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Simon. He could think of nothing else to say.
    “Ah.”  Wycliffe craned his neck. “The police are here. Let’s tell them what happened, shall we?”
    Simon nodded.
    It had been a very interesting day.

    ###

    Simon set the milk and eggs into the fridge, cool air washing over his face. He had managed to get home without the van dying, and planned to take it in for an estimate after class tomorrow. 
    He gazed at the check in his hand as he walked to the living room. 
    He still could not believe Senator Wycliffe had written him a check for five thousand dollars.
    And had Wycliffe offered him a job? 
    The sound of Maura’s TV programs blared through the living room door as Simon pushed it open. Maura shoved a pack of cigarettes into her robe. Simon didn’t notice. 
    “What’s gotten into you, boy?” said Maura. “You’re grinning ear to ear.”
    “I had a car accident.”

Chapter 3 - Sacred Blades

    Year of the Councils 962

    “How could this have happened?” said Sir Adrian, his Sacred Blade sinking. The sword’s blue glow faded, reflecting in the polished visor of his helm. “This is not possible…”
    Sir Liam Mastere reined his horse up, his old joints aching.
    He took a deep breath and looked over the carnage. 
    The corpses of the kingdom of Carlisan's footmen covered the meadow, their bodies ripped and torn by bullets. Pools of half-dried blood and mutilated bodies lay everywhere. Their gleaming chain mail had proven no protection against their enemies’ weapons. The air was heavy with a charnel scent, and flies buzzed over the slain. A few vultures flapped overhead, circling against the clear blue sky. 
    Sir Adrian began to sob. “This could not have happened. They had five hundred men. Six Knights of the Sacred Blade. And even a Wizard.” He lifted the visor of his helm, revealing his beaked nose and trimmed beard. “Marugon had only twenty men. Twenty! How could this have happened? How?” His scream rang over the bloody meadow. 
    “Calm yourself.” Liam slid from the saddle, his armor clanking. He knelt besides one of the bodies, examining the marks on the ground. “Our men rode into the clearing. Marugon’s men were waiting on the far side.” He stood and crossed to another pile of bodies. “They charged Marugon’s soldiers, without a thought for their own defense. And why not? How could twenty stand against five hundred?”  He shook his head. “But Marugon’s men had those…things. Those hell-forged weapons from that other world.”
    Tears trickled into Sir Adrian’s beard. “The guns, you mean. His men call them guns.” 
    Liam paid him no heed, still examining the battlefield. “The Knights and the Wizard made a last stand here.” Six men in plate armor lay near each other, their Sacred Blades scattered about them. The guns’ bullets had torn their gleaming armor into twisted steel ribbons. “The Wizard fell last.”  The Wizard’s body lay crumpled at the base of a tree, white robes splashed with blood. Near him lay two corpses in ragged black uniforms. A hand clutching a burning eye, Marugon’s personal sigil, had been embroidered in red thread on their uniforms. “Marugon’s men. The Wizard took some of the enemy with him in death.”  His frown deepened. “The enemy stripped the dead of their guns and ammunition before they moved on. They do not bother to bury the dead according to the laws of men, but they take the trouble to retrieve their hell-forged guns.”  
    “How is this happening?” said Sir Adrian. The younger man sounded as if his mind had snapped. “I was here in Narramore when we destroyed the Black Council and broke their armies. Five years ago all the Warlocks were dead, save Lord Marugon. And he fled into the Tower of Endless Worlds. How could he have returned? No one who sets foot in that accursed Tower ever returns.” His words tumbled over each other. “But he came back, Sir Liam. He went to hell and came back, and he brought those