Dain’s jaw clenched. He glared at Gavril. “You—”

“Your highness!” called Sir Nynth, riding up. The ugly, keen-eyed knight shot Dain a look of warning.

Fuming, Dain bowed his head and glared instead at his fists.  “Begone with you,” Gavril said without looking at Sir Nynth. “I do not require you now.”

“Maybe not, but my duty is my duty,” Sir Nynth said heavily. He kept his voice respectful, but his brown eyes had narrowed at the prince. “I am sworn to keep you safe until you reach the king. Now how can I do that if you keep dashing off?”

Gavril flashed him a look of exasperation. “You need not recite the responsibilities of a protector to me, sir. Nor is it your place to tell me where I may and may not go. Be silent and do not interrupt me again.” A tide of red rose from Sir Nynth’s collar to darken his ugly face. His muscular jaw twitched, but he never changed his wooden expression. “Sir Damiend has requested your highness’s advice,” he said in a flat voice.  Gavril tilted his golden head to one side. “A clever ruse to part us, sir,” he said. “But it will not work. I am not yet finished speaking to the pagan.” “Dain saved your highness’s life,” Sir Nynth reminded him crisply. “You might have the grace to refer to him by name. After all, he’ll be Lord Dain soon enough.”

Red flushed Gavril’s cheeks. He shot Dain a furious look of resentment. “It is ill-mannered to constantly remind someone of an obligation. You’d better work harder on your lessons, boy, so that you can learn to imitate your betters.” “I do these lessons to serve Lord Odfrey,” Dain said through his teeth. He hated how Gavril always managed to twist what was said. “By criticizing me, you criticize him.”

Silence fell over the small group. Gavril’s eyes widened, and he looked momentarily taken aback.

“Well, well,” he said softly, and gave Dain a little mock salute. “You are learning, aren’t you?”

He galloped away, his horse’s hooves kicking up clods and spattering Dain and Thum. Sir Nynth followed the prince, but by then Thum was grinning.  He slapped Dain on the back. “Well said! Very well said. He didn’t expect that, did he? Oh, it was masterful, Dain. Did you see the look on his face?” Thum went into peals of laughter.

Dain grinned back, pleased with his success, but Sulein frowned at them both.  “Take care, young Dain,” he said in warning. “It is unwise to reveal your cleverness to his highness. He will enlist every defeat you give him into a sour army of grievances, and then he will attack.”

Dain nodded, remembering how Gavril had ordered the other fosters, Kaltienne and Mierre, to corner and kill him only a few short weeks ago. Dain’s shoulder carried the scars of that attempt. Yes, he knew well how twisted and devious Gavril could be in repaying a grudge.

“I wish he would leave us alone,” Dain muttered. “Aye,” Thum said with feeling.  “In life, young sirs, there is always someone who will not leave you alone. If you want peace and tranquillity—which is a strange wish for boys as full of vim as you two—then you must go to the Beyond.”

Dain rolled his eyes at this pontification, and Thum’s mouth twitched as he struggled to hold back a grin.

“Now, young Dain,” Sulein said in satisfaction, handing the book to him. “It is time for your lessons.”

“No,” Dain protested. “Maybe later. Please. I want to watch the ferrying.” The physician’s dark, glowing eyes stared deep into his. “But you have assured the prince of your eagerness to obey Lord Odfrey’s wish. Was that mere idle boasting, or do you intend to keep your word?” Dain had no answer to make.  Thum laughed at him. “You are boxed in now,” he said. “I’d better go attend the chevard for a while. The quicker you learn all that Sulein wants to teach you, the quicker you’ll be done.”

“There’s no end to it,” Dain grumbled, but he opened the book.

A great cloud of mustiness and old spells gusted into his face, and he sneezed.  As the cramped writing swam momentarily before his eyes, he wished with all his heart that he could be free of such obligations.

But he’d been free once, free to starve and live in the forest burrows like a wild animal. Now he had a home, a father, and safety—good things all. But it seemed good things carried a price.

On the riverbank, the company halted at a wooden landing that jutted out into the swift current. The ferryman could be seen on the opposite side of the river.  He waved and hallooed, then launched his craft toward them.  Several of the men dismounted, and the wagons halted in line. Dain could see that this was going to take a very long time indeed. Perhaps it was best to do his lessons now, although he wanted to be with Thum, watching every part of the proceedings.

Sighing, he began: “The constellation called The Maiden is—” In that moment, his nostrils caught an unexpected whiff of something foul and tainted, something dead and corrupted. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His heart leaped inside his chest.

He glanced around wildly, then stood up in his stirrups with a yell. Dropping the book, he clawed for the dagger at his side.

“My lord!” he shouted with all his might. “Nonkind!”

Sir Alard and Sir Terent heard his warning, and raised shouts of their own. The dismounted church soldiers stood there, staring, taking no heed.  A shriek no human throat could make rent the air, drowning out Dain’s shouts, and in that instant a horde of Nonkind riders and hurlhounds came galloping from the forest. They swarmed over the crest of the bluff and charged down the hill.  It was the perfect place for ambush. Caught on the bank between river and bluff, the Mandrians had little maneuvering room. The parked wagons were in the way as the knights hastily mounted up, then reached for weapons and rode forth in disorder to meet their foes.

Everything became milling confusion. The spare horses reared in fright, whinnying and lashing out in terror. Several broke free, running amok in all directions.

Lord Odfrey’s voice rose above the noise like thunder. He issued orders, but if they were obeyed, Dain could not tell.

Crying out curses and wondering why he had not sensed the Nonkind sooner, Dain spurred his horse toward the fighting.

“Dain, no!” Sulein shouted after him. “Stay with me by the water, boy! Stay with me!”

Dain paid him no heed whatsoever. The fearsome clash of swords and the screams of dying men mingled with the shrieks and howls of the monsters. He saw the pack of hurl-hounds divide itself. Black-coated and thin, their vicious jaws slavering venom, the creatures attacked riders in pairs, leaping up to pull men from their saddles. Fierce barking broke out, and Gavril’s prized hunting dogs escaped their handler and came charging. Although ferocious and bloody, the fighting lasted only moments. The pack of handsome red dogs lay slain, and hurlhounds ripped their bodies apart to feast before being whistled back into battle by their masters. “No!” Gavril shouted in horror.  Dain saw him ride toward his dogs, only to have Sir Nynth race after him and grip him by his cloak to hold him back. Gavril was nearly yanked from his saddle. Snarling, he turned on his protector and swung at Sir Nynth with his dagger.

Grimly the protector blocked the blow with his arm. His surcoat sleeve was gashed, revealing the bright burnished links of his chain mail beneath. By then two church soldiers reached them and helped Sir Nynth hold Gavril back from the fighting. More church soldiers encircled the prince, moving him farther up the bank away from the main brunt of fighting.

Only then did Dain realize the Thirst knights were fighting alone. The church soldiers retreated a second time, and sat in formation, doing nothing.  Unable to believe their cowardice, Dain found himself knocked sideways by something he did not even see. Grunting under the impact, he caught himself on the neck of his horse and managed to keep from tumbling from his saddle. Above him swooped a shadow that he glimpsed from the corner of his eye. He twisted his head and saw a Believer in black armor and helmet looming over him on a darsteed that dwarfed his own mount. The darsteed was a huge, rangy beast from a nightmare. Breathing fire and smoke, it whipped its snakelike head around and sank poisonous fangs into the shoulder of Dain’s horse.  The animal reared, screaming in pain, and Dain clung to the reins with all his might, spurring it forward and ducking just as his attacker’s sword whistled over his head.

The Believer swore in fiendish Gantese, and pulled back on his darsteed to swing it around. Dain’s heart was hammering violently in his chest. He spurred his horse again, and the animal lunged forward in a wild gallop, almost careening into two horsemen who were fighting with swords and shields.  Dain’s horse veered around them, then stumbled. Nearly catapulted from his saddle, Dain felt dizzy and hot. His vision was all wrong, for the world had grown tilted and slightly out of focus. He thought he must be cut somewhere from the Believer’s sword, but as yet he could not feel his wound. No blood streamed from him, but there was no time to look. He saw servants running and dodging in all directions, easy targets in their green tabards. None of them were armed, and the attackers mowed them down mercilessly. The hurlhounds snarled and bit and savaged, tearing off arms and spilling entrails. The ground grew slippery with blood. The air rang with shouts and clashing swords. And still the church soldiers took no action, save against those monsters that attacked them directly.

Seeing a hurlhound corner Lyias, Dain screamed dwarf curses and rode to his rescue. The servant, both arms bloodied, cowered back against the side of a wagon. He was weeping and pleading for mercy. Just as the hurlhound gathered itself to leap, Dain leaned down from his saddle and struck his dagger hard at the base of the monster’s neck.

Black stinking blood splattered across Dain’s hand, burning it. The hurlhound fell in its tracks, and Dain’s dagger was wrenched from his hand as it stayed caught in its neck. He looked at Lyias, who was still cringing and screaming.  “Lyias! Are you all right?” he shouted. “Lyias! Be silent and run for the river.

You’ll be safe in the water.”

The servant opened his eyes and stared with a gaping mouth behind Dain. He pointed, and Dain whirled around just as another black-armored Believer charged straight at him with brandished sword.

Weaponless, Dain steeled himself for death, but from his left Sir Alard intercepted the Believer and cleaved him from the top of his helmet down.  “Thank—,” Dain tried to say, but the knight rode on as though he hadn’t seen Dain there.

Catching his breath, Dain realized that he had to arm himself or risk being slaughtered. Certainly he wasn’t going to cower in safety with Prince Gavril.  Because he wasn’t knighted, he could not by law bear a sword, but right now the rules meant nothing. He could have taken a weapon from one of the dead knights, but there was only one sword he wanted.

Hurrying to the wagon, Dain dismounted and searched out his bedroll. Casting everything else aside, he unrolled it, and drew forth Tanengard.  Power jolted through him so forcefully that he cried out in pain. The sword blade flashed white and hummed all the way through the hilt. Listening to its gruff war song, Dain was filled with raging ferocity.

Jumping back into the saddle, he wheeled his horse around and charged straight into the thick of action, shouting dwarf war cries and brandishing the weapon.  He had no armor or shield, but he cared not. Tanengard’s battle madness seized him, and all he wanted to do was fight. The first Believer he met parried his attack with a black sword that shattered beneath Tanengard’s blade. The Believer tried to pull back, but Dain skewered him with a mighty thrust, wrenched Tanengard free with a spurt of blood, and raced toward the next enemy. His rigorous training stood him well, for Dain had ceased to think at all. His mind was filled with the drumming cry of the sword in his hand. All he wanted was blood and more blood. Fearlessly he attacked anything, his senses so heightened that he could turn to face a leaping hurlhound even as it first jumped into the air.

Tanengard sliced through the hounds until at last they fell back and fled from him. Another Believer attacked Dain, and when his blade clanged against Tanengard, smoke filled the air. Choking and squinting, Dain let the sword guide his next blow. Unerringly it found the Believer in the billows of smoke. The Believer parried, but this time his blade shattered and Dain cut off his head.  Then the battle was over. He realized it only because a sudden quiet fell over the scene, and no more Believers came at him. In the distance he heard the echoing hoofbeats of the few fleeing darsteeds. Dazed and breathless, Dain sat his horse in the middle of dead men and Believers alike, sprawled in all directions.

There were other noises, too muffled for him to distinguish. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement, a blur of color. His head snapped in that direction, and he focused on a shape approaching him. “Dain,” it said. “Dain!” He did not recognize the name. All he knew was that there was still fighting to be done. Tanengard sang inside him, chanting of death and attack. He raised the sword, and someone shouted.

His wrist was gripped, then another shape came at him. Suddenly he was surrounded, and Tanengard was wrested from him. As soon as it left his fingers, they began to tingle and burn. Dain’s vision cleared so suddenly he cried out.  His hearing returned, and he found himself assaulted by shouts and curses and moans from all sides.

A blood-splattered Sir Terent had an arm around him, pinning him fast, and Sir Alard blocked his path.

“Dain,” Sir Alard was saying with sharp insistence. “Dain! Do you know us not at all?”

“Morde!” Sir Terent swore and threw Tanengard on the trampled ground. “What in Thod’s name is this weapon?”

“Some piece of magic or sorcery,” Sir Alard said. He swung his gaze back to Dain. “Now, lad, can you hear me?”

“Aye,” Dain said dully. His ribs hurt. His throat felt raw and sore from shouting. His muscles were trembling from exertion.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Alard.” Dain frowned and swallowed with difficulty. “Sir Alard.”

The knight smiled and exchanged a quick glance with Sir Terent. “That’s right.

He’s himself again.”

“Tomias be praised,” Sir Terent said. He released Dain with a quick pat on his shoulder. “Let’s ride away from here and see if you’re hurt.” Dain looked down at Tanengard lying on the ground where Sir Terent had thrown it. Even splattered with gore, it shone brightly in the fading sunlight. Its beauty drew him, and mesmerized him again.

“I cannot leave the sword,” he said thickly. “Do not dishonor it by leaving it on the ground like that.”

“Better to dishonor it than to see it possess you again,” Sir Terent said gruffly. “Come away now.”

“No!”

Dain tried to climb out of his saddle and swayed, nearly losing his balance. Sir Terent grappled with him awkwardly, keeping him where he was.  “I’ll get it,” Sir Alard said, dismounting. “Take care,” Sir Terent said.  “You need give me no warning.” Sir Alard approached Tanengard warily, as though afraid it might rise in the air on its own and attack him. As he bent to pick it up, a voice rang out imperiously:

“Hold there! Touch it not, by my command!” It was Gavril who spoke, Gavril who rode up with a guard of ten wary church soldiers. The prince had lost his cap, and dirt was streaked across his finery, but although pale he was unharmed.  Of Sir Nynth there was no sign. Dain wondered if Sir Nynth had fallen in battle, protecting this spoiled prince, and felt grief spear his chest. Hearing the moans of fallen men, he wondered who else had fallen.  He looked around in sudden consternation, seeing too many bodies, too few men still standing, except for the church soldiers. In sudden rage, he stood up in his stirrups. “Cowards!” he shouted hoarsely, his voice choked with tears. “May Olas rot your bones for what you’ve done this day.”

Several of the men with Gavril reached for their weapons, but the prince flung up his hand. “There are no cowards here, and you will curb your tongue, pagan.  They guarded me well. I will not let you insult them.”