Kantor whipped his head around, baring his teeth at all of the others, screaming defiance with voice and mind. :But you are my Chosen, and they will not touch you! Nor will they reach you, except going through me!:

But the others seemed just as angry—and just as determined. And there were seven of them to Kantor’s one. They snorted and added their trumpeting to Kantor’s, pawing up the sod savagely.

:Come, then!: Kantor “shouted,” so that Alberich winced at the strength of the voice in his mind, following the mental shout with a challenging scream. :Try and take me, if you dare, you impudent young puppies! Try—and see what fools you are!:

“Kantor, no!” he protested, knowing that, no matter how formidable his Companion was, he was still no match for the power of so many. “Don’t—”

:Stop.:

The single word rang in his head like a gong, completely driving out everything else, so powerful was it. For a moment, it was as if he’d been punched in the gut, unable even to breathe. He was blinded and deafened, and when he was able to think again, he found himself on his knees, as if the Word had driven him there.

He wasn’t the only one so affected; Kantor stood with head hanging and eyes glazed, and the others were shaking their heads, staggering about, looking utterly dazed. He had recovered first, and so he was the one who saw the final Companion come pacing into the meadow, striding as a king would stride across a royal carpet spread for his pleasure.

This—this newcomer was the very essence of Companion. His shining coat glowed pearly and silken in the moonlight, his mane and tail fell like waterfalls of silver, and his eyes held the wisdom of ages past and the knowledge of ages to come—and Alberich knew, in that moment when he looked into the stallion’s eyes, that the knowledge held as much sorrow as joy…

The stallion swung his head about to stare at the others—all but Kantor, that is—with the kind of look that Aksel and Berthold would give pupils who had gone so far beyond merely disappointing their teachers that even the most irrepressible or arrogant of boys could not have gone unaffected.

:What is this?: the newcomer asked—no—demanded, in tones of disgust. :What do I find here? Companions—threatening someone else’s Chosen? What were you thinking? How could you?:

One of Alberich’s attackers raised his head and stared at the stallion; Alberich “heard” nothing, but he got the distinct impression that the other was trying to justify his actions, rather like a defiant little boy who knows very well he’s in the wrong, but simply cannot bear to admit it. The others were making no such attempts; if a Companion could have flushed or paled with shame, these would have done so.