The Golden Shield of IBF by Jerry Ahern, Sharon Ahern Page B

master warrior, a lieutenant and a captain, not to mention a spellbreaker. I know you don’t like my asking, but—”
    “These two, the one who was about to finish Fo’Len, the one who unhorsed Bin’Ah. Add in that big bastard of a captain who ran off, and there’s another dead one over there. That’s six accounted for.”
    “There are eight left, nine if the captain survives his wound well enough to fight.”
    Erg’Ran turned away from Gar’Ath, getting down awkwardly to his knees beside Fo’Len. Another of the company already attended the man, but he would not live through the night. “The castle is gone, vanished, every stone of it,” Gar’Ath supplied, unbidden. “But at the same time that I spied these Sword of Koth moving against you, I saw a man and a woman trudging through the drifts along the boundary of the wood. Perhaps the Virgin Enchantress lives. Who the man could be, I cannot say. Under the circumstances, old friend, I think we should take horse and ride to intercept this couple before the Sword of Koth chooses to do so.”
    Erg’Ran nodded his agreement, then shouted his orders. “Bin’Ah—you help watching over our good lad here. We’ll not abandon Fo’Len until his spirit has gone from him. And then we’ll not leave his body here for the creatures to sport with.” Erg’Ran looked at his men in the light from the globe. Exhausted, frightened half out of their wits they looked. “Gar’Ath and I will ride on alone. If we are not back by sunrise, go to the rendezvous point.” Erg’Ran was not about to mention where that was, since one of the Sword of Koth could be hidden, listening somewhere out in the darkness of the wood.
    Erg’Ran intended to leave the light sphere with those who waited behind, but before doing so he swept its beam over Gar’Ath. There was a darkening bruise near his left temple, and a redness leading down to his cheek. The left sleeve of Gar’Ath’s black shirt clung to Gar’Ath’s arm by blood alone, a long but not terribly deep gash leading from his shoulder halfway to his elbow. Gar’Ath swung his cloak round his body. “None of those wounds are from the fighting here, are they lad?”
    Gar’Ath smiled wickedly. “The creatures of the wood had a mind to eat me, it appeared. I didn’t let them.” He laughed.
    Erg’Ran told him in a fatherly way, “We’ll get a healer to look at that gash, lest it become fouled with sickness. Now,” and he looked around to the others of the company, “would somebody please help a peg-legged old man to get mounted?”
    Bin’Ah, of the great bump on the head, accomplished that, and as Erg’Ran eased up into the saddle, he told the fellow, “You and the others keep a watchful guard. There are at least eight of the many abroad in the darkness. Be vigilant!”
    Gar’Ath swung effortlessly into the saddle, and Erg’Ran and his brash young swordsman friend were off along the rutted track. They held their animals to a tight rein, lest one of the horses should move too quickly and break a leg...

    “I felt it when one of them used the second-sight. Looking at us.” Swan whispered, her lips close to Alan Garrison’s ear. “It was probably a new Yeoman Spellbreaker, because normally the second-sight isn’t felt. The only time it is felt is when whoever’s using it isn’t very good at it. Yet.”
    Without warning, Swan had jerked at his elbow. “Remain perfectly still while I cast a shadow spell. Then come with me quickly.”
    Since he’d had no idea what she was talking about, there had been no sense arguing.
    The shadow spell turned out to be a remarkable thing. And Swan’s magic seemed so essentially effortless. Alan Garrison had grown up watching reruns of Barbara Eden folding her arms and doing shoulder shimmies, Elizabeth Montgomery crinkling her nose, but Swan’s magic was nothing like that. And, so far, the results hadn’t proven humorous. They were, however, effective. Her shadow spell, however Swan