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Myron Silverspear cannonballed himself through the front door as a wall of fire hit the long hut. Still dazed from being awakened by the unwelcome sound of shouting and explosions, his shoulder caught the door frame full force and the wall cracked and crumbled around him. Outside, the minotaur rubbed his shoulder and scouted in all directions to get an overview of the destruction that surrounded him, but smoke rising from the burning buildings limited his view to a few feet in either direction.

"The town is under attack!" a centaur fighter shouted at the chief as he galloped by and disappeared into the thick smoke.

"I had guessed that much myself already", muttered Silverspear and followed the centaur into the smoke. They were heading for the outskirts of Broken Horn where the air was clearer.

"Curse the lazy guards", he fumed. Their scouts had reported recent sightings of small groups of humans and elves a few miles south of Broken Horn and Silverspear had halfway expected the enemy to make some kind of move, but he had not been too worried. The previous encounter with the enemy had shown the humanoid alliance from their most pathetic side: poorly coordinated and predictable in their tactics.

As a precaution, he had still posted sentries in each of the four guard towers, and extra guards by the main entrance. Despite of this, he now found himself surrounded by chaos from the break of a chill autumn dawn, while his taurian warriors bellowed and panicked around him, all trying to escape the smoke and fire that had appeared out of nowhere.

Silverspear could not keep up with the nimble centaur and from a distance he watched the warrior gallop towards the main entrance, and he watched as the warrior was hit by a volley of elven arrows, the front legs collapsed under him and he tumbled head first into the ground.

With a terrible whooshing sound, the main gate caught on fire and the sturdy timber of the city wall charred and crumbled at an alarming rate. Soon it would collapse and allow the entire enemy force to enter the town. Silverspear was no stranger to fire being used to burn down encampments, but this burned far too fiercely and far too hot to be any ordinary flame. It had to be magical fire, something that the human alliance had never mastered before.

"My Lord", a hoarse voice called out and Silverspear turned to face Halvargr -as always dressed in the purple cloak of the skjalds. The wolf was wounded and bare patches of skin showed through where the fur had been burned off.

"You're hurt?"

"They launched a fireball at me", the wolf panted and tugged at Silverspear to drag him behind the cover of the smithy. Moments later, the neighbouring cabin burst into flames, showering the two with burning shards of wood. "The humans are shooting fireballs at us", coughed the wolf. "They have never done anything like this in history. Never had the ability -nor the knowledge".

Silverspear was disgusted. Every tribe had agreed that attacks on a skjald was an honourless deed. They were historians and were responsible for immortalising the deeds of their warlords in song and poetry. Therefore Skjalds were considered sacred in combat by all, and this was the reason for all skjalds to wear easily recognisable clothes of bright purple.

"I must round up my warriors and make a counterattack", Silverspear shouted at the wolf and they retreated back into the burning town and galloped towards the rear gate that the fire had not yet reached.

A young minotaur bull stampeded towards them. His eyes were wide in panic and his nostrils flared and dripped blood from a recent wound. He stomped the ground aimlessly where he stood. "Fire!" he bellowed, "I can't think".

"I'm just as scared of fire as the rest of you", said Silverspear, "but we have to get out there and face the attackers".

The three passed empty buildings on both sides as they ran. Weeks ago, all calves and female taurians had been evacuated to safety in a hidden rebel camp at the foot of the mountain-range that bordered Kisanti territory.

They arrived at the rear gate only to find it open, and only a few scattered warriors had stayed behind to fight along with their chief. Silverspear looked out of the gate and watched in silence, as the vast majority of his taurian warriors galloped away, into the distance.

"Fire", he thought, the only thing that taurians fear more than death itself. With their thick hide, death by fire was slow and agonising, and he felt no anger towards the fleeing warriors. Employing magic fire it in a surprise attack was a smart move by the alliance, he conceded. The humans had learnt a winning tactic but they had lost their honour in the process.

"Today is the day that I die", Silverspear realised, "but my kin will go on." Taking comfort in this knowledge, Silverspear brandished his battle-axe and took Halvargr in a firm embrace.

"I need you to survive this day my friend, for you must carry the memory of the battle with you".

The wolf nodded. "fight bravely my chief, for your name shall live in my song and in my poetry".

Silverspear raised his twin axe and shouted for his men to follow him, and together they charged through the streets to face the attackers. They reached the smoldering front gate and found it besieged by elven archers. With a loud bellow the taurians charged them directly, but leaving themselves exposed to the stinging arrows. Ignoring the pain from the multiple arrows that embedded themselves in his flesh, Silverspear tore into the line of elves with the fearsome berserker rage of the minotaurs. With axe and horns he chopped and gored a bloody trail through those of the elven archers who were too slow or too stubborn to get out of his way. A fountain of blood and saliva shot from his mouth as he let out a loud battle-cry to rally his warriors into a final and desperate counterattack.

The elves were skilled archers, but useless in face to face combat, and both sides knew it. When it was obvious that the taurians were raging and unstoppable, the remaining elves retreated and allowed the second rank of the allied army to step forwards. "The next rank will be human knights or dwarven axe-men", Silverspear thought with some relief. He was hurt and bleeding, but a flutter of hope kept him and his taurians fighting. His men looked to him for encouragement, and he forced himself to grin back at them as well as he could, through the daze that clouded his sight. "We may still win this one!"

To his amazement, the second rank of attackers only held ten humans in gray robes, flanked by a few swordsmen. The dwarven warriors that he had expected were nowhere to be seen.

"Greyrobes?", Silverspear instantly recognised the characteristic apparel of the mages. "What in the abyss...", he was about to laugh out, when is suddenly occurred to him that these mages must be the ones responsible for the magic fire that had burnt down the town.

As if controlled by a single mind, all ten mages held out their hands and pointed directly at Silverspear as their sole target. Twenty magic hands released jets of fire that combined themselves into a vast ball of flames that rolled across the field like a giant tumbleweed spat out from the abyss. It engulfed the minotaur chief, and his fur caught on fire withing moments. He felt the searing pain of his leathery hide blister in the intense heat, he gasped and found the air painfully impossible to breathe.

"I'm inhaling fire", he realised.

His lungs were burning from inside and he felt the lining of his throat swell and close up. A few more breaths of fire and it would be all over. With his vision almost gone, he recognised the bright purple colour of Halvargr's cloak.

"My faithful skjald" he smiled, "Here's one last one for your poem". He took one final breath of the lethal air surrounding him, and a large tongue of flames shot from his mouth as he bellowed "Minotaurs can breathe fire too, trollfuckers!"

Halvargr was a skjald of great observe and matching imagination, and his battle-poem describing how Myron Silverspear turned into a fire breathing dragon before ascending into the heavens to watch and protect his people, would have pleased the minotaur chief mightily.

---

Everyone knew and feared the black tent.

Ted Arbinger had erected and furnished it himself in the alliance camp, and all had heard the screams that escaped the hateful construction when captured rebels were invited inside for, what General Arbinger called a friendly chat.

Commander Medwyn Furness had been inside the black interrogation tent on a few occasions, and knew that the only item inside was a sturdy wooden, T-shaped cross with four metal shackles that tied the victim hand and foot in an upright standing position.

What Arbinger did to extract information from his prisoners, Furness had little desire to know, but he knew that the lucky ones left the tent dead - the unlucky ones left broken, insane and mutilated. He felt a pang of pity and guilt as he locked the young minotaur bull into the shackles. For once, General Arbinger had eschewed his usual "take-no-prisoners" approach following the battle of Broken Horn and he had brought the sole surviving minotaur back for interrogation. The bull heaved in fear; he too had heard of the interrogation tent, and he knew that he was about to discover the methods with which Arbinger extracted information from his prisoners, and he was terrified.

"Too bad that Silverspear could not be with us". Ted Arbinger checked that the shackles were securely locked around the minotaur's hands and hooves. "I'd have loved to invite him inside for a friendly chat about the hidden rebel camp". He nodded in satisfaction; the bull was tied securely with no hope of escaping. "Maybe you and I could talk this over in his place. Especially where to find it. I'd really love to visit it someday".

"I will not betray my kin", the minotaur spat out the words in between the short breaths that fear allowed him.

"Of course not". Arbinger held up his right hand and began to focus on the palm. Within moments, the pale palm began to darken, then it burst into flame with a soft pop. Furness had seen Arbinger ignite his hand on many occasions, and he was growing increasingly unnerved by the loving expression on Arbinger's face whenever the hand caught fire. It was not the look of an everyday channeller about to use his skill for igniting a cooking stove, but that of a man who was deeply in love with the sheer potential of the ability, rather than its practical use.

Thirty year old Medwyn Furness had been a recruit of the Sabrehold knights along with Ashford Tanner and Ted Arbinger, and he had been witness to Arbinger's fascination with magic, from the first humble steps in almost complete secrecy, to the acceptance by the knights, reluctantly at first then with growing enthusiasm. He had also noticed a change in Arbinger over the past couple of months; his command of the magic fire had suddenly grown to a level that Furness had never seen before, and he had taught a handful of select greyrobes to conjure up flames as well before including them into his army - something that had never been done in the history of the Order. Now, Arbinger stood and watched his own hand in admiration, while the heat intensified and the angry red flame turned increasingly blueish white.

The young bull had stopped struggling against the chains and looked at Furness in silence as if pleading for him to stop the horror. "There's nothing I can do", Furness thought and shook his head. "Just tell him everything that he wants to know". He dared not say it aloud, but concentrated hard on the thought just in case some miraculous stroke of telepathy should allow him to pass on the thought. The bull turned his head and looked into the ceiling while reciting something that sounded like a prayer in Furness' ears. He knew that no beastkin - taurian, badger or fox would willingly betray their kin to save their own hide and he felt sick to his stomach. Betrayal was a survival tactic employed only by his own kind and in that instant he was ashamed of being human.

Arbinger nodded briefly at commander Furness. "You may leave the tent now. I'm sure that this young fellow shall tell me all that I need to know- ", he said in a gentle, almost loving voice and caressed the mane of the terrified bull.

"-they always do, you know".

Medwyn Furness left the tent and covered his ears with both hands to drown out the screams. He ran across the field and almost lost his footing as he stumbled over rocks and molehills, and he did not stop running until the agonised screams of the young bull no longer reached his ears.

---

Rhania sat quietly on the bed and stared into the familiar granite wall. It was covered with chalk marks - fifty-nine in all, one for each day that she had spent in the Oakenford prison.

Three months had passed since she left Badgers Rest and headed for Oakenford, and she arrived only to find the city unrecognisable. It had been completely walled off and guards were posted at every entrance. She had pleaded, begged and even tried to bribe the guards to bring a message through to either Victor or Sebastian, but she had been turned down at every attempt.

"No beastkin allowed, and that includes YOU!".

She had stayed outside the city walls for days until she finally met a smuggler who offered to sneak her inside for a fee. Needless to say, they were both caught by the city vigil, and within days, she and the smuggler had been sentenced to twelve months in prison for possessing stolen books and for planning entry into Oakenford to conduct espionage. She had now spent eight weeks in the same cell. She knew that it was eight weeks, for she used a piece of limestone to mark each day off on the wall.

The days were tolerable, but the Namairian autumn nights were freezing. "I'm not going to survive the winter", she realised. With a single meal a day and no source of heating, the cells were not built for holding prisoners until the day of their release, but only to keep them detained until they died from fatigue, disease or exposure.

Again and again, her mind drifted back to the village of the lush Farvales, where she had spent most of her life. The deep forests where she played with the other foxes as a cub, and the tales told by the elders around the fireplace. She thought of her elder brother; "by Iuna, I miss you so much Snorri", and she remembered how he taught her to shoot a bow, always with the same unending patience he showed when carving a piece of wood into an ornate armrest. She pulled the thin blanket around her that was supposed to keep her warm. "A few more months of this and I'll join you in the hunting grounds of Shaenore".

She relived the same memories several times every day, and every time the face of Snorri transformed into that of Snowheart at some point. She longed for the feeling of his strong arms holding her and his confident embrace, the sensation of rubbing her face against his fur. The way she used to trace her fingers along the stripes in his face and the off-coloured patch on his thigh that gave him his name. "Am I never to see you again?" she cried and shivered as the evening sent torrents of rain through the window slit.

Rhania heard the footsteps of the jailer approaching and the jangle of the keychain that he always carried in his belt. She looked through the window and judged by the colour of the sky that it was too early for the daily meal, when she noticed a second pair of footsteps walking along with the jailer - he had company. The footsteps stopped outside her cell, and the heavy door was unlocked. The newcomer was a young human male with blond curly hair, whom she recognised immediately.

"Ted Arbinger? You are Sebastian's apprentice".

Arbinger smiled at Rhania, "Well I used to be -for a while, but now I do other things, such as visiting prisoners like yourself". He smiled and opened his knapsack, from which he took out a loaf of bread and a jar of potted meat. "Food", Rhania thought, "proper food".

"It's so very cold in here", said Arbinger and blew on his hands as if to warm them. He looked around, then squatted down before Rhania and began to collect straws that had fallen off the bed, with his bare hands. "He's kneeling before me", she thought. "A human kneeling before a fox, now that's unusual." One by one, he picked up straws showing no hurry or urgency. He then piled them up against the far wall. "Let's get a fire going, shall we?"

Rhania looked at the very small pile of hay - the human had to be mad; if he were to build a fire from these few straws, it would burn for less than a minute. Arbinger closed his hand into a fist and concentrated briefly. When he opened his hand, a small orange flame danced in his palm. It was no larger than a candleflame and jumped nimbly from fingertip to fingertip.

"Hello, there little fellow" he said, then looked at Rhania. "I call him Lue". Arbinger stretched out his arm towards the pile of straws, and Lue lept from his hand and made itself a new home in the nest of hay.

"There! this should keep you warm for the rest of the day". Rhania had begun to question the sanity of her visitor, when she noticed that the flame did not char the straws, but burned brightly as if drawing on an unseen source of fuel. She could feel the heat radiating from the fire and as she stretched her paws towards it, she felt warm for the first time in weeks.

"thank you", she said.

"No, thank YOU", Arbinger replied. "If it wasn't for your effort, I would not have been able to call on Lue when we needed him". He held up a ragged book, with the front page missing.

"That book!", she realised "that's the book that I found in Tamaria".

"Indeed it is. Mastering Fire Magic, volume III. I missed some of the finer details because you did not recover parts one and two, but it has nevertheless been very helpful."

"But the guards and judge took that book away from me when I was arrested", Rhania said. "How could you get it from them?"

"I have a certain way with people". Arbinger knelt down and blew gently on the fire which burned even more intensely and cast dancing shadows on the granite walls.

"So what made you come here?"

"You did me a great favour, so I thought that I would drop by and return it."

"I appreciate the bread and the meat, but if you plan to come by with a meal for each book, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I brought back all there was to be found in Tamaria."

"Oh, I believe you", said Arbinger. "You would have no knowledge of its value, so I guess that you simply took whatever tome that looked pretty. And this one"- Arbinger held out the coverless book. "has all of its beauty on the inside".

"You're the only company I've had for more than a month", she said. "Thank you."

"I can do much better than merely visiting", said Arbinger and smiled at Rhania. "I can see that you get released."

"Please, don't make jokes like that; my situation is bad enough as it is".

"I know that Chief Musclefang wants you dead, and we're not fond of him either. If you come along with me, my friends and I can keep an eye out for you. Some of the other clans are too scared of the orcs to protect you, but I can assure you that we are not afraid to stand up against Musclefang and his assassins."

Rhania said nothing, but had the feeling that there was more to the human than he allowed to show though. She had only met Ted Arbinger on very few occasions while she worked with Victor, and she thought that she remembered him having blue eyes. Maybe it was a trick of the light reflecting the fire from the grey walls of the prison cell, but his eyes seemed to have taken on an almost yellow tinge. "like my own kin", she thought. If there was some fox-like quality to the human, maybe he could be trusted after all.

"Relax", he said. "I'm not here to push you; I just want to help".

Rhania heard the footsteps of the jailer coming down the hall from a distance. "He's coming back to see you out."

"Alright", said Arbinger. "Think it over. If you want to join us, I can probably convince the judges to release you. After all, you foxes have remained neutral, unlike some of the other beastfolk. I bet that we could make an archer out of you."

"I already know damn well how to shoot a bow. My brother taught me from when I was a cub."

"Exactly, and I have just the right one in mind to bring out the marksman in you".

The jailer unlocked the door again and motioned for Arbinger to follow. He got up and prepared to leave, then he turned around at the door and winked at Rhania. "I'll be back tomorrow, but Lue should keep you good company for a few hours.

He was right. The magical fire burned warmly and kept her paws comfortably warm, and for the first time in weeks she did not feel miserable. Lue whispered to her in a soft voice and reminded her of the campfire outside Tamaria, the hot stove when Ulgis cooked root stew and the embers in the fireplace at Badger's Rest. "That was me in the ember", Lue whispered. "Remember?"

As the night fell, Lue began to weaken and his flame grew smaller.

"No!", pleaded Rhania "Don't leave me too", but Lue had exhausted all the magic that was left in him and the fire went out. Then darkness claimed the cell.

---

The door to the hut of the alldr had remained shut all morning, blocking any curious glances into the chamber of decisions, which was occupied by the goblin elders.

"If I only had Rhania's hearing" thought Ashford, "then I could hear what they say about me, and if they will allow us to stay in Staldr".

But his hearing was only that of a human, and all he could hear was the faint snoring of Ulmus, who had nodded off after the first two hours of waiting, and the sound of K'luul playing with the goblin children. The tribe had proven welcoming and hospitable to their new guests, and K'luul had made herself home and friends within days. Ashford too felt at home in Staldr and wanted to stay, but he knew that he was expected to contribute to the town along with the other villagers.

Staldr housed more than fifty goblins of all ages. The town was located in the mountainous south, and only a short mile from the great sea. The goblins were salt-miners and fishermen, and especially their dried and salted fish were a popular trade commodity, along with other dry goods such as various tubers and nuts. "I hope they don't assign me to be a walnut farmer", thought Ashford. "Fishing I can live with but by the gods, please no walnut duty."

Eventually,the door opened and the three alldrs appeared from the hut. Ulgis prodded Ulmus with her elbow, and the goblin woke up with a loud snort.

"The human and the troll can stay", said one alldr.

"But he must become...", said the second alldr.

"A rider.", concluded the third.

"A rider?", Ashford whispered to Ulgis for some kind of explanation, but she just smiled at him and patted his hand.

"Not a bad job, you'll be alright".

"What do you say, human? Will you accept the position? Ashford looked at Ulgis, and she nodded approvingly back at him. "Sure! I'll be your new... rider?"

"Very well", said the first alldr, "then you shall begin your training with Coluk first thing tomorrow morning."

"What in the smoking abyss did I just agree to?", Ashford asked of Ulgis, while they walked back.

"They will teach you how to ride a griffin", she replied.

---

Coluk turned out to be, not one but two goblins. They were some of the shortest goblins that Ashford had ever met, reaching up only to his navel and moved about constantly with a jittery energy. They were twins and had the rare quality of being cojoined by the soul since birth. Even thought Coluk possessed two bodies, their minds worked as one and they often finished each other's sentences.

"Griffin!", said Coluk and pointed to a creature more than four times the size of a warhorse. The head and upper body resembled that of a large eagle, while the rear part and its four legs were decidedly feline.

"I have seen them at a distance, but I've never been this close to one", Ashford stood with his mouth open in awe of the majestic creature. He approached the griffin one inch at a time and reached out to pet the animal.

"It won't go berserk on me or anything ?"

"Not unless the binder commands it to", said Coluk.

"I have not commanded it to bite".

"Nor have I", said the other Coluk.

"So, you're safe".

Coluk motioned to Ashford, inviting him to mount the giant creature. A saddle was mounted on its back, fastened with leather straps behind and in front of the wings. The saddle itself rested on the griffin's back between the wings and was nothing more than a leather seat with a backrest, so that the rider would not slide off during flight. Another pair of straps were fastened around the griffins neck for supporting the rider's feet, and reins for holding and controlling the beast was tied around the long neck. This was nothing like riding a horse, thought Ashford as he climbed the griffin and began to straddle himself in. The backrest was too low for him as a human and only came up to his lower back, while the foot rests were too close and it was neccessary for him to ride with his knees bent. "Some changes will have to ma bade to this construction if I am to fly it", he thought. "So, am I a binder now?"

"Human is no binder."

"Human will never be binder."

"Not to this griffin."

It was obvious that the twin goblins were amused by his absolute lack of knowledge of griffin handling. "If I can't be a binder, then what will I be?"

"Rider", said Coluk.

"Rider" repeated Coluk.

"So, if both riders and binders fly the griffin, what is the big difference?"

"Griffins don't kill binders."

"Never!"

"Only when they die."

"When who dies? The rider or the binder?", asked Ashford.

"When the griffin dies"

"It kills the rider"

"-and the binder"

"Am I getting this right? If your griffin dies, then it turns on you", Ashford asked and began to wish that he had been assigned to growing walnuts instead.

The two goblins looked at each other and rolled their eyes at Ashford's ignorance"

"When the griffin dies"

"The bond is broken"

"And it attacks the nearest living thing"

"And that's the rider"

"-or the binder"

"So, HOW do you become a binder and not a rider?"

"Griffins bind to the first goblin they see"

"-or human"

"Forever"

"Who's the binder of this one?"

"Coluk"

"Coluk"

"but I can ride it also?"

"You can!"

"But can you?"

Ashford snapped the reins once, and the griffin began to flap its wings. Slowly at first, then faster and with a sudden jump, the creature left the ground and hovered fifteen feet above Coluk.

"Steer it to the sea", shouted Coluk.

"Look for shoals of fish!"

Ashford held the reins and steered the griffin as he would have steered a horse. The beast was accustomed to flying around the sea, and Ashford only had to guide it in the right direction and hold on to the small saddle. The wind rushed in his ears and the setting sun reflected red fingers into the sea. "I'm home!", he shouted and laughed. "I'm free and I'm flying".

He flew the griffin around in circles, before heading towards Staldr. He waved to his new friends and scouted for K'luul as he zoomed past, far above and whooping and shouting, while the flaming sun slowly disappeared into the ocean.