Douglas Niles - Ironhelm

The masked figure paused below them, well out of sword range. They heard a sound, a muffled word, and suddenly the Ancient One floated straight up into the air! Poshtli growled something and Halloran suppressed a shudder.

The figure floated free of the pyramid, slowly drifting upward. When it reached a height equal to Hal's, it stopped and hung motionless in the air. The body looked human, though it was wrapped in black silken garments and leather boots. The moonlight reflected brightly, but this shape before them seemed a void of darkness in the night.

Suddenly they heard another command, a soft magical word, and then they were shrouded in complete darkness. "Helm's curses!" Hal stumbled backward, away from the edge of the pyramid, knowing that the Ancient One had cast a spell.

He heard Poshtli shout a challenge, followed by a splintering crack. Halloran imagined the wooden maca meeting that black steel longsword, with only one possible result. He heard a thud and a grunt. The legionnaire finally broke from the area of darkness, a bloblike bubble of magical fog that prevented all light from entering or leaving.

A dark form exploded from the darkness, and Halloran barely had time to raise Helmstooth. The deflection saved his life as the black steel of the Ancient One's sword slashed through the sleeve of his shirt but missed his skin by a hairbreadth.

Hal backed away, keeping himself between the attacker and Erix. The bubble of darkness slowly dissipated, but he still could not see Poshtli. The warrior had been swept off the pyramid by the Ancient One's attack.

They clanged blades several times, and the dark figure moved with shocking quickness. Again Hal was forced to retreat just to maintain his guard, Erix moving nimbly ahead of him, making sure they didn't get cornered.

Hal's blistered arm stung with each abrupt move that he made. Sweat ran into his eyes, and he frantically blinked it away, cursing the momentary blur in his vision. Still his foe assaulted him with that blinding, whirlwind speed.

Lunging desperately, Halloran began an attack that slowed the dark-swathed swordsman, even forced him to stumble back for several steps. But instantly the black figure recovered, and again Hal struggled to protect himself against a series of lightning blows.

The Ancient One made a dart to Hal's left, and the legionnaire lunged to block, cursing as his foot caught among the tangled brush on the pyramid.

Instantly as Hal fell, the attacker cut back to the right. The black steel did not come seeking the man, but instead darted after Erix. Hal twisted to his feet, fear energizing his reactions as the murderous figure closed in on the woman.

Once again his mind groped for a spell, any magic he could use to prevent disaster from striking Erixitl. He tried to think of the magic missile again, but the words would not come. Instead, he remembered the dream, falling asleep and then waking up to light. The command words to the light spell drifted through his mind impudently, useless and mocking. But it was all he had.

In desperation, he shouted the spell, not certain if his pronunciation was proper or if his hands were correctly positioned for the casting to work. If only he could delay the dark one for two seconds…

The cool wash of light surprised all of them. It emanated from Erixitl's feathertoken, a medium glow that clearly illuminated the top of the pyramid. Hal again leaped forward, but started in surprise as the Ancient One reeled away, clutching his hands to his mask and screaming an inhuman, high-pitched shriek as the light seemed to sear his eyes with pain.

The figure turned away from Erix, hissing its rage, just as Helmstooth darted toward its chest. The blow was strong and true, but Hal's blade jarred against a shirt of black chain mail, almost unnoticeable under the black silk shirt.

The Ancient One quickly recovered his balance and forced Hal backward again with savage, lightning strokes. The figure held its arm raised, blocking the bright light. He felt himself approaching the edge of the pyramid, struggling to turn away, but now the masked attacker sensed cold, cruel victory, and the attacks came with unrelenting force.

Halloran parried to the left and took a gash in his right arm. He slashed back to the right and cried out as the black steel bit into his blistered left flank. Then his foot felt only air behind him, and he knew he could retreat no farther.

Helmstooth wavered before him as he maintained a careful guard, but the Ancient One took his time about this attack. He raised his sword arm high, its tip pointed low, toward Halloran, as Hal desperately struggled for room to maneuver. The attacker's black-gauntleted hand moved slowly back and forth.

Then the swordsman's arm moved suddenly, but not to attack. Hal saw a great shadow momentarily block out the moonlight, and then powerful talons seized his sword arm and twisted. The harsh cry of an eagle rang in the Ancient One's ears.

Poshtli's beak slashed downward in a savage bite as his powerful wings pummeled the black head. The flying eagle tore at the Ancient One, his talons scratching at the scalp as the swordsman desperately tried to deflect the blows. Halloran darted to the side, getting his feet on solid ground, and attacked.

The bird suddenly pulled upward, flapping toward the night sky as the black steel blade swept toward it. A few feathers floated down, while one of the eagle's powerful talons remained clenched at the figure's hooded mask. With another beat of those powerful wings, the bird lifted away, and with him went the silken mask.

Halloran almost held his stroke, so shocked was he by the visage of the Ancient One. His face was twisted by hatred, but Hal saw the tall shock of white hair and the pale, almost luminous eyes, both contrasted by the ink-black skin. The slender physique and pointed ears left no doubt in his mind as to the nature of the creature.

His hand almost hesitated in his amazement and fear at this element of old-world evil, here flourishing in a new land. He almost delayed, but he did not.

Helmstooth darted like a hungry fang underneath the Ancient One's arm as the dark attacker struck upward at the eagle. The tip of the blade penetrated deep, avoiding the impervious steel of the chain mail and striking straight to the creature's heart.

The black-skinned face contorted into a leer of disbelieving horror. The wide, pale eyes bulged outward from the slender face, and the Ancient One's mouth worked soundlessly. Halloran swiftly withdrew his blade, holding it poised for another thrust.

But the enemy began to sag. A sound, like the dolorous sighing of a thousand condemned souls, groaned forth from his mouth, followed by a spray of dark blood. The luminous eyes fixed Halloran with a gaze of implacable hated that, as the body slumped, faded to the vacant stare of the dead. Poised on the edge of the pyramid, the body slipped over the lip and tumbled through the brush, toward the green earth below.

"The drow is dead," said Halloran curtly, watching the dark elf fall.

Captain-General Cordell gathered his Golden Legion in precise ranks. All the footmen were present, and most of the horse. A few patrolled the lands around Ulatos, claiming tribute from the surrounding villages.

The companies gathered beside the redoubt they now called Fort Helmsport. Ten thousand natives, mostly warriors but also many dignitaries and even some women and children, had gathered to witness this ceremony of their new rulers.

"Men of the legion!" Cordell's voice rang across the field and the lagoon. The blackened hulks of several ships were visible jutting from the water. The rest had sunk in deeper areas, and while they were all visible from the hilltop, most of them did not protrude above the surface.

"Our course is now determined! There will be no turning back, for one or for many. The legion will fight, it will succeed or fail, as a whole!