Turgar returned to the peak, after scouting for trails, in time to see the combat begin.

This battle was legendary...or at least should be. He knew he would tell his grandchildren of it, should he live that long.

The giant had taken advantage of his assumed clumsiness to lure the Black Lancer into overconfidence, and almost ended the fight with his first genuine attack. Yet as fast as the giant was, the knight was still faster.

The combat settled into what seemed an even match.

The giant's power was such that even a glancing blow shocked his opponent to the heels. Meanwhile, though the Lancer moved with blinding bursts of speed, his own attacks were blunted by seemingly lazy blocks of the shield, by the reach of the axe, and occasionally by surprise kicks to his breastplate which stopped him short of reaching the giant even with his extended weapon.

While the giant's blows were powerful and demonstrated admirable dexterity for one so enormous, the Lancer was so much faster that he simply dodged most of them rather than take them on the shield. The Lancer displayed, this moment, economy of movement; next moment, explosions of energy meant to carry him past the giant's guard and to a killing stroke. It had to be frustrating for the giant.

Sweat tickled all up and down Javo's body. Tiny puffs of steam escaped the seams of his armor when he moved. How long had this fight been going on? Longer than any single combat to date, for certain. Only in the early days of his training in the Order had contests of arms lasted this long.

He was amazed at the patience and discipline of the Bruk Islander. From all accounts, the giants waded through their enemy, absorbing what damage they had to in order to strike deathblows as quickly as possible. And, in fact, Krag had tried to end the fight within the first few seconds via his sinister ploy--and nearly succeeded. But once the ruse was exposed, the death-match became a straightforward contest of skill and endurance. In Javo's experience, big men not only lacked speed and agility, but stamina as well. But he remembered back to his instruction under one of the knights in the Order, who taught that, all other factors being even, a good big warrior would overcome a good small warrior every time.

Would this be one of those times? Krag certainly was the big warrior in this match. And he was good. But Javo had the edge in speed and armor. He could not be the knight who soiled the Black Lancers' reputation!

Krag had attempted to herd Javo to the canyon's edge several times, no doubt positioning him for a shield-ram that would knock him over the precipice. Javo maneuvered away from the chasm and, at one point, found himself with his back to the cliff face, instead.

As much as one could with a warrior as cunning as Krag, Javo had grown familiar with his methods over the course of their death-dance. That is why he took pause when Krag's black eyes widened in what appeared to be fear, and he uncharacteristically swung his axe in a trajectory which was off-mark from the beginning.

Javo sidestepped away, half-pivoted to strike into Krag's unshielded flank...then saw the axe's true target.

A long red serpent, as thick as Javo's thigh, convulsed around the vines hanging from the cliff face. Its severed head lay on the ground at Krag's feet. It had been almost on top of Javo when Krag killed it.

"What evil is this?" Krag bellowed, with a quavering voice, pointing with his axe.

Javo followed his gaze back to the funnel. Behind the other Bruk warriors, the cliff wall moved as if oozing red liquid. More red snakes, as large as constrictors but with fangs like pit vipers, slithered down the cliff by the hundreds. Some had dropped on top of the Bruk warriors unawares. Other warriors fought the slithering vermin, but were quickly engulfed by the red reptilian tidal wave.

Before the horror of the scene had fully sunk in, a human voice shrieked something high above them. Krag and Javo whirled and searched for the source of the cry. On a small outcropping in the cliff wall, shrouded in smoke, stood a robed figure holding a smaller cousin of the hideous red serpents, gesturing toward the funnel. How long had the person been there? Why hadn't Javo, Krag, or his fellows noticed it until now? Sorcery, no doubt--the same evil magic which mobilized this serpentine army.

"I have given the pass into your hands," the sorcerer called. "Take it!"

On the next ledge, a bit farther along the cliff face, archers drew their bows. A cry rose up from the Imperial Guard, and the dismounted knights around General Tral began to advance. Thunder rumbled across the sky.

The captain of archers gave his command, and arrows flew. The Bruk contingent, already fatally broken by the snake attack, was finished by the hail of shafts, despite the less-than-perfect aim due to the rain and wind gusting through the pass.

Still struggling to grasp the treachery afoot, Javo was further bewildered when an arrow glanced off his cuirass. Some of the archers were aiming at him and Krag. Like a silly child, he waved at the archers, shouting for them to desist this dishonorable betrayal.

The sorcerer cackled with glee.