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ducked below the snow wall to wait out a barrage of arrows. Grabbing two that struck near me, I popped up and fired the shafts simultaneously, and then ducked down without waiting to see if they struck. “They are close,” I called to Rigby.
    He nodded. “Prepare for hand to hand!” he called, gripping the hilt of his sword. I made quick eye contact with him and nodded, drawing my sword and holding it easily in one hand.
    I watched Rigby, who had taken a quick look over the wall. He met my eyes, mouthing, “Three, two, one, now.”
    We both sprang up, followed by the rest of the men, whirling our weapons into the faces of our rivals. Shocked, the leading rank stumbled backward from their attack. Leaping the wall as the lust of battle filled me, I charged recklessly into the center of the fight. The axe clove torsos and dented helmets surrounding me. Dodging many of the blows aimed at me, I fought, releasing the rage and frustration of years locked under servitude to the Penna upon the unprepared enemy.
    I faced off with one of the Penna men who had dismounted. As sword rang against sword, I realized I had fought my way through the enemy lines, and was now at the rear of the force. I was separated by the Penna from Rigby and the Cyan soldiers, unable to aid or be aided.
    I ducked a blow, leapt another, and spun into a whirlwind of blocks and parries. The man never let up, and I could not pause. A movement to the right caught my eye. Without pause, I switched to fighting one-handed with my sword and drew one of my smaller and lighter axes. Spinning rapidly, I blocked a sword coming from the side. Leaping back, I engaged two Penna. Now hard pressed, I permitted myself to be driven back. Keeping my eyes on the Penna, I observed a reflection in their helmets. Two snowmobiles stood behind me, by about ten yards I guessed, and just in front of them were the other two mounted men, prepared for kidnapping with a length of dark cloth.
    As the man with thick feathers on his wrists thrust at me I dodged, letting the sword glance off my shoulder. Spinning sideways, I turned and ran for the two remaining mounted men. Quicker than thought, I hurled one of my axes at the man on the right while drawing my sword once again. The thrown axe flew true, striking the slits of the visor and hurling the dead man off his snowmobile. Planting one hand on the vehicle’s windshield, I vaulted up. Drumming up the last of my energy, I kicked the other man in the chest. The force of my kick knocked him off the snowmobile as my sword found the center of his neck.
    Twisting deftly, I landed on the recently vacated seat, and grabbed the dagger from his side pouch tied to the snowmobile. Spurring forward, I charged my earlier opponents, who were now nearly upon me. Dropping onto my back, I avoided a swiping blow meant to slice me in half. Twisting up, I hurled the dagger into the man’s face. Turning the snowmobile, I charged at the remaining man who was trying to mount his comrade’s machine.
    Without waiting for me to reach him, he spun the snowmobile and dashed for the icy plain yelling, “Retreat, retreat!”
    The sounds of battle suddenly ceased. Pivoting the snowmobile, I watched the men disengage from their defenses and run for the frozen abyss. As the last man disappeared out of sight, I swayed, suddenly light-headed.
    Grasping the handlebars tightly, I leaned forward. My breath came ragged and fast. Glancing down, I realized I was wounded. Barely able to keep my balance, I slid off the snowmobile and leaned against its side.
    Rigby ran up, worry written on his face. I raised my hand, stopping his tirade before it could begin.
    “I have a leg wound, and it feels like a few other scrapes and cuts. It doesn’t seem that serious except for the blood loss and drop in adrenaline.”
    “Tudor,” he said, picking me up into his arms effortlessly. “You could have been killed! What were you thinking, charging off through the ranks like that?” He