“I’m certain of it,” she replied.

“It must be Bannier. Who else would come this way?”

Gaelin carefully laid Ilwyn down on the cold stone, checking to make sure that his cloak covered her for warmth. The soldiers readied themselves, throwing cloaks back over their shoulders to clear their sword arms. Boeric and two of the other men still had their crossbows. They cocked and loaded the weapons with grim looks on their faces. Gaelin debated the advantages of flight, but he didn’t want to abandon their best route home.

“What should we do, Lord Mhor?” asked Boeric. In the gloom and the cold, the stoop-shouldered sergeant resembled an old, weather-beaten fence post, gray and featureless.

“Let’s wait here and keep out of sight,” Gaelin decided.

“They may miss us. We’re in no condition for a fight.”

Erin nodded in agreement. Distantly, they could make out the rough voices of the intruders, as they shouted orders to each other and trampled the ground of the clearing, but the sound was far fainter than it should have been. After a moment, Erin’s mouth stretched flat in a dark grimace. “Bannier’s with them. They’re asking him what to do. I think – ”

Suddenly, there was a flash of pure white light that illuminated the trees, blinding them all with its glare, and a rolling crack of thunder that echoed among the black rocks. Gaelin blinked spots out of his eyes and swore. “What in Haelyn’s glory was that?”

“My spell of warding,” Seriene answered. She paused in her divining to look back toward the stone circle, hidden by the dark shoulder of the hillside. “Bannier must have been impatient; I thought for certain he’d find and disarm it.” She f rowned thoughtfully. “It was a powerful enchantment, Gaelin. It might have killed him or anyone else nearby.”

“Then we may find Bannier and his allies at a disadvantage,” Gaelin breathed, climbing to his feet. He studied the darkness. Cries of distress came faintly to his ears. He’d like nothing more than to take the fight to Bannier in a direct fashion.

In fact, he’d like to know for certain that Bannier was not going to be a threat to anyone for whom he cared again. He glanced at Seriene. “Do you have any more spells of that sort at your command?”

“No. I’ve exhausted my powers. I’ll be lucky to open the door again, once I find it.”

Gaelin weighed their options. As long as Tuorel had Bannier’s magic to aid his powerful army, Mhoried didn’t stand a chance. And he owed Bannier for the deaths of his father and brother. “Seriene, you stay here,” he decided. “We can’t afford to risk losing you to a stray arrow or sword blow, not when you’re our only way home.” He picked out one of the surviving guardsmen, a fellow who had been wounded in the fray with the shadow monsters. “Hueril, you remain here to guard her and Ilwyn. The rest of you, come with me.”

They retraced their steps back to the clearing, which still danced and glimmered with an eerie, pale radiance. Gaelin quietly drew his sword and held it bared in his hand as they cautiously climbed the last few feet to the lip of the hollow through the dead, twisted trees. His breath steamed in front of him, streaming away in the coldness.

The stone circle stood much as they had left it, the black altar waiting in the center of the ring, but around the stones a silvery light glittered dimly. It curved over the whole site in a shimmering hemisphere, looking like a great crystal dome that neatly covered the standing stones. Blue sparks rippled across its surface, arcing and spitting at odd intervals. A dozen Ghoeran guardsmen in the clearing were trying to calm their panicking horses. Four or five more men were scattered on the ground, victims of Seriene’s enchantments.

Erin tapped his shoulder and pointed. “There’s Bannier.”

Following her gaze, Gaelin spotted the wizard. Bannier stood about forty feet away, with his back to them, surveying Seriene’s barrier. He seemed completely unharmed; obviously, he hadn’t been the one to set off the spell trap, or he’d had some way of eluding the spell’s strike. The sorcerer muttered to himself and stalked back and forth, ignoring the wounded men around him.

“Well? What now? They still outnumber us two to one.”

“Can you do something to frighten the horses? Scare them off?” Gaelin asked. “We have the advantage of surprise, but it would be helpful if a few of those men weren’t in the fight.”

Erin smiled. “I think I can do that.” The bard closed her eyes in concentration, and began humming softly to herself, making soft passes with her hands.

Gaelin looked back at the soldiers who waited in the shadows.

“Fire at anyone who isn’t running away, and then follow me into the clearing,” he told them. “Wait for Erin’s spell before you shoot. Bull, stay by me and watch my back.” The Mhoriens acknowledged their orders with silent salutes and moved stealthily into the trees.

Erin’s vocalizations acquired a musical tone. She glanced at Gaelin, and then stepped forward and released her spell.

There was a sudden flood of white mist in the clearing, and with a great bound, the largest and most terrifying wolf Gaelin had ever seen leaped into the center of the Ghoeran soldiers, snarling and slashing its teeth left and right at the soldiers’ mounts. Despite himself, Gaelin recoiled at the sight of the beast. He could hear the monster growling and snapping, the throaty rasp of its bellows-like roar, the snap of twigs under its heavy paws. The air reeked of wolf scent.

The Ghoerans’ steeds went mad with panic. Rearing and plunging, several threw their riders. Others wheeled and bolted in terror, blindly galloping into the black woods and endless night, as the wolf slavered and slashed at their heels.

A handful of the Iron Guardsmen retained control of their mounts and turned on the wolf-thing in their midst, or managed to at least keep their animals from bolting or rearing, but at that moment Boeric and the other two guardsmen fired.

Two more of the Ghoerans fell from the saddle, clutching at bolts that appeared in their chests.

Bannier whirled in surprise and suspicion. Erin’s illusion didn’t fool him for a moment; he instantly perceived the nature of the attack. “Stop! Stop, you idiots, it is merely a phantasm!” he roared. “It isn’t real!” The horses, however, were far more terrified than the soldiers, and the panicking animals were causing most of the chaos among the Ghoeran ranks.

Nothing Bannier said was going to convince a bolting horse that the wolf wasn’t real.

Gaelin rushed the wizard, breaking cover and racing for- ward with a wild yell, Bull a step behind him. Bannier raised one hand and pointed at Gaelin, speaking a spell. Gaelin felt his steps become slow and clumsy, as Bannier’s dark eyes glittered and the wizard’s will sought to overcome his own.

Gaelin’s volition crumbled beneath the insidious assault.

Gaelin, stop. Lay down your sword. Stop. Hold where you are, and drop your weapon! Obey me!

Beside him, Bull skidded to a stop in a blank daze, his mattock falling heavily to the ground from nerveless fingers. The big fighter’s momentum carried him two more steps on failing legs, and then he stumbled and fell, groveling in terror.

Gaelin went to one knee, struggling to find his courage again.

Bannier grinned in triumph, stepping forward and raising his staff to strike a blow while Gaelin was held motionless. The staff’s ironbound head began to glow with angry purple light, a radiance of dire potency that burned with dark energy.

“I didn’t expect to find you still waiting for me here, Gaelin,” Bannier hissed. “But, since you’ve presented yourself to me, I’ll count it as an unlooked-for blessing. What did you do with Ilwyn?”

Gaelin screwed his eyes shut and looked away, willing himself not to answer. Bannier snorted in irritation. In Gaelin’s mind, the sorcerer’s will surged forward, dragging and tugging at his soul. Answer me! What have you done with Ilwyn?