Malin's horse again tried to move forward but Malin reigned the war mount in. The horse wasn't the only anxious one, either. Malin looked over the lines of his men as they stretched out of sight in both directions. Thousands had appeared as if my magic over time, all following trails of rumors that led them to his door.

When Malin had set off from his village his group already numbered over a score. After they had defeated the squad they'd hunted so faithfully, they all insisted on seeing their captain safely home. When Malin's hopes had been dashed and his fear that Nimue had succumbed to her wounds had been confirmed an irrepressible rage had taken hold.

That night he had announced to his friends his plan to gather a force and hale down the king. He'd ranted about their lost loved ones, taken is so cruel a manner. He'd railed against the constant battles and wars fought by the petty tyrants who robbed villages of their young men and sent them to kill each other. And why? To fuel their own egos?

"We need a king over the kings." He'd insisted. "Someone to whom the others must needs be accountable and who can meet out justice for the common folk when they o're step themselves."

"And how do we accomplish this?" Garrick had asked.

"First, we take down Wirred." Malin had stated. "We hold his lands and armies. We build our strength and seek out other lords, good men, to join their strength to ours. When our might is sufficient, we take the other kingdoms. We choose a king to rule over all the lands and appoint just lords to rule the kingdoms. We unite the land into one rule. No more battles. No more conscripts. No more men howling at our doors like wolves and murdering our wives and children. We will have peace and with it prosperity."

"These are fairy stories." Legor had insisted. "'Tis impossible."

"Mayhap." Ward had agreed and Malin's heart had sunk for of all the men in his company, he valued Ward's the most. "Yet, if you had told me a month agone that we few farmers and peasant folk would have defeated a troupe of armed king's men with nary a drop of our blood shed." He had shrugged. "I'd ha hailed you as a troubadour or a liar."

He'd stared at Malin in silence and soon all eyes had followed his. They surrounded the boy, imprisoning him within their communal gaze.

"Lad," He'd said. "You've proven you value our lives. The greatest danger you claimed as your own and all your plans strove to protect we men as much as slay our enemies. Tell me truly, do you think 'tis possible for us to change the fate of our lands?"

Malin had swallowed. "I cannot promise that we will all live to see this new land but I believe in my soul that it is possible. That the people can can rise up for their own benefit and stop the constant wars that rob of us our lives and happiness. May God prepare whatever horrors you may devise and strike me down with them if I speak anything but the truth now. I swear I believe it is possible."

He had turned his gaze steadfastly on Ward. "I can do this. I must. Please help me."

Ward had nodded and soon other heads were nodding as well.

Malin shook himself out of his reverie. He had no time for memories of nearly six months past. Six months? Was it really only six months ago? He looked again at the mass of men around him.

Word had spread so quickly and so many had rallied to the rebel army's banner. As new men arrived they were immediately assigned to a lieutenant for training. Malin would train the lieutenants in the morning and once they had mastered whatever move, trick or tactic Malin taught them they would go and drill their subordinates until all were proficient.

Malin's first fear was how to feed the men but in every village there were donations of not only prepared food but of raw materials. The rebel army had a following of boys and women herding flocks of cows, goats, sheep and even wagons of hens. The army had become a mobile village.

Malin had insisted that the camp followers also be trained in combat and though most were hesitant it was soon apparent that several of the women were much better fighters than many of the men. There had been quite a bit of muttering when Malin had put forth the idea of bringing them into the ranks but it did not have a chance to disrupt the order of the march as all of the women approached had refused. Adra, one of the prospects had pointed out that the men would not trust her ability and would waste their time trying to protect her. But Malin had argued that once the men had trained with them and seen their skill they would accept them.

"Merlin," Adra had smiled, shaking her head as though at a particularly thick child. "You cannot undo centuries of custom in a fortnight. Mayhap one day, but today we must fight and the men are not ready. If you force the issue, it will do more harm that it will good. Besides, someone must care for the wounded."

That had inspired Malin to add an hour of medical training to their and his schedule. One way or another the camp followers would be an invaluable asset to the campaign.

Now here they were. Malin looked about him again; he couldn't seem to stop himself. There were the men he'd gathered to him to fight this fight and many of them would never see tomorrow. He fought the gnawing doubt.

"Sir!" Briand called, riding up on his chestnut charger. Malin managed to suppress the smile that always strived to come to his lips when he saw the boy riding his massive steed. Briand had been one of the boys among the camp followers and had eagerly accepted a chance to be one of Malin's lieutenants. Despite his age and small size, Briand was a brilliant fighter and, even better, had a brilliant mind for tactics on the move.

"Briand, what news have you?" Malin greeted.

"Sir, King Wirred's men are approaching in force. Lieutenant Ward bid me inform you they have been spotted on the left flint."

"Flank." Malin corrected and the boy blushed.

"Yes, sir. Merlin, sir." He stuttered. "I meant flank, sir."

"Enough sirs, Briand." Malin sighed. "Merlin is fine."

The boy grinned impishly. "Yes, sir. Sir Merlin." Then before Malin could reprimand him further, he galloped away.

Malin watched as the line of soldiers broke over the top of the hill like a wave, the sun glinting off their weapons with a wicked beauty. He took a deep breath and finally let the charger leap forward. He rode down the line.

"These are our brothers!" He called. "I must give them a chance. If I should fall, follow your sergeants and lieutenants. Remember your training but more, remember the love of your families, the warmth of your beds and do all that you can to return to them! We will live free of fear and undeserved torment! Today we create a new world!"

The roar of the men as he spurred his horse toward the enemy line was deafening and gave him courage. This was most likely a stupid mistake that would cost him his life but he could not cut these men down without giving them a chance. In different circumstances he knew any one of his men could have been conscripted into Wirred's army. He had to do this.

"I desire words only!" He called as he rode what he hoped was a safe distance from the enemy line. "Men of Essex! We are not your enemies. We are your countrymen, your brothers and your fathers. What loyalty do you owe Wirred? The kings of these lands have told you that they are appointed by God. And yet, do they not fight each other? And do they not tell you that God approves? That God choses the victor? That they are God's instruments? Well, I say to you how should God approve of murder? Of violence against the innocent? I tell you God does not want this and that is why, if He has sent anyone at all it is us! To hail down these pretenders and in their stead place men of true Godly justice! I know what you have heard. That I am the son of a devil. I am no such man. I am an orphan because of the bloodlust of kings but my father while he lived was flesh and blood. I seek to stop this evil. I seek to protect our wives, our children and you! You who were stolen from your families and forced to fight and kill for your lord's vanity and pleasure. Join me and you will be free to go home! Who will join me? Who?"

A single voice rose up in a wordless cry and Malin jerked in the direction of the noise.

A soldier had begun to sprint forward from his position near the midst of the enemy force toward the line.

"Stop him!" A knight on horseback called. "Cut him down!"

But it was too late. The soldier was a spark and now the entire enemy army was alight. Malin looked on amazed as it seemed to boil. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of enemy soldiers surged forward toward Malin and his men. But many more turned on the deserters, following their commander's orders. As Malin watched the man who had cried out, the man who'd lit the flame, was struck down by a wicked blow from behind.

Malin howled with rage and his horse needed no other incentive. He pulled free his sword as he charged the enemy, his eyes focused on the soldier who'd struck the cowardly blow. There was a roar in his ears echoed by the roar of the armies surrounding him. He realized that his force was charging behind him, screaming their desire to enter the fray.

Malin reached the line and swept his sword down, cleaving the shoulder of a loyal man who had disarmed one of Malin's new followers. Malin thought he saw the newly minted rebel bending to reclaim his weapon but he was already too far behind. Malin barreled over enemies, still intent upon the murderous wretch but as he watched one of the turncoat king's men cut him down.

Malin howled in frustration but turned his attention to the mounted knight. His position on his charger and his armor gave him an advantage that only Malin and his other mounted men could hope to match.

Malin slammed his less overburdened mount into the knights charger and the poor animal went down with a scream. The knight floundered, trying to regain his feet but prevented by the weight of his armor. Malin pulled back on his reigns and with only a slight pang of conscience, trampled him where he lay. He drove the sight from his mind as he concentrated on the battle. Men who had backed away from the mounted skirmish now clamored around him and the world bristled with blades.

Malin set about him with his own sword, the countless hours spent training with Uncle driving his sword more than conscious thought. But it was not enough. A blade snaked through his defense and raked viciously across his ribs. He grit his teeth, his arm never slowing but could not suppress a cry as the pain flooded through him. His arm slowed and he saw, too late, another blade cutting a deadly arc to his exposed abdomen.

He flinched, trying to prepare himself for the pain but it didn't come. A voice screamed as the blade was dashed away by another. Malin deflected more attacks as the person he could not see, the person who had saved his life took up a position at his back.

Despite the pain, Malin grinned fiercely. The sea of blades was thinning. No longer did a new man immediately replace the ones he cut down. He called out, "Forward! My friend! We must push forward to the king!" He heard a reply though he could not make out the words. But when he nudged his horse forward his shield mate followed.

The horse bounded forward toward the monarch but Malin saw another line spearing it's way ahead. Ward was charging forward on foot. He must have lost his mount. The man was bloodied but determined as he cut a path toward Wirred.

Ward reached Wirred first; his men fell on the king's personal guards with bloodthirsty screams. Malin fought forward but some soldier of above average mental ability stabbed, not at Malin but his mount. Malin could not block the blow and was soon tumbling to the ground. When he regained his feet he saw that the man at his back was no man at all but the boy, Briand. He'd now dismounted and was again taking up his former place at Malin's back.

"To Ward!" Malin screamed as he barely managed to turn away a blow and countered with a deadly upswing. "We must help him!"

"I hear you!" Briand screamed, his voice as high in pitch as a girl.

They fought their way forward and Malin heard Ward's howl as he pressed through to the king. Malin reached the kings guards and shouted for Briand to leave off protecting him and join the attack. He caught a blow high and pushed forward throwing his assailant off balance, a trick that very rarely missed its mark. The man floundered back and Malin drove his blade in and out of his neck. He leapt forward the crumpling form and was now within feet of Wirred but Ward reached him first.

Ward roared and brandished his blade at the king's steed. The animal reared up on its haunches and the king fell unceremoniously to the blood churned mud below. His men bought him enough respite to regain his feel. Ward was driven back but Malin saw an opening and sprang forward. The king turned in time to see him and raised his blade. Malin's momentum could not be arrested and was driving him helplessly onto the steel when with a shout Ward slammed into the king knocking the blade aside.

Malin stumbled forward and turned desperately expecting a blow but Wirred only stood, his eyes bulging in fear.

"It's you." The man choked. Then, to Malin's amazement, the king threw down his sword and sank to his knees. "Do not take me!" He screamed. "Foul spirit, do not take me down to Hell!"

Malin fought back the shock of so strange a turn of events and grabbed the kneeling man by his collar.

"Bid your men throw down their weapons!" He shouted.

"Cease!" The king screamed. "Stop your fighting! Put up your weapons!"

Like ripples in a pool, peace spread through the bloody field as man after man paused hesitantly, their swords still raised for an unexpected blow but no longer offering any harm where harm was not threatened.

The sudden silence after the clash of metal and the screams of battle pressed in on the survivors and added to the slowly growing belief that it might actually be over.

Malin placed his blade to the king's throat and the man screeched.

"Please, spirit! Please forgive me! Please don't drag me to the depths!"

Malin blinked, still trying to process the transformation of the fierce fighter from moments before into the cowering wretch before him. He had a sudden, impossible thought.

"Who am I?" He asked.

The king gulped. "You…You are the shade of my brother, not aged a day. Come back to wreak vengeance for your murder and that of your wife and babe."

Malin's eyes were colder than the steel at Wirred's throat. "Who am I?" He repeated.

Wirred gulped. "You are Calden of Essex."

Malin's hands went numb and he felt the king's mail shirt slip from his fingers. Wirred collapsed to the ground but grabbed at Malin's legs begging. "I know not how you have stepped from the Spector of my dreams into the waking world but please, please do not drag me down to the depths. Please, please show mercy."

Malin backed away and called to one of his fighters, "Gag him! Bind and gag him and take him to my tent to await his fate."

The soldier who'd heard all that had been said hesitated.

"He is overcome at his defeat. I am no spirit unless spirits bleed." He held up the hand he'd pressed to the gash along his ribs and showed the man the bright red blood.

"Satisfied? Now take him!"

The soldier nodded and began ripping away part of his uniform to use as a gag on the now incoherent Wirred.

Malin shuddered with the impact of not only the king's words but the many wounds he'd collected in the fray.

"I ha' always known you to be lordly, my boy." He heard a chuckle and turned to see Ward lying on the ground, his hand pressed firmly against a gaping wound. "Now I see why, my king."

Malin dropped down to the big man's side and placed his hands atop his friends. His first instinct to try to keep as much of the blood from escaping.

"What happened?" He asked confused. The last he'd seen Ward had been fine. He'd…Malin gulped. Ward had pushed aside Wirred's blade. "You were wounded saving me." He concluded. "You shouldn't have done that."

Ward chuckled. "You tell me only now."

Malin frowned. "It is not a jesting matter."

"I disagree." Ward continued to smile.

Malin looked at the position of the wound and the blackish cast of the blood and felt tears build in his eyes.

"What is it boy?" Ward asked gently. "It is bad, is it not?"

Malin nodded. "The wound is to your liver."

"It is mortal." Ward stated, no question in his voice. "I ha remembered that much from my meager memory of the medicine you strove so hard to teach us."

Malin nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

"It is well." Ward sighed.

"No!" Malin shouted. "It is not! You must live! You must tell me what to do!"

Ward smiled but his eyes began to blink slowly as though he were forcing them open again and again.

"Merlin." He whispered. "You have not needed me for these many months past."

Merlin shook his head. "I do need you, my friend. I need you! I cannot do this alone."

"You are not alone Merlin. You have a whole kingdom with you. You have the hopes and futures of the whole island with you. You owe me a debt. I have given my life for yours and now you must repay me."

Malin nodded. "Yes. Yes, whatever I can do for you. Name it!"

Ward was struggling now, his eyes watered with the effort of keeping them open.

"Do not stop." He whispered. "Save them. Do not stop until you have raised the just king and saved our people. You are in my debt."

"I am in your debt." Malin answered. "I swear to you I will not give up. I will not let your death be in vain, my friend."

Ward smiled sleepily and then was still.