It was the time of day the village children practically lived for. It was that time of day that adults called twilight, but the children called Tale-Time. During this time of day they would all gather in the village circle, where a large fire-pit was lit just before twilight, and wait for the village's Mystic to arrive. The Mystic was an old man of indiscriminate age who had many responsibilities in the village. He taught the children their figures and letters, was the village physician, chronicler of events, and also the Saga-Keeper. All villages in the Kingdom of Surdana and its fiefdoms had Mystics, the larger towns and cities sometimes held as many as a half dozen. All were trained in the Surdanan Academy of Science and Mysticism and, for this reason if none other, the village Mystic was revered almost as though he were one of the heroes he so often told tales of.

So tonight, as they had so many nights for as long as they could remember, the children of the village gathered around the tall, ancient, powerful man they gazed upon with the light of hero-worship blazing in their eyes. The Mystic sat on his customary padded cushion; his legs crossed, and placed his hands on his knees.

"So what Saga shall I speak of tonight, children?" when he spoke it was in a voice, deep and gravelly, but rich with the gruff kindness that had endeared three generations to him.

"The Fall of Minmon!" a girl, no more than seven years of age, practically screamed.

A chorus of voices, both boy and girl, loudly echoed the sentiment.

The Mystic smiled, his teeth shining brightly in his dark face, for this was one of the Saga's that both genders could agree on.

"Have you children yet tired of hearing of that tale?" he asked and was answered by vehement head-shaking," Very well then. "

The flames behind the Mystic seemed to grow of their own accord, the children just having become old enough to hear the Saga's gasped in shock, and shapes began to writhe unseen within the fire.

"Far to the west, in the proud, mountainous heart of the Kingdom, seven years after the resurrection of the Dragon-Mother of the Order, the armies of the powerful Necromancer Minmon made war upon the growing Kingdom of Surdana. He halted the grand army of Surdana, a mighty feat so do not think little of those brave soldiers, and would have pushed into the hard-won frontier if not for the HomeGuard. You all know of those fierce defenders of the peace of the Kingdom, second only to the Dragon-Riders in skill, courage, and honor. In that time there were none greater than Ramn and Crayla, called the Shields Of Surdana as the Dragon-Rider Rynn was called the Spear. But Minmon, ohhh, he had a far darker name for them, one which I will not utter for fear of cursing your souls. "

As the Mystic spoke the children's eyes grew wide, new and older children alike, as scenes seemed to come to life in the flames behind their Sage-Keeper. They could see the harsh looking mountains and their people. The bestial shapes of the armies of Minmon, the defeated forces of Surdana and then a pair of figures of majestic stature took shape before them. One figure was tall, clutching a scimitar in hand, and the shorter one held a beautifully glittering bow in both hands.

"Our Saga begins in a village, not unlike this one in the war-torn frontier, one year after the war began. A powerful Sorceror of the HomeGuard was traveling with his apprentice and came upon a most terrible sight…"

Mikhael Grunner swallowed the bile down in his throat and opened his eyes to gaze upon the horrible scene splayed out before him. He and his master, the Sorceror Torin, had been making a tour of the frontier to scout for possible locations for a new HomeGuard Magus Tower and Keep to be built. They had only left Fort Dehrimon that morning in the direction of a site that some of scouts there had said might be suitable. Only a few hours later both master and apprentice had felt powerful spells being cast in the direction of a small village both had visited during their initial training in the HomeGuard. There had been no discussion necessary that they would investigate the disturbance. They had both been unprepared for the sight that greeted them.

The village was one of the tiny sorts that dotted the countryside. A dozen or so like minded families that preferred the isolation of a tightly knit community. Each had a large homestead built around a village circle with their fields and flocks a few kilometers from their homes. Mikhael and Torin had seen the smoke from the top of a kill nearly a full kilometer away. They had raced towards the place then, half a dozen spells being ready on the run, but it had all been in vain.

None of the houses stood, either collapsed or burned to the ground, but the truly horrible thing was what was in the center of the village. The bodies of the villagers, women and children included, had been piled high in the village circle. Someone truly evil being had decided to set fire to the pile and from the positions of several bodies they had been alive prior to burning. Two years ago, before he had first met his training Lieutenants, Mikhael probably would have fainted. Now he just had to fight a subtly rising urge to vomit.

"Mikhael!" his master's urgent plea from the other side of the pile galvanized the apprentice to motion.

Mikhael was brought up short by his master's side. The two were as different as a sparrow and a bluejay. Mikhael's brown hair light brown eyes were as common as green leaves while Torin's unusually vivid blue-green eyes and bright reddish hair made him stand out everywhere. Mikhael was taller and stood with a proud, erect posture while Torin usually was more furtive. But at this moment they looked as alike as twins in their horror and astonishment.

A figure lay slumped lifelessly against the rubble of what would have been the village chieftain's home. Blood covered the man, thick and congealed, and dampened the shine of his mithril scale-mail. Blood, more blood than could have possibly come from a single individual, made the ground around him a swampy mess. The half-helm on his head had been cracked open and the rent was smeared in what was possibly his own blood. Several arrows, magic war arrows by their fletching, protruded from his torso. The man still clutched his weapon, a scimitar with peculiarly glowing runes on its surface, in one red-caked hand. Finally, the most horrific thing of all was the reason the man had remained against the rubble. The shaft of a spear, only half of it, protruded from his belly just below his heart. Glowing runes covered the shaft of the spear and that was why it had pierced his scale-mail armor so completely. It was unlikely that anyone had been able to remove the spear because it had penetrated so deeply into the rubble. The foul perpetrators of the slaughter would have had to shift half this side of the collapsed structure to safely remove it. The risk of discovery had been too great. That fact had done little to save the life of the man though.

"I-I…," Torin struggled to choke back his emotions," I never thought I would live to see this day. He saved me you know, back when I could barely conjure a fireball, and introduced me to the Jade Sorceress. "

Mikhael letting tears fall unheeded, knelt beside the body of Lieutenant Ramn of the HomeGuard, and bowed his head to weep for a great man.

"Cray…-la," Mikhael's head shot up at the whisper from the corpse.

"He's alive," Master Torin shouted far too loudly for what was still an unsecured battlefield but Mikhael was as joy-filled as his master to say anything," Quickly! Get a greater healing potion down his throat! Don't try to take out the shaft yet. It's probably what kept him alive this long. And make sure to cast a deep sleep spell to keep him unconscious while we work before you use the healing potion. I need to reconfigure my spells for healing. Don't forget to set up a warding spell."

Torin quickly settled in a meditative position, hovering a meter in the air of course, as he mentally prepared himself for the task ahead. Mikhael made a face at his master, who often forgot important details in his haste, and dug in his pack beside the now unconscious Ramn. He quickly mentally discarded his battle-spells and sketched a quick rune of deep sleep to cast over Ramn. Then he fed the deceptively tiny bottle of pinkish solution to him. The effects were immediate as the gash along his skull healed and his rapidly knitting flesh forced the arrowheads out. There was no sign that the spear had budged an inch though. After that Mikhael walked the perimeter of the town, a Wall of Warding being erected with each step, until he had walked it twice. A double line of defense, for physical threats and magical, was always the best option even if it did cost much in mana. He was very advanced for an apprentice in the defensive castings.

"I'm ready now," Torin said, his feet settling to the ground once more.

"What am I to do, master?" Mikhael asked eagerly.

"Watch. Listen. Memorize. Be ready with a greater mana potion if I have need. I'll be testing you later on the procedure."

"What are you going to do?" Mikhael asked as Torin studied the plight of Ramn once more.

"This is a delicate procedure and will require simultaneously casting of several spells. First I will cast a Hasting spell upon myself and a Slowing spell upon the Lieutenant. Then I will cast a regeneration spell, the most powerful I can, onto his body. He would bleed out quickly otherwise, that is one of the enchantments I read on the spear, and we can't allow that. Then I will levitate this entire section of rubble above the circle in order to isolate the spearhead. Next I will push the shaft the rest of the way through his body, casting a high-level healing spell each step of the way, and hopefully, if I'm fast enough, it will be enough. " Torin cocked his head to the side," You might want to haste yourself so you can keep up. "

Those were the last words that were spoken for quite some time as blinding flashes of light filled the village circle.

The growing warmth of a new day dawning; the soft whisper of a cool breeze, the smell of meat cooking on an open fire; these were things Ramn had never though he would experience again when the spear had taken him in the stomach. But, unless this was some trick of the afterlife, he was alive.

Alive.

Ramn cautiously opened his eyes and squinted against the bright glare of the sun. He groaned slightly and two blurry faces were hovering over him in an instant.

"At last," a vaguely familiar voice was heavy with relief," How do you feel, Lieutenant?"

After a moment to take stock of his body's status, Ramn answered, in a strong, clear voice that surprised everyone," Surprisingly well."

Ramn fully opened his eyes and sat up from the pallet he had been laid upon. His armor had been removed so little except a thin travel blanket and his underclothes covered him. The blanket had fallen from his chest and he looked down at his bare torso. What should have been a life-ending wound was little more than a puckered scar a quarter the size that it should have been. It contrasted nicely with the half dozen other scars that adorned his chest and abdomen. He looked into the faces of his rescuers and recognition came to him.

"Thank you, Mikhael, Torin. Where's Crayla?"

Neither of them would meet his expression and his gaze instantly went to the diminished pile of bodies. Tears sprang uncontrolled to his eyes but a burning rage quickly seared them away.

"It was Lord Verihn. We were on our way to assess how many armsmen we could draw from his estates. We stopped here, like we always do along this route, and we were attacked just before dawn. They were all human. His armsmen and his hedge-witch. She got a powerful magical artifact that she used to cancel my magic. There must have been fifty of them. The villagers never had a chance. Crayla went down swinging her longsword with a smile. She was smiling at me when the spear took me. Where is that damned thing?" Ramn asked hatefully, fingering his stomach.

"Here," Torin said, passing the weapon to Ramn," It bears a powerful enchantment and it bears the mark of-"

"Minmon," Ramn whispered, his fist clenched upon the haft of the spear.

"You should know, Ramn, that we couldn't find Crayla's body. We did a scrying and we saw that they had taken her," Mikhael spoke up boldly, seeing that his master was proving incapable.

Hope flared in Ramns heart,"Where?"

"To Lord Verihn's main estate, two days walk from here. They are not going very quickly but we have no hope of overtaking them."

"What about the army? Haven't you sent a message to Fort Dehrimon?"

The two Sorcerors looked at each other before Torin spoke," Minmon's Third Legion has besieged the Fort. They want us both back there in order to break the siege. They said they need the resources of magic more than one HomeGuard Lieutenant."

Ramn sighed," They are right. "

Ramn stood and began walking, shakily at first, back to the chieftain's former home.

"What are you doing?" Mikhael asked as he and his master followed Ramn.

"I'm going to get Crayla," he told them, pausing at an unremarkable spot several meters behind the rubble.

Ramn bent down, traced a rune, and thrust his hand into the earth before him. A stairwell was revealed and without hesitation Ramn scrambled down them.

"I never knew this place had a depot!" Mikhael exclaimed, while Torin shrugged.

"They probably just put it in," his master explained as they followed the indomitable HomeGuard Lieutenant.

Supply depots, for each of the divisions of the military forces of Surdana, were scattered throughout the countryside. Some were in villages, some in remote locations, but all were protected by magical sigils that only a select those at or above a certain rank could access. This was one of the smaller ones; the kind favored by the HomeGuard and Knights of the Order, and held the highest quality arms and armor. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairwell Ramn was already armored in muted gray chainmail threaded for stealth. The tall man, the livid scar from his head wound glistening slightly in the magical light from the ceiling, hustled around the room preparing for a journey as he talked.

"You two should hurry back to the fort. They'll need you. I'll go to Crayla. Leave the villagers. We'll come back for the bodies later."

Ramn strapped a spare mithril scimitar, not enchanted like his primary one, to his left thigh. A bandoleer of throwing knives, sheathed in gray-black, went around his chest. A large travel satchel was stuffed with greater healing and mana potions. Two cases of javelins, six to a case, were strapped to the back of the satchel. A mithril greatsword, not a weapon Ramn was known to have prowess with was also strapped to his back. An invincibility potion as well as several invisibility potions was placed in pouches around his waist.

"We can't let you take on an entire force of armsmen by yourself, Ramn. It's suicide," Mikhael said, his face creased with worry for someone he had looked up to almost from the first.

"At least give us enough time to set up a few spells you can trigger with a word to aid you," Torin pleaded, his face as worried as his apprentices.

Ramn turned to them, fire burning in his eyes, and said," You have an hour. "

An hour later Ramn was standing in front of the two Sorcerors restraining the urge to bolt in the direction of his partner. He was fully armed and armored now. His primary scimitar was strapped to his right thigh now, he had the enchanted spear clutched in his right hand, and a small mithril buckler was strapped to his right forearm. They had already told him the words to activate the spells they were placing on various parts of his chainmail. Apparently the fledgling Academy of Sciences and Mysticism was already advancing the limits of magic because he had thought it impossible to place more than one enchantment on any one object. Finally, after far too long, they stepped back with sweat glistening on their brows.

"That's it then," Torin said, "Remember not to use more than two spells together. Your mail might melt."

"I'll remember. Thank you both."

"Good luck, Ramn," Mikhael said, holding out his hand, which the heroic warrior took in a firm grip.

"In five days Crayla and I will help you break that siege. That's a promise."

"We'll be waiting," Torin called towards Ramn's back as the HomeGuard Lieutenant raced to his partner.

The Saga-Keeper growled deep in his throat, making the children sit up and pay even more attention," And so it was that Ramn raced towards his beloved partner in all things, though such thoughts were not in his mind, yet. No, now his blood boiled with fury, his heart yearned for vengeance! He found the trail of the betrayers quite easily. His blades drank much blood during his run to Crayla but with each death his lust for the blood of the enemy only grew stronger. You see, children, during this time Ramn was known as much for being a peacemaker and ambassador of the Queen than for being a warrior of terrifying skill. Crayla was considered to be the one to be feared of this duo and they were content to let the world believe it were so. Only a trusted few knew the truth about Ramn. That he was the greatest BladeMaster in the known lands. No one, not Ranwulf the Conqueror, nor the Spear of Surdana, could come close to Ramn in martial skill. It was said that any bladed weapon ever created he could master in a matter of days and to behold him in proper battle was to believe it to be true. Soon, very soon, his enemies would know that they had roused a beast unlike any that had ever plagued their darkest of nightmares."

This first to die was going to be the hedge-witch.

Ramn crouched low beneath a patch of hide-bush at the top of a hill that overlooked Verihn's estate. It was a small affair, for it would take years for any so-called 'noble' of Surdana to build truly impressive dwellings, composed of only two aboveground levels and one underground. A Mage Tower, only half-complete, sat a hundred meters or so to the north of the building. That would be Ramn's first destination. Then it would be on to the barracks where the rest of the bastard's armsmen waited for their deaths. Ramn glanced down at the body of the sentry that had been posted here and absent-mindedly wrenched a throwing knife from her throat. Her fellow sentries, posted in similar positions, had met similar fates. Ramn knew he would not have long before someone discovered the bodies.

Stealth maneuvering was something that had come only recently to the training of HomeGuard but Ramn and his partner had long ago learned the value of moving undetected. With little conscious thought Ramn skulked his way to the base of the tower. It, like the majority of towers and tower ruins he'd seen, was cylindrical and would probably have a conical top with elaborate friezes painted on. The only entrance was a wide door made of hardy wood.

Well, Ramn thought as he looked up, the only ground-level entrance.

Ramn downed the first of his invisibility potions and began an arduous climb nearly thirty feet straight up. With his normal gear he would have been able to do it within a minute but with the extra weight he was carrying him it took him nearly the four-minute duration of the invisibility potion. When he entered the small window, just barely easing his greatsword through, he was pleased to discover it was a kitchen. He settled into a hiding place in the shadowed rafters just above the doorway, not before snagging a few choice morsels, as his invisibility potion wore out. Then he settled down to eat and wait.

It was nearly dark before he tired of waiting, for Ramn had heard the witch grumbling in her workrooms for some time, and tossed a chicken bone into a stand of silverware. His scimitars were eased from their bindings just as the shadowed form of the surprisingly young woman entered the room with the telltale orange glow of a fireball illuminating her left hand. Ramn shook his head at the thought that someone so stupid as to use a fireball in such an enclosed space had assisted in nearly killing him. Ramn silently stepped off the rafters and his scimitars were whistling through the air before he landed. The woman was wearing no form of armor and had cast no spells to give her some protection from steel. Ramn's scimitars first parted the silk robes at the juncture of shoulder and neck. Then the skin, then the bone, blood spurted from her severed veins, and before she had time to scream her head was struck from her shoulders. The progress of the scimitars was not done however for Ramn, with a strength buried too long within him, wiped the scimitars down and around. Ribs parted with sickening crunching sounds, blood splattered all over the front of Ramn's mail, but the vengeful warrior did not care. Finally the scimitars were out and the hedge-witches upper body fell apart like a carved melon.

There could be no time in gloating because Ramn had already wasted too much time in killing the pathetic woman. He went into her small laboratory, filled with distillers and other machinery he was clueless as to the function of. Ramn did however no the components to rig a timed firebomb. Once that was done he crept out of the tower and made his way around to the low-slung barracks on the west side of the estate. It looked deceptively like an enormous barn from the outside but a quick glance in showed that there were nearly two hundred armsmen inside. Ramn ducked beneath the window and pondered his options. Fire would be too obvious, there would still be guards patrolling the house that needed to be taken care of, so that left either lightning or earth. His decision made Ramn carefully traced a magic sigil in the air while quietly reciting an ancient, powerful incantation. Once complete Ramn eased the symbol into the wall and a few seconds later the earth beneath him shook very subtly. Another quick glance provided a gruesome, but welcome sight to Ramn's eyes. Thin, spears of earth that had effectively skewered every armsmen in the room now took up every tiny bit of space in the barracks.

A sudden weariness overtook Ramn and he slumped back against the wall bonelessly. That was probably the most powerful spell he had ever attempted and the night was not over yet. He looked up at the moons, staring down uncaringly at their world, and thought that the gods, if they had ever existed, were surely laughing at the miserable antics of man. If that were the case he swore that he would give them a spectacle the like of which they had not witnessed in centuries. Ramn reached into his bag and withdrew a greater mana potion. He grimaced but downed it in one go and waited for the convulsions to take him. They did so, but far less dramatically than even a year ago. The amount of mana the potion was trying to imbue him with was beyond his capacity to handle and so his body dumped it during the convulsive fit. Warriors with little magical potential who drank even a lesser mana potion had been known to die. Once the fit was over he felt soundly thrashed but much more able to continue.

Now it was time for the manor house.

Crayla was not here.

Ramn kicked the body of the last guard he had killed in this place, the guardian of the keys to the hidden dungeon beneath the lower level, and cursed soundly. The torture rooms had seen little use in the last months judging by the flaky blood covering every surface. Verihn was not here either so where had they gone. He went back to the guard's desk and rifled through the papers. He found what he was looking for almost immediately on a piece of stained parchment. A single name burned into his vision the moment he saw it.

Minmon.

Verihn had taken Crayla to a place on the border to hand her over to Minmon. The ritual sacrifice was to take place tonight. Ramn knew the clearing well, it was a well of magical power, and he understood why Minmon would want to sacrifice someone with as vital a spirit as Crayla's there.

Ramn activated the prolonged hasting spell in his armor and ran for all he was worth.

Ramn crawled on his belly to the top of a small rise to the north of the clearing. He had already killed two sentries but he did not have the luxury of taking the time to properly scout the place out. The shadows of a tall pine concealed him but gave him a clear view of the precisely circular clearing in the thickly forested hills. A pyre had been built in the center of the clearing. Right atop an ancient, stone Casting Circle that was even now slightly glowing with arcane potency. There were a total of thirteen men in the clearing. All of them wore the bulky steel plate armor common to armsmen and were armed with longswords. Standing atop the pyre was the bulky form of Verihn and when he moved to the left Ramn was robbed of breath.

Crayla was tied to a stake that had been driven through the top of stack of wood, her face nearly unrecognizable under purple-black bruises, and looked to only be half-conscious. Verihn said something to his men, who all chuckled, and then he began to grope Crayla's chest. Ramn's partner in all things moaned in pain and the vile man only laughed as he began undoing her leather pants.

Ramn swallowed an invisibility potion, cast a hasting spell on himself, stood clutching six javelins and threw each one with a roar of fury. He cast off his second javelin case and was hurling those six before the other six were halfway to their target. He raced down the slope at breakneck speed, flinging his satchel into the protected crook of a tree, and then charged into the clearing. He had thrown the javelins from an elevated distance of four hundred meters, but with magically enhanced velocity. Ramn was just emerging from the tree line when the first of his javelins sank its head halfway into the back of Verihn's armor. Its remaining brothers found there way into the bastard's back, left arm, and right leg. The other six javelins embedded themselves into the bodies of six of the armsmen. Each penetrated deeply and the man lay on the ground moaning as blood poured from the wound. Verihn's armor was made of a material stronger than steel, probably mithril, thus he only staggered off the platform in front of the pyre before screaming shrilly for a healing potion. The nearest of the armsmen still standing drew his steel blade and charged recklessly at Ramn.

Ramn drew his greatsword on the run, his hasting spell was almost run dry, and easily dodged the man's clumsy slash. The HomeGuard warrior spun in a full circle and whipped the greatsword across and then through the man's middle. Sparks flew from the steel and the armor itself seemed to shriek as loudly as the man when Ramn's weapon passed through it with horrifying ease. Such was the force of the blow that the man's entire body from the waist up landed a meter back from his body. He was still horribly alive and writhed in an ever-growing pool of his own blood. The remaining four armsmen, the fifth was administering a healing potion to the minor injuries of their Lord, were brought up short at the unexpected brutality of their comrades death. Ramn's hasting spell wore off then and he became more easily visible but the sight of him made them back up a few steps from the semi-circle they had surrounded him in.

"But we killed him!"

Ramn bared his teeth in a rictus of hate and charged at the one who had spoken. This one panicked and tried for a sloppy downward chop. Ramn's blade parried it to the left, the man letting his blade slide away before the awesome power of Ramn's weapon, thus the way was clear for Ramn to shear the man's feet off at the ankles. The armsman gave a shrill cry of pain and terror as he was flung off his stumps by the force of the blow. Before he hit the ground Ramn's blade came whistling through the air to take his head in an explosion of gore. Footsteps and panicked breathing coming up behind him caused Ramn to swivel on his right hip and bring his blade up in a graceful arc. The armsman, probably having never faced a skilled swordmen with a greatsword, underestimated the range of the weapon and didn't stop outside its range. A gory furrow was dug up across the man's chest and before he could stumble back the blade came back down and around to cleave half of his head off. Ramn turned to find a third one charging at him screaming and swinging his longsword like a madman. A pattern was discerned before the fool had closed within range and a throwing knife found itself buried to the hilt in the man's open mouth. The armsman dropped his blade and fell to the ground clutching at his mouth as he tried to scream through the blood choking him. Ramn ran up snatched the blade out in a spray of thick blood and left the man where he lay. The bastard deserved to suffer. Ramn turned and an arrow skidded across the back of his chainmail. Another came from his left but was easily dodged. The last armsman was running as fast as his legs could carry him to the opposite side of the clearing. Ramn hurled his already gory throwing knife at the man's retreating back and grinned fiercely when it embedded itself between the man's shoulderblades.

An arrow embedded itself into the chest of his chainmail, the pain a sharp reminder for him that the day was not yet one, and he tried a spell he had found little use for his the last few years. Ramn called Light down from the greater moon to fill the clearing and it did so in an almost eager fashion. The pale bluish light illuminated the positions of all three archers and made them cover their eyes in surprise. When they uncovered them Ramn was among them and hewing with unbridled fury. Once his strokes were through all that were left of the archers were scattered body parts. Ramn hurried back into the clearing and slowed to a stalking stride as Lord Verihn held his longsword, Crayla's longsword, to Crayla's throat while his last remaining guardian stood trembling in front of the platform.

"Kill him!" Verihn shrieked, making the mistake of pointing at Ramn with Crayla's longsword.

Ramn had already had another hasting spell ready and cast it now with an impossibly fast flourish. The world slowed to a crawl, the start of the terrified armsman, the widening of Verihn's eyes as he realized his mistake, all happened with infinite slowness. Ramn drew a throwing knife and plunged it deep into the eye of the arms as he leapt onto the three-meter high platform. His sword came up and down to sever Verihn's swordarm. Ramn gripped the man by the throat and tossed him off the platform before his arm had hit the floor. Then he ran to retrieve his satchel of healing supplies, downed a greater mana potion on the way back, and untied Crayla before the arm finally did hit the platform. The hasting spell ran out and Ramn couldn't hold back his tears any longer. They spilled down his cheeks as he cradled his partner in his arms like a baby. She moaned insensibly and started to struggle.

"Noooo… no more… please," she said in a soft, broken voice, but then," Ramn'll get you… bastards… and… I'll laugh…"

Crayla did start to laugh but it was a pale thing compared to her normal one.

"I'm here, Crayla," Ramn said, laughing and sobbing at the same time," I've got you. I got those bastards."

"I'm dreamin'," Crayla said, she tried to open her eyes, but they were swollen shut.

"Here, drink this, it's a healing potion," Crayla obediently opened her mouth, just the tiniest slit as that also was swollen shut, and Ramn carefully poured a little less than a quarter in her mouth.

Crayla quivered and bucked in his arms like a blackwing as the potion took effect. Soon the swelling and bruises on her face began to fade away. Once her mouth looked almost normal Ramn gave her the rest of the potion. She drank it all and only shook a little as her face returned to normal. But when she opened her eyes Ramn knew she would never be again. Her right eye was gone, only a puckered indentation remained, but her other eye, the one with the scar was just fine. That wonderfully alive blue-green eye met his dark one and sparkled with joy. Then her hand came up to her other eye, where her eye had once been, and she turned away from him.

"You shouldn't have come for me. You should have let me die," she said, her voice low and very despondent.

"You know I'll always come for you. As you would for me. I'll die before I let you die. You know this," Ramn said, shocked and more than a little hurt.

"Look at me. I'll never be as good as I was. I'm hideous. How can you stand to look at me?"

Ramn scratched his head, troubled," What does it matter what you look like?"

Crayla cried and put her arms around his neck," I guess it doesn't."

"You're still the best the HomeGuard has to offer and if they don't agree then the hell with them. We'll strike out on our own. Get a couple of farms or a business and raise families. I'll never abandon you, Crayla. Or did you forget that promise we made each other in that smelly Trog den?"

"Never," she said, hugging him fiercely.

"This is quite touching really but I must interrupt. Some of us have important things to do like invading kingdoms," Minmon's voice sent a shiver of anticipation through Ramn such as he hadn't felt in years.

Ramn eased the hilt of Crayla's longsword into her hand," Stay up here. If you're attacked call for me and I will come. Keep the potions. Take another one in a few moments to get you back up to snuff and then come join me if you're able."

Ramn stood, cast dual protection spells on Crayla, and grinned as he added," Or if I leave you any."

Crayla grinned back," I want the last hit on Minmon."

Ramn nodded as he turned away," Agreed."

The sight that greeted him would have terrified any normal warrior. Minmon stood at the edge of the clearing crackling with eldritch energy with three wartoks on either side of him. They wore the crimson enchanted plate armor of Minmon's personal guard and each hefted huge axes in their hands. Longswords, glittering with innate magic, were sheathed at their waists.

"I am amazed you are still alive. That spear was supposed to kill you and yet here you are wielding it no less."

Ramn said not a word as he hopped down from the platform and advanced with his greatsword at his side.

Minmon looked at the bodies, some still writhing, of Verihn and his men," I must say I never expected anything like this out of you. I always knew you were a fair warrior but this is unbelievable. It seems you haven't lost your skills having become a 'peacemaker'.

Ramn's only reply was to fling a throwing knife into the throat of a wartok that had tensed as if to spring at him.

Minmon's face twisted into a scowl," If you don't have time for civil conversation then I guess we have to get right down to it. So… DIE!"

A thunderous bolt of lightning arced from the crimson jewel atop Minmon's staff. Ramn simply batted it away with the mithril gauntlet of his mail. He had been right to wait for the enhancements to the chainmail.

Minmon's face twisted again, but this time with shock," I'll give my minions a treat then. Ohk! Kill him!"

The largest of the wartok's lunged forward with a mighty roar. Ohk raised his axe high in the air for a strike but his roar turned to a gurgle. Ramn thrust his greatsword into the wartok's body to the hilt and then, with a grimace of effort, lifted the massive monster off its feet with his shoulder. The mithril blade dug into the ground at an angle and Ohk was pinned to the ground like a bug. He squealed in pain and flailed about helplessly as his lifeblood soaked into the ground beneath him. His brothers-in-arms took a step back in shock at the defeat of the best among them.

"All of you! Kill him now!" Minmon roared, his voice booming like that of a god's in the clearing.

The four remaining wartok's rushed Ramn as one force. There was no time to remove the greatsword so Ramn drew his twin scimitars and charged at the two on the left. Neither was prepared for the speed of the vengeful warrior and he was within the range of the closest quickly. Ramn slashed the wartok's leg, causing it to drop to one leg, rolled in the direction of the other wartok, and heard the tell-tale sound of a battleaxe striking a breastplate. The wounded wartok's cries were cut off and the remaining wartok was stumbling backwards in shock. Ramn leapt onto this one's chest, plunging both scimitars into his throat, and forward somersaulted away as two axeheads buried themselves into the space he had just vacated. Ramn turned just as one of them retrieved his axe and came in swinging at Ramn. A scimitar flashed out, severing the axehead from the shaft, and the opposite one was driven deep into the wartok's armpit. The beast turned in pain and thus did not see Ramn snatching the axehead from the air by the shortened handle. He felt it when Ramn chopped through his helmet and left nearly the entire axehead planted there.

Tremendous pain stole Ramn's breath away and his feet left the earth. The last wartok had been silent in his approach and had gotten a blow into Ramn's side. He could feel at least two ribs shattering on impact, blood filling his throat as he sailed through the air, but the pain did not stop him from rolling to his feet and sliding the enchanted spear from it's bindings. The spear, having shrunk to a stabbing weapon during his long run to his Crayla, now elongated back to its original form. Ramn stood calmly in the face of the wartok's charge. Predictably the wartok tried the same wood-chopping motion as before but this time Ramn was ready. He blocked with the haft of the spear, slid down to catch the axehead where the curve of the blade met the wood, and dropped backwards. The pain in his chest tightened horribly as Ramn placed a boot in the stomach of the wartok and propelled the bastard over his head. Ramn rolled to his feet, spun, and plunged the spear into the wartok's face.

A rush of hot air was his only warning and probably saved his eyesight. Ramn threw his hands up in front of his face as a fireball of epic proportions engulfed his entire body. It launched him into the platform, partially collapsing the structure, and making a ruin of Ram's innards. Ramn looked down at his armor and was shocked to see that it had turned to grayish powder. His leg was broken and one arm was crushed under a heavy log. Minmon made his way slowly to Ramn and chuckled evilly.

"So ends the mighty Shields of Surdana."

"It's way past time for killin'," Crayla's voice came from the air besides Minmon's head.

"Wha-?" he said just as Crayla appeared beside him.

It was far too late for him to prevent her longsword from taking his head.

"Quickly!" Ramn roared, his voice hoarse with pain," Stab him with the spear!"

Crayla did so without question but a flash of light propelled her into Ramn's lap where she lay there babbling nonsensically. Ramn had no time to waste and began to chant the words to a potent spell that he had fashioned himself from ancient lore. Just before the final word was uttered Minmon's voice could be heard shrieking in the wind.

"No!"

Then Ramn said the final word and light flared along the runes on the spear. Minmon's shrieking grew to unearthly proportions until it faded away entirely along with the light from the haft of the spear.

"What did you just do?" Crayla mumbled.

"I had the spell to destroy his soul, but never the means to trap it in a body. That spear held a spell I altered for that purpose. I couldn't have done it without Minmon though," Ramn chuckled," He was a silly bastard."

Crayla barked laughter," Yeah. What do you want to do now? "

"I think I'll rest awhile."

Then he passed out.

The Sage-Keeper was silent for a few moments longer as his story ended," Thus passed the Necromancer Minmon, last of the Five Primal Scourges, and bane of all creatures of good. The legend of Ramn and Crayla grew all the more when they returned to drive back the army that Minmon had gathered. But that, children, is another story."

The fire went out and the star clusters that were called the Shields of Surdana glittered brightly as if in appreciation of the tale.