Korak the silverpaw bear roared. Riding on his back was Charlot, The Master Arcanist of the Crimson Citadel. Charlot flinched in surprised and brought his hands up to cover his ears. Even with the great maw pointed away from Charlot, Korak’s roar was loud enough to pain his ears.

Charlot had barely recovered from his surprise when Korak broke into a full gallop, headed into the forest. Charlot had to drop his hands and cling to the bear’s thick fur to keep from getting flung off. Korak barreled forward, and low hanging branches whipped the ancient wizard like a scourge.

“Korak! HOLD!” cried Charlot, yet the enormous bear paid him no mind and charged through the underbrush as if it were but fog. Charlot had to flatten himself against the bear’s back so that the fabulous staff tied to his back did not catch a limb and send him flying.

Each of the bear’s strides was like ten paces for a man, and he shot up the trail until a rushing stream of water had washed out the entire path. Snuffling fiercely, Korak turned right and bounded toward the shattered dam.

“Korak!” Charlot cried, but then the bear roared again, so loud Charlot’s ears rang. When he could hear again, there was the roaring of the breached dam adding to the cacophony. He thought he’d been struck deaf. The silverpaw bear bounded up the ridge and onto the edge of the lake, and now Charlot could see what had so incensed the him.

Wyrth legionnaires!

“FLACCARO!” Charlot cried as he pulled the staff free from the bindings on his back. The magnificent staff flared to life, each of its thirty-three rubies suddenly aflame with crimson light. The fire-opal at their center swirled with opalescent fire. Charlot was ready to burn down the closest legionnaire, but Korak had his own plan.

The legionnaire raised his wicked battleaxe for a swipe at the charging monster, but Korak was far faster. He bounded forward and slammed a massive paw into the legionnaire’s thick breastplate. With a gong like a bell, the armored warrior flew backward into the torrent, disappearing at once into the rush of frothing black water.

Charlot pivoted in his makeshift saddle, throwing his leg around so he faced their rear. A legionnaire rushed at their flank with his warhammer held high.

“Alight!” Charlot commanded, and the thirty-three rubies each projected a thin beam of crimson. They all met in a mote of searing heat that glowed like a molten bead on the charging legionnaire’s black breastplate.

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“BURN!” Charlot cried, and the massive fire opal at the center of the rubies pulsed with light. The beam became a white-hot lance of hissing power that burned through armor and flesh. In an instant, daylight streamed through a hole in the legionnaire as wide as a watermelon.

For three more steps he continued his charge, but there was nothing left to pump blood to his limbs. Flaccaro had burned out his heart. The warhammer tumbled from his lifeless grip, and the armored brute sank into the mud, as dead as a man could be.

Two legionnaires remained on the northern bank, and they moved together to take their stand. Charlot tried to pivot back in the saddle just as Korak bounded forward to fight them, and the arcanist lost his balance and tumbled into the lake.

After a sputtering moment, he managed to right himself. Thank the stars he’d fallen into soft mud, for already the lake was far shallower than it had been. Flaccaro hung in the air, wreathed in flames, and Charlot called the staff to him.

With an enormous splash, the bear leapt into the water and swam toward the opposite bank as the legionnaires advanced. Korak was caught in the current of the draining lake, and it was too much for even his great bulk.

For an instant, Charlot could see his walleyed stare of panic, then Korak was swept into the breach and carried downriver in the torrent.

“Fool bear!” Charlot cried and, at once, he was trying to think of a spell to save his companion. But he shook his head and focused on the legionnaires. The threat came first. Charlot’s hands closed on the magnificent staff, and again, he gave the command.

“ALIGHT!” he cried, and the red beam glowed. The legionnaire looked down and saw the mote of searing light on his chest and stupidly tried to brush it off with a gauntleted hand.

“BURN!” Charlot cried,

The first legionnaire crumpled as the searing lance burned across his torso in a line, cutting him in two. The remaining legionnaire turned and tried to flee, but the beam continued its arc. The lance struck the back of his helmet and, in an instant, his head was cooked. The helm glowed cherry red, then white, then melted into slag. The dead man pitched forward and slumped onto the shore with a final clank of armor.

Flaccaro had grown ice cold. Charlot could feel the staff’s disquiet at losing so much energy so quickly. He climbed out of the muck and onto the bank, looking to see if Korak was all right.

He found the bear had fought his way out of the rushing water and was already bounding up the bank on the opposite side, ready to attack. But Flaccaro had done for them all. Korak climbed up onto the bank and sniffed at the air. It was redolent with the stink of burnt flesh. He looked disappointed.

“Gods! Ser Korak? Are you intact?”

The bear seemed unhurt and, at last, their other companion caught up with them, the gray wolf with a wide silver scar along its left side where its fur had been burned away. The wolf was on the mend now, but he was still too weak to sprint.

“Now, where is the boy? What of the fifth legionnaire and the dogs from the vision?” Charlot wondered aloud, and then he saw a blur in the distance break free of the water by the beaver mound and start gasping for air.