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“Oath Breaker!” Loric roared. “I will bring you justice.” To Garrick’s men, Loric cried, “For honor and justice: Death to Hadregeon! Down with Landolstadt!”

“Death to Hadregeon!” echoed his followers. “Down with Landolstadt!”

Two opposing lines drew close to one another and braced themselves for impact. A sudden jolt told Loric that yet another newly acquired lance had struck something solid, but after a moment, pressure against its point lessened. The stricken object yielded. The son of Palendar watched with satisfaction as his lance sent his enemy flying from his saddle.

Loric bumped his helmet into proper position on his head, maneuvered Sunset toward his fallen foe and put an end to his pain with one swift jab of his lance. He cast about the field in search of Hadregeon, only to see him cantering up the enemy line in the opposite direction from him. Between Loric and his enemy counterpart lay a violently convulsing sea of men and horses.

His hope of felling Hadregeon, and thus ending the battle, washed away in its tow.

Loric’s initial charge was effective. Many foes perished upon impact. Still others fell back to escape their doom. Unfortunately, the enemy was tying up Garrick’s horsemen, seizing or slaying mounts and ripping riders from their saddles.

Loric ordered a full retreat, but it was too late to disengage from the enemy. Men of Landolstadt were pressing hard all about him. Like so much driftwood, Loric and Sunset moved amidst an enormous, storm-ridden swell of men, with its tumultuous waves crashing relentlessly against them. Sunset struggled vainly against flesh-and-blood tides, but he and Loric, along with his Men of Durbansdan were being driven toward the river. Loric discarded his lance, as he resolved to cut his way out with the Sword of Logant.

“Follow me!” Loric roared. “This way, men! We must get free for another-”

A distracting hand suddenly clutched at Sunset’s bridle. Loric lashed out before the red stallion could take offense, and the fleshy limb fell away, just below the elbow. Several more hands clutched at Sunset, some to meet the same fate as had the first. Without warning, Loric felt a huge hand at the seat of his pants, and a powerful arm unhorsed him. The knight rolled to his feet, amazed that any man’s grip could be so strong. He turned to face his thick-fingered foe, only to stare in sudden recognition and utter disbelief.

The man was large and barrel-chested. His filthy blond hair was stringy and almost brown with dirt. He had a fat, meaty face and pudgy hands that were almost as sullied as his hair was.

The brute looked haggard and worn. He wobbled as a man who was drunk.

“Fanshy meeting you here, Shir
Strange-ling,”
the man said, slurring nearly every word.

“Barag,” Loric spat, almost as disgusted by the wretched state his townsman was in as by the blue colors he wore.

“That’s right, Sir Boyhood!” Barag affirmed. “It’s me: your old friend Barag. I have a score to shettle with you.” He grinned wickedly. “I guess another time has finally come at last.”

Loric was still struggling to comprehend Barag’s emergence from amongst the pack of

Landolstadters when the bully rushed in to attack him. Completely shocked by this sudden turn, Loric strove to parry many fierce blows that his longtime tormentor delivered against him. It was difficult to stave off Barag, for the bully used his superior height and weight to his fullest advantages. Each stroke that landed against the Sword of Logant reverberated down through Loric’s hand, bringing pain and numbness in alternating turns. Barag was pounding him like a piton.

Loric desperately sought to trade roles with Barag, before the larger man wore him out, but he abandoned offensive strategy in favor of meeting the brutal fury of his opponent’s attack. At length, Loric stumbled and fell to one knee. The larger man raised his sword up high. Loric lifted the Sword of Logant to parry the blow. Two blades clanged loudly against one another, and Loric tumbled to the side. He reset his feet and began dealing out blows upon drunken Barag, whose turn it was to block frantically. Loric made his hand move as deftly as his mind could conceive his next attack routine, to prevent his brawny foe regaining the advantage in the fight.

He struck at Barag many times. The brute answered each attack with a parry. Loric probed for an opening in the bully’s defenses. As his sword struck enemy steel, he guided its blade down the opposing edge to an open wrist. The Sword of Logant eagerly bit into Barag’s flesh. With a panicked cry, the bully lost his weapon, which went skittering across rocks, as the point of Loric’s blade flicked up to Barag’s throat.

Loric stared at his fellow townsman as he sought after words. Finally, he asked, “Barag, why do you fight in the service of Landolstadt? What wickedness are you about?”

“What would you have me do?” Barag asked scornfully, now sobered by the point of steel.

“I could not offer my service to the lord who burned my village and put its people to the sword.”

“What are you talking about?” Loric asked, altogether bewildered by Barag’s response.

“What?” Barag asked him. “Did you not know that the cottage you called home is nothing more than a smoking ruin, and the parents you loved are no more than memories?”

Loric could not believe what he was hearing.
No,
he thought.
My parents are not dead. The
cottage is still there, in peaceful Taeglin.

“Liar!” he screamed, pricking Barag’s flesh with the Sword of Logant.

Barag’s eyes--his hollow, haunted eyes--were streaming tears when he looked up to ask,

“You think I would lie about that?” He ignored his rolling tears and the trickle of blood at his throat, as he demanded, “Why don’t you go and see for yourself, Loric? I laid my father and mother, and my brothers, to rest with these bare hands!” he shouted, putting his half-clenched fists on display. “And Belinda, my betrothed, lies beside them, along with her father and mother, too!”

Loric wanted to kill Barag. He was a great, fat liar, or he was a coward. Either way, Loric felt as though his sword could serve justice by ending Barag son of Borag. Then he remembered his own words, and he was suddenly at odds with himself. He could not slay his fellow townsman. Loric lowered his sword, saying, “Surely, you lie.”

Barag shook his head. “I wish that was true, Loric. Gods, how I wish it was true.”

The truth overwhelmed Loric. He had never known Barag to lie. His cruelty had its limits.

Even so, Loric wanted to be angry with the bully, to blame him for everything that had happened. His head reeled as he came to accept that his father and mother were gone--

slaughtered!
he decided. He remembered his townsfolk, reviewing names and faces in his mind, until he came back to those nearest him and Barag and ended with one they commonly loved.

Loric whipped his sword back to eye level with the bully before him and charged him, “It was your job to protect Belinda!”

Barag was overcome by his grief, his utter helplessness, as he muttered, “I could not....” An invisible force blocked his voice, and he bawled like a small child as he fell to the ground and sprawled in the muck.

Loric felt Barag’s pain, which was his too. He lowered his sword.

“Loric, I could not save them,” Barag said, his eyes red from his grief. “I failed them all,” he confessed, with his brow knotted torturously.

Sudden warmth brought life back into Loric’s hollow heart, as wrath filled it. “Who did this?” he demanded.

“None other than the Men of Durbansdan and Moonriver--Lord Garrick’s swine!” Barag

roared. “To think that we always believed our liege lord was there to protect us from our enemies, when that vile man was our greatest enemy--it sickens me!”

“That is why you joined the Army of Landolstadt,” Loric reasoned aloud, to which Barag nodded. “When, Barag?” he asked. “When did this happen? Tell me to the exact turn of an hourglass.”

“What matter does it make?” Barag questioned. “Garrick must pay.”

“Perhaps,” Loric returned. “There may be more to this crime than you know.”

“Tell me what you know!” Barag barked.

“Help me, Barag,” Loric encouraged him. “I need to know when this foul deed was done, before we accuse the wrong man.”

Barag did not look agreeable to Loric’s assessment. Garrick already burned in his irises. He eyed the Sword of Logant for a moment, while he considered.... then he yielded, “Riders came several days ago,” he began. Barag paused, still horrified by his own vivid memories. “I was off frog hunting at the Moonbeam when I heard a commotion, so I raced back to town to find….” his voice faltered. “Everything was afire. Our people were all dead!” Barag rumbled like thunder, bearing on his countenance the look of a man ready to do murder. “It was dark, but by the light of those fires, I saw banners of Moonriver flying over the departing column.”

Battle raged around two sober men, leaving them out of its path. It was as if they stood protected from its fury and wrath, as blood gushed all around them. Their minds were far from the killing field. Not one thought of waging war remained in their troubled hearts. They forgot that struggle as they shared mutual shock over a series of tragic and terrible events that had left them both full to bursting with grief.

Garrett’s man, Captain Dundrick, came to Loric’s mind. He had fetched his lieutenants, because their lord had a
special mission
for them. Dundrick’s entire company had ridden away that night, as if there had been fire beneath their heels. They had gone to Taeglin to slaughter innocents.

The Heir of Durbansdan sent his men to repay me for humiliating him,
Loric thought, horrified.
I am to blame for this.
He corrected himself, snarling, “Garrett is our man!”

“How’s that?” Barag questioned.

“Prince Garrett contrived this evil,” Loric answered. “Lord Garrick would never sink this low, but his son has no moral fiber. He is devious, calculating and cruel. Garrett must pay for this brutal act.”

“What difference does it make whether it is the father or the son who ordered the deed done?” asked Barag. “Taeglin is gone, and no one can bring our loved ones back from the grave.”

That was the wretched truth. It pained Loric to hear it spoken.

“The difference is that I shall know for which one of them to reserve my wrath,” Loric promised. “If Garrett survives his retreat in the south, I swear by Great King Donigan, I will have my vengeance upon him! He and the officers who saw to this butchery will pay for it like the criminals they are.”

Loric gazed across the raging battlefield, stunned by those vast numbers of fallen men.

Some of them were still moving, crying in agony.
These men had a fighting chance,
he thought sourly.
What chance did my people have? They were but farmers.
Galloping hooves awakened Loric from his troubled thoughts. He glanced up to see Warnyck racing toward him. The scout’s lips were pressed against gritting teeth in a scowl, as he hastened to join Loric and his prisoner.

Warnyck repeatedly shouted, “Loric!” as he approached. When he drew near, he said, “Lord Aldric sends word that we must push through the enemy to gain the Lost Hills, ere our doom is complete.” He reined in beside Loric and Barag and continued, “Turtioc now holds Moonriver Castle against us. Curse him!” he spat. “Furthermore, Garrett’s forces were crushed in detail. It remains unclear whether Garrett is lost, captured or slain. Those who assailed him now march to join this fight--and their numbers are great! For all of the aforementioned reasons, Lord Aldric urges you to battle through to the Lost Hills. There we will take our refuge and regroup.”

“Marblin!” Loric shouted.

Marblin was at his side in a moment’s time. “You must see to it that Lord Garrick joins us here, from whence we will pierce the enemy line,” Loric ordered.

“Yes, Loric,” Marblin answered.

“You would still serve this man after all that I have told you of his deeds?” Barag

questioned.

“Who is
this?”
Warnyck asked, making a rude gesture toward Barag.

“He is a prisoner and a fellow townsman to me,” Loric answered.

“He looks more like a churl of Landolstadt, judging by the colors he wears,” Warnyck

commented. “I will gladly finish him-”

“I said he is a fellow townsman!” Loric interjected fiercely. “This is an acquaintance renewed.” He turned to Barag as he mounted up and offered, “Go in peace, if that is your wish. I bear you no ill will, Barag son of Borag.”

Barag’s steady, angry response was surprising, “I would stay with you--as a prisoner if I must--for I wish to be present when the villain who struck light to our village receives his fitting and just retribution.”

Loric stopped abruptly due to a sudden change in Barag’s expression. He wondered at the source of the transformation in his features. He turned his head and shifted his focus to seek cause for the bully’s open mouth. Several mounted foes were bearing down on them, with their weapons poised to kill. Loric barely started his shield moving in time to match an incoming flail.

The weapon glanced off his shield and caught him squarely across his helm. Loric heard nothing. He felt pain in his head. There was a white flash of blinding light before his eyes.... then he toppled from his saddle. His last concern, as he tumbled down the steep embankment, was his rapid descent toward the river. Then everything went black, and it mattered to him no more.

Chapter Eighteen

Kelivoras and His Boy

Loric awoke in a fit of coughing and spluttering. He was soaking wet and the chill afternoon breeze caused him a dreadful shiver. His eyes were slow to come into focus. He was staring at the ground, which was slipping away beneath big, clumsy feet of the person who was carrying him. As long stout legs continued bounding along the stone path, and the enormous man’s lumbering gait jostled Loric about, he discovered that he was lying in sack-of-wheat fashion across Barag’s shoulder.

It took Loric a moment to recall what had happened. He raised his shield and.... he did not get it into position before the flail glanced off its semi-rounded surface. The weapon must have struck him. Judging by his dripping clothing, he had gone into the river--and upon gauging the amount of water that Barag’s trousers were slinging as he moved, the bully dove in after him.