"Come in, come in." The two men he’d summonsed hurried into his quarters, both dropping to one knee. "Please, get up," he gestured impatiently even as he studied his guests. An accident of birth had given him a high station in life but it had never been his way to lord it over others who earned his respect by their actions.

And these two warriors certainly did. The first was a towering giant of a man with the thick limbs to match. His face seemed almost hewn from granite and his grey eyes from flint.

The second had a build to match his companion but was far shorter, standing just a few inches over five feet tall. The man was one-eyed, his left covered by a patch while his green eye gleamed with sourness and his square-jawed face was hideously scarred.

Petro Pygros, the former head of the Honour Guard, and Probus Patronus, the deputy leader of the Vowed Knights. Apart from him the only two of the old inner circle who now survived. And two steadfast warriors who felt their honour had been stained by the overthrowing of their sworn monarch.

On balance he couldn’t hope for two more loyal, more trustworthy, allies.

"You called my lord?" Probus enquired.

"Indeed I did," he agreed. "The mystics have used the notes on the Twelve by Magoi to attempt to track them. It appears that two of the heroes," if nothing else the notes confirmed they were that, "in particular have unique essences. The ones called," he briefly checked his notes to ensure he was right, "Angel and Illyria are not completely human. As a result the mages have been able to track the pair to Rittum. We can only assume the others are with them."

"Then you’ll be wanting us to go after them," Petro half-rose.

"No," he stilled the former Honour Guard commander with a shake of the head. "Your faces are far too recognisable to risk sending into an imperial stronghold. I want you to recommend two men to send in there to contact them."

Petro and Probus stared at one another for a long moment, muttering under their breath as they discussed who best to send. Then Probus looked towards him. "Torvas Lamina and Tachy Marcello."

Fortis pursed his lips together. He knew both suggested warriors by reputation. Before the usurping, Lamina had been a Master-Sergeant in The Watching Steel, an elite legion guarding the highlands border against northern reavers. Marcello had been a rising star in the Fleet Swords, the army’s cavalry arm, and rumoured under consideration as a potential Vowed-Knight. Both were hardy, capable men, but there was a problem. "Marcello is a tad flamboyant for such a sensitive assignment."

Probus scowled. Ever since his disfigurement the former Vowed-Knight had become ultra-sensitive to the slightest criticism. "Lamina and Marcello are two of our most experienced remaining soldiers. They’ve both led infiltration missions against imperial targets."

"So be it," Fortis conceded. "Have them brought here." His two subordinates nodded before leaving.

The two men who interrupted his musings some time later were a study in contrasts. One was short, with a thick, bear-like body, almost completely bald with a squashed face and cold, unyielding grey eyes. The second was tall, slender, with a full head of wavy black hair, aquiline features, and expressive brown eyes.

"Lamina, Marcello," he nodded at each man in turn before glancing at the stools at the other side of his desk, "sit." Once the two men were sat he started to talk, discussing their mission.

Marcello was first to speak, his cultured tones revealing his noble origins. "You say we have to get to Ritum as soon as possible but it’s a week’s ride away. They’ll be long gone."

"No," Fortis shook his head. "You’ll each be given four of our finest horses. Ride them to death, but make it in half the time."

* * *

The mid-day sun beat down relentlessly on the city, resting as it did against a winding, snaking river. Grand ships and huge barges clogged the river and filled-to-bursting granaries and busy ports sprawled along both riverbanks. Rittum’s streets seemed to be laid out in a precise grid within its forbidding stone walls. The grey walls made a perfect square, with one side pressed against the speedy river. In each corner of the city wall stood a tower that reached for the cloudless sky, while several sturdy turrets, spaced 200 metres apart, were dotted along each wall. The gentle winds of summer fluttered the silk banners attached to its tower spires proclaiming Emperor Azarel’s rule.

Inside the tall walls a chaotic orchestra of noise blared out, a raucous bustle that engulfed the entire city. Hawkers crying their wares and shopkeepers' raised voices competed in the din to draw people to examine the vast assortment of goods displayed on their tables. High born ladies clad in expensive silks walked through the teeming city streets, escorted by their ever-watchful bodyguards, they cast their arrogant eyes over the tables and chose the goods they deigned to purchase. Cheeky apprentices wearing grease-stained aprons risked their masters' fury by stopping in their duties to bandy flirtations with chaste, bashful girls hawking baskets of assorted fruits and flowers. Ragged beggars, always stinking and usually infirm, squatted on every cracked pavement corner, their filthy palms outstretched as they beseeched passer-bys for money. Doxies selling their bodies as merchants sold their goods strutted through the city clad in daring, revealing clothes that showed their alluring contours. In front of each of the city's inns there stood either musicians playing their instruments or bards telling tales of legend to draw prospective customers inside.

Faith’s eyes darted left and right, eating up the many sights. At this moment, Wood, G, and Red were busy questioning the bard about the local situation while the rest of them had split up to get some varying supplies for the trip ahead. "Damn, X!" she exclaimed. "This is some trip!"

"Yeah," her hubby was rather more restrained. But that was her man all over. For all the others might think Xander charged in foolishly, Caleb had it right. X was the one who saw. Especially, her eyes narrowed as she noted just where her husband’s gaze was.

"Stop looking at her, X. And if you think I’m gonna wear that you’ve," Faith stopped as she heard a sound coming from a refuse-strewn alley. "Ya hear that?" Without waiting for an answer, she started into the alley, confident that her man would have her back.

Her lip curled up in disdain when she reached the alley’s far end to find a tall, weathered dude attempting to fight off a quartet of soldiers, one corpse lying at the oldster’s feet, and a crumpled girl behind him.

All this she saw in a second. Three of the soldiers turned to face her and X, the fourth concentrating on the aging swordsman. "By the void," leered one of the Hordesmen, a brutish toad-looking man, "we’ve hit the jackpot here. A noble child to get a bonus and this pretty to play with." Faith chuckled inwardly. Like she hadn’t heard this song before. The guard glanced at his companions. "I’ll deal with one-eye. You lads take that sword off her, but make sure you don’t mark her too much."

* * *

Toad-Face charged at Xander, short sword jabbing at his face. Xander swayed away from the attack, slapping the blade away with the palm of his hand.

The bloated man smirked before slashing at his throat, Xander parried the blow and retaliated with a downward slash at his rival’s head. Eyes wide, the man scurried backwards. "You know how to use that weapon," the guard commented.

Xander bared his teeth in a grin. "You have no idea." He’d been trained by one of his world’s three finest sword-fighters and had honed his skill against opponents far quicker and stronger than his current rival. The Hordesman didn’t stand a chance.

The soldier parried a sideways slash before countering with a thrust at Xander’s heart that he nimbly sidestepped. The soldier screamed when Xander caught him with a slash at his left leg, slicing his thigh open. Toad-Face looked down incredulously as Xander dragged his blade free, viscera dripping from it. The soldier rallied with a desperate upwards thrust that Xander calmly parried before slashing across the crippled warrior’s neck, blood fountaining out of the gory wound.

Xander looked down at the headless corpse at his feet, a sick feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. He’d killed many humans in the years since becoming Faith’s Watcher, in-bred Kentuckian cannibals, a shape-shifting witch, a mage dealing in child-smuggling, and Dark Council members. But each time he got a queasy feeling in his belly and he kinda hoped he always would.

Remembering his wife, he glanced across to see Faith standing over the downed soldiers.

* * *

Bellator Proelium stepped over the second downed Hordesman, mouth gaping at what he’d just watched unfold. He’d seen female warriors before, some real doughty lasses, but the loose-limbed beauty before him was something completely different, stronger, faster, and more skilled than any warrior, male or female, he’d seen in his eventful life. And her one-eyed companion was no slouch either. "Thank you for your assistance," he bowed slightly at the waist. "There are few who would dare to face the Howling Hordes."

The young beauty winked at him, sending a tremor through his heart, a smirk twisting her sensual lips. "Shit, they ain’t nothing but pussies next to the things we’ve dealt with. You handle yourself pretty good for an old-timer." The raven-tressed temptress’ luminous eyes narrowed as she peered past him. "Is she okay?"

Bellator spun around, chagrined at having forgotten his charge. In two strides he was by the girl lying crumpled by the house wall. His eyes closed in grim acceptance as he tried and failed to find a pulse. "Oh, Shana."

"Is she-."

"She’s dead," he confirmed. Eyes fixed on the corpse, he rose, bones seeming to creak like they’d never creaked before. "She cracked her skull when she fell."

* * *

"I’m sorry. Was she your daughter?" Xander asked as he examined the swordsman they’d rescued.

He was a tall man with a frame that once had probably been packed with muscle but the passing of decades had left his physique lean and stretched. The man’s ponytail and bushy beard were peppered with grey, his eyes a calm brown, and his square jawed-face etched with lines. A scar ran across his forehead and another ran from his left ear down to his throat. It was definitely a warrior’s face. The man’s outfit of battle-nocked leather hauberk, rusted bronze skull cap, calf-skin breeches tucked into riding boots, and gleaming short sword only confirmed that opinion.

After a second the weathered warrior turned to face them, his face haggard with loss. "Daughter," the greyed swordsman shook his head. "Nay, lad. Just my failed attempt at debt repayment."

Xander exchanged a puzzled look with his wife before turning back to the older man. Everything about this world was nuts. His mouth opened in a question. "Nay," the man interrupted him with a shake of the head. "Not here. Being caught in an alley with five Howling Hordes corpses would be unwise."

"Makes sense," Xander nodded before following the older man, a watchful Faith stalking at the rear.

The aging warrior led them through a winding passageway that spilled out onto a busy marketplace, the air filled with the shouts of hawkers competing for the patrons’ custom and the smells from a dozen food, herbal, and perfume stalls mingling together. "I’m Bellator Proelium," the weathered swordsman introduced himself. "I’m Parhean by birth, and spent seven years as a Fleet Sword, but owing to a misunderstanding with a duke’s daughter," Faith snorted, "I’ve spent much of my life abroad. I spent the best part of fifteen years serving with The Keenest Blade," Xander glanced at the man. Osus had told them a few stories about the renowned mercenary company on the journey to Ritum. If Bellator had been a member of them, he was a dangerous man. "I fought in the Ishanti House Feuds, the Hyboran Duchy Conflicts, The Free Trade Guild War, and the Shem Blood-Soaked Uprising. But I got sick of the constant wars, and left to spend five years working as a caravan captain in the southern nations. After that, I returned home to take up a position training soldiers for a minor noble. Ten years ago, Azarel," the warrior’s face shadowed, "murdered Olvan and the noble cull began. I fled with the girl when her parent’s manor house was raided, her father’s last command that I protect her. And for ten years I have, loved her like a daughter. Then tonight, either I or my charge was recognised, and now she’s dead." The aging soldier paled, stumbled, and would have fallen but for Faith grabbing his elbow.

"Look," Faith said, his wife’s pool-like eyes filling with compassion. "Our tavern’s just a couple of streets away. Come with us."

"Thank you dear," Bellator managed a wan smile. "Beautiful, brave, and caring. Your young man would have competition if I was but ten years younger."

Faith snorted before throwing him a wink. "Try twenty, hon." The warrior chuckled.

Xander forced a smile. He loved the caring side of his wife, but inviting this stranger to join them was more than a little risky. But there was no arguing with his woman.

* * *

The interior of the inn was lit by half a dozen brightly-burning rush torches stuck in crude iron holdings upon the inn's drab, bare stone walls. The smell of half-burnt meat, poor quality wine, and stale sweat hung unpleasantly in the air of the large common room. In the far corner, a bard told a tale of high heroics, his rich voice competing with the drunken babble of the tavern's occupants seated around the inn's tables, their eyes concentrated either on the bard or their drinks before them. The tavern's patrons consisted mostly of men dressed in the rough woollen tunics of farm workers or craftsmen, except for a few scantily clothed hos plying their trade.

"Pint of ale," Faith ordered. G and the others were busy questioning Bellator up in their hired rooms, so bored, she’d sneaked off to the bar.

"Yes miss," the bartender, a tall, thin man with ferrety eyes and a hooked nose, hurried away.

"’Tis a regular shame that pretty thing like you’se is on her own."

Faith rolled her eyes at the slurred voice behind her. She turned her head and smiled politely at the unshaven, forty-something drunk stood leering at her. Did he seriously think he had a chance with her? "Thanks but I ain’t alone."

"Ah," the man’s mouth parted in a gap-toothed leer, "you’re alone -, owww!"

The man shrieked as he hit his knees, her hand lunging out to grab the hand reaching to paw her, and squeezing until she felt bones grind under her touch. "Word to the wise, no means no." Faith released her grip. "Now get."

Eyes wide with disbelief, the man rose and scurried back into the shadows. "Y…your drink, miss."

Faith turned to face the grey-faced bartender, dropping a silver coin on the dusty bar surface. "Thanks."

She’d barely taken a sip when she heard another unfamiliar but far cultured voice. "Hello, Faith."

Faith rolled her eyes before turning to face the speaker, Jesus were the men around here all backward? Her mouth opened in a warning. A hand landed on the stranger’s shoulder. A half-second later the man was spinning around and crumpling under the dual impact of a headbutt to the nose and knee to the groin. Faith stared at the unconscious stranger for a second before looking up at the attacker. "Jesus, X. Jealous much?"

Her husband looked at her. "He knew your name."

Realisation hit like a tidal wave. "Ah fuck." Faith downed her pint in a single gulp. "We best get the others and run."

* * *

"Owww," Tachy Marcello awoke to a thudding headache to find Torvas Lamina crouched over him as he laid on the tavern floor, an amused look on his companion’s usually dour face.

"Your mouth get you into trouble again?"

"The one called Xander butted me." Tachy glared. "I’ve never seen you smile before."

Torvas’ smile widened. "I’ve never seen you with a broken nose before."

Veritas Callidus looked up at a knock on her study’s door. "Enter."

The door creaked obediently open. The tall man who limped in was thin with an undertaker’s cavernous face, and long, gnarled fingers. "Adjunct."

Veritas nodded shortly, hiding the disdain she felt for her guest behind a blandly polite mask. Of all her rivals for power and the emperor’s favour, the chief of The Purge was the most dangerous; in addition to the one she loathed the most. "Chief Lex," she replied. "And how goes the hunt?"

Something of a distant, repellent, relative to a smile slithered across the enforcer’s face. "There are but a dozen of these visitors. In contrast there are perhaps thousands in the resistance, thousands of elves and dwarves, and many priests of the old religions to be hunted down. Why are these paltry twelve so important?"

"If you think the emperor is in error perhaps you should raise the matter with our esteemed ruler yourself?"

Veritas felt a frisson of amusement when the Purge’s head paled at her softly-spoken suggestion. "I did not mean to question our lord," the man smoothly replied. "Merely expressing puzzlement."

Veritas’ patience with the oily snake ran out. "I never had you for the gossipy type, Areox."

The spy smiled. "No. I’ve had an interesting report from Rittum. Five Hordesmen have turned up dead. No reports of who or what did it."

"And you think these deaths are related to the strangers?"

Areox shrugged. "Any rebel attacks are either usually outside of the towns or assassinations of major imperial figures in the towns. Five dead in an alley doesn’t fit any pattern, especially without the loss of at least one accompanying rebel."

"And what do you want to do?"

The spy chief’s answer came instantly. "Flood the place with agents, lean on any informant in the city, and increase the garrison, stopping everyone going in and out."

Veritas considered the suggestion. "They might well have already left."

"More than likely," the spy shrugged. "But we might shake loose some information about them and where they have headed."

Veritas nodded slowly. "That makes sense. Do what you need."

* * *

"A demon made of stone?" The experienced mercenary shook his head. "Truly you are a warrior of renown!"

Faith shrugged, embarrassed and unused to the praise. "I didn’t beat it. Truth is it pretty much kicked my ass."

"But you survived," Bellator scolded. "That is a warrior’s most important task. To

survive!"

"Your man means a lot doesn’t he?" Faith smiled softly and nodded. X was her world. "That’s good, Faith. When I was your age, I was always looking for the thrill of the next battle, the next conquest to bed, and the next country to explore." The weathered solider sighed. "But I had never the wisdom to undertake a far greater adventure. That of love." The greyed warrior smiled sadly. "That lad adores you, girl. Treasure his affection."

Faith glanced over her shoulder to where X was riding with Ken and Red. "I will," she promised.

"Good," the aging swordsman chuckled before shooting her a look. "Of course if you change your mind, I hope you will consider a distinguished looking older man."

"Nah," Faith shook her head. "G ain’t my type."

Bellator’s mouth opened and shut. Eventually he barked a laugh. "Ha! Perhaps you’re right, a spirited lass like you would only drive me to my grave."

"But what a way to go, right?" Faith smirked.

"Indeed my de-," the man’s face tightened and his voice trailed off. "Angel!"

The vampire’s head snapped around. "I’ve seen it!" the demon called from his position at the front of their party.

Faith’s brow furrowed as she looked left and right. "Seen what?" she demanded.

Her suddenly grave-faced companion pointed up into the sky. "That."

Faith’s stomach hollowed as she saw several trails of smoke billowing up into the sunny sky. "What’s that?" she breathed.

"Fires," Bellator growled, the man’s face hardened. "Raiders or worse, come on!"

* * *

"Good lord," Giles admitted to more than a little queasiness as he surveyed the carnage before them. They’d followed the smoke to a plain beside a bubbling stream. The picturesque scene was ruined by the fifty or so bodies heaped around it, their life-blood coppering the grass beneath their corpses. Wagons had been over-turned and smashed, men, women, and children ruthlessly butchered. Death’s foul stench hung heavy in the air, inter-mingling with the smoke from several burning wagons.

An ashen-faced Faith had taken the other three Slayers to ‘secure the perimeter’, although he suspected the poor child had just wanted to distance herself from the massacre. Not that he blamed her, Slayer or not there were some things his inner chauvinist thought no woman should ever see. Xander was leading the others in a feverish search for survivors although Angel had said it was fruitless.

Right now he hated the damned vampire and his heightened senses more than any time in the past. "They didn’t even fight," he murmured.

"They couldn’t," Giles turned to the grey-faced bard stood beside him. The minstrel shook his head. "These were ‘Wanderers Of The Way’, a cult who believe that a life of non-violence is the only way to achieve heaven."

"Lambs frolicking in a field of wolves," Giles swallowed bile. "Who would do this, bandits?"

"Nay," Osus shook his head. "Bandits rarely attack Wanderers’ caravans, a combination of superstition and the Wanderers’ custom of carrying little of material worth. The only enemies they have are the Cursed or the Howling Hordes." Giles looked towards the bard, seeking clarification. "Since taking the throne Azarel has decreed that he is the one true god and that followers of other ‘false’ gods should be hunted down, their temples and monasteries pulled down."

"It was the Hordes," Giles looked towards Bellator crouched by a corpse. The soldier’s steady eyes met his. "None of the victims have been mauled in any way and tracks leading into the area are too disciplined for the Cursed."

"I see." Giles stared bleakly ahead. It was ironic really, scenes like the one before him made him doubt the existence of one god, much less full pantheons of the buggers. On any other day, he might even laugh.

* * *

"I have a report for you, Earl."

Fortis looked up at the quavering voice. In his doorway’s study there stood a silver-haired, line-faced woman hunched over a walking stick, her green eyes gleaming with an intensity that belied her greatly advanced years. "Zauber!" Fortis greeted as he leapt to his feet and helped the hobbling ancient to his recently vacated seat. "If you had news, you should have sent a runner to get me."

"Nonsense, Fortis," the old woman scolded with all the ferocity he’d come to expect from the woman who with the death of Magoi was now their most powerful mage. "Your men have more important tasks than to act as errand-runners for me. Besides I could do with the exercise, it stops the old bones from seizing up."

"As you wish," he conceded with a nod. He knew full well there was little point arguing with his strong-willed childhood tutor. "Your news, then?"

"Aye," the witch chuckled. "Travos reported in via his communication crystal. It appears he, and more specifically Tachy, have made contact with our guests."

"Excellent!" Fortis enthused.

"Excellent?" the old witch shook her head. "Unfortunately Tachy’s approach resulted in him being knocked out and the strangers fleeing."

"By the abyss," Fortis grunted. If not for bad luck they’d have no luck at all.

"I worry about these strangers that Magoi summonsed here," the elderly witch admitted. "The boy had great power." Fortis allowed himself a secret smile. Only Zauber would refer to a man past fifty as ‘boy’. "But sometimes he could be reckless."

"These people have power," Fortis replied.

"Aye," the lines on Zabuer’s forehead deepened. "That’s what worries me."

* * *

"They’re closing!"

"I know!" Aguda cursed as he looked over his shoulder to see the two score Clear-Bloods gaining on them. If not for his injured horse they’d have easily out-stripped their pursuers. As it was, the racists were gaining by the minute. "Leave me! You can escape on your own!"

"Never!" Elga screamed, his lover’s beautiful face contorted in rage.

"We came together, we’ll die together!" added Valentine.

* * *

Giles stared down at the trio being chased by about forty horsemen and women. From their vantage point atop of a wooded hill, he judged the race could only end one way.

"By the abyss!"

Tearing his eyes away from the pursuit, Giles glanced at the pale-faced bard. "What’s going on?" he demanded.

"The fleeing trio are elves, the others, those in red capes with a human face embroidered on it, are Clear-Bloods, a group who regard non-humans as inferior, and hunt down any and all non-humans and kill them."

"Inferior? Unclean?" Rona’s voice was a low growl. "That sounds really familiar."

Even as he opened his mouth to counsel caution, Faith spoke. "I’m with you, Ron. Let’s go!" In a half-second, the four Slayers and Angel’s group were galloping down the hill.

Giles threw his head back even as he dug his heels into his horse and drew his sword. "Leader?" he groused. "That’s a bloody joke!"

* * *

Thanks to her upbringing, Kennedy had a familiarity with horses that none of her fellow Slayers had. As a result, she reached the Clear-Bloods several seconds before her fellow female warriors. Her ears filling with the raucous din of charging horses, Kennedy charged in.

Lips parted in a snarl, a Clear-Blood swung his blade at her. Kennedy ducked the attack, grabbed the hunter’s wrist and wrenched him from his saddle at the same time slicing through the stirrups of another at the other side, the action spilling the surprised woman from her horse.

Seeing another Clear-Blood galloping towards her from the left, Kennedy pulled her foot out of the stirrup and kicked out. The Clear-Blood’s mouth opened in a scream that was lost in the battle’s clamour when her foot smashed into his knee, trapping it between her super-powered foot and the stallion’s muscled flank. The bone imploded and the paling man pitched forward, vomit spraying from his mouth.

Some instinct caused her twist to her upper body to her right, sword flashing up to block a sword-slash aimed at decapitating her. She saw the shock in her opponent’s angular face as she shot a left hook into his hooked nose. She felt the bone crack and saw blood spew out, splattering the warrior’s tunic as he pitched backwards off his horse.

Kennedy looked around. The Clear-Bloods were retreating, the force of her and her friends’ attack routing them. Kenendy looked down at the broken-nosed man lying crumpled on the ground and sneered. "Lightweight." Digging her heels in, she pulled her horse around and followed the others off the battlefield, victorious again.

* * *

"Owwww!" Odium bellowed as pain roared through his nose as it was re-set.

"Sorry."

Odium thought Invidia, a tall, slender blonde with swaying hips, full lips, and sly grey eyes, wasn’t sorry at all. As his deputy Invidia would be eyeing any chance to show him as weak, to undermine his position.

Not that she was his most immediate concern. For over a decade he’d led the Parhean chapter of the Clear-Bloods, exterminating the non-humans, making the world a better place. And the only thing he hated more than the ‘unclean’ was the human traitors who aided them. And now one had dared lay a hand on him.

Well the black-eyed bitch would pay. When he’d finished with her she’d beg for death.

"What are they again, Pops?" Faith queried, eyes fixed on the bedraggled trio they’d just saved.

"Elves." Faith shook her head at Bellator’s reply, unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes. A fairytale legend alive before her.

The two males were tall with silver, shoulder-length hair, and slanted golden eyes. Their sharp features were almost frightening in their perfect symmetry. The woman accompanying them was short with waist-length tawny hair and sparkling but cold emerald eyes. Her feline features were complemented by her pointed ears and while the males had athletically muscled physiques hers was a curves in the all right places body.

"Thank you for your assistance," the tallest of the elves bowed slightly at the waist, his voice soft and lilting, and his eyes fixed on G. "I’m Prince Aguda Flecha. Your help was greatly appreciated."

Even as the royal spoke, the other male stared at her like she was a succulent snack. She’d been looked at like by guys for closing on ten years and didn’t like it much so she returned the elf’s stare with a cold eyed one of her own. If the guy didn’t get the hint he’d be taking a visit to the woodshed.

* * *

Valentine Hermano stared with lecherous interest at the lithe-limbed, chocolate-eyed beauty. Minutes earlier they’d been riding to their deaths. And then a group of super-warriors had turned up and thoroughly trounced the Clear-Bloods while at the same time delivering his next conquest straight to him.

The oldest of the humans, a grizzled warrior whose scarred face was testament to decades spent in warfare, spoke. "Prince Aguda? I am Bellator Proelium," the experienced soldier bowed his head slightly. "A pleasure and an honour to meet you sir. I understand you are a senior member of the elven resistance?" Before his best friend had chance to speak, the human continued. "We ourselves are looking for the human resistance, perhaps you could help?"

Valentine tore his eyes away from the beauty and to his best friend, noting his fellow elf’s troubled expression. "If you’d give us a minute?"

"Of course, your majesty," interjected the second oldest of the humans. "Take all the time you need."

"Thank you, most gracious," Aguda nodded politely before looking towards him and Elga. "Please, come with me." The three of them backed out of hearing distance before his prince spoke again. "What do you think?"

"They are great fighters," he commented. "They could be a boon to us."

"Great fighters?" Elga snorted, nose flaring. "And it wouldn’t be anything to do with your fascination," Aguda’s lover made the word ‘fascination’ sound dirty, "for human women?"

Valentine chuckled. "I see one," he smiled, "well more than one who interests me." His smile widened as Elga’s sneer deepened. "But," he sobered, "we have also seen them fight." He shook his head. "They outnumber us more than 4 to 1. At least six of their number could force us to tell them what they wanted to without any assistance from their companions."

"Lechery and cowardice?" Elga sniffed. "Are there no depths that you won’t sink to?"

Valentine’s mouth opened in a stinging rebuke. "Peace," Aguda interrupted, a hard note in his close friend’s voice. "You two bicker like children," the prince reproved before shaking his head. "Valentine is right, they are mighty warriors and would be a great asset to the rebellion."

"Or a great threat," Elga pointed out.

"Perhaps," Aguda shrugged. "But I remember the name of Bellator Proelium."

"Aye," Valentine blurted out. "They called him ‘Slice-Hand’ didn’t they?"

"That they did," Aguda agreed. "He was one of the many legends who rode with the Keenest Blade, even commanding one of their companies. Such a man would never serve Azarel."

"We don’t know if he really is Proelium," Elga pointed out. "And even if he is, we’ve been disappointed by our human allies before."

"No," Aguda shook his head. "I’ve decided. It’s a gamble I’m willing to take."

"Aye," Elga looked towards their rescuers. "I just hope you haven’t damned us all."

* * *

"What are they saying?"

Angel hid a smile at Faith’s edgy demand. Somehow he thought learning patience would be a step too far in his friend’s rehabilitation. "They’ve reached a decision," he reported. "The two men have decided that they want to take us to the rebels," albeit for wildly differing reasons he had no intention of revealing for fear that Faith geld the poor guy, "the woman is less trusting but has been out-voted."

"Ah," Giles beamed. "Finally we’re getting somewhere."

"And maybe," Willow added. "We’ll meet the witch who brought us here."

"Oh," Angel shuddered at the light in Faith’s eyes as she cracked her knuckles, "I’m so looking forward to that meeting."

Giles stared levelly at the former renegade Slayer before turning to the two Parheans who’d attached themselves to their party. "I thank you both for your assistance, but it appears we have guides to take us to our goal. I would understand if you’d like to take your leave."

"Nay," Bellator shook his head, eyes glinting. "I have it in me to experience one last adventure."

After a second, Osus also shook his head. "I’d like to stay also. I have a thirst for recording the story that is to unfold."

"The Council with a press agent? We’re doomed," Xander muttered.

"Just as long as he doesn’t record anything as bad as ‘The Ballad Of John & Yoko." Angel smiled as his companions turned to him, their faces incredulous. "What? I can tell jokes too."

"Not about the Beatles, you bloody can’t," Giles huffed.

* * *

"Hail! We wish to share your camp!"

As he spoke Finn Cormac inspected the lone man crouched by the crackling fire. He was a tall, powerfully-built man with ebony skin that glinted in the wake of his fire. The foreigner’s tightly-woven braids hung on his broad shoulders. Scars adorned the man’s broad forehead, his nose squashed flat by repeated breakings, and his stern grey eyes and square jaw hinted at his implacability.

That the stranger was a warrior was beyond question. Despite the night’s warmth, the man was wearing a waist-long cape over a leather scaled hauberk over a chain-mailed shirt, and woollen breeches tucked into riding boots. His outfit was completed by a broadsword and humongous battle-axe resting by his feet.

The warrior’s mouth parted in a smile that failed to reach his eyes. "Aye," he boomed, his voice deep and rich. "By all means."

Finn felt a chill run up his spine at the giant Shem’s smile. He glanced at his quintet of companions, his confidence returning at their proximity. They were Hordesmen, they took what they pleased. "Thank you, friend."

* * *

"My pleasure, " Jabari Aren replied, eyes fixed on the six Hordesmen. The moment the first of his people’s oppressors clambered off his horse, he moved.

Hands blurring to his weapons, he snatched them up and he rushed forward. His sword flashed up diagonally, slicing across the nearest man’s throat.

Blood showered him as the decapitated man pitched forward. His people’s war cry bubbled out of his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a Hordesman charging him from the left.

He dropped into a crouch. His sword flashed upwards and across his body, ripping through the Hordesman’s tunic, burying itself deep in the onrushing man’s gut.

"Ahhh!" Blood spilled out of the man’s stomach, staining his blade. Not bothering to try and withdraw his blade, Aren rose and lunged forward, axe in hand. Back-steps were not his people’s way, always forward.

Blocking a sword slash on his left elbow-length steel gauntlet, he hacked at an attacker to his right. The bulging-eyed Hordesman blocked his attack on a shield that cracked under the blow’s impact before retaliating with a thrust at his heart. Aren slapped the blade down before stepping into the man, putting him between the other three Hordesman, and smashing his forehead into the warrior’s face.

Crimson fountained out of the Hordesman’s face. Even as the opposing warrior stumbled backwards, Jabari cleaved his skull in two with his axe. Snatching up the man’s sword as it fell to the ground, Jabari spun to face the remaining trio, smiling briefly at their ashen faces before charging. The one to his left raised his blade and tried with a downward swing that he blocked on his sword. His opponent grimaced as the impact of his parry reverberated through him.

Before the man had chance to attack again, Jabari counter-attacked with a feinted swing at his left hip. Desperation flooding his eyes, the man brought his shield down in a block. The moment the Hordesman committed, Jabari thrust over the shield and into the man’s heart at the same time ducking away from a slash at his head from another man.

Jabari’s right foot lashed out, cracking into his would-be attacker’s inner knee. "Gaa!" the man roared his pain as his knee shattered under the impact, tendons and ligaments likewise tearing.

"For the Fallen!" Jabari bellowed as he leapt over the crippled man to land beside the last Hordesman. Teeth bared in a panicked snarl, the warrior thudded his buckler into Jabari’s forehead.

Blood dripping down his forehead, Jabari dropped to one knee. He saw his opponent smirk and bring his sword up for a downward swing. Jabari thrust his borrowed blade up, sliding it into the man’s groin. Even as the man’s eyes widened with the sickening realisation of death, Jabari twisted and yanked the blade out.

A smile on his face, Jabari rose and turned to the last Hordesman, the one with the shattered knee. Grabbing the man by his collar, he flipped him onto his back. "M….mercy," sobbed the warrior.

"Aye," Jabari nodded, mind filled with images of his homeland’s cities burning. "The same mercy you showed Shem." His blade sliced down, ripping through the man’s throat.

* * *

Veritas’ heart thumped as it always did when answering the emperor’s telepathic call. The trouble was she never knew what sort of mood she’d find her mercurial master in. The anticipation was sometimes worse than the mood. But unfortunately only sometimes.

Reaching an oval-shaped wooden door, she knocked. "Enter."

After a lick of her lips, she walked into the throne room. The throne room was a vast chamber, its stone walls covered in paintings skilfully depicting the emperor’s many victories. The emperor himself was sat on a bejewelled throne stood on a raised platform.

As always a chill ran through her at her first sight of the imperial ruler. The man was abnormally tall, so tall that one could think that there was Highlander blood running through his veins except for his almost skeletal frame clothed in an ankle-length, blood-red robe.

And his face was the thing of nightmares. Greyish skin was stretched across an angular, sharp-featured face while his dark blue eyes burnt with unquenchable, chilling power.

Remembering herself, Veritas dropped to one knee and directed her gaze to the ground. "Sire, you called?"

"Yes," she heard the creak of the throne as her master rose. "I did. How is the search for the intruders progressing?" Veritas’ stomach hollowed. "Veritas?"

She licked her lips. "We are making progress-."

"PROGRESS!" She screamed as pain like she’d never felt before crashed into her, twisting, ripping at her insides, lashing at her body. "PROGRESS!" In the distance she could hear her emperor screaming. "ARE YOU NOT THE IMPERIAL WILL? I GAVE YOU THIS POSITION BECAUSE OF YOUR COMPETANCE! DO NOT FAIL ME NOW!"

"Ahhh!" Veritas gasped and slumped forward when the pain left her body as suddenly as it had arrived. Chest heaving and sweat-drenched frame shaking helplessly, it was several seconds before she could speak. "Yes sire," she gasped. "I’ll get them."

She was dimly aware of the emperor patting her head like she was a favourite pet. "See that you do."

* * *

Odium Populo strode around the busy encampment, eyes darting left and right, nostrils of his recently broken nose flaring painfully. "How long! How long!" the man raged, spittle flying from his mouth.

Invidia hid a smirk at her leader’s fury. It had been amusing to watch her leader’s humiliation, but more than a little worrying the ease with which they’d been routed. Their opposition had definitely been something more than human and as such had to be exterminated to purify the world for the chosen.

"I’m talking to you!"

She realised with a start that her leader was stood before her, eyes filled with an unquenchable rage. "I’m sorry, sir." Invidia carefully hid her disdain. Odium was a slow-witted fool, but he was also a vicious bastard with an explosive temper. "I was making plans, thinking how best to catch up with the infidels."

She was relieved when her chief’s mottled face returned to something resembling its usual colour. "And how long do you think until we’re ready to leave?"

"Not long, sir," she soothed. "We should have three hundred warriors ready to ride soon."

"Good," Odium nodded. "And then we’ll kill them all." Her superior’s face twisted in a sneer. "Except that black-eyed bitch who shattered my nose. I want her alive. At least for a few days."

Invidia barely resisted the urge to shudder. The woman might be unclean, but she didn’t deserve what Odium was going to do to her.

* * *

Travos strode through the smoky inn to his companion waiting at a rough-hewn table to the back. His fellow rebel half-rose at his approach, eyes impatient. "Well?"

He nodded at Tachy’s enquiry. "According to the inn-keep, a group matching our quarry’s general description passed through here yesterday. Only-," he paused.

"Only what?" Tachy pressed.

"It appears that the strangers, if it was them, have added a trio of elves and two locals to their party."

"If it is them?" Tachy raised an immaculately coiffured eyebrow. "And if it is them then you’ve noticed they’re heading straight for our base."

"I’ve noticed they might be," Travos refused to commit.

"Aye," Tachy nodded. "In that case," the former cavalry officer stared around the darkened drinking-house, "we can spend a few hours entertaining a few of the likely tavern wenches."

Travos shook his head, unable to believe his companion’s irresponsible attitude. He’d always know that the cavalry were a feckless lot, but this beggared belief. "No," he turned away. "We don’t have the time to spare. Get a move on."

* * *

"Good morn, fair Faith."

Faith rose sinuously, temper flaring as she hurriedly buttoned her tunic over her still wet body. Turning, she glared at the figure stood watching her from under a poolside tree. Just how long had the bastard been watching her for? "I was washing," she growled. "Have you heard of privacy?"

"Ah," Valentine smiled. "Elves don’t hold with such prudery."

"Well I ain’t an elf."

"No," her eyes widened when the cheeky bastard had the nerve to run a finger down the side of her face. "You are not. But you have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thanks, I’m flattered," Faith lied as she stepped out of arm’s reach. "But I’m not interested. I’ve got someone."

"Xander?" Valentine sniffed. "That one-eye is not worthy of such a beauty."

Okay, Faith’s temper snapped. She’d been insulted and looked down her entire life, and she was down with that, but nobody talked shit about her man. "Yeah," she pouted seductively before sinking to her knees before the elf, "you’re right. Let me show my appreciation." Her fist flew up in an uppercut landing between the elf’s legs.

"Ahhhh," his face greening, the elven Romeo pitched onto his hands and knees, breath coming in desperate pants.

"Listen good you pointy eared prick." Faith snatched a hold of the elf’s left ear and yanked it hard before crouching down beside the elf and whispering in his ear. "I’ve known sleazes like you my entire life. I ain’t interested, you stay the fuck out of my way and away from my girls, and if I catch you bad-mouthing my X again, I’ll be wearing your ears on a necklace." Rising, she strode off, leaving the elf to his pain.

* * *

Valentine wheezed and gasped for breath, tears blinding him even as he reeled at the Slayer’s power.

"Ach, laddie. That Faith, she’s a firecracker isn’t she? Here, let me help you up." Before Valentine had a chance to speak an impossibly strong hand grabbed him around his throat and yanked him upright. He stared dazedly into Angel’s face. "I’m going to let you into a secret," the powerfully-built human smiled, "you remind me of a lad I once knew. A right rum ‘un by the name of Liam. He was a regular charmer with a real eye for the ladies, not unlike yourself. A pretty wee lass like Faith would have stirred his blood for sure. And then, once he’d had his fun, he’d have cast her aside. Now here’s my problem," Angel’s eyes bored through him, "Faith’s family. She and Xander are happy; he makes her happier than she’s ever been. Do anything to ruin that and you’ll regret it."

Valentine’s blood chilled at the cold look in the man’s eyes. "I fear no man," he blustered.

"That’s good," Valentine gasped when Angel’s handsome features changed into something horrifyingly distorted, "because technically, not a man. In fact for a hundred and fifty years I was my world’s most feared killer. You hurt Faith and I’ll make your corpse a piece of performance art. Are we understanding one another?" Valentine nodded, eyes fixed on Angel’s terrible face. "Good." The monster’s face returned to normal. "Now, let’s get back to the others."

* * *

"By the abyss!" Travos dropped from his saddle to inspect the cloven ground. "This isn’t good."

"What is it?" the cavalry officer stayed seated on his steed, eyes likewise examining the tracks.

.

"A large body of horsemen are pursuing the strangers," he reported, eyes fixed on the ground. "Maybe two hours behind them and a hour ahead of us."

"Who? Hordesmen?"

"Unlikely," he shook his head at the former Fleet Sword’s urgent query. "Their riding pattern is too undisciplined."

"Who then? Bandits?"

"No," he shook his head again. "There’s not many bandit gangs that size. I’d guess we’re looking at Clear-Bloods."

"By the abyss," Tachy scowled. "But what would the Clear-, the elves of course."

"We best warn them," Travos decided as he strode back to his horse.

"And we best be quick about it," Tachy replied.

* * *

"We’ve got a problem," Rona declared. "Some of those Clear-Bloods are trailing us."

"So?" Kennedy shot the African-American a dismissive glance. "They’re no big deal."

"Three hundred of them are," Rona replied.

"Three hundred? Oh bloody hell!" Giles looked left and right. "I suppose running is out of the question?"

"No," the elven prince interjected. "The land ahead is marsh, not fit for fast travel, and past that is the rebel stronghold. We don’t want to lead them there."

"Bugger," Giles looked around again. To the left was a steep incline, to the right, a wide rushing river. Neither were quickly traversable. "We’re going to have to make a stand."

"If I might make a suggestion?" Giles looked towards Angel. Right now he’d take any help he could. "We passed a slight incline with a rise behind it perhaps ten minutes back. It’s holdable, at least for a while."

"For a while," Giles grimly repeated. It seemed a while was all they had. "Let’s move!"

* * *

Jabari’s brow furrowed and eyes narrowed as he felt the unmistakable shudder of a large group passing near-by. Pulling up his steed, he hid behind a large hedgerow.

A few minutes later and the galloping band passed by. Jabari bared his teeth in a snarl as he peeked over the hedgerow and recognised the party’s distinctive red cloaks with a human face embossed on them. "Clear-Bloods," he growled deep in his throat. His land didn’t have many non-humans living in it, but any who did settle had been accepted. Under the Emir’s rule, the Clear-Bloods in Shem had always been ruthlessly hunted down. "Three hundred to one," Jabari smiled bleakly. A battle to remember. After checking his weapons, he dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and started after the oblivious group.

"Have I mentioned that I have a very bad feeling about this?" Xander muttered, solitary eye fixed on the mob charging towards them, the sun gleaming off their many weapons.

"Don’t worry," Faith winked at her man. "I won’t let anything happen to my boytoy."

"Well that’s reassuring." Xander nodded towards the rampaging force. "Are you going to tell them that?"

"Planning to." Faith looked around. Illyria had torn up a practical forest of trees and impaled them in the area at the bottom of the incline, creating a sort of barricade that should at least slow their enemy’s advance. The elves were behind them with bows at the ready, along with Red ready to do her Sabrina thing. The rest of them were in the front line, awaiting the rush.

Faith’s eyes narrowed as she noticed perhaps four dozen of the Clear-Bloods splitting off to try and out-flank them to their right. "Fang you see it?"

"I see it," her stoic idol replied.

"Ken, Ron, Vi, join me and Angel on the right. X," Faith winked at her man, "see ya in a few."

Turning her attention back to the matter in hand, she pulled on her horse’s reins, guiding it down the hill at the head of her fellow Slayers and Angel. Every gallop of her steed thundered through her. The last thing she saw was her enemies’ wide eyes and then she crashed into them.

* * *

"Faith-," Xander’s voice trailed off as his wife rode off.

"Ach, laddie," he glanced behind to see Bellator, a wry smile on the weathered warrior’s face. "Don’t worry. That wee lass is too feisty to allow an insignificance like a small army to stop her from coming back to you." The battle-worn mercenary’s smile disappeared. "You’d be best concerning yourself with the enemy heading towards us."

Xander nodded before returning his gaze to the front. By now the elves had begun firing arrow after arrow into their charging attackers. Although the elves unleashed their barrage at a blur, each arrow downing a Clear-Blood, the racists plunged on, only slowing when they reached Illyria’s hastily created obstacle course. Sweat began to drip down his forehead. "Steady lad," Bellator muttered in his ear, barely audible over the din. "Not long now." Xander shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, watching, waiting.

The moment the opposing faces exited the barricades, Connor, Groo, and Illyira charged to meet them, Bellator, Xander, Wood, and Giles staying to guard Willow and the elves. And what carnage did Willow create. Trees from the barricade uprooted and flew into riders, taking five, six down at a time. Illusory apparitions appeared, spooking horses, causing them to throw their riders. Underground roots flew out from beneath, grabbing a hold of horses’ legs, causing them to buckle.

Those who escaped Willow’s magics ran into Connor and the others. The skill of Groo, Illyria’s awesome rage, and the vampire son’s blinding agility. Between them they took down dozens. But still they came, sheer weight of numbers meaning this battle could only end one way.

* * *

Kennedy’s heart pounded in tandem with her horse as she and the others charged head-long at the advancing Clear-Bloods. As a child she’d spent many an idyllic afternoon riding. But never, she smiled reluctantly, riding into battle.

"Yes!" An unbidden scream erupted from her lips as she reached the Clear-Bloods. The first Clear-Blood attempted to skewer her with a sword-thrust that she easily blocked before swing kicking the fanatic’s weapon away. She briefly saw the thug’s eyes widen with surprise and then her fist was crunching into his face.

Kennedy didn’t bother to watch the renegade’s collapse. Twisting at the waist, she parried a lunge at her before replying with a back-handed slash, her blade cutting deep into the man’s side.

Ignoring both the blood spewing out of the man’s side and the bile that rose in her throat at the sight of it, Kennedy geed her horse forward, deeper into the melee. "No!" Her eyes widened in horror when a Clear-Blood thrust his blade deep into her horse’s neck.

The horse threw back its head and neighed its distress, blood vomiting out of its mouth. Kennedy caught sight of the beast’s despairing eyes as it collapsed, pitching head-first to the ground. Kennedy flung herself free, hitting the churned up grass on her shoulder. Kennedy began to roll up to her feet.

And then a horse’s hoof crashed into her forehead and she was plunged into unconsciousness.

* * *

"By the abyss!" Torvas shook his head as he looked through his one-handed telescope and to the on going battle some eight hundred metres to their left. All this work, all the searching and it would all come to naught. He looked to his left and the dandy beside him. "What are you doing?"

His companion did not deign to look towards him, continuing to check his stirrups. "Getting ready to help them."

"I always knew you Fleet Swords had heads as thick as tree trunks, but this!" Torvas shook his head. "There’s hundreds of them!"

Tachy shot him a gleaming smile. "We were set a mission," the former cavalry officer pointed out. "And the way they’re cutting through the Clear-Bloods we’ll be facing dozens rather than hundreds."

"Oh that’s alright then." Torvas threw his head back and laughed. "To the void with common sense. Never let it said a Watching Steel would turn away from a Fleet Sword’s challenge!"

* * *

Diokete Xulon stared down at the raging battle going on before her. Despite the cover offered by the trees concealing her and her followers, terror twisted her insides as her mind travelled through the corridors of the past.

As a child she’d lived a blissfully happy life in a simple southern village. And then a troop of Clear-Bloods had fallen upon their village, murdering elves and dwarves who’d lived there harmoniously for decades and ‘purified’ the humans for committing the heinous crime of living with other species. Her father had died that day trying to protect her and since then she’d trailed relentlessly to ensure that no-one would ever have to die protecting her again.

"Are you alright?"

Diokete turned towards her brother to her left, heart catching as it always did at the man’s rasp. It had been caused by a Clear-Blood’s slash to her brother’s throat when he’d attempted to protect her, as was the jagged vertical scar beneath his left eye and his missing left little finger.

Yet despite his infirmities, Elipzo was still a formidable figure. Short with black unflinching eyes and a pointed goatee that matched his eyes, her brother’s thickly-muscled physique was clothed in loose-fitting woollen black breeches, a fur jerkin over a chain-mail shirt, and a brass skullcap over his bald pate. A short sword and a trio of throwing knives hung from the leather belt around his portly waist.

"I’m fine," Diokete smiled wanly before returning her gaze to the skirmish. "Their defiance stirs my blood."

"We have a mission to complete!"

Diokete turned to the speaker, eyes narrowing. "It can wait!"

"Dys Andros is not a man to be kept waiting," the speaker pressed.

Diokete’s lips thinned as she struggled to keep a hold of her patience. After their village’s decimation, Elipzo had decided that they should join with Dys Andros, the Empire’s most notorious bandit and probably the only person the Clear-Bloods feared.

Until now. Diokete shook her head as she came to a terrifying decision. "We’re no going," she replied. "They need our help."

"We have our orders!" squeaked the protestor.

"Then go," she shot her companions a challenging look. "I have greater concerns than robbing a trade caravan."

"Andros will hear about this!"

Diokete was dismayed when fourteen of her twenty-six strong group joined the protestor in riding off. Clearly their fear of Andros was more compelling than their loyalty to her. Swallowing her disappointment, Diokete drew her sword before looking towards her brother and the others who’d remained behind. "Let’s ride!"

* * *

Faith smirked as she used the back of her hand to wipe the sweat off her brow. The fighting had been frenzied, but she’d come through it in one piece, the enemy routed. Crouching down, she wiped her blade clean on the grass.

Looking around, she saw her hubby, their companions, and a bunch of strangers who’d come out of nowhere to help them. Faith opened her mouth to yell a greeting to her man. "Kennedy?" her eyes snapped to a drawn-looking Willow. "Where’s Kennedy?"

"Ah hell," Faith whispered as she cast a worried look around, heart tightening as she tried and failed to find any sight of her fellow raven-haired Slayer. The first woman who’d offered to be her friend.

"Oh bollocks," Giles took over. "Angel, can you or Connor smell Kennedy?"

The vampire shook his head. "Too many people, too much death."

"Bugger," the Watcher scowled. "Then we had best split up."

"Xan, Bellator with me," Faith instructed. Her eyes narrowed as she remembered somewhere close to the ten of the raiders breaking away before the end of the battle. Maybe they’d grabbed Ken on the way out.

* * *

Their losses had been terrible, but it would all be worth it. Oduim sneered at the restrained beauty, her hands and feet chained as she’d been flung unconscious across the back of a horse. "You might have broken my nose my pretty. But I’ll see to it that every bone in your body is broken." His sneer widened as the girl’s eyes flicked open to glare at him. "Oh those eyes! I’ll have to see about plucking -."

"Clear-Bloods! Cowards! Murderers! Scum!"

Oduim’s blood chilled as he looked up to see his heckler. The man was an ebony-skinned giant with a battle-worn warrior’s face, long braids resting on his broad shoulders. He brandished a broadsword that any normal man would need two hands to lift in his right hand and a giant battle-axe in his left, the war stallion beneath him seemingly controlled by sheer will alone.

Oduim swallowed, something shrivelling inside him at the cold gleam in the Shem’s eyes. Oduim glanced left and right. Fortified by his companions’ presence, he let out a ragged yell. "Charge him!"

All seven of his troops charged forward, their steeds’ hooves thumping on the ground. A barbaric war-cry erupted from the Shem’s mouth and then he bounded forward. The warrior’s sword slashed to his right, taking a Clear-Blood’s head off, blood showering everywhere. At the same time he blocked a sword thrust on his left with his axe before thrusting across his body, sword sliding through his would-be attacker’s ribs.

And then the giant was past the remaining five Clear-Bloods. The man-mountain turned his horse in an impossibly tight half-circle before crashing his axe into the back of the head of the nearest Clear-Blood, viscera erupting from the calamitous wound as the attacker yanked his weapon loose. One of the remaining quartet turned to face the warrior. The Clear-Blood’s lips bared in a desperate snarl as he blocked a back-handed broadsword slash and then howled in pain when the Shem followed up with an axe across his body, ripping into the Clear-Blood’s stomach.

One of the last surviving Clear-Bloods crashed into the Shem’s war stallion only for his lighter pony to stagger back. The Clear-Blood raised his shield to parry an axe-swing. Such was the force of the attack that the shield was knocked aside, the weapon continuing on route to its target, the victim’s face disappearing in a crimson spray.

Oduim’s mouth opened in an out-raged bellow when his last two followers turned tail and fled. His shout turned to a croak when the Shem’s deathly gaze dropped on him. Oduim glanced at his captive, trying to decide whether to dump her and run or take her with him.

By the time he’d decided, it was already too late. He was falling from his horse, head cleaved almost in two from a downward axe-swing.

* * *

"Wow," Xander stared in disbelief at the giant black they’d just seen decimate the fleeing Clear-Bloods they’d been tracking as the man freed a dazed-looking Kennedy.

"He’s like Teal’c with braids."

"We could leave the two of you alone if you’d like a homo-erotic moment together," Faith smirked.

Xander glowered at his wife. "Remind me why I married you?"

Faith’s smirk turned to a leer. "I think we both know the answer to that." Faith sobered. "Let’s grab Ken and get back to the others."

* * *

Areos Lex smiled as his guest was escorted into his dark, featureless office. His square-faced guest had thin cruel lips and bitter brown eyes, his face pock-marked from some illness or other and his straggly hair prematurely grey. His unprepossessing appearance was only added to by his paunch and stale, drinker’s breath. "Hello, Vistro." Lex nodded at one of the finest tools at his disposal. "Please take a seat."

"Sir," the bounty hunter rasped before sitting. "I understand you have an assignment."

"Oh yes," Lex nodded. To his way of thinking these dimensional interlopers presented an opportunity. For whatever reason they worried the emperor and therefore whoever dealt with them would gain much favour. And Vistro would be his instrument to accomplish this. As the leader of the Gut-Eaters, the empire’s most ruthlessly efficient bounty-hunters, a band of multi-national cut-throats who if not for their licence, would be foremost amongst the hunted. "An assignment that could make you very wealthy."

He passed the documents over the rough-hewn table. The room was almost completely silent for the next few minutes but for the crinkle of paper as Vistro read through the information on the strangers with a furrowed brow. Finally the bounty-hunter looked up, a calculating gleam in his eyes. "These strangers sound tough. I’ll have to hire more men, maybe even the Blood-Trackers and the Killing-Shadows."

Lex smiled at the mention of the empire’s other leading bounty-hunters. All money-hungry scum, but that was a large part of what made them so dangerous. "Hire who you need. I’ll make sure it’ll be more than worth your while."

"Mi’lord?"

Earl Andres looked up at the knock on his front door. Recognising the excited voice as belonging to Petro Pyrgos he raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the animation in the normally dour captain’s voice before looking towards the scarred muscleman by the door. "Let him in," he instructed.

Probus nodded before opening the door, hand warily resting on his sword hilt even in the presence of his fellow soldier. But then there had been three past assassination attempts on him.

Pyrgos’ eyes had a rare gleam as he bounded into Andres’ ramshackle office. "Mi lord, the summonsed dozen have arrived!" The former Honoured Watch officer took a breath before continuing his report. "And that is not all. Slice-Hand, the Vengeful Weapon, and Dancing Death are with them!"

Andres’ eyes widened. Slice-Hand was a legend of yester-year, believed dead for years, but in his prime a formidable warrior. Vengeful Weapon, Jabari Aren, was with the Ishanti Blade-Lord, Ka’Tra Swift-Sword, and Kamper Kraft of the Kennest Blade, one of the world’s three premier warriors. Dancing Death on the other hand was a notorious lady outlaw, known as much for her sharp temper as her dazzling sword skill. "Why?"

"According to Marcello, Slice-Hand had been travelling with the twelve. Jabari Aren and Diokete Xulon were drawn by a fight they were having with Clear-Bloods."

"Ah," Andres nodded dazedly before collecting himself. "It seems that fortune is smiling on us at last. These champions from another dimension and our own, present us with -."

Suddenly the door crashed open and a striking beautiful brunette stormed in, black eyes spitting fire. Probus stepped to intercept her, but an elbow to the chest sent him wheezing into the far wall. "Not on your best day," the curvy beauty snarled before directing her volcanic gaze at Petro. "Don’t even think it," she warned before turning back to him, grabbing the corners of his desk and leaning over it. "They say you’re the big cheese around here, right?" His mouth opened. Before he could speak, his uninvited guest continued. "Yeah, you’re the boss, you’ve got the self-important jive of a bastard Watcher. Question is are you the mother-fucker who did the spell who transported me across dimensions in the raw?"

Andres gulped. He only understood one word in ten of what the enraged beauty had growled at him, but he got enough of the general gist to be worried. "T…the mage who performed the spell is dead."

"Oh," the raven-haired temptress looked briefly nonplussed before straightening. "Lucky for him." The young woman’s ebony orbs hardened to stone. "How the fuck are we supposed to get home then?"

Andres swallowed again. "That is beyond my knowledge," he reluctantly admitted.

"Fucking A!" the brunette snorted before turning on her heel and striding out of the room, door slamming behind him.

It was a moment before Andres managed to speak. "That was Faith I assume?" Petro paused in helping Probus to his feet to nod. "By all the fires," he muttered. Magoi’s drawing had not done the woman’s vibrant beauty justice, but the notes he’d written had also failed to mention she had a temper to rival an enraged ogre’s. Squaring his shoulder, he stood, chair scraping back on the threadbare red carpet underfoot. "We had best greet our guests."

* * *

Angel looked up as Faith erupted from one of the buildings, the building shuddering under her exit. "I think someone’s not happy," Connor muttered.

"Gee," Angel winced as Faith’s voice reached them, a few seconds before the sulphurous Slayer, "what gave it away?"

He watched as Xander hurried over to intercept his wife. Marrying Faith, he couldn’t decide if that proved Xander had great taste or was insanely brave. Knowing Xander, he decided it was probably a little bit of both. He scowled as his enhanced hearing picked up what the Bostonian had learnt from her confrontation with the rebel leader. The mage had brought them here had died in the attempt? That wasn’t good at all.

Even as he started towards the duo, a distinguished-looking man, a nobleman if his memories from his human days served him, hurried out of the building Faith had just exited, a pair of tough-looking men flanking him. "Greetings travellers," the greying man shot Faith a tentative look before casting a glance over their entire party. "Thank you for coming-."

"Like we had a choice."

The noble grimaced at Faith’s grunt. "I’m honoured to make your acquaintance. Perhaps you’d like to talk somewhere more discreet."

Giles shot Faith a warning glare. The Bostonian Slayer glared right back at the Englishman. "By all means sir," the Council head turned to the noble. "Please, lead the way."

"Most gracious," the nobleman nodded. "This way."

The man led their group through a bewildering succession of narrow streets, crooked alleys, and up and down steps until at last stopping at the back of a long thin building. The noble turned back to face them. "I apologise for the circuitous route, but secrecy is of the utmost importance. Should the empire discover our base here they’d wipe us and this town from the map. Please, come in."

As the noble had been speaking, the two rebels who’d helped them in their battle with the Clear-Bloods had opened the building’s door to reveal a barn, its floor covered with straw. "I’m Earl Fortis Andres, the leader of the resistance."

"Rupert Giles, leader of our little group," the Watcher replied. Angel decided allowing the Watcher his illusions wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Each of them introduced themselves in turn, Illyria with her trademark arrogance and Faith her usual grumpiness.

Once the introductions were over, Earl Fortis Andres nodded. "I apologise both for our rude surrounding and the way you were brought here. It was done without my knowledge or approval."

"Then maybe you could just send us back?" Kennedy suggested.

"I am afraid that’s not possible," the Earl paused before casting Faith an almost fearful look. "The spell-casting cost our pre-eminent mage his life."

The barn erupted in an uproar, questions and shouts filling the air. Eventually Giles managed to calm the clamour to discomforted mutters. "We have Willow," the Englishman pointed out. "It might take a little time but I’m sure she can work out how to send us home." Kennedy’s mouth opened. "Without loss of life of course." The Watcher looked towards the resistance leader. "And while we are here we can perhaps help you? If you have any ideas?"

After a second the earl nodded. "We have a number of targets that be too difficult for normals to take out without -."

"Screw this drip drop approach," Faith snapped. "You’ve got all the other resistance groups, Bellator told us about them. Why not get them all together, strike at the capital, The Impregnable Will, and wipe this asshole Emperor from the face of the planet?"

A long silence followed Faith’s suggestion. "I think that is a little rash -."

"No," Xander interrupted Giles’ rebuke. "We were sent here for a reason. We never tried to contain the Master, the Mayor, or any of the others."

"He has a point, Giles," Angel added his support. "An organisation this size can be easily squashed. Adding other groups will only make it stronger."

"The other groups won’t work with us," the earl replied.

"Then you idiot," Angel groaned as Xander’s scathingly undiplomatic comment, "you work with them. The emperor’s the big issue isn’t he? Sort everything else afterwards!"

The earl stared at the one-eyed Watcher. "You are wise indeed!" Angel snorted. "Only it is perilous to travel any distance, the Hordesmen and their allies are everywhere."

"Then we’ll be careful," Angel said. "Who do you suggest we get in contact with?"

"Ka’Tra Swift Sword in Ishanti, Kamper Kraft of the Keenest Blade is rumoured to be raiding in Urad, Mate Dane in the Highlands, and Chief Dulak of Shem."

"No-body else?" Giles queried.

The earl shrugged. "Resistance in all other lands has been pacified."

"How encouraging," Angel guessed that only he and Connor picked up Giles’ whisper. "Xander," the Englishman looked towards Xander, "I’d like you to take Faith and hunt down this Kraft-."

"I used to serve with The Keenest Blade," Bellator interrupted. "I’d be more than happy to go with them."

"Thank you," the Englishman nodded respectfully. "I was just about to ask you to." The Watcher turned to Wood. "Robin, I was wondering if you’d accompany Jabari into Shem?" The African-American nodded silently. "Thank you," Giles turned to him, "Angel, if you’d be so good as to lend him the Groosaluug?" Angel looked towards his friend. Groo nodded. "Thank you, Angel, could you take the rest of your team to meet with Mate Dane?" He nodded. "Thank you, Miss Xulon, could you and your brother go with him as guides?"

The lady outlaw shrugged. "Got nothing better to do."

"Most kind." The Watcher looked towards Kennedy. "Kennedy, could you take Rona and Vi, together with Tachy and Torvas, and go to Ishanti?"

"Sure Giles," the lesbian Slayer agreed. "Only what are you and," Kennedy looked towards her girl-friend, "Willow going to do?"

"Ah, yes," Giles pinched his nose before continuing. "I had thought Willow and myself would stay here and attempt to research the spell that brought us here." Giles looked towards the noble. "If that’s alright?"

"Of course," the earl agreed.

"Perhaps you could tell us some more about the empire’s major players?" Xander suggested.

"Of course,." The earl looked towards one of the men with him. "Petro is the head of our military operations. He’ll answer any questions as much as he can."

"Okay," Angel raised an eyebrow at Xander’s commanding tone. Maybe the boy had changed after all. "How about you tell us about the imperial organisation, the groups that might be hunting us?"

"I’d be more than happy to oblige," the soldier paused. "Warlord Bellum leads the main force, the Howling Hordes. They’re an army of tens of thousands. They’re murderously efficient."

"Bellum’s good," Bellator growled. "He would be the leader of The Keenest Blade, except he broke the 1^st and 2^nd rules."

"The 1^st and 2^nd rules?" Faith asked. "Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout?"

"No Keenest Blade will kill a civilian. No Keenest Blade will rape or torture a prisoner," Bellator intoned. "These are the rules that make The Keenest Blade the elite of the mercenary world, because they hold themselves to a higher standard." The grizzled veteran paused. "Bellum was a young officer two decades ago when he ransacked a village and tortured a number of prisoners for information." The battle-hardened warrior paused for a second. "Bellum’s a brilliant strategist and leader, but utterly ruthless and amoral."

"Then there is Areox Lex, the leader of the Purge. The Purge hunt down rebels, dissidents, and deserters in addition to spying on the civilian population. They’re everywhere, fear of them is everywhere." Petro paused. "Decorus Mors is the leader of The Shadow Fang. Little is known about The Shadow Fang, but they’re always used by the emperor as a precursor to invasion, assassinating all of a nation’s leaders. Then there is Dotos Hex, apart from the emperor our world’s most powerful magic-user. She leads The Magic-Tamers, an organisation that polices the empire’s magi, killing all who won’t join and using their powers to police normals."

"King of like the Psi Corps in Babylon 5." Xander reddened when everyone turned to him. Angel smirked, maybe the kid hadn’t changed that much. "Sorry, go on."

After an uncertain stare at Xander, Petro nodded. "There is also Therion Wanax. A snarling brute of a man, he is little better than the beasts he controls – goblins, trolls, ogres, and other even fouler creations." The soldier paused, distaste flickering across his face. "And now we reach the worst – Crucia Sequi. He runs The Truth-Givers, the Imperial religious order who force the general population to worship the emperor as a living god. Any ‘blasphemers’ are given into his hands for re-education’." Petro scowled. "He is a sadist who frequently trumps up charges against either those who challenge him or women who take his fancy so he can get them into his hands. In addition, he experiments on his prisoners, merging them with animals or demons, testing their pain thresholds, amongst other still darker things."

"He sounds like just the guy ya wanna bring home to mom." Faith paused. "Well, my mom anyhow."

The soldier looked towards Faith for a second before continuing. "Then there is Veritas Callidus, the emperor’s adjunct, the woman whose order in any matter can only be over-ruled by the emperor himself. And the Fists, the governors of each of the conquered lands."

A long silence followed the warrior’s words. "Boy," Connor finally commented, "you know how to make people feel welcome don’t you?"

* * *

Vistro hid a smirk as he made his way through the tavern attached to the city barracks, eyes fixed on the two men sat in the far corner. One was an Ishanti, tall for his race with cold, dead eyes, hooked nose, and a scar running down his left cheek. The other was a short and powerfully-built figure, dressed entirely in dirty animal fur. Grey hair was tied in a pony-tail so that his savagely hewn features and yellowed, uneven teeth were clearly visible.

Vistro was barely able to control his glee as he approached the two men. The first of the pair was Tla Ra Swiftsword, younger cousin of Ka Ra and perhaps the only man capable of rivalling Ka Ra as the empire’s greatest swordsman. The other was Tod Nacht, a brute of an axe-man who had been the chief of one of Urad’s largest Horse Clans. Both men led bounty-hunters, Nacht ‘The Dread-Bringers, and Swiftsword, ‘The Head-Takers’. Together with his ‘Soul-Hunters’, they were the empire’s most notorious bounty-hunters. And now with the imperial edict in his back-pocket, all three groups were under his control, no matter what Swiftsword or Nacht said.

And now he had fifty warriors to take down twelve.

Return To Chosen Twelve