of an angry furnace, and waited. His Scramasax hung limply from his fingers, blood draining slowly down the blade to drip, unhurried, into a small pool on the granite walkway.
      The knight watched him still, arms outstretched in front of him, palms resting on the hilt of his mighty battle-sword, which stood naked point down before him.
      Longshanks stood there, shaking, the initial blood rush ebbing in his veins. Then the madness began creeping back upon him as a voice shouted up from the bailey.
      "Damn you, Wildenstain!! I want his head!!" Sieghard of Schürstab trembled in rage. His voice quaked. "Kill him!!!"

  * * *  

 

D

 
uril looked up, once again maddened beyond comprehension. "One at a time, or all of you together, I will take you down, you mother-loving whore-dogs!!" he growled, then bellowed. "I will shake this keep down to its very foundations, and pave the road to Hell with its foot-stones!!!" The ranger felt the muscles in his legs tighten as he girded himself to leap once again into battle.
      The wind whistled over the hillock to the north, and the battle-maidens murmured amongst themselves. Their corselets of mail shimmered and gleamed with the slightest motion. Then a mere turn of their leader's head stilled them again into silent contemplation.
      "Ye always were one tae wax a wee bit melodramatic," came a dry voice from beside him.
      Longshanks spun his head around, to see, much to his astonishment, his friend the Rogue sitting up. Speechless, he grabbed up his comrade beneath one arm and helped him to his feet.
      "Gods!!" he exclaimed finally, and not

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