Sanctuary, and the tear-streaked face of the man who gazed at her, with the
reflected splendor of the hidden sun.
* * *
STEEL
by Lynn Abbey
1
Walegrin listened carefully to the small noises carried on the night breeze. His
survival depended on his ability to untangle the sounds of the night-and on the
steel sword he clutched, unsheathed, at his side. Ambushers crept toward his
small camp in the darkness.
Two bright Enlibar wagons sat, unguarded and garish, in the ruddy light of a
neglected fire. Their cargo had been scattered in tempting disarray; chunks of
aquamarine ore shimmered in the moonlight. Walegrin’s cloak lay close by the
fire, covering an armload of thorny sticks-a ruse to convince the brigands that
he and his men were more weary than careful and valued sleep above their lives.
They’d had little enough rest since leaving the ruined mine with the precious
ore; and of the twenty-five men who had left Sanctuary only seven remained. But
Walegrin trusted his six stalwarts against four times that many hillmen.
Walegrin’s thoughts were stopped by the warning cry of a mountain hawk; Malm,
who had a shepherd’s eye for ominous movements, had spotted the enemy. Walegrin
held his ground until the camp swarmed with dark, scuttling shapes, until
someone stabbed a cloak and heard wood splintering, not bone. Then, sword
raised, he led his men out of the shadows.
These outlaws were better armed and bolder than any the soldiers had encountered
before, but Walegrin had no time to consider this discovery. His men were hard