Inspector Stefan Bane was the bait, riding for his life, as he led Lord Blackmoor’s bravos on a wild chase down the Avea road. Stefan was almost to the bridge over the stream at the village of Chester where he would spring his trap. It was time to signal Rolf and his men. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the communications mirror.

        Pressing the release, he flipped open the black case with one hand, and brought it to his face. “Bane to Creel. They’re right behind me! Meet me with your men on the bridge. Rolf?” Rolf’s face failed to appear in the mirror. Stefan swore, snapped it shut, and flipped it open again.

        “Rolf, damn it, where are you?” If he got out of this alive, Stefan was going to thrash Inspector Rolf Creel.

        Still no answer.

He tried to make the connection again as his horse came around a bend. Three men on horseback blocked the road, wands held ready. As Stefan leaned back and jerked hard on the reins, the mirror case slipped from his fingers. The horse skidded to a stop, front legs straight, its sweat flecked haunches almost sitting on the ground, and its eyes white with fear.

“Hell’s Demons!” The first blast just missed him. Stefan tried to aim his wand but the bay was dancing in circles. Good thing, it was making him a damned hard target. Blasts shot past his head. He fired and missed. Jerking the reins, he tried to get control of the horse to turn it around and make a retreat, but the terrified animal fought him.

        The three riders chasing him came around the sharp bend and stood in the stirrups, pulling hard on the reins of their mounts as they slid to a stop.

Cut off, Stefan turned in the saddle and fired. A man dropped, landing face down into the dirt.

        A blast from behind streaked the air, just missing Stefan’s head. Wheeling his horse around to face his attacker Stefan fired again. The man yelped in pain, dropped his wand, and clutched his arm. 

There was a gap now, and Stefan kicked his heels into the bay’s sides. The horse leaped forward towards the narrow space as the road burst into blue light. Caught in the crossfire of bolts, the air sizzled around him, the heavy smell of ozone burning in his nostrils. How he wasn’t struck was a miracle. Perhaps, the One God was watching over him, after all.

        A blue bolt just missed his knee, searing into his horse’s chest. The bay screamed and reared. His wand flew from his hand, arced through the air, and disappeared into the woods below the road. As he felt the horse collapse, Stefan dove from the saddle. He hit the soft dirt in a roll, and felt the heavy thud as the horse collapsed onto its side, its thrashing hooves just missing him. Stefan’s ears rang with the animal’s pain and terror.  

        Struggling to get to his feet, he faced his attackers. Without his wand to help him teleport or defend himself, he was at their mercy, what little they would show him. At last, by the One God’s pity, the screaming of the poor horse stopped.

One of the mounted men urged his horse closer, eliminating any room for Stefan to maneuver. “Hold your fire. He’s got nowhere to go.” The riders closed ranks around him to hold him in check, wands leveled at his head. He spun around trying to keep them in front of him, but their tight circle had him surrounded. Although, two of the men didn’t hold wands, it didn’t make them any less menacing.

        Stefan knew they meant to capture him and he couldn’t let that happen. Desperate, his eyes searched for some way out. The woods behind him were his only chance.

        Maneuvering closer to the road’s edge, Stefan positioned himself. “I suppose this won’t be a fair fight, will it?” Stefan searched their ranks for the leader.

        “Now, now, Inspector Bane, you know that’s not possible. Our orders are to bring you in alive, but, no one said anything about unhurt.” The man leaned forward in the saddle and pointed his wand at Stefan. “You’ve been a pain in Lord Blackmoor’s side for a long time. Perhaps it’s time for you to feel the prick of the thorn?”

        “I didn’t think your orders called for torture. Blackmoor usually prefers to do that himself.” He had no intention of being captured and having to practice his new skills of mental control while under Lord Blackmoor’s care.

        “They don’t. But I’m taking some initiative.” The bravo grinned. Looking to one of the men, he jerked his head towards Stefan. “He’s all yours, Sims.”

The man began to dismount as an expectant hush fell over the others.

Stefan took a step back. The ground beneath his boot disappeared. Feeling a sickening lurch, he dropped backwards over the side of the road, tumbled down the steep embankment, and crashed through the underbrush. Brambles tore at Stefan’s clothes as he tried to protect his face with his arms. Landing with a hard thud, he lay on his belly tangled in the debris at the bottom of the gully.  

Raking air into his lungs, Stefan got to his knees, then wiped the dirt and leaves from his face.  A quick inventory of his body told him there were only a few scratches, and no broken bones. He stood and looked around in frantic hopes of finding his wand.

Above him, a body broke through the brush and Stefan’s breath was knocked from his chest as Sims slammed into him. He rolled with the blow and came up on his feet, gasping for air. Sims’ large hands reached out as Stefan backpedaled away.

Circling in the small gully, they took each other’s measure.

Sims held no wand.

“So, is this my fair fight?” Raising his fists, Stefan prepared to defend himself. It was a fighting method rarely used, but one he’d practiced sparring with Rolf.

“Nope. Not fair.”

Sims’ eyes were uncanny and his speech strange. Stefan felt a cold dread pass over him. Something about this man was very wrong.

Lunging, Sims took hold of his jacket and tried to get a lock on his head. Stefan twisted to the side, his scrambling feet caught between his attacker’s. Together, they fell into the small rivulet dampening the gully. Cold water seeped into the back of Stefan’s clothes as the man’s weight pressed him into the soft mud. In what seemed to him like a vision, he spotted his wand only a few feet away. Stefan promised the One God a candle and a coin if he could just get to it but he was pinned beneath the man. As Sims raised his arm, Stefan caught the glint of light off cold steel.

What the hell?

        Pain ripped through his leg, forcing a roar from his throat.

Staring at the knife embedded in his thigh, his mind reeled. This man must be a lunatic. Sims struggled to his feet just as Stefan’s fist connected with his jaw, rocking his head back. He fell off, freeing Stefan. Scrambling backwards, his hand searched the damp leaf litter behind him for his dropped wand. Sims rose to a crouch, eyes filled with hatred as a smug grin spread across his thin lips. He pulled another knife from his boot. 

        Stefan’s eyes locked on the long steel blade as the man waved it back and forth in a threat. 

“Cut? Hurt? Get more before I’m finished.”

        If it weren’t happening to him, Stefan would never have believed the man had used a knife on him. Blood weapons had long since been abandoned. Working through the damp leaves and mud, Stefan’s fingers touched polished wood and he raked it into his hand. Gripping his wand so hard it was a wonder it didn’t snap in two, he spun it in his fingers and pointed the business end forward, bringing it to bear.

        “Hold.”

Uncertainty flickered in the man’s eyes, then they hardened and he lunged. Stefan poured his power into the wand and fired. Sims convulsed. His body fell so close to Stefan he could smell the man’s ripe sweat. The knife, still clutched in his fist, was driven into the dirt between Stefan’s boots. Perhaps if he’d had more time to think, or felt less as if his life hung on his actions, he would not have killed the man.

There was no time for regrets. The others were yelling on the road above him. They would come for him in a moment, and wounded, he’d be outnumbered and overpowered. His mind screamed at him to get the hell out of there, but he pushed it aside.

He rolled the body away from him with his foot, but it stopped. Even in death, Sims still grasped the knife. Stefan kicked the hand free of it and with a grunt of effort and disgust he pulled the blade from the ground and flung it far into the woods. Lying still in the muck, his eyes strained upward for a glimpse of his attackers as he tried to control his ragged breath.

        How did they know who I am?

        He hadn’t thought they’d seen through his disguise. The shabby farmer’s clothes he was wearing, a three-day stubble on his chin and his long hair pulled back into a tail under the wide-brimmed hat had even fooled the innkeeper who knew him well. When he’d left the tavern, his pockets full of gambling winnings, he was sure the three men who’d followed him meant merely to beat and rob a poor farmer of his gold.

        That assumption vanished when he’d turned the bend and met the others. He groaned, thinking Rolf would never let him live this down.

        The remaining men stood at the edge of the embankment and scanned the bushes below for their lost companion. Stefan held his wand ready, his other hand clamped around the knife protruding from his leg to staunch the bleeding. The leaves beneath him were growing sticky with his blood and the cloying smell added to the fetid air of the narrow gully.

This was not going well, to say the least. In order to save something from this disaster, he needed one of them alive for questioning. If he just kept the urge to teleport out of there in check and hold his position they’d be on him soon enough and he’d get his chance. He watched the ridge above him as their voices floated down.

        “Sims?” someone called out. “Did you get him with your blade?”

        “He got Sims.” There was a sort of reverence about the man’s voice that made Stefan smile.

        “It was a mistake to send a man down there that can’t use a wand.”

“Come along, you sots. Get down there and get him.”

        “His Lordship’ll be right pissed if we don’t return with the good inspector.”

        “Can’t we just kill him and tell Blackmoor we had no choice?”

        Come on, you bastards. Come down here and get me, Stefan thought.

        No one moved. Cowards, he knew it.

        “Hell’s Demons, get out of my way, Barker, I’ll get him.” One of the toughs started to make his way down the slope.

        Stefan raised his wand, held his breath, and waited. A small, lean man with a full black beard burst through the thick underbrush, a wand held in his right hand. The blast from Stefan’s wand hit him in the chest. The man groaned and his eyes rolled back in his head. Collapsing to his knees, he hung there for a moment, and then fell forward, unconscious, sliding head first down the slope towards Stefan.

        “Murphy, what happened? Where are you?” The leader’s voice was just above a hoarse whisper.

        “The bastard got him, too, that’s what.”

        “Kill him.” Callous laughter sent a chill through Stefan.

        “His Lordship said to bring him alive.”

        “I don’t give a damn about his lordship. He’s gotten two of us. I say we kill him. Who’s with me?”

        The pain in Stefan’s leg was growing and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he passed out from loss of blood. It was time to go. He couldn’t do anything more, except be killed or worse, be captured.

His original plan of ambushing the gang of thieves at Chester was in shambles. Without Rolf and his men, there was no hope of saving it either. However, there was still information to be learned. Better if he took his prisoner and made a strategic retreat.

He levered himself upright, and dragging his wounded leg, hobbled closer to the fallen man. Kneeling, Stefan reached down and touched the unconscious man’s outstretched arm. Holding his wand, he mustered his strength and teleported as far as he could in his weakened state with his hard won prize.

        Stefan opened his eyes and looked around. He was on the bridge at Chester, his hand still clutching the unconscious man at his side. With a soft groan, he lowered himself to the wooden planks to relieve the strain on his leg.

        “Hold! What’s going on here?” A patroller came running out of the guard shack on the Chester side of the bridge, his wand aimed at Stefan. “Identify yourself!”

        “I’m Inspector Bane. I need to get to Avalon. Had some trouble on the road.” Stefan clutched his bleeding leg and pointed with his wand. “This man is under arrest.”

        The young patroller’s searching gaze changed to happy recognition. “Inspector Bane! It is you! I’m Niles Wilson, sir.” Then, he froze, eyes wide and mouth open. “Is that a knife, sir?”

        “Aye.” Stefan nodded. Wilson still hadn’t moved, unable to take his eyes from the sight. “Come on, man, secure this fellow and help me to the shack.”

        Giving himself a shake, Wilson summoned a pair of manacles and secured the prisoner’s wrists together. He wrapped his arm around Stefan’s waist, helped him to stand and together they limped to the shack. As he slumped into a chair, Stefan pulled off his leather gloves, shoved them in a pocket of his jacket, and ran his shaking hand over his face. 

        How did Blackmoor’s men know about the trap?

He narrowed his slanted eyes to slits and let out his breath. There could be only one simple, yet horrible, explanation.

There was a traitor at Avalon Castle.

Wilson hurried back to the prisoner and, dragging him by the heels, dumped him just outside the small shack. Returning inside, he opened a large communications mirror case attached to the wall and looked into his reflection.

        “Patroller Wilson at Chester, to Avalon.”

        “Communications Officer Hastings at Avalon.” A woman’s face appeared in the mirror.

        “I’ve got Inspector Bane here. He’s wounded and needs help getting back to the castle. And he’s got a prisoner.”

        “Wounded?” Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly. “I’ll send an addler right away.”

        Wilson turned to the inspector. “He’ll be here shortly, sir.”

        “I heard, Wilson, thank you.” Stefan braced himself and without waiting to see the healer at Avalon, he pulled the knife from his leg with a grunt. Blood welled as the bleeding intensified. Retrieving a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he folded it into a pad and pressed it over the wound. Pulling off the leather strip that held a single slender braid of hair worn at his temple, Stefan tied it around his thigh, and twisted the knot to cut the flow of blood. He leaned back and rested his head against the wall.

 Rolf, when I get hold of you….

                             ***

“This way, please, Patroller Tallow.” Gustav, the head addler and steward of Avalon Castle, motioned for Sarah to follow him with a flick of his small, gloved hand. He stood only a little taller than her waist and had a half ring of thick gray-brown hair from one pointed ear to the other. He was an earth elemental, and she knew he must have been incredibly old to show signs of age, since addlers lived for hundreds of years. Nevertheless, he was still youthful in his step despite having a slight stoop to his shoulders.

He had been giving her a tour of the public areas of the castle. Now, they stood in the grand foyer before the symbol of the Avalon Patrol. A massive mounted black forest bear rose upright on its hind legs, teeth bared and front paws extended, its claws razor sharp. Sarah felt its power and fierceness, and she envied the bear’s great courage. However, she noted with a wry smile as she looked up at it, power, ferocity, and courage hadn’t helped this particular bear.

Pride in the great stone castle of Avalon was evident in Gustav’s droning lecture. “The Patrol has been housed in the castle for over one hundred and seventy-five years, and I have been steward from the beginning.” As he spoke, his small chest seemed to swell. Full of hot air, she thought. “Of course, you’ll reside on the Patroller’s corridor with the others.” He stood at the bottom of the grand white marble staircase. One small, gnarled hand rested on the intricate black wrought iron banister.

“Of course,” she nodded.

His expressive face sneered, as if he didn’t think much of those who held her new rank. Was he this rude to all the new recruits? Perhaps it was just her. On the one hand, patrollers needed only two years of training at the academy to win a post, beginning their careers with lesser majik skills. On the other hand, she hadn’t been to the academy and was lacking most of the basic skills of majik even to qualify for her modest rank. With a sigh, she thought, it must be me. Still, she shouldn’t allow his rude behavior towards her to continue.

As they climbed the stairs, Sarah’s eyes rose to the great stained glass windows dominating the wall at the top of the staircase. The afternoon sun coursed through the window’s panels, the colors refracted like crystal shards on the white marble stairs. On the left, the panel told the legend of the great forest bear who led his hunters to the site above the lake where the castle now stood. In the wider center panel, the bear stood in a pose similar to the one downstairs, raised on its hind legs, in defiance of those who would destroy it. On the right, the castle was depicted. Its spires hosted banners that streamed in the wind. Sarah felt the pressing weight of history and a ripple of excitement passed through her. At last, she would be a part of this world and contribute something important to it.

On either side of the wide landing the second floor branched off to the east and west wings. Half a dozen suits of armor stood at attention along each of the walls, pikes presented and flying the castle’s bear-embroidered pennants. The armor’s polished metal gleamed in the lantern light that illuminated all of the hallways of the castle. The knights who once wore them were long gone, in a time before the spread of majik folk, when the castle and its lands were protected by the knights’ swordsmanship and their deep faith in the One God.

Faith in the One God remained strong, but blood weapons, swords, knives, quarrels and bows, were relegated to mere decorations on the castles’ walls. Majik had risen in power to take their place. Although just as lethal as weapons, majik was merely less bloody. A subtle difference not lost on Sarah. Death without the mess. In her experience, death was always messy, for both giver and receiver.

She’d left that behind when she crossed over to this world. Now she was one of the castle’s knights and a defender of the One God. She reached out a tentative hand to touch one of the green silk banners.

Gustav waited for her, his arms folded. “Are you coming, or just going to gawk at everything, like a peasant at the district fair?”

She pulled her shoulders back and took her time walking to him, letting the little man know she would not be rushed and he could damn well wait. His deep brown eyes narrowed in understanding and one eyebrow arced upward. She hoped she’d wrung a little more respect from him; addlers were beings who were very aware of their social standings amongst each other and those they served. Gustav was the highest ranking addler, but was still lower in standing than a patroller, no matter what.

“Chief Inspector Thatcher said he’d see you before dinner, Patroller Tallow, after you’ve settled in.” Now the tone of his voice was more acceptable.

“Will the other officers be attending dinner?”

“As many as wish to eat either before or after their duty shifts.”

He turned left and led her down the hall. Lamps extending above the doors were engraved with majik runes to ensure they never needed to be refueled. They illuminated each of the six doors both day and night. The wood floor of the hall was polished to a high sheen. Hanging on the walls between the doors were exquisite tapestries, telling of the Great Sundering and depicting forest scenes. Sarah noticed if she searched, a bear was often hidden in the landscapes.

“These are the inspectors’ rooms.” Gustav sniffed, tilting his nose upward. Honestly, she thought, the addler had no need of speech, his range of sniffs and sneers seemed to express all he had to say. It was obvious he held the inspectors in much higher esteem than a mere patroller.

Be fair, she told herself, they deserved respect. One only earned the rank of inspector after serving ten to fifteen years as a patroller and taking advanced majik training. With their superior skills and more powerful wands, they alone in the Patrol were trained to kill.

Where she came from, any fool could kill.

        As they passed each room, Gustav called out the inspector’s names in a voice much larger than his small body, “Loch… Bane… O’Reilly… Creel… Tullis.”

Sarah noticed a small brass nameplate placed in the center of each exquisitely carved door, so perhaps locating her door wouldn’t be so hard after all.

Hearing slow uneven steps, she turned. Time slowed. Then stopped.

A tall man, limping hard, made his way down the hall. Dirty, long black hair fell below his shoulders. The rumpled and mud-stained condition of his worn clothing and several days’ growth of beard on his face added to his disheveled appearance.

Sarah was sure the bandage on his thigh was stained with blood. His jaw was set with – what? Pain, perhaps? Or was it sheer determination?

His almond-shaped eyes gazed at her and a rush of unexpected heat burned her cheeks. The tightness around his full lips softened.

 “You should have gone straight to the healer, sir.” Gustav’s voice held his concern.  

“Aye, I suppose I should’ve.” The deep voice rumbled, his eyes never leaving Sarah.

The man stopped at one of the carved doors. His hand froze as he reached towards it. With an intensity she’d never experienced, his penetrating gaze went through her eyes to her very core. His lips parted as if to speak.

She stopped breathing to wait for his words. They stood alone in the hall, the addler, the tour, her room, forgotten. There was only this man and her.

Without willing it, her feet brought her to his side. “You’re injured.” She looked up into his hazel eyes.

“Aye.” He pushed open the door and stepped into his room.

Sarah followed him. “Sit on the bed.”

Stefan pulled off his jacket and limped over to his narrow cot. Sitting down, he stretched out his injured leg. He’d never invited any of the male inspectors inside, much less had a woman in his room. His eyebrows rose as Sarah knelt on the floor next to him.

Her slender fingers worked loose the knot in the cord and pulled away the blood-soaked rag. Through the narrow slit in his breeches, he could see the wound was still seeping.

“You’ve been stabbed.” Blue eyes the color of a clear spring sky shot up to look into his face. He bit his tongue before he asked her how her lashes could be so black, her lips so kissable.

Instead, he swallowed and said, “How did you know?” 

“I’ve seen a few.” With a strong jerk, she ripped the fabric open to expose his wounded flesh and then rose. “I’ll get this cleaned up. Gustav!”

The old addler, who’d been leaning in the doorway, sprung to attention at her voice.

“Aye, miss?”

“Bring the healer to...” She looked back at Stefan.

“Stefan. Stefan Bane. Inspector Stefan Bane. First class.” With a quick glance at the smirk on Gustav’s face, Stefan cleared his throat.

She smiled and his dark, dreary room lit. He’d never seen such a beautiful woman and here she was tending to him, in his room. Perhaps this was a dream, and he was lying unconscious at the bottom of the gully.

        “Bring the healer to Inspector Bane’s room right away.”

        “Aye, miss.” Gustav gave Stefan a final twitch of his lips and teleported out.

        She looked around the room, spotted a door, and went into his bathroom. He heard the water running, then she came out with a towel over her shoulder and a bowl of water. Kneeling next to him, she dipped the end of the towel in the cool water and washed the blood from his leg.

        The cool touch of her fingers on his skin sent a jolt of desire through him. Stefan moved his jacket, draping it across his lap to hide his body’s response to her. If she noticed the sudden tightness of his breeches, she didn’t give a sign, but continued to wipe the blood away.

        He leaned forward as if to watch her work and his nostrils flared as he inhaled. Her long dark hair, trailing over her shoulders and down her back, was scented like a summer meadow, all sun and flowers and tall grass. It was heady stuff, like nothing he’d ever encountered, except in his dreams.

Gustav reappeared in the door and cleared his throat. Stefan straightened, caught in the act. Damn. If he didn’t speak with the old addler, this story would be all over the castle by nightfall.

A short man with a black satchel stood behind Gustav. “Inspector, Gustav tells me you’re injured.” He waited for Stefan’s nod to enter the room and came to look over the woman’s shoulder at her handiwork.

“Very good job of cleaning, miss. I’ll take over now.” He placed his bag on the cot next to Stefan, opened it, and began rummaging through it.

Dropping the bloody towel into the bowl on the floor, she began to rise. Stefan caught her hand as it rested on his knee. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, treasuring the softness of her skin.

“He’s all yours, healer.” She slid her hand from under his and walked to the door.

He should say something witty before she left, but his mind denied him any words except, “Don’t go,” and “Stay.” Those weren’t clever at all, Stefan knew.

“Gustav. See me later.” Stefan leaned back against the wall as the healer brought out his wand.

        Gustav nodded, then reached up to tug on her sleeve. “This way, patroller.”

Without giving Stefan a second look, she left the room.

“Damn.” Stefan blew out his breath and thumped his head softly against the wall several times. He’d forgotten to ask her name and to thank her for her tender ministrations.

The healer looked up from his work. “Sorry, Inspector. Did that hurt?”

“No. I just forgot something.” Stefan rubbed his face with his hand, feeling the course grizzle of his beard. She was young and beautiful and he was older and... His gaze traveled down his long length. He'd been trampled in the mud and smelled of sweat and blood. Stefan groaned.

“Inspector?”

“Oh, just get on with it.” Leaning back against the wall, Stefan closed his eyes and wished he really was lying face down in that damned gully.