Watching Harbend running into the horrible, collapsing castle almost unhinged Nakora, but she managed to find enough courage to go in after the fool trader.

Now she led him to where the others were. The window had been pure good luck. Without it she'd never have known how close to the main entrance they had found Arthur. Climbing down the wall had been easy, and to her relief Neritan had the brains to lead Arthur and the girl out.

Gring had been there as well. Then the surge of power from inside the castle and Neritan demanding that Gring help her climbing the very walls Nakora had come down. They came back with Escha, and they had done something to him.

Now they were all gathered close to the orchard.

Escha spoke, no it was Neritan who spoke through Escha. Nakora looked at him, her. It was unnerving to recognize the golden mage in the body of the dark skinned Transport Mage, and Nakora missed part of what Neritan said.

"...so strong. Can't promise I can hold him. We should jump approximately to where the caravan is, but they will know." With the last words Escha, Neritan in Escha's body, looked at Gring who nodded in response.

"What is it?" Nakora asked.

"We were brought here by jump mages. They'll come after us," Gring said.

In a flurry of wind the world became nothingness. It was different from when Escha had jumped them earlier, but Nakora knew they were indeed jumping. Away from the nightmare.

The world was white again. The whiteness of snow and open plains. She could never have guessed that the sight should fill her with such relief. It was almost like coming home, almost.

She turned, looking for the relative safety of the caravan, but it was nowhere to be seen. Approximately, how close was approximately? The rest of the day? Another days walk? One full day away and the caravan could as well be back home in Ri Khi, at least if Gring was right about pursuers jumping to catch them.

Harbend stood at her side. Stupid, loving Harbend who'd come to her rescue never knowing she needed none. He'd risked his life for her, not at her orders. No one had done that before.

He did have a noble face, a very dirty noble face, but it was hers to admire. The gaze he gave her sent a wave of pleasant warmth through her body. Tonight, maybe, if they were still alive by then.

"They are here." Neritan's tired voice broke Nakora's thoughts about lovemaking.

"Who?" Nakora asked already knowing.

"I don't know exactly, but I felt them jumping here. They are close."

Nakora groaned. What could they do now? Trai dead and Escha in stupor. She met Gring's eyes. No, not her as well! There was something defeated in those large eyes, and the Khraga looked less like a death bringing nightmare and more like a child who was afraid of getting slapped for being naughty.

Gods! I don't need this. We don't need this. Where is the warrior?

"Gring, we fight and then we die. No dying without fighting."

Nakora looked in despair at the Khraga turned child. Then the sound of soldiers closed in on them.

***

The fight, if it could even be called one, had turned sour from the onset. They were too few to meet the enemy head on, and when Neritan promised they were indeed close to the caravan they decided to flee, and now Harbend was crouching between two heaps of snow having lost sight of his friends.

Arthur had killed one man with his device, and the sound had been enough to give them some well needed respite, but then Arthur said there would be no more thundering help from his side.

A rumbling from behind spelled either more trouble or some much needed help. Hopefully the latter. The escort should have been here by now if it would ever come to their aid.

Harbend ducked and rolled in the snow. Nowhere to hide out here. The snow crept inside his clothes and started to melt. The cold was agonizing, but he didn't dare to move before he knew what was happening.

Another roar from behind. This time he decided to take the risk. Nothing to lose any longer. Harbend stood on his knees trying to be ready to fight back, but weaponless there wasn't much he could do.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

It was the escort. The battle mages he had hired but never got to know during the journey threw lances of fire over his head aiming for targets he couldn't see. If they were here men on horses couldn't be far away. A wave of relief washed through him. They were safe, or as safe as they would ever be this far from Keen.

Captain Laiden roared curses at full throat, and the incredibly foul language filled Harbend with a warmth that would have had his mother frown in disgust at him if she had known. Then the thunder of hoofs passed on both sides of him as the escort joined the fray.

Harbend staggered to higher grounds.

Ahead of him Trindai's men loosed their crossbows while charging. Then they rode into the disarray they had created, slashing with drawn sabers as they rode through the thin line of soldiers. They wheeled their horses, line almost unbroken, and charged back. The third charge scattered the enemy who retreated, and when Nakora's troops joined the fight the retreat turned into a rout.

Once Horse-lord Vildir Kanir had told Harbend that a soldier must fight or break, and that fighting was surviving. He hadn't understood it then, but as he watched the slaughter in front of him he wondered where his uncle's cavalry commander had learned the lesson. Harbend had experienced a skirmish, even seen men killed as a young man, but nothing like this. Khi didn't war on anyone, but there were clan feuds, and Harbend had a sickening feeling the word feud didn't really describe what happened when two clans failed to resolve their differences with diplomacy.

He stared out over the battlefield and saw the soldiers from Ri Khi dispatching wounded men begging for mercy. Only the escort from Keen refrained from the butchering, and he could almost feel their distaste for the sight they shared with him.

There had never been much of a battle, and now it was only murder.

The screams were almost as awful as the sight. Harbend helplessly watched wounded men having their arms and legs cut away before they were finally killed. Soldiers cut off fingers to get rings from men still alive and screaming in pain and shock. The snow, once even and white was now trampled and dirtied by blood and the scattered remains of bodies.

Harbend knew parts of his own history. Once the armies of Khi had earned themselves a very bad reputation. Apparently some of the reason for that had become a damning tradition still upheld by the descendants now living in Ri Khi. He turned in disgust and walked away. The relief he once had felt was gone and there was only revulsion left.

***

Free! They were free again.

It was wonderful to be alive.

Arthur staggered into the waiting arms of a woman he didn't remember seeing before. Somehow he knew they must have jumped and he finally dared to believe they were safe again.

Safe. No longer a prisoner sentenced to death. He relaxed, and with relief came some kind of absolution, and he lost consciousness.

***

Harbend faced Trindai. He felt as if he was the one reporting to the captain rather than the other way around, but he was too tired to bother.

"We got them all back," Harbend said tiredly. "Any more trouble?"

"I think we made it," Trindai answered.

"We did, but please, find someone to take care of Escha!"

"What happened?"

"They got Trai, and we failed even to bring his body with us."

"Oh, darkness! How?"

"A spear. They were too many."

Harbend didn't want to say that Trai had been too careless, that he had taken an unnecessary risk. Why sully the memory of one already dead? Maybe Trai had challenged danger too overtly, but it had still been Harbend's decision to rescue Arthur. Nothing would change that. The responsibility would always remain his, and for the second time since they left Verd he'd allowed people who trusted him to die because he deemed it necessary. His wants. His needs. Always what he thought was for the best -- as if he had any right to choose who got to live and who had to die.

Harbend turned in search for Nakora. He needed someone sensible, someone who didn't look at him in awe or gratefulness, and of the three who didn't, Nakora was the only one he had the strength to meet.