“You have the vision, too?” asked Julinne.

“Lan will somehow come to our aid,” she said to Ducasien. “How he found us, I can’t say. But he did!”

Ducasien turned and stalked off. Inyx said to Julinne, “Thank you. This is very important. It might mean the difference between success and failure.” Inyx bent forward and lightly kissed the other woman on the cheek, then hurried after Ducasien.

She overtook him just as he reached the spot where they’d pitched a small tent.

“Don’t be so crackbrained,” she said, grabbing his sleeve.

He jerked free of her grip and faced her. “It’s always Martak this and Martak that. If he’d been with us, the mage wouldn’t have been able to paralyze us. How do you know Julinne’s vision is accurate? We’ve never been able to verify a thing she’s said. I think you want Martak to be there. In spite of all he’s done to you, you want to see him again. So do it and be damned!”

“Ducasien, please, wait.”

She dropped to hands and knees and followed Ducasien into the tent. There was hardly enough room for the pair of them. It hadn’t mattered before.

“We cannot defeat Patriccan without a mage of surpassing power. Neither of us is able to conjure even the simplest of spells. Give us swords and we can fight the best Claybore has in his legion, but against a mage? Forget it.” Inyx slumped and rolled onto her back, staring up into the blank green fabric of the tent.

Ducasien said nothing as he lay on his pallet, similarly staring upward. Inyx soon felt his hand atop hers, squeezing gently. She turned and looked into the man’s eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Ducasien said.

“You won’t hold me this way.”

“He…”

Inyx reached over and silenced him with a slender finger against his lips. “Don’t speak of him. Not now. The battle is set and we must be ready in an hour.”

Ducasien lifted himself up on an elbow and kissed Inyx. She returned it with mounting fervor and soon, in the confines of the tent, they made love.

But Inyx thought not of Ducasien. Her mind rattled with memories of Lan Martak.

“They have gathered just for us,” gloated Ducasien. “One swift thrust and they are ours. The power of the grey-clads on this world will be broken.”

Inyx wasn’t so sure. She looked down at the fort. They had successfully raided it before. Nowless’s poison had killed more than half the soldiers, but this victory was short-lived. The commander had called in troops from distant posts to recoup the lost position here.

“Nowless has everything in readiness,” said Ducasien. He smiled wickedly as he pointed out the traps and said, “The boulders will smash through the side of the fort and leave them vulnerable to the archers and slingers.”

“There’s no question that the boulders will do the trick?” asked Inyx. She spoke only to keep her mind off her true worries. Ducasien had had little contact with Claybore’s sorcerers and the power of magic. The woman had no desire to face the kinds of spells that might be thrown against their forces.

“The explosive Nowless uses in the pebble-slingers has been mined and planted in appropriate amounts. Fear naught. All will go well.” Ducasien put his arm around her in an attempt to be comforting. Inyx refused to allow herself to relax.

“They have gathered,” she said. A last company of grey-clads rode into the fort. “Their meeting begins.”

“Their death begins now,” said Ducasien. He lifted his arm and gave Nowless the signal. Bass rumblings shattered the still air and caused huge clouds of white smoke and dust to rise. Through the veiling curtain came ponderous boulders, rolling slowly at first, then with greater speed. Nowless had aimed well. Two boulders missed the fort entirely; six more crashed into the wood wall and broke it to splinters.

The legionnaires in the fort boiled forth, swords in hand. Ducasien gave another signal. Clouds of arrows arched up and landed among the soldiers, killing many. A second signal. The slings whirred and hissed and sent forth their tiny pellets of explosive. Against the massive wooden fort walls, these pellets were useless; against humans they took a deadly toll.

“They’ve taken cover,” said Inyx. “We must go down and engage them if we are to wipe them out entirely.”

“Another round of boulders,” said Ducasien. Explosions, another pair of huge rocks crushing their way through the interior of the fort, disarray among the grey-clads within.

Inyx gave the command for their band to charge down the hill and engage the soldiers. All the distance down the hill she saw arrows arcing overhead to keep the greys in confusion. But Inyx still worried, even though their plan had worked perfectly to this point.

The mage. Where was he?

Inyx saw Patriccan just as she and fifty sword-waving guerrillas reached the breached wall of the fort. The sorcerer walked out, hands hidden in thick folds of his long brown robe. A slight smile danced on his lips. He felt the battle had been won.

“I have expected you,” he said. His voice carried strangely over the distance. Inyx heard him as clearly as if he whispered in her ear.

“Surrender!” Inyx yelled to the mage. “Your time on this world is past.”

“Oh?”

A flight of arrows buried itself in the ground around the mage. He deflected the vicious broadheads from his own body but apparently cared little for saving the soldiers. Another dozen of them died near him. But the mage’s hands continued working their spells. Inyx saw the air turning hazy in front of Patriccan. And behind, up on the hill where Nowless commanded, came deafening explosions.

“Never use the mystical exploding rock against a mage,” Patriccan said, as if lecturing a class of dimwits. “It is too easily turned against you.”

“Inyx,” gasped Ducasien. “All the slingers are dead.”

“Yes, all died. They foolishly carried their projectiles in pouches around their waists. I daresay most were blown in half.” Patriccan smiled malevolently and continued, “Now it is your time to die.”

He raised his hand to cast the spell. Inyx stood stolidly, awaiting death. She had come far and had wished for a better end than this. The least she could do was meet her fate with courage.

Patriccan finished the spell but nothing happened. Confused, he tried another. And another and still another.

“What’s wrong?” demanded Ducasien. “Forget your chants?”

Patriccan shook his head and stared at his hands, as if accusing them of high crimes.

Inyx clapped hands over her ears to protect them from the shrill whistle of an air elemental. She twisted about and saw the lightning-laced haze surging through the darkening sky, plummeting down directly for Patriccan.

The mage saw the danger and began defensive spells. Only great skill prevented the elemental from ripping him limb from limb. As it was, Patriccan fought for his very life. The tide of battle had turned in a split second.

“Kill them. Kill the greys!” shouted Inyx. “Do it while we can!”

The soldiers fell easy prey to their naked swords. But Inyx kept one eye on Patriccan and his battle with the elemental. He struggled to escape and couldn’t. And there was no way an ordinary mage could hope to either summon or disrupt an elemental.

“Who sent it?” asked Ducasien, coming to stand beside Inyx.

She shook her head. It had to be Lan Martak, but she found it difficult to believe.

The air elemental winked out of existence. Replacing it was the figure she had grown to hate.

“Claybore!”

“Ah, the cast in the little drama has gathered. Fine.” The dismembered mage turned to Patriccan and studied his bruised, broken body. “He is the worse for his encounter with Martak’s airborne ally. Where is Martak?”

“Here, Claybore.” Thunder sounded and shock waves rolled across the clearing. Emptiness had been replaced by two figures. Lan Martak strode up. “You brought me here, for whatever reason.”