals where guards blocked his path.

"I am the king's emissary," he announced, holding forth the symbol of his office which hung from his neck. "Step aside and take me to him."

The officer of the guard checked his amulet then pulled a bell cord by the doors. The palace chamberlain appeared and motioned for Bargonast to follow. He escorted him, not to the throne room, as expected, but to a small library. King Valis was examining a map of the city spread out on the desk. His white hair, back-lit by the window, made a snowy halo around his head, framing a lined face accented by worry. A young officer was briefing him on engineering details. The king looked up and motioned Bargonast to a chair, then returned his attention to the officer's words.

"With the main gate walled-in and the bridge burned we'll be in the best defensive stance available." The officer's voice was tinged with doubt. "But the troops lack experienced leadership. I must advise your Excellency that Prince Elfrand has had little success in their training."

King Valis snorted. "You don't have to use circumlocutions with me. The only way the prince could lead men is if they all played flutes! If only I were thirty years younger I would...," He banged the desk for emphasis and then his anger drained away leaving a wistful expression, "...but I'm not." He gave the officer a sharp glance, daring him to agree. "Queen Gwenay has promised to supply me with a mighty warrior to command our forces and he must arrive soon, else we will fall." He gestured toward the door. "Get back to your work squads. Drive them harder. The Dagran army is amassing on the border...our days of preparation are dwindling away."

The officer bowed and left. The king focused on Bargonast. "And you...have you brought good news?"

"I have, Excellency. The Gamollians will join us."

"And at what price, this alliance?"

"I followed your suggestion, Excellency. I offered two hundred druacs per man and one thousand for each tribal chief. They accepted that."

"And this arrangement was made with Sinnihun?"

"Unfortunately, Sinnihun was killed the night I arrived in his village. The Dag Arnak sent a raiding party to burn their war canoes. Someone must have anticipated my mission. Perhaps you have a traitor in the palace. But the warrior who replaced Sinnihun as chief is a strong leader. The Gamollians will follow him. His name is Antelo. He will martial the tribes and bring them by sea to the Great South Bay."

King Valis looked sharply up. "But they can't be here in time to defend the city! Of what use..."

"But they can disrupt the siege with a flank attack and they are ferocious fighters. I saw their battle lust in the skirmish against the raiding party."

The king didn't answer, but stared right through Bargonast without blinking for several moments. Then he pulled a bell cord near the desk. The chamberlain entered.

"Bring the royal coffer," the king ordered.

The man left and returned shortly with an ornate jeweled chest that he placed on the desk with a weighty "clomp". Then he backed out, bowing, leaving the two of them.

Bargonast licked his lips in anticipation as the king opened the chest and took out a velvet bag of coins. He opened the bag, spilled the contents on the desk, and absently counted through them. Satisfied, he put them back in the bag. "You have carried out your mission as planned," he handed over the gold, "and now I have need for your further service." His eyes transfixed Bargonast from beneath bushy white brows. "You must still have comrades in the Dagran army that you can seek out. You will cross the border and bring me back information on the invasion forces. In return there will be more gold waiting."

Bargonast bowed solemnly in assent, not revealing his inward amusement. He backed out of the library pleased with his genius for duping kings as easily as peasants.

# Chapter Fourteen

BARGONAST knew he would have to find a way to meet Stet-Arnak alone if his plans were to succeed. He was an expatriate of Dagra after he murdered one of the priesthood in a drunken rage. The Dagran priesthood was the power behind the puppet King Cot. Stet-Arnak was the power behind the priesthood, and Stet-Arnak wanted him drawn and quartered with his head placed on a high pole for the ravens to enjoy.

Now that he had crossed into Dagran territory he had to be watchful and avoid patrols. He was a legend in Dagra, known by all as the giant warrior who was a priest-bane. His massive size and strength and his braided black beard would attract unwanted attention. He made his way into the interior, cautiously keeping off the main paths and staying within the forests. When night fell he blundered forward guided only by the moonlight filtering through the trees. But the urge for a hot meal and a bed overcame his better judgment and he decided to stop at a country inn for the night.

He followed the next road he came to, knowing it would lead to some sort of accommodations at the next crossroad. His instinct was correct. He saw lights ahead and came to a rude stone building with a weathered sign touting it to be the Regal Inn. There was a murmur of activity within, punctuated occasionally with a guttural laugh or a feminine squeal. He peered through a dirty window and saw no soldiers. He opened the door and was hit by the humid heat of the room and the smell of stale ale.

For a moment the social buzz of the room went silent. All eyes turned to him. The regular patrons were always curious about strangers. This black-bearded warrior looked like trouble to be avoided, and they turned back to their conversations, but in a quieter mode. Bargonast took a seat at an empty table. A woman of ample proportions came to wait on him. She leaned far over the table to take his order, far enough to let him see deep into her cleavage.

"I need a bed, food and ale," he told her.

"There is a room upstairs. Do you want your food and ale here or brought up to the room?"

Bargonast could see by her expression that she would willingly supply more personal services.

"I'll eat in the room. How much?"

"Three druacs for all, but if you want me to keep you company for a bit, it will be five." She accentuated the offer with a saucy wink.

Bargonast sized her up and down and then laid out five druacs.

She escorted him to his room and soon came back with a tray of food and two tankards. He wolfed down the food and finished off the ale. She was looking better to him with every gulp. They were soon in bed, humping and sweating. After the climax of their erotic grappling they both fell asleep.

He was jarred awake by a screech from the lump beside him. Before his eyes could focus in the dawn light, he felt the sting of a sword point at his neck. The bed was surrounded by Dagran soldiers.

"Get out of here, woman!" the man holding the sword to his neck snarled at her. She stumbled frantically toward the door dragging the coverlet around her as though her nakedness was something precious.

Bargonast, now naked and totally exposed, was infuriated by the snickers and grins of the soldiers. With lightning speed he grasped the edge of the ticking beneath him. Rolling away from the sword's point he brought the ticking up as a shield. Straw and goose feathers flew as the squad leader's sword jabbed and slashed at him. He caught the troopers on the other side of the bed by surprise and shoved them sprawling. His clothes and gear were heaped in the corner. He grabbed Battle Flasher, his Calixian sword. There was no time to unsheathe it. The leader, a ventrant, was walking over the bed swinging his weapon. Bargonast parried the blow with his sword still in the scabbard. On the reverse swing he hit the man's sallet with all his prodigious strength. The man staggered under the ferocity of the blow and lost his balance on the webbed ropes that served as bed springs. He fell backwards. Now, with the bed between them, Bargonast had a chance to unsheathe his blade. The two soldiers he had knocked aside were up and hesitating. They didn't like the look of this naked giant and his impressive weapon.

The ventrant recovered and cursed them forward. Soon a forest of slashing blades surrounded Bargonast. He let out a bizarre battle yell and attacked. The room shook from the stomping feet and dust rose from the floorboards. The clang of steel on steel and the glissade of tempered blades created a percussive song of death. He felt the crunch of muscle and bone as Battle Flasher found a target. Blood spouted over his hands and down his naked body. He jerked the sword clear, parried two other blades and rammed his sword into the ribs of the closest man. A chorus of screams joined the percussion section to complete the deadly symphony.

The others, having taken the measure of their enemy, began backing toward the door. Their offense changed to defense and soon turned into a rout. They pushed and shoved to be the first out of the room and down the stairs.

The carnage left the room smelling of blood. Dust motes swirled in a shaft of morning sunlight and wisps of goose down wafted in a breeze through the window. One Dagran was dead in a scarlet mix of feathers and gore. The other slumped in a corner moaning. Blood seeped through his fingers where he clutched his wounded arm. He looked in wide-eyed terror at Bargonast, expecting the coup de grace.

Bargonast picked up the weapons that had been dropped and threw them out of the window. "You are not going to die yet," he offered the soldier. "Just shut your mouth and stay in the corner." He picked up his clothes, shook the feathers and straw off, and got dressed. "You'll take a message to that fat pig Stet-Arnak. Tell him I have valuable information for him. Things he would very much like to hear. Tell him I want to meet him alone, and to bring a heavy bag of gold. Tell him he won't regret it."

Bargonast looked for some response from the terrifed soldier. "Do you understand? Or shall I just kill you."

The soldier snapped out of his stupor and nodded vigorously.

"Tell him I'll meet him on the Isle of Cedars tomorrow at mid-day. Alone!' He hurled the word with a snarl.

Bargonast went to the window. The other Dagran troopers were already down the road, almost out of sight. He uttered an amused grunt and walked to the door. "I'll have the innkeeper's slut bandage your wound so you won't die on me." He made the cringing Dagran repeat his message and then he was gone.

# Chapter Fifteen

BARGONAST reached Seaskal the next morning after traveling at night to avoid patrols. He stayed to the back streets and reached the waterfront docks unseen by any of the local garrison. It didn't take long to find a lonely rowboat with the oars still in it. By mid-morning he was pulling into a little inlet on the landward side of the Isle of Cedars. He dragged the boat up on the beach and then climbed to a small promontory where he could watch for Stet-Arnak's arrival.

Before the sun reached zenith he saw a boat with a lone person leaving the docks. As it neared he got more and more amused at the sight of Stet-Arnak sweating and cursing at the oars. His rowing skills were lubberly and uncoordinated. There wasn't much of a surf on the beach but the priest let his boat get sideways and it rolled him onto the sand in the shallows. He crawled clumsily out of the water looking like a giant crab with sand clinging to his wet robes. He got to a driftwood stump where he could pull his obesity upright. He was livid and mortified by his humiliating arrival.

"Bargonast, you damned insufferable blackguard," he shouted, "where are you? Show yourself!"

Bargonast came out of the bushes with a huge grin separating his black, braided beard. His boisterous laugh scared the seagulls off the beach. "When you become the king of Dagra...which I'm sure is your ambition...you will not need a jester. You'll be able to amuse your court all by yourself."

"I'm not here to amuse you." the priest answered with a string of profanity. "Don't try anything stupid. My troops have orders to follow me if I'm not seen returning within a certain time, they will hunt you down. Your little rowboat won't be much help then." He smirked and recovered his dignity. "Tell me this so-called valuable information you purport to have."

"Have you brought enough gold to pay for it?"

"Far more than you deserve!"

"Spread it out there on the driftwood. I'll decide."

The priest pulled a pouch from his belt and emptied its glittering coins for inspection.

Bargonast licked his lips at the sight. "Excellent. Your generosity surprises me. Much better than I expected."

"Then get on with it. Tell me whatever it is that you think is worth this purse."

"I was in the Gamollian village when your raiders attacked and I saw someone I know you are interested in." He paused for effect. "...your long lost bride, Princess Chessa."

"You are certain?" The priest's eyes glittered with interest.

"I am certain."

"Too bad that bunch of thieves is her protection." Stet-Arnak gnawed at his knuckles. "They repulsed my raiders. I will have to send a larger force to capture her."

"I don't think so. She lives in a cabin above the village. Most of the village's fighting men will be off campaigning for King Valis so you could easily capture her with a few soldiers."

Stet-Arnak's eyes lit up. "Yes...yes, that is good information." He momentarily fantasized on having Chessa's lithesome body in his bed. "Wait...what's this about King Valis? What else can you tell me?"

"I am presently in the employ of that doddering old fool. As his emissary I negotiated the alliance between Valistia and the Gamollians. They plan to land their war canoes at the Great South Bay and attack your flank from the south. I have the confidence of his son, Prince Elfrand, who would have me as his lover if he could. He shares his most tender thoughts." Bargonast grinned lasciviously and went on.

"They have walled up the main gate of Isha-Valis and think that the river will protect the northern gate. There is no defensive tower on that gate. They plan to burn the bridge that blocks the river there. So if you sent a siege tower up the river on a barge, it could anchor in a perfect position in front of the gate. Your archers could shoot down into the city."

Bargonast started picking up the coins.

"Is that all?" the priest asked.

"What more do you want? I've given you the princess and Valistia. A good bargain for this amount of gold, I'd wager."

Stet-Arnak grunted. "Well then, help me get that cursed rowboat into the water."

"Hah...that wasn't part of the agreement," Bargonast sneered. And, snatching up the gold, he pulled his own boat to the water and shoved off, leaving the priest to manage on his own.

Bargonast was already ashore and on his way back to Valistia by the time the priest was able to launch his boat and splash clumsily into the channel. Halfway back, Stet-Arnak was met by the galley of troops he had organized to capture Bargonast.

"Turn around. You are too late!"

The helmsman swung the tiller and the galley started to turn.

"Stop! You imbeciles. Not before you take me on board!" Now his ulcer was stabbing little jolts of pain. His anger and frustration had set it off. The galley swung back to get him aboard. "Why are you late?" he demanded of the centrant commander. "You have failed me! Why am I surrounded by idiots!"

"Your Excellency, you ordered us not to cast off until we saw you in the channel," the officer stammered.

"You are a fool. You don't have the brains to lead men!" Stet-Arnak continued to berate him all the way back to the docks while the officer silently endured his wrath. Once ashore the priest lost no time organizing a force to go by galley to the Gamollian village and capture Chessa.

"I will be going with you. Pick the fastest galley and the strongest men for the oars," he told the centrant chosen for the raid.

"You are going, too, Your Excellency?" the officer registered surprise. "Won't this delay the invasion of Valistia?"

"That is none of your concern. Prepare your men! We will cast off as soon as possible."

# Chapter Sixteen

CHESSA TRIED to comfort her baby Anchessa, walking to and fro, rocking her gently. Colic made the infant cry for relief all through the night. Now, with the sun up, the wailing filled the cabin and Chessa was exhausted from lack of sleep. If only Antelo were here, she thought. She had watched him and his force of combined tribes paddle their mighty war canoes off to the southern war.

Chessa was not aware of the commotion in the village. Their cabin was isolated on the hillside among giant cedar trees. Women, children, old men and cripples were abandoning their huts down below scurrying to the woods. Someone spread the alarm that a Dagran galley was approaching. But no one warned Chessa and Anchessa's crying masked the hubbub of the exodus.

As soon as the bow stem touched the rocky bottom near the shoreline Dagran soldiers started jumping off the foredeck into the shallow water. Stet-Arnak was too corpulent to jump. He had himself lowered onto the shoulders of a pair of men where he balanced precariously. They struggled through the waste-deep water as he clawed at their iron basinets for support. Their arrival on shore was more like a court jester routine than an invasion. The priest's robes were bunched in back and his fat white legs waved wildly in front. The two soldiers staggered under his weight, their helmets askew.

"Down! Down, you idiots!" he screamed. They tried to comply gracefully but his impatient squirming sent them all into a heap. It was a comic scene but the troops, standing by for orders, choked back any laughs or smiles and gazed nonchalantly in other directions.

"Well...don't stand around. Search the huts," he shrugged off his humiliation. "Bring all the young women here for my inspection."

The troops went from hut to hut finding no one. But the sound of a baby crying led them to the secluded cabin on the hillside. Chessa was taken forcibly out the door and down to the waiting priest. She fought against them all the way down the hill but her efforts to wring free were hampered by the baby in her arms. Anchessa sensed her mother's fear and screamed even louder.

Chessa was overwhelmed with revulsion when they dragged her face to face with Stet-Arnak. Her first thought was, "If only Felic were here he would kill this loathsome swine." Then she felt ashamed that Antelo hadn't been the hero of her thoughts. She couldn't abandon her love for Felic. He was dead. The vision of his mangled bloodied body crumpled on the beach flashed in her memory. She just wouldn't accept it. She stood wide-eyed and trembling before the priest.

The officer of the troop presented her. "It seems the people here have all run off to hide in the woods, Excellency. This is the only one we could find. I will send men out to beat the bushes and bring you more."

The priest was quivering with pleasure at the sight of his coveted princess. "There's no need for that. We'll embark. This little pigeon is the bird I'm after." He came forward and pinched her face to a pucker with his hand. "Now, my sweet little bride-to-be, our destinies have finally joined us. Just as the gods of the Dag-Arnak intended."

She spat in his face.

Stet-Arnak snarled. "Take her aboard. Leave that squalling brat on the beach."

Chessa fought desperately to hold on to Anchessa but the soldiers forced her arms apart and left the baby crying on the rocks. She felt an unbearable burst of hurt in her heart and she swooned.

When she came to she found herself on the galley's afterdeck. The billowing sail was pushing them south. She looked back at the beach and Anchessa was there, crawling pitifully toward her, her crying heard clearly across the open water. The sound was a hot iron on her chest and she blacked out again.

As the Dagran galley faded in the distance, the villagers came out of the forest. A concerned mother ran to the beach and cradled the crying Anchessa in her arms.

* * *

Stet-Arnak was not going to let his prize escape a third time. He put her in a basement cell with no windows. A jailer stood guard day and night. There she would stay until proper arrangements for a grand wedding were finalized.

Chessa didn't care. Being torn away from her baby was far worse than anything else she had endured. She was numb with grief and huddled on one of the two stone benches, tortured by visions of Anchessa alone and motherless. When the priest came to check on her, she didn't look up or speak.

"What's this?" he asked, noticing her untouched food. "You must eat. You are already too thin for my taste. I'll have you fattened up by the time we are wed." He paused. "Unfortunately you will have to live in this hole until a ceremony befitting a princess can be arranged. That will have to be delayed until after I take over Valistia. Isha-Valis, with its towers and gardens will make a beautiful setting for our wedding and the palace there will be your new home."

He walked to her side and tried to run his fingers through her hair, but it was tangled and matted. "My, my...I will have the guards bring you water for bathing. You will find I'm a very kind-hearted and generous husband. You will have the finest robes and jewelry. You will need to resign yourself to the future with our destinies entwined. Then you will grow to love me as do the citizens of Dagra."

She didn't respond to his litany, but neither did she pull away from his touch. Stet-Arnak was encouraged. "You'll be fine, my love. Just give it some time and eat; you must eat." He gave her a parting pat on the head and left.

Chessa had been oblivious to his touch and the entire conversation. She was in a black place surrounded by walls of sorrow.

# Chapter Seventeen

FELIC LEFT CALIX and the passionate bed of Queen Gwenay behind. He didn't want a chance meeting with a Dagran patrol so he bypassed the short route to Valistia through Dagra and set his course to the east and the barren high plateau of Domsus. It was an area used by a few scattered nomads who survived somehow on an occasional antelope or patch of edible roots. The standing joke was that anyone could live there if they learned to eat rocks and vultures.

By mid afternoon he reached the Dunes of Domsus, a sandy desert stretching to distant hills that marked a day's journey to the boundary of Valistia. Trudging through the loose sand was sweaty, tiring work. He was relieved to see a small oasis ahead where he could replenish his water bag.

The wind came up and blew sand around his legs as he entered the gnarled growth that circled the pool. Leaves rustled in the trees and breeze ripples spread across the water. He knelt at the water's edge and splashed his face and body, shoving his head underwater to wet his hair. When he rose up he heard a mélange of little voices all yelling something at the same time. He turned to see a large saber-toothed boar lurching toward him from a thicket. He stumbled back into the water in retreat. But the pool was shallow. It never reached his knees. The boar hesitated at the water's edge for only a moment before continuing his charge. That moment gave Felic an opportunity to unsheathe his sword. He splashed his way to the opposite bank and got behind a tree with the boar on his heels. Using the tree as a shield, he kept it between him and the snarling animal while he jabbed and slashed at it. It was stubbornly intent on attacking and seemed impervious to the bloody gashes Felic inflicted. Circling the tree, Felic was not able to deliver a decisive blow. He took a chance and stepped into the open. As the boar leaped toward him Felic swung his mighty blade with all the force he could muster. He caught the boar beneath the jaw, almost severing the head. The animal slammed into him. He was caught beneath it until it finally quit squirming and bellowing in death throes. He pushed it off and got up. He was covered with blood and not sure if it was the boar's or his own. He leaned against the tree and checked himself but found no wounds.

The voices that had warned him were now chattering with excitement from somewhere above. He looked into the tree branches. The wind and the rustling leaves made the sounds come from everywhere and nowhere. Then he saw movement and watched in amazement as three children climbed out of the upper branches. They were dressed in rags, children of nomads. They squatted side-by-side on a branch just above him and all talked at once, pointing to the thicket from where the boar had charged. Their language was strangely accented. With all of them talking at once, Felic was not getting their message.

Mindful that there might be a second boar in the thicket, he circled the pool to investigate. He stopped and listened for some sound ahead. Then, hearing nothing unusual, he went ahead and came upon a grisly sight. The body of a nomad woman, mangled and partially eaten by the boar, lay crumpled in a hollow of blood-soaked sand. It was obvious that the mother of the children had sacrificed herself in order to get her offspring into the branches. Felic didn't want them to see the body. He scooped sand into the hollow until she was completely covered.

When he emerged from the thicket the kids were down from the tree, standing silently, looking lost and bewildered. Felic knew he was a scary sight. He took time to wash the blood and gore from his face and body and to clean his sword before going to them.

"Your mother is dead. The boar killed her," he said. "Do you understand me?"

The oldest was no more than five or six. They all nodded. There were no tears. Death was no stranger in the society of the Domsus.

Felic was perplexed by their lack of emotion. They seemed to have trust in whatever the future held.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

Again they all nodded. Now there was a spark of anticipation in their eyes.

"Gather some fire wood. This ugly beast will fill our bellies."

They picked up what fuel was to be found around the pool. They were not going to lose sight of him. They brought their small armfuls to him, insufficient for an adequate fire. "You all stay by this tree and climb up in it if you hear anything," he told them. "I'll go find some branches." They obediently went to stand silently beneath the tree that had been their refuge.

As Felic scoured the glade for fuel he came across the two halves of a broken spear. He added them to his bundle and went back to the pool. He dropped the firewood along with the broken spear and got tinder and flint from his pouch. When the children, all boys he finally realized, saw the spear they started chattering again.

"Quiet!" Felic ordered. "One at a time. What are you talking about?"

"That...our father's spear," the oldest answered in his strange argot.

Felic took the half with the spearhead from the pile and gave it to him. "It's yours now." He struck a spark to the tinder and blew a tiny flame into life. Before long there was a hot blaze and the boys each held a green stick in the flames with a chunk of boar meat stuck on the end of it. The aroma of roast pork surrounded them.

By the time they finished eating the day was waning and Felic decided to camp where they were. As the evening came he coaxed the story of the day's events from the oldest boy. Their father had tried to kill the boar but his spear broke and he ran from the oasis with the boar chasing him. Their mother helped them get into the tree but didn't make it herself before the boar returned and attacked her. Felic thought of going to look for the father's body but decided to let it go until morning. That night the three boys huddled together. Felic heard them whimpering off and on in the dark.

At dawn he woke them. "We'll go look for your father now." They got up and joined him. Their little impassive grimy faces were now tear-streaked. Felic found footprints where he had found the spear. But a short ways from the oasis the desert wind had filled them with sand and the trail was lost. They climbed nearby dunes but found no trace of the missing father.

Felic was perplexed. He didn't want the burden of taking them along. But he couldn't condone leaving them behind. For lack of a better plan he set out to finish his journey with the three little boys trailing along. He was used to traveling fast and light. He was hampered by the roasted boar haunch slung on his back and the boys dogging his footsteps. The smallest was soon lagging too far behind. He was no more than four or five years old. But he slogged along through the sand with a determined look. Felic stopped and waited for him to catch up, then picked him up with one hand and placed him on his back straddling his neck. After that he was able to pick up the pace a bit and the other two stayed with him.

The details of forested areas were starting to show up on the distant hills. The sun was low in the west when a rough looking group of nomad men rising up from beyond a dune blocked them.

"Ah...so we have a welcoming group," Felic said to no one in particular. He shed the boy and boar meat from his back. He motioned the boys to stay behind him and unsheathed his great sword with a slithering hiss of steel.

The nomads started circling him. They all carried weapons and appeared to be bent on robbing him. Felic noticed they were hungrily ogling the meat. With a deft flash of his sword he impaled the meat and lobbed it at the feet of the closest one. They immediately lost interest in robbing him and gathered around the meat like starving wolves. All except one. That one stepped aside to better see the boys. When their eyes met, the boys all ran to him, chattering with excitement. It was a tender reunion. Felic assumed it was their father and took advantage of the distraction to walk away. No one sought to stop him.

# Chapter Eighteen

STORM CLOUDS gathered as Felic traveled through Valistia. When he could make out the seven towers of Isha-Valis in the distance they were shrouded in mist. The rain came and the road was soon slick with mud. He decided to wait out the weather in shelter and entered the next inn along the way. It was deserted, like the rest of the village. All the inhabitants were finding refuge in the city.

But the storm worsened. Wind and thunder shook the shuttered windows. There was tinder and fuel stacked on the hearth, and Felic decided to stay the night. He went about the business of getting a fire started.

"Go ahead. Do your worst!" he muttered to the sky gods. "I've got me a warm bed here by the fire and a keg for company." He sighed with contentment. He poured himself a generous flagon of wine and reclined in front of the fire. Soon he was warm inside and out. He finished off the wine and was about to drift into sleep on the floor when the door burst open. The storm blew a shrouded figure through it, his cape billowing into the room, spraying water ahead of him. Lightning lit the sky behind him.

"Thank the gods that you are open for business on this cursed night," the figure shouted as he fought to shut the door against the heightening gale. He leaned back against it and caught his breath, then removed the cowled cape that hid his face. He shook the water from it and laid it across a table to dry.

Felic sat up. "Bring your cape over here closer to the heat," he invited.

The man picked up his cape and walked into the firelight.

Felic gasped.

"My eyes lie!" he stammered. "This can't be! Mystigan!" His jaw dropped and he gaped at this jarring apparition.

"Felic! How delightful to find you here. I thought you were still a captive in Fernilin, doing your husbandry service."

"But...but you are alive! Are you alive! I saw you dead!"

"No, my friend. You smelled me dead." He laughed merrily, enjoying this reunion. "The Mystigan you see before you is quite alive."

"But the smell of death...I was certain..."

"Do you think a mere coffin could imprison the great Mystigan?" He struck a theatrical pose. "Haha...you have no faith in my magic, it seems.

"But the putrid stench of your corpse came from the coffin!"

"That was my replacement--a dead goat. So it was your nose that lied." He finished the sentence with a dramatic flourish.

It took a long moment for the paradox to register. Then Felic jumped up and give Mystigan a mighty bear hug.

"Whoa, big man...you're crushing my ribs,"

Felic held him at arms' length and shook his head in stunned approval of this amazing prodigy. "And tonight, and here, of all times and places...did you fall from the storm clouds. Rode a bolt of lightning perhaps. I think I will believe anything you tell me."

Mystigan pushed away. "Not so fast. The fire's comforting and I see you drank wine, but...", he looked around, puzzled. "Where is the innkeeper?"

"The village is deserted. Everyone has gone to find safety within the city walls."

"Ah, yes...the war news. There was much talk of it in Dagra."

"You came from Dagra?"

"Yes, I sought employment in King Cot's court. The poor old man is deaf and didn't understand what I wanted. He thought I was selling cabbages. Such good fortune finding you here by chance. Tell me how our paths have crossed on this wretched night."

"Yes, yes, we have stories for each other," Felic said. "But first pour yourself some of this innkeeper's wine. It seems to be free tonight. All you want." He motioned toward the keg on the bar.

As the two friends shared the events of their recent past, the storm intensified. They stoked the fire, drank more wine, and recounted their recent adventures.

"I owe my life to the Queen of Calix," Felic told him and went on to tell of his present mission for Queen Gwenay, to lead the Valistian forces, and of the strange encounter with the nomads. Mystigan learned of the double sorrow that Felic suffered: first thinking that he, Mystigan, had died and then learning that Chessa was no longer his to love.

"And so you are heading for Isha-Valis, as am I," Mystigan noted. "It is my hope to find a position in King Valis' court. Although from what I overheard in Dagra, he may not have a court for long."

Felic took a sudden interest. "What did you hear? Just rumors? What?"

"I overheard some Dag-Arnak priests talking. They said that Isha-Valis is weakly defended and will quickly fall. They also talked of war engines being built for transport up the River Kald. Dagran patrols have already started raiding the border villages. The villagers are getting no protection from the Valistian army."

"If what I learned from Queen Gwenay is true, the army is a joke," Felic offered. "It is leaderless. King Valis is too old and the Prince is incompetent in military matters."

After another trip to the keg they both agreed they needed sleep more than conversation.

When the first light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the shutters the two friends awoke. Only embers remained in the fireplace. The storm had passed leaving the road forward even muddier. They left the inn and renewed their journey to Isha-Valis. In the distance a pink wash of the rising sun blushed the pointed roofs of the seven towers, clearly visible in the crisp morning air.

As they neared the city Felic was pleased to see the main gate had been walled up solidly with heavy stones. They passed the field where a few pikemen stood around waiting for their training to begin. The river gate stood open and they passed farmers on the bridge taking their animals out to graze in the surrounding fields.

The streets were already crowded with refugees, up and about. Many were quite bedraggled from enduring the stormy night without shelter. Children scampered happily along the street, skipping around the fresh cow pies and the human waste that washed along the gutters. But there was a somber fear present in the adults. In happier times the crowd would have represented a market day full of ribald merriment. But today people ignored each other when not cursing or bemoaning their circumstances.

"What an odious place," Mystigan noted, crinkling his face in disgust. "I've smelled sweeter barnyards! How it must have reeked before the rain cleaned it up!"

"Yes," Felic agreed, "let's hope some plague doesn't take hold."

They hurried along but the stench and urine odor of the streets was still with them when they reached the royal palace. The imposing facade was hung with colorful banners. Felic produced a small leather tube with the seal of Calix and presented it to the guard. "Take this to King Valis. It contains a letter from the Queen of Calix."

The tube was passed on to the chamberlain and after a short wait they were ushered into the throne room. The room was a magnificent symbol of the wealth of Valistia. An opulent display of gold in the furniture inlay and in the abundant use of gold leaf on pediments and pillars testified to the prosperity obtained from the mines in the eastern mountains. King Valis was dwarfed by an oversized throne. It was exquisitely decorated with ivory and gold inlays, highlighted by precious gems. He slumped into its velvet cushions, half asleep, his face a dejected picture in the frosty frame of his hair and beard.

The chamberlain cleared his throat noisily to get the king's attention. "Your majesty, I am pleased to present the general from Calix, Felic'm Lans."

Felic did a double-take. He hadn't considered himself a general. His claim to authority was as captain of a fighting ship. That was where he felt at home. His strategic experience in battle had been primarily on the seas commanding sailors or pirates or whatever motley mercenaries fate offered.

The king looked up from under his bushy white eyebrows, then sat up straight to a more regal posture. "You are the general that the queen of Calix has sent to command my army?"

Felic was not comfortable with the title but decided to play along. "Yes, Your Majesty, I have come at the behest of Queen Gwenay."

King Valis massaged his knuckles, swollen with arthritis. "Well, if you are as great a warrior as your reputation, we should have no trouble thrashing the Dagran intruders." His direct gaze dared Felic to disagree. But Felic didn't take the bait. "I will take this command very seriously," he responded.

"If you can keep this city out of Dagran hands I will give you a thousand gold druacs. The chamberlain will introduce you to my son, Prince Elfrand. He will advise you on the state of the army, and," he added as an afterthought, "which they say he's been training." He flicked his fingers toward the exit, a signal the audience was over.

"Before I go, Your Majesty, I would like to introduce my friend, Mystigan."

Mystigan stepped forward and bowed.

"He is an excellent magician, to which I can personally attest. He seeks employment in your court." With that he bowed and stepped back. The chamberlain touched his arm and they both backed out of the throne room, leaving Mystigan to find favor with the king.

# Chapter Nineteen

PRINCE ELFRAND was delighted to see the handsome muscular warrior who would replace him as head of the army. He fawned over Felic, chattering on about irrelevant details while showing him around. Felic pretty much ignored him. It didn't take a military genius to see the weakness of the city. He noted that the only tower suited for defense was at the main gate and wondered at the rationale that erected six towers for decoration and only one for defense. He concluded that a Dagran siege tower parked on the river before the north gate could shower the city with flaming arrows. Troops manning the battlements on that side would be decimated by archers and a gangway lowered from the tower to the wall would have the enemy swarming the city.

They left the city and crossed the bridge to the field where troops were training. Archers twanged away at straw targets. Pikemen rehearsed attack and defend drills. Wooden swordplay seemed to amuse a third group. Elfrand looked to Felic for approval, but Felic watched, expressionless.

"Men...I have an important announcement,'" the Prince piped up.

A few looked at him like he was only a pesky irritation.

He grabbed a drummer and had him beat the assembly cadence. That brought the troops ambling into an undisciplined formation in front of him.

"Men...I have an important announcement," he repeated with a nervous smile. "You will have a new commander starting today. General Felic m'Lans." That triggered a buzz of conversation in the ranks. "I want you to know that I have enjoyed our little training sessions and I hope we will all stay the good friends and comrades..." His lame farewell speech was ignored and smothered by the hubbub. He gave up and turned to Felic. He shrugged his shoulders and made a wry face, as if to say 'it's all yours', and went back across the bridge.

Felic had the drummer beat another sharp tattoo and all the faces turned toward him. He said nothing but stood silently probing the ranks with his eyes. The men felt the innate strength of this new warrior leader as his eyes fastened on theirs. They knew their lives and habits would change henceforth.

Felic finally spoke. "All squad and troop leaders will gather around me. The rest of you return to your drills." The troops returned languidly to practicing, leaving a small group to join him.

With the cadre of officers close by, he established a hierarchy for the army. "You will be divided into two groups of bowmen with a hundred archers in each group, and one group with a hundred swordsmen and pikemen. These three centrons will be commanded by a centrant who will have five ventrants under his command, each leading twenty men." He evaluated each man as he stated his goals and their responsibilities. "There is no time for lax or lenient discipline," he exhorted them. "You know we have only a few days to create a fighting force. Look at that field! They are not training. They are just going through the motions. You are expected to drive them mercilessly. Make them jump when you give an order. If you get resistance, use the lash. No more sauntering like a mob. Marching in double time from now on. Am I clear on the direction you will take?" The officers, galvanized by his presence, agreed vigorously and affirmed their loyalty to his leadership.

He picked out the most capable looking officer. "You...when the sun sets I want you to meet me at the gate with ten of your best men . I want them armed, but only with swords. We'll travel light. No heavy armor or shields. Dress them in black."

The officer repeated the order back and then asked, "What sort of patrol will we be on?"

"Just routine," Felic answered, then waved the group off. "Now go train your men. I'll be watching."

At sundown the patrol was waiting for him at the gate. He led them at a steady grueling jog southwest along the River Kald. The night was black, lit only by the stars and a sliver of a moon. When he called a rest they were near the border of Dagra. The exhausted troopers flopped down on the grassy riverbank, grateful for a chance to recover.

"We'll go slow and carefully from here on," Felic told them. "We may run into a Dagran patrol. If we do, we should hear them in time to take cover. I'm not looking for a skirmish until we reach our goal. Somewhere ahead the Dagrans are building barges to carry a siege tower, ballistas and trebuchets up the river to broach the walls of Isha-Valis. We will try to steal a barge, take it up river and sink it to block the channel."

A murmur of approval spread through the men. Spirits rose and aching muscles were forgotten. They resumed their march with alacrity, moving silently as black wraiths through the darkness. It was slow going until they crossed the border. On the Dagran side a path for towing barges ran along the riverbank. Felic led them down the path at an easy trot, sensitive to whatever might lay ahead.

They kept moving without any enemy contact until the middle of the night when Felic saw a light ahead. He held up his hand in a silent "halt" and motioned the men into concealment. As the light neared it became a torch and in the halo of its glow, the Dagran guard sauntered along munching an apple. He passed them by, unaware of the crouching figures. Felic slipped up behind him and locked him in a chokehold. A quick vicious wrench of the head snapped his neck and he slumped to the path. Felic picked up the torch and gave it to one of the men.

"Take this and keep patrolling this path so that anyone watching will think the guard is still on duty," he whispered. Then, motioning for the rest of the troop to follow, he led the way forward until they came on the building site. Piles of lumber cluttered the river's edge. Two barges were under construction on the ways. Felic could make out the dark mass of four or five barges moored in the river. There were tents scattered around the area, some with dying campfires in front of them. But there was no sign of life or other guards.

Felic motioned the troop to gather close. "Do any of you swim?" he asked. One man stepped forward. "You will swim out to the upstream barge with me," he told him. "The rest of you wait here."

They slipped into the water and quietly dog-paddled to the barge. It was moored to a piling in the riverbed. Climbing on board, Felic spotted the towrope neatly coiled at the bow.

"I will swim the tow rope ashore," he advised his companion. "When we are ready I want you to slip the mooring and take the sweep oar on the stern. Steer the barge along this side of the river out of the main current." The man answered with an understanding nod.

Once ashore he lined the men along the towrope and signaled the barge. As the mooring was released and the current took command the weight of the barge pulled the men forward unexpectedly. "Dig in! Don't let it get away!" Felic's hoarse whisper coordinated their efforts and stopped the downstream movement. Gradually the ungainly craft began coming to them. The man on the steering sweep let it move to within a few yards of the bank before pointing it upstream. The men on the path put their backs into it and were soon making progress up the river. Soon they overtook the trooper with torch. He took Felic's place on the line and Felic took the torch.

"Keep pulling it up the river. I've got another little job to perform. I'll catch up to you." He took off running back to the building site carrying the torch. There, he found what he hoped for--a pile of shavings under the half-built hull of a barge. He fed them the flame from the torch until they were burning briskly. Then he went to the lumber piles and set fire to the dead grass and weeds in that vicinity. He finished by tossing the torch onto the deck of the other barge under construction, then sprinted back the way he came. By the time he reached the towing crew the sky behind him was red with the growing flames.

"A little diversion to keep them busy for a while," he told the men, laughing.

The river got narrower as they moved upstream and they came to a bend where a sand bar filled half the channel ahead on the far side. "This is the spot," Felic told his troop. "We'll sink the barge there between us and the sand bar and block the river."

As the river narrowed the current strengthened. The towrope stretched under the new force and before they could get the barge into position it snapped. The man on the steering sweep jumped off into the shallows as the barge floated off downstream. Felic was about to send them in pursuit when they heard a Dagran patrol approaching.

# Chapter Twenty

PRINCE ELFRAND was melancholy. He curled up in a window seat of the palace and pouted. He wasn't upset about losing his position as commander of the army. It was the cool all-business attitude of Felic that bothered him. He was smitten by the new general's powerful build and iron-hard thews. To be unable to elicit a friendly smile from him crushed his frail ego and left him disconsolate.

He wandered back to the throne room where the new court entertainer, Mystigan, was amusing the king and other retainers with his legerdemain. This new fellow was very good with his sleight-of-hand and distracting chatter, but Elfrand was not cheered.

Then the chamberlain entered and announced that Bargonast was back and sought the king's audience. The prince's demeanor flip-flopped. He was elated to see his new friend. Bargonast wasn't as handsome as Felic but he was powerful and burly and paid attention to the prince.

When Bargonast entered the court, before bowing to King Valis, he sent a smile toward the prince that made the young man's pulse race .

"Step forward," the king commanded. "Tell us what have you learned in Dagra?"

"Your Majesty, I can tell you that the Dagran army will not move to attack for at least five days."

"How do you know this?"

"The Dag-Arnak priest who commands them has undertaken another mission. The army will not move until he returns."

"Good," the king nodded his approval. "Have you learned of their battle plans?"

"Very much as expected, Sire. They will cross into Valistia with siege engines on the plain south of the River Kald. They plan a frontal attack on the main gate with siege towers and scaling ladders."

"They will not try to starve us out?" The king evinced surprise.

"They know that the villagers have stocked the city with food brought from the fields. They believe your army is too weak to put up much of a defense. They will launch an attack as soon as their army is in place."

King Valis pursed his lips and sat back, contemplating the report. Finally he leaned forward. "How did you come by this information?"

"I made friends with a squad of Dagran soldiers billeting at an inn. I treated them generously," he lied. "Wine and ale oiled their tongues and I was able to learn their strategy."

The king sent his chamberlain to fetch the royal coffer. He took a pouch, fat with gold, from within and gave it to Bargonast. "You are probably tired from your travels," he said. "My chamberlain will see that you have food and drink." Then he flicked his fingers to indicate the audience had ended.

Bargonast bowed and backed out. He found Prince Elfrand waiting for him in the hallway, bubbling with anticipation.

"Ah...my sweet prince," he purred. "I have missed your friendly smile. Perhaps we could exercise your falcons this afternoon and get re-acquainted."

Elfrand almost exploded with delight. "Oh, yes, yes! That would be wonderful!" And as an afterthought, "I've missed your friendly smile, too." He laid his hand gently on the big man's hairy forearm and left it there a bit too long. He escorted Bargonast to the dining hall and made innocuous one-sided chatter while he watched the food and wine disappear.

Bargonast finished up with a sonorous belch and a greasy backhand smear across his mouth. He brushed food scraps from his braided beard and then finally spoke. "Let's get your falcon and have some fun."

* * *

"This is where I usually work the falcon," Elfrand said, pointing to a clearing next to the woods.

"I know a better place. Very secluded. A nice meadow up ahead." Bargonast smiled and winked at him.

The prince was elated. He bounced buoyantly along, keeping pace with the large man's long strides. The hooded falcon fluttered to stay balanced on his arm. They hiked deep into the woods. Elfrand was sweating from the exertion and his arm ached from holding the falcon and the heavy gauntlet. "Are we almost there?"

"A little further."

Bargonast pushed ahead until Elfrand was forced to complain. "I need to rest. My arm is aching fiercely," he called.

"Oh, I can fix that." Bargonast walked back to him, took the falcon by its hooded head and whirled it around, windmilling it until its neck parted and its head snapped off. The headless body fluttered and staggered aimlessly, slow to die. He tossed the bloody head at Elfrand. "You can have that for a good luck charm. You're gonna need it where I'm taking you."

The prince gaped in shock. "What have you done?" he choked on the words. He shrank from his idol, aghast at the change. Bargonast had become a sneering beast who regarded him with total disdain. Elfrand sank to his knees and started sobbing.

"Shut up the blubbering!" Bargonast jeered. "You're my prisoner now, dear sweet prince." He jerked him to his feet and pulled him forward through the woods.

Elfrand was filled with despair and disappointment. He allowed Bargonast to jerk him along without resistance. All was hopeless. "I don't care what you do to me," he sobbed. "You can do your worst. I just don't care. Do you hear me? You have a cruel heart. I know that now."

"Shut your mouth!"

"Oh, sure...I thought you were my..." His sentence was stopped by a heavy clout from Bargonast that knocked him off balance..

"I said shut up!"

Elfrand stumbled along, gasping out sobs.

"And stop that bawling or you'll get a real swat instead of a little love tap."

When they reached Seaskal Bargonast found a deserted shack on the outskirts where he left Elfrand bound and gagged. He scouted the back streets until he found a lone sentry. He didn't have to wait long for the right moment. The soldier propped his pike against a wall. He pulled out a flask from his tunic and took a good swig, then proceeded to piss on the wall. He was engrossed in aiming at a beetle that struggled to escape the stream. Slipping up behind him, Bargonast pinned his arms, disarmed him, and held a knife to his throat.

"You are going to take a message to your fat priest," he told him. "You will tell him that Bargonast is back and he has a hostage. Tell him that I'm holding the Prince of Valistia prisoner and I will sell him for two hundred druacs. Tell him to fly the city pennon at half-mast if he agrees."

The sentry, cowed by the threatening voice by his ear, was quick to accede. Bargonast made him repeat the instructions before he sent him off with a kick to his rear. He hurried away fumbling with his shenti and never looked back.

# Chapter Twenty-One

WHILE STET-ARNAK paced the floor expounding on his own qualities of leadership, his aide suppressed a yawn and feigned interest. "It is not brawn that wins wars," he expounded. "No...not brawn, it is brains. The Dag-Arnak priesthood drove King Jult and Queen Gwenay from this land, not by military superiority, but by cunning and subterfuge."

"And who was the brains behind the priesthood, you might ask," he continued. He cast the aide a dour look and was rewarded with a flicker of interest. "As you well know, it was me. There are some in the Dag-Arnak temple who believe we should have a military man planning this war. To that I say, show me one whose brains are not in his crotch or his sword and I might agree."

Stet-Arnak tended to emphasize his orations with gestures, waving his puffy manicured hands as though he were sermonizing in the temple.

To the aide's relief there was a knock on the door. "Are you available, Excellency?"

Stet-Arnak stopped pacing and squeezed his bulk into an armchair. "Yes. Answer it."

The aide opened the door to a ventrant, who entered hauling a frightened soldier alongside. "This man has a message for you, Excellency."

The soldier was tongue-tied. He looked fearfully left and right, swallowed and licked his lips.

"Out with it, imbecile!" the priest barked.

The soldier flinched at the outburst and delivered Bargonast's message of the kidnapping, faltering and stumbling through the memorized recitation.

There was a long silence. The priest's eyes drilled him. The soldier quaked, uncertain whether he would be rewarded or punished.

At last the priest's gaze softened. "Very good, man. Take him to the inn. A flagon of wine for his reward."

"But, Excellency...he was on sentry duty and he was disarmed and lost his weapons," the officer pointed out.

"Well, then...quite a different matter. Yes...quite a different matter. Irresponsibility! Twenty lashes shall be the reward. Take him away." The officer dragged the hapless messenger from the room.

Stet-Arnak turned to his aide, "Bring the pennon to half-mast. This is indeed an auspicious door on destiny that's about to open. We may win the throne of Valistia without a single battle."

# Chapter Twenty-Two

BARGONAST watched from his ramshackle shanty hideout as the Dagran pennon fluttered down to half-mast. When it became dark he would find someone that he could make deliver a message for the exchange. Elfrand's muffled moaning was irritating him.

"Shut up! Or I will shut you up for eternity!" He gave the prince a head-snapping swat. "I'm going to take a little nap and I better not hear any more of your blubbering."

Tears coursed down Elfrand's cheeks, soaking his gag, but he stifled a moan. Bargonast settled onto the ragged straw mattress of the bed, first brushing off some of the rat feces and dead bugs that littered its filthy surface. He had no intention of going to sleep. In one long swig he drained the flask that he had taken from the soldier; then he laid back, closed his eyes and relaxed. He thought about the two hundred druacs that would soon be in his hands. This war would make him rich the way it was going.

The day lengthened and the sun reached the horizon. It shone directly through the horn pane of the lone window on the west wall of the shanty. There were thin shafts of sunlight, defined by floating dust motes, coming through the cracks in the weathered siding. The rumbling of his stomach reminded Bargonast that he hadn't eaten for hours. He was trying to decide what to do about that when a shadow moved between the shanty and the sun. Then he heard footsteps and the jingle of weapons. He sprang from the cot, unsheathed Battle Flasher, and took a place to the side of the door.

"He is not a clever man," Stet-Arnak had told the squad leader. "Look for a vacant shack, pig sty or chicken coop near the northern fields. That is very likely where he roosts." And, as predicted, the leader found fresh footprints in the newly turned earth that led straight to a run-down hovel.

"Approach quietly, men," the ventrant told his squad. "We'll bust the door in and catch him by surprise." They moved in. One kick broke the rusty door latch. The door flew open.

Bargonast swung his sword up under the buckler of the first man through the door. The strength of his thrust ripped open his abdomen and he fell backwards, spilling his guts. He fell blocking the doorway. Bargonast didn't wait for the next attacker. He walked right over the fallen soldier and caught the next one backing off. He swung Battle Flasher in a powerful arc. The Dagran caught it on his buckler but the wicked blade sliced the hardened leather and wood and cracked his casque, knocking him senseless. The fearsome black-bearded giant before them intimidated the remaining four. Instead of attacking they joined defensively to repel him. But Bargonast knew the game was up. He turned and ran for the woods across the field.

The ventrant looked into the shanty. "Let him go. The prince is in here. We'll take him to the priest and he'll reward us."

* * *

Bargonast looked back before entering the forest and saw that he was not pursued. The soldiers were hustling the prince back into the city. He ground his teeth and damned the duplicity of Stet-Arnak. There would come a time, he promised himself, when that false whoreson of a priest would beg for his life. He would exact a payment of blood--nothing less. But now he found himself without a plan. He had messed up his connection with both King Valis and Stet-Arnak. Perhaps Queen Gwenay could use his services. He decided to head for Calix, but that would have to wait until he had satisfied his growling stomach. He plunged on through the woods without seeing as much as a hare or squirrel. Then, following a small stream deep into the woods, he came upon a woodcutter's cabin. Smoke rose from the chimney.

As he entered the clearing a grizzled old man came out to greet him. "Greetings to you, sir. Won't you stay and rest your legs a while?"

Bargonast was surprised by the friendly offer. "Why...yes. I will."

"You look a bit hungry. Been traveling long?"

"I was looking for something to eat in the forest, but had no luck."

"I have a pot of venison and beans on the fire. You're welcome to dip in, if you're of that mind."

The old white-haired man was starved for company and he chattered endlessly while Bargonast ate his fill. When Bargonast had pushed away from the table with a sonorous belch, the old man made another offer. "You can bed down here for the night. Better than the cold ground."

With a full belly and the evening coming on, Bargonast decided he was in no hurry and accepted the offer.

The next morning, after a bowl of gruel and more chatter, he gave the old man a silver coin and went on his way. He was forced to duck into the brush several times to avoid patrols. He assumed they were searching for him. Avoiding the Dagran soldiers was forcing him to cut back the way he had come and he was cursing his lack of progress when his luck changed.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

CHESSA'S CELL was a dark place of foul odors. Only the burning pitch from the jailer's cresset in the hallway cut the gloom, casting some light through the bars on the door. She had shaken off her depression. "I must be strong for my baby," she told herself. "I will eat and keep hope alive. I will find a way out of this," she vowed silently. "I know I will,"

The hours passed slowly. There was no way to tell day from night in the cell. The only break in the monotony came when the jailer brought her a pitcher of water and a basin. She was naked from the waist up, having pulled down her bodice to bathe, when the cell door burst open. She grabbed up her garment and held it in place as the jailer pushed a stumbling figure into the room. The door slammed shut with a squawk from the dry rusty hinges. She saw the shadow before her was a man. He was swaying and uncertain, obviously disoriented.

"What is this place? Who are you? Is this a dungeon?" His voice evinced his fear.

"Who are you?" Chessa answered back.

"I'm Prince Elfrand and I don't belong here. Why am I here?"

Chessa fastened her bodice back in place and skirted the newcomer to get a look at him in the light. "I don't know why you're here. But, yes...it is a prison."

Elfrand squinted at her, seeing a shadowed wraith of a girl. "Why...you're a girl. Are you a prisoner, too?"

Chessa found that ironic. "Of course," she laughed grimly. "I'm not here just to keep you company." She could see that he was young and slight of build. "Your face...you have a black eye...did they beat you?"

"Not the soldiers. My friend did it. At least I thought he was my friend." Elfrand snuffled into his hand. "He said we would hunt my falcon, but when we got to the forest he killed the bird. He wrung its neck!"

Elfrand broke down sobbing. The sudden tears touched Chessa. She waited until he regained his composure before asking, "But why are you here?"

"My friend made me a prisoner. He was going to sell me to the Dag-Arnak priest who would hold me for ransom. But the soldiers came and drove him off."

"What kind of friend would do that?"

"His name is Bargonast and he is evil. I was a fool to trust him."

"Bargonast!" Chessa's face showed her shock.

"You know him?"

"I do. And I hate him...and I fear him." She shivered at the thought.

"He fooled me, and he has my father fooled, too."

"Your father?"

"King Valis."

"So you really are a prince...not that I didn't believe you." She took him by the hand and led him to a seat on the stone bench that served as a bed. "Then your father will ransom you and you'll be out of here. I won't be so lucky."

"Why are you here?"

"That swine of a priest, Stet-Arnak, intends to make me marry him after he conquers Valistia. He says we will be married in Isha-Valis. I will kill myself first...well I would except for my baby, Anchessa. I will live for her if I ever get her back."

"They took your baby?" Elfrand was horrified.

Chessa choked back her emotions. "They left her crying on the beach of my village. So cruel...just a baby. But I'm sure some woman from the village has found her and is caring for her. I don't dare think otherwise."

"I don't think the priest will marry you in Isha-Valis. The city is much better prepared under the new commander. General Felic has made real fighting men out of the swordsmen and archers and..."

"Felic!" Chessa interrupted. "The commander's name is Felic?"

"Yes, Felic m'Lans. He is a great warrior--very strong and fiercely competent. He was sent to us by Queen Gwenay of Calix, who also supplies the most excellent steel weapons for our army."

Chessa gasped. She thought her heart would burst. Felic was alive! The love she had kept locked away from her daily reality broke loose and engulfed her. She was overcome by a swelling vortex of emotion.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She sat down and held her lowered head. "Felic...Felic..." was all she could say. Her mind struggled to untangle the kaleidoscope of memories that seemed to cancel each other.

Elfrand tried to interrupt her thoughts, moaning about his own problems, but she didn't respond. Finally her head snapped up and she looked at the prince like she was seeing him for the first time. "I have to get out of here!"

He gaped, wordless, at her sudden change.

Later, when the jailer brought food, Chessa tried to engage him in conversation. He was surly. He grunted and went back to his chair down the hall. Chessa's despair was lightened by the news of Felic. She started thinking rationally. She started probing the walls looking for a loose stone or failing mortar.

"What are you doing?" Elfrand asked.

"You can help. See if you can find a loose stone that we can pry out of the wall."

"There's one right here." Elfrand wiggled a stone that edged the masonry bench where he was seated.

They took turns working it until their fingers were raw. When it came free Chessa said, "Now we have a weapon."

"A stone? Not much of a weapon." Elfrand was dubious.

"Enough to bash the jailer's head in."

"I don't see how...."

"I have a plan." Chessa was smug.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

RETURNING FROM his raid on the barges, Felic entered the throne room shortly after Bargonast and the prince had gone. The Dagran patrol, that had surprised his raiders, proved to be just a harmless file of refugees leaving their village for the safety of the city. He entered the throne room unannounced. King Valis was being fussed over by an armorer who was fitting him with a new coat of burnished chainmail. His attention was divided between the armorer and Mystigan, who had the court spellbound.

Mystigan was standing by a small octagonal table with an intricate pattern carved along its thick top. As Felic watched, a flash and a cloud of smoke appeared on the tabletop and out of the smoke a dove flew up and circled the high ceiling beams. Then he had a court maiden assist him by holding a spray of flowers. Producing a bow and quiver, he cut the bloom from each flower from across the room with an impressive bit of archery.

King Valis spotted Felic and beckoned him forward. "I have had good news from my spy who just returned from Dagra. The invasion has been delayed for a few days. You will have more time to get our defenses in order."

"That is good news, Excellency. We will make good use of the delay. Your Majesty, I would like to steal your magician away for a few moments. He has knowledge that may help the defenses of the city." The king excused them and they bowed and went into the hallway.

"Tell me how you make the smoke," Felic demanded. "I know its contrived, not magic. It could be very useful in the coming battle."

"The dove is hidden in a hole in the side of the table top, and I..."

"I don't care about your birds and flowers." Felic was impatient. "How do you make the smoke?"

Mystigan sighed. He was not happy to reveal his secrets. "I make the smoke powder using a mixture of stone salt, brimstone and charcoal. I have an iron ring on this finger and the ring on this finger has a flint inset. I click them together over the powder and 'bang' up goes the smoke!" He smiled smugly.

"If you could make enough of this powder to create smoke in front of the advancing enemies, it would..."

"That would take a lot of the powder," Mystigan interrupted. The brimstone would be available. Usually there is a good deal of it in a city like this. People use it for medical purposes for a variety of external and internal ailments. Charcoal we can make. But the stone salt..."

"Perhaps there is a source in the hills to the east. These people have been mining gold and other metals there for years."

"Caves are the place to look. It is found crystallized on the walls of caves with lots of bats."

"Then I put you in charge. Using my authority, take what men you need and try to find sufficient ingredients to make powder for dozens of explosions like the one in court, only bigger. Go quickly."

"I shall do my best, my friend." Mystigan left with his usual dramatic flourish.

Felic went out to the training field and watched the drills. He was pleased. The officers and troop leaders were pushing the men hard and getting results. He singled out one troop and gave them instructions. "I want you to get every able bodied man that's left in the city. Have them bring shovels and picks. I want a ditch dug across the entire front of the city walls. It need not be deep. We will fill it with dead grass and brush soaked with oil to create a burning trench. When you have that under way, organize the town women to gather up all the oil and rendered animal fats they can find."

# Chapter Twenty-Five

ANTELO WATCHED the rill of white water split and flow past the bow of his war canoe. It carried memories. Close by, the warrior on the steering oar made small adjustments to keep them on course. They had stayed well off shore to avoid Dagran galleys until they reached the Great South Bay. But now, nearing the point of embarkation, they could see the trees along the shore of Dagra. Antelo was lost in thought.

"Your mind is elsewhere, my chief," the helmsman commented.

Antelo sighed. "Yes, I love the sea. I've had many fine days...sea battles, far lands, storms. I was second in command to a great seaman and warrior." He paused, relishing the memory. "But our ship foundered in a storm from hell. It was a tempest unequaled in ferocity. How I remember it! Sails, yards and masts split and overboard. The hull rolled by the huge waves until it broke apart. Rolled completely over. All were lost. I was the only survivor."

"I remember when they brought you ashore. You were barely alive."

"Yes...and I thank old Sinnihun for his patient kindness in getting me healthy again."

"And who was the captain you so admired?" the helmsman asked.

"His name was Felic m'Lans. He was more than my captain. He was like a brother." Antelo gazed into the distance, into the past.

"Yes, I have heard tales of his ship and crew. He is somewhat of a legend."

"He was the equal of ten men in combat. Muscles of steel. And endurance...he could rally the men and pull victory from defeat when all were exhausted and demoralized."

"I believe that describes you, too, my chief."

Felic didn't answer. His attention was drawn to the sails that had appeared ahead. The Isle of Mist was in the distance, but its mass was just a gray-purple darkness melded into the mainland mountains. There was a perpetual fog that blanketed the island; distance and mists blurred the sails.

"What do you make of that?" he asked the helmsman.

"Dagran galleys, I am sure."

"Yes...they must have been waiting for us." Antelo stood and waved his buckler to get the attention of the other war canoes. He motioned them to close up. When they had gathered gunwale to gunwale he pointed out the approaching ships.

"We could take a couple of them, but there are too many to fight. They will come downwind at us with their bow rams, split our canoes into driftwood and we'll be in the water before we have a chance to board them and kill the bastards."

There was muttering and consternation as they peered into the east to verify his sighting.

"We'll change our plan. We won't land on the shore of Valistia. Instead we'll go up the River Kald. The galleys can't follow us...too shallow. If we run into enemy troops we'll have the element of surprise. I am sure that the Dagrans had knowledge of our landing here in this bay since they have prepared this ambush. But they won't expect us to head up the river."

He waited a few moments while his information was discussed. Men were nodding in agreement.

"Are you with me, men?" he shouted. There was a cheer. "Then put your backs into it and follow me to the river."

They altered course and sped through the light chop toward the gap in the tree line that was the mouth of the river.

The mouth of the River Kald was wide and deep because the tide was at slack water. Antelo knew it would start falling soon and that would slow the canoes, going against both tide and current.

"Row, you reaving bastards, row!" he shouted. "Give it all you've got before the tide turns!" His voice carried clearly over the water.

His little fleet of sixteen war canoes were bunched close by, competing as though in a race. Each craft carried about thirty warriors, half of whom would be on the paddles until the captain hollered "Switch" when the other half would take their place.

The approaching Dagran galleys were narrowing the distance. "It looks like a water beetle," Antelo's helmsman commented, indicating the lead galley. It was painted black with six black oars swinging rhythmically on either side, giving the impression it was walking on water. The big square sail was full of the breeze and the sharp prow was throwing a foaming bow wave. Over the bow wave, two painted eyes added to the impression. Out of sight, under that bow wave was a steel-pointed ram. That was the real danger.

The Gamollians had a system for dealing with galleys. They would not attack a galley unless they were upwind and the galley was traveling away from them. So they would hide in an inlet and when an unsuspecting galley went by downwind they would go scudding after it with all speed. They would catch the galley before it could turn and the first priority was to crash the war canoe through the nearest bank of oars, crippling its ability to maneuver. Then they would board it and kill all the crew that weren't smart enough to jump overboard.

But today Antelo's fleet was in jeopardy. The galley's rams would make flotsam of the canoes if they failed to find safety in the river. "This tide will start to fall soon," he told the helmsman. "They will have to fight it also. But we need to be far enough up river to be out of the range of their thrusters."

The helmsman nodded. He had seen the work of the thrusters--a galley-mounted trebuchet that could hurl burning missiles and rocks.

The first trees of the river mouth started to slide past as the tide started to ebb. "Switch," was the call through the little flotilla and fresh muscles went to work. The strength of the river current and the tide had become a factor. Their progress slowed considerably even though the crews were giving it their all.

River and tide were no impedance to the approaching galleys. They were still sailing perpendicular to the coast with the wind from astern. They were looming larger with each minute.

As the first galley got within range its thruster fired with a whir and snap that carried across the water. Its missile hit the water close to the trailing canoe and threw spray over the paddlers. The next shot didn't miss. It hit the stern of the canoe, shattering it and knocking the helmsman into the water. The canoe swung sideways and the galley closed in. Before the reavers could get control the galley bore down on them and crashed its bow ram amidships. The canoe was torn in half by the impact and the reavers were in the water. Dagran archers fired from the galleys afterdeck and patches of blood stained the surface as arrows found swimming victims.

The ensuing mop-up and debris delayed the galley and gave the rest of the Gamollian canoes an opportunity to widen the gap. As the galleys reached the river mouth their sails became a handicap because of the wind direction. The sound of flapping canvas as they bent the sails to the yards was akin to a flight of birds taking off. The race became a contest between paddlers and rowers. But the canoes were moving out of the tides push.

"Stay close to the river bank," Antelo shouted to the other crews. They had only the river's current to fight and it was weaker along the shoreline. The galleys, however, were still struggling against the outgoing tide as well as the river current. Stones from their thrusters splashed astern of the canoes. Gradually the canoes pulled away and disappeared around a bend. Realizing pursuit was senseless, the Dagrans broke it off.

Once they were past a shallow bar, a navigational impediment to the larger galleys, Antelo called a halt. He assigned a fast runner to each riverbank to scout ahead and warn of Dagran troops. With that precaution in place, the paddlers bent their backs to the task of moving upstream.

When they were still some distance from the Dagran construction site the runner on the south bank waved them to shore.

"We've got company ahead, Antelo," he told. "They have gathered some siege engines and are building barges to transport them."

"How many?"

"About thirty men. It looks like they have already lost barges to fire. There must have been a raid."

"What do you suggest? Shall we take the canoes right to the site or approach by land?"

"If it were me, Antelo, I would debark and come at them from the woods. There is a bend in the river just downstream and out of sight of their camp. It would be a good place to land."

Antelo took the scout's suggestion and held a war council. With everyone briefed on the plan, they traveled on to the landing site and gathered on shore.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

FELIC WAS pleased with the progress of the defenses. His work gangs tackled the trenching with vigor. Mystigan fired up charcoal kilns, found a bat cave that provided plenty of stone salt, and had a group busily preparing his magical smoke powder. His skill with the bow had not gone unnoticed by Felic, and he volunteered to help train the archers. Felic had worked alongside the men digging the trench. He decided to check on the training field but the clear water of the river was inviting. He was hot and dirty so he stripped down and splashed in.

A group of women, washing clothes on the riverbank, tittered and whispered. They stole frequent glances at the striking physique of the bronzed warrior who bathed upstream. Felic was amused by their attention and stepped out onto the bank stark naked to give them a good look. Most got busy with their scrubbing, pretending not to notice. But a couple, bolder and unabashed, gawked like they were seeing the first man on earth.

Felic dressed and crossed the bridge to the training field. The women on the river turned as one to watch him walk away. In the field swordsmen were training with steel blades. The clang and metallic slither of their mock combat filled the air. Mystigan was working with the archers. Under his tutelage the archers were showing drastic improvement, hitting the stuffed dummies nine times out of ten.

"You are turning these men into real bowmen," he said, approaching Mystigan.

"Yes, they get better. Their bows were inferior. We have replaced most of them. To have real power a bow must be shaped a certain way so that the heartwood and sapwood oppose each other."

"Excellent. I hope King Valis is showing his appreciation...with gold."

Mystigan jingled the purse attached to his belt and smiled.

"I haven't heard you moaning about your lost love, Princess Vayda," Felic noted. "And that sloe-eyed beauty in court seems to please you."

"Oh, she is my ultimate dream come true! Her name is Tarastillina. Such a lovely dumpling she is! Ah...sweet, sweet! My blood rushes in riotous steaming rivers at the thought of her!"

Felic laughed. "Has Vayda been replaced, then? I seem to recall those were the very words you used to describe her."

"Like my stage patter as a magician, I believe that a sentence, once groomed and polished, can serve its purpose repeatedly," Mystigan sniffed.

"So your heart has found a new direction," Felic shook his head in wonder. "Well, at least you are not moping about your lost love. You're as difficult to understand as your magic. But I like you, anyway."

Felic started to leave, then turned back. "I'm putting you in command of the archers."

Mystigan was stunned. "You jest! Me...a commander!"

"You will do well," Felic assured him and walked away across the field.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

ANTELO HELD up his raiders at the edge of the forest to reconnoiter the Dagran camp. The construction crew was mainly workers, but there was a small contingent of armed guards. There were two ballistas and one trebuchet in the final stages of completion. On the river a wooden siege tower was mounted on a barge. It had a platform for archers on top surrounded by crenellated battlements. A battering ram was suspended at deck level to be swung like a pendulum against enemy walls.

The Gamollian force came out of the trees screaming their battle cries and caught the construction camp by surprise. Antelo led the way swinging a double-bladed battle-axe. His first two opponents, working without armor, barely had time to reach for their weapons before the lethal blade crunched home. Then he was faced with the guards in chainmail. He went at them whooping the Gamollian battle cry, using the axe in short brutal strokes. He hammered into the first man's shield, driving him back into the others. He ducked to avoid a spear and his reverse swing caught the man's knee. He screamed and fell forward. Antelo finished him off with a blow that crumpled his helmet and smashed his skull. Then his reavers were beside him beating back the guards, chopping, wounding and killing without mercy.

"No prisoners!" Antelo shouted.

It was a short, one-sided encounter with Antelo's men mopping up any resistance and slaughtering the hapless wounded. The last two defenders turned and ran for the woods.

"After them! Don't let them escape!"

One of the pursuers threw his battle-axe. End over end it sailed, slicing with a solid thump into a Dagran's back. The second man caught an arrow in his neck and fell spouting blood.

Antelo stopped a group that was preparing to burn the siege tower. "We'll not set fires. The smoke would give away our position. I have a better plan. Destroy the ballistas and trebuchets with your axes. We'll have use for the tower."

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

"THE TIME is auspicious for the assault," Stet-Arnak announced, handing his aide a sealed scroll. "Have this delivered to the field commanders. They will move the army to Isha-Valis and take the city."

"Will you not command them in person, Excellency?"

"I will be there to make a victorious entrance with appropriate ceremony. Our force should capture the city easily."

"I have heard that the siege engines are not ready," the aide offered.

"Bah...rumors. Rumors fly when a battle is about to commence." The priest gave him a sickly smile. "...and if that were true, it wouldn't delay the outcome. The city has no adequate defense against our military might."

The aide knew better than pursue the issue. He bowed and left with the scroll.

The Dagran officer corps was pleased to get the order to attack. They had fretted impatiently for two days, stalled before the border. The news of the night raid on the barge construction site had reached them, so they would be attacking without ballista, mangonel or trebuchet. The dispatch said, however, that the remaining barges were being repaired and would be ready to transport the weapons in a couple of days.

"It is very likely we will take the city without needing them," Lord Gerlan, senior commander, told the assembled centrants. "They have no army to speak of, and the walls of the city have only one defensive tower." He laughed and slapped his scabbard. "We will gut this body politic and feast on its wealth and women!" His eyes, bright under beetling brows, scanned the assembled, expecting a rousing reaction. Dutifully, the officers pulled their swords, thrust them in the air and gave a lusty cheer.

"Then lets get moving. I want the camp dismantled and the troops ready to move tomorrow at dawn. My scouts report that there are no enemy troops to oppose us until we reach Isha-Valis."

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

"OH, JAILER, would you bring us a candle. It's so dark in here." Prince Elfrand's request elicited a hawked stream of spittle from the jailer. "We have something to barter," he added. That got the jailer's attention.

"What? You have nothing."

"Come closer and I'll tell you. Something you'll like very much."

The jailer came to the bars. "It better be good," he threatened.

Elfrand lowered his voice confidentially. "The girl, here...she is a courtesan who pleasures men and she has a fancy for you. She will trade you a humping for a candle. How does that sound?"

The jailer ambled back and retrieved the cresset lamp from its holder. He held it up to the bars and peered into the gloom of the cell. Chessa gave him a friendly smile and let one side of her bodice drop. He gaped at the exposed breast.

"You don't get the candle until I'm done with her," the jailer offered.

"That's fair."

"And if that priest ever hears of it I'll find you and slit your throat!"

"I have not reason to tell that nasty fat slob anything."

"And I'll lock the door and you'll sit in the corner until I'm done."

Elfrand nodded. "Yes, I agree. I won't bother you at all. You'll not know I'm even here."

The jailer pulled a key from his belt and opened the door, shut it, then reached around the bars to relock it. He crossed the floor to Chessa and pulled down the other side of her bodice. He ogled her for a moment. Lust brightened his eyes and his mouth hung open. Chessa continued to smile at him although his rank odor and brutish leer brought back painful memories of her rape by the reavers. He groped her and shoved her back on the stone bench. Pulling up her gown he grew impatient and ripped away her undergarment. He fumbled in his shenti to free his penis, now huge with anticipation. He pulled her legs apart and knelt down on the bench between them.

Chessa was thinking feverishly, "Now, for my sake, Elfrand...now...please, please, before he enters."

Her silent prayer was answered. Elfrand brought the stone down on the back of the jailer's head. It hit with a solid crunch and he jumped back shocked by what he'd done. The jailer collapsed on Chessa, unconscious. She pushed at him.

"Help me get him off...please."

Elfrand just stared, glassy-eyed, for a moment before realizing his help was needed. With the jailer on the floor, Chessa quickly covered her nudity, mildly surprised that the prince showed no interest. Elfrand found the key and they left the cell. The long corridor led to steps to the ground level. There was no other guard in sight as they edged their way to the stairs. They crept up to the top step and heard voices. Peeking over the step they could see a hall leading outside. The voices came from a room off to the right with the door ajar.

"I hear bones being tossed," Chessa whispered. "They are gambling."

"How will we get by?"

"Very quietly, and hope they are too busy to notice."

Elfrand gave a shiver and nodded. They crept to where they could peek into the room. Two soldiers were drinking mead and throwing bones for a small pile of silver druacs. They waited until the bones hit and rolled and then slipped past the door and outside.

Seaskal was surprisingly empty of Dagran military with most gone to take part in the siege of Isha-Valis. They cautiously avoided the busy streets and made it out of town and into the forest without attracting attention. As they pushed on through the day, Chessa became concerned.

"I think we are lost."

"Well, maybe a little bit," Elfrand conceded. "But the sun is behind us so we must be heading east." He started walking and Chessa held up her hand to stop him.

"Shhh...Listen!"

The faint sound of footsteps and clinking armor alarmed them.

"It's probably a patrol out searching for us," Chessa guessed. "We better hide."

They burrowed into a thicket of dense brush and waited. The patrol came by within a few paces of their hiding place. The soldiers were marching along, paying small attention to their surroundings, letting their ventron do all the looking. They waited silently until the footsteps and voices had faded away to the east before coming out of the brush.

"What shall we do now?" Elfrand asked.

Chessa gave him a scornful look. "You are the prince here. You're looking to me for leadership?"

Elfrand huffed. "I'm just seeking advice so I can plan our next move."

"Well, my advice is to keep moving. Let's go."

# Chapter Thirty

FELIC WAS AWAKE before the sun came up. He had spent a restless night. His scouts had reported the Dagran army's position and he knew they would show up in the coming day. He left his bed in one of the tower rooms and walked out onto the sky bridge that connected another tower. A faint hint of sunrise fringed the eastern mountaintops. The air was fresh, belying the malodorous streets below. The flowers blooming on the bridge vines added their scent. He breathed deeply and marveled at the expanse of stars above, an infinite tableau that stirred thoughts of Chessa. She had told him each star was the spirit of someone who had died. Someone who had led a good and true life.

Which one was she, he wondered. Which little speck of light was the symbol of his loss. The light in the east was growing and the stars were fading. Felic shook off his pensive mood and returned to his room. It was time to strap on the tools of battle and prepare the city for the coming onslaught.

By mid-morning he had completed his inspection of the city's defenders. He didn't have much confidence in his swordsmen. If the Dagrans breached the walls or scaled the battlements his men would face a more experienced and disciplined force. They would probably offer a token resistance then run. But the archers were good. It was unfortunate that there was only one defensive tower to give the bowmen the best advantage. The remainder would have to fight from behind the wall's crenels. That would make them less effective when the enemy was close under the walls with scaling ladders or a battering ram.

A pall of smoke rose in the still morning air from beyond the north gate where the bridge was burning. The end of the bridge was just yards from the gate. and without the bridge the Dagrans could only approach the gate along the narrow bank between the walls and the river. There was no room to use a battering ram there.

An archer called down from the tower, "I see them. I can see them. They're coming!" The call echoed along the battlements and everyone strained to see what the lookout saw. There was a long moment when all was still. Then a dark line took shape on the crest of the low hills that bordered the fields and pastures to the west. As it moved toward them the line got thicker and wider and soon became a defined mass of soldiers marching in ranks.

Felic could sense the sudden fear that the sight of so many troops induced in the men along the wall. Then King Valis appeared dressed splendidly with a colorful linen jornet over his new polished chainmail. He was helped up the stone steps to the wall's ramparts.

"My soldiers, take heart!" he called out, pausing dramatically between statements. "We have strong walls! We have a great warrior to lead us! You have been well trained! I know your action today will make our people proud. I know you will make me proud. Show those Dagran whoresons that Valistians armed with Calixian steel can protect their property, their people and their king! Today you will be victorious! Kill the invaders!" For emphasis he shook his clenched fist, veined and trembling, at the approaching army.

A cry went up, "Valis, Valis, Valis..." It grew louder to a chant that circled the ramparts. Felic signaled the drummers and they began a rhythm that accented the shouts. The mood had changed. The king's exhortation had ignited the fires of engagement and anticipation for the coming conflict. The chant turned to "Kill, Kill, Kill..."

The king's attendants helped him hobble to Felic's side. "How do you calculate our chances?" he asked in a confidential tone.

Felic pursed his lips and considered his answer. "Well...I think..."

"You are concerned," the king anticipated.

"Yes, of course. We are outnumbered. If they attack today and are repulsed, they will set siege. In that case, they will eventually take the city. My concern is that we may not beat off this first attack. The Gamollians could make the difference."

"Yes, yes...the Gamollians. Rough and dangerous they are. What is their disposition?"

"Where are they? Who knows. A runner came in from my scouts at the Great South Bay. Their war canoes have not arrived there. If they don't join the battle today they will be useless to us."

"And my son, Prince Elfrand...I want him involved. What part will he play?"

"I haven't seen him for two days, my lord. I would have him command the fire brigade. The Dagrans will likely use flaming arrows and there will be burning roofs to cope with.

The king turned to an attendant and ordered him to find Prince Elfrand. "I will be on the tower parapet. Tell him to come to me there."

* * *

The Dagran army advanced until it was just out of range of the city's archers. A few skirmishers advanced until an arrow from the city hit one of them. Having established the range of the archers, the rest retreated. Lord Gerlan called a council of his centrants. "We'll rest the troops until mid-afternoon. Then, before we begin the assault," he told them, "Make a great noise with your drums and horns. Have your men shout their battle cries and keep it up until the command to attack is given. Make it loud and long to bury the city in sound. We will strike fear into them and weaken their resolve to defend the walls."

He turned to the centrant who would command the siege engines. "Where are the ballistas and trebuchets? More importantly, where is the siege tower?"

"My runner just reported they are on the way up the river and should arrive tomorrow."

"I doubt they will be needed, but if the first attack is repulsed I will bring the tower up the river in front of the north gate. From its platform the archers can clear the wall and we can batter down the gate. The wealth and the women of Isha-Valis will be ours to plunder!" His lewd grin brought snickers from the others.

* * *

As the day wore on Felic walked the walls, giving advice and calming fears. He checked weapons and had some boys spread sand on the fire steps in case they became slippery with blood. He talked to each archer to make sure he understood his target when the time came to fire the trench. His imposing presence and attention to detail bolstered the courage of the green troops. The Dagrans had not moved since the skirmishers retreated. But then there came a mighty din of drums, horns and shouting screaming soldiers that reverberated across the fields to the city's battlements. The enemy clamor was like a solid wall of sound beating on the city. It went on for several minutes then suddenly went silent. The sudden silence sent a cold chill through the defenders. They knew the battle was about to begin.

# Chapter Thirty-One

CIRCLING BACK to avoid the patrols, Bargonast came face-to-face with Chessa and Prince Elfrand. He was quick to take advantage of the surprising encounter. He knocked Elfrand to the ground with a quick swat, then grabbed Chessa's wrist in a steely grip. He shoved her down on the ground beside the prince. She glared at him but knew it would get her a painful blow if she tried to escape. He took the lacing from the front of his jerkin and tied her left ankle to Elfrand's right ankle. He jerked the pair to their feet.

"Just walk and keep your mouths shut," he warned. "If you attract a patrol you'll be taken back to Stet-Arnak. I think you'll prefer my hospitality."

The disheartened couple knew he was right. So they walked on ahead of him, trying to adjust to their hobbling three-legged steps. Before dark they came to a berry patch by a spring. They ate and drank, then settled down on the mossy bank to sleep. Bargonast placed himself with his head at their feet and his wrist tied to the lacing around their ankles. If they tried to free themselves while he slept they would have to untie him first. Chessa and Elfrand spent a miserable night, unable to find a position suitable to both, and afraid to move their bound ankles and wake up their snoring captor. As the first light of dawn filtered through the branches above them, they were jerked upright. Stiff and aching from the night on the ground, they hobbled on with his prodding,

By the afternoon their three-legged walk had them exhausted. Bargonast goaded them on without pity. They reached the River Kald without seeing a Dagran patrol. They moved east along the north bank and came across a dugout canoe, half-full of water. It was lodged in a group of willows growing in the shallows, apparently a derelict from some storm..

"The storm gods have sent us a present," Bargonast chuckled. He showed remarkable strength, pulling the canoe far enough up the bank to turn it on its side. The water poured out along with two paddles. Relaunching it, he had Elfrand sit with his legs forward and Chess kneel in front of him with her legs behind. Then he retied their ankles. They took turns paddling while he paddled from the stern guiding the canoe.

By evening they came to the construction site. There was no sign of life among the broken siege engines and the derelict barges. Fresh graves and a crumpled basinet gave evidence of a battle. Bargonast guided the canoe to the shore and ordered them out. Together they scavenged the abandoned camp for something to eat. There was no food to be found but Bargonast discovered some rope. He tied them up and they spent the night there, cold and hungry, sharing the gloom with the spirits of the vanquished.

# Chapter Thirty-Two

THE ENEMY drums began the cadence of attack on the beleaguered city and a fanfare of horns joined in. The Dagran force moved forward. They held their shields overhead to protect them from the rain of arrows they were expecting. Several units carried scaling ladders. As they came within range of the city's archers, the drum cadence quickened. They split into columns. Two columns advanced on the run, carrying ladders. But no arrows greeted them. Their hoarse battle cry went up and was echoed by that of the Valistians on the walls. They came to the trench filled with oily brush and stumbled through it. When about a hundred had crossed the trench Felic signaled Mystigan and he ordered his archers to fire.

The fire arrows flew. Most of them hit their mark igniting the smoke powder in the trench. Flashing flame and billowing white smoke spread across the length of the trench and the advance halted in confusion. The oily brush caught on fire and the trench became a wall of flame mixing black oily smoke with white. Men in the front ranks, still in the trench, became screaming torches from the oil on their clothing. Those who had made it through stopped and milled about, rattled by the chaotic change of the advance.

Then the archers of Valistia began a slaughter, finding easy targets below. Many attackers, in their confusion, had forgotten to keep their shields up and arrows thunked home in exposed backs and limbs. Arrows were lobbed up and over the fire into the massed troops. Beyond the wall of fire the drums sounded a recall and the Dagrans moved back out of arrow range. But in the killing field there was no place to run. When the fire began to die off there was only a handful left to cross the trench and escape. A cheer resounded across the battlements and jeers were hurled at the fleeing enemy.

Felic had joined Mystigan. "Their triumph won't last long. They'll find nothing to cheer about when the next assault comes. How is the arrow supply?"

"Not good," Mystigan grimaced.

"Do you see any siege engines?"

They searched the field but could not see any.

Felic's brows furrowed with worry. "They'll probably regroup for another attack. As much as I hate the Gamollian savages I would welcome their help in the battle ahead. But we won't be seeing them. Their canoes never arrived."

The flames in the trench had flickered out so there was no impediment to the next advance. However, as the day waned, there seemed to be some disorganization in the Dagran force. The men manning the ramparts were relieved to see tents going up and fires started. Their enemy was settling down for the night.

"Give the men a rotation to eat and sleep," Felic ordered. "We'll keep half our force ready throughout the night in case of a surprise attack after dark."

"Yes, and as soon as it gets dark I'll send some men down to scavenge arrows off the dead bodies." Mystigan left to execute the orders, leaving Felic to watch the sunset. The enemy tents took on a golden aspect from the setting sun. But the smell of death and burning flesh belied the beauty of the scene.

For the men standing guard it was a long night of wondering what would happen next. All were fearful that they could not hold off the enemy if they managed to get scaling ladders against the wall.

# Chapter Thirty-Three

LORD GERLAN was annoyed by the impatience of his officer staff. "My scouts have marked the progress of the siege tower this morning. It will be in position to join the battle at mid-day. It is the key to my alternate plan to ensure victory in case they have other magic in their arsenal." Ignoring the grumble of protest, he continued. "His Excellency, Stet-Arnak, is planning on being here today. We will save our show for his enjoyment. Now go among your centrants. Let the soldiers know there will be plunder and women for everyone. The city is rich. Those who show exceptional bravery will be well rewarded."

When Stet-Arnak arrived the sun was high in the sky. He was followed by a retinue of guards, servants and flag bearers. His weight was augmented by a chainmail surplice, adding to the burden on the eight palanquin bearers carrying his obesity. He was greeted by Lord Gerlan who managed a stone face even though he was secretly amused by the fat priest's effort to identify himself as a warrior. "Welcome, Excellency. We have delayed the attack to provide you the pleasure of seeing the city fall."

"I was told you failed yesterday." The priest was abrupt.

"We had a temporary setback due to some magic that created dense smoke and fire. We pulled back to assess the situation after losing a small number of men."

"And you failed to follow up?"

"I decided to wait for the arrival of the siege tower to complete my strategy for the conquest. It is coming up the River Kald on a barge and should be here shortly." He went on to explain his battle plan in detail.

The priest lost interest in the explanation and waved him silent. "We may not have to attack at all. The king's son, Prince Elfrand, is my prisoner. We will give the old fool a message--the choice of his city or his son." Stet-Arnak laughed mirthlessly. "You see, sometimes a clever plan can succeed where armies fail. Now, then, I will need a good location for viewing the battle in case they don't comply. See that my pavilion is set up and that there is suitable food and drink. Nothing within range of their archers, understand?"

Lord Gerlan gave orders to his aide who led the procession away in the direction of a small hill.

* * *

As the morning's hours slipped past, Felic was puzzled by the inaction in the Dagran ranks. He found ways to keep the men busy to take their minds off the coming attack. Swordsmen and pikemen were honing their steel blades to a razor's edge. Heavy stones were stockpiled on the walls to knock the foe off ladders. They wouldn't have any boiling oil to throw down. The oil supply of the city had been use up for the fire trench.

At mid-day Mystigan pointed out Stet-Arnak's arrival. "I believe someone of importance has arrived." he pointed at the distant banner in the rear of the army."

"Yes...that's the colors of the priesthood, Stet-Arnak, no doubt. So they have waited for him before launching their assault. He will take command."

They waited, expecting to see the centrons move into battle formation. But there was no activity. Then a small group with a white flag and a drummer banging a cadence march toward the wall. When they were within speaking distance the herald waved a scroll. "A message from his Excellency, Stet-Arnak."

"What does the fat swine have to say," Felic shouted back.

"I'm to deliver the scroll."

"Just read the cursed thing. I don't need to see it."

"I can't read, sire,"

Felic grunted his annoyance. "Mystigan, sally out and bring it to me."

With Mystigan peering on, he broke the seal and read the scroll. "It's addressed to King Valis: 'We are holding your son, Prince Elfrand, hostage. Surrender the city or he will die. You have one turn of the hour glass to open your gates.' "

Felic cursed and tore the scroll to pieces.

Mystigan was shocked by the action." But...shouldn't we have shown it to the king?"

"What would it prove?" Felic growled. "They will kill the prince regardless. If we open the gate they will also kill the king and many others. It's a decision we cannot entrust to His Majesty. Stet-Arnak is a devious, cunning and unprincipled fiend. He has no honor. We will fight."

"But the prince..."

Felic gritted his teeth. "The stupid whelp should not have blundered into their hands. I will not concern myself with him now."

# Chapter Thirty-Four

THE ATTACK began. This time, with no flaming ditch to hinder them, the Dagrans advanced steadily with shields interlocked above. Mystigan held the archers fire until they were close enough for the arrows to penetrate the hide-cased wooden shields. Still, many arrows bounced off harmlessly and the advance came relentlessly on. The Dagran archers were now finding targets in the battlement's embrasures, sending defenders screaming backwards off the firing platform.

The vanguard reached the walls and scaling ladders were hoisted. The portent of victory sent a surge of excitement through the attackers and their battle cries became a sustained roar.

Stones were dropped down the ladders but replacements immediately followed the fallen soldiers. Felic had taught his pikemen and swordsmen to work in pairs. When an enemy appeared over the battlements the pikeman would hook him with the curve of the pike and pull him forward into the sword of the swordsman beside him.

Felic looked down at a rush of snarling faces, eyes maddened by battle fever. He swung his great sword, lashing down, slicing through hauberks and bucklers. Some were thrust back and fell, knocking others off the bloody rungs. But they kept coming. For every ladder that was thrown back two more appeared. The parapets were running red with a forest of slashing blades. Friend and foe alike lay screaming disemboweled or minus limbs while the din of battle, the clang and hiss of steel meeting steel, surrounded them.

Mystigan found himself suddenly isolated with Dagrans overcoming the defenders between him and Felic. Stepping back to avoid being surrounded, he lashed out stabbing and parrying. A blade crumped into his basinet. He twisted aside and fought furiously but blood was streaming down his face, blinding him. A soldier swinging a frightening eveningstar came at him. Before the spiked mace could strike home, a pike thrown like a spear caught the man in the throat and he dropped gushing blood. Mystigan blinked through the crimson blur of his blood and realized it was Felic who had come to his aid. His onslaught into the advancing Dagrans was akin to a cornered tiger. His blade, the superb Calixian weapon, threw arcs of silver fire too fast to follow. Forced back by such mighty fury the Dagrans wavered on the battlements then tried to escape down the ladders or simply leaped into space.

Mystigan watched in wonder as Felic swore and laughed as his great sword hacked and dismembered the hapless foe. The last Dagran before him parried until his sword shattered. He grabbed on to Felic's blade and tried to hold it off with blood streaming through his clutching fingers. Felic lunged, pushing his sword into his breast. He wrenched it free then calmly gave the man a shove that sent him sailing off the battlement.

But the defenders were tiring. The outcome was becoming obvious. The city was doomed.

# Chapter Thirty-Five

When the siege engines were destroyed and the dead thrown into shallow graves Antelo gathered the men by the river. "It appears they were going to float this siege tower to a point where they could dominate the city's ramparts and batter the river gate," he explained. "We'll use it as a ruse to move into position for an attack on their northern flank. Tie some canoes along the sides and others ahead towing. Also we'll use the towropes along the river path. Let's move!"

Their progress upriver was slow until they passed the narrows where Felic had tried to sink the barge. Then the river widened and the current was weak by the shore. They moved ahead with the men on the towrope walking briskly. In the distance ahead they heard the screaming and shouting--the din of battle. Anxious to join the fray they redoubled their efforts and soon the men on shore were trotting.

As they moved past the trees to where the river opened onto the plain of Isha-Valis they could see the embattled defenders were about to be overwhelmed. Ladders against the distant walls were crawling with Dagrans, like so many bugs, many of them crowding over the battlements joining the melees on the ramparts.

Under Stet-Arnak's hilltop pavilion, Lord Gerlan pointed out the siege tower moving up the river. "There it is! Now you will observe my overall strategy being played out." But his gloating was short-lived. As the priest turned to assess this new development, the Gamollians came pouring out of the tower and up the river bank.

With the tower positioned directly on the left flank of the attacking army. Antelo leaped ashore, raised his battle-axe high and yelled the Gamollian war cry. The rest followed suit. They streamed off the tower barge and canoes and followed, lusting for blood and plunder. The Dagrans were late to realize they were under attack from the side and their response was disorganized and characterized more by panic than courage.

Antelo, still in the van, went in swinging his terrible axe like he was falling timber. His ferocious onslaught laid several corpses at his feet before those behind him joined the battle. As they came up the river, they had painted their faces. Now, the sight of these savages with black and white stripes crossing their brows and cheeks struck fear into the Dagrans. Antelo's superior strength and wicked battle-axe carved a path into the enemy ranks. Soon he was surrounded. Several of the reavers were trying to fight their way to his side. He was caught by the hook of a pike and dragged into a flashing sword blade. He caught the blade on his buckler and tried to respond with a swing of his axe, but he was too close. A blade hit his basinet a glancing blow, filling his eyes with red-shot darkness. Pulling back, he felt the cold plunge of steel in his back. He jerked and staggered free, swinging his axe aimlessly behind him before falling.

The sight of Antelo going down enraged his followers. Charged up with anger they pushed relentlessly into the Dagran ranks laying bloody winrows of bodies to mark their progress. "For Antelo, for Antelo" became the battle cry.

* * *

Smoke from burning rooftops swirled around the fighting men on the battlements. They fought ferociously because they knew there would be no mercy when the Dagrans took the city. But when it appeared that they would be overwhelmed, a shout from the tower was repeated across the walls.

"The Gamollians have arrived!"

The sight of the reinforcements inspired the defenders and they burst upon the enemy with renewed energy and conviction. The attack on the wall slackened as the Dagrans gave their attention to the threat on their flank. Those below who turned to battle the Gamollians exposed themselves to Mystigan's archers who sent the last of their arrows raining down on them.

Felic quickly dispatched two Dagrans who had gained the fire step. His mighty sword gutted one and beheaded the other, clearing the way to where a group of defenders were losing ground. A number of the enemy was coming over the parapet. Felic avoided the thrust of a pikeman, grabbed the shaft and jerked him forward until the point of his blade found his throat below the metal chinstrap. The man's scream changed to a bloody gurgle. Felic pushed past, swinging his sword in swaths of death and blocking the return blows with his buckler. He sang out, encouraging the beleaguered defenders. Seeing the wondrous warrior dealing mayhem to the enemy gave them the courage to press irresistibly forward. Dagrans, wounded and demoralized, backed away, stumbling over the bodies of fallen comrades. They wavered on the edge of the wall, then went for the ladders or fell screaming from the height.

On the battlefield below the walls of Isha-Valis the Dagran army was in disarray. Caught off-guard by the flanking attack of the Gamollians, the officers were not able to organize defensive formations that would give their superior numbers an advantage. The battle had become a melee of one-on-one engagements and the rank-and-file soldiers were no matches for the savage ferocity of the Gamollian reavers. The first who broke and ran were soon joined by others until it became a full-fledged rout.

The Dagrans were backing away, fighting a confusing and personal type of battle that was not familiar to their training. They were used to fighting as a cohesive close-ranked disciplined unit. Then the arrows came raining down from the city walls. The deadly shafts coming from behind decimated those moving up to reinforce the line of battle. Soon some broke and ran. Others followed. Then a drum beat from beyond signaled retreat. Those still heeding their ventrant officers pulled back to form a rear guard, letting the others flow past them so they might form up for an orderly withdrawal from the field.

Stet-Arnak got in front of the deserters. He waved and screamed, cursing them to turn around and fight. He was ignored, jostled and shoved until he ended up knocked down in the mud of the field.

Lord Gerlan looked on, resigned that the battle was lost. He finally went to the priest and helped him get his bulk off the ground.

"It's over, Excellency. We will regroup and fight another day."

"We!" Stet-Arnak snarled. "There will be no 'we'. I'll have you stripped of command and executed for this fiasco!"

With barely a change of expression Lord Gerlan slipped a dagger from his belt and plunged it into the priest. "I don't think you can do that after having died so valiantly on the field of battle," he whispered to the astonished priest. He shoved the blade deeper and twisted it. Stet-Arnak fell, twitched, mumbled and died. Lord Gerlan wiped the dagger clean on the corpse's robes and walked calmly back to his pavilion. He ordered the drummers to play the assembly cadence and when the centrants had gained control he organized an orderly withdrawal. The Gamollians didn't follow. They were too busy looting the dead and killing those not quite dead.

# Chapter Thirty-Six

CHESSA AND Elfrand had struggled with their bonds in the night while Bargonast snored. But to no avail. In the morning, still with empty stomachs, they continued upstream. Before coming into sight of Isha-Valis they heard the sounds of battle. Bargonast grounded the canoe on the south bank and tied both of his prisoners to a tree. Then he sat down and knit his brows in thought. He had not planned for a way to deliver his prizes for ransom. He sat staring into the water at the river's edge. His sat there for a long time, mumbling and growling, his head aching from the effort.

Finally he rose and built a small fire. He held several twigs in the flames until they were charred. Then he stripped the bark from a birch tree. He freed Chessa from her bonds and told her to write a note, handing her the bark and twigs. It was a demand for ransom--five hundred druacs in gold for the return of Prince Elfrand. The prince watched, tearful, but careful not to anger Bargonast with audible sobs.

"You take this to King Valis. Then you bring me back the gold. If you bring back troops I will kill the snot-nose. I will wait until tomorrow when the sun is high. If you don't come back by then I'll kill him anyway, if he hasn't cried himself to death." he paused and glared at her. "Do you understand?"

"Yes...but the battle..."

"It's over. I can tell by the sounds. I heard the Dagrans drums beat retreat. Now get moving."

# Chapter Thirty-Seven

FELIC SURVEYED the carnage on the ramparts. The last Dagran had been killed or thrown off the walls. Women from the city were sobbing by a wounded mate or keening over the corpse of a loved one. His green troops had won, but the price was heavy. He looked over the field below where the Gamollian allies were robbing the fallen and killing any that showed signs of life. Here and there a searching sword tip exposed a coward faking death and a plunging blade was the reward. Felic noticed two of the reavers carrying a fallen comrade to the river gate and he hurried down to let them through. The streets were crowded with jubilant revelers. In contrast there were knots of others consoling each other on the loss of a loved one. Felic ordered the gatekeepers to unbar the massive doors of the north entrance.

As they came through the open arch one of the reavers shouted, "It's our chief. He's badly wounded."

Felic guided them into the nearest shop and they laid the dying man on the counter face down. Felic saw the blood flowing freely from a deep gash in his back and knew he wouldn't survive. He stuffed a rag into the wound.

"You say this is your chief?"

"Yes...he is our chief, Antelo."

"Antelo!" Felic gasped. He quickly wiped at the painted face, spattered with gore. "My god, it is you, Antelo! Can you hear me? Can you speak?"

Antelo slowly opened his eyes. It seemed to sap his strength just to raise his eyelids. His mouth moved forming words but no sound came out.

"Antelo...It's me, Felic...Felic..."

A spark of recognition seemed to energize him and he tried again to speak. This time he succeeded. "Felic. I thought you died." He struggled to continue. "Now I'm the dead man." He attempted a smile.

Felic was choked up and couldn't reply.

"Take care of Chessa and the baby...will you?" Antelo whispered.

"Chessa?"

"My wife...I left her in the village...I don't want..." His voice trailed off without finishing the sentence. He had died.

Felic was overcome by this quirk of fate. He stood silently over the body of his faithful friend--dead, then alive, now once again dead. I've lost him twice, he thought. And Chessa...Antelo had called her his wife. Felic's thoughts flew in all directions. He was oblivious to the voices around him as the Gamollians made funeral arrangements for their chief. He left and went to his tower room where he walked out onto the skybridge seeking solitude and a place to think.

He was still there when Mystigan found him. "Felic...I'm glad I found you. We need to talk."

Felic looked at him blankly.

"I think we have a new problem," Mystigan confided. "A maid has entered the city with a ransom note for the King--a ransom for Prince Elfrand. Since we didn't tell the king Stet-Arnak had captured him, I wasn't sure what to do. So I haven't taken her to the palace yet."

It took a minute for the news to sink in before Felic snapped out of his reverie. But his mind wouldn't focus on the problem. "Just bring her up here. I'll talk to her." He turned to gaze at the eastern mountain ridge. It's clinging clouds were bathed in pink light from the lowering sun--an incongruous pale aftermath to a day of bloodshed.

Shortly Mystigan returned. He was accompanied by a bedraggled girl who was eagerly devouring an apple. "She was half-starved. I had to feed her something," he explained. "Show Felic the note, girl."

Her head snapped up at his name. Her mouth was half open with unchewed apple. She stared like she was seeing a ghost.

Chessa struggled with conflicting emotions. The apple slipped from her fingers and rolled off the skybridge, falling to the street below. She was shocked to see Felic alive. She was afraid to release the elation swelling up in her, fearing her eyes were playing tricks. This battle-weary warrior before her was changed and scarred. Was it really Felic? Would he still love her after her year in the bed of another man? After being gang raped? After having a child? She trembled and her knees went weak as doubts tumbled through her head. She gulped and swallowed her mouthful of apple.

"Felic?" she asked, in barely a whisper. Then she shrank back, afraid she was mistaken.

There was no doubt in Felic's mind about the woman he faced. Their time apart had erased the naivety and innocence, but her charm and beauty remained, barely disguised by the soil and hardship of her journey. He yearned to close the gap between them and smother her in his arms. Instead he said, "Chessa...what are you doing here? Did you come with Antelo?"

"I was kidnapped by Stet-Arnak after the men left the village."

"Antelo died in my arms. He asked me to look after you...his wife."

Chessa was stunned. She stared without blinking for a long minute, then went down on her knees, sobbing.

Felic was touched. He went to her, pulled her up and held her close. "I know how you feel. He was my best friend. I thought he was dead, but he came back to me, to die in my arms. It's been a cruel day. You must have loved him deeply."

Chessa looked up. Her tears had cleared white rivulets through the dust on her cheeks. "It's you I love, Felic. It's you! It's always been you. Antelo was kind and he protected me when I needed someone. I admired him and I shared his bed but I never stopped loving you. Never!"

"At least you have his child to..."

"Anchessa is your child, Felic! I was already pregnant when the Gamollians took me away from you."

"Your baby...Anchessa is her name?...And she is my daughter?"

Chessa nodded. "Antelo thought I was pregnant from being raped before I was given to him by the old chief. I never told him different. Anchessa was my only link to a love I thought I would never have again."

"My little pigeon," he said softly.

He held her at arm's length and they looked in each other's eyes for a long minute. From the touch of their hands flowed the tingle of new love. Then Chessa's pent-up elation burst through and a tidal wave of joy washed over her. She threw herself into him and began sobbing uncontrollably in his arms.

"My Felic, my Felic," she blubbered, "I thought I would never see you again. But I hoped! I never...never, ever quit hoping!"

Felic held her close and stroked her matted hair. "I'm hard to kill, little pigeon. And I've never stopped loving you." He tilted her head up and kissed her dirt-smudged face, long and passionately.

Mystigan stood back patiently, not wishing to interrupt the tender reunion. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke. "Felic...I hate to interrupt, but now that you've descended from your blissful cloud of recaptured love, and your blood is not rushing in streaming rivers of delayed passion, let me ask you about the ransom."

"Oh yes, the ransom," Felic answered, still looking down into Chessa's eyes. "We'll get to that in the morning. Please be kind and send us up some food and wine for this starving angel."

When Chessa had washed up and eaten they made love, then talked endlessly into the night about all that had happened in their time apart. Chessa expressed her anguish and concern over the welfare of their child, hoping desperately that the village women had rescued her from that seaside rock where she was left crying for her mother. When the first splash of dawn surprised them and the scent of flowers from the skywalk vines drifted through the open window they made love once again.

When Mystigan knocked at their chamber door, Felic had devised a plan to deal with Bargonast. They went together to the royal court to apprise King Valis of the ransom note. Felic and Mystigan agreed to avoid mentioning the herald from Stet-Arnak and the priest's threat to kill Elfrand if the city didn't surrender. When brought before the king, Chessa bravely told her story of imprisonment with the prince, of their escape, and of their subsequent capture by Bargonast. King Valis's watery old eyes blazed with youthful fury over the mercenary's betrayal. He stood up and, with one hand steadying himself on the arm of the throne, he delivered a tirade on the traitorous plotter. "Find him and kill him," he ended, shaking his fist in the air, then he sat down heavily on the throne, drained by the effort.

Felic drew his sword and raised it in salute. "Your Majesty, I will deliver your son, and exact retribution for Bargonast's treachery," he promised, "but I will need the ransom gold to further my plan for his rescue."

# Chapter Thirty-Eight

PRINCE ELFRAND pleaded with Bargonast to untie him. He had spent another miserable night, hungry and tied to the tree. "Maybe I can find us some mushrooms to eat," he offered. But his whining was rewarded with a quick cuff to the head.

"Save your breath," Bargonast warned. "See that sun. You don't have long to live. If that stupid bitch doesn't get here soon with my gold you'll be seeing it from your fairy afterlife."

Bargonast had developed a toothache and the stabbing pain was driving him crazy. He strode back and forth wiggling the offensive tooth, trying to pull it out. He recrossed the little clearing several times and kicked the ashes of the dead fire as though it was the cause of his misery. He stopped and glared at Elfrand, relishing the idea of cutting his delicate throat.

"I think she's coming," Elfrand said, nodding in the direction of the path up the river.

Bargonast looked and saw movement along the screen of high grass. Then Chessa came into view. She carried a leather bag, lumpy with the outline of gold coins. Bargonast chuckled and forgot about his aching tooth. "So...the old miser has choked up some gold for you. And far more than you are worth, you sad little puppy. You can take your scrawny ass back to daddy and tell him what a brave boy you've been."

Chessa brought the bag of gold into the clearing. She stopped a few feet in front of him and spilled the coins on the ground. "There it is. Every druac you asked for." Then she backed away.

"Don't plan on going anywhere, little one." He drew his sword and tested the blade with his thumb. "I still have unfinished plans for you."

Elfrand looked at the sword with horror. "You can't kill me now," he blurted. "You have the gold. My father has paid for me." He was on the verge of hysterics. Bargonast laughed at him and cut him free.

"Why should I kill you. I may want to go falcon hunting with you again sometime." With a swat of the flat side of his blade he sent him on his way. He went to the gold coins, drooling with greed. With one eye on Chessa he gathered them back into the leather bag.

As the prince scurried past her, Chessa backed further away. Bargonast saw her eyes focus on something behind him and he whirled to face Felic who had circled quietly around. His first instinct was to grab Chessa and use her as a shield, but she had ran back along the path out of reach. He tucked the bag of gold into his girdle and taunted Felic. "You want to taste the bite of your old sword, Battle Flasher?"

Felic didn't answer. He too had a fine sword of Calixian steel--not as bejeweled but just as serviceable.

Bargonast roared and rushed forward. Felic parried as the raging brute cut viciously at him. He caught the blade with his lifted sword and struck back with all the power he could muster. His thrust found bone and blood. Bargonast was unfazed. Their swords met again and again, throwing sparks, and scaring birds into flight from the terrible clashing of steel on steel. They circled and raised dust as they lunged and withdrew. Both were bleeding from minor wounds.

Felic, on a lucky backswing, sliced the leather bag in Bargonast's girdle. Gold spilled out. Bargonast lost focus on his opponent for a moment and Felic found an opening to slash across his face, taking out an eye and the bridge of his nose. Bargonast stumbled back, blinded by blood and Felic stepped forward and delivered the killing thrust to the heart. The fearsome giant fell heavily into the dust.

Chessa ran to him. "Felic, you are hurt!"

Felic tried to catch his breath. Sweat and blood mingled on his brow. "I'll be okay," he grinned. "Just a few more scars to enhance my beauty."

* * *

Back at the city Chessa washed and bandaged Felic's wounds, and then they went to the king's court. Prince Elfrand was there beside his father. He was looking quite princely, cleaned up with a delicate coronet on his head and clad in fresh purple velvet. King Valis was beaming broadly and refused to take back the gold of the ransom.

"That is yours for saving my son."

He motioned the chamberlain to his side and took a small exquisitely jeweled chest from him. "And this is the pay I promised for saving the city--one thousand gold druacs."

"Thank you, your Majesty. I am honored to serve you and I thank you for your generosity."

"Gold is just gold, but you have made everlasting friends of me and my son. We will always be here for you."

As they left the throne room with Mystigan, Prince Elfrand joined them. He chattered away as they moved along the hall and broke the news about Mystigan. "He's getting married at the next full moon. He and the lady Tarastillina. It's so exciting."

Mystigan blushed. "My dear prince, is no secret safe with you around. She only accepted my hand an hour ago!" He turned to Felic. "It will be next week. I was hoping we could make it a double wedding."

"That's wonderful," Chessa said. "But we will not be here. We are leaving for Gamollia as soon as Felic is ready to travel." She laid her head on Felic's shoulder and snuggled under his instinctive embrace. "I hope to find our sweet baby, Anchessa, alive and cared for. In my heart I know she's alive. We will be married with our child in my arms."

* * *

"Get out! Get out! All of you," Queen Gwenay shouted, ordering her dwarf attendants out of the throne room. She was in a foul mood. News of the battle for Isha-Valis had reached her by carrier pigeon and she knew her dreams of regaining the Dagran throne would not be consummated. The only mollification was that Stet-Arnak, her most hated enemy, had been killed in the battle.

Even though the Dagran army was repulsed, she knew the war would be at an impasse with neither side willing to continue. With Stet-Arnak dead, his influence, and that of the Dag Arnak priesthood over King Cot, would not be a factor. She knew that the two kings would likely sign a peace treaty. Her promise of a Dagran galley as Felic's reward could not be fulfilled, and her hopes of having him share the throne of Dagra with her was a fleeting chimera. She flopped down on a pile of satin pillows to nurse her bitter chagrin.

# The End

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