The Golden Shield of IBF by Jerry Ahern, Sharon Ahern

Mir.
    Moc’Dar reached the small bower overhung by the enormous branches of the Ka’B’Oo, the track lying only a few warblades beyond it. Soundlessly, first one, then another, then soon all six of the Sword of Koth he had summoned were with him there.
    His voice low, Moc’Dar rapidly issued his orders. “You three will cross the track. Five men from theCompany of Mir, all ahorse, well-armed. They move along the track beyond the glow of light. They are perhaps five lancethrows back. Move with speed and stealth. Standard ambush pattern at contact after confirmation. Be wary, lest the Virgin Enchantress, who is about some distance from here along the boundary with the wood, should hear and alert them with her magic. I want prisoners who can be made to talk. Questions?”
    There were none.
    “Remember, axes only and silence at all cost. Be about it then, Sword of Koth!”
    The three he had designated to cross the track moved first, disappearing soundlessly among the trees. Moc’Dar gauged the time that it would take them, then summoned the three who remained with him to follow him, paralleling the track, deeper into the wood, toward the light from the five riders...

    Erg’Ran cautioned his four companions, “Weapons close and ready, lads. We near the boundary.”
    There was no way to exactly judge the distance, one stretch of the track looking so very much like another, but he had a good feel for the time which had so far passed along the track. Based on that Erg’Ran gauged them to be under four lancethrows from the boundary of the wood and plain.
    Gar’Ath was somewhere out there in the snowy darkness, perhaps overseeing their progress, perhaps observing a Sword of Koth scouting party. If there were such a force lying in wait for them, Gar’Ath would warn his companions, or surely die in the trying.
    When Erg’Ran chopped off his foot, his balance in the wielding of a weapon had somehow been altered for the worse. In his youth, he was a fair hand with a sword, although his skills approached not at all those of Gar’Ath. No one’s did. Since the loss of his foot, Erg’Ran (although he still wore a sword) had taken to using the very implement by means of which he’d lost his foot. He carried an axe. Its shaft, carved from the trunk of a stout Ka’B’Oo, was just less than five spans in length. Its head, of the finest hand-wrought steel, measured two spans from the tip of the dorsal spike to the outermost arc of the curved blade.
    Many men would name their weapons, but Erg’Ran did not. It was his axe, and that was all. He longed for the day when its only purpose would be that of a decoration over the hearth of some pleasantly remote cottage.
    They continued along the track, Erg’Ran riding at the little columns head, periodically craning his neck to reassure himself that the rearmost man—young Bin’Ah—had not been taken by surprise.
    So far, there was no cause for concern, and this concerned Erg’Ran quite a bit. It would be impossible to imagine the Queen Sorceress not sending out a scouting party. So, where were her minions?
    As Erg’Ran looked back once more, the answer came to him: Bin’Ah was swept from his stout red mare and into the shadows, the gleam of an axe blade caught for an instant in the light from the globe.
    “They attack!” Erg’Ran shouted to the remaining three of the company, wheeling his horse about so suddenly that the ordinarily sure-footed creature nearly went down under him.
    Sword of Koth swept at them from the shadows, four of them, axes only. Why did they not use their fireswords? There would have to be a reason, but there was no time to worry it. A giant of a man, black cowled hood over black battle mask, charged toward Erg’Ran, axe swinging for the legs of Erg’Ran’s mare.
    This was a captive hunt, not a murder raid!
    Erg’Ran’s axe was just as quick, and stronger, its long downstroke hesitating only an instant as it severed the other axes shaft, the axe head