The day was clear and sunny, the woods carefully trimmed back fifty paces from the old Roman road, and the gentle rise and fall of the land left no dead spaces. All in all, a very unlikely place for a foe to spring an ambush. Yet still, all at once, and for no apparent reason, the collective hackles of the party were raised. Then Alain's mind and senses dulled. Something had taken out her magics. As she yelped out a warning, bodies were already tensing and hands groping for weapons. A scant two heartbeats later, twigs cracked in counterpoint to the snap of crossbows and the hornet whine of quarrels filling the air.

Montgomery, on point, leapt clear of his foundering mount as bolts struck it in both flanks, one tearing the leg of his uniform trousers and leaving a bloody scratch just above the top of his boot. Anna's horse reared in pain as another bolt took it in the neck. Her right foot did not come clear of the stirrups, and her right knee exploded in a cold, liquid wave of agony just before her back and head hit the ground hard and she sprawled limply. Of them all, Shiro managed the best; he let himself roll backwards and to the right, tucked in his legs and managed a smooth gymnast's dismount, then dove to the side to get under the impaling crossbow bolts and away from bone crushing horse legs. Conn might have managed as well, but he took a bolt through both mail and the side of his upper arm and was carried out of the saddle by its momentum. Brenden windmilled from his dying mount and somehow managed to get his legs clear, but most of his weapons ended up underneath his dead steed.

"Where are they?" screamed Shiro as he hosed the tree line wildly. "Give me a target!"

"To the right! Movement in the woods!" Colour Sergeant Black shouted to be heard over whinnying of crazed and dying horses. He rested his rifle on the flank of his still quivering mount and fired.

"More on the left! Maybe six or ten archers!" bellowed Brenden. Grimly, he checked the load on his .44 and ducked. More bolts slammed into the belly of his dead horse. He put down the magnum and savagely ripped his Glock 9 mm free from the small of his back, oblivious to pinching armor and sudden depilation.

"Anna's down!" Conn roared. He crawled over to where she lay and yanked her out of harm's way as his former mount bucked and reared, seeking escape. The animal dropped a hoof exactly where her forehead had been scant moments before, then collapsed as more bolts struck it. Arrows spilled onto Conn's lap; in its thrashing, the horse had bent apart his quiver's clasp. Conn cut free the bow case with his knife, then cradled Anna to him.

"Alain! This would be a really good time for some help!" Brenden shouted. When he got no response, he raised up on his haunches and whipped his head around, oblivious to the danger. Oh shit! Alain! Fear clenched his heart until he saw the elf was on her feet and moving. She had problems of her own, however; a seven foot tall pink and red octopus of a demon rolled towards her. Humanoid skulls chattered and jangled on its leather harness. A vicious razored gauntlet was strapped to one tentacle-like arm, and it beckoned to the elf with the other. Brenden ripped his gaze away. To their front, six knights armored in black, bearing black, unmarked kite shields, and riding black steeds cantered out of the woods and took up station across the road, sitting tall and arrogant in the saddle as they watched the carnage unfold. Their upraised lances spoke of the fate awaiting any who might survive the archers' crossfire.

From the flanks came more bolts. Then the forest rustled as large, red-eyed wolves broke cover and charged, six on each side. Behind them came the crossbowmen, armored men-at-arms, five to a side. They advanced a dozen paces, then stopped to crank their weapons for another volley. All the party's horses were down now, which was more a help than a hindrance at this point. The fire coming from their impromptu laager was a weak thing; Montgomery put down one crossbowman with a carefully aimed shot, Shiro wounded another, and Brenden managed to blow the brains out of one wolf with a snap pistol shot as it bounded towards him. Green ichor splashed away, still following the hollow-point round's trajectory. Brenden's eyes widened in stunned comprehension. Gospog. Ayslish gospog. Otherwise, their foes were crossing the killing ground unscathed.

Shiro leapt over a dead horse to avoid more crossbow fire. Three shots from his sidearm glanced off a knight's armor. Time to ditch the flechette, he thought as he reached for a different clip. Something hard and cold poked him in the ribs. He looked around, and a feral smile grew across his face; there was the barrel of the M-60, plain as day, and quite accessible. He started tearing open other packs looking for the ammunition belts, heedlessly spilling less deadly gear everywhere.

Conn forced open Anna's eyes. Good, the pupils are both the same size; she does not have the brain hurt, then. He poked the bottom of her foot with his dagger and her leg twitched. He nodded with grim satisfaction and clasped her hands in his. "Dunad, please heed me: Let Anna hear my words wherever her mind wanders," he whispered in prayer. Then, louder, he called out, "Awake, Anna. Your world needs you. Your friends need you." Strange, breathy snarls told him the gospog were nearly on him and he stood, bestriding Anna, and drew his sword. The first gospog leapt at him and the heady liquor of battle lust ignited in his veins.

Montgomery Black lunged forward and ripped into the plant-wolf hybrid with what should have been a disemboweling stroke. The monster shuddered and grew still, but only fetid plant matter, green ichor, and the rot of an unhallowed grave issued from the wound. His surprise did not prevent him from spinning aside to avoid another onrushing blasphemy, but even as he buttstroked it, smashing its skull, a crossbow bolt caromed off his helmet, staggering him.

The Mage Killer's face was a brutal mockery of a grin; razor sharp fangs seemed to sprout every which way. It raised spiked gauntlet and suckered tentacle and charged. Alain never even considered spellcasting; she knew it to be a futile, fatal, waste of time. Instead she drew blade and was unafraid. The demon was vicious and preternaturally strong and tough, but she was quicker, armored, and highly skilled with mundane arms. "For Ziggy!" she cried in her own tongue, and glittering blade met matte black gauntlet. She gave back half a pace, no more, at the initial jarring collision and waded forward again.

Brenden emptied his .44 into another gospog and jumped over it as its spring-steel tense leap dissolved into a flaccid tumbling roll. Before he could duck down behind cover again, something smashed into his kidney and he fell to the ground, gasping like a fish out of water. The empty pistol fell from his numbed hand. Unable to even curse, he pawed at his back. The quarrel fell away, and he felt for it, fearing the worst. Finally, he laid hand on it and brought it around to look at it. To his surprise and relief, the bolt was intact. Despite the blood on the point, he knew the wound it caused could not be life-threatening; there was no blood on the shaft. Still smarting badly, he hauled himself up and looked around. Things looked grim. Anna was down and Conn, playing Horatio at the bridge, had his hands full keeping himself unperforated while protecting Anna from the gospog. Black was moving in a daze and Alain was in the fight of her life. Only Shiro looked hale, and he was still struggling to get the M-60 into action. The going was slow because he was receiving disproportionate attention from the archers. The crossbowmen were readying another volley, only a dozen yards away, and after them, there were still the knights to deal with. Fear of failure, failure to help his friends, failure to save his world, welled up within him, and something snapped. He jumped to his feet and, fueled by pain, railed against his tormentors. Something of the dragon's heart started beating within. "You whore's get! Boot licking lackeys of necromancers and cowards! Fight us like men or go back to buggering children!" Turning to the knights, he added, "That's right! Hide your markings! Your families would hunt you down for the shame you bring them; better men slop pigs!" He continued standing defiantly and shot down another gospog with his Glock.

Conn watched Brenden's bravado or madness with disbelief. He expected the Core Earther to be reduced to a bloody pincushion, but it didn't happen; the crossbowmen threw down their missile weapons and lumbered forward, drawing maces and swords. His chest loosened; perhaps they still might win through.

Anna opened her eyes and groaned. It took her a moment or two to comprehend what her eyes were seeing. This was a view of Conn she could have done without. She rolled over, planning to get out from underfoot quickly, but her right knee screamed in protest. Grimacing, she managed to pull herself clear, but she was sodden with nauseous sweat before she was done. She propped herself up and drew a pistol, covering Conn's back. A gospog rounded a dead horse, angling for Conn's hamstrings. Anna shot it through the pupil.

Finally Shiro finished screwing the barrel into place and loading a belt of ammunition. He manhandled the machine-gun into position and squeezed the trigger lovingly, punching rounds through three men-at-arms. Conn rushed forward to engage the last two men-at-arms on the right flank. There was a clash of steel on steel, then the meatier thunk of steel cleaving flesh. One man-at-arms toppled to the left, collarbone crushed and neck laid open, the other toppled to the right, Conn's dagger jammed under his left arm, angled down through his heart.

The demon snarled at Alain. Short strips of elf flesh dangled from between teeth. Ziggy. Alain quailed. This was crazy. No one survived Mage Killers, and she was so tired. Seizing the advantage, the creature whipped its gauntlet downwards at her head. She twisted aside, taking the blow on her shoulder instead. Her arm went numb. She riposted weakly, but the creature slid in for the kill.

Montgomery sprang back from a mace stroke, vaulting a dead horse. His foe, encumbered by armor, was forced to go around. That left the Colour Sergeant disengaged for a few critical moments. He drew his heavy cavalry revolver and pumped all five rounds into his enemy, who collapsed in a heap.

Brenden made an awkward, crouched sprint over to Shiro and grabbed the ammunition belt, trying to keep it from kinking and jamming the weapon. He settled into position and pointed to the knights, who were spurring their mounts into a charge, their lances couched. Shiro didn't play fair; he shot their horses out from under them first. A dying gospog shuddered to a halt scant feet to their left, sending a wave of corruption their way. Brenden looked around and saw Anna hobbling towards them, waving a smoking automatic in her right hand. Brenden gave back a wave and concentrated on feeding Shiro again.

Conn finally had space to unlimber his bow. His first shot streaked across the Storm Knights' position and took another man-at-arms in the throat. His second shattered harmlessly on a gorget. Then three dismounted knights were on him, and he had all the fight he could handle.

The M-60 jammed about the time the two remaining mounted knights decided discretion was the better part of valor. Whether from a kink in the ammunition belt, dirt, recent abuse, or the general perversity of life, Shiro didn't care. All he knew is a tool failed him. Again. But there are others. There are always others. Shiro waved Brenden away, who rushed back to help Conn. Anna eased herself down nearby and reloaded her pistol. Black moved to intercept the fourth knight, who was moving towards Conn. Shiro clamped down on a snarled curse and rummaged through the packs again. There was no way he was going to let those two knights escape. Finally, he found a LAW tube and raised it to his shoulder. He popped the launcher open, snapped up the sight and his whole world shrank down to the fleeing horsemen. In his wrath, he could see shredded bodies catapulting lifelessly from flayed and disremembered animals. He could conceive of no alternative when he pulled the trigger. So it came to pass.

The concussion of the LAW startled the remaining knights and their morale wavered momentarily. Brenden backpedaled and switched his blade into his left hand. Conn stood six feet away, still engaged with two armored foes. Brenden drew his 9 mm and put three rounds into the effectively unarmored back of the knee of Conn's left-hand opponent. That was all the opportunity the Ayslish warrior needed; he kneed his collapsing foe in the face -- steel squealed against steel -- then splintered the other knight's shield with a cunning blow. The knight flung the ruined shield from him and drew a dagger. Conn's bloodied left arm darted out and arrested the descent of the blade with an iron grip though the quarrel embedded in his triceps quivered and worked further harm on him. Sword bound against sword as their chests moved to nearly touching. The tableau held, both warriors straining to their utmost. Conn addressed himself to his foe's basinet. "Your strength ebbs, your limbs grow weary. The last vision your dimming eyes will hold is me, as I send you to your fate!" Conn's snarl was a terrible thing, and his foe broke, seeking escape. None was forthcoming.

Alain backpedaled desperately, fearfully. Then she remembered Manwaring and the flame. No one stood against him either, but she had. According to the tales, no victim had ever lasted this long against a Mage Killer. But she had. Honor was at stake. Dunad would see her through. "How does it feel to be the first of your kind to fail?" she sneered, and attacked with renewed vigor. The demon gave a little ground. Blow after blow was struck and parried, and the duel quickly took on a meter of its own. The deadly ballet continued and in answer to the Mage Killer's sibilant hissing, Alain found herself chanting

"Gold is for the mistress--silver for the maid--
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade."
"Good!" said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of them all."

Montgomery was running out of tricks, and he didn't relish the notion of closing with a fully armored foe, bayonet against broadsword. He jabbed once more and danced away, trying to keep the distance open where his greater agility would aid him. His foe gathered himself for a lunge. Montgomery waited, judging his moment. Closer. Closer. Now! He pivoted neatly aside and brought the stock of his rifle around to crash into the side of his foe's head. In a clattering of ironmongery, the knight fell to hands and knees. Montgomery drove his bayonet home and blood fountained as silvered steel sawed through the major blood vessels of the knight's inner thigh.

Brenden parried another wild blow. His riposte landed, but merely dented his opponent's chest plate. Another desperate, artless stroke, which Brenden easily avoided, ended buried in horseflesh. Brenden sensed his opportunity, but a spasm of pain from his lower back caused his disarming kick to go awry. He scrambled away, but a pistol shot rang out, and the man collapsed. Brenden looked around. "Anna Oakley strikes again," he wheezed, very glad for the assistance.

Looking around in stunned disbelief, the only foe they saw still standing was the Mage Killer. Montgomery and Brenden moved cautiously to the scene of that fight, ready to intervene. Conn charged, then pulled up short. This was her battle; not his. The demon's tentacles writhed in a flurry of blows too quick to follow, and a spike drew blood. But the creature had left an opening. Alain's sword darted in low, then swept outward when the gauntlet plunged to intervene. Alain pivoted 360 degrees, raising her sword as she spun. A moment later the Mage Killer's overbalanced and now headless body fell to the ground, and Alain staggered back, half a dozen new reddish sucker wounds prominent on her dark skin.

"What now?" asked Anna.

"A long nap, I think," said Alain woozily, as she clattered down to a semi-controlled landing next to Anna. "A minute at least."

Montgomery looked over Conn. For once, the barbarian had taken as well as dished out serious punishment. Besides the bolt in his upper left arm, at least two more were embedded in his armor, and he had taken several cuts in the short time he was on the wrong end of three to one odds, including one along his scalp which poured blood into his left eye. "Conn, why don't you stay here with Shiro. Brenden and I will police the area."

Brenden nodded. "Wherever they came from, the knights didn't ride those chargers. I'll bet we'll find riding horses somewhere around here. Maybe even six. I don't know if we can bring them here, though, what with all the blood."

"Let us find them first, then we can determine a course of action. Tend to the wounded and stay alert; there may yet be more of those unholy wolf creatures about." The Colour Sergeant's orders made sense, and he was still steady on his feet, unlike most of the others, so his plan carried easily.

Alain roused herself enough to perform her healing magic over Anna, who then set to work removing the crossbow bolt from Conn's arm and suturing his gashes. The elf then cast something upon herself. "Much better. I feel rested, if terribly sore. As I would after a night's sleep." She walked over to Conn, and worked similar thaumaturgy upon him. "A pity we did not foresee this battle. All divination must have its limits though."

Conn nodded. "Go. Collect your trophy; no one will believe you otherwise, when you tell the tale, and you will tell this tale, I know."

Alain staggered over to the Mage Killer's head and removed some of the nastiest looking fangs. "This makes my victory real," she mused as she fingered the teeth. "I have slain a Mage Killer. I regret, however, I was unable to help you in your battle."

"Rather I should regret we could not aid you in yours."

Alain shook her head. "I could not have stood against the Mage Killer and another score or so of foes. We each do our part."

Meanwhile, Anna finished working on Conn. She gave a glance over to Shiro, who was sitting with his head between his legs. "You all right?" she asked with some concern.

Shiro's voice was muffled. "Nothing critical. Just the second worst headache of my life."

Anna's brows knitted. "You get clonked on the head?"

Shiro did not shake his head in reply. "No, I am merely paying the price for my blood rage; I made the rocket detonate this time, but it felt like a mule kicked me inside my skull. These LAWs do not bend."

"Aspirin, I've got if you want it."

Shiro slowly raised his head. "No, thank you," he declined. "I suppose I shall live long enough to meditate. That will help."

They sat for about twenty minutes, too tired and sore to move even after the bloody field began to ripen in the sun, until Brenden and Montgomery returned, each leading three skittish horses. "We should make our camp early, today, I think," said the Colour Sergeant. "We will only move clear of this place. Pack your gear, and we will see to the bodies."

"Survivors?" asked Shiro. "There don't seem to be any," answered Brenden flatly.

Good. "Unfortunate. Information would have been useful," replied Shiro.

"We shall just have to make do with our own wits then," replied Black. "OK, lets begin with the obvious. These are Ayslish gospog." He toed a shaggy, matted corpse. "We triggered a ward back at Stonehenge. Someone sent a Mage Killer after us." Brenden squatted near Shiro. "Alain's magic didn't foresee this."

"The first three are, as you say, obvious," Shiro returned. "But the import of the fourth escapes me."

"Ayslish gospog, Ayslish demon, here in Avalon. Good odds the Warrior of the Dark has a local ally, or at least an agent. The logical choice is Morganna Le Fey, which means we may be up against some pretty powerful magic."

Anna groaned. "This is not what we need. It's no surprise, but it's not what we need. It fits, too. Damn." Anna lapsed into silence for several moments. Her eyes fixed on the blood dripping down Montgomery's leg. "Enough brooding. Let Alain and me check you two out. That wound looks unpleasant." Montgomery was finally coming around; the women were able to fuss over him and do what needed doing without making him self-conscious.

After all had been ministered to, they began stripping their horses . Fortunately, the captured palfreys were of adequate disposition and in good health. The M-60 was broken down to be shared by three horses. They also kept the remaining LAWs, as rockets might prove useful against curtain walls. Some food was left behind -- this was not to be a long trip, they hoped.