At the Queen_s command

Owen chewed his lower lip. "There was another thing, Highness. He instructed me, when we take du Malphias' fortress, to secure possession of all du Malphias' papers. My uncle wants the secret of how to control the pasmortes."

Vlad's head began to hurt. "So the only way to thwart your uncle is to see to it that Rivendell is successful, and that du Malphias' secrets never fall into your uncle's hands."

"Impossibility stacked on impossibility."

"So it would seem." The Prince nodded, then pointed back to the roadway. Bishop Bumble, clad in new white hose and with silver buckles gleaming on his shoes, waited impatiently. "Go, relieve me of this tiring cleric, and I shall see if I can find a way to unstack these impossibilities."

Chapter Fifty-Eight

July 6, 1764

Lindenvale, Mystria

O wen Strake remaining crouched, turned back toward Lieutenant Marnhull. "For the last time, shut your mouth. Your babbling will get us killed."

The blond officer sniffed. "I am not a coward, Strake! And this sentry duty is ridiculous."

Owen could have taken Rivendell's little provocations easily. Picket duty had never bothered him, but to be stationed in the woods with a chatterbox put him over the edge. Shifting his musket to his left hand, he filled his right with his tomahawk. He darted forward, not certain if he just wanted to scare the man or murder him.

Because of his sudden move an Ungarakii warrior's warclub only grazed his right shoulder instead of crushing his skull. Owen twisted from the impact, pain shooting down his arm. As he came around, he whipped his musket up and across the Ungarakii's painted face. Though deerskin sheathed it, the heavy steel barrel still cracked bone and spun the man away. A second warrior darted in from beyond the first, his warclub raised high for a heavy blow. Owen lunged, driving the musket's muzzle into his stomach. As the Ungarakii doubled over, Owen buried his tomahawk in the man's skull.

"Sound the alarm!" Owen abandoned the tomahawk, and stripped the cover from his musket. He had no time to shift hand or aim. He simply thrust the musket at another Ungarakii, pressed his left thumb to the firestone and invoked magick.

The brimstone's flash lit the small sentry post. The ball blew through the middle of the closest attacker and caught the one behind him on the hip. Flipping the musket around, Owen clubbed the wounded man to the ground. Another step and he smashed the butt into the first Ungarakii's head, crushing his skull.

He glanced toward the others. Lieutenant Marnhull sat on a bed of rusty pine needles, his hat gone, his right ear missing as well. His right shoulder, shattered by a warclub, sank lower than the left. He rocked side to side, mumbling a lullaby and staring at nothing.

The third sentry lay face down, his hair matted with blood, not moving.

Owen tossed his own rifle aside and snatched up the dead soldier's. "Be quiet."

The Lieutenant's voice shrank, obeying as if he were a scolded child.

There has to be more out there. Owen kept slowly turning, not wanting to present his back to any direction for very long. He peered out into the darkness, waiting, listening as best he could. Nothing.

His heart pounded and sweat stung his eyes. One of the Ungarakii grunted his last breath. Something snapped in the darkness. Owen turned, thumb on firestone. Silence again fell, broken only by the soft whisper of Owen's moccasins on dry pine needles.

Then a new set of sounds arose. A squad of troopers came crashing through the woods to the sentry post. A Sergeant entered the clearing. Blood drained from his face. "What happened here?"

"Sergeant, deploy your men in a square. They may still be out there."

"Yes,sir." The Sergeant pointed at various men in his command. "You heard the Captain. Fix bayonets. Form square. Keep your eyes open."

Owen crossed to the Lieutenant. His mangled hat lay next to him, with the ear inside. An Ungarakii warclub had torn off his ear, then mangled the shoulder. How badly it had scrambled the man's brains would remain to be seen

Lord Rivendell arrived with his shadow, Langford. "My God. What have we here?"

Owen stood. "Ungarakii war party. I killed the four over here. The pair that attacked the Lieutenant and the Private got away."

Rivendell frowned. "You say you killed four?"

Owen nodded. "Clubbed the two at your feet, shot one, and my tomahawk is still in the head of the fourth."

"And you say they killed none?"

Owen sighed. "You have the evidence before you, sir."

"I do, sir, and I know how to read it." Rivendell glanced at Langford. "Get this down, Colonel. Captain Strake claims to have shot one of the raiders, but you will note that his rifle is unfired."

"This isn't my rifle. I picked it up from the dead trooper."