Free The Golden Shield of IBF by Jerry Ahern, Sharon Ahern Page B

far, the boy seemed to be doing well enough that he might, indeed, survive the moment.
    “The man with her, Yeoman. Second-sight me what you can tell of him. Before, I asked if a weapon is in his hand.”
    Moc’Dar waited.
    The young Yeoman Spellbreaker began to speak, his hushed tones barely audible over the keening of the wind. “If it is a weapon, my Captain, it is unlike any that I have seen. It is some strange device. I know not what.”
    “What do you see of the man holding it?”
    “He is tall, like you, my Captain. Beneath his great cape, I thought that I glimpsed odd raiment covering his legs. He moves powerfully through the snowdrifts. The woman with him holds tightly to his elbow.”
    If the Virgin Enchantress had not been consumed by the Mist of Oblivion, what was she doing so long afterward—a full day—tramping about near the boundary of the wood with a strange man beside her? This man, Moc’Dar mused, might prove very interesting to question.
    With Moc’Dar, not counting the Yeoman Spellbreaker who was borrowed from an ordinary unit within the Horde, were twelve from the Sword of Koth, more than enough men to handle five from the Company of Mir (doubtlessly the origin of the five riders approaching along the track). But the presence of the Virgin Enchantress, with her very powerful magic, altered the equation considerably.
    Did he dare attack, or should he follow his orders to the rune and only observe?
    The Queen Sorceress, when personally charging him with this foray, had not said to avoid engagement, only that his purpose was to closely watch the plain where lately the castle of the Virgin Enchantress had been.
    If he could strike quickly, Moc’Dar reasoned, he could capture alive at least one, likely two from the Company of Mir. Should his own methods of persuasion fail somehow to loosen the captives’ tongues, the Queen Sorceress’s ministrations would not fail. Success here could lead to the speedy and permanent obliteration of the Company of Mir. If he did not act, it was inevitable that the Virgin Enchantress and her enigmatic companion would join with the five riders—perhaps this was a planned rendezvous—and all hope of seizing a prisoner for interrogation would be gone.
    Moc’Dar’s decision was made.
    In a future time, Moc’Dar mused, there would be some magical spell much like the second-sight, but one which would enable a commander to talk with those who served under him while they were positioned for battle, a way in which whispered words might travel through the very air.
    For now, however, there was the Action Cord. Carefully, disturbing as little as possible the snow camouflaging him, Moc’Dar unwound the black cord from the spike he’d driven into the snowy ground when he’d first taken his position. Moc’Dar tugged on the Action Cord, a series of long and short pulses, the Action Cord Code that each new recruit to the Queen’s Sword of Koth had to commit to memory within a single night or suffer a hideous death the next morning. Moc’Dar applauded the skillful use of subtle incentives to bring out the best in a man.
    The message he sent read, “This is Moc’Dar. Every second Sword of Koth joins me beneath the Ka’B’Oo tree at the edge of the boundary near the track. Move with silence and stealth. No fireswords. Enemy forces nearby. Ends.” Moc’Dar relashed the Action Cord to its stake.
    Moc’Dar’s lieutenant, Bog’Luc, would hold to his operational orders and hold this position, continuing to observe. “Go to Bog’Luc, Yeoman,” Moc’Dar ordered. “With stealth. Inform the lieutenant of the details you have reported with the second-sight. Serve Bog’Luc well. Go!”
    “Yes, my Captain.”
    The Yeoman Spellbreaker was up and moving with surprising rapidity. Moc’Dar would have laughed at him had there been the time. Instead, he too was up and moving through the wood, battleaxe in hand. A firesword’s red gleaming steel would alert the Company of