A great silence fell. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

Then a lone figure left our side of the river and began to cross the ford, his boots splashing through the shallow channel, heading for the bank of stones in the center. He had only one weapon clutched in his right hand—the Starblade given to him by Grimalkin. Unlike the blades of the Shaiksa, his blade did not gleam in the sunlight; it was a dull, rusty brown.

Now his boots crunched on the stones as he approached the center of the ford.

It was Tom Ward, and even from this distance my gift of empathy told me how he was feeling. He was scared, desperately trying to control his fear and still the shaking of his limbs. He felt a terrible sense of doom—the inevitability of his own death. And he was angry that he had been manipulated into this situation. He wished that he had stayed in Chipenden and continued his life as a spook.

My heart went out to him. I did not like the way Grimalkin had used him. She could only see the threat from the Kobalos and seemed determined to employ everyone and everything to counter it. It was so unfair. No human had stood a chance against this dangerous, bestial warrior. For all the training he had received from Grimalkin, what could Tom hope to do?

By now Kauspetnd was also making his way across the dry stones of the ford.

I could get very little sense of this creature’s mind. I was aware of determination, aggression, and total confidence, but his thoughts were beyond me. In the past I had experimented with my gift of empathy. Some people were easier to read than others. I had tried animals too, sensing the feral willfulness of cats and the simple joy of dogs, but little more. Their minds were mostly closed to me; the thoughts of another species seemed unknowable. And now, with this Kobalos warrior, it was the same. I could not reach him; neither could I influence his behavior.

The combatants came to a halt. They were now facing each other, just a few feet apart. It seemed a long time before either of them moved, and when they did, they were tentative.

Tom thrust his sword toward the mage, who blocked it with one of his sabers—the one in his left hand, I think, though it all happened very fast. They circled widdershins, their boots crunching on the stones; the only other noise was the rush of the narrow river channel chuckling over its rocky bed.

Then the Shaiksa aimed a couple of blows at Tom’s head. He blocked them easily, and they continued to circle each other. I could sense that Tom’s fear was gone now. He was concentrating, focusing on the fight, his confidence slowly growing.

Then it began in earnest. Kauspetnd launched a furious attack, both blades flashing in the light of the setting sun. My heart was in my mouth as Tom was forced backward, desperately parrying each blow, the Starblade held in both hands.