Free The Golden Shield of IBF by Jerry Ahern, Sharon Ahern
Authors: Jerry Ahern, Sharon Ahern
darkness. They might not have the courage to attack a company of seven men, or even six; but one man who strayed from the path might be too tempting for the foul beasts to resist. Erg’Ran touched his clenched fist to his forehead once again, asking the courage of Mir to be with Gar’Ath.
Swan made light appear from her left hand, to guide them through the swirling gloom: her right hand lay in the crook of Al’An’s elbow. His right hand grasped one of his weapons. The wind blew more strongly and the snow fell more rapidly than before. The snow piled up in ever deeper drifts the nearer they approached to the boundary with the wood.
Once there, she would search for the track that had been the road, the track over which she had lately ridden to the millers hut on her strongly built little white horse. The gentle creature was devoured, of course, when the Mist of Oblivion enveloped the castle and all within it.
Upon reaching the wood, Al’An and she could spend the rest of the night with some protection from the cold and wind and snow. By morning, her magic would be stronger, adequate at least to cast a place-shifting spell that would bring them to the encampment behind the Falls of Mir. And adequate to get them out of there quickly if need be. There was a strong chance that the encampment had already been attacked, or that Erg’Ran, learning of Swan’s mother’s use of the Mist of Oblivion, had wisely decided to break camp and go deeper into hiding. She would gamble on finding her compatriots in the Company of Mir, but only when she was strong enough should her worst fears prove out.
It was probable that her magical energy was sufficiently restored to place-shift them at this very moment. Yet if she did so, her magic would be too depleted to whisk them away again to safety should the encampment have been overrun, occupied by the Horde of Koth. That she could not risk.
She would wait.
Al’An, ready for danger as best he could be and telling her, “I have a very good reading knowledge of swords, but have never used one. You keep the sword,” held one of his pistols ready still. When she had asked if it were a laser pistol, he told her, “Hardly. Aren’t any laser pistols for real yet. This is the next best thing, a SIG P-220 .45 loaded with Federal Hydra-Shoks. Rest easy.” He had winked his eye; it was most charming. Swan hoped that he would do so again.
Swan did not wish to dishearten him, but a mechanical device could be bewitched much more easily than a sword, which was all but impossible to be cast upon, even by means of magic as powerful as her mother’s. Swan mentioned nothing at all of that to Al’An for the moment.
“Once we’re in the forest, what next, Swan?”
“I must locate the track which leads to the miller’s hut, Al’An.”
“We’re going to stay at this miller’s hut place, then?”
“It is too far to travel on foot, and too dangerous a journey at night,” she informed him. “I have more than enough magic to make a warm fire for us, and you needn’t know how to fight with a sword to use my sword to get us more wood that might be lying about.”
“Sounds like a good plan, except for one thing.” Al’An laughed. Swan liked the sound. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
“Neither do I. What is breakfast?”
“The first meal of the day.”
“Oh.”
“And, I didn’t eat any lunch. And, on my body at least, if my wristwatch isn’t screwed up, it’s after nine. I’m hungry. Can your magic make us anything to eat?”
Now, Swan laughed. Men were always hungry, at least as far as she was able to discern. She would ask him about the “wristwatch” word later, unless her language spell provided her with its meaning. As to food, she told him, “I make food appear for myself whenever I am hungry. I have the magical energy to make enough for two.”
“Considering how long it’s been since I’ve eaten, any chance that magic of yours can rustle up seconds?”
Swan had
Swan made light appear from her left hand, to guide them through the swirling gloom: her right hand lay in the crook of Al’An’s elbow. His right hand grasped one of his weapons. The wind blew more strongly and the snow fell more rapidly than before. The snow piled up in ever deeper drifts the nearer they approached to the boundary with the wood.
Once there, she would search for the track that had been the road, the track over which she had lately ridden to the millers hut on her strongly built little white horse. The gentle creature was devoured, of course, when the Mist of Oblivion enveloped the castle and all within it.
Upon reaching the wood, Al’An and she could spend the rest of the night with some protection from the cold and wind and snow. By morning, her magic would be stronger, adequate at least to cast a place-shifting spell that would bring them to the encampment behind the Falls of Mir. And adequate to get them out of there quickly if need be. There was a strong chance that the encampment had already been attacked, or that Erg’Ran, learning of Swan’s mother’s use of the Mist of Oblivion, had wisely decided to break camp and go deeper into hiding. She would gamble on finding her compatriots in the Company of Mir, but only when she was strong enough should her worst fears prove out.
It was probable that her magical energy was sufficiently restored to place-shift them at this very moment. Yet if she did so, her magic would be too depleted to whisk them away again to safety should the encampment have been overrun, occupied by the Horde of Koth. That she could not risk.
She would wait.
Al’An, ready for danger as best he could be and telling her, “I have a very good reading knowledge of swords, but have never used one. You keep the sword,” held one of his pistols ready still. When she had asked if it were a laser pistol, he told her, “Hardly. Aren’t any laser pistols for real yet. This is the next best thing, a SIG P-220 .45 loaded with Federal Hydra-Shoks. Rest easy.” He had winked his eye; it was most charming. Swan hoped that he would do so again.
Swan did not wish to dishearten him, but a mechanical device could be bewitched much more easily than a sword, which was all but impossible to be cast upon, even by means of magic as powerful as her mother’s. Swan mentioned nothing at all of that to Al’An for the moment.
“Once we’re in the forest, what next, Swan?”
“I must locate the track which leads to the miller’s hut, Al’An.”
“We’re going to stay at this miller’s hut place, then?”
“It is too far to travel on foot, and too dangerous a journey at night,” she informed him. “I have more than enough magic to make a warm fire for us, and you needn’t know how to fight with a sword to use my sword to get us more wood that might be lying about.”
“Sounds like a good plan, except for one thing.” Al’An laughed. Swan liked the sound. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
“Neither do I. What is breakfast?”
“The first meal of the day.”
“Oh.”
“And, I didn’t eat any lunch. And, on my body at least, if my wristwatch isn’t screwed up, it’s after nine. I’m hungry. Can your magic make us anything to eat?”
Now, Swan laughed. Men were always hungry, at least as far as she was able to discern. She would ask him about the “wristwatch” word later, unless her language spell provided her with its meaning. As to food, she told him, “I make food appear for myself whenever I am hungry. I have the magical energy to make enough for two.”
“Considering how long it’s been since I’ve eaten, any chance that magic of yours can rustle up seconds?”
Swan had