Kelton watched from behind thick vegetation as the soldier dismounted his horse and examined the tree that stretched across the road. The wagon they guarded would not be easily led around. The man walked the length of the fallen tree, the breadth of its trunk exceeding even the largest of hugs. He jumped up on the trunk and passed into the foliage as he neared the base. When he reemerged, his sword was drawn.

"It's been cut," the soldier yelled as he jumped from the tree. It was not the reaction Kelton had hoped. He would have preferred a slow response, one that split the force that guarded the wagon, some clearing the way, others preparing camp, and none on horse. Now he faced some mounted and many wary foot soldiers who realized nature was not to blame. Swords left their sheaths, and formations hastily organized. Perhaps Bynard was correct; they should have struck before any knew trouble was about. Unfortunately, Kelton envisioned a more peaceful end, where surprise forced surrender. Weapons were the purpose, not death.

Kelton spent a moment studying the soldiers before him, matching each with the Knowing to verify the lack of Brethren. Once satisfied, he emerged for the trees. Swords, and the formations that housed them, turned as one to face him.

Kelton whistled twice, the signal that no Brethren were present. His army emerged from both sides of the road, forcing the formations to shift to accommodate being surrounded. Makeshift spears created a blockade across the road opposite the tree, pinning the soldiers in place.

"It is death to interfere with King's men," the man who had examined the tree said. He spoke with authority, the leader of the transfer of weapons from Hold Danvue's forges. Determination was firm on his face, and duty guided him. The three mounted soldiers turned their steeds toward Kelton. Kelton sighed inside; this would not be the bloodless endeavor he had hoped.

"We wish only your weapons, and the ones contained in the wagon," Kelton said. He could see at once that it was a hopeless request. These men weren't concerned about his desires. They were disciplined. "None need to die this day," he added.

Bynard appeared with his sword carrying deserters, stretching across in front of the fallen tree. The trap was well set, though the prey still had fangs.

"He is the Answer," Bynard said. "He has bested four Brothers, do not test his blades."

The leader moved toward his horse as his mounted comrades moved their steeds alongside. In a practiced move, he mounted one-handed as if he were born to it. Spiders-bite found air as a single command sent the foot formations forward. The intent Kelton felt was loud, the knowing mixing easily with his Nagada skill. The power of it sickened Kelton.

"Do not..." Kelton yelled, but it was for naught. The swords came at him, each announcing its positioning as if a babe swung it. Spiders-bite countered at first, blocking as if the strikes were mere feathers floating in the air. As the numbers increased, Kelton had to slow them. His blades spun, singing in the air as he began to dwindle the count. He danced and delivered wounds - each time with regret.

Bynard's deserters drove forward, their blades tangling with those who had yet to reach Kelton. The spears moved on as a group, thrusting into others who chose not to be corralled. The shouting grew amid the melee, and groans of pain began to fill the air. In the din, Kelton recognized one cry, that of Taggert. Kelton saw the boy limp backward, his spear broken and leg bloodied. Next to him lay another of the fledgling army, and he wasn't moving. A quiet man whose only fault was to join Kelton.

Kelton let loose a Nagada war cry, his anger rising as those on horseback lined for a charge. Spiders-bite sliced through the air; it's blades finding flesh as Kelton's body twisted away from worthless thrusts and wasted slashes. He drove forward, no longer attempting mercy. Commands filled the air as the bulk of the soldiers turned on real threat - Kelton. For the tribe, Kelton thought. His blades were a blur as the bodies fell before him. It took an eternity, yet only on a moment, for spiders-bite to thin the attack.

A thunder of hooves approached, their intent so clear Kelton could close his eyes and feel no threat. They were ants, and he, the boot that crushed their hill. The horses split as they approached at a gallop, two in front, two behind, intent on placing Kelton between, eating two passes of dual blades. He stood his ground, a place now littered with the uniformed fallen. Blood stained his arms and clothes, the image of a demon with no fear. Spiders-bite flowed with beauty as he turned into the charge.

The lead horseman had decided to trample Kelton, a simple solution to end a troublesome problem. Kelton spun at the last moment, and not to the outside. Between the beasts, he leaped into the air flying over a slice from the left and twisting below the spear-like jab from the right. Shifting his weight, spiders-bite found the neck of the right rider - a maneuver that came to him in the blink of an eye - his body floating through space as if time itself had been altered and slowed for his needs. He flipped over as the beasts passed and landed on one foot and a knee, spiders-bite unhindered by the move and still swimming through the ether. Kelton smiled as the warrior took full control; the Nagada in him feared no death. Those who enslaved others deserved no reprieve.

Intent fled as the second wave of horses flared away from Kelton's reach. They passed the wagon at speed, dodging the few spears that attempted to hinder their way. The leader directed them north, back the way they had come. Cowards, Kelton thought as the lead rider fell from his steed in a lifeless lump, his horse continuing riderless following its brethren.

"Goddess," Bynard said. He and his fellow deserters were standing stiff, staring at Kelton and the carnage that lay at his feet. Kelton forced himself to still, letting the warrior fade. The battle was over.

Kelton wanted to run and hide from what had transpired. It was planned so poorly. None of the King's men were moving, though some haunting moans could be heard. Two of his own men were down, and others bloodied. His eyes struggled to maintain as Taggert limped toward him. Only his memory of prince Victalica kept him standing in place. Like Sandatic, he must remain a fixture of strength, even though he felt weak.

"Worse than planned, better than expected," Lagneer said. The tip of his spear was bloodied though he looked unscathed. He stopped before Kelton and set his spear upright with the butt on the ground. He leaned on it with both hands as if exhausted. "I have never seen a man move like you. I feared you trampled, and yet it was the rider who fell."

"Worse than planned," Kelton said with nodding agreement. He ignored the second statement since there was no pleasure in the memory. Too much death, and more to come. "Next time, we will do better."

"They ride for others," Taggert said, pointing in the direction of the retreating riders, and Bynard agreed. "We can not stay."

"How is your leg?" Kelton asked.

"Needs threading," Taggert replied. "I will live until we find a healer." He sounded as if he were embarrassed by failure, as if the wound were his fault. Kelton saw only his negligence in planning and not seeking a healer to join the army. So many tasks piling on top of each other, and no time to think or rest. It was only the beginning, and the end was sure to be more horrible.

"Bynard, see to the wagon. O'fan, gather the swords from the fallen. We must deal with the dead and be gone from here before the sun finds sleep." He sheathed spiders-bite and walked toward the other wounded. It was easier to think forward than to dwell on the past. Best if everyone thought him unfazed. It would do no good if they knew he felt inadequate for the task appointed him. His stomach turned. Like King Victalica, he was justifying death.

Lin'cy's eyes opened to what looked like the Waitland. A moment before, he was elsewhere, positioned in a battle as if in a dream. He turned his head and found Farni lying next to him, newly awoken as well. There was no confusion in her eyes, and a smile forming on her lips.

"He called again," Farni whispered. The birds were loud about them, fluttering between the trees. It was home - of that, Lin'cy knew.

"There were so many, and mounted men," Lin'cy said. Farni nodded. "We moved with him." The last, a revelation that was just taking hold in his mind. He had added his strength, his skill bonding with Farni's speed and agility. It augmented Kelton's innate abilities, adding to him like waves colliding to create grander ones.

"The All-Father sees him," Farni said. "And he sees me, and now you." She was not affected by the oddness of the experience. There was joy in her words.

Lin'cy sat up, collecting his swords that had dropped when he had. He was thankful they were sparring alone so that no others saw them fall. "It is a strange thing, this drifting in dreams."

"Aye, but a good thing." Farni stood, holding out her hand. Lin'cy took it and rose, dusting vegetation from his body. She smiled. "My bonded is the one, and it is only the beginning."

"Best we find an elder, and speak to no others," Lin'cy said. "It is as likely we are addle minded."

Farni laughed, but agreed.

Juno rode south with Sanlina and Floren, the wagon thumping from rut to rut. It had been decided that to wait for Kelton was a risk. As the word of Juno grew, she would become as much a target as Kelton himself. Best if she wasn't where she could easily be found. For two days, they trudged south, looking for signs of Kelton.

"Last I saw him, he was tall and thin," Juno said. "It is hard to see him as a warrior."

"Still tall," Sanlina said. "Though he has the shape of a man, not a boy. It is in his shoulders." She straightened on the buckboard, demonstrating squared shoulders as she held the reins. "There is confidence there, as if the world could not push him back if he desired not to go."

"He was unsure of things, last I saw him," Juno said. She tried to imagine her memories growing to manhood. It sent a thrill through her, something that should be avoided, yet she met it head-on and let it swell inside. She dreamed him older.

"It is not an unpleasing shape," Sanlina added with a smile.

"And now you send her mind to dreaming," Floren said. She sat behind on the wagon's floor, her clothes bag under her backside to soften the journey. "Her task is hard enough as it is."

"He is for the last-of-the-line," Sanlina said with a shrug. "There is nothing said of what happens before or after."

Floren rolled her eyes and said. "And what if he loses himself between Juno's legs? You have said the world can not push him where he does not wish to go."

"After then," Sanlina said. She chuckled as if toying with Kelton was a simple thing. It riled Juno almost as much as leading him to the last-of-the-line. She never knew she could hate someone she never met.

"The Goddess will lead him as she sees fit," Juno said, now disliking the Goddess as well. "That he returned at all is a sure sign of her will."

"And I shall help her," Floren said. "The Answer is more than all of us, and we must see he finishes what is started."

"We, mother?" Juno asked. She knew why Floren came. Floren intended to add her strength and wisdom to steer Juno. To make sure all went as planned, and stop Juno from making her dreams reality.

"Aye," Floren said. "It is your duty, Juno. And mine to see you don't suffer it alone."

The talk was disturbed by three fast-moving soldiers who were riding hard from the south. Though the women hid their wilted-roses, it was for naught since the soldiers barely slowed when they passed the wagon. Their horses had a sheen of sweat as if they had been at a robust pace for too long.

"Such a hurry," Floren said, once the men were out of earshot. "The Answer is the likely cause."

"They speed word," Sanlina said. "They will return with many more. Best we find him before that happens."

Juno turned to watch the soldiers disappear down the road, never slowing. Sanlina saw them as messengers. Juno saw something else - their fear.