I wanted Perdinger. I wanted Perdinger the way a hound wants a hare, the way a falling falcon wants the bird that flits beneath. I wanted to crush him beneath my fist. I wanted to grind him under my heel. I wanted my sword to feast on his flesh and his suffering. I could never repay the crime and horror he had visited on me that day, but I could bloody try.

But Dirk would die.

One friend had already perished that day. Would murdering Perdinger bring Lauren back? Would bathing in his blood justify letting Dirk fall to the blades of charging knights?

I didn't have time to wonder why he was in this position. I couldn't hesitate to consider what crime he might have committed or what violation he had perpetrated.

With a curse and a snort of regret, I turned my Footfield across the plain toward him.

As it was, I had been a step too slow.

A knight dipped in the saddle, lance pointed at the form struggling to rise. Hooves thundered into the earth and the tip of the lance sailed forward. Dirk dodged aside, saving his life, but not avoiding the blow completely. Even as I raced, too far to stop the attack, I saw the dense dark spray of blood rising from him as the lance scraped across his body.

Twelve knights waited. It was not a good proposition for a Griidlord. Their power weapons could melt through my armor as though it wasn't there. Here, on the fringes of the city, we were in our own arena. The rain filled the air, curling like clouds of smoke in gales sweeping in from the lake. It was miserable, dark, but strangely private.

Enki's voice erupted in my head. How long had it been since it last visited me? The reappearance chilled and startled me.

It said, "I suppose there's no point trying to convince you that this isn't worth the risk. There are fifty thousand more Jaxwulfs in the world, a million more Burghsmen. We can get a new one."

I stormed on. The knights noticed me, turning their horses and their starving blades toward me, forgetting Dirk in the face of the new and more ominous threat that I posed.

Enki said, "I want my protest to be on the record."

I didn't answer. My hand snapped down for my sword, the fire of it blazing as it rose in my grasp.

Enki said, "If you're not going to have the decency to take my opinion into account, then I'm going to lay down a sick beat."

Despite my focus, I had to respond, confused. "A sick beat?"

"I'm going to drop a track on you. A lone Griidlord, exhausted from a record-setting cross-country pursuit, facing down twelve knights of the realm with weapons that can slice through him like your sword slices through the flesh of your victims."

"They're not victims. I was at war."

"Said the toddler to the ants. Anyway, I'm going to sing now."

I groaned, maybe whimpered. "No."

Then they were on me, and I had no more time for words.

Enki's voice droned, approximating song, producing a rhythm and words I did not know.

"Shiny happy people laughing."

One of the knights charged ahead of the others, bearing a power-glaive couched like a lance. I leapt when it was three feet away, seizing POWER at the last moment, knowing I would need all of it for these moments. The steed before me startled at the sudden fire blazing from my visor and turned. The man above it jerked to keep his balance. He didn't keep his head. My sword sang in the air as it clove through the top of his helm, splattering steel and blood like a shattered watermelon.

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"Meet me in the crowd, people, people. Throw your love around, love me, love me."

"Stop it," I roared at the voice.

I was airborne, sailing over the corpse as it slid from the saddle. I torpedoed down, feet first into the rider behind him. The force of my fall hit him in the chest, breastplate and ribs caving as one, the crunch instantaneous like a foot singing into gravel.

"Take it into town, happy, happy."

The man's body was carried by my momentum and left the back of his horse. We hit the ground together, his smashed form unmoving, mine instantly in motion. The remaining ten wheeled around to find me. My blade flashed, the glowing heat passing through the legs of two wheeling horses, toppling them like bloody trees. A lance, its tip glowing with unnatural heat, sped toward me. I moved past it, the tip brushing my chest, puddling the armor like a soldering iron scoring soft plastic. I slid up the length of the lance, the weapon guiding my sword into the chest of the wielder.

"Put it in the ground where the flowers grow."

I spun. Of the two riders of the downed horses only one stood. The other lay twisted horribly, his neck jutting impossibly to one side. The other charged, a crackling axe raised to crush me. Under POWER he moved in slow motion. I swept my blade out and cut him in half.

That left eight. It was too many. They swarmed around me. Too many weapons swinging, too much to track and account for. They were damned good.

A spear thrust at my head. I lashed back as I dodged, aware of a blood-trailing arm spinning through the air. A sword stabbed, scoring my shoulder. I seized a rider's horse by the neck and pulled, lifting the huge animal, twisting my body, tossing it toward the riders behind me. Animals screamed, horses crying with a pain that humans could never express. Human groans followed.

I felt impossibly threatened. I felt desperation. But as I watched the horse hurtle through the air, knowing my hands had done that, I felt so terribly powerful.

Gold and silver shine.

An arrow sparked off my helm. A conventional arrow. I barely felt it. I pulsed BEAM at the mounted archer and his form became ash.

Two charged me together, streaming toward me with choreographed perfection, their horses a wall of meat and momentum that could spell my doom as easily as the blazing lances of their riders. I leapt again, diving over the lance of the first, stabbing awkwardly, spearing the skull of the rider.

The other lance found me, the tip burning through me, catching me in the lower torso. My suit and my body screamed in pain as the lance burst through me, arresting my momentum and dragging me forward. The pull of my weight was too much for the knight and he lost his grip on the lance. I fell to the ground, skewered by the weapon. The pain was excruciating, the wound disabling.

Shiny happy people holding hands.

I had to be fast. I slammed my fist into the lance, shattering it. I jerked it out of me, the squelching suction of it leaving my body made me sick. The pain nearly blinded me. My blood gushed to join that of my fallen foes.

There were six left. I couldn't focus on the nauseating pain. I needed to fight to live long enough for this wound to kill me. No. The thrown horse had killed two more. There were four left.

Was I committing an act of war? These were the lawful officers of another city. I supposed it was only an act of war if any of them lived to identify me. It was unlikely anyone on the walls beyond could see me clearly through the distance, the action, the clouds of blood, and the turbulence of the storm. The edges of the settlement were void of signs of humanity. Sensible folk took shelter from the onslaught of the sky. I realized I was once again painted in the lifeblood of my enemies. The gushing blood from my own wound mixed with the last pulses of how many of the others. The blood flowed down me as the rain rushed over my form.

Shiny happy people holding hands.

The last four came in formation. They had wheeled around to gain momentum for the charge. They must have bet on their speed to best my BEAM, knowing that some would die to it, but hoping enough might make it through to claim me.

They were wrong.

BEAM lanced out once, evaporating the helm and skull of a rider. It pulsed again, cratering a chest, burrowing a hole through which daylight shone. I staggered, feeling the weakness from my injury. The stagger sent the next shot a little wild, the BEAM burrowing through the neck of a horse, melting the legs of the rider. Man and beast collapsed to the ground, both bleeding their last.

One remained, charging at me. My vision swam from the pain and shock of my wound. I needed to keep focus. This one charged with a huge glowing sword raised in the air.

I moved sluggishly, POWER flickering, the speed of the world around me surging forward and slowing with the beat of my heart. Everything blurred in the last instant. Weakness consumed me. I staggered, my sword faltered, the knight's path to my end clear.

Suddenly there was a small knife handle jutting from the man's neck. I furrowed my brow, not understanding.

The man went limp and slid from the saddle as the mount cantered on, checking me with its side, sending me spinning away from the impact.

Shiny happy people holding hands.

I found my feet again, arrested my spin, and found myself looking at Dirk where he lay, bleeding on the ground, his hand still extended from the knife throw that had saved my life.

I hadn't time to thank him or think about it. I turned back for the gates of Buffalo. I had prey to bring down.

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