Drake stepped carefully to a far corner of the tent to await his chance. The tent was larger than any of the others he'd seen, having been hidden from view behind a ten foot high clump of roots and earth where a tree had been blown down. Its six foot wide trunk stretched for well over a hundred feet into the forest and was still supported at an angle of about twenty degrees from horizontal by its branches, which were tangled up with those of the trees around it. The tent had been erected up against it, so that the curving wall of bark formed one side, allowing the animal skins to enclose a greater area.

     It was a little over six feet high, just high enough for the young priest to stand upright inside it, and at one end was a cauldron of black iron hanging above a small fire from a sturdy framework of wooden poles tied together with gut. It was filled with a vile yellow liquid that simmered and bubbled quietly to itself, and occasionally something would rise to the surface and float for a while before sinking again. Drake recognised them as bits of diced marashade tuber, a rare plant used by wizards and clerics in the manufacture of spells and potions. This must be the thing that was taking a day or two longer to finish than expected, and that would soon bring the walls of Eastglade tumbling down.

     The priest made Chubb kneel down at the other end of the tent, safely away from the cauldron. "Welcome to my humble abode, human," he said in crude common, the language used by most of the civilized races all across the continent. "You and I are going to talk about the soldiers that went into the city last night. You are going to tell me everything you know. The only thing I don't know is whether you're going to tell me willingly, or whether you're going to let me have some fun first." He produced a wicked looking dagger and held it up under Chubb's nose. The scout paled, looking even more frightened, and pulled and twisted his wrists in a vain attempt to break free. Like most people, he had heard tales of what the shologs did to their prisoners.

     Drake had moved silently behind the scout, wondering whether he could untie his hands without the priest noticing. Suddenly, however, he noticed that the sholog was looking directly at him, a look of astonishment on his bestial face. With a shock, Drake realised that his invisibility was wearing off, and he glanced down at his sprig of pine to see that it had stopped smoking. The sholog priest lunged for his weapons, but Drake was faster. He drew a knife and threw it in a single smooth motion, as fast and deadly as a striking cobra. The creature stiffened, its eyes widening with surprise as it stared down at the hilt protruding from his chest, and then it collapsed with a faint, almost womanly sigh. One arm was thrown wide as it fell, though, scattering pots and mixing bowls that fell with a loud clatter.

     Drake quickly freed the scout and peered through a gap between two of the fur hides that comprised the side of the tent. He saw the shologs, five of them now, looking back at the priest's tent in confusion, obviously suspecting that the noise had not been caused by the captured human but too scared of the priest to check. It wouldn't be too long before one of them summoned up the courage to investigate, though. They had only a couple of minutes, at most, before they were discovered.

     "Drake!" whispered Chubb in amazement. "Where in the name of the Nine Hells did you come from?"

     Drake scowled at the familiar use of his name, but otherwise ignored the breach of formality. "We're going to have to run for it," he whispered back. "Can you run?"

     "I think so, yes," answered the scout.

     "Good." Drake started pulling away the strip of hide between the peaty floor and the bottom of the treetrunk that formed the tent's west wall. Because the tree was not totally flat on the ground but partially supported by its largest branches, there was a gap of just over a foot between it and the floor, just wide enough for them to crawl through. Then, being on the other side of the massive trunk, they might stand a chance of getting a head start before they were seen. After that, if the Gods were with them, all they had to do was keep ahead of the shologs all the way back to Eastglade.

     He started to slip under the tree trunk but then, on an impulse, got up and gently tipped the cauldron over, silently pouring the hot potion onto the floor where it rapidly soaked into the ground, leaving a few of its solid ingredients behind. "Better get rid of this stuff," he muttered. "It might not be finished yet, but it could still be dangerous." Then, retrieving his dagger from the sholog's chest, he returned to the tree trunk and slipped under it again.

     It was a tight squeeze directly under the trunk, where it was closest to the ground, but he made it and crouched on the other side while Chubb followed him under. Then, breathlessly praying that the two goblins playing dice about twenty yards away wouldn't look around and see them, they crept along the length of the trunk towards the trees as slowly and carefully as cats creeping up on a bird. They kept their eyes fixed firmly on the ground ahead of them, looking for twigs or flakes of bark that might break noisily if they trod on them as they made their way, step by slow careful step. Their hearts pounding so loudly that they thought the whole camp must be able to hear them.

     For a moment they thought they were going to make it, but when they were just a few yards from the nearest standing trees there came a howl of surprise and fury from the direction of the priest's tent. One of the shologs must have finally found the nerve to look in. The goblins looked around in surprise, and one of them caught a glimpse of the two humans disappearing into the forest. Grabbing a sword and barking a battle cry, he set off in pursuit, followed by the rest of the camp.

     Now that secrecy was over with and their one hope lay in speed, Drake threw off the brown travelling cloak that was hampering him, glad to be able to declare his faith openly in his uniform and his golden griffin holy symbols, and the two of them ran at top speed through the forest with seventeen howling humanoids close behind. They weren't fast enough, however. Chubb's injuries slowed him down, and the goblins closed the distance rapidly.

     "Leave me," gasped Chubb. "Save yourself. I'll try to slow them down a bit."

     "Forget it," answered Drake. "We get out of this together or not at all. Running does appear to be useless, though, and it is undignified for priests of Samnos to run in any case. We shall stand and fight."

     "Against those odds? You're mad!"

     "Samnos is with us." So saying, he came to a halt, spun around to face his pursuers and, drawing his throwing knives with lightning speed, killed the first six goblins with a ruthless, machine efficiency. He then drew both his swords, threw the twenty two inch shortsword to Chubb and, holding the great broadsword in both hands, stared down the remaining seven goblins and four shologs.

     The humanoids came to a sudden halt, moving to encircle the two humans but making no move to attack, their eyes widening in sudden fear. One of the humans they'd been chasing had suddenly turned into the awesome figure of a priest of Samnos, his blood red robes brought to full colour and clarity by a shaft of sunlight filtering through a gap in the dense overhead canopy. His golden griffin pendant and the spikes cresting his helmet glittered and shone, and his iron grey eyes bored into each of them in turn. He had just killed six of their number with effortless ease, and stood ready to do the same to the first who dared to step forward. Even the shologs were unnerved. They looked at each other apprehensively, each hoping one of the others would be the first to attack.

     If it had been Resalintas himself standing there, instead of Drake, he might have carried it off. The gossip around Fort Battleaxe was that he could put whole armies into flight with a single stern glance, and most people who'd met him could well believe it. Unfortunately, it was not Resalintas but only the much younger Drake who tried to stare down eleven humanoids, and he didn't quite have what it took. One of the shologs suddenly realised how ridiculous they must look, eleven of them afraid to attack just two humans. "Well, wadda we waitin' for?" he yelled to the others, bringing them back to their senses. "Get ‘em!"

     He rushed in to attack, and the other three shologs, encouraged by his example, followed close behind. Drake and Chubb found themselves hard pressed to defend themselves, especially the scout, whose injuries now handicapped him terribly. Drake knew that if Chubb fell, then he would soon follow because there was no way he could defend himself from attacks from the front and rear at once. So long as they could stand back to back they had a chance, but the scout was weakening rapidly and wouldn't last more than a few minutes longer.

     Just as Drake was preparing himself to meet his God personally, however, there came a brief reprieve. Mason and Spencer, the other two scouts, came screaming out of the forest, catching the goblins by surprise and killing one each before they knew what was happening. Then, in the confusion, they slipped between the shologs, killing one and injuring another in the process, to stand beside their colleagues. By the time the humanoids managed to recover from their momentary panic and confusion and realised that their new attackers numbered only two, the four humans had formed a tight defensive circle. The shologs resumed the attack with renewed fury, and the goblins joined in as well, now that there was room for them to do so.

     "Am I glad to see you!" said Chubb with feeling. "Where did you come from?"

     "We were watching the village, and saw you taken prisoner," answered Mason. "We wanted to try to rescue you, but it would have been suicide against those odds, so we just had to watch and hope for a miracle. When we saw you and the Priest running away, we followed, and here we are."

     "And just in the nick of time," said Chubb.

     They weren't saved yet, though. They were still outnumbered two to one and poor Chubb, though he fought valiantly, was steadily growing weaker. The other two scouts had to help defend him as well as themselves. Also, somewhere in the forest, probably not too far away, were at least twenty more shologs and forty more goblins. If they heard the fighting and came to join in, it would all be over. Their one hope lay in getting out of there as soon as possible, before they showed up.

     Drake fell back, into the triangle formed by the three scouts, and sheathed his sword. Seeing this and encouraged by it, the humanoids attacked with even greater fury and a goblin's sword slipped under Chubb's guard. It was only a minor wound, but added to those he'd already suffered it was almost the end of him and he was only saved by a heroic effort from the others to cover him until he'd recovered enough to raise his sword again.

     The goblins pressed in closer, and Mason glanced desperately at Drake to see what in the name of Hell he thought he was doing. Their swords flew with desperate speed, and Spencer succeeded in bringing a goblin down, chopping his sword arm off at the elbow and then running him through with a savage grunt of effort. Without Drake's broadsword beside them they couldn't last long, though. Why had he stopped fighting, they wondered as they fought to defend themselves and poor Chubb, who could hardly lift his sword any more. What was he playing at?

     They found out a second later. Drake held his golden griffin out in front of him in one hand, and waved complicated patterns in the air with the other. "Mighty Lord Samnos!" he cried at the top of his voice. "Send down Thy power! Fill me with Thy might and glory, that I may strike down these miserable sinners who dare to molest us! Help me send them to Thy merciless judgement! My Lord, help us now!"

     No sooner had he stopped speaking than he felt the power of the God of War flooding through him. The humanoids sensed it too and broke off their attack, backing away and staring at him nervously, wondering what was about to happen. Drake seemed to glow with divine power as he stood in a pose of arrogant contempt, glaring at the puny creatures that had dared to attack him. His eyes seemed to burn with holy fire as he locked eyes with each of them in turn, making them quaver and shake with fear. His crimson robes became so exactly the colour of blood that they almost dripped onto the forest floor, and his chain mail armour, where it showed through, gleamed so brightly that it almost hurt to look at it. The golden griffin shone like the sun, and when he drew his sword again tongues of blue fire seemed to run up the blade, each of the runes inscribed on it standing out as though inlaid with gold.

     Then Drake gave a roar of rage that made the whole forest shake and he charged madly at them, swinging his sword in berserk fury. It was a dreadfully dangerous gamble, since breaking a defensive formation under those circumstances was tantamount to suicide, but in this case it paid off. The humanoids had already been badly scared by the sudden magical transformation of the priest, and when he charged at them and succeeded in beheading a goblin with an almost casual swing of his sword it was suddenly too much for the rest. They turned and fled. Even the Shologs, who never ran from anything.

     The three scouts watched in astonishment as the seven humanoids disappeared among the trees. "That was incredible!" said Mason in a hushed, awe filled voice as Drake returned, his appearance returning to normal. "You routed Shologs! Shologs! What did you do?"

     "It was Aspect of Might," said Drake, his voice betraying a note of shame as if he'd been caught cheating in an exam. "The power of Samnos enters the body of his follower to make him appear terrifyingly powerful to his enemies. I should have been able to achieve the same effect without needing to call upon Him, using simple presence and force of personality. Resalintas will be disappointed in me. Never mind that now, though. We'd better get back to Eastglade before they return."

     With Spencer supporting Chubb, the four of them, all bleeding from a great many minor wounds, hurried back towards the walled town. They glanced around nervously as they went, expecting the humanoids to come charging out at them at any time. Drake took back the shortsword he'd lent Chubb, now stained with goblin blood and notched where the scout had parried their blades. Evidently he'd managed to score a few hits even though wounded, and Drake's respect for him grew even greater.

     They reached the edge of the forest and, seeing them approach, the watchers on the town's walls sent a dozen men to escort them inside. Drake watched with great relief as the heavy wooden gates closed behind him, hardly able to believe that they'd actually made it. "Thank you, Lord," he whispered, holding the golden griffin tightly in his hand. "I will not betray Thy trust in me."

     Chubb was taken to the temple of Caroli to be tended by the healers, while Drake and the other two scouts were taken to Gallit for debriefing. Ableman was there as well, along with Elmer Dalrey, his second in command, both somewhat surprised that the scouts had returned so soon. They listened with joy and relief as they heard all that had happened and how the scouts had so narrowly escaped. "So you say that this sholog priest is dead and we have nothing more to fear from him?" Dalrey said when the tale was finished.

     "I didn't say he was dead," said Drake. "There wasn't time to examine him and make sure. However, even if he is still alive, he won't be in any fit shape to cause any more trouble for some time, so the threat he represented is effectively ended."

     "Skorvos won't lend him the power to heal him?" asked the Mayor. "I've seen priests of Samnos return to battle moments after receiving wounds that would have kept any other man off his feet for weeks."

     "The power of Skorvos can only hurt and kill, not heal," replied Drake. "He won't be back in business until he's had time to heal naturally."

     "And the humanoids number only sixty?" asked Ableman. "Twenty snouts and forty odd goblins?"

     "That's right."

     Ableman laughed. "Well then, the crisis is over! Such a small number is no threat to usl! We'll send out another patrol right away and wipe them out!" He stood up, smiling broadly. "Young priest, you have earned the gratitude of everyone in Eastglade. Your bravery and resourcefulness are an example to us all."

     "Well said, and I echo it," added Dalrey. "You have our undying gratitude, and we will never forget what you have done for us."

     Drake nodded at their words and remained standing as they left, but wasn't so sure that the threat was over. Resalintas had drilled into him time and again how dangerous and unpredictable shologs were, how they should never be underestimated and how they were at their most dangerous just when you thought they were beaten. He suspected that Ableman and his guards wouldn’t have such an easy victory as they were expecting.