Elbryan sat astride Symphony at the edge of a tree line at the top slope of a wide field. He shaded his eyes from the grayish glare. A severe winter storm had hit the night before, blowing winds drifting the snow in places so that it stood higher than a tall man. The folk of Dundalis had fared well, though, since they had constructed an appropriate shelter; thankfully, the place had stood under the tremendous weight of the snow and the power of the wind.

But now they had another problem, as Elbryan and Bradwarden had dis-covered the day before, right before the storm had broken. Many goblins were in the area, living in the ruins of Weedy Meadow, only a day's march to the west.

"Glad I will be when Lady Dasslerond and the elves make their appear-ance," the ranger remarked. He could still hardly believe that a troop of so many elves - Roger had put their number at more than a dozen -  would be operating in the area without contacting him.

"Ye never can tell about them little folk," Bradwarden replied. "Could be in a tree right above us, and the best-trained human'd never know it."

The ranger turned a sidelong glance at the centaur, recognizing a strange expression there, and then, at last picking up the cue, he did look up. There, perched upon a branch some twenty feet above his head, was the unmistakable winged form of an elf.

"Greetings, ranger. Far too long has it been since we have shared a song," the elf called down.

"Ni'estiel!" Elbryan called back up, recognizing the voice, though he could still make out little more than a silhouette against the somewhat brighter gray sky, and through the flakes that still drifted down. "Where is your lady, and Juraviel, and all the rest?"

"About," Ni'estiel lied. "I have come to tell you that the goblins are on the move."

"Which way?" the ranger asked. "Further west, to End-o'-the-World, perhaps? Or to the east?"

The elf shrugged. "They are not where they were, that is all I - we, have been able to discern thus far."

"Roger's out scoutin'," Bradwarden reminded, sounding somewhat con-cerned for their friend.

The ranger shared that concern; Roger was a cunning scout, adept at hiding, adept at running. But a deep snow could neutralize many of those abilities, could make him much easier to spot and much easier to catch.

"And another force is on the move," Ni'estiel called from above, "closing on this very position from the south."

The ranger started to ask the elf to elaborate, but the elf skittered off, rushing along the branches, then fluttering to another tree and running on.

"Now who are ye supposin' that might be?" Bradwarden asked.

It was all too much to digest for them both. Elbryan kicked Symphony into a trot along the wind-cleared ridgeline, then plowed down through the snow, working the horse hard to get to another ridge not far away that com-manded a better view of the southern trails. As soon as he and Bradwarden arrived up there, they spotted the force, a group of soldiers, their glittering helms and spear tips marking them obviously as Kingsmen. They moved slowly through the snow, an obviously weary and battered group.

"Out in the storm last night," Bradwarden remarked. "Oh, but I'm bettin' they're in a fine mood this day!"

The ranger smiled and chuckled, but then his grin went away, replaced by intrigue as the band moved closer. "Shamus Kilronney!" Elbryan said happily. "I recognize the posture of the rider and the gait of his horse. It is Shamus at the head of the soldiers."

"Oh, but blessed by the gods must we be," Bradwarden mumbled sarcastically under his breath, though certainly loud enough for Elbryan to hear.

"A good man," the ranger replied.

"And a man who might be lookin' for yer new monk friends," Brad-warden reminded.

That took the smile from Elbryan's face, but for just a minute. Shamus and his soldiers would certainly prove to be of great assistance fighting the large goblin band they had found at Weedy Meadow.

"He would not come hunting them," Elbryan said at length. "Or even if he has, we will discover that truth soon enough and easily slip the monks away into the forest."

"I'll be lookin' forward to their company," Bradwarden said dryly, and then Elbryan understood that the centaur's dour mood had little to do with the plight of the five monks. Bradwarden had come into plain view of late, and was known and accepted without question by all the folk fol-lowing Tomas Gingerwart. It would be harder, much harder, to explain the centaur to the King's soldiers, men who were probably, at least peripher-ally, allied with the Abellican Church. It wasn't that Bradwarden cared much for the company of humans anyway, with the possible exceptions of Elbryan and Pony, but he had long ago grown tired of having to hide from them.

"They'll be seein' us soon," the centaur remarked, "so I'll be takin' me leave." He kicked the ground and swung his great body toward the deeper woods.

"Shamus is a good man," Elbryan said before he had taken a single step away.

Bradwarden stopped and looked back over his broad shoulder at his friend, looked into those honest green eyes.

"He will accept you and not judge you," the ranger declared.

"Ye'd be a fool to tell him," replied the centaur, "for then ye'd mark yer-self as me rescuer. Pick yer own fights with the Church, boy, but I've no desire to see the inside o' St.-Mere-Abelle again."

Elbryan had no practical response to that.

"So go and make yer plans for the goblins," Bradwarden continued, "but be quick if ye're lookin' to kill any yerself. I'm on me own huntin' again, and got a bellyache for goblin meat." He gave a hearty laugh then and walked away into the shadows.

Most of all, Elbryan heard the hollow resonance of that laugh. Bradwarden had aptly been named the forest ghost by the original settlers of Dundalis; and until Nightbird had returned, elven trained, to the region, the centaur had been a solitary figure. But Bradwarden had come to enjoy the company of Elbryan and the others over the past months; that much was obvious to the ranger more from the sound of that laugh than from the centaur's original dour mood at the sight of Shamus and the soldiers.

Elbryan sighed and urged Symphony into a trot along the ridge, moving to intercept his Kingsman friend. It would be good fighting beside Shamus and the well-trained soldiers again, though better still would it be if the situation was not so complicated.

Pony awoke in darkness and started to rise, only to slam her head against unyielding wood barely two inches above. In the stifling darkness, a sur-prised and panicked Pony reached up, hands striking wood, hard and solid, and finding no handle.

A scream welled in her throat; she kicked up and bruised both knee and toe.

And the wood seemed to close down on her.

She was shut in, locked, buried alive. Desperately she reached for her pouch, but the gemstones had been taken from her, and her weapon was gone. Just this, in a coffin, in the darkness.

Pony punched hard against the wood and yelled out as loudly as she could. Ignoring the pain, she punched again and again, and kicked and clawed. Maybe she would break through and the dirt would pour in on her, suffocating her, crushing her, but better that attempt at freedom, over a slow, lingering death. She screamed again, though she realized that she could hardly expect to be heard.

But then ... a reply. And not from above, but from the side. And sud-denly she was not in darkness anymore but bathed in the soft glow of a lantern - a lantern held in the doorway of the cabin. A cabin! And she lay not in a coffin, but in a bunk bed, in the top berth with her face close to the ceiling.

Pony closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relief flooding through her. She recognized then that she was in the hold of a ship, could tell from the slight swaying movement that the river, and not hard earth, was below.

Pony turned her attention to the man, a man she knew, a man who had once given her, Elbryan, Bradwarden, and Juraviel passage across the river with no questions asked.

"Captain Al'u'met," she remarked. "It seems that fate has brought us together once more."

Al'u'met looked at her curiously for just a moment, then recognition sparked in his dark eyes. "The friend of Jojonah," he said quietly, calmly. "Ah, but that alone explains so much."

"I am no enemy of the Behrenese," Pony stated bluntly, "nor any friend of the Abellican Church."

"Or of the city, then, since they, Church and city, are now one and the same."

Pony nodded carefully - for her body ached from the beating she had received - slid her feet to the side, and extricated herself from the bunk, coming down shakily to the floor. Al'u'met was by her side in an instant, supporting her with his strong arm.

"You speak ill of the union," Pony noted, "yet you are a friend of Master Jojonah of the Abellican Order."

Al'u'met's smile only somewhat hid a wince, and Pony figured that he had seen her ruse for what it was. Only as Al'u'met replied did she realize that there was something much more terrible than that bothering the man.

"Jojonah did not approve of this Church," he said confidently.

Pony started to nod, but Al'u'met's use of tense suddenly intrigued her. Had Jojonah changed heart?

"I met him only once," Al'u'met explained, moving to the side and hooking the lantern on a peg, "on a passage up the Masur Delaval to Amvoy, his return to St.-Mere-Abelle. He told me then to remember the name of Avelyn Desbris, and so I have, and now that I have heard that name openly blasphemed in the Church of Palmaris, I have come to under-stand Jojonah's concern. He cared for Avelyn deeply, I understand, and fears for the man's legacy."

Again the past tense with reference to Jojonah, and Pony's expression reflected her growing fear.

"Master Jojonah was executed as a heretic," Al'u'met explained, "for conspiring with intruders who stole away the Father Abbot's most precious prisoner, a centaur said to have witnessed the destruction of Mount Aida and the demon dactyl."

Two steps back and Pony sat on the edge of the lower bunk.

"Might you know anything of such a conspiracy?" Al'u'met asked coyly.

A glare came back at him, Pony not appreciating the sentiment.

Al'u'met offered a bow in return. "You confuse guilt with grief," he observed.

"You saw my companions when we crossed the river."

"I did indeed," said the captain, "and I hold no doubt that the conspiracy claim against Jojonah was true enough. As for the charge of heresy ..."

"Jojonah was more attuned to the truth and goodness of the Church than any man I ever knew," Pony asserted, "except for Brother Avelyn Desbris."

A second bow from Al'u'met came back to her in response. "What, then, of the centaur?"

Pony studied him carefully for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. Was he, perhaps, an agent of the Church? As soon as she remembered the circumstances of her capture, she recognized that as improbable. Al'u'met and his dark-skinned southern brethren were obviously not her enemies.

"Bradwarden runs free in the northland," she said frankly, showing her confidence in the man in offering both the information and the centaur's name, "a fitting reward for a hero."

"And he was at Mount Aida, at the reputed end of the dactyl?"

"More than reputed," Pony replied with a chuckle. She ran one hand through her thick blond mane, shaking away the last of her grogginess. "I was there when Brother Avelyn destroyed the demon and its home, as was my human companion on the journey with you across the Masur Delaval." She hesitated as she spoke, wondering if she might be giving too much away, but then decided, on pure instinct, that too much was at stake and that time was of the essence. If she was to take any stand against Bishop De'Unnero, then this man would have to be involved, she realized. "We thought Bradwarden had given his life to save us, and yet, by a stroke of good fortune and elvish magic, he did survive, only to be brought to the dungeons of St.-Mere-Abelle as a prisoner."

"Because the Father Abbot did not believe his story of the demon dactyl?"

"Because the Father Abbot fears the truth of Avelyn Desbris," Pony corrected.

Al'u'met pondered the profound words and their implications for a moment, then moved to sit beside Pony on the bed. "Thus was poor Jojonah convicted and removed," he remarked.

"And thus was De'Unnero inserted as bishop of Palmaris," Pony replied. She stared intently at him as she added, "And what are we two to do about that?"

Al'u'met's determined smile told her that he was thinking along the same lines as she.

He handed over her pouch of sacred gemstones.

From the gloom under thick boughs, Bradwarden watched Elbryan guide Symphony down to the group. The soldiers were well trained, the centaur saw, for at the sound of an approaching horse, they moved immedi-ately into a defensive position. That formation fell apart when they recog-nized the rider, and the centaur watched as Elbryan moved right up beside the leader - Shamus Kilronney indeed - and exchanged a warm handshake and a pat on the shoulder.

The centaur narrowed his eyes and grumbled out a few quiet curses. He had a bad feeling about this soldier's return, but was willing to tell himself that it was just his own anger at being once more relegated to the shadows.

Thus, with a frustrated grumble, the centaur turned to go.

He was not alone; he knew that immediately. Something crept at him through the brush, deep down, brushing through the snow. Bradwarden quickly assessed the direction of the approach and the distance, and mea-sured that against the visibility in the gloomy forest.

He turned back then, and moved his telltale humanlike torso behind a tree, so that the part left visible to the newcomer would seem only the hindquarters of a horse.

"Ack, ye little horsie," came a grating goblin's voice. "Get me some food afore we're pickin' at the bones o' the men."

Bradwarden restrained the urge to turn and run the thing down, waited patiently, and let the goblin come to him.

"Now don't be movin' so I kills ye quick," the goblin said quietly, standing right beside the centaur.

How its eyes widened when Bradwarden stepped back, revealing the truth! So frightened, so caught off guard, was the creature, that it threw its spear - just a sharpened stick, really - to the ground. How it scrambled and tried to run away, but the centaur caught it by the throat and held it fast while his other hand came up with his heavy cudgel.

Up, up, and then down right on top of the squirming goblin's head. Only Bradwarden's strong grasp held the dead thing upright.

"So ye came outta yer holes," the centaur said quietly, surprised, for, since the war had become a rout, few monsters had shown any initiative toward starting any fights, with most looking only to run as far away as fast as possible. Ni'estiel's warning that the goblins were on the move only made him think that they had heard of the human settlement and had decided to run the other way, to the west and the farthest of the towns. When he thought it over for a few moments, Bradwarden saw that the east-ward march made sense. This goblin and its kin had become entrenched in Weedy Meadow enough to recover their wits. The powries and giants were probably long gone, so the goblins had likely consolidated their ranks around a single leader, or a couple of strong figures.

And now winter had come on, and the goblins thought to sneak in on the unsuspecting humans and hit at them hard, perhaps to steal some needed supplies.

The centaur stood very still, all his senses tuning to the forest about him. Gradually, he made out the telltale sounds of the monsters on the move: a soft rustle here, the snap of a twig there. Yes, they had come from Weedy Meadow, heading east, back toward Dundalis, obviously spoiling for a fight with the new settlers.

And now, like the elves, like Elbryan and him, they had spotted the approaching soldiers.

The centaur glanced back over his shoulder; if his guess concerning goblin numbers in Weedy Meadow was correct, then Elbryan and the sol-diers were in for an unpleasant morning.

"Dundalis has been reclaimed," Elbryan said to Shamus Kilronney as soon as they had completed the pleasantries. The ranger recognized all of Shamus' soldiers, as they recognized him, so no introductions were neces-sary. "You can soon report to your king that the Timberlands are secured."

"My king?" Shamus replied, his tone light but with a hint of something deeper behind the question. "Is Danube Brock Ursal not Nightbird's king as well?"

It was the first time that question had ever been put to the ranger, and frankly, he had no idea how to respond. "My roots trace to Honce-the- Bear," he admitted, carefully weighing the reactions of Shamus' men to his every word. "Yet I was born and have lived all my life outside of King Danube's domain."

He paused then, considering carefully how he felt about the issue. Was he indeed a citizen of Honce-the-Bear, or ... or what? he mused. A home-less rogue? Hardly. But he had never considered Danube his king, nor, for that matter, Lady Dasslerond his queen. He gave a helpless shrug then, his expression perplexed. "However you may define the matter, it would seem that King Danube and I are on the same side in this conflict," he added with a chuckle, and Shamus joined in, though the ranger did not miss the fact that the man's laugh seemed a bit strained.

"And what of the present? " the captain asked a moment later. "Dundalis has been reclaimed, but there is another town, is there not? "

"Two others," Elbryan corrected. "Weedy Meadow, at present, is in the hands of a goblin band, a fairly strong contingent, we believe, but End- o'-the-World, the third and westernmost town, as far as we know, remains deserted."

As if on cue, a huge arrow thudded into the ground between the two riders, and both horses twitched and nickered. The soldiers went into a frenzy, calling "To arms!" and "Draw blades!" repeatedly and fighting to turn their horses into a defensive line.

And not a moment too soon, for before the formation was even properly prepared, the goblin charge came on, dozens of the wicked creatures ap-pearing as if from out of the insubstantial mist, screaming and cursing and throwing their spears, running headlong at the group with an aggressive-ness Elbryan had not witnessed since he and Pony, on their way to St.-Mere-Abelle, had happened upon a seemingly helpless merchant caravan east of the Masur Delaval.

Before Kilronney's soldiers were even set, one man went down under the weight of two spears, and another lost his horse, the poor creature hit several times. Another soldier took a grazing hit, and Nightbird missed catching a spear in the face only because he managed to get Tempest at a perfect angle to deflect the missile - at the very last moment!

Shamus Kilronney recognized that his most advantageous move would have been a thunderous charge, rolling over the weakest section of the goblin circle. But they had not the time to gain any momentum through the deep snow, for the goblins were among their ranks almost before they had recovered from the unexpected volley.

Nightbird urged Symphony into a short burst, the powerful stallion burying the closest goblin under pounding hooves, the ranger slashing down another as he rushed past. Shamus almost cried out in protest, fearing that the ranger was fleeing the fight, but as soon as he cleared that initial line, Nightbird turned Symphony around, scanning to see where he would best fit in.

Shamus was relieved and admitted to himself that his fear was more the result of De'Unnero's warnings about the ranger than any actions Nightbird had ever personally shown to him. No time to analyze now, the captain reminded himself - and a prodding goblin spear pointedly reminded him! He batted the spear aside and leaned to strike, but he had to retract his sword to parry the swing of a spiked club. Catching it successfully between two of the spikes, Shamus turned it aside, but then realized he had a problem: the goblin's subsequent pivot prevented him from easily extracting his blade and left him open to the returning thrust of the first monster's spear.

Shamus yelled aloud and closed his eyes, and . ..

Nothing.

Shamus' eyes popped open to see the goblin crumble down under the blow of another soldier's sword, the shining blade creasing the goblin's head and spraying crimson blood all over the snow. For that soldier, though, the move proved disastrous, as a pair of goblins leaped from the side, catching him in their grabbing hands and pulling him from his saddle.

Shamus pulled free his sword and leaped his horse past the club-wielding goblin. The creature smacked the horse hard on the rump as it passed, drawing a deep gash, but the wounded animal responded with a solid kick to the goblin's chest that sent it flying to the ground.

Shamus tried desperately to get to his rescuer, but the goblin horde was thick about them then and the captain had all he could do to keep the grab-bing hands and swinging weapons at bay.

Symphony's hooves dug deep ruts in the snow as the ranger masterfully turned the horse. He spotted one soldier in trouble immediately and started that way, but pulled up before Symphony had taken a single stride, and wincing, turned to find another.

The soldier, skewered through the chest by a goblin spear, tumbled to the ground.

Another man was on the ground, having lost his mount in the initial spear volley. In rushed the ranger, Tempest slashing, driving back the gob-lins with mighty strokes. He threw his leg over Symphony's back and leaped to the ground in a run, using the turquoise gemstone set in Sym-phony's chest, the telepathic link to the magnificent stallion, to guide the horse.

A goblin tried to whip its club across, but Nightbird was already too close. He jammed his forearm into the goblin's arms, holding them at bay before the swing had truly begun, then bowled the creature over, stabbing once, to keep it down.

Then he was standing over the soldier, Tempest working in a blur to fend off the attacks of three goblins. Left and right went the blade, picking off a thrusting spear and a slashing sword. The ranger dug in one foot and wheeled about, Tempest coming across just in time to deflect the sharp tip from yet another stabbing spear.

Nightbird thought to go forward, to finish the suddenly unarmed goblin, and he even started that way - but only as a ruse to the two behind.

He spun back and sidestepped, free hand grabbing the shaft of the spear as it stabbed past, turning the weapon harmlessly outward as he stepped forward. Tempest circled, tip down, before the ranger, catching the goblin's sword slash under the blade, lifting it high over the goblin's head, and then sliding behind it to push it away. A deft twist of the ranger's wrist brought Tempest's tip down and in line, and he advanced; the sudden thrust ofbi'nelle dasada, and the goblin fell back with a shriek, clutching its torn chest.

On came Nightbird, pulling the spear, goblin still attached. The stub-born goblin wouldn't let go, still had both hands tugging at it, when Tem-pest came slashing across its face.

The ranger turned fast and breathed a bit easier to find the soldier standing once more, finishing off the goblin with the broken spear.

But other monsters were all around and came happily at the two humans who were not on horseback.

Symphony rushed in to help Nightbird, who caught the saddle and pulled himself astride in one fluid move, then reached down and caught the hand of the soldier, pulling him up right behind.

The goblins, surprised, skidded to a stop, but Nightbird paid them no heed. They went by fast, and the soldier leaped from Symphony's back onto his own horse, struggling into the saddle while Nightbird kept the goblins busy.

Then the ranger turned back to the general melee and saw that Shamus' men were gaining even footing against the ambushers. Hope soared, and then died as the ranger spotted a pair of goblins standing at the side, spears in hand and with several more lying on the ground at their feet. Symphony leaped toward them, but one goblin lifted its arm to throw at a soldier bat-tling furiously, his back to the creature, and Nightbird realized he couldn't get there in time!

He shouted, trying to draw the goblin's throw his way.

The goblin went flying away suddenly. The ranger nearly broke Sym-phony's stride, pulling up in his stirrups in startlement, but he was back low again in an instant, head down and yelling, forcing the remaining goblin to concentrate on him.

The creature turned, trying desperately to flee, even as it tried to throw. The spear flew far wide of the mark, not even slowing the ranger, who dis-patched the vulnerable creature with a brutal slash as Symphony ran by.

Only then did he notice that the goblin had been wounded, a small arrow protruding from its lower back. Now his hopes soared; if Lady Dasslerond and the elves had arrived, the fight would soon be a rout!

Again the horse's hooves dug in deeply, Symphony pivoting back toward the battle. Nightbird smiled as he passed the first dead spear thrower, a very large arrow driven through its side.

With only a glance up at the tree line, one that didn't show him Bradwarden or any of the elves, Nightbird focused on Shamus Kilronney, guiding Symphony through the thickest tangle of goblins to get to his friend's side.

Blood covered the captain, but to Nightbird's relief it was much more the blood of his enemies than his own.

"The day is ours!" Shamus cried, urging his horse ahead, bowling down one goblin and knocking another off balance.

Tempest took that stunned creature on the side of the head, flipping it head over heels to the now-bloody snow.

"The day is ours!" Shamus cried again, more loudly, lifting his sword so that his men would rally about him.

And, indeed, the tide had turned against the goblins, the better-armed, better-trained horsemen gaining a stronger advantage with each passing second.

Another goblin went down under a flurry of swords and trampling hooves, and another ran off, screaming, their cries of terror helping drain even more of the morale of the faltering goblin horde. To the ranger's delight, that running creature staggered once, then again, then yet again, as three elvish arrows laid it low.

Nightbird charged back into the fray, Symphony bowling a goblin to the ground, the ranger working Tempest furiously, batting aside a weak club attack, then slashing down a second time to crease the goblin's face. Then over the other way went the blade, slashing down at a goblin battling another rider. The blade missed as the goblin shrieked and dodged, but its desperate move left the monster off balance, a situation Nightbird was quick to exploit as Symphony continued past, stabbing straight and sure through the goblin's shoulder, dropping it writhing to the ground, an easy finish for the other mounted soldier.

The fight ended as abruptly as it had begun. The remaining goblins broke ranks and scattered back into the mist and the forest. Several sol-diers briefly gave chase, ensuring that the creatures would not come back, but most, including the ranger, dismounted quietly and ran to their fallen companions.

Nightbird figured that the goblins would all be dead in a matter of moments anyway; Bradwarden and more than a dozen elves were nearby in the forest.

Shamus Kilronney sat astride his horse, fixated by the image of Jierdan and Tymoth Thayer, brothers who had served with him through all the war. Jierdan, covered in blood, much of it his own, knelt beside his prostrate brother, working furiously to hold a wound closed. But the tear across half the man's belly was too big, and blood and guts and gore spilled out around Jierdan's hands. He cried out for his brother repeatedly, fought with the wound a bit longer, then threw his head back and screamed help-lessly. Gasping for air, Jierdan fell back over Tymoth, cradling his head, putting his face close to his brother's as if to breathe life back into him. "Don't ye die," he said over and over, rocking back and forth. "Don't ye die!"

Rage boiled through Shamus. He glanced all about, seeking some outlet.

"Ride to town and find a man named Braumin Herde," he heard Night-bird say, and only after the ranger repeated himself did Shamus realize that he was speaking to him. By that point, the captain had found a focus for his rage, a pair of goblins scrambling up the ridgeline and into the trees. Shamus dug his heels in hard and his horse leaped away.

"Shamus!" Nightbird called after him, but it was obviously futile, for the captain didn't even look back. The ranger instructed another man to go and find Braumin, then he ran back to Symphony and took up pursuit of his friend.

Shamus crashed into the treeline, shoving away branches, ignoring the scratches and prodding his horse forward. He couldn't see the goblins any longer, but knew they were still running - in a straight line away from the fight. The brush thickened about his mount; the horse resisted a push through a tangle of pine branches, so Shamus jumped down and, sword leading, charged on. He came to the edge of a narrow ravine, ten feet down - unless the snow was deeper than it appeared - and perhaps twice that across, with sides so steep that they did not hold much snow.

A single, new trail led down through the snow, so down the captain charged, stumbling, falling, but scrambling back to all fours and scaling the other side. He tripped over a stump just past the far lip of the ravine, but continued his wild scramble on hands and knees, hands and feet, then up again in a run, ignoring the bloody cuts on the knuckles of his sword hand and the cold numbness of his fingers. Another pine grove loomed before him. He put his head down and charged, meaning to go right through.

But then he heard a groan and the sharp crack of bone, and he went ahead cautiously, pulling the branches aside, peering into the gloom.

A goblin flew through the air and smashed into a tree. Shamus' eyes widened when he looked back the other way and made out the huge form of a centaur, one hand clasped tightly around a goblin's throat, bending the creature backward, while the other hand, holding a huge cudgel, was raised above the centaur's head.

Shamus winced as that club descended in a sudden, savage attack, and the goblin's skull shattered. With what seemed to be no more than the flick of his wrist, the centaur sent this monster, too, flying away. The centaur then picked up a huge bow - the largest bow Shamus had ever seen, and one that explained the enormous arrow that had come as a prelude to the goblin attack - and trotted off into the forest the opposite way, never looking back.

A hand grasped Shamus' shoulder and he, so unnerved by the sight of the centaur, nearly jumped out of his boots. He spun to find Nightbird standing beside him, Hawkwing in hand.

"There is another enemy in the forest," Shamus declared.

"Many, likely," replied the ranger, "for the goblins have scattered. Let them run, my friend. If they remain in the area, we will find them soon enough, though it seems far more likely to me that those who survive will run all the way back to their dark holes in the mountains."

"Another enemy," the captain said more forcefully, drawing a curious look from Elbryan, "a larger foe, and one more dangerous by far."

"Giant?"

"Centaur," said Shamus, his eyes narrowing.

That set the ranger back on his heels. He looked past the captain and noted the closest dead goblin. Shamus had seen Bradwarden, and the secret hadn't even lasted until the soldiers had entered Dundalis.

"No enemy," Elbryan corrected, his voice firm.

"There is talk of a centaur outlaw," Shamus said, "one who is reported to have come to this region. Few centaurs, I would guess, survive in this age."

Elbryan and Shamus stared hard at each other for a long time. The ranger understood that he was making a stand here that could destroy his friendship with the captain, that indeed could bring the two to blows, and mark him more clearly as an outlaw. But he also understood that he was standing up for Bradwarden, so unjustly accused, Bradwarden, whom he numbered among his most trusted, dearest friends.

"One and the same," he said, jaw set firm, growling the words. "The cen-taur you have seen is Bradwarden, who was taken to St.-Mere-Abelle unjustly. The centaur who fired the arrow into our midst to warn us of the attack was that same Bradwarden who is rumored to be an enemy of the Abellican Church."

"His actions against a goblin band, a common enemy, do not excuse - " Shamus began.

"I have wounded to tend," Elbryan interrupted, and he turned and walked away.

Shamus Kilronney stood among the trees for a long while, considering all that he had seen. He was an officer of the King, and an officer of the Bishop, and certainly not empowered to judge the justice or injustice afforded this centaur.

The captain closed his eyes and remembered De'Unnero's instructions and warning. Certainly the mere presence of Bradwarden in this region, and the fact that he was obviously a friend of Elbryan, gave credence to the Bishop's words.

This warrior, Nightbird, this man he had known as ally and friend, was indeed the outlaw who had invaded St.-Mere-Abelle.

By the time Elbryan came back over the ridge, the fighting was finished, and all wounded goblins had been put to the sword. Now the soldiers were tending their own wounds, and the ranger had to pause and draw a deep breath when he saw three bodies covered by cloaks.

Many more goblin dead littered the field, he realized. Though this was not the first time Elbryan had seen men fighting beside him die, the cost of this battle had been too high, by his estimate, and would have likely been far higher had not Bradwarden given them a few extra seconds of warning.

But where were the elves? Elbryan wondered. In searching the battle-field, he found only a couple of goblins who had been wounded by elvish arrows. More than a score of monsters had ambushed them, but Dasslerond's band, if it was as large as Roger had insisted, could have cut that number down before the first of the goblins got near the riders.

It made no sense, nor did Elbryan understand why the elves - the finest scouts in the world, creatures who knew the ways and sounds of the forest better than any, centaur and ranger included - had not given more of a warning.

Still, Elbryan blamed himself; he had known about the goblin encamp-ment, but had not believed these creatures would attack them, even after Ni'estiel's warning that the goblins were on the move. Thus, he and the newly arrived soldiers had been taken by surprise.

And they had paid a heavy price.

A short while later, Roger Lockless, Braumin Herde, and the other monks came running down the road with the rider the ranger had dispatched.

A fourth man had died by then.