“She’s somewhere far from here,” he spat, forcing the words through his lips and fighting to keep control over what he said. “She’s safe and out of your reach.”

“On the contrary, I think she must be very near,” Bannier said. He glanced around the clearing, ignoring the wolf and the attendant chaos it caused. The Mhoriens had felled several more of his guards, but a half-dozen men were brutally kicking and spurring their horses up the slope and into the trees. In moments they’d engage the hidden sharpshooters.

Bannier’s spell ripped an inarticulate gasp of resistance from Gaelin. The Mhor clamped his teeth together, holding his jaw shut by force of will. Scowling, Bannier gave up the effort. “Your will is admirable, but it matters little. In a moment, I’ll finish with you and your friends, and I’ll find your sister again. And now, your reign is at an end, Mhor Gaelin.”

Gaelin struggled to escape the paralysis that gripped his limbs. Bannier reached forward to bring the deadly staff in contact with Gaelin’s head. Along its length Gaelin could see hateful runes crackling with power, the weapon filled with destructive potential. He knew that its touch would end his life. Distantly, he heard Erin scream in fear.

And somewhere, in a still place in the depths of his soul, a voice spoke out in protest. You are the Mhor. Asmall but bright flame ignited in his heart, a white point of light that suddenly blazed forward like a bonfire, racing through his limbs and overwhelming the wizard’s malignant dolor. The shadows that imprisoned Gaelin’s mind fled into the night, dissipating into ash as the power contained in his blood ignited in a blaze of glory.

As the staff came near his face, the purple radiance searing his eyes, he roared in protest and brought up his sword to block the killing blow. The clean highland blade met the sorcerer’s dire assault, and turned it aside with an angry clang of iron on steel. “No!” Gaelin shouted, surging up from his knees. He recovered from his parry and lashed out in a low, wicked cut that Bannier just barely managed to sidestep. The wizard’s face was openmouthed in astonishment, but he maintained enough presence of mind to jab the venomous staff at Gaelin again, forcing the prince to parry in turn.

Bannier attempted to back away, to find room to attempt another spell, but Gaelin was not to be stopped. His white wrath carried him forward, slashing with powerful blows that Bannier was hard-pressed to avoid. Wielding his staff with surprising skill and agility, Bannier gave ground. “Iron Guard! To me!” he shouted. “To me!”

Gaelin didn’t look around. He trusted Erin and his soldiers had handled the rest of the guardsmen. He pressed his attack recklessly, his vision suffused with a glorious brilliance and the roaring of his blood in his ears nothing more than a sweet whisper of encouragement. Reversing his attack, he struck Bannier with a long cut that gashed the wizard’s side, and followed it with a high, backhanded slash that glanced from the wizard’s skull, spinning him half around and opening a bloody wound across Bannier’s scalp.

In desperation, Bannier shouted a word that directed a lance of pure violet energy at Gaelin. But Gaelin anticipated the move and deflected Bannier’s aim by stepping under his guard and knocking the wizard’s arm skyward. With his hand clenched around his sword hilt, he found a perfect opportunity to deliver a deep uppercut to the wizard’s jaw, a solid punch that cracked bone and sent Bannier reeling backward – into Seriene’s barrier.

Silver light flared and battled with purple fire, transfixing the wizard on an arcing bolt of energy. Bannier shrieked and danced, pinned where he was by the uncontrollable lashing of his limbs and the bright, burning magic. Gaelin paused a moment, looking on in astonishment, and then he took his bastard sword in both hands and hammered the wide, keen blade through the center of Bannier’s chest. The wizard howled in inhuman agony, coughing a gout of black blood from his mouth, his hands scrabbling at the impaling sword.

Gaelin wrenched the blade from Bannier’s chest and watched him sprawl to the ground, cursing weakly.

Gaelin looked up and discovered that only a few of the Iron Guards still stood. Bull was flailing away with his great hamme r, holding them at bay as he guarded Gaelin’s back. From the shadows of the hillside, a crossbow sang, and one of the Ghoerans fell with a bolt wedged in the visor of his helmet. That decided the matter for the surviving guards. They took to their heels to escape the clearing, fleeing into the darkness. Briefly, Gaelin wondered where they thought they were going – without Bannier’s guidance, they wouldn’t get very far.

Erin emerged from the woods on the lip of the hollow, carrying a crossbow on one hip, her slender rapier in the other hand. One shoulder bled freely from a stab wound, but a fierce light burned in her eyes. There was no sign of the illusory wolf – she must have released the spell after chasing off most of the Ghoerans. Her eyes flicked over Gaelin, and relief flooded her face when she saw that he hadn’t been hurt. “Is that all of them?” she asked, nodding at the retreating Iron Guards.

“I think so. Are you all right? You’ve been wounded.”

Erin sheathed her rapier, but kept her crossbow handy. She tore a strip of cloth from her cloak hem and held it to her shoulder. “I’ll be fine, although I’ll have you know I went years between stabbings or puncturings before I met you.”

Her lighthearted banter sank. “I’m afraid the other guardsmen weren’t as lucky.”

“Boeric, too?” Gaelin scowled and turned away.

“Not quite, Mhor Gaelin.” Boeric appeared at the edge of the clearing, limping, his sword dripping red for nearly half its length. “Orel and Ciele fell in the fighting under the trees, but I’ll live to see another day.” He nodded at Erin. “Your spell gave us the victory, Lady Erin.”

Erin inclined her head in thanks, and turned to Gaelin. “I thought I saw you cut down Bannier.”

“I did. I suspect he’ll trouble us no more.” Gaelin turned and glanced at where the wizard had fallen. He started to turn away, and then looked back again, with an oath.

Bannier was gone. Only his black cloak remained, soaked with dark blood. Gaelin kneeled beside the spot, studying the ground. There were no footprints. It was as if Bannier had faded into the earth exactly where he had fallen. The others scattered and looked for some sign of the sorcerer, but they soon gave up – with only four of them left, it was too dangerous to remain. “I’d like to be certain that we’ve defeated him, but we can’t wait,” Gaelin said. “We’ve got to get Ilwyn out of this place.”

“Could he have escaped somehow?” Erin asked quietly.

“If he did, I don’t know how,” Gaelin replied. They commandeered several of the Ghoeran horses, lifting the fallen guardsmen over the saddles, and set out for the place where they’d left Seriene and Ilwyn. I hope she’s found the doorway again, Gaelin thought. I’ve seen enough of this place for now.

He took one last look at the black circle of ancient, leaning stones, and shuddered. Whatever this place had once been, it had been bathed in blood this day. He resolved to return and raze the place, even if it meant another journey into the Shadow. He didn’t like the idea of a place like Caer Duirga left to itself in the gloom and darkness.