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— More maws, five or six of them, broad and round with piggish, wicked eyes; several keplian, horse-looking things with carnivores' teeth and three razory toes on each forefoot; other shapes less identifiable. The standard Fyrd varieties had been twisted further away from the animals they had anciently been. She forgot about specifics and dove away from the spring of one maw, took another one across the chest with a two-handed stroke and was knocked down by its momentum. Move, move, as long as you 're moving you 're safe! she remembered her old sword-instructor Shihan shouting at her.

Off to her left she heard Steelsheen scream in defiance and crash into a Fyrd, followed by the flat brittle sound of a skull being crushed by hooves. At the same time she got a pinwheeling glimpse of Khavrinen, Herewiss's sword, being jerked up after a downstroke. Then a half-seen form came at her low and sideways — she chopped at it, a poorly aimed blow that slid off hard smooth plates. Hissing, the nadder's gigantic serpent-head rose up before her, then struck; she danced desperately aside and chopped off the head at the neck.

Segnbora turned away and looked around. Khavrinen was striking downward again, and as it struck both Herewiss and the keplian he had killed moaned aloud. The Fire wavering about those parts of the blade not yet obscured illuminated Herewiss's face. Crying? Segnbora thought, surprised, but not too much so. Khavrinen was more of a symbol than a weapon. Herewiss was no killer— Steelsheen trampled another maw, and Moris nailed the

last one to the ground with a two-handed straight-down thrust. Finally everyone was standing still, panting, sagging, wiping blood out of their eyes.

"More coming!" Segnbora said, groaning aloud at the feel-ing of yet another of those hot, hating minds heading their way.

She looked northward. It was a hundred yards away, and it showed much more of itself above the grass than had the other Fyrd.

Segnbora's heart constricted in terror as she recognized it. She had never seen one of these, but if the stories of the creatures* endurance

were true, this one could afford to take its time. "Oh Goddess," whispered Freelorn from beside her. "A deathjaw!" "With the Fire,"Herewiss said between gasps, "possibly — " He lifted Khavrinen again, but there was. no great hope in the gesture. Deathjaws were so fearsome that there was only one way to successfully hunt them: stake out a human being as bait, and hide a Rodmistress close by to do a brainburn when the thing got close enough. We've got plenty of bait, but he doesn't know the protocol for a brainburn. If he did, he would be doing it. The shambling form came closer. "Run for it," Herewiss said, sounding very calm. Everyone hesitated. "I mean it'!"' Lang turned, and Moris, and Harald, but they were slow about retreating. Freelorn didn't move from beside Herewiss. "Lorn — " "Big, isn't it," Freelorn said. His eyes were wide with fear, but his voice was as steady as if he was discussing a draft horse. '"'Shut up. Dusty," Freelorn said. "Do whatever you're going to do to that thing. I'll watch your back." Segnbora stepped up behind them as they set themselves. "I don't know how to burn it," Herewiss said to her. "The eye, though, that's possible — "

— Pul a langsword into that little eye, and hope to hit the brain?

Segnbora thought, and didn't laugh at the idea. The deathjaw was close — shaggy-coated, brindled, the size of three Dar-thene lions. Shiny black talons gleamed on its great catlike paws. The deathjaw opened its mouth just a little, showing two of its three lines of fangs above and below. Then it began to run, its face wrinkling into a horrible mask.

Herewiss swung Khavrinen up vrith elbows locked and let it charge — his only option, for running was as hopeless as a slash-and-cut duel would be. The blade into the eye, she heard him thinking, and Fire down the blade, enough to blast the brain dead. He never used his plan. While still twenty feet away the deathjaw screamed horribly as fire suddenly bloomed about it, eating inward through flesh and muscle and sinew quick as a gasp. The still-moving skeleton burned incandescent for a moment more before the swirling flames blasted bone to powder, then ate that too. The deathjaw was gone before its death shrieks died.

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And Sunspark appeared — a brief bright coalescence like a meteor changing its mind in mide*plosion — and paced casu-ally over to the three. It was exuding a feeling of great pleas-ure, its mane and tail burning merrily as holiday bonfires. (You called for me?) it said to Herewiss, who was breathing hard now with delayed terror.

"I believe I did,"he said. Sunspark looked at Freelorn with an expression of good-natured wickedness and said nothing. "Thank you," Freelorn said, courteous enough; but there was a touch of grudge in his voice. Sunspark snorted. (Gratitude! Next time I'll choose my moment with more care … a little later.) "Choose the moment—!" (So that you'll appreciate me.) "You mean you watched those things attack us and you didn't—!"

"Lorn, enough," Herewiss said. "It doesn't think the way you do. Luckily for us. Loved," he said to the elemental, "did you notice any other wildlife in these parts while you were having breakfast?"

(Singers,) it said, looking to the northwest. (The ones with fur.) "Wolves? Perfect." Herewiss glanced down at Khavrinen, which blazed just long enough to burn the blood off itself. "We won't be climbing the Fane until sunset, since a Sum-moning there works best at twilight. But damned if I'm going to put up with any more Fyrd, in the meantime. I'll go have a word with the wolves and see if I can work something out. Now, how do I manage this—" He frowned, closed his eyes. Fire swirled outward from Khavrinen, hiding both sword and wielder. The pillar of bril-liance shrank as it swirled, and sank close to the ground. When the blue Flame died away it left behind a handsome cream-white wolf with orange-brown points and downturned blue eyes. (Not bad,) Sunspark remarked, (for a beginner.) (Hmp!) Herewiss said, grinning a wolf-grin. (Stay close till I get back, loved, just in case the Fyrd try again. I won't be long.) The wolf bounded away through the long grass. Watching him go, Segnbora dug down in her belt-pouch for a square of soft paper, with which she began cleaning off Charriselm's blade. When she had finished, she looked thoughtfully at the Fane. It seemed to gaze back, calm and blind and patient, waiting for something. Fyrd so close to this place — that's unheard of. All ike rate are changing. After this nothing is going to be the way it was.. Not even me, She shook her head uneasily, not entirely understanding the thought, "You going to stand there all day?" someone shouted at her. Freelorn and the others were in the saddle, getting ready to ride down to the Fane. Segnbora swung up into Steel-sheen's saddle and went, after them, She sat underneath an old rowan tree near the lakeshore, her 'back, against its trunk,, and watched the long shadows of men, horses, and trees drown in slow dusk. The Fane, a half mile away across Rilthor's water, shone golden as a legend where its heights still caught the sunset. The mirroring water lay still in the breathless evening, ihe mountain's burning image broken only by the wakes of the gray songswans gliding by. Truly it's not so impressive, she thought, stretching. The Fane's mountain was a little one, no more than a half mile wide at the base, broad at the bottom and flat at the top, stippled roughly with brush and scrub pine. But for all the seeming plainness of the landscape, their camp that day had been abnormally quiet. Freelorn had been pacing and frowning most of the afternoon. Herewiss had come back from his parley with the wolves, reporting success
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2/13/2004 11:52:50 PM