<HTML>    Too exhausted to think Misha almost missed it. It was the faint sound of a foot lightly placed in mud. Looking up he saw a blackened form moving towards him. For a moment he thought it was Rickkter but then he saw it clearly. It was one of those panther creatures Rickkter had been fighting. It's chest was covered in it's own blood, the loose skin at its neck hanging open in an ugly gash; a testament to the raccoons fighting prowess. In spite of the chest wound and a dozen more over its body the feline moved towards Misha with a slow steady gait. In its left hand was a long, curved saber and in its eyes Misha saw death. This creature was dying but it intended to take Misha with it.    "What a temperamental thing to do," said a cold calm voice that seemed to come from all around Misha. "You should have killed them all when you had the chance."    Suddenly a white haired figure of a man in a flowing red robe appeared before Misha, he looked at the Keeper with a crooked grin upon his face. A sword appeared in his hands, its blade thick and curved with cruel points.    With a mere flick of his hand he sent the weapon flying through the air. The blade sunk into the feline monsters chest up to the hilt. The cat fell without a sound. Dead before it reached the ground.    "I applaud you fox, but sympathy will only get you so far in life."  He closed his eyes and chuckled, his long white hair blowing wildly in the wind, "You let down your guard my good man. I won't save you next time," said the red robed figure with a laugh. "In fact I might just take your little life, after all, you now owe it to me."    Without even a need to give the command Whisper floated free of the ground and flew straight into Misha's remaining good hand. "Try it," the vulpine said softly. "And see who kills who."    "In your sorry state there wouldn't be any sport to it, don't you think?"    Misha growled.   "Oh my, I seemed to have upset you, well I'll let you cool off, you have had a long day after all. "Until we meet again fox." With those words he seemed to slip away from reality and vanish into thin air.   "We'll meet again," Misha commented. "You can be sure of that." ****    The tent looked out of place. It's bright red cloth stood out bold against the snow and mud of the fields. It certainly had no place on a battlefield. The knights and soldiers who had come from all over the midlands had watched in amazement as the keepers had erected it before the battle. Three wagons fully loaded with all manner items had been carefully unpacked and placed within the tent. And there were no less then thirty servants. Each was dressed in a short, blue tunic with a mortar and pestle in gray on the chest.    Working at a frantic pace they took orders from a gray haired woman dressed in a gray dress with the mortar and pestle in gold on her right shoulder. After putting up the tent they had carefully lined the floor of it and area for twenty feet in all directions with a thick carpet colored a dull gray. Then the servants unloaded a score of folding beds and tables arraigning them in neat rows inside. Last to be unloaded were four tremendous chests. Each so large that it took four people to unload them. They were placed at one end of the tent where the opening was.    It wasn't until after the battle was over that it became clear what the tent was for. At the first sounds of fighting the 'servants' had rushed off into the battle. In the midst of the worst fighting they were there. Dragging men from the river, pulling the wounded clear of the fighting and giving them the aid they needed to survive.    With horses, carts or even simply carrying them they blue tunics carried the wounded and dying back to the tent. Soon every bed was full and the wounded were laid out on the carpet outside. It wasn't long before even that was full and beds were made out of branches and leaves.    It was here that Ellingwood found himself. Stretched out on that thick carpet. His left arm bandaged from wrist to shoulder and his chest was wrapped to protect his broken ribs. Around him lay the wounded, many in those folding beds, others lying on the thick carpet like he was. Human and keeper were mixed together without any thought to age, sex, species or social ranking.    As he lay there he watched the people he had thought were servants brought more and more of the wounded. Others moved among their patients tending to their needs.    A Keeper, some sort of striped horse came up to the nobleman and looked at the bandages on his shoulder. Like all the other Keepers tending the wounded it wore that blue tunic with it's odd emblem. "Any pain?" the equine asked in a male voice.    "No," Ellingwood answered truthfully. "Just a slight tingling in my chest."    "Good." The striped horse answered. "That means the poppy juice is working. "You're lucky. You only have a few broken ribs. No internal injuries. Your armor took most of the blow. There's a dent in the breastplate the size of my head. You will need to replace it breastplate."    "That armor was a gift from the king himself for saving his son at the battle of Marsden Hill."    "You can thank the king for saving your life but I don't think they can remove this big a dent," a voice said from behind. George walked into view holding something in his hands. It was the breastplate from the mans armor. There was a dent in it the size of the horse's head.    "What did that?" the black backed jackal morph asked.    "An ogres club," was the answer. To Ellingwood the canine seemed untouched. Without even the cut or bruise. Only a rip in the surcoat he was wearing and a slight dent on the armor beneath it told of a fight. Then he noticed traces of blood on the jackal's muzzle.    The striped equine left the two alone and moved off to a man whose two legs were heavily bandaged. The figured was lying still only the rise and drop of the blanket over his chest signaled he was alive.    Ellingwood found himself staring at the equine and the tunic he was wearing. "What are they?" he asked.    "We call them battle healers," George explained. "They're actually attached to every regiment in the army."    The man looked past the canine, "Sir Edmund is back," he commented and pointed to a group of soldiers making it's way towards them on foot.    At their head of the group was the paladin himself leading his horse by the reins. A figure was slumped in the saddle, head down, hands loosely holding onto the horn of the saddle.    When they reach the tent Edmund grabbed one of the passing healers. "Fetch your Mistress, we have need of her services."    "Lady Sarah is busy with the wounded," the women countered.    "Get her," Edmund ordered is a voice as soft as steel.    With a short nod of the head she turned and raced off into the tent.    The paladin Carefully helped the figure off of his horse. With a shiver Ellingwood recognized the person Edmund was helping as Misha. The fox stood for a moment then he sagged against the equines broad flank. Resting his head on the cloth beneath the saddle.    George closed the distance between him and the vulpine at a dead run. "Misha?"    The fox didn't seem to notice his friend but held as still as a statue. Then he lifted up his head and looked at George. The left side of his face was covered with a bloody bandage.    The jackal grabbed his friend under both arms and carried him over to where Ellingwood lay and laid his friend next to the wounded knight. With a tenderness that the nobleman found surprising George removed the bandage covering Misha's face.    All Ellingwood saw was a bloody wound with little resemble to the vulpine head it should be. He wiped the blood away with the bandage and looked at the wound. After a long moment he spoke. "You've lost your ear but you'll keep the eye."    The fox slowly nodded in reply. "How did the battle go?"    "Well. We lost about forty dead and twice that wounded," Ellingwood answered. "But there are over a thousand dead of Nasoj's army on the field lying on the field. That includes all of the Druzhina."    "Most of the Lutins just ran," George added. "But the Druzhina fought to the last."    "That's not a surprise," the fox commented. "Didn't expect those fanatics to give up."    Two knights laid Danielle next to Misha. The pine marten morph was unmoving. She looked dead. Finbar knelt next to her White bone sticking thru the fur of his left arm. The ferret was oblivious to own broken arm, he only had eyes for Danielle.    Swiftly all the remaining Long scouts were laid out along with a dozen of Sir Edmunds own wounded. Healers swarmed around them all appearing as if by magic. One tried to pull the ferret away from Danielle to fix his arm but was unceremoniously shoved away by Finbar.    George picked the ferret off the ground and calmly dropped in front of a healer. "Sit and be healed. I'll see about her," he ordered.    Finbar stood up and opened his move to argue but George never gave him the chance.    "Shut up. Sit down and behave. I'll see to her," he said in a voice full of power and command. All the ferret could do was sit still and nod but his eyes never left Danielle.    Two of the healers were already working on her. They had removed her armor and cloths and were examining her. The gray haired leader of the healers came up and knelt down next to her.    "Aside from the slight burns on her hands I don't see any serious injuries," the woman commented. "What happened to her?"    "Someone threw a powerful spell at us and she deflected it with a shield," Misha explained. "The mage who cast that spell had at least three times the power and skill. I'm surprised she survived it at all, Sarah."    She produced a small flask and some cloth from a satchel that hung at her hip. After carefully pouring the contents of the flask onto the cloth she began to wipe Danielle's face with it. Each wipe of the cloth left an odd green coloring on the martens fur."    Sir Bidwell came up to the group, the concern plain to see. "What happened?"    "An ambush," Sir Edmund answered. "The entire camp was a gigantic trap."    "The finest one I've ever seen," the fox added. "Someone went to a great deal of trouble to kill my people and me."    "What is our next move?" Edmund asked aloud. "After this defeat I doubt there will be any more battles."    "It'll be down raids and sieges," George commented. "No one will stand against this army."    "We came her to defeat evil not pillage and loot like bandits," the paladin said.    "Won't be needed," George said. "My people got close to Wraiths stronghold this morning. They found it already under siege."    "By who?" Ellingwood asked, surprised.    "Lutins. They reported seeing the banners of fifteen tribes and at least six thousand warriors."    "SIX THOUSAND?" Ellingwood asked incredulously.    "Amazing. There hasn't been an army that large in the Giantdowns in over a decade. Who did you send out?" Misha asked.    "Jamie long shanks," George answered. "Of course."    "Who is in command of it?" Bidwell asked.    "Probably no one," Misha answered. "I'll bet it's a temporary alliance. Nasoj has a lot of enemies."    "Temporary or not someone has been planning this for a long time," George said.    "At least since the attack on the Keep. It would take that long to get all the tribes to decide to stop fighting each other."    "Can we defeat such an army?" Ellingwood asked.    "No need to," Misha replied. "They have eyes only for Nasoj. Once they take the fortress and loot it they'll break up and go home. Of that I'm certain. And if the Lutins and Nasoj's troops want to kill each other I don't see any reason to interfere."    "They'll be fighting for months," George added.    "What is our next course of action?" Lord Bidwell asked.    There was a deep sigh and all eyes turned to it's source. Danielle opened her eyes and looked around. Finbar pushed aside the healers and gave her a tight hug and a long kiss.    "What is our next course of action?" the fox asked, echoing the nobleman's question.    Caroline sat down next to him. She clasped his good hand with one of her own and gave it a slight squeeze.    "We go home. We've done enough of Death's work here."    No one argued the point. ***    END </HTML>