There was an “Oof!” and suddenly the dreadful pressure was gone. Thomas threw the other wizard off and was stunned to see Teasel standing there, a piece of fallen tree branch in her hands. Then she was running away, back to safety, as the Shadowwizard jumped back to his feet, his face now purple with raging fury. He still had the dagger in his hand, and Thomas backed away warily, not wanting to make the same mistake again. He called the words of another spell to his mind.

     The Shadowwizard did the same, dropping the knife so he could use both hands. This time the Shadowwizard completed his spell first, and Thomas’s spellcasting wavered as he expected some terrible magical attack to come lashing out at him, but nothing happened. Had his enemy’s spell failed?

     He didn’t think so. The Shadowwizard was grinning evilly at him, as if he knew that Thomas was as good as dead, and the blue wizard quailed in apprehension as he completed his own spell. A tiny ball of white light sped from his finger, spreading out into a tangle of sticky threads as it approached the Shadowwizard, but just as it was about to strike him the web came to a sudden halt, striking some kind of invisible barrier, and fell to the ground at his feet.

     Thomas was stricken with gutwrenching fear. A Wall of Force! The Shadowwizard could shoot any spell he liked at him through it, but any spell Thomas tried to cast in return would be neutralised. The Shadowwizard was gloating with triumph, knowing he’d won, and began the casting of his last spell, speaking slowly and carefully, savouring the moment. Thomas’s mind raced with panic. What could he do?

     An idea came to him and he acted upon it immediately, not bothering to think too carefully about whether or not it would work. His one hope of salvation lay in speed, in killing the Shadowwizard before he had time to complete his spell. There was no time to think.

     The Shadowwizard recognised the spell Thomas was casting, but merely smirked contemptuously, having complete faith in his Wall of Force. Not even a fireball could make a dent in it. He deliberately slowed his own spellcasting, wanting to give Thomas the chance to complete his spell. Wanting to see the look of terror and despair when the blazing orange flames were reflected from the magical barrier, leaving his enemy unharmed behind it. He wanted to look deep into the blue wizard’s eyes and see the certainty of his impending death within them as he pointed his finger and spoke the last word that he would ever hear...

     But there was one thing the Shadowwizard had forgotten. Something that Thomas had remembered just in time due to its having been drilled into him time and again during his five years at Lexandria University. The Shadowwizard’s Wall of Force was a more powerful version of Thomas’s own Shield spell, and it shared the same weakness. It protected only the front of the wizard, not his back or sides. Normally that wouldn’t matter as the wizard would be facing his enemy, but if he’d had the bad judgement to be standing too close to something large and flammable, such as a buffalo hide tent...

     Too late the Shadowwizard realised that Thomas was aiming the spell not at him, but a little off to one side, at the tent from which he’d just emerged. He jumped away in panic, but the tiny ball of fire was already flying from Thomas’s finger and both wizards watched in a kind of horrified slow motion as it sped towards its target. Even now the Shadowwizard could have saved himself if he’d had the presence of mind to turn to face the tent, placing the Wall of Force between it and himself, and if he’d had the benefit of a University education he might have done so, but he was in the grip of blind panic and he turned the other way, away from the tent; his one thought to get as far away as possible before the fireball struck.

     Thomas saw the Shadowwizard glance in his direction, and the expression on his face was one of sheer terror. Fear of him. Of Thomas Gown. Thomas was dumbfounded. Fear was something he’d come to expect from the common people. The farmers and peasants they’d met on their travels who had a superstitious fear of all kinds of magic, but to see fear in the eyes of a fellow wizard... Pride filled him. Pride in his power, his ability to wield destruction. Pride in the fear he could cause in other people. I’m a wizard! he thought triumphantly. I am Thomas Gown the wizard! Even other wizards tremble at the sound of my name!

     Then the fireball struck, and orange flame exploded in all directions. Thomas felt the heat washing over his hands and face, felt the hot wind blowing back his hair. The Shadowwizard was much closer. Much, much too close. Everyone in the camp heard his screams as his hair and clothing burst into flames and everyone stopped whatever they were doing to stare in horror at a man shaped mass of flames that staggered around like a drunkard, beating insanely at his clothing with hands that were already black and blistering.

     He screamed terribly, and each scream tore at Thomas’s soul as he stood there, stricken with horror at what he’d done. This was no clean kill, like so many others he'd inflicted since his graduation. His enemy hadn't simply fallen down dead but was suffering horribly; suffering prolonged agonies that no-one, no matter how evil, should have to endure. He looked around at the others, half expecting them to be staring at him in disgust and condemnation. He no longer felt like a wizard. He felt like a murderer.

     They were indeed all staring at him, Shadowsoldiers and pack wolves alike, their fight having been temporarily forgotten. Shaun and Dennis, their bloody swords still raised between themselves and their enemies, were staring in delight and amazement, which confused the young wizard in that crazy moment during which the shock of setting a man alight had temporarily confused his loyalties. The half dozen or so surviving Shadowsoldiers were staring in undisguised horror and dismay, though. Clearly expecting the next volley of spells to be aimed at them.

     “Don’t just stand there!” hissed Teasel urgently. “Blast them!”

     “I haven’t got any magic left!” hissed back Thomas.

     “But they don’t know that!” said the nome, flapping her hands at him urgently. “Go on! Do it!”

     For a moment Thomas continued to just stand there, staring at the Shadowwizard who had now fallen and was lying still, his body still burning, but then he came back to his senses with a snap. He deserved it, he thought, and besides, it was self defence. I had no choice, so for the sake of the Gods do something before a sholog takes your head off.

     Already the shologs were staring at him suspiciously, as if suspecting that he was no longer dangerous, and the wizard realised he had to act fast. He dug into a pouch for some spell components, therefore, not caring what his fingers found, and came out with a pinch of sand. He held it out towards the Shadowsoldiers and began speaking the words of the fireball spell again.

     As he did so, he felt the spell reaching inside him, searching for the reservoir of magical energy that all wizards used to power their abilities. Magic gathered from the world around them. The air, the trees, the ground under his feet. The spell found nothing, though. His reserves were empty, and he felt the spell wavering and collapsing. He continued speaking anyway, moving his hands in the way that would normally control and direct the magical energies, and he glared furiously at his enemies as if he could drive them away with willpower alone.

     It worked better than he could have hoped for. Having just seen him burning their own wizard to death in a wizards duel, they weren’t going to stand around to argue with his power and every one of them turned and fled, even the shologs. They loved to fight, and they all expected to die in combat one day, but to be killed by a magic spell with no chance to defend themselves wasn't to their liking at all, and so they ran as well. Shologs ran in fear from Thomas Gown.

     Thomas stared in astonishment, unable at first to believe that he’d managed to rout their enemies single handedly. That was something that only the great Mage Lords in old legends could do, he’d always thought.

     “Well done, Tom!” said Shaun, giving him a thumping clap on the shoulder that almost knocked him over. “You did great!”

     Thomas grinned in gratitude, beginning to feel like a wizard again. My first wizards duel, he thought, glowing with pride. He’d fought another wizard, and defeated him in a clear superiority of education and magical power. Now at last he could genuinely call himself a warrior wizard.

     Then Shaun remembered Diana and he ran over to her, torn with anxiety. “Di!” he cried, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

     Her reply astonished him. “Oh Shaun, it was wonderful!” she cried, her whole body glowing with happiness. “My Lady came to me! She spoke to me! A waking visitation! It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me!”

     “It was?” said Shaun, bewildered. “I thought you’d be, you know...”

     “Oh that!” replied the cleric. dismissing her ordeal with a flap of her hand. “I’ll get over it. Nothing can hurt me so long as My Lady is there by my side.”

     “So he didn’t...” ventured the soldier hesitantly.

     She shook her head. "All I need is another bath to wash all this filth off and I’ll be as good as new.”

     That wasn’t quite true, of course. Once the glow of the waking visitation had worn off she knew that the shock of her ordeal would start to take its toll, but she bravely decided that he didn’t need to know that. Ordinarily, in a situation like this, it would be the brother who comforted the sister, but because of the terrible curse of the Runeblade, the after effects of which he was still suffering, Diana knew that in this case it had to be the other way round. The important thing was that she could look him in the eye and tell him truthfully that she hadn’t been raped, and she was content to leave it at that. “Come on,” she said with a smile. “Let’s go get some clothes on.”

     Shaun gave a guilty start as he remembered that he was completely naked, and realised the effect that this might be having on his sister in the light of her ordeal, and so after satisfying himself one last time that she’d come through it mentally and physically unscathed he went off to find some clothes.

     Shaun’s concern for her, however, had the effect of reminding the cleric of the fate from which she’d so narrowly escaped, and as the euphoria of the divine visitation began to fade, her own natural modesty, temporarily forgotten, began to return and she began to search around, hunting for any scrap of cloth to cover her body.

     She gave a sharp intake of breath as she suddenly remembered that Paulus had escaped into the forest and was presumably still alive, still out there somewhere. Her breathing grew rapid with fear as she wondered if he would think of her from time to time, if he would remember what he’d done to her. He knows what my whole body looks like, she thought fearfully, and if he settled down somewhere and made some new friends, he might tell them all about her in explicit detail. He could re-live the experience in his mind any time he wanted to, and describe it all to his new friends, making them stare and drool excitedly so that a whole crowd of people would be thinking about molesting her. And even that might not be enough for him. He might want to come back and do it for real, this time going all the way...

     She crossed her arms across her breasts, the breasts that his hands had explored so thoroughly just a few minutes before, and she began to hunt even harder for something to cover them with. Anything, no matter how smelly and dirty. She began to sob...

     And then Naomi was there, taking her gently by the arm and offering her the tiger skin, which the cleric accepted with infinite gratitude. “Come on now,” the black girl said softly. “Come and tell me all about it,” and she led her gently to one of the buffalo hide tents.