Gaborn topped a small rise, saw the dirt road from the castle winding through a narrow valley.

Among the blackened trees near the ridgetop sat one lone warrior atop an unarmored gray mare. He wore his shield on his left hand—a small round device not much larger than a platter.

Borenson, waiting. White teeth flashed beneath his red beard as the big guard smiled a welcome to his Prince. Gaborn never had thought he’d be so happy to see the green knight of House Orden on any warrior’s shield.

Borenson raised his war horn to his lips again, sounded a charge, and raced toward Gaborn. His steed leapt the corpse of a frowth giant, lunged downhill.

“Archers, draw!” Borenson shouted an obvious ruse. The valley beyond held nothing but blackened trees and stones. The guard drew a long-handled battle-axe from its sheath on his saddle, waved it above his head, thundered past Gaborn to cover the Prince’s retreat.

Only one of Raj Ahten’s warriors had dared cross the ridge, come rushing down.

A huge man on a black steed—his white war lance poised, like a spear of light. Yet even in the half-second as Gaborn reined his horse to wheel about, he glanced back.

The knight wore blackened chain beneath a gold surcoat, with the emblem of Raj Ahten’s wolves emblazoned in red. His lance, the color of ivory, had been stained with blood.

The knight’s high helm had white wings painted on it, signifying that he was no common soldier—but a captain of Raj Ahten’s guard, an Invincible with no fewer than fifty endowments.

Borenson could not equal the man.

Yet Borenson spurred to meet the warrior head-on, his steed throwing dirt with every pounding of its hooves.

Then Gaborn understood: his father’s troops had fled, would not come to his rescue. Borenson had to kill this knight or die in the attempt, lest Raj Ahten learn the truth.

Gaborn drew the short sword from the belt at his waist.

The Invincible charged downhill, lance poised, holding as steady as the sun in the sky.

Borenson raised his battle-axe high. The wise thing to do would be to time his swing, parry the lance before its tip speared his mail.

But these were force warriors, and Gaborn did not know what kinds of strengths or talents the Invincible might have. Gaborn was not prepared for their tactics.

Just as it appeared Borenson would be hit, he called “Clear!” His horse leapt and kicked.

The Invincible buried his lance in the horse’s neck. Only then did Gaborn see that this was a “pinned lance”—a lance held to the warrior’s gauntlets with a metal pin. The pins helped when battling armored opponents, for it insured that the knight would not lose his grip when the lance hit metal.