<HTML>***    Stunned Misha lay there for a moment unsure of what had just happened. Some part of his mind recognized a spell and he realized that Rickkter had cast it. Everything seemed to slow down for Misha. Like some sort of strange spell had been cast. He could see and hear everything going on around him. It was as if he was standing nearby watching the fight instead of being in it.    Nearby he saw the creature that had been hit by Rickkters spell was slowing getting to it's feet shaking off the effects of a spell that should have killed it. The raccoons spell had bought him a few moments more of life. Soon the two would attack him again and he had no doubt about his chances of surviving. But strangely that thought didn't bother him. Instead he could only think of his people, his fellow keepers.    He could see Rickkter locked in a deadly ballet of swinging blades and twisting, dancing bodies. There were a blur of motion and sound. He saw the raccoon jump over a sword swipe that would have cut off both legs and then twist out of the way of another that was supposed to disembowel him. He lashed out with his odd double bladed katana, spinning it in a complete circle like some sort of child's toy. He caught both of his attackers cutting deep gashes into their chests. One of the creatures leapt backwards and the other leapt forwards. The raccoon back pedaled fast to avoid it's slashing swords and claws. The flaming blade skittered and scrapped along the steel plate protecting Rickkter's chest without penetrating. It's three-inch long claws found a point where two plates met at his right wrist and those talons ripped through the chainmail protecting that weakness and the skin that lay beneath it.    Nearby he saw Jotham and Georgette standing back to back fighting a solid ring of Lutins and humans. Already a half a dozen bodies lay scattered on the ground. As he watched a man wielding two short swords lashed out at Georgette slashing across her chest and stomach. She staggered for a moment before burying a dagger deep in the man's chest. Two people rushed at her, swords slashing in front of them. She parried both blades easily and then kicked one of the men in the groin. With a groan he doubled over and dropped to the ground. Georgette again parried more weapons aimed at her as she gave the figure on the ground another, harder kick.    He saw Caroline, his dear, sweet Caroline helping Padraic up off the ground with one hand while keeping two human attackers at bay with the sword she held in the other. Stretched out on the ground behind them lay the body of some great, black and red hound. Smoke and flame issued from the sword wound in its neck. The rabbit's whole leg was blackened and bloody but it didn't stop him from drawing a sword and fighting one of the two men attacking them.    Slightly behind those two, Misha saw the lithe form of Finbar, a sword in each hand fighting a dozen Lutins. Already seven corpses lay scattered around him, a testament to the ferret's prowess. With horror he recognized one of the bodies as Danielle's. The Pine Marten mages arms were singed and blackened and she looked dead. Finbar was straddling her body with his legs, protecting her.    They were losing. Deep in his heart he knew they were already doomed. In a moment the two he was fighting would kill him and then move on to slaughter Caroline and Padraic. Then Jotham and Georgette would die. Finbar being slightly away from the group might stand a chance of fleeing. But the ferret wouldn't leave Danielle. He would fight on to the bitter end. He wondered for a moment what would happen to Rickkter. Would he too die or would he make some miraculous escape?    They would all die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. These were people who were his friends. Whom with he had laughed, sweated and fought beside. People he had shared the good times and the bad times. They would all die.    He remembered laughing and cheering at Laura's marriage. He remembered how shy and nervous Danielle had been the first time Misha had met her. He shared their grief when Craig died.    Padraic, poor Padraic. He had been dragged into this whole thing without any time to choose. Now he would die far from friends and family. In an odd thought he wondered if Raven herself would speak at the rabbits funeral.    His dear, beloved Caroline would die. He could almost see the grief stricken Will at his daughter's funeral. Her death would kill him. He would slowly fade away, all reason for life gone with his beloved daughter. Misha would never get to hold her in his arms again. Never again would they snuggle close at night under some tree watching the stars. All his plans and hopes for their future together were now gone.    Without having to look for it he saw where Whisper had landed. He could easily see it's black form against the stark, white snow. He could easily call the blade to him but to what end? With his arms pinned he couldn't use it. Even if he did get his arms free he stood little chance of defeating the monsters he was fighting. He was too badly hurt and these things were tougher then he was. A lot tougher. There was no way to save anyone.    Or was there? Desperate people do desperate things.    "Tchau Uae" he shouted. Reaching out with his heart and soul as well as his voice. "HELP ME!"    Everything went suddenly quiet as if a great hush had fallen over the world. All the fires and open flames snapped then guttered out leaving the battlefield in utter darkness. A darkness so deep and pure that it just seemed to swallow all light. Only a thin, wane moonlight gave an eerie glow to the scene. Many of the Lutins looked up in shock at the moon for it was still early in the month and the Night Lady had long before gone to her sleep that night. Moments before there had been no moon.    The battle stopped. No one moved or spoke.    A wind blew through. So cold that it bit right through to their very souls. Chilling their hearts and killing any courage and will that remained there. It knocked over men and Lutins alike scattering them like snow in a storm.    A deep red glow seemed to ooze from Whisper bathing everything around it, turning the scene into something from a grotesque nightmare. The human's skin looked as if it was it was covered with blood. Making the living look like the dead.    The glow grew stronger and started to slowly form into a shape. First to form was the head. Then a torso with two long, powerful arms with claw tipped hands. Broad wings spread out behind and above. Long, thin, spidery wings with wicked talons on their edges. Two stocky legs hung from the torso and ended in surprisingly small legs that each held five talons. Each as long as a mans hand. The figure hung there about an arms length above the ground not disturbing the mud beneath it. As frightening as that form was worse was it's eyes. It didn't have any, just two deep, dark pits of blackness that seemed to bore through any who saw them.    One talon tipped hand shot out and grabbed one of the things that was about to kill Misha. The creature managed one, short shriek and the red, glowing hand wrapped around it's throat cutting off all sound. It easily lifted the struggling creature off the ground. The wolverine squirmed and twisted, desperately trying to escape.    Misha knew what was coming but still he couldn't bring himself to look away. There was a soft crunch and the creature went suddenly limp. Then it's body started to shrivel and curl up like a wine sack being squeezed dry. There was a soft whisper of a noise. Almost too soft to hear and yet it cut straight through to Misha's soul. The empty carcass dropped to the ground with a sickening thump and the rattle of dry bones.    With a casual swipe of one arm she sent three of the men surrounding Georgette and Jotham flying. Two of them landed in pieces their heads rolling along the ground like some child's ball.    One of the head came to rest in front of a lutin. A tough, battle hardened warrior with countless scars testifying to his bravery. He looked down at the bloody sphere with eyes wide with terror. Then he looked up to see that taloned arm reaching for him. It was just a hands breath from his throat when the warrior let out a shriek of pure terror and ran off into the night.    That broke the spell over everyone. Chaos erupted. Men, women and Lutins scattered screaming in all directions. All thoughts of fighting and killing swept away by the primal terror. For Misha it felt like being in the calm at the center of the storm. Around him figures screamed and wailed as they stumbled and ran about in utter panic.    Through this bedlam there suddenly came a tall figure shouting orders at the fleeing people. It deliberately stepped into the path of a dozen fleeing Lutins and ordered a halt. The warriors paused unsure what to do. This figure wore a bright, red, blue and gold brocaded robe the covered her form from foot to neck. In her left hand was a sword whose blade had jagged edges like the teeth of some fearsome creature. Black ichor dripped from that wicked blade.    Two other figures stepped out of the shadows behind the women. Misha couldn't make out their faces from the distance but one appeared to be an utterly huge man and the other a women in a luxurious fur coat. However as quickly as they appeared they seemed to vanish into the same shadows they had come from.    The blood red creature from the axe swept forward towards the Lutins and the figure stopping them. The woman raised the sword and a beam of white light erupted from the blade and struck the wraith. If the magic of the sword had any effect it didn't show. The group of Lutins scattered like leaves in a wind. More fearful of wraith then woman.    The mage lashed out with the sword but the wraith put out one hand and stopped it easily. Then it gave a swipe of the other and the arm with the sword still gripped in its hand went flying in a spray of blood.    Again that blood red arm reached for a throat, this time it was the woman's throat. Misha could not watch this time and he closed his eyes try to block out the scene. But if watching it was bad, hearing it was worse. Much worse. With his sharp canine ears he heard the crunching of bones as the mage's throat was crushed. Then he heard that soft, sickening whisper of a sound. In his mind he could imagine the stark raving terror going through her mind as the wraith slowly drained the very life from her body. He wondered what it must feel like as ones life was ripped from you. The pain and terror. His body began to shake as the tears flowed down his muzzle. Then he heard the thump and rattle of the dry husk of her body hitting the ground. Shaking uncontrollably he lay there with his eyes closed as he tried to block out the terrible image in his mind of that woman's death. Suddenly a terrible screamed ripped through his anguish. It was a terrible scream of primal terror. Misha's eyes opened of their own accord.    Less then an arms length away was one of the creatures that had been mere moments from killing him. It was on it's knees screaming and crying as the wraith reached for it. In a moment that red hand closed around his throat and lifted the creature off the ground. In fear and desperation the wolverine morph looked at Misha. He saw pain, fear and a desperate pleading in those eyes. He couldn't help but think of his good friend Andre. That wolverine morph was his friend since childhood. Was Andre so different from the terrified thing dangling in front of him? He heard the soft whisper of it's life being drained away.    "Stop," Misha said in a quiet tone. "Please. Let him live."    That terrible whispering noise stopped. The wraith opened it's hand and the morph dropped to the ground at Misha's feet. It lay there as still as a corpse too terrified to move. Misha could see it's chest rising and falling rapidly as it breathed. It's throat once the same black as the rest of its body now bore a white blaze in the shape of a grasping hand.    They were alone on the battlefield. All that lay around them were the dead. Fires burned fitfully here and there amidst the wreckage. It was as if the whole world had died and only these three were left.    The red, ghost of a wraith looked at Misha with those black pits others would call eyes. It seemed to be deciding, pondering and judging the fox. It reached out with one hand and lightly stroked the side of his head. Its touch was oddly warm. He'd expected it to be as cold as tomb but it wasn't. The warmth reminded him of his mother soft caress and of Caroline's sweet embrace.    "You're taller then I expected Tchau," Misha commented.    The faint trace of a smile crossed the monsters lips and a deep burbling laughter came to Misha's ears.    It turned and looked to where Rickkter was standing. The raccoon had not moved or spoken. He looked more like the graven image of some forgotten god on the walls of some long abandoned temple. "Tehen thesas," it said and bowed deeply to the raccoon. The wraith drifted back to where the great axe Whisper lay. It hovered for a moment over it then seemed to just seep into the weapon and was gone. *****    The camp was quiet when Edmund and his troops finally reached it. The stench of death filled the air mixing with the sharp sting of burning wood and cloth. They carefully picked their way past the abandoned sentry posts. Only the scorched ground and charred remains of wood marked that there had been sentries at all. The entrance was deserted, the thickets dragged across the opening hadn't been pulled out of the way, they had been trampled down into the mud. The only sign of the guards was a solitary spear that lay broken and twisted in their path. The only sign of life in the whole camp was a bright fire that blazed in the center lighting up everything like a beacon.    Dismounting Edmund led his troops past the remains of the gate and into the camp. Around him his soldiers and knights moved as cautiously as him. He watched as a pike wielding man used the tip of his weapon to up end a hovel made of bone and hide. Then he carefully poked the scraps of various things that lay underneath. All he found was a few scarps of cloth and some bones.    The camp was too rough and broken a place for the tight square. Instead of the square they had used before now Edmund kept the formation loose, fluid. They could have marched up the road but he had fallen for that trick once too often. Instead they would move stay off that obvious path to an ambush.    There was no need to decide where to go, that was easy. The paladin instinctively knew that the Long Scouts would be found at the center by that bright fire. He was sure the fox was the cause of the blaze.    They passed countless rows of hovels, tents and lean-tos as the group of soldiers moved slowly up the road deeper into the camp. At the front moved seven of Edmunds best hunters.    Suddenly a soldier off to his left gave out a shout. With his sword in hand he raced over to where a group of soldiers was clustered together.    "What did you find?" the paladin asked.    A short, brown haired man with a long bow strapped across his back was knelt next to the overturned remains of a tent. In the center of what would have been the tent floor was a round hole barely a foot in diameter and some three feet deep.    "Large enough for a lutin to crouch in and hide," the archer said out loud. "They covered over the hole with this cloth and waited to Misha and his scouts passed," he said holding up a dirty, brown piece of wool.    "How?" someone asked. "Even the simplest fool would think to look underneath."    "Watch," the archer replied. With a broad sweep he draped the cloth over the open hole and both disappeared. Gone was the hole and the cloth covering it, replaced by a rough dirt floor.    "Magic," Edmund hissed.    "Illusion," the archer explained. "An army could walk past this place and not suspect the Lutins that lay hidden."    The paladin looked up and all around. In a moment the archer was standing up and looking around as well. On all sides as far as the eye could see were tents and lean-tos. Hundreds and hundreds of them.    "Shit," the archer muttered.    "Form a Square centered on the road," Edmund shouted. "Scouts out front."    "Facing which way?" someone asked.    Edmund didn't answer out loud but pointed towards the center of the camp where Misha and his scouts were. "Inward." **** </HTML>