<HTML> Charles raised his chin slightly at the prick of cold, poorly forged steel against his throat, his dark eyes glancing at the cluster of lutins surrounding them.  His glance finally settled on Zagrosek as he quickly spoke in the Southern tongue, "Tanze wei Zherd?" Zagrosek nodded, fingering his own Sondeshike within his robes, a smirk creasing his face.  Jerome's eyes went wide as he heard that, jaw falling slightly.  With sudden, unexpected swiftness he reached out and grabbed Garigan's neck with one strong hand, dragging him to the ground while the ferret let out a sudden cry of protest.  The Lutins surrounding them moved forward a pace as a single mob, knowing that the Keepers were about to do something, but not understanding just what.  They learned quickly enough a moment later when two of the approaching mob found the ferrules of Sondeshikes crushing their chests. Charles spun the Sondeshike from beneath his robes, moving paw over paw along its length, until the silver shaft became no more than a spinning blur that he wove both around his body as well as around Zagrosek and his Sondeshike as well.  The Lutin warriors tried to jab at the pair with their spears, but found them broken in half when they met those radiant discs that the rat and man kept before them. It had been seven years since he'd ever enacted the Dance of the Staff, and never before with a Sondeshike of his own, and certainly not while he was a rat!  Zagrosek had always been his partner, for the Dance required two to be done properly.  He had to continuously remind himself of their size difference as he tucked and spun about his friend, their bodies always close together, yet neither they nor their staves ever touched, even when the brilliant discs they made in the air appeared to intersect. Zagrosek also appeared to be having some difficulty adapting, but as Charles had never been struck by the swinging ferrules, he was managing well enough.  The Lutin party about them found themselves facing a foe that they did not know how to kill.  A few backed up and reached for short bows slung across their backs, and the rat gave them credit, for it was certainly a safer pursuit than trying to get close to those whirling discs.  Yet, as Charles and Zagrosek turned in circles, even the arrows were shattered when they struck those impenetrable circles. Of course, as they waded through the snow, closer and closer to the Lutins who were now shouting for the others to come help, Garigan and Jerome were once more safe to stand.  The other two Sondeckis did so, and leapt at the nearest of the Lutins.  Garigan plunged both of his knives into one of the green-skinned savage's head before jumping off of him to another and Jerome deftly avoided stabbing spears, his open handed strikes reaching beyond them to crack bones and crush faces.  Though he had many opportunities to take one of their weapons, he did never bothered. As he turned about, the world a constant swirl about him, Charles saw that the Lutins from the supply wagons had raced up the ridge to join in combat beside their brethren. As if on unspoken agreement, on his next twirl, he came down a step closer to them, and Zagrosek followed suit, swinging his shaft out a bit far, smacking one Lutin in the head, knocking it almost completely off as he did so.  The party of Lutins from the supply wagon took one look at the dancing Keepers spinning towards them, those discs slicing anything they touched in half, and then bolted back down towards the road. They did not take up chase, the Dance was not quick enough for that, but instead they went back once more for the Lutins who had snuck up upon them, and were still struggling to hold their ground against Jerome and Garigan.  One of them had managed to slice the ferret's arm, a bit of blood dampening the torn green cloth, but aside from that the Sondeckis were easily corralling them against a stand of trees. Into that stand Charles and Zagrosek wove, as if they were one being instead of two, a blurry image, one unable to be viewed with any precision by normal eyes, consisting of two twirling discs that rotated about them at all times, and two very different halves that spun with those discs.  Snow spiralled up around them, as if it were incapable of existing in the same place with them.  The snow that fell upon them was whisked aside by the wind raised with force of their spinning, leaving the pair in a sphere of open air.  Charles felt his arms almost speed up as he neared the last group, draped so liberally in his own Sondeck that he was certain he could have continued should both his arms break! With Jerome and Garigan before them, and the spinning menace behind them, the last six Lutins realized that they were trapped.  They let out a bloodthirsty cry, one that might be heard elsewhere in these woods, though with the snow and wind falling as heavily as they were, that was suspect.  Charging at the ferret and the man, they brandished bent swords, broken spears, as well as their teeth, attempting to do whatever they could before they were cut down. Jerome, however, calmly put his front hands together, and pushed outwards with a sudden exhalation of force. The Lutins were sprawled backwards onto the thick snow, and then, as they struggled to return to their feet, their voices gave lent to horrible screams as Zagrosek and Charles whirled upon them, their Sondeshike slashing and crushing their bones, splattering blood all about them, until the once pristine snow was glazed scarlet. With the Lutins dead and routed, the Dance was ended.  Charles and Zagrosek spun away from each other, their hands still moving over each other across the Sondeshikes, until, a few seconds later, they were shaking their heads clear of the power that had flowed through them.  Garigan looked at them, his eyes going from one to the other in amazement. "How did you do that?" While the world continued to spin about him, Charles heard Jerome answer, "That was the Tanze wei Zherd.  It means Dance of the Staff.  It is one of the Sondeckis techniques that blacks who chose to practice the art of the Sondeshike are required to master.  They're just novices with the technique, so it will take them a moment or two to stop walking about in circles and falling over." "I'm still standing," Zagrosek said, before his foot managed to catch at something beneath the snow, causing him to fall on his face into the stained powder.  He lifted himself back up, shaking his head clear once again. Charles managed to collapse against a tree trunk, so had a much easier time regaining his bearings than his friend.  Peering down at the road, he could see that the Lutins had completely scattered, leaving the mules plodding along, dragging the wagons behind them, as if they had no other purpose in life.  "Could we take one of them?" Garigan stabbed one of the Lutins who was not as beat up as the rest, and then walked over to the rat, and shrugged. "Certainly, this road forks just up ahead.  The right fork will take us to Glen Avery, while the left goes to Metamor.  The Lutins were probably going to Metamor, so we shouldn't encounter any problems on the right fork." They were soon joined by Jerome, who shook his head. "We ought to only take one, if any.  We'll be more visible targets if we choose to ride in one of those." "Well, it will make the trip go smoother, and we'll have more supplies for the Glenners.  Taken right from Nasoj's own stock no less!" "We should at least see what is in those wagons," Charles pointed out as Zagrosek finally managed to find his legs beneath him again.  The fight had left him drained and unsteady, even lifting his arms made him cringe, the rat realized.  It had been too many years since he'd practiced the Dance, and it had left him almost completely sore. "And I think Krenek and I need to get to shelter soon; that was more taxing than I thought it would be." Jerome grimaced once, but then finally nodded, starting down the hillside.  The road was clear of Lutins by now, and the mules did not object in the least to the presence of somebody smelling a good deal better than their previous owners.  Matthias scrambled after him, while Garigan helped Zagrosek remain steady as they came down the hill.  The rat privately hoped that they'd stopped an important caravan, but given the lack of serious protection, doubted it would be anything more significant than food. And, it turned out that he was right.  All three wagons were crammed with foodstuffs of one sort or another.  It was mostly just grain that could be boiled in some water to make a soupy meal, but a meal at nonetheless.  There were a few bags with carrots and potatoes, but only two at most per wagon.  As quickly as they could, they redistributed all the vegetables to one wagon, and filled the rest of it with the grain.  Zagrosek and Charles then climbed onto the inside the bed of the wagon, resting their arms and legs for a moment beneath the thick, coarse blanket.  It was one of the first times that Charles had felt even remotely warm on this whole journey, and even then, it was only in comparison with burying himself in those snow drifts. Jerome took one last look up the ridge, and then came back down, sitting at the front of the wagon behind the mules, the whip in one thick hand. "The snow's already covering the bodies.  With luck, the Lutins won't find their comrades for days. If at all." He glanced back at Garigan, who was walking over the cargo in the other two wagons, cutting open the sacks of grain and spilling them across the snow. "Unhitch the mules while you're at it, would you?" The ferret nodded, and did as instructed.  With a sharp smack of his paw, he sent both mules charging down the road.  Satisfied, he climbed down from the wagons, and peered underneath.  Looking around, he saw an axe that one of the Lutins had dropped in their haste to flee.  Grabbing it firmly in both hands, he swung down underneath the cart, and smashed the axle in two.   He did the same for the other wagon, before depositing the axe in a nearby snow bank where it promptly sank out of sight leaving only an axe-shaped crater.  Charles nodded his approval at his student, even while he shivered beneath the thick blanket on the other wagon.  Jerome helped Garigan climb up to join them, and then he whipped the remaining mules into action.  Soon, he'd coaxed them into a decent trot, and they were moving at a respectable pace down the old road. The road was not very wide, enough for a single cart to make its way down without trouble.  The centre of the track was upraised slightly, but given the amount of troops that had moved down this way, the snow was rather thin on top, and packed hard beneath.  Above them the branches clustered, casting them in deep shadow at times; the dismal grey light that fell from the sky just as much as the thick snow did, gave them the impression that colours did not exist in this part of the wood.   Yet they reached the fork in the road only minutes after they started, as Garigan had promised.  The right fork was even more clustered then the old North road had been, and soon, they found themselves swatting at low-lying branches that clogged the pathway.  Garigan ducked under one ponderous limb and then shrugged to the others. "We don't use this road anymore, so we've let the woods grow back.  I'd forgotten about that." *** End part 42</HTML>