Varthlokkur had, at last, attained his dream after Mocker’s death and the fourth Ethrian’s disappearance, four centuries of patience rewarded. He was obsessed with the woman, and dreadfully frightened of losing what had been so difficult to obtain.

And she? Perhaps she loved him. But she was a strange and closed and lonesome person even in a crowd, even with sworn friends, for the winds of doom sweeping the world had stolen from her everything she cherished. The last of her many brothers, Valther, Mist’s husband, had fallen at Palmisano. And the war had claimed her only son. And now she had a second child on the way and her mind was filled with a poisonous dread of what price fate would now demand….

Very softly, Michael Trebilcock said, “There is only the hint of a ghost of a rumor. My source in Throyes speaks only of matters concerning his own goals, not of Shinsan’s greater tribulations. But there is something happening in the far east. Something that has drenched the entire Tervola class in dread yet which they will not discuss even among themselves. It seems to be something they fear as much, or more, than war with Matayanga. Yet the only token of it I have been able to unearth yet is a name or title. The Deliverer. Don’t ask! I don’t know.”

“But that’s what has the wizard all cockeyed?”

“I don’t know that. But I suspect it.”

“And he and Mist know more than they are willing to say.”

Trebilcock let one of his rare chuckles escape. “We all know more than we are willing to tell. About anything. Even you.”

Bragi considered ways to pursue the matter, possibly to dig out something Michael did not know he knew, but a grand hoot and holler broke out about a quarter mile away, somewhat toward the Guards’ castle.

“Damn!” Bragi swore. “Know what they did? Decided to stick to their plan. Come on.” He charged through the woods. Michael bounced along in his wake. In minutes Ragnarson was puffing like a wounded ox.

They joined several teammates atop a grassy slope over looking a free-for-all. Twenty-five Panthers surrounded the Guards’ balls. A dozen Guards were trying to break their formation.

“Everybody get down,” Bragi told the half-dozen men around him. “Out of sight.” He heard teammates floundering through the brush. Those idiots from the deep line had left their positions. “We’ll hit them when they get up here.” He flung himself down in the grass.

Black patches swam before his eyes. He could not breath deeply or fast enough.

The ruckus rolled closer. Bragi peeked. Not long. More men joined him. “Wait till I go,” he told them. “Give me a couple steps, then follow me.”

The Panthers had formed a wedge. Guards whooped around them like puppies yapping at a herd of cattle.

A few feet more. Now. Bragi flung himself forward, rolled into the shins of the leading Panthers. He took a half-dozen down.