Metal clashed against metal. Hans let out a battle cry amidst grunts of effort. Liandra’s voice came from out of sight, assuring Lawrence that the woman was here.

“Lawrence,” Hans called. “I can’t”—he grunted—“take him by myself!”

The failed mage gritted his teeth, wiped his brow of blood and made his way to Hans through the shrubs and trees. He came up behind the hurg, who parried a sword strike from Hans that would have cleft any man in two, and left many others wondering at how fast the knight was.

He kicked the knight, sending him into a heap as he turned around to confront his second attacker. Lawrence came in high, his blade whistling through the air. The hurg parried with his bladed vambrace and shunted in for the kill, but Lawrence pirouetted from the blow that would have ended him and hurled a fireball between the hurg’s feet. It exploded, dirt and fire spraying. Lawrence shielded his face from the blast with the rune-etched sword.

The hurg had not been so lucky. He shook his head, attempting to get the dirt and grime out of his face as Lawrence came in for another attack. His sword danced, but somehow every strike was deflected or dodged.

“Hans! Hans, get up!”

The knight grunted amidst another crack through the air from that second attacker. Lawrence hadn’t the luxury to look toward the man while he was engaging this foe. Unseen, we was obviously highly skilled. Hukama apparently spared no expense when finding his mercenaries.

With the agile yet powerful hurg at the forefront and his hidden companion out of sight, they made a highly effective duo.

Hans grunted painfully.

“Captain,” Liandra yelled. “Get up!”

Lawrence pressed his attack, the only thing he could do in this situation. Had he left off, the hurg would move on the offensive and the failed mage would be the one losing ground.

The hurg parried his blows, suddenly coming in for a counter attack. Lawrence jumped to avoid a devastating punch to his kneecap and hurled a fireball at his foe’s head. Another arm came up in defense and the fireball exploded, sending Lawrence into an unintentional backflip. He landed on his stomach in the soft wet grass.

He recovered, lifted his face out of the dirt to look for his enemy. His opponent was on his back, moving sluggishly. If Lawrence could get up, this was his chance to finish the hurg off.

The Commander Arduani was grunting and screaming. She called out Hans’ name over and over. Lawrence got to his hands and knees. His breathing felt shallow. He needed air. Was he burnt?

He examined the skin on his hands, touched his face. He felt fine. Well, not fine, but not burnt either, and he knew all too well what burns felt like even when completely numb. This wasn’t that. The shock of the blast must have shook his senses.

“Lawrence!” It was Liandra. “You devil-begotten whoreson! Get up and save Hans!”

He staggered to his feet, turned, leaving his hurg foe alone to recover and made his way toward the captain, and then he saw her. That second attacker was a woman, some kind of witch. She was tiny and wearing the most beguiling battle raiment he’d ever seen.

Still recovering from the shock of his blow, he stumbled forward to save Hans. The woman didn’t even seem concerned with what she was doing. She sauntered over to the captain, coiling her whip as if she were doing nothing more than walking out to the clothes line. Still on his hands and knees, face purple and eyes bulging, he reached for his blade, but the sword was just outside of his grasp. The coil was about his throat as tight as any wild beast.

The failed mage found some untapped vein of strength and ran toward them, growling curses. ‘Get away from him!”

He hurled a fireball, but the woman sidestepped it.

If she thought she could do that, she wouldn’t be able to sidestep one aimed directly at the ground where she stood.

So he did.

It exploded, sending Hans hurtling through the air. When the dirt and mud settled, there she was, standing ten feet away, as lithe as an acrobat. She had jumped, summersaulted through the air and landed as gracefully as a dancer in a beautiful pose one might see at the culmination of a performance.

Hans was on his back, face white, mouth open and fingers stiff, but grasping as if clawing desperately enough to get through rock.

Seeing the captain’s sightless, dead stare, Lawrence screamed, hurtled a fireball at her. She jumped out of the way. He hurled another one, another and another. She dodged, sidestepped or outmaneuvered them all.

Damn you!

He slashed at her, but she jumped out of reach and landed on a large rock. Her head tilted and Lawrence turned, ready to turn that hurg into a pile of cinders, but it was Liandra.

She ran past him, jumped for the woman, but her plated vambraces only scrapped against the rock, her enemy already behind it as the knight commander hurtled backward from the force of the kick that she had taken her in the chest.

Lawrence rushed to her side, helped her pick herself up. Her face was red with fury. She screamed and spittle flew amidst the draining blood from whatever wound ailed her behind her helmet.

“Where’s the Princess?” Lawrence muttered to keep their enemies from hearing.

Liandra was breathing rapidly, her chest heaving under her exquisitely-crafted plate. “I don’t know.”

He said nothing, only looked at her.

“She might be over there somewhere.”

Lawrence moved past the Liandra. “Let’s go!”

He rushed forward, Liandra’s footfalls thumping in the wet grass behind him as he cut his way through the trees. He skirted around some large rocks and found the princess huddled by a fallen tree.

“It’s going to be all right, Princess,” he said as he put a hand on her shoulder, though he was careful to keep a wary watch on the surrounding terrain. With these rocks and trees, that hurg or his acrobatic witch companion could be anywhere.

Liandra came up behind them. “I don’t see them.”

“Princess,” Lawrence said, getting her attention before speaking on. “We have to go—get you back to the group where it’s safe.”

She looked at him. Lawrence got the impression of a small child looking up at a parent. She sniffed then and nodded her ascent. He helped her to her feet. “Stay close,” he added. “Don’t leave our sides.”

“Of course not!” she said through a hitch in her voice.

The knight commander seemed to linger for a moment. “I’m sorry about Hans,” Lawrence said, and meant it.

“Let’s go,” Liandra said. “Now.”

Lawrence nodded and they began to make their way out of the trees, away from the pond and rocks toward the lip of the basin.

“Look out,” Liandra warned, turning around completely.

Something cracked. The failed mage turned, suddenly finding his right arm non-compliant, a whiplash of paint streaking around his wrist.

Before he could react, Liandra grunted loudly. Or was that the hurg? Either way, the next thing he knew, the knight commander was thrown body and armor clear over Lawrence’s head and landed with a shunt of metal plates.

With one free hand, Lawrence hurled a fireball, but the hurg flinched from its fiery impact and grabbed his hand, interlacing his own massive fingers with his.

Lawrence cried out and the princess screamed as something in his arm made a cracking sound. And then the hurg’s forehead was in his face and he was on his back, everything whirling before him.

His vision flecked with bright spots. It faded. All was dark. It pulsed again. Black and red, and white.

“Let’s go!” a viciously loud voice croaked.

Who…? What’s…

His thoughts were too muddled, like a blanket of thick smothering fog. Voices everywhere. Men, a woman.

His vision was blurred to oblivion.

Cold.

Water?

“No! Sakura, no!”

It was Tomiichi.

Darkness.