Elanthe stood, struck dumb, before the two councilors. Her own actions had made it impossible for Chuck to win. She had mortgaged her spirit to get Ignatz out of the way and leave two votes in support of Chuck. To leave the solid majority that supported him. What could she do now?

  Arthur.

  He was just yards away, trying to organize this mob of farmers into a fighting force. Arthur. "Noctura," she said, turning away from Franz and Ignatz and towards the horse. "Make this mob shut up and clear a path between Arthur and me."

  The horse huffed once, and a dark shimmer rippled over her coat. The square dropped into complete silence, marred only by the sounds of distant roars. All eyes turned towards Elanthe as she began to walk through the crowd which parted before her like long grass in a meadow. No one dared speak. They all stared at her.

  It felt like an eternity to cross the twenty yards to Arthur, who stood frozen to the spot with one arm still raised, mouth still open. As Elanthe came nearer, he recovered his composure and walked towards her. "My Lady?"

  Elanthe glanced down and saw herself as she appeared to them—an elven warrior from the old tales her grandmother had whispered to her as she fell asleep. The chainmail glinted bright silver beneath a dark blue doublet. A doublet made from the fabric from Stefania's modest village dress with its tiny golden flowers, transformed into something that belonged on a battlefield. The skirt of linked rings hung to her knees, practical and protective. Her borrowed sword rode at her hip. She looked like she belonged on a pedestal to be worshiped, belonged in an epic for the ages, not standing in the street of some backwater village. A whisp of jet black hair whipped in front of her face before returning to flow in the wind behind her.

  She looked nothing like the terrified maiden who'd nearly been sacrificed two weeks ago.

  "Arthur," she said, her voice carrying across the silent square. "The council needs you."

  "But… But the militia…"

  "It can wait for a minute." She gently took him by the hand and led him back to where Franz and Stefania watched enraptured. She reached out and stroked Noctura's neck as she passed, and the mare released the collected men and women from whatever vision she'd given them. There was a collective intake of breath.

  "Arthur is prepared to join the village council. Are you not, Arthur?"

  "I… Yes, I am."

  Elanthe bounded onto the back of Noctura and stood high above the gathered villagers. "Arthur has volunteered to sit on the village council and represent you. Is there anyone here opposed?"

  Silence.

  "Is there anyone opposed!"

  "Arthur!" Wilhelm's voice cut through the silence. "Arthur for council!"

  The crowd erupted. Fists pumped skyward. Voices overlapped in a cacophony of support that drowned out the distant clash of combat. Wilhelm raised his fist in the air and started pumping in time with his chants of Arthur's name.

  Elanthe slid off Noctura's back to land in front of Franz and Stefania. "Three is what you need, yes?" Elanthe asked, holding forth Mum's parchment, ink, and quill.

  Franz seized them from her hand. "Three is enough." He hesitated with a wet quill just a millimeter from the paper. "Councilors, we are agreed then. We accept Sir Chuck as Lord Protector of the village. Aye?"

  "Aye."

  "Aye."

  * * *

  The lieutenant grinned at me, all fangs and muscle. Seven feet of war-demon in spiked armor, holding a morning star that had probably caved in a hundred skulls before mine. I hoped mine wouldn't be next, but I didn't hold out much hope, unless the ridiculous little flag on the helmet would somehow prevent it.

  I gripped my mace and stalked forward.

  My shield felt like cardboard. Arthur's chestplate pressed against my cracked rib with every breath. The demon swung his morning star in lazy circles, warming up his shoulder like this was practice.

  "You're the one who made Vorghammul the Destroyer file paperwork?" His voice rumbled with a barely contained laugh. "That was an excellent joke. We laugh at him behind his back because of it. Now I, Krazzakk, am going to kill you before he can, and take his revenge from him. He'll be cursing you for years to come."

  I didn't answer. Talking before a fight never helps. In fact, when your opponent goes silent and just watches you, you know that it's on with the slightest move. It's a final warning that many men miss.

  The demon didn't care. He laughed and charged.

  The first swing whistled past my ear as I ducked. The second caught my shield dead center and split it down the middle. Metal exploded outward, and my left arm went numb from fingertips to shoulder. I didn't know that it was possible to do such a thing.

  I tried to throw the ruined shield at his face, but the straps were disappointingly strong, and it wouldn't release from my arm. He batted it aside and kicked me in the chest, denting my chestplate. It hurt.

  My feet left the ground, and I hit the bridge stones hard enough to bounce, armor clanging, breath gone. My broken rib probably gained a partner or two, and reminded me that I should still be in bed. The world spun.

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  "Disappointing." The lieutenant strolled toward me, morning star resting on his shoulder. "Vorgham said you defied the Demon King to his face. I expected more fight."

  I rolled sideways as the morning star cratered the stones where my head had been. Chips of granite peppered my face, lacing it with minor cuts. I pushed myself up, vision swimming, tasting copper. This was bad.

  He waited. Actually waited for me to stand, like killing me too fast would bore him.

  My mace felt heavy. Everything felt heavy. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

  "Come on, paladin." He beckoned with clawed fingers. "Show me that divine fire. Make it interesting."

  I came at him swinging. He blocked my overhead strike with the morning star's haft, twisted, and clubbed me across the jaw with an armored elbow.

  Stars burst across my vision. Blood filled my mouth—more blood, I should say. I would have been knocked down, but the parapet I was flung against kept me upright. My poor ribs!

  "There's the spirit!" He drove a knee into my groin.

  I folded, gagging, and he grabbed the back of my neck. His claws punched through my collar, found skin, and stopped just as they drew blood. He lifted me like a sack of grain and slammed me face-first into the bridge parapet.

  Stone cracked against my helmet. My nose broke. Blood poured hot down my face, into my mouth, choking me.

  He lifted me again.

  Through the blood and pain, I saw Krag still fighting at the end of the bridge, demons swarming him and almost pushing him into the water now. He'd have made short work of this one, but he was busy. Bad luck for me.

  Krazzakk walked me toward the parapet like he was carrying groceries.

  "Going to split your skull on these stones." He carefully positioned me, lining up the angle. "Let your brains spill into the creek. Send pieces of you floating past that gargoyle while he drowns."

  He threw me back against the it, where I threw my arms over it to hold myself upright. If I were going to get killed, I would get killed on my feet. He reared his arm back and I tried to stand. Time slowed down. I could see the spiked ball of the morningstar as it started traveling the arc that led to my skull.

  "Any last wor—"

  There was a flash of golden light, and my boot slipped in some starfish goo. Not stumbled. Not twisted. Just slipped, smooth as silk, as if I'd stepped on ice that wasn't there.

  My sudden drop caught the demon off guard. Straight down I went, and my leg shot up into his demon nuggets—a full-on shin to his demonic jewels. I thrust upwards and back with all of my strength, which, combined with his momentum, carried him forward over my collapsing form and, more importantly, over the side of the bridge.

  He grabbed for the parapet with his free hand and caught it, claws biting into stone.

  I snapped around and smashed his hand with my mace, and was rewarded with a yowl of pain. I found my footing and smashed it again. And again. And again. On the sixth or seventh hit, he let go.

  The instant he hit the water, his roar of rage ended. He was gone.

  Gone.

  I collapsed against the parapet, gasping, spitting blood. My hands shook. Everything shook. It may have been a minor miracle, but I'd take it. I was still in the game. My now multiple cracked ribs wanted me to do anything but keep playing.

  No time. Krag's roar of frustration pulled my head around. The gargoyle's upper left arm no longer ended in a hand; the wrist simply ending. Demons climbed his back, tearing at his wings. He swung his remaining good arms in wide arcs, catching a handful at a time, but they kept coming. They just kept coming.

  I pushed myself up. I tried to wipe the blood from my face and only succeeded in smearing it. The thought suddenly occurred to me to check that I still had all my teeth. I did. I thought to myself that I'd smile as Vorghammul took off my head and started to shuffle towards the far end of the bridge. I had to get some demons off Krag. So long as he was here, I had a chance.

  My legs wobbled as my useless shield dragged on the ground beside me, still strapped to my arm. My chest felt like someone had driven railroad spikes through my ribs. But I was still standing. Until I stumbled and faceplanted on the bridge.

  No! I wasn't done yet. I dragged myself up using the parapet once more.

  "Oi!" I spat blood over the side of the bridge. "Form up on me!"

  I don't know why I said it, as there was no one left to form up. Pemberton vanished, Calista vanquished, Boots bugged out—poor puppy, he did his best. Krag losing inch by inch.

  Just me, then. And Mum, waiting at the end of the bridge for Elanthe and the relief she was supposedly bringing. The devil still looked smug. "You got this, Master. Just another minute or two. Don't die."

  I had to laugh. Don't die. It occurred to me that I still needed a box of his cigars. I'd get it from him when this was over. Was I repeating my thoughts now?

  I started forward, each step an act of will, just in time to watch them pull Krag down.

  Krag bellowed, the sound shaking loose leaves from nearby trees. Two of his remaining hands held squirming demons, the third a fist that swung like a wrecking ball, snapping spines, pulping skulls, and hurling broken bodies hither and yon. But demons are resilient and single-minded, and merely ripping a limb off here and there was not enough to stop them.

  "Get off him!" I stumbled forward, mace raised, knowing I'd never reach him in time. I made it four steps before falling again.

  A dog-faced demon drove a war pick into the crack in Krag's knee. Stone splintered. The gargoyle's roar turned agonized as his knee buckled, dropping him to where more claws could pull him towards the edge.

  "No!"

  Krag swept his remaining arms wide, catching a trio of demons and flinging them away. But he'd lost his balance. His massive feet scraped backward on the exposed earth and stone of the embankment, talons gouging deep furrows as he fought to hold position. He beat his wings to keep his balance, but demons clung to those, too.

  The demons knew. They pressed harder, throwing themselves at him, his chest, sacrificing themselves to push him back one more inch. Two more. Three.

  His left foot slipped over the embankment edge.

  "Krag!" My voice cracked.

  He looked at me. Those amber eyes found mine across the length of the bridge, and I swear I saw shame there. Shame that he'd failed in his charge to defend the bridge. Shame that he'd been unable to stand against nearly half a century of foes alone.

  Then a dozen demons hit him simultaneously, and he went over.

  The crash when he hit the stream sounded like a building collapsing. Water exploded upward in a geyser, carrying demons with it. Krag's massive form disappeared beneath the surface, stone dissolving the instant the flowing water closed over him.

  The demons clinging to him vanished too, swept away or dispelled, I didn't know which. All I knew was that my gargoyle was gone.

  Gone.

  All of my fighters gone.

  The bridge fell silent except for my ragged breathing and the splash of water below.

  I stood alone—okay, so I leaned against the parapet alone at the center of the span. No Krag. No Calista. No backup coming. Just me, a broken nose, rib or two, and shield. But I still had my mace—a mace I could barely lift.

  Vorghammul stepped onto the bridge from the far end, flanked by more demons than I cared to count.

  He smiled.

  "Now, little paladin," he said. "We have some business to attend to."

  Paladin. Yes. That's what I was.