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Rhania flung herself at Snowheart, and he wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his fur and they stood still in silence, just taking in the scents that they had missed for so many months. "Ears of Inaris, have I missed you." She felt cold metal against her paws, and she saw that Snowheart wore a chainmail shirt. It was made from light elven vitellium and bore a copper ornament on the chest that resembled a paw print - the symbol of the rebels.

"Your scent is very faint", said Snowheart and rubbed his muzzle lovingly against her face. "Very strange, I should have sensed you before you even reached the camp."

"Oh Snowy, Arbinger is here. He made me drink a potion to disguise my scent", cried Rhania. "They mean to take the orcs by surprise". Saying the words filled her with a growing sense of dread; something was horribly wrong. No matter where she looked, she found only villagers, but no sign of this being an orc fortress. "There aren't any orcs here, are there?", she realised.

Snowheart shook his head. "The orcs started the conflict, but the alliance crushes every tribe that could sympathise with them: minotaurs, centaurs, badgers and Fenrir wolves. You could say that the alliance has honed their skills on us, before taking on the orcs".

"But Snowy, Arbinger's troops are on their way. If I'm not back soon, they will attack this place".

"Then we must prepare everyone to leave".

Snowheart led Rhania through the camp and into the largest building of the outpost. They entered a room furnished with a large table covered with an even larger clutter of unfolded maps and unwashed mugs. A single person stood by the table as they entered; it was an orc who stood bent over a map of the surrounding mountains. A thick line of black ink snaked its way east into Kisanti territory.

Rhania flinched when she saw the orc. Surely he would know who she was, and that there was a bounty on her head. Instinctively she reached for her bow, only to find Snowheart's comforting paw on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Grimlock is one of ours."

"Musclefang has lost interest in you long ago," said the orc and exchanged knowing glances with Snowheart that Rhania could not interpret. "Besides, we have too many problems already to concern ourselves with the visions of some magic fox."

Snowheart moved a stack of papers out of the way and dug out a map over the area east of the mountain range. "We have set up a new camp here." He traced the inked line on the map with one finger. "The Quemt pass leads to the borderlands between Kisanti and Fenrir territory. It's neutral and both tribes have agreed to let us remain there while the war rages on."

Not even Arbinger will dare to follow us into their lands", said the orc. "He may be a great warrior, but even he, must still answer to his chief."

"Let me come with you", said Rhania. "We'll escape to the borderlands together. We can wait until things settle down, or we can start afresh. It will be hard work I know, but we can be together again."

"Damn it Rhania!" shouted Snowheart. "They killed my council. The humans led my tribesmen away from the village and murdered them. If you desert Arbinger now, he will grow vengeful and take his anger out on your tribe -just like he did with mine."

Rhania took a step back in shock from the sudden outburst. "I had no idea; I thought they were going only for the orcs and minotaurs."

Snowheart opened a cabinet on the wall and took out a leather-bound book. "I went back to Badger's rest to persuade the council to join us here -but I was too late". He gave the book to Rhania. "These are the notes that the council wrote down at every meeting. It was the only thing that I brought back".

Rhania leafed through the book to the last few entries. They described how the villagers prepared to leave for Iuna's Blessing, but details of the whereabouts were left out. The second last entry read:

..This may be the final entry of our journal. Badger Appleseed sensed the approaching alliance soldiers last night, and they will be here soon. We have decided to stay and parlay with their general as we have always done, for it is our hope that a peaceful solution to the conflict can still be reached. Should the troops be led by general Arbinger this may prove fruitless, for he is in the dark embrace of madness and is a difficult humanoid to deal with. May Inaris bless us all.

Meeting summarised by Featherpaw.

_ _

The final entry in the book was a wordless one; it was simply a crudely sketched symbol that resembled a paw print inside a circle. Some of the ink had rubbed off on the opposite page. Rhania inspected the mirrored print, "They closed the book in a hurry -it looks like a butterfly".

"The circle paw is a traditional badger sign of gratitude. Featherpaw must have drawn it moments before they were taken away, so the ink was still wet when he closed the book".

"Oh, Snowy, they are going to do the same to us, aren't they - to all of us?"

"Foxes are still on the good side of the alliance, as are the Kisanti. If you stay with them... with Arbinger, your kind will be safe. As for the rest of us..." Snowheart put the book back into the cabinet and closed it with a soft click.

He grew quiet, and Rhania saw his forehead contort into a frown, his lips curled up to bare his fangs and his gaze grew distant.

"To the abyss with neutrality!" he cursed. "If I ever find who was in charge that day, I will tear out his throat myself."

The door opened, and Halvargr entered. "Everyone is preparing to leave" said the skjald. "-except for the taurian warriors. They wish to stay behind and fight the alliance. I too will stay behind to witness and chronicle the battle. This will be the proudest moment in my life", the wolf wiped a tear away with his paw.

"What!" cried Rhania. "What's left of the taurian force is about to get burnt alive by Arbinger's greyrobes and you call it a proud moment? What kind of sick mind works like that?"

The wolf cocked his head to one side and gave her a puzzled look. "But I thought that you knew?"

"Knew what?"

"Fire magic will be ineffective against the rebels this time."

Snowheart nodded in agreement with the wolf. "Two skilled herbalists have joined us, and they have made potions that will make us untouched by magical fire. I'll show you".

They walked down a short corridor that reeked of boiling herbs, and Rhania's mind wandered back to the happier days in Victor's workshop. Snowheart drew a curtain aside and Rhania saw a familiar badger bent over a cluttered workbench. She was busy grinding, blending and distilling potions, and a long row of bottles containing a lime-green fluid was stacked against the wall.

"Elora!" shouted Rhania.

"Your scent is always welcome, dear", said Elora. Then the badger sniffed at Rhania and sent her a concerned look; "but you have lost your smell since we last met?"

Rhania slumped onto a chair and let her head drop onto the table, "Actually, I'm with the alliance," she mumbled into the planks. "I've been sent here to spy on you guys, and that's why I have no scent."

"Being around humans takes away your scent? That's new to me", said the badger. "I always knew that humans had poor taste, but..."

"Not all humans", said a familiar voice from behind the curtain.

"Victor?!"

The herbalist turned from away from his workbench, smiling. "Rhania! Have you come to join us?"

Rhania flung her arms around the mage in a firm embrace, and he struggled to retain his balance. "Oh, Victor, I tried to get the books to you, but they wouldn't let me into Oakenford."

"Count yourself lucky that you didn't make it into the city," laughed Victor, "they wouldn't let me leave the damn place."

Snowheart laughed, "I guess that the two of you need no introduction. Victor made it as far as Badger's rest looking for you, and lucky for us he decided to stay. Your friend Victor is actually a rather magnificent addition to our side - for a human that is."

"They took everything away from me", sighed the mage. "They had all beastfolk thrown out of Oakenford. Elora was one of the first to go and soon all supply lines for elflock and silverspur were cut off. Within weeks, no independent herbalist could cure bloodcough anymore. Eventually they wanted me to make curing potions exclusively for the council and the allied army. That is when I packed my horse and left. Sebastian was not so lucky."

"Sebastian's dead?"

"Even worse -he's been promoted to official alliance herbalist."

"But how?" asked Rhania. "How come you know how to make protective potions against the fire when the minotaurs didn't?"

Victor picked up two books from a nearby desk. "Mastering fire magic, Volumes one and two. The recipe is in the second volume."

"Arbinger only has the third volume -the one that you brought back from our first visit to Tamaria, so he only knows the last part of the story", said Snowheart.

"Our first visit?" asked Rhania. "what do you mean by first?"

"At some point, Arbinger will want more power, and the only place to get it is in Tamaria. So Victor, Elora and I went back to Tamaria and helped ourselves to a number of books that should not fall into Arbinger's hands."

"He has changed so much", cried Rhania. "He was once friendly and helpful, but he is acting really strange now."

Victor nodded. "There is a really good reason why every mage specialises in one type of magic only. The human mind was never built for understanding or using magic. Those of us who go down that path, pay a price in terms of sanity. Call it an occupational hazard. It's like miners ruining their lungs, or fishermen who risk drowning.

We mages know that the use of magic comes at a cost of damaging the mind. Look at Sebastian; his use of healing magic has made him obsess with the library of Tamaria, and I myself cannot claim to be entirely unaffected, with my obsession for making cures against the blood cough -yet our side effects have been benign".

"And Arbinger?"

"He never studied long enough to understand or care about the dangers. "

"It has happened before", said the orc. "There once was a gifted young Kisanti mage by the name of Abdul el Ersatz. He was the first to penetrate the barrier between our world and the abyss, and the first to summon forth creatures from beyond. He wrote a book about it -the Liber Ars Arcanis. They say that only the first half of the book makes sense. By the time he wrote the second half, he was already insane.

Since then, he has been known only as Abdul -the mad Kisanti".

"It's not only a legend", sighed Snowheart. "I held that cursed book in my paw, when we visited Tamaria, and in my ignorance I put it right back on the shelf."

"Please tell me that you DID take it, when you went back to the library again", said Rhania.

"Oh, we looked everywhere", said Elora. "But it was no longer there."

"There is one explanation to how it could have disappeared," said Snowheart "-but I pray that I am wrong. There were three of us when we discovered Tamaria -you, me and Ashford.

"Ashford? But he's our friend."

"Maybe so, but you're forgetting one thing -he's a human."

"This will be the last potion." Victor interrupted, and handed Snowheart a flask containing the potion. "Elora and I have prepared them exactly by the recipe, but we haven't had the chance to test them properly."

"You mean to tell me that they are untested? We can't send a troop of taurians against the greyrobes if they have been given bad potions".

"It's not exactly easy to find a volunteer who is willing to risk getting toasted, Snowy. Besides, Grimlock is the only one among us who can channel fire magic".

Snowheart rolled his eyes, and sighed with a new sense of determination that Rhania had not seen in him before. He uncorked the lime green flask and held it to his nose. "Sweet Inaris! This is vile", he said. "What's IN this stuff?"

"Ha! Don't even get us started", said Elora. "It's the most complicated potion that we have ever made."

"And drinking this will protect us fully from the fire?" Snowheart held the flask at an arm's length, trying to avoid the pungent smell escaping the opening.

"That's what the book says."

He put the flask to his mouth and drank the contents in one long gulp. He then walked over to the orc and faced him, arms akimbo. "Alright, Grimlock. Let's do this."

The orc shaman hesitated "but what if the potion doesn't work?"

"Then I'll be in an ungodly amount of pain, but we don't have the time for it not to work".

"Err..."

"Light me up, firepaws!"

The orc stretched out his hands and shook his robe back so that the sleeves would not get caught in the fire. He looked at both hands one at a time and concentrated while chanting quietly. Without warning, both his hands caught on fire in a sudden flash.

Grimlock looked to Snowheart for confirmation, and when the badger nodded back, he let the fire go full blast. Snowy stood covered from head to hindpaw in flames hot enough to melt steel, yet the badger stood unharmed - to begin with.

Then Snowy suddenly yelped out in pain. "Rot your ears! That chainmail is hot". He doubled over and shook his upper body, and the chainmail shirt rolled off over his head and landed in a pile before his feet. He looked at his coat that was now crisscrossed with angry black marks where the fur had been singed.

"I might have been protected from your magic fire, but the chainmail wasn't, so it heated up", he said. "Either we fight barefurred or we get roasted - some choice".

He reached into his backpack and took out his favourite shirt, woven from flax and with a simple lacing up front. "I'll change into this before we go", he said, but was interrupted by a centaur that burst into the cabin;

"Sire! The allied army is approaching from the west."

"They are early", said Snowheart. They must have grown impatient, waiting for Rhania to return. See that every warrior gets a potion to ward them against the fire, and then see the civilians to the gate".

"Did she just call you Sire?" asked Rhania after the centaur had left.

"You know taurians; always answering to someone. I just happen to speak the most languages, so they look up to me -a bit."

Snowheart, Rhania and Halvargr left the headquarters. Outside they were met by large groups of nervous civilians holding on to their belongings, their cubs and an uncertain future. "We're under attack!" shouted Snowheart at the civilians. "Run through the valley and don't look back".

As the civilians hurried towards the eastern gate that led into Quemt pass, Snowheart took Rhania by the paw and led her towards a small building. He opened the door, which was made from metal bars and motioned for her to go inside.

-it looked like a holding cell.

"Snowy", she cried. "What are you doing?"

"I'm locking you up."

"Snowy, please. Let me come with you."

"It's for the best that you stay here until the attack is over. If you come with us, Arbinger will assume that you have deserted the alliance, and he will take it out on your tribe - just like he did with mine."

"Damn you Snowy, I can't just sit here and watch!"

"If you stay outside, you will be involved in the events that are about to take place. Just sit tight for a short while and Arbinger will think that we've kept you prisoner."

"I don't want to lose you again", said Rhania. "Where will you be?"

Snowheart sighed, "I'll fight along with the taurians. If we win, I'll be the one to let you out."

"-and if you don't win?"

"Someone else will let you out."

"Then hold me, just for a moment", said Rhania and Snowheart took her in a long embrace.

Halvargr coughed softly, "Snowy, Rhania...the enemy is here."

"Hurry back," said Rhania. "I've spent enough time behind bars over the past few months."

Snowheart and Halvargr watched the rebels leave the camp and head towards the borderlands on foot, hoof and mount. Then the two friends walked to the western gate of Iuna's Blessing, and scouted for the approaching enemy.

"I can't smell them", said the badger. "They have covered their scents behind that cursed potion".

"Their potions may hide their scent, but not their sound", said the wolf. "I hear the soft brush of thirty gossamer robes, the trotting of twenty warhorses, the light footfall of fifty elves -but I can't hear the familiar clanging of dwarven axes."

"No dwarves? It's a small force, then."

"Arbinger must have great confidence in his greyrobes".

Snowheart sniffed the air once more. "They meant to take us by surprise, but two can play the potions game. When Arbinger realises that his fire magic is ineffective, they will have to fight us with brute force again

-and Arbinger is not much of a tactician."

As they stood by the gate, Firemane -wife of Myron Silverspear and current leader of the taurian troops joined them. Behind her, Halvargr counted a force of fifty minotaurs and centaurs, all standing ready to face the allied army.

"Can I trust you to see that our civilians reach the new camp safely?" Firemane asked Snowheart.

"Many of the rebels, myself included will want to fight beside you", said Snowheart, but he was dismissed by Firemane. "Taurians wish this to be our battle for what they did to us at Broken horn. Taurian blood boils fierce and we may not recognise friend from foe when the battle rages. You would be wise to stay out of the way, little badger".

Snowheart heard the faint popping sound of flasks being uncorked and he saw every taurian drink the potion that would protect them from the magic fire. Then they took off their clothes and armour, and laid them on the ground with great care. Soon all fifty taurian warriors stood naked and visibly uncomfortable without their protection.

"Our spears and axes may burn and hurt our hands, but we still have our hooves our horns and our hearts." said Firemane. She beat her chest with her spear twice in a traditional taurian salute to Snowheart and Halvargr, then she and her warriors rode off to face the enemy.

"That's the second time a taurian calls me 'little badger', grumbled Snowheart. "Next time that happens, I'll bite someone. I'll bite until I feel the bones snap."

"- I always thought that the whole bone snapping thing was just a myth", said the wolf.

The two friends watched the first line of alliance forces approach. It was a near solid line of thirty grey-robes. Behind them trotted twenty mounted human knights, and fifty elven archers made up the rear.

The grey-robes, with their hands already alight focused their energies and mumbled incantations found in the book on fire magic.

Halvargr recognised the chant from Broken Horn, and he realised that he was the only one who had not yet taken a potion. Even though both he and Snowheart were at a safe distance from the fighting parties, he quickly uncorked a flask and drank the potion, then grimaced from the foul taste. "Sweet Donara! the things that I do for poetry". He grabbed his backpack and smiled at Snowheart. "History awaits, my friend. I guess that I'll see you on the other side."

"I guess", said Snowheart.

"-but the other side of what?"

Halvargr caught up with the rear guard of the taurian warriors and immediately sensed that there was something wrong; the warriors stomped their ground, wild eyed and nostrils flaring. Firemane stood at the very front of the Taurians. She motioned for him to come closer, and side by side they watched the mages advance. "Did my husband die honourably?" she asked the wolf.

"He could have wished for no greater honour."

"Did he really breathe fire? - or did you make that up?"

"I wrote only what I saw with my own eyes."

"I wish that I had his courage," said the minotaur. "My warriors expect me to follow in his hoof prints, but I can't even move my legs; my fear of the flame is too great."

Firemane and her warriors had not witnessed Snowheart test the potion, and they didn't know if they were truly safe from the flames or if they would meet a fiery death like their chief before them. Their natural instinct made them freeze up at the thought of fire and Firemane turned to Halvargr. "Please, help us."

Always observe, never interfere, thus was the basic creed of the skjald passed down through millennia. The purple robe granted you sanctuary on the battlefield, but you could never take part in the battle. Halvargr knew this, and he had lived by it for most of his life, but with the taurians in panic, the alliance would have an easy fight.

If they were not shaken into action, there wouldn't even be any need for the greyrobes; the archers could finish the battle before it even began.

It's not my battle, he thought.

I am a skjald, and a citizen of Fenrir.

-but I'm also a beastkin.

Finally he turned to Firemane and winked at her.

"My creed does not allow me to interfere with the battle," he said. "But I guess the rules will still allow me to breathe a little fire". He left the taurians and walked - alone, towards the middle of the battlefield in a hesitant stride._ _

If this fire protection works, I can get up close and observe -that won't be against the rules.

The potion protected him from the magic flames, but his clothes would still catch on fire. He had witnessed Snowheart being scorched by his own chainmail, and he began to remove his purple robe while he walked. It had been with him for many years and it had given him sanctuary while in battle, by its presence alone. Yet the alliance cared little for his status as a skjald, and nor would the flames.

Halvargr never knew whether the greyrobes didn't recognise him as a skjald, or maybe the simply didn't care, but when the mages saw the naked fenrir-wolf approach them on the battlefield, they summoned their first wave of fire. It was very unlike the fireball that they had launched at Chief Silverspear back at Broken Fang- this one was several yards in height and wide enough to embrace the entire troop of taurians.

They have grown much stronger since Broken Fang.

The wave hovered a few yards in front of the greyrobes while it grew in size and depth with the mages' continued casting. Then one of the greyrobes stepped forward, and with one move of his hand, he made the fire flow across the battlefield.

"O boy, here it comes". Halvargr closed his eyes and held onto his breath as the wave of scorching heat hit him, but he felt only a slight warm breeze like that of a summer's day. He carefully opened his eyes and saw that he stood deep inside the moving wall of fire. Grass and weeds withered and charred around him within seconds, but the flames only licked at his fur.

Can I breathe it? Halvargr took one careful sniff at the burning air and his nose filled with a slightly sweet woody scent. Then he inhaled deeply and his lungs filled up with magic fire that tickled his throat. He turned towards Firemane and exhaled, and a large tongue of fire shot from his muzzle.

By Donara, it works!

He began to laugh uncontrollably, and danced naked through the flaming inferno;

this will be my grandest war-poem ever - and I'm in it myself,

and he saw Firemane rise and stand proud, just waiting for the wall of flames to reach her. Then she shouted the taurian battle cry, and the voices of fifty taurians rose and joined with hers, and together they charged into the lines of grey-robes without fear.

War-cries mixed with the desperate screams of the grey-robes as they realised that their fire magic was ineffective against the taurians. Raging and determined to avenge her husband, Firemane charged directly into the most senior grey-robe who never ceased conjuring forth waves of fire that engulfed both taurians and fellow mage in a mad inferno of searing flames.

Like Halvargr, Firemane found that she was untouched by the fire, but her axe heated and glowed in her hands. The heat from the smoldering shaft burnt her hands and she felt blisters raise and pop, but she did not allow the pain to penetrate her battle-rage.

Blisters heal, and burns turn into scars - a small price to pay to heal a much deeper scar.

She swung her axe above her and brought it down with all her might to split the wizard's head. Their eyes met just before the impact, and she recognised the look of hollow madness in his eyes. He too, had drunk too greedily from the well of magic.

Then he drank no more.

• TO BE CONTINUED