The harsh dawn sun prodded among the coverts of fir and ceder catching the flicker of iron

as the riders drove their ponies on with the flats of their blades. A ragged line staggered up the foothills, hooves beating out a muted melody to the boom-boom boom-di-boom of drums and clashing cymbals. Shouts echoed from the scouts ahead and a pillar of dust curled up between the trees for miles around as the vast column broke into a gallop. Ahead of the riders charge the forest thinned to a narrow beach of underbrush against the Fulgren Sea, endless grass, marked with plumes of flowers to beyond the horizon. The ponies caught the smell before the men, causing them to paw at the damp verge, tossing and snorting in fear of the foul stench creeping out of the marsh, dank and rotten. They didnt push them as even they, soldiers and used to the smell of death, had covered their mouths with rank skins and looked to their brothers for reassurance, secretly curling their fingers around whatever pocket gods each carried. So distracted were they that it took them time to notice the man running through the unbroken grass, looking as though adrift in a hidden boat. If our good arrows dont find him the Wind Devils of the High Air will. The demons will strangle the red one, he said, leaning over his mounts neck to spit an offering to the wet ground, lest they find us first. Hormud crouched behind the dense thicket and swore into a weeks thickness of beard. Ape-thing, he snapped at the twisted man crawling feebly through the water beside him, are your monkey hands too weak to snap off an arrow? He held out his arm, making the shaft pushing through the flesh of his shoulder apparent. No. What use is pulling the arrow?, he whined into the muck, Your shit-eating kin are behind us- A thorns curse upon the treacherous animals, I hold an empty hand in friendship and they answer me by biting it. -and in front of us, he pulled himself into a ball, pressing against the sharp thicket as arrows whisked through the grass, the High Air. The young barbarian hissed through his teeth and sat down beside the man You sorcerers are a pitiful breed to fear the magic you make. He set his mud caked fingers upon the arrow head showing through his chest, I make my own magic, the arrow tore through him and out in a spatter of gore, his eyes never leaving the sorcerers, and I do not fear it. Holding a filthy hand to his chest he crawled to the edge of their hiding place and watched the arrows fall from the sun. Seemingly satisfied he returned to the cowering wizard. My brothers make a magic of sorts, and being sorcerers will not tread the devil grass. The wizard scurried from the barbarians side as far as their cover would allow. No, I left the Palace Gigantic with you but I will not enter that devil grass. Then die here. Hormud laughed, As for me it doesnt matter whether it be my kins arrows or demon magic. Though Ive bested a few devils in my time Ive never stood well against a cavalry charge. As though answering a challenge the horsemen crashed their cymbals along to a throaty song like rocks falling down a deep gorge. Here, my dagger. The wizard took it with trembling hands, Better to die here under the merciful lances than fight and run. Even animal tracks turn from the edge of the devil grass. Hormud plucked a handful of grass, chewed, and jabbed it into into his ragged wound. Well then, little animal, find yourself a burrow and dig in. Ill be sharpening my steel on some ungrateful bellies and then see how far it

sharpening my steel on some ungrateful bellies and then see how far it takes me against the High Air. Off with you to make peace with the spirits, maybe theyll welcome you as their own. He leapt to his feet, bow in hand, strung with the gut of a tiger and bound in its skin, shouting the Demarcation of Heritage and singing his challenge as the first arrow flew. The riders flattened against their ponies necks only to be pinned together, screaming in their dying. He was wise to their tricks. Howl for us, though I think your horse has a sweeter voice. The arrows flew two heart beats apart, made faster by the rumble of charging hooves.