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drew on the last of his energy, preparing himself for one last, underhand move. He watched his opponent closely, saw his boots shift slightly in the litter of the forest floor. It was all the warning he needed.
    The man leapt towards him, sword raised high to deliver a mighty blow to Alastair’s head. He surged across the six feet separating them, a battle cry on his lips.
    Just as it seemed the blow would land, Alastair flicked the near limp fingers of his left hand. A surge of energy rushed through his mind and along his arm as he summoned the last dredges of his magic.
    With a cry of shock the guard toppled forwards, his feet tripped by some unseen force. His arms windmilled as he tried to right himself.
    But it was too late. Alastair stepped forward and drove his short sword through the guard’s chest. An explosive gasp escaped the man as his weight drove the sword deep into his body. His eyes widened in shock and a gurgling noise began deep in his throat. Convulsing, he sunk to his knees and toppled to the ground. The sword slid free with a horrifying sucking sound.
    Alastair stared at the lifeless body. A hot tear ran down his cheek. He had not wanted this. What was Antonia playing at here? A good man lay at his feet, just one more to add to the ruin of Oaksville, to the curse of runaway magic.
     
    ******************
     
    There was silence as they stared at the dead man. Then a scream of rage pierced the air. Eric looked at the bowman in horror. The crossbow was no longer pointing at him.
    The man's voice was shrill. “ Die, damn you! ”
    Eric did not hesitate. He drove himself forwards, tackling the man from behind. The two of them went down in a heap, rolling across the muddy ground. The crossbow twanged as they hit the ground. Eric prayed it had not still been pointed at Alastair.
    The larger man quickly recovered from his attack and surged back against him. An elbow slammed into Eric’s stomach, winding him for the second time in ten minutes. The villager regained his feet, a knife appearing in his hand.
    “Move and you die,” Alastair's voice was as cold as frost.
    The old man walked into view, his sword never wavering from the man’s throat. His face twitched with pain but his eyes were determined.
    “Drop it,” Alastair nodded at the knife.
    The man threw his weapon into the bushes and raised his hands, mouth clamped shut. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
    “What is your name?” Alastair demanded.
    “Tacus,” the guard spat the word.
    “Well, Tacus, you can return to Oaksville. The city needs every man it can get now. The boy is in my custody now.”
    “And who are you? ”
    “Alastair,” as he spoke the word he slammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s head. The archer’s eyes rolled up and he crumpled without a sound.
    Shaking, Eric pulled himself to his feet. He brushed the mud and leaves from his face and clothes with trembling hands. He could not remember a worse day in his life. In the past 24 hours he had almost died a dozen times. Closing his eyes he tried to dismiss the determination in the archer’s eyes as he had raised the knife. Another few seconds and he would have driven it through Eric’s heart. Slowly the image faded and the trembling slowed, until at last he opened his eyes.
    Eric climbed to his feet and looked around for any new surprises. The silence of the forest was profound. The local creatures had fled the sounds of the fight long ago. The only movement now was the waving of the leaves in the wind. They were alone in the forest.
    Eric’s gaze slid to the dead and unconscious men.
    He tore his gaze away from their fallen foes, turning his concern to Alastair. “Are you okay?”
    Alastair shook his head. “No, but there’s no time to worry about that now. We have to move. There may be more yet. We don’t have too much further to go though.”
    Alastair turned away before Eric could question his last statement, leaving him no choice but to follow.