Their journey on the road had thus far been surprisingly un-eventful. They had encountered a band of goblins on the southern edge of the Moorlands, but dispatched that group with typical efficiency - three shots from Juraviel's bow, a lightning bolt from Pony, and Elbryan and Symphony running down those couple that managed to scamper away from the main, doomed group. Search-ing the area afterward, the ranger and the elf, both expert trackers, had found no signs to indicate that any greater number of the mon-sters might be in the immediate area, and so the fighting, for the present, was at its end.

Things got even quieter when they left the always wild Moor-lands far behind, crossing into the kingdom of Honce-the-Bear, just south of the Timberlands. The northwestern corner of Honce-the-Bear was not heavily populated, and there was really only one path that could be considered a road, that covered the ground be-tween the Wilderlands and the main road connecting Palmaris and Weedy Meadow. Apparently the goblins and powries hadn't found enough sport in the immediate region, for there was no sign at all that any were about.

Soon, though, the trio was farther south, in more populated re-gions, crossing fields lined by planted hedgerows and stone walls, and with many roads to choose from. And all of those roads showed many sets of tracks, powrie, goblin, and giant, and the deep grooves of the wheels of laden carts and powrie war engines.

"Landsdown," explained Pony, pointing to a plume of smoke rising in the distance, just over a short hill. She had been through this area only a couple of times, but from even those short pas-sages, knew it far better than either of her companions. When the invading monstrous army had first come to the three towns of the Timberlands, it was Pony who traveled south to warn the folk of Landsdown and the neighboring community of impending danger.

"Occupied by monsters," the ranger reasoned, for it seemed un-likely to him that humans could still be in the towns, given the sheer number of enemy tracks along the roads. And the smoke was not that of a sacked village, not the angry, billowing blackness of buildings burning, but rather the simple gray plumes of a hearth.

"And likely we'll find the neighboring town in a similar posi-tion," Belli'mar Juraviel reasoned. "It seems as if our enemies are well- entrenched and mean to stay."

"Caer Tinella," Pony remarked after some thought. "The next town in line is Caer Tinella." She looked back to the north as she spoke, for the group had veered from the one main road, the one be-tween Palmaris and Weedy Meadow. They were moving through the forest, and had come in from the west, below the level of Caer Tinella, the northernmost organized township in Honce-the-Bear, and thus the closest to the three towns of the Timberlands.

"And beyond Caer Tinella?" Elbryan asked.

"The road back home," Pony answered.

"We should start in the north, then," the ranger reasoned. "We will swing back around Caer Tinella and see what we might find, then come back to Landsdown to take up the fight."

"You will probably find a fight waiting for you right over that hill," Juraviel remarked.

"Our first order of business is to locate the refugees, if there are any in the area," Elbryan replied, and it was not the first time he had expressed those sentiments. He didn't say it aloud, but hoped he might find Belster O'Comely and the other folk of Dundalis among any resistance bands operating in this area.

The ranger looked to Pony, saw a smile on her fair face, and knew that she understood the reasoning behind the urgency in his voice, and knew, too, that she was of like heart. It would be good to be among trusted allies again. At Elbryan's bidding, Pony climbed up behind him on Symphony's broad back.

"The town is right on the road?" Belli'mar Juraviel asked.

"Both of them are," Pony replied. "Landsdown to the south and Caer Tinella just a few miles to the north."

"But we'll give Caer Tinella a wide berth to the west, going right around the town," Elbryan explained. "It is possible that any resis-tance bands would be encamped farther in the north, where the fields and roads are less, and the forest is thicker."

"You go west," Juraviel agreed, eyeing the north road. "I will go closer to Caer Tinella to see if I can get a good measure of our enemy's strength."

Elbryan, fearing for his diminutive friend, started to protest, but bit the words back, considering the stealthiness of the Touel'alfar. Belli'mar Juraviel could walk right up behind the most alert deer and pat it twice on the rump before it ever knew he was there.

Juraviel wouldn't have listened to any arguments anyway, Elbryan knew from the sly expression on his angular face, an observation confirmed when Juraviel shot Elbryan and Pony a wink of a golden eye and added, "And our enemy's weaknesses."

Then the elf was gone, slipping away, a shadow among shadows.

"Ye will tell me what I wants to know," Kos-kosio Begulne promised.

Roger sat as straight as his tight bindings would allow and painted a disarming smile on his face.

Kos-kosio Begulne's head snapped forward, the powrie's bony forehead crushing Roger's nose and knocking the man over backward.

Roger sputtered and tried to roll away, but the cords held his arms fast behind the chair back and he could get no leverage. A pair of powries were beside him suddenly, roughly pulling him back up.

"Oh, ye'll tell me," Kos-kosio Begulne declared. The powrie smiled evilly and raised one gnarly hand, snapping its fingers.

The sound jolted poor Roger's sensibilities; he could only groan as the door to the small room opened and another powrie entered, leading on a short leash the biggest, meanest dog Roger had ever seen. The dog strained in his direction against the powrie's strong pull, baring its formidable teeth, growling and snarling and snap-ping its powerful jaws.

"Craggoth hounds eat lots," the grinning Kos-kosio Begulne said. "Now, boy, ye got something to tell me?"

Roger took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself, trying hard not to panic. The powries wanted to know the location of the refugee encampment, something Roger was determined he would not divulge, no matter what torture they exacted.

"Too long," said Kos-kosio Begulne, snapping his fingers again. The powrie dropped the leash and the Craggoth hound came on, leaping for Roger's throat.

Roger threw himself over backward, but the dog only followed, its fangs scoring the man's cheek, cracking at his jawline.

"Don't ye let the beast kill him," Kos-kosio Begulne instructed the others. "Just make him hurt real bad. He'll talk to us, don't ye doubt." With other matters to attend to, the powrie leader left the room then, though he was surely enjoying the spectacle.

For poor Roger, all the world was blood and snapping jaws.

Belster O'Comely eyed the approaching torches with the greatest fear he had known since leaving Dundalis. According to the returned scouts, the powries had Roger, and now the appear-ance of so large a monstrous force in the forest, moving unerringly to the north, led the portly man to believe that Roger had been forced to give them up. Maybe Jansen Bridges had been right in his disdain for Roger's nightly antics.

There was no way that nearly two hundred refugees, many very old and many very young, would get away from such a force, Bel-ster realized, and so he and his fellows had only one apparent op-tion: the able-bodied would go out and fight the powries in the woods, occupy them with hit- and-run tactics until those who could not fight could get far, far away.

Belster wasn't thrilled with the prospects, and neither was Tomas or the other leaders of the refugee band. Hitting at an orga-nized and prepared group of monsters would cost them greatly and probably spell the end of any real resistance in the region. Belster suspected that any humans surviving this night would have to move farther south and try the dangerous maneuver of slipping around the monster lines to get into Palmaris. Many times over the last couple of weeks, Belster and Tomas had considered just such an option, and each time had dismissed it as too perilous. There simply wasn't yet enough pressure being exerted on the monsters from the forces of Palmaris; the monster lines were too thick and too well-entrenched.

Still, the innkeeper had suspected all along that it would come to this, and in fact had known that the primary mission for him and his fellow warriors was to get the noncombatants far from the field of battle. The run to Palmaris would be fraught with danger, but the summer wouldn't last forever, and many of the old and young would not likely survive the cold nights of winter in the forest.

Belster blew all those thoughts away with a profound and help-less sigh. He had to concentrate on the business at hand, on di-recting the coming battle. His archers had already gone out to both the east and west of the advancing monstrous horde.

"The eastern flank is ready to strike," Tomas Gingerwart said, moving near the innkeeper.

"They hit hard, and retreat fast," Belster explained.

"And those in the west have to come in hard and fast as soon as the monsters make their turn to the east," Tomas replied appropriately.

Belster nodded. "And then comes our job, Tomas, the most critical of all. We must assess the strength of our enemy at once, and determine if they are weak enough, and disorganized enough, for a full assault. If so, then we send our fighters straight in, and signal for east and west to close like the jaws of a wolf."

"And if not," Tomas interrupted, for he had heard all of this be-fore, "those in the west flee into the forest and those in the east come back in hard at the rear of Kos-kosio Begulne's turning line."

"While you and I and our fellows go to the others and begin the long circuit to the south," Belster finished, his deflated tone showing he did not like that prospect.

"You would begin that at once?" Tomas asked, somewhat sur-prised. He had thought that they would finish the night, however it was to be decided, in the forest, and wait for the revealing daylight to lay their plans.

"If we mean to go south - and if this force is on to us, then we have few options - it would be better that we go while the mon-sters are preoccupied with our archers," Belster decided.

"We have to get word to them, then," Tomas replied. "When they finally break ranks, they must know where to find us."

Belster considered that for a moment, then shook his head, his expression grave. "If in their fear they turn directly to the south, they will be chased, and thus we will be chased," he reasoned. "They have already been instructed to flee into the forest if the at-tack is routed. They will find their way from there, wherever they choose to go." Those were indeed the most difficult words Belster O'Comely had ever spoken. He knew the reasoning to be correct, but still felt as if he was abandoning his comrades.

Tomas' first reaction called for an immediate protest, but he sub-limated it quickly, seeing Belster's pained expression, and, be-cause of that, taking the moment to consider the wider situation. He found he had to agree with the decision, and understood that no matter how difficult the situation might become for the archers, it would be no less so for Belster's retreating group, for by all reports they would have to cross miles and miles of land even thicker with monsters.

Another man came running toward them then, from the south. "The powries and goblins have four giant allies," he reported. "They've just crossed Arnesun's Creek."

Belster closed his eyes and felt weary indeed. Four giants, any one of which could probably wipe out half of his warriors. Even worse, giants could return the arrow volleys by hurling huge stones or spears the size of tree trunks.

"Should we change the plan?" Tomas asked.

Belster knew it was too late. "No," he said gravely. "Send the eastern flank into action. And may God be with them."

Tomas nodded to the scout and the man ran off, passing the word. Barely ten minutes later the forest to the south erupted with screams and roars, with the sound of zipping arrows and the thunder of giant-hurled boulders.

"Powries, goblins, and giants," Juraviel explained to Elbryan and Pony when he caught up to them northwest of Caer Tinella. "A strong force, heading north, with purpose, it would seem."

Elbryan and Pony exchanged concerned looks; they could guess easily enough what that purpose might be.

"Up with us," Elbryan bade, lowering his hand to the elf.

"Three on Symphony?" Juraviel asked doubtfully. "He is as fine a horse as ever there was, I do not question, but three is too many."

"Then run, my friend," Elbryan bade the elf. "Find where you might best fit into the battle."

Juraviel was gone in the blink of an eye, scampering through the forest.

"And keep your head low!" Elbryan called after him.

"And you, Nightbird!" came the already distant reply.

The ranger turned to Pony, giving her that prebattle expression, a look of sheer determination she had come to know so well. "Are you ready with the stones?"

"Always," Pony answered grimly, marveling at the change in the man. In the span of a few seconds he had gone from Elbryan to Nightbird. "You just remember all that I taught you with the hematite."

The ranger chuckled as he turned back and kicked his great stal-lion into a run. Pony had a diamond out, calling forth its magics to light the way, and as they rode she removed the cat's-eye circlet from around her head and set it on her companion's. Then she let the diamond light die away. Nightbird would guide Symphony, for with his telepathic connection to the horse through the magical turquoise, it was almost as if the horse could see through his eyes. Even with that guidance, though, the ranger found the trail diffi-cult, with thick brush and tightly packed trees, and paths that seemed to always lead him farther to the west instead of directly north, and so it was Juraviel, cutting a straighter course than the riders, for trees were hardly an obstacle to the nimble elf, who actu-ally got within hearing distance of the battle first. He saw the mon-sters soon after, running hard left to right, to the east, apparently in pursuit.

"Giants," the elf said grimly, spotting the huge forms. Even as he watched, one of the behemoths launched a heavy stone through the tangle of trees, smashing branches.

A man came tumbling down hard from that tree. A host of gob-lins and the stone-throwing giant made for him, while the other monsters continued their chase.

Juraviel glanced all around, hoping that Nightbird and Pony would come onto the scene. Alone, what might he do against so powerful a force?

The noble elf shook those thoughts away. Whatever he might do, he had to try; he could not stand idly by and watch a man be murdered. Up a tree he went, running along a solid branch.

The fallen man was still alive, his head lolling, groans escaping his lips. On came a goblin, spiked club in hand.

Juraviel's first bowshot took the creature in the kidney.

"Blimey!" the goblin howled. "I been stuck!"

Juraviel's second arrow took it in the throat, and it fell over, gur-gling, clasping futilely at the mortal wound.

The elf wasn't watching, though, after having seen the giant's tactics. Sure enough, a heavy stone came slamming into the tree, where Juraviel had just been standing.

The elf, far to the side in another tree, giggled loudly - giants hated that. "Oh, big and stupid is not the way!" Juraviel sang out, emphasizing his point by shooting an arrow right into the giant's face.

Even so perfect a shot had little physical effect, though, the be-hemoth waving the tiny arrow away as if it were no more than a stinging insect. The emotional toll, however, was more to Ju-raviel's liking. The giant roared and charged blindly, smashing through trees, ordering the goblins to follow.

Soon the elf was running, skipping lightly along high branches and stopping every so often to hurl a taunt, or, when the opportu-nity presented itself, to shoot an arrow, just to keep his pursuers on course. He doubted he would kill the giant, or would even get enough of a clear shot to bring down a goblin, but he figured that having the behemoth and half a dozen goblins chasing him far from the field of battle was a solid contribution.

The elf's keen ears picked up the sound of battle again soon after, but it was far to the north now, or at least he and the pursuers were far to the south, closer to Caer Tinella than the spot where the man had fallen.

Juraviel meant to keep them running all night if need be, past Caer Tinella and all the way to the south of Landsdown.

"Oh, well done," Elbryan congratulated when he saw the second band of human archers moving east, behind the monstrous force.

Pony looked at him curiously.

"I know this tactic," the ranger explained. "They hit side to side, trying to confuse their enemies." A smile widened on the ranger's face.

"I know it, too," Pony agreed, catching on. "And so does - "

"Belster O'Comely," the ranger reasoned. "Let us hope."

"And let us see where we might fit in," Pony added, kicking Symphony's flanks. Off the great stallion surged, thundering along the path, closing ground to the second wave of Belster's army. Elbryan took care to guide Symphony to the south of the op-posing forces - except for one monstrous group that, for some reason Elbryan and Pony could only guess at, had gone charging off far to the south. Pulling up behind the cover of a line of thick pines, the ranger slid down from the horse and handed Pony the reins.

"Stay safe," he whispered, reaching tip to touch the woman's hand. To his surprise, Pony handed the small diamond over to him.

"I cannot use it without drawing too much attention," she explained.

"But if they get close - " Elbryan started to protest.

"Do you remember the copse in the Moorlands?" Pony replied evenly. "They were close then."

That image of carnage quieted the ranger's concerns. If the mon-sters did get close to Pony, pity them, not her.

"You take the diamond and mark out targets for me," the woman explained. "If you can use the hematite, you can also use the dia-mond. Seeking out the magic of each stone is much the same process. Put a glow on a band of powries, and then run clear."

Elbryan grabbed her hand more tightly and pulled her down to the side, going up on tiptoes that he could give her a kiss. "For luck," he said, and started away.

"For later," Pony replied slyly just as Elbryan moved out of sight. She remembered their pact as soon as she had spoken the words, though, and gave a frustrated sigh. This war was getting too long for her liking.

For Elbryan's liking as well. With the cat's-eye, the ranger could see well in the night. Still, when Pony's teasing reply drifted to his ears, he almost fell over a log.

He took a deep breath and put aside any images her comment had inspired, bringing himself fully into the present, to the situation at hand. Then he was off and running, using the sounds of fighting to guide his movements, to bring him closer to the action. Adrena-line coursed through his veins; he fell into that almost trancelike state, the warrior incarnate, the same perfect balance and honed senses that he found inbi'nelle dasada, his morning sword-dance.

He was Nightbird now, the elven-trained warrior. Even his step seemed to change, to grow lighter, more agile.

Soon he was close enough to view the movements of the com-batants, both human and monster. He had to keep reminding him-self that they, unlike he with his gemstone, could not see very far ahead, that the powries and goblins were perfectly blind outside the tiny perimeter of their torchlight. And for those not carrying torches, this night fighting in the dark forest was as much a matter of feeling their way along as of seeing their enemies. The ranger watched, measuring the situation, trying hard not to chuckle at the utter ridiculousness of it all, as humans and powries often passed right by each other, barely ten feet apart, without ever noticing.

The ranger knew that it was time to find his place. He spotted a pair of goblins huddled low at the base of a tree, peering to the west, the direction from which the most recent assault had been launched. He saw the pair clearly, but without any source of light, they did not see him. Silent and swift, Nightbird put himself along a clear run to them, then inched closer, closer, and leaped into their midst. Mighty Tempest flashed left, then right, then Nightbird turned back to the left, driving his sword out straight with all his weight and strength behind it, a sudden, explosive thrust that skew-ered the first.

He tore the blade free and pivoted back the other way, to find the other goblin down on its knees, clutching its belly, staggered from the first strike. Tempest slashed across, powerful and sure, lopping off the creature's ugly head.

Nightbird ran on, cutting swiftly across open patches of grass, climbing into trees at times to gain a better vantage of the unfolding scene around him. Always he tried to remain cognizant of where Pony might be waiting and of what help the woman might offer.

Seconds seemed like long minutes to anxious Pony, sitting quiet on Symphony within the sheltering boughs of the pine grove. Every so often she spotted or heard some movement not so far away, but could not tell if it was human or powrie, or perhaps even a deer frightened by the tumult of the battle.

All the while, Pony rubbed her fingers about several chosen stones: graphite and magnetite, the powerful ruby and protective serpentine and malachite.

"Hurry along, Elbryan," she whispered, anxious to get into the fray, to launch the first blows that she might be rid of this typical nervousness. That was how battles - except, of course, for unex-pected fights - always started for her, with the churning stomach and the beads of sweat, the tingling anticipation. One strike would rid her of that edginess, she knew, when purpose and adrenaline would surge through her body.

She heard a commotion not far ahead and spotted a form, a huge silhouette. Pony needed no diamond light to discern the identity of that massive creature. Up came the graphite, the lightning stone, Pony holding it up at arm's length, gathering its energies. She hesi-tated a bit longer, letting the power mount, letting the giant and its handful of allies settle into position on a ridge across a short de-pression of thin trees.

Still she waited - she doubted that her lightning stroke would kill many of the creatures, and certainly it would not destroy the giant. If she loosed the magic, her position would be given away and she would indeed be in the thick of the fight. Perhaps a better opportunity would be presented to her.

But then the giant roared and hurled a huge stone to the west, where a group of humans was fast approaching, and the issue was settled. Goblins and powries howled in glee, thinking they had am-bushed and would quickly overrun this one small band.

Then came the stroke, a sudden, jarring, blinding burst of searing white energy. Several goblins and a pair of powries went flying to the ground; the giant was thrown back so forcefully that it uprooted a small tree as it stumbled.

And most important of all, from Pony's perspective, the human band had been warned, had seen the full extent of the enemies crouched in this area in one sudden, brightening instant.

But so, too, was Pony's position surrendered. Fires flickered to life in the small vale between her and the monsters, lightning-clipped trees going up like candles. The giant, more angry than hurt, came right back her way, reaching into a huge sack to produce another boulder.

Pony thought to loose another lightning blast, but graphite was a particularly draining stone, and she knew that she would have to be more focused this time. She fumbled with the stones; she saw the giant's arms go up high, and could only pray that his throw would be off the mark.

Another light appeared, bright and white, the glow of a dia-mond, backlighting the giant and its allies. It lasted only a second or two, giving Pony a clearer picture of the enemy and distracting the giant for just an instant.

All the time Pony needed. Out came the magnetite, the lodestone. The woman focused on the stone's magics, saw through its magnetic energy, seeking an attraction, any attraction. She "saw" the powrie swords, the belt buckle of one dwarf. The image of the giant in the diamond backlight came clear in her mind, particularly its upraised arms, the great hands that held the boulder.

The giant was wearing metal-banded gauntlets.

Pony quickly focused the magnetite energy, blocked out all other metallic influences except one giant gauntlet. She brought the power of the stone to an explosive release and let it fly, many times the speed and power of one of Elbryan's deadly bowshots.

The giant dismissed the flash of light behind it and brought the boulder over its head again, thinking to throw it in the direction of the unseen lightning caster. But suddenly its right wrist exploded in searing pain and lost all strength, and the boulder fell from its grasp, bouncing off one square shoulder before tumbling harm-lessly to the ground.

The giant hardly felt the bruise on the shoulder, for its wrist and hand were thoroughly shattered, what little remained of the metal gauntlet crushed in against the behemoth's hand. Two fingers hung loose on flaps of skin; another finger was altogether gone, just gone.

The giant staggered back a couple of long strides, blinded by surprise and agony.

Another lightning bolt slammed in then, driving the monster right over backward, dropping it, groaning, to the ground. Hardly conscious, the behemoth did hear the sounds of its few remaining comrades, all of them running away into the dark night.

Pony eased Symphony out of the pines and into the valley, picking her way through the tangle. She drew out her sword as she rode, and found no opposition when she came upon the squirming giant.

She killed it quickly.

Confident in Pony's abilities and judgment, Nightbird didn't stay around after he had marked out the target with the diamond light. Back in the darkness again, the ranger made his way farther north, cutting right across the monster and human lines.

He saw a group of men crawling through some ferns, and, on a low branch above them, a pair of goblins holding cruel spears, both peering down at the fern bed, trying to find an open shot.

Up came Hawkwing, and a split second later one of the goblins dropped heavily from the branch.

"Huh?" its companion said, turning to where the other had been standing, trying to figure out why it had jumped away.

The ranger's second shot took it through the temple, and it, too, fell away, dead before it hit the ground.

The men in the ferns scrambled, not knowing what had dropped about them.

Nightbird moved ahead quickly, closing the distance. One man came up, hearing his approach, bow drawn and ready. "What?" he asked incredulously, and then added in a whisper as the ranger rushed by him, "Nightbird."

"Follow me," the ranger instructed. "The dark is no obstacle; I will guide you."

"It is Nightbird," another man insisted.

"Who?" asked another.

"A friend," the first explained quickly, and the small group, five men and three women, set off after the ranger.

Soon enough the ranger spotted yet another band of allies crouching in the dark, and led his group that way. Suddenly his force was twenty strong, and he led them out to find enemies. He understood the realities of night-fighting in the dark forest, and the huge advantage the cat's- eye afforded him and his band. All around the group the larger battle quickly deteriorated into pockets of screaming and cursing frustration, with arrows launched blindly into the darkness, or opponents inadvertently stumbling into each other, or even comrades stumbling into one another, often lashing out before they paused long enough to identify their allies. Some-where far back in the distance there came a cry, the grating voice of a powrie, followed by a tremendous explosion, and Nightbird knew that another unfortunate enemy had stumbled upon Pony.

He bit his lip and resisted the urge to rush back and check on his love. He had to trust in her, had to remind himself repeatedly that she knew how to fight, day or night, and that, in addition to her expertise with a sword, she carried enough magical power to carry her through.

Another battle erupted far in the opposite direction, a group of goblins stumbling across the northern end of what remained of the human line. This time the results were less clear-cut, with screams of outrage and agony, both human and goblin, splitting the air. The fighting drew more combatants, spreading until all the forest seemed thick with tumult, monsters and humans rushing this way and that. The ranger set his band in a purely defensive posture, then moved out to walk a perimeter. Any humans who ventured near were ushered in, the numbers of the group soon rising to more than thirty. Whenever any enemies ventured near, Nightbird circled about them, bringing up the diamond light so his archers could take their sudden and deadly toll.

When the immediate area finally appeared clear of monsters, Nightbird got his group moving again, putting the men in a tight formation, that they could guide each other by touch.

Torches flared to life in several places deeper in the forest, screams issued from the darkness in many others, and there were no clear lines of combat for the group to engage. But those with the ranger held their calm, methodical way, moving along in their tight and organized formation, the tireless Nightbird continually cir-cling about them, guiding them. More than once the ranger spotted enemies moving in the brush, but he held his forces in quiet check, not willing to reveal them. Not yet.

Soon the sounds of fighting withered away, leaving the forest night as quiet as it was dark. A torch flared to life in the distance; Nightbird understood it to be powries, the cocky dwarves likely confident now that the battle had ended. He moved to the nearest of his soldiers and bade the man to pass the word that the time to strike was near.

Then the ranger settled the group once more into a defensive posture and moved out alone. No stranger to powrie tactics, he fig-ured that those with the torch would form the hub of their forma-tion, with their forces encircling them like the spokes of a wheel. The torchlight was still more than two hundred feet away when the ranger encountered the tip of one of those spokes, a pair of goblins crouched beside a tight grouping of small birch trees.

With all his great skill, Nightbird slipped around and moved in behind the oblivious pair. He thought to flash his diamond light, that his archers could mow the goblins down, but decided against that tactic, preferring to make this one strike decisive. He went in alone, inch by inch.

His hand clamped over the mouth of the goblin to his left; his sword drove through the lungs of the goblin to the right. He let Tempest fall free with the dead goblin, and grabbed the remaining creature's hair with his now free right hand, sliding his left down enough to cup the monster's chin. Before the goblin could begin to cry out, the ranger drove both arms across his body, right to left, left to right, then violently yanked them back the other way.

The goblin hardly found the chance to squeal, and the only sound was the snapping of its neck bone - it might have been a footstep on a dry twig.

The ranger retrieved Tempest and moved in deeper, nearer the hub, surveying the enemy formation, which was exactly as he had suspected. Taking as accurate a count as possible, he silently went back to his waiting force.

"There are monsters about," he explained. "A trio of powries within that torchlight."

"Then show them to us and let us be done with this night," one eager warrior piped in, and his words were echoed many times over.

"It is a trap," the ranger explained, "with more powries and gob-lins waiting in the darkness and a pair of giants lurking behind the trees."

"What do we do?" one man asked, his tone very different now, more subdued.

The ranger looked around at all his men, a wry smile widening on his face. They thought they were outmatched - that much was obvious from their expressions. But Nightbird, who had been fighting bands of monsters all the way from the Barbacan, knew better. "We kill the giants first," he coolly explained.

Belster and Tomas watched and listened from a distant hilltop. The innkeeper rubbed his hands repeatedly, nervously, trying to guess at what might be happening down there. Should he retract his forces? Should he press the fight?

Could he? The plans seemed so logical when they were made, so easily executed and, if need be, retracted. But the truth of battle never worked out that way, particularly in the dark and confusing night.

Beside him, Tomas Gingerwart was fighting an equally difficult dilemma. He was a tough man, battle hardened, but for all his ha-tred of the monsters, Tomas understood that to engage them in drawn-out conflict was a fool's game.

But he, too, could not get a clear picture of what might be hap-pening. He heard the occasional screams - more often a monster's voice than a man's - and saw the flares of light. A couple of sur-prising flashes, brilliant and sudden, caught his and Belster's atten-tion more keenly, though, for they were not the fires of torches. Belster recognized them well enough as an obvious stroke of light-ning magic.

The problem was, neither Belster nor Tomas had any idea which side was tossing the magic about. Their little band possessed no gemstones, and wouldn't have known how to use them if they did, but likewise, powries, goblins, and giants had never been known to wield such magic.

"We must decide, and quickly," Tomas remarked, his voice edged with frustration.

"Jansen Bridges should return soon," Belster replied. "We must find out who loosed that magic."

"We haven't seen it in a long while," Tomas went on. "The point may be moot, with the magic expended or the wielder dead."

"But who?"

"Roger Lockless, likely," Tomas replied. "Ever has he a trick to play."

Belster wasn't so sure of that, though the notion that Roger had a bit of magic about him was nothing new to the innkeeper. The leg-ends of Roger might be exaggerated, but his exploits were indeed amazing.

"Call them back," Tomas decided then. "Light the signals and send runners with the word. The battle is ended."

"But Jansen - "

"We haven't time to wait," Tomas interrupted firmly. "Call them back."

Belster shrugged, and couldn't rightly disagree, but before ei-ther he or Tomas could give the retreat signal, a man came loping up the side of the hillock.

"Nightbird!" he cried to the two. "Nightbird, and Avelyn Desbris!"

Belster ran down to meet him. "Are you sure?"

"I saw Nightbird myself," Jansen replied, huffing and puffing as he tried to catch his breath. "It had to be him, for no other could move with such grace. I saw him kill a goblin, oh, and beautifully, too. Sword left and right." He waved his arm about, imitating the move as he spoke.

"Who does he speak of?" Tomas asked, coming down to join them.

"The ranger," Belster replied. "And Avelyn?" he asked of Jansen. "Did you speak with Avelyn?"

"It had to be him," Jansen replied. "The flash of lightning, scat-tering powries, felling giants. They have returned to us!"

"You assume much," pragmatic Tomas put in, then to Belster he added, "Are we to hope that this man's observations ring true? If he is wrong - "

"Then still it would seem as if we have found some allies, pow-erful allies," Belster replied. "But let us indeed light the torches. Let us regroup and see how strong we have become." Belster ea-gerly led the way from the hillock, silently hoping that his old com-rades from Dundalis had indeed returned to help in the cause.

Their expressions were mixed, some nodding eagerly, others hesitantly, and still others glancing doubtfully to their fellows.

"The torchlight marks the hub of the powrie defensive posi-tion," Nightbird quickly explained. "The way is open to it if we are quiet enough and clever enough. We must strike hard and sure, and be prepared for any attacks that come in about us."

"The hub?" one man echoed doubtfully.

"The center of the powrie defensive ring," the ranger clarified. "A small grouping in the middle of a wide perimeter."

"If we attack there, right in the middle, then we will be sur-rounded," the man replied, and several incredulous grunts of ac-cord sprang up about him.

"If we hit them strong enough at the center and kill the giants, the others, particularly the goblins, will not dare to come in against us," the ranger countered with confidence.

"The torches are naught but bait," the man argued, raising his voice so that the ranger and several others had to motion for him to be quiet.

"The torches are indeed meant to bring in enemies," Nightbird conceded. "But those enemies are supposed to be identified and engaged on the edge of the ring. If we move without further delay, the path is open all the way to the hub; our enemies will not expect so strong an attack."

The man started to argue again, but those near him, their trust in the ranger growing, hushed him before he could begin.

"Go in quiet and in a line three abreast," Nightbird explained. "Then we shall form a tight circle about the hub, and kill it before any reinforcements can arrive."

Still, many of the others exchanged doubtful glances.

"I have been fighting powries for many months, and these are powrie tactics, to be sure," Nightbird explained.

His tone, full of absolute confidence, bolstered those nearest him, and they in turn turned back to nod to the men behind.

The group set off immediately, with Nightbird far in the lead. He went back to the spot where he had slain the two goblins, and was relieved to find their bodies as he had left them, and that no new tracks were about the area. The enemy force was not numerous and the spokes of this defensive wheel were few, he reasoned, for when he searched both left and right, using the light of the powries' own torches as his guiding beacon, he saw no other monsters.

Nightbird led his force straight in, then fanned them out, barely thirty feet from the powries - and the giants, he realized, for the be-hemoth pair was still in place, their lanky forms pressed up tight against the back side of the oak tree, using its girth to shadow them from the revealing light.

The ranger picked his course quietly. He moved along his line, signaling for all to be ready, and clutched the diamond tight in his fist. Far out to the left of the powrie trio, he found a low, thick limb. He went onto it slowly, easing his weight up so it would not rustle, then picked his careful path along the solid wood, moving nearer, nearer, to the trunk.

Nearer to the giants.

Nightbird concentrated on the stone, building its energy, but not yet releasing it.

Building, building - all his hand was tingling from the stone's magic, begging release.

Nightbird ran along the branch; the powries looked up at the sound.

And then they, and the giants, looked away, blinded by the sudden burst of radiance, a brilliant white light, brighter than the day itself.

Nightbird rushed above the stunned powries and bore down on the nearest giant, its head even with his own. He knew he wouldn't get many swings; he grabbed up Tempest in both hands and came in running, jerking to a stop and transferring every ounce of his momentum and strength into that one downward chop.

The blade, trailing a line of white light hardly discernible in the brilliant diamond glare, smashed down through the giant's fore-head, cleaving bone and tearing brains, and the behemoth, howl-ing, grasped at its head and tumbled backward.

The other giant rushed in, only to be met by a hail of stinging arrows.

Nightbird changed direction, scampering straight up the tree.

Powries and goblins cried out and scrambled all about the area; the archers had to shift their rain to nearer, closing targets.

The remaining behemoth shrugged away the initial volley and grabbed hard on the tree, thinking to tear it right from the ground, thinking to smash the ranger, the miserable rat who had just in-flicted a mortal wound on its brother. It looked up, roaring in pain and outrage, and then went quiet, seeing the ranger looking back at it, down the arrow set on his strange-looking bow.

Nightbird had Hawkwing drawn all the way back. With corded muscles perfectly taut, arms locked with the bow, legs locked about the branch and trunk, he had held the pose until the giant was in position, directly below him, and the behemoth glanced up at him.

Then he released, the arrow burrowing into the monster's face, driving deep, deep, disappearing.

The giant's outstretched arms flailed wildly, helplessly, and then it slumped to its knees, crumbling right beside its brother, dying even as its brother continued to squirm in the dirt.

Nightbird wasn't watching, was too busy climbing, realizing he was vulnerable at this low position. Then, from a branch higher up he watched the fight and carefully picked his shots, taking out those couple of monsters too well hidden, from ground level, for his companions to spot them.

"To hiding!" the ranger called, and a moment later he dropped the diamond light, leaving the area black, save one fallen torch flickering in its death throes on the ground.

Nightbird closed his eyes, then opened them slowly, letting them adjust to the new lighting, letting the cat's-eye take control once more. The monsters were far from defeated, he realized im-mediately, for several groups had banded together and were stub-bornly coming in, mostly from the south. He had to make a decision, and quickly. The element of surprise was gone, and the enemy still badly outnumbered his meager force of thirty.

"Take to the north," he called down, keeping his voice as low as possible. "Stay together at all costs. I will rejoin you as soon as I can."

As his soldiers slipped away through the brush, the ranger turned his attention back to the south, to the many monstrous groups, thinking he would find some way to deter them, perhaps to lead them on a long and roundabout chase back to the south.

But then he looked behind the monstrous lines, saw the blue-glowing form of a woman on a horse.

"Run on!" the ranger cried to the humans. "Run for all your life!" And Nightbird began to climb, scampering wildly up the tree, and not in fear of any powrie crossbow.

Trusting in Symphony's superior senses to get her through the tangle, Pony urged the horse ahead. She crossed by a pair of startled powries - who hooted and gave chase - and strengthened her serpentine shield.

They were all about her, rushing in, crying in savage glee.

And then, in the blink of a powrie eye, they were all burning, and so were the trees.

Using the light to guide her way, Pony moved through the con-flagration, straining to keep the protective fire shield in place. She blinked in disbelief as she neared a huge oak on the very edge of the fires, for coming down the far side, dropping frantically from branch to branch, came Nightbird.

Pony guided Symphony under the lowest branch, and the ranger dropped to the ground right before her, immediately diving into a roll to smother a few errant flames. He rolled to his feet and scrambled away. "You might have warned me!" he scolded, wisps of smoke trailing from his leather tunic.

"The night is warm," Pony remarked with a snicker. She took Symphony right by him then, leaning to the side and offering him her hand. He grabbed on - falling into the protective shield as soon as their fingers touched - scrambled up behind her, and away they trotted, confident that no monsters were anywhere near in pursuit.

"You should be more careful about where you blow up," the ranger scolded.

"You should be wiser about where you hide," Pony countered.

"There are options other than the gemstones," the ranger argued.

"Then teach mebi'nelle dasada," the woman said without hesitation.

The ranger let it go at that, knowing all too well that with Pony, he would never get the last word.