Rudiger had to hand it to Captain DeSeloön and his men. They built a good fire. It wasn’t particularly large, but it was very hot and helped to keep away the cold air of evening—and anything that did that was good, as far as he was concerned.

They were camped just off the road north of Quorge. They hadn’t made it far this first day. A wheel on the wagon had come loose, and they had to stop early. Captain DeSeloön had apologised profusely to Felitïa, and Felitïa had insisted that apologies were not necessary. It had been an amusing exchange to watch: DeSeloön embarrassed because of what he felt was a show of ineptitude in him and his men, and Felitïa embarrassed because she didn’t want to be waited upon like royalty.

Rudiger was only just starting to come to terms with the fact that they were headed to Arnor City to mix with royalty. Although he had known the truth about Felitïa’s identity for a while now, until yesterday, the implications of it hadn’t really sunk in. She was someone he travelled with. A friend. But being in Lord Belone’s palace had made him realise how much he wasn’t a part of that world, how out of place he felt, and how much Felitïa and Zandrue—especially Zandrue—just seemed to fit right in.

He had spent most of the dinner in silence. He joined in conversations where he could, but so many of them focused on fashions and what people were saying was fashionable in Arnor City. Or they were about who was marrying whom and what family unions these would cause. Or various other topics that he had no knowledge of, no idea what to say.

Meleng and Jorvan had looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Felitïa had remained mostly quiet, but when she did speak up, she had always seemed to know what to say. And then there was Zandrue, who was pretty much the life of the party. A party he couldn’t be part of.

He was glad to now be away from the palace. It was a long trip to Arnor City. They had to go all the way back to Porthaven and then by ship the rest of the way. It meant there were a couple months at least before he had to worry about noble life again. Rudiger was comfortable travelling. It fit him. He’d been doing it for so long now, it was hard to think of staying in one place for too long.

It was going to be a different sort of journey now though. They had to pretend to be merchants—well, some of them did. Felitïa, in particular. She looked a lot different now. She needed to look well-off, so gone was her usual travelling cloak. Currently, she wore a brocaded silk blouse and a heavy green travelling skirt. To keep out the cold, she had a thick cloak lined with fox fur. But there were a lot more clothes stashed away in a large chest on the wagon. DeSeloön’s men had spent the night before they left scouring the whole city for clothes of the right style and fit. As best Rudiger could tell, only her boots remained of her original clothes. All the rest had been deemed not suitable for her disguise.

Zandrue and Meleng were also playing the roles of merchants, but they got to do it with their own clothes. Since they were to be subordinate to Felitïa, they didn’t need to be decked out quite so well. Corvinian was Felitïa’s ward, while Rudiger got to play at being just one of the mercenaries. Explaining Jorvan’s presence was the hard part. Just being an Isyar would draw attention—and more besides. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done about that. Jorvan had to play the role of an Isyar merchant who had temporarily joined with Felitïa for mutual benefit.

Rudiger glanced over to where Borisin and the other horses were gathered. Corvinian was there brushing him, and the stallion was clearly enjoying every moment of it. If the boy wasn’t careful, he’d soon find himself grooming Borisin as a full-time job—Borisin would see to that! Of course, it might keep Borisin’s complaints to a minimum and it would give Corvinian something to do, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad idea.

Borisin, who had apparently had enough brushing for now, moved away from Corvinian and walked round to Zandrue’s mare, Lucinda. There was a swagger in his walk that Rudiger knew all too well. “Hey!” Rudiger called out to the stallion. “Don’t get any ideas!”

I’m just being friendly, Borisin replied.

Sam and Hang looked up from the wagon, where they were still trying to repair the wheel, and gave him odd looks. “What did we do?” Hang asked.

Rudiger nearly laughed. “Not you! My horse!”

The two soldiers looked over at Borisin, looked back at each other, and shrugged. They then set back to work. There hadn’t been much opportunity yet to get to know DeSeloön’s men, but from what little Rudiger had seen, they seemed competent. Bowman Sergeant Sam Tarson was a broad, muscular Eloorin. The wagon belonged to him, so he was their driver. According to DeSeloön, he was the best archer in the kingdom. Corporal Alhang Merrin—Hang for short—was a tall Folith with dark hair.

“That’s what you get when you mix stallions and mares,” Sergenat Greminy Siltons, who was sitting beside Rudiger, said. Greminy was a slightly older Eloorin, his dark hair starting to sprout just a few traces of grey.

“Ah, Borisin’s well behaved,” Rudiger replied. As he said it, Borisin sauntered up behind him, sticking his snout between Rudiger and Greminy.

“Is he now?” the solider said, staring into the horse’s eyes. “You really should hobble him with the others.”

“You wanna try?” Rudiger asked with a laugh.

Go ahead, Borisin said. Just try.

Greminy continued staring into Borisin’s eyes for a few moments before backing down. “No, that’s all right.”

Borisin snorted in his face and returned to the other horses. Corvinian slipped in to sit beside Rudiger.

“Don’t worry,” Rudiger said. “He won’t wander off.”

“That’s quite a horse you have there, Rudiger,” Captain DeSeloön commented.

Zandrue laughed. “You don’t know the half of it!”

“Maybe so,” DeSeloön said, “but he’s still a good-looking horse.”

“That’s rich, coming from a Cloëggan! I’m surprised you even know what a horse is!” Private Stavan Orcan was the loudest of DeSeloön’s men, a joker through and through. He could be a bit less than tactful with his choice of words, but apparently he didn’t mean anything bad by them.

“We Cloëggans actually know about both land and sea,” DeSeloön responded with a grin. “Unlike you mainlanders, who only know the land.”

Stavan laughed. “At least you can’t drown on land!”

“No, but you can slip and break your neck,” DeSeloön said.

“I thought your name sounded Cloëggan,” Zandrue said. “It’s unusual for a Cloëggan to join the army, isn’t it?”

“Uncommon,” DeSeloön agreed. “We Cloëggans are born and bred sailors through and through. We love the sea. Or we’re supposed to, at any rate. Truth be told, I was never much of a sailor. Much to my father’s chagrin. So I left Cloëg to come to the mainland and join the army. It’s been a much more rewarding experience for me.”

“Are you gonna do some practice fighting?” Corvinian piped up. “You said you would!”

DeSeloön smiled. “Yes, we did say that, didn’t we? Well, Rudiger, are you game?”

Rudiger shrugged. “I suppose.” Corvinian bounced about excitedly.

DeSeloön nodded approvingly. “Good. You should make good sport for my men, I wager.”

“The bigger they are…” Stavan said with a grin.

“Corporal Merrin!” DeSeloön called. Hang looked up from the work on the wagon. “Get over here. Let Tarson finish that alone. Sergeant, Private.”

Stavan and Greminy jumped to their feet and snapped to attention. Stavan’s joking grin and stance had vanished to be replaced by rapt seriousness. A moment later, Hang was by their side.

Zandrue stood up, too. “Mind if I join in? I could use the practice.”

Stavan almost broke a grin in response, but he quickly regained his composure.

“Why not?” DeSeloön said. “Right! We’ll use that section of flat ground over there. The snow is fresh, so watch your footing. We’ll be using real weapons. Hit with the flat of your sword or hold off just before the blow would connect. Naturally, if you are the one who would have been hit, you should acknowledge it. Be careful everyone. I don’t want to see any wounds more serious than bruises.”

As they moved away from the camp, Stavan slipped up beside Zandrue. “You might get a few bruises.”

She grinned back at him. “So might you.”

Captain DeSeloön had definitely chosen his men well. They began with one-on-one pairings. Rudiger came out on top in most of these, but it wasn’t easy. Hang fought much the way Rudiger did: a combination of brute strength and skill. His blows were heavy and came from several different directions. They both held their place, refusing to give ground to the other. In the end, Rudiger proved a little bit stronger and a little bit more skilled. Hang did leave him tired out for his match against Stavan, however. The thin Eloorin was nowhere near a match for Rudiger in strength, but he made up for it with a speed and agility that Rudiger could barely keep up with. Armed with a much lighter sword than Slay, he danced around Rudiger, making wisecracks the whole while, forcing Rudiger to circle repeatedly and tire himself out more. In the end, Rudiger managed to get the upper hand, but it was more by luck than anything else. Stavan momentarily lost his balance on some ice, and Rudiger hit him with the broadside of Slay. Winded, the Eloorin had to concede that he’d be quite dead in a real fight.

“Bruise number one!” Zandrue called as Stavan stumbled off the field.

After that, Rudiger gratefully took a break while Zandrue faced off against Greminy Siltons. Greminy was a precise, technical fighter. Definitely very skilled. Zandrue was more imaginative, however, finding non-standard ways to counter attacks that no doubt took Greminy by surprise. She did a good job holding her own against him—for a little while, at least. Greminy soon had her subdued. He complimented her, offered her a couple of pointers, and then they went at it again. Once again, Greminy won the match, but Zandrue lasted just a little bit longer this time.

After a few more matches between DeSeloön’s men, Rudiger was up against DeSeloön himself. He remembered something his father had once told him. “You’ll always have an advantage, Rudiger. You’re strong. Stronger than virtually everyone else out there. And strength is always an advantage. It won’t guarantee you victory. But put two people of equal skill together, and the stronger will win every time. You have the strength. Get yourself the skill and you’ll be unbeatable.” Rudiger had always kept that advice in mind, and had trained hard. But it seemed he had a ways to go yet. He had the strength advantage over DeSeloön, but not the skill. The fight had barely begun, and Rudiger found himself on his back in the snow, Slay lying several feet away. He hadn’t even seen the attack coming.

DeSeloön held out his hand and helped Rudiger to his feet. “You’d be deadly with a lighter, faster sword, Rudiger. Ever consider it?”

“Too many sentimental feelings attached to Slay, I’m afraid,” Rudiger replied.

DeSeloön reached down and picked up the great two-handed sword, groaning slightly from the effort. He gazed over the blade, turning it over to get a look at both sides. “A very nice sword, indeed.” He handed it back to Rudiger. “But gods, it’s heavy!”

Rudiger laughed.

After that, they worked in larger groups, making plans for various formations and strategies, in case they were attacked along the road. Zandrue was the first to bow out from exhaustion. Stavan laughed at her as she returned to the fire, but his expression said that he was impressed with her performance. Not long after, the rest of them decided to call it an evening as well.

Zandrue came over to Rudiger. “That was fun. We should do this more often.”

Rudiger nodded. “Yeah, we should. You’re pretty good.”

She looped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “Oh! A compliment!”

“When have I not given you compliments?” He laughed.

Zandrue shrugged. “Ah, it was just something to say.” She pressed herself closer to him. Her touch sent shivers down his spine. His cheeks burned, so he pulled away.

Zandrue sighed. “What, you made of stone or something?”

“No, it’s just…” How could he tell her he was embarrassed by all the other people there, potentially watching them?

“Rudiger! Rudiger!” Corvinian bounded up to him, sliding the last few feet through the snow.

Zandrue sighed again and backed away.

“That was awesome!” the boy said. “You were great! Although it was kind of funny when Captain DeSeloön knocked you over! Hang’s been showing me how to hold a sword! Isn’t that great?”

Rudiger didn’t think it was, but he nodded anyway. He looked back at Zandrue, only to discover that she was wandering off.

“Hang doesn’t think I’m too young to learn how to use a sword!”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?” Rudiger asked.

Corvinian shrugged. “Nah, I’m not sleepy.”

“I think you’d better get some sleep anyway.” He gave Corvinian a gentle push in the right direction. The boy groaned and headed back to the camp.

Rudiger looked back after Zandrue. She was readying her sleeping blankets by the fire next to Felitïa. He was about to head over there when he spotted DeSeloön approaching him.

“Rudiger, a word. This Volg you encountered. What can you tell me about him?”

“Very big,” Rudiger replied. “Strong. But his magic was probably the most dangerous aspect of him. I never really got close enough to fight him. Jorvan took him down.”

DeSeloön nodded thoughtfully.

“You believe us then?” Rudiger said.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Rudiger shrugged. “Lord Belone didn’t seem to. The Isyar ambassador said our story is impossible. Most people don’t even believe in Volgs these days.”

“Are you a devout man, Rudiger?” DeSeloön asked.

“I don’t know, somewhat. My mother always wanted me to become a priest, but I was never quite that devout.”

DeSeloön smiled. “I am a devout man, Rudiger. The church says Volgs are real. Therefore, I believe in them. While I would normally consider it unlikely that Volgs would be wandering around Arnor, I have seen nothing to suggest that you and your friends are liars or mad. Therefore, I must conclude that you really are being chased by Volgs and Darkers. And I mean to keep the Princess safe until we reach Arnor City. Go get some rest. You’re on last watch. I need to have a word with Drago about a few things.”

“Good night, sir.” Finding himself a reasonably warm spot by the fire, Rudiger laid out his sleeping blanket and prepared to lie down. One last glance around the camp showed that most everyone else was either asleep already, or was getting ready to sleep. Captain DeSeloön and Meleng were chatting quietly. Sam was seated on the now-fixed wagon, his unstrung bow beside him—he had first watch.

Rudiger lay down and closed his eyes. Sleep quickly overtook him.

Wake up.

Borisin’s cold nose was against his face. Opening his eyes, Rudiger glared. “What?”

There’s a strange scent in the air.

Rudiger sat up and looked around. Near to him, Meleng, quite awake, glared up at the underside of the horse standing over him. Beyond, the hobbled horses paced about nervously. Sam was still on watch. He was standing on the driver’s seat, his bow strung and an arrow nocked, gazing around him. He must have noticed the horses, but probably thought it was just wolves or other wild animals.

The scent is getting closer. Look out!

“Ambush!” Rudiger yelled.

Flames surrounded him. Borisin reared back, his mane afire. Rudiger rolled to douse any flames that might be on himself. All around him, he heard the sounds of more explosions. People yelling. Horses screaming.

“Merrin! Siltons! Orcan! Perimeter around Felitïa and the boy! Nothing gets passed us!”

“I can’t see anything!”

“Tarson, Fonivan, Drago, are you all right? Where’s Jorvan?”

Rudiger tried to respond, but there was smoke in his lungs. In his eyes, too.

“Armida, check on Sam!”

“Above us!”

The smoke shifted rapidly as a great gushing wind swept over Rudiger. There was the swoosh of massive, flapping wings, and the clash of steel. As his vision finally started to clear, he caught sight of them, flying away at the moment, but turning wide for another pass. “Hell,” he muttered. It wasn’t just one Volg this time. There must have been a dozen of them at least. No, definitely more. They were in a v-formation. Like a flock of birds.

Captain DeSeloön, Hang, Greminy, and Stavan were standing in a circle around Felitïa and Corvinian. Everyone looked dirty and a little burnt, but otherwise unharmed. Borisin! Rudiger scrambled to his feet. His horse was rolling on the ground. The flames were out now, but his mane had almost entirely burnt away, as had much of the hair on his neck and part of his back. Several of the other horses were still on fire and it was likely many of them would not survive. But there was no time to worry about that now. The Volgs were coming back.

“Armida, Tarson! On my order!” DeSeloön cried.

Rudiger looked over to the wagon, just as Zandrue loosed an arrow. It was too dark to track the arrow, but the lead Volg wavered—but didn’t fall.

“I said on my order, Armida!”

Zandrue scowled and nocked another arrow. Beside her, Sam had an arrow ready. There was a gash on his forehead, and blood was trickling down his cheek.

“Ready!” DeSeloön cried. The Volgs were getting closer. “Loose!”

Rudiger drew Slay as the two arrows arced out. The Volg at the front fell out of the sky, as did the first one to the right. Then the Volgs were upon them, one wing of the V swooping over them. DeSeloön and his men clashed swords with the Volgs as they flew past. Felitïa and Corvinian huddled in the middle. Rudiger readied himself for when they reached him. He swung Slay. Over and over. Fighting the force of wind from their wings. But they were already flying too high again. Slay connected only with air.

Two of the Volgs from the other wing had landed in a confused muddle. One of them was lying in the snow still flapping his wings, while the other stumbled about clutching his head.

“Now!” Felitïa cried.

“Loose!”

Two arrows whizzed past Rudiger, hitting home in the two Volgs. Their movements stopped.

“Fonivan!” DeSeloön cried. “Get over here! Drago, take cover at the wagon! Where is Jorvan?”

Meleng scrambled to his feet and ran for the wagon. Rudiger ran to the group surrounding Felitïa and took his place in the circle, Stavan to his right and Hang to his left. Borisin was also getting to his feet. Go, Rudiger told him. You’re too injured to do any good here. Borisin stood there. The Volgs were circling around again.

“Archers, ready!” DeSeloön yelled.

I said go! Rudiger repeated. Borisin made a last defiant snort and galloped off.

“Loose!”

Two arrows shot out, but only one Volg fell this time.

And then the Volgs were over them again. In all Rudiger’s training and experience, he had never had to deal with attacks from the air before. Each target was only there a moment. A blur of horns, wings, and glinting steel. It was hard on his arms to swing so high. And unbalancing. Slay connected with one though, tearing through wing membrane and crushing bones. The Volg crashed to the ground, the momentum almost pulling Rudiger down too. Then they’d passed again.

“I only got one this time,” Felitïa said. “Over there.”

One of the Volgs was sitting on the ground. He seemed to be trying to get up, but his legs weren’t moving. “Loose!” DeSeloön cried. Both arrows thudded side by side into the Volg’s head between the horns. The Volg fell back over.

“You’re doing well, my lady,” DeSeloön said. “Private, you all right?”

Rudiger glanced at Stavan beside him. There was a long gash down his right arm, and the snow at his feet was turning red. “I’ve had girlfriends give me worse, sir,” Stavan quipped.

“Sir, they’re breaking formation!” Greminy said. Sure enough, the Volgs were landing some distance away.

“Excellent,” DeSeloön responded. “Had to tire eventually. Everyone, to the wagon. We’ll meet them there.”

They ran. Meleng, already lying under the wagon, helped pull Corvinian under with him. “You too, my lady,” DeSeloön said to Felitïa.

Felitïa shook her head and stood her ground. “No, I’ll face them. You could use my help.”

“My lady, my job is to protect you. Let me do that job.”

Felitïa looked as if she were about to protest again, but then gave up and slid underneath the wagon. The rest of them took positions circling the wagon, Sam and Zandrue at the front, Stavan the rear. Hang and Greminy were along the side facing the road, while Rudiger and DeSeloön took the opposite side, facing the Volgs.

“Keep your backs to the wagon at all times,” DeSeloön barked. “They may have us outnumbered, but they will not get to use those numbers to their advantage.”

“Sir, I see Jorvan!” Hang cried. Rudiger had to turn to see what he was referring to, but unfortunately, the wagon provided too much of an obstacle.

“Keep your attention to the front of you, Fonivan!” DeSeloön snapped and Rudiger resumed his proper position. “Merrin, what’s Jorvan doing?”

“I’m not sure, sir. He was only in sight for a moment. He’s in that little valley on the other side of the road. Wait! There he is again. It’s like a storm over there. He’s fighting two Volgs, sir. A magical battle, I think.”

“Two Volg wizards?” DeSeloön said.

“No!” Corvinian screamed.

“Hey, kid!” Hang yelled. “Don’t! Get back here!”

“Corvinian!” Felitïa yelled.

“No, my lady! You mustn’t!”

“Sir!” Greminy said. “The boy took off, surrounded by a blue glow. Felitïa’s followed him.”

“Damn!”

In the distance, the Volgs began moving, some flying low, others running. “They’re charging!” Rudiger yelled.

“Tarson, Armida, at your discretion, take out as many of them as you can before they get here! Merrin, Siltons, get Felitïa and the boy. We’ll hold as many of them here as possible! Watch out for those wizards! Go!”

Two at a time, numerous arrows shot out. Rudiger wasn’t sure just how many before the Volgs were upon them. At least two Volgs dropped and he was glad to note that their numbers were dwindling. How many were left now? Seven? Eight?

To his side, Zandrue tossed aside her bow and drew her sword. Then the Volgs were there. A huge one, bigger than the wizard he had fought before, barrelled down on him. It swung a huge broadsword the size of Slay at him. Rudiger blocked it, but the force of the blow was staggering. He was not used to not having the strength advantage.

Their swords clashed together again, and Rudiger tried to push forward to knock the Volg back, but it was the Volg that pushed him. His back collided painfully with the wagon. The Volg’s sword swung round and Rudiger blocked again. And again. And again. He was getting a feel for the Volg’s attacks. Almost always from the same direction. Predictable. As the Volg came at him once more, he brought Slay round at what he hoped was the right trajectory, trusting in his sword’s sharpness. The swords clashed and Slay cut right through the other blade. Weaponless, the Volg stepped back. Rudiger swung again and cut the Volg in half.

Zandrue fell in front of him, her sword sliding under the wagon. Rudiger turned to attack the Volg that had knocked her over. Slay grazed the Volg’s hip. Only a superficial wound. The Volg’s blow came in high. Rudiger raised Slay to block. Another Volg was coming round to his left. The blow slammed into his side, smashing him against the wagon, though his armour stopped the blade from cutting in.

Another gush of wind preceded a thud and a shaking of the wagon. Rudiger scrambled to bring Slay round for another block, but he was too slow. A Volg’s sword connected with his left shoulder, cutting through the mail and pushing him against the side of the wagon. He began to feel as if his back might snap. He could see the wings of the Volg standing on the wagon. Turning around, the beast snarled down at him, raised his sword.

A loud horse’s whinny startled the Volg, who paused. Then the Volgs besieging Rudiger on the ground were gone, one flying out of the way, the other crumpling under Borisin’s hooves. With his powerful hind legs, Borisin kicked a third Volg that Rudiger hadn’t even seen. Rudiger pulled himself away from the wagon.

“Now, Drago!” DeSeloön cried.

Various sacks and chests on the wagon sprung open, spewing their contents through the air. The two Volgs on the wagon batted at the fabrics and cloths spilling over them. As one, DeSeloön and Stavan drove their swords up, each into one of the flailing Volgs.

Above you!

Rudiger raised Slay just in time to cut into the flying Volg right between the horns. The impact wrenched Slay out of his hands. The Volg spun wildly for a moment, then crashed into the wagon.

“That’ll be one nasty headache!” Stavan quipped.

Rudiger surveyed the surroundings. That seemed to be all of them. Only one Volg was still moving. The one Borisin had trampled twitched in spasms. The wings were crumpled and he had obviously suffered multiple broken bones. DeSeloön drove his sword through the Volg’s neck and the spasms stopped. Rudiger was reminded of his own wound, the pain of which was now very apparent. He was fairly certain nothing was broken, but wetness was seeping down his chest. At least he hadn’t been trampled like—

Zandrue! She’d been lying in that same area. Had Borisin trampled her? No, she wasn’t there.

“Foniva, Orcan, Armida, with me,” DeSeloön commanded. “Drago, tend to Tarson.”

Rudiger sighed with relief as Zandrue climbed out from under the wagon. Although she was wet and dirty, she looked unharmed. Meleng followed her out and rushed round to the front. Sam lay there face down, unmoving, the snow around him darkening. Rudiger couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive.

Rudiger retrieved Slay, and followed DeSeloön across the road to the edge of the slope. At the bottom, Jorvan stood on the beach, the waters of Lake Belone raging behind him. Beside him, Felitïa huddled over a glowing Corvinian. Hang and Greminy stood in front of the them, weapons raised.

Part way up the hill, another Volg stood, arms outstretched in front of him. He was surrounded by dancing sparks of energy, much like Corvinian’s, but yellow in colour. Streams of fire sprang from the Volg’s fingertips, shot through the air at Jorvan. Behind the Isyar, a massive wave formed, threatening to splash down on him, Felitïa and the others. But instead, the wave leapt over them, connecting instead with the stream of flames and dousing it.

“Orcan, Armida, deal with the trapped one,” DeSeloön said.

Trapped one? Down the hill to Rudiger’s right was another Volg. This one was dressed in thick, black robes like the one in Mesone had worn and had some sort of gold medallion round his neck. In one hand he held a dagger and was chipping frantically at a block of ice that encased his legs. In his other hand, he held a glowing white orb just like the one in Mesone. Two wizards, Hang had said.

“Move in quickly, try to take him by surprise.”

“We won’t,” Zandrue said. “He’ll smell us first.”

“Then do what you have to,” DeSeloön replied. “Be careful of that orb. I don’t know what it is, but it can’t be good. Fonivan, with me.” DeSeloön led Rudiger to the left along the top of the slope until they were directly over the yellow-glowing Volg. The flames had changed to sharpened spikes, but the waters of the lake still knocked them aside.

“Your sword will cut through his shield?” Captain DeSeloön asked.

Rudiger shrugged. “Maybe. It did for the one in Mesone, but that one wasn’t glowing. And it knocked me back.”

“Then I expect you to grunt and bear it. Hopefully, he’s preoccupied with Jorvan, so you can get up to him. I’ll be right alongside you.”

The Volg spread his wings.

“Now, Rudiger! Before he gets away!”

Rudiger drew Slay and charged. He wasn’t sure how he kept his footing on the slippery surface, but he did. He was just about upon the Volg when a slab of stone materialised in front of him.

“Rudiger! Look out!”

He tried to stop, but there was too much snow and ice. He collided face first with the wall, and slid to his knees. Blood ran down over his lips and chin.

The Volg flapped his great wings and took flight.

DeSeloön bent down beside Rudiger. “You all right?”

“Nose is broken, I think,” Rudiger mumbled.

From the right, a gut-wrenching scream pierced the air. Both he and DeSeloön looked in its direction. The other Volg was free of the ice. A figure, too far away to discern who, lay on the ground, while another one—Zandrue maybe?—leapt at the Volg, knocking the orb out of his hands.

“Come,” DeSeloön said. They crawled to the side of the stone slab and peered down the slope.

The yellow Volg was coming in over the water towards Jorvan, spikes still firing from his fingertips. As Jorvan used his spells to knock them aside, another stone slab appeared in the air over his head. The Isyar waved his arms and a wind shot up from the ground to blow the slab aside. The Volg flew over and past Jorvan, flipping as he did so. Flames shot from his fingers again right into Jorvan’s side. Jorvan fell into the water and the stone slab crashed to the ground almost on top of Felitïa and the others. The Volg landed and turned towards them.

“Let’s go!” DeSeloön said. “We try it again!”

Rudiger pulled himself wearily to his feet and charged again. Hang and Greminy also charged the Volg from the other side, reaching him first. There was an explosion of yellow energy as their swords collided with the shield. Both men were hurled through the air to land beside Felitïa and Corvinian on the beach. Yellow sparks still danced around their unmoving forms.

Rudiger raised Slay high and brought it down with as much force as he could manage. He felt it impact something and then cut through, but the explosion of energy threw him backwards. Not as far as it had Hang and Greminy, though. And he landed still conscious.

DeSeloön was immediately in there. His sword cut into the Volg’s side. With a roar, the Volg spun round, batting DeSeloön with his wing. The Captain stumbled and the Volg hit him across the side of his face. DeSeloön fell over. He started to pull himself back up, but a savage kick from the Volg left him lying still.

Struggling against the overwhelming pain, Rudiger forced himself back up. Forced his protesting arms to raise his sword one more time. The Volg was approaching Felitïa and Corvinian. The Princess’s face was scrunched in concentration, hands clenching and unclenching. But the Volg continued his approach unaffected. The blue energy around Corvinian started to whip about frenziedly.

Rudiger charged again, but he’d barely made it two steps before he tripped over a rock that appeared out of nowhere, and fell face first into the snow.

Rudiger looked to see Felitïa standing in front of the Volg, a dagger in her hand. But the Volg merely swatted her aside and grabbed the boy. Where the yellow energy met the blue, there was…nothing. The energies simply vanished as if they had never been there. The boy struggled, screaming, in the Volg’s strong grip. Rudiger tried to stand again.

The Volg yelled something—a single word—at the other Volg, then spread his wings, and leapt into the air.

The effort to stand was too much. Rudiger fell back to the ground and watched as the two Volgs flew away into the darkness of the night.