Jane surveyed the battle scene spread out before her.

Large swaths of ground were now devoid of anything moving, and looked hauntingly like the images from her nightmare; trampled, blood-soaked earth randomly strewn with weapons and bodies.

But there was still fighting going on. It was just that it had all coalesced into a few "hotspots" where the remaining combatants continued to annihilate one another with grim, bloodthirsty determination. Clutching Shadowdancer's mane to help keep herself upright, Jane was skimming these small knots of men, searching for faces she knew.

She'd hardly been able to believe her luck at finding a couple of horses still in the stables, saddled and ready to go at that. Thinking quickly, she had reached the conclusion that they had been left for Pepper and anyone else still at the castle, in case a hasty evacuation became necessary. It seemed a likely precaution for the level-headed Sir Theodore to take.

Whatever the reason, Jane had been profoundly grateful, and hadn't felt too dastardly for taking Shadowdancer, because there were still two other horses left beside him. She would not be depriving Pepper of a means to flee, if – God forbid – that were ever to be warranted.

It had been all she could do to climb onto Shadowdancer's back. Then again, ever since swinging her feet over the edge of the cot, everything Jane had done had been one exercise in pain endurance after another.

Several times climbing the stairs to her bedroom, she'd had to stop, half-leaning, half-falling against the stone wall, as vertigo had swept over her and the steps had seemed to tilt beneath her, threatening to buck her right off. Once in her room, she had actually wept as she'd dressed and girded herself; cried like a child, the pain had been so great, even in spite of the many layers of bandages Pepper had wound around and around her. As it was, she had been utterly unable to struggle into her heavy hauberk, and had ended up forgoing its considerable protection, leaving it lying in a forlorn little heap near the foot of her bed.

She'd looked for her Dragon Sword to no avail – it was gone. She'd remembered then, Pepper telling her that Gunther had taken it and used it to summon Dragon. He must have carried it with him into battle. Her fortune with the horses had not extended to weaponry; there had not been a single sword left in the castle armory.

Which was inconvenient, but certainly not a major deterrent. Jane simply left weaponless. She would pick up a sword when she reached the battlefield. They were sure to be lying scattered about on the ground, amongst the corpses like overripe fruit.

Mounting the horse had been more of a problem. It had taken her several tries to accomplish it, and twice she had very nearly blacked out. Once astride, she had virtually draped herself over the animal, lying nearly flat and hugging Shadowdancer's neck, panting and shivering.

Pepper had appeared as Jane had clattered into the courtyard, doubtless alerted by the sound of hooves, baby Cedric nestled on one hip and a kitchen knife clutched in the opposite hand. The way she'd been holding it had told Jane that it was not merely something she'd been in the act of using; she had grabbed it deliberately, for defense.

When she'd realized who it was on the horse, an expression of shocked incredulity had flashed across Pepper's face, to be replaced a heartbeat later by uncharacteristic fury. She'd dropped the knife and run for the horse, shouting Jane's name as she'd tried to seize the reins.

Thankfully, from Jane's perspective at least, due to the strong rapport she already had with Shadowdancer, she hadn't needed to do anything dramatic to urge him to move more quickly; a gentle nudge and murmured command had been all that was required. He'd broken first into a trot and then a canter, leaving the courtyard behind as Pepper had screamed after them, sounding close to tears. Jane had been sorry to have distressed her friend that way, but determined that nothing was going to keep her from battle.

And now here she was.

OOOOO

She had dismounted in order to try and secure a sword. She was beginning to wonder, now, whether that hadn't been a grievous mistake. As difficult as it had been for her to mount Shadowdancer once, she wasn't at all convinced that she'd be able to do it a second time.

Well, there was nothing for it now. She should have thought of that before she'd gotten down.

She saw a likely candidate, so far as swords went, lying in the muck a few feet away from her, and letting go of Shadowdancer's mane – (she only swayed on her feet for an instant; negligible, really) – she began to make her way toward it.

And then she saw something out of the corner of her eye that changed everything.

It was Gunther. And he was in trouble.

He was still on his feet, thank God. Still armed and fighting, thank God. But he was outnumbered, and while a pair of enemy soldiers kept him fully occupied with a frontal attack, a third man was edging around behind him.

Jane's blood ran cold.

She forgot all about the sword she'd been moving toward; forgot all about Shadowdancer behind her. In that instant there was nowhere to go but toward Gunther, and as quickly as she possibly could.

Remembering her dream, and the disastrous consequences of shouting a warning, she clamped down hard on the cry that wanted to escape her throat. She couldn't risk distracting him, and more than that, screaming would divert valuable energy.

Energy she needed for running.

The next few seconds really did have a surreal, nightmarish quality about them, but with one important difference. Unlike in her dream, she was actually covering ground now. Just a few heartbeats later, she crossed the swath of empty ground where she'd left Shadowdancer, and entered the "hotspot" – the seething, swearing, struggling knot of combatants – of which Gunther was a part.

She thought she might have heard a familiar voice shout her name practically at her elbow, but the voice was not Gunther's – he was still several yards ahead of her and completely unaware of her presence – and so she never even slowed. She simply continued in her frantic, headlong dash, and when a man fell beside her with a gurgling cry, Jane snatched his sword from his loosening grasp without so much as skipping a beat; passing it from her left hand to her right as she ran. All of her attention, all of her energy, was focused on reaching Gunther. Gunther. Gunther.

He was so outnumbered.

And she wasn't going to get there in time.

No. NO! I will not see him fall before my eyes, I will not, I will not, I WILL NOT!

Her back was screaming; the pain maddening, white-hot and searing, and each breath she took burned her, but she was running faster than she thought she ever had in her life; flying over the ground and shouldering friends and enemies alike out of her way with desperate, single-minded purpose.

The world had narrowed down to herself and Gunther; nothing else mattered. Not when Gunther was at stake. When Gunther was at stake, everything was at stake.

Gunther. Was. Everything.

She finally understood.

And if she lost him now, it would kill her.

Death of me. That man is going to be the death of me. The thought seemed familiar. Had she thought it before?

She was closing the distance between them at breakneck speed, and still she feared – knew – she'd be too late.

No, no NO!

Almost there.

Now, finally, at the last instant, when she could nearly reach out and touch him, she drew in breath to scream a warning – and then she was there, and it was too late to warn him anyway, because the enemy soldier behind him had raised his sword and just as it was about to fall, to drive into Gunther's unprotected back, Jane flung herself between him and the blade, slashing at the soldier's throat with her own weapon in the desperate hope that by cutting the man down, she would manage to steal some of the lethal momentum away from his blade.

It did not entirely happen that way.

She did open the soldier's throat with her sword, and he did let go his blade and fall… but not before that blade had embedded itself halfway to the hilt in her.

And then everything was slowing down.

The world had been a blur of speed and momentum just seconds before; and now, all of a sudden, reality had slowed to the point where she felt almost as if she were underwater – as if she were swimming through the air.

She managed to stay upright for a moment, dropping her own sword to the churned, bloody ground. Managed even to look down, and grasp the hilt of the sword that had buried itself in her. All of her combat training had stressed the fact that if one were to be run through, one should never, ever, ever remove the embedded blade.

All of her training could go eat bog weevils.

She was not thinking critically at the moment. She just wanted this foreign object out out out of her. She could feel her strength evaporating like water under the midday sun, but she had enough left to yank the offending weapon free. A tiny sound – just a sick little "huh" of expelled air – was wrenched from her lips as the sword slipped from her now-bloodied hands and fell at her feet.

Gunther, fully occupied, now in the act of dispatching one of his frontal assailants, still hadn't even realized she was there.

And that was when she staggered backward, crashing into him, back-to-back.

He grunted and stumbled forward before planting his feet, then half-turned to see who or what had knocked into him even as he lifted an arm to expertly deflect a blow from the side.

His dark grey eyes widened when he recognized Jane, now leaning almost all of her weight against him.

"Jane!?" There was unmistakable anger, as well as incredulity in his voice. "What the hell are you doing, you are lucky I did not run you through! And – how did you even GET here!? What are you –"

And then her legs began to buckle in earnest.