"I am  pleased that  you chose  to drive
 your fine cattle here. It was been some  weeks since  our last
 supply  of  fresh  meat  was  consumed.  How  many   head  did
 you bring?"
   "Nine  hundred,  more  or  less.  Six  hundred  steers,  two
 hundred  cows,  and  one hundred  yearling calves.  What bulls
 we  brought  we  will  drive  back with  us," Onthar  said. He
 crossed  his  hands at  his waist  and did  not appear  at all
 excited.
   The great lord took out a  ledger book  and opened  it. With
 a  sharp  quill, he  made a  notation. "And  how much  are you
 asking, Master Onthar?"
   "Twelve coppers per calf, fifteen per steer, and  one silver
 piece per cow," he said firmly.
   "A  high  price,  but  fair considering  the quality  of the
 beasts in the bailey." Onthar permitted himself a smile.
   Merinsaard  snapped  his  fingers,  and  two  more  soldiers
 entered from a door in the  wall behind  his table.  They car-
 ried a chest into the room  and set  it down.  "Your payment,"
 said the great lord.
   Onthar  reached  out  with  steady  hands.  This was  a for-
 tune!  His  household  would  celebrate   for  days   when  he
 returned with such a bounty. He lifted the lid and let it fall
 back on its hinges.
   The chest was empty.

  "What?" Onthar said. Sturm snapped his sword out.
  "Take them!" Merinsaard barked. Soldiers poured into
 the room from two sides.
  "Treachery! Treachery!" The herders scattered. Sturm
 gathered Tervy to him.
  "Stay  behind me!"  he said.  A soldier  thrust the  point of
 his halberd at Sturm, but the knight parried the  heavy steel
 head away. The herders,  with only  their flimsy  goads, were
 quickly subdued by the soldiers.
 "Ironskin!"   Tervy   shouted.   "At   your    back!"   Sturm
 whirled in time  to dodge  a savage  cut by  another halberd.
 He stabbed home,  hitting the  fellow below  his breastplate.
 Bleeding heavily, the man  fell. Tervy  rolled the  body over
 and snatched a small axe from the man's belt.  "Hai! Tirima!"
 she yelled.
 "Tervy,  no!"  Too late,  Sturm saw  her scamper  through the
 press  of struggling  men and  jump upon  Merinsaard's golden
 table.  By  Paladine,  she  was brave!  The great  lord stood
 back  from  the  table as  the girl  threatened him  with the
 hatchet. He donned his helmet and raised  his hands  over his
 head.
 He  shouted at  Tervy to  get out,  but she  didn't. Instead,
 she  whipped  her  arm  back  and hurled  the hatchet  at the
 great lord.
 The  puny  weapon  struck  his  armored  chest   and  glanced
 off. Merinsaard's voice filled the tent with a booming incan-
 tation. The air seemed to solidify around Sturm's  limbs, and
 his sword grew impossibly heavy to lift. Then, with  a single
 silent  burst, a  white light  dazzled him  completely. Sturm
 sagged to his knees.  The sword  was torn from his  hand, and
 the enemy  soldiers bore  him, immobile,  to the  richly car-
 peted floor.

                          * * * * *

 Someone was groaning.
  Sturm opened his eyes and found that he still couldn't see
 anything. There was no blindfold around his head; the
 effect of the dazzling light spell was lingering.
 "Oh, I'm blind!" someone groaned.

 "Shut up," Sturm  said. "Be  quiet, all  of you.  Who's here?"
 "Onthar is here," said the herd leader.
 "And Frijje."
 "I'm  here."  Sturm  asked  who 'I'  was. "Ostimar,"  was the
 sheepish reply.  They were  all present  except Tervy.  All of
 them  were  sitting  on  the  ground in  a circle,  hands tied
 behind their backs to a stout wooden post.
 Frijje said, "She hit the lord with an axe."
 "Did she really?" ъorin asked.
 "Yes, right on the wishbone. Didn't even scratch him."
 "Quiet," Sturm  said. "The  light spell  is beginning  to wear
 off. I can see my legs."
 Within  a  few  minutes,  they  could  all  see  again. Onthar
 apologized in  his blunt,  clipped way  for getting  them into
 this fix.
 "It's  not  your  fault,"  Sturm  said. "Merinsaard  must have
 lured other  herds here  after starting  those rumors  about a
 rich buyer at the keep."
 "What does he need all  those cattle  for?" asked  Frijje. "He
 doesn't have more than a couple hundred men."
 "He's no mere cattle thief,"  said Sturm.  "I think  he's pro-
 curing food for a much larger army."
 "What army?" asked Onthar.
 "Well,  I  think  -" The  wall flap  turned in  and Merinsaard
 walked  in,  wearing  his fearsome  dragonlike helmet.  It had
 just the effect he wanted.
 "Please, don't kill us!" Belingen whined. "We're poor
 men! We have no ransom to pay!"
 "Be  silent!"  The  tusked  face  circled  the  room, studying
 each man in  turn. "Which  of you  is the  one the  girl calls
 Ironskin?"
 No   one  said   anything.  Merinsaard   drew  a   dagger  and
 tapped  the flat  of the  blade against  his palm.  He circled
 around, stopping by Belingen. He  pushed the  tip of  his dag-
 ger against Belingen's chest. "There is a  simple way  to find
 out which of you wears mail," he said. ".I shall run this dag-
 ger through  each of  your chests."  Merinsaard leaned  on the
 dagger. Belingen inhaled sharply.
 "No! Don't do it! I'll tell!"
 "Shut your mouth, fool!" Onthar yelled. Merinsaard

 went to the herd leader and struck him on  the head  with the
 butt of his dagger. Onthar slumped forward.
   "The  next  man  to  speak  will  die,"   said  Merinsaard.
 "Except you, my friend." Belingen managed a sweaty smile.
   "It's him, the mustached  one. Yes,  him!" Sturm  stared at
 the floor. Merinsaard's thigh-high boots moved into  his line
 of sight. The lord called for his guards, and a squad of hal-
 berdiers cut Sturm loose from the post.
   "That  man,  too,"  Merinsaard  said,  indicating Belingen.
 The  guards  marched  Sturm and  Belingen through  the court-
 yard.
   "Where's Tervy?" Sturm said at last.
   "She is safe," the great lord said. "I have not  harmed her."
   "You  can kill  her, my  lord; she's  only a  raider brat,"
 Belingen said. Sturm shot him a fierce look.
   Without  sparing  him  a  glance, Merinsaard  replied, "She
 has considerable wit and courage,  which is  more than  I can
 say for you."
   They entered the  rear of  the same  room they'd  fought in
 an  unknown  time  before. Tervy  was sitting  on the  rug in
 front of the table. She saw Sturm and jumped  to her  feet. A
 clank announced that she was fettered to a table leg.
   "Ironskin! I knew you'd come for me!" she said.
   "Things  are  not  so  simple,"  said Merinsaard.  The guards
 brought  Sturm  and  Belingen  in  and  forced them  to kneel
 before the great lord's gold-decked table. The soldiers stood
 at their backs with halberds leveled,  and Merinsaard  sat in
 his chair.
    "There is a problem," he said, removing his dragon mask.
 "Among  a  group  of  simple  herdsmen I  find a  young stal-
 wart, a swordsman  and warrior,  who wears  mail and  rides a
 Garnet-bred  warhorse.  Now  I  ask,  why  would  such  a man
 be here tending cows?"
   "It's a living," said Sturm sullenly.
   "I know who he is, master," said Belingen.
   Merinsaard leaned forward on his elbows. "Yes?"
   "His name is Sturm Brightblade. He's a knight."
   The great lord didn't blink. "How do you know this?"
   "I heard him tell his name was Brightblade. And I remem-
     bered that name from my younger days when I helped sack

 his father's castle."
    Sturm  leaped  up.  "You  did  what?"  A guard  struck him
 smartly  on the  back of  his knees,  and Sturm  collapsed on
 the carpet.
    "I see. Is there anything else you can tell me?"
    "He's  looking for  his father,  but his  father's dead.  I was
 with the band that breached the inner keep. We set fire  to it,
 and  all  the  knights  threw  themselves  from  the battlement
 rather  than  burn  up."  Sturm's   face  paled   and  Belingen
 grinned. "They was scared of a little fire."
   "Thank you, ah, what is your name?"
   "Belingen, master. Your devoted slave."
   "Yes." Merinsaard nodded and the soldier standing behind
 Belingen  raised  his  halberd.  Down went  the axe  blade, and
 off came Belingen's astonished head. It rolled to Tervy's feet,
 and  she  kicked  it away,  spitting, "Chu'yest!"  Sturm needed
 no translation.  He grimaced  at the  severed head  with regret
 and disgust.  Belingen might  have been  a worthless  fool, but
 he  might  also  have  had  further  information  about Sturm's
 father.
   "ъemove  the  debris,"  declared  Merinsaard.   Two  soldiers
 dragged  the  body  out  by the  heels. "A  man so  easily per-
 suaded to betray his  comrades is  of no  use to  anyone," said
 Merinsaard.  He  stood.  "So  you  are  Sturm  Brightblade,  of
 the House of Brightblade?"
   "I am," he said defiantly.
   Merinsaard  signaled  again,  and  a stool  was brought  in for
 Sturm  to  sit  on.  The soldiers  withdrew, leaving  Sturm and
 Tervy with the great lord.
   "I  would  very  much  like  for  you to  join my  company of
 men,"  said  Merinsaard. "I  can use  a young,  trained warrior
 like you. Too many of the  scum I  pick up  are no  better than
 the  fool  I just  shortened by  a head."  He folded  his hands
 across his  flat stomach  and looked  Sturm in  the eye.  "In a
 very  short  time,  you   could  have   your  own   command  of
 picked troops, cavalry or infantry. What" do you say?"
   The  blood was  still fresh  on the  floor, so  Sturm consid-
 ered his reply. "I have  never worked  as a  mercenary before,"
 he said equivocally. He pointed  to Tervy  and said,  "Will you
 release the girl?"

     "If she behaves." Merinsaard  placed a  key on  the table.
 Sturm picked it up and unlocked the fetter that  enclosed Ter-
 vy's slender ankle.
     "Before  I  commit  myself,  may I  ask a  question?" said
 Sturm. Merinsaard  inclined his  head affirmatively.  "In this
 army, to whom would I be responsible?"
   "To me and no one else."
   "And from whom do you take your orders?"
   "I am supreme," rumbled Merinsaard.
   Sturm  glanced  at  Tervy. The  chain lay  by her  foot. She
 ran  a  hand  over the  crudely forged  iron fetter.  "I don't
 believe you," Sturm said, calmly.
   Merinsaard bolted to his feet. "You question me?" he
 roared.
   "Supreme  commanders  do  not sit  in lonely  keeps, confis-
 cating cattle like skulking freebooters," said Sturm.
   ъage purpled the great lord's face.  Sturm wondered  if he'd
 gone  too  far.  In  his next  breath, would  Merinsaard order
 both their deaths?  No, the  color slowly  left his  face, and
 Merinsaard leaned on the table.
   "You are wise for a  young man,"  he said  at last.  "I have
 been given the task of collecting  food and  arms for  a great
 host that will invade northern Ansalon  soon. It  is a  task I
 undertake  with total  devotion. As  to my  leader, she  -" He
 paused,  conscious  of  revealing  an  important fact.  "- she
 leaves all the handling of mundane affairs to me."
   "I  see,"  Sturm  said.  What  now? "Ah,  what would  be the
 terms of my service?"
   "Terms? I cannot offer you a contract, if  that is  what you
 mean.  But  know this,  Master Brightblade,  join with  us and
 all manner of power and glory  shall be  yours. You  will com-
 mand and conquer. Among men you will be as a king."
   Merinsaard  sat  down.  Sturm  looked  to  Tervy,  which put
 his  face  away  from  the  warlord's.  Their eyes  met. Tervy
 gave a very slight nod.
   Merinsaard  looked  expectant,  so Sturm  said, "This  is my
 answer...." The great lord leaned forward. "Now!"
   Tervy stood and pulled the chain as hard as she could.
 The folding table leg popped loose and the heavy tabletop
 collapsed on Merinsaard's legs. Sturm  sprang over  the fallen

 table,  knocking  Merinsaard  down  and  pinning  his hands.
 There would be no blinding incantation this time.
   Tervy grabbed  the shiny  helmet from  the floor  and scam-
 pered  behind  the  struggling  men.  She  whacked Merinsaard
 on the head,  and the  big man  howled under  Sturm's clench-
 ing hand. Tervy smote him again and again.
   "That's enough," Sturm said. "He's out."
   "Shall we kill him?" she said.
   "By the gods, you're  a bloodthirsty  child! No,  we're not
 going to kill  him. We're  not assassins."  The sight  of the
 unconscious   Merinsaard   gave   Sturm  a   dangerous  idea.
 "Help me get his armor off."
   "Oh, you want to skin  him!" Tervy  said. Sturm  rolled his
 eyes and hurried to untie the lacings of the warlord's armor.

                     * * * * *

       The great lord Merinsaard threw back the wall flap.
  Guards in the corridor stiffened to attention. The fierce
 Dragon Highlord mask turned to them.
   "I  have  immobilized  Brightblade,"  he  said.  "He  will
 remain here until I  return. No  one is  to enter  that room
 before me, do you  understand? The  paralysis spell  will be
 broken if anyone does. Is that clear?"
   "Yes, lord!" the guards shouted in unison.
   "Very good." Merinsaard beckoned to Tervy. "Come
 along, girl."  Tervy walked  toward him,  looking miserable.
 Chain  dragged  between  her  feet.  She  was  hobbled  with
 heavy iron fetters.
   "When  you  prove  your  loyalty,  I  will  remove them,"
 Merinsaard said loftily.
   "Oh, thank you, great lord!" Tervy replied.
   The masked man swept on with the girl close on  his heels.
 In the corridor, beyond  earshot of  the guards,  Sturm said
 softly, "You did that very well."
   "Oh, thank you, great lord!"
   'You can stop now."
   In the maze of silk walls, Sturm found the flap leading to
 the room where Onthar and his  men were  kept. He  burst in.
 Ostimar  raised  his  sagging  head,  and  when  he  saw the

 dragon mask, his expression ran from fear to hatred.
   "What now?" Onthar said.
   "I'm  going  to  let you  go," said  Sturm. He  handed Merin-
 saard's  dagger  to  Tervy,  who  busied  herself  freeing  the
 astonished herders.
   "Where are Sturm and Belingen?" said Frijje.
   "Belingen betrayed his honor and died for it." Sturm
 removed the stifling helmet. "And Sturm is with you."
   It  was  all  Sturm could  do to  restrain the  herders from
 cheering.  Even  the  normally  taciturn  Onthar  grinned  and
 thumped Sturm on the back.
   "There's no time for celebration,"  Sturm said  hastily. "You
 must get to your horses and get out of here."
   ъorin said, "You're not riding with us?"
   "I  can't.  My destiny  lies farther  north. Besides,  the only
 chance  you  fellows  have  is if  Merinsaard wants  to avenge
 himself on me rather than recapture all of you."
          The realization of what this meant quickly sank in.
 Onthar grasped Sturm's arms. "We'll face the hordes of
 Takhisis if you say so, Ironskin."
   "You  may  have  that  opportunity,"  Sturm said  grimly. "So
 go.  Warn  all  your  people about  Merinsaard. Make  sure that
 no one else  brings him  cattle, or  sheep, or  other supplies.
 They would meet with the same treatment you did."
   "I will  spread the  word across  the plains,"  Onthar vowed.
 "Not even a partridge will get to Merinsaard's stores."
   The  herders  gathered  up their  few belongings  and started
 for the exit. Sturm added, "There's just one other thing."
   "What?" asked Onthar.
   Sturm paused. "I want you to take Tervy with you."
   "No!" she said loudly. "I stay with youl"
   "You can't do that. I've got to travel fast and light, and it
 will  be  too  dangerous  for  you  to  remain with  me," Sturm
 said solemnly.
   "It  wasn't  too  dangerous  in  Merinsaard's  room,  when I
 spilled the table and thumped him on the head."
   Sturm  laid  a hand  on the  girl's shoulder.  "You're braver
 than ten men, Tervy,  but there's  going to  be more  than just
 swords  or  arrows  coming at  me. There  is evil  magic abroad
 in the land, and the full weight of it  may fall  on me  in the

  coming days."
    Her lips quivered. "I don't care."
    "I do.  You're a  fine girl,  Tervy. You  deserve a  long and
  happy life." He turned to Frijje. "You'll look after her, won't
  you?"
    The herder, still amazed to  hear that  the girl  had subdued
  the mighty Merinsaard, replied,  "I think  she'll end  up look-
  ing after me!"
    It  was  agreed then,  though not  without some  tears. Sturm
  hesitated  a  moment,  then  kissed  her  smudged  forehead and
  sent her way with the herders. The pang of  regret he  felt was
  like a  fresh wound,  but Sturm  knew that  in the  coming days
  his own odds of survival would be slim.
    The  guards  tensed   when  Onthar   and  his   party  walked
  into view. Sturm, mask in  place, ordered  the soldiers  to let
  them  pass.  "These  men  are to  return with  more provender,"
  he boomed.
    The  herders'  ponies  were  brought  out, and  they mounted.
  Frijje hauled Tervy  up behind  him. "You  will bring  the next
  herd to this same spot," Sturm said loudly.
    "Aye, my lord," Onthar replied. "A thousand head, I
  promise."
    Onthar  swung  his  pony  southward  and  kicked   its  dusty
  hide.  He  galloped  away  with the  others strung  out behind.
  Frijje and Tervy  were last.  The girl  looked back  until they
  were lost from sight. She held her right  fist clenched  to her
  chest; the temptation to wave farewell was strong.
    Hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  Sturm  strode   down  the
  center  passage,  acting  like  a  general  at  inspection.  He
  glanced  into  several  rooms  until he  found what  he wanted:
  Merinsaard's wardrobe.
    Quickly   he   shed   the   armor.  Merinsaard   was  thicker
  through  the  chest and  waist than  Sturm, but  otherwise they
  were nearly the  same size.  He donned  a woolen  tunic, scarf,
  and gloves.  Though it  was warm  on the  plain, in  the higher
  elevations  it  would  be  cold  at  night. Sturm  retained the
  dragon  mask,  and  threw  an  ankle-length  cloak  around  his
  shoulders. The hood hid  his dark  hair. There  was no  time to
  search  for  the  sword  that had  been taken  from him,  so he
  'borrowed'  one  of Merinsaard's.  Tas would  be proud  of him,

 he  thought  ruefully.  The  simple-hilted  weapon  was plated
 with mirror-finished silver, and fitted  with a  black leather
 scabbard. Sturm buckled the sword belt under the cloak.
   At  the  entrance  of  the  grand  tent,  he   shouted,  "My
 horse!" A soldier ran to the picket line  and returned  with a
 magnificent white charger.
   "The apothecary  reports the  poultice has  healed Mai-tat's
 hoof," the soldier said in a rapid, breathless voice. "The man
 begs your lordship to spare him."
   Why  not?  "I  give  him his  life," Sturm  said in  what he
 hoped was a  convincingly arrogant  manner. He  put a  foot in
 the  stirrup  and  swung  onto  Mai-tat. The  spirited charger
 pranced in a half-circle, causing the soldier to retreat.
   Sturm  opened  his  mouth  to  explain  his  departure, then
 quickly  realized  that  Merinsaard  would  likely do  no such
 thing. "I shall return before morning," he said.
   "The  usual  guard  postings  remain?"  said  the  man who'd
 brought the horse.
   "Yes." Sturm tightened the reins to  quell the  nervous ani-
 mal. "Let there be no mistakes, or it will  be your  head!" he
 said.
   He  spurred  lightly  and  galloped  north,   toward  Castle
 Brightblade. Sturm regretted  not having  time to  scatter the
 cattle inside the old  keep. But  there was  no time  for such
 diversions;  the   moment  the   real  Merinsaard   awoke  and
 freed  himself  from  his  bonds, the  hunt for  Sturm Bright-
 blade would begin.