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A sullen calm befell the land of Keldon, and the castle of King N'roh was no different. Even the honored knights spoke little as the wake of the Darmouth massacre took hold. An ominous train of carriages laden with coffins trickled toward the devastated town, passed by the occasional traveller.

Sitting at his throne, King N'roh observed the muted activities. The jester and other royal entertainers did their best to put an extra spark in their performances, knowing their need was great - but the heartiest laughter could not dispell the shared grief and anguish.

Turning to an aid, N'roh asked, "Has Sir Gryan embarked for Darmouth?"

The aid nodded. "He left an eighth of a shadow's turn ago, your Majesty."

The king commanded, "Summon Sir Aloso. Tell him to prepare to escort me to Darmouth ... and have Gallander prepared."

The aid paused for a moment, then bowed. "Aye, your Majesty, I shall do so straightaway."

In the Royal Stables, down a ways from Fortivirago's stall, the king's faithful mount was saddled, dressed and led from his stall. He tugged slightly on the reins as he passed Fortivirago's stall, the old stallion's ears perked.

Lost in thought, Fortivirago was distracted by the slight commotion and turned to face out over her stall door at the stallion, who met her gaze with a piercing stare.

"This is your doing, isn't it?" the stallion nickered in the equine language.

Understanding his meaning, Fortivirago nickered back, "Yes. I am responsible."

"When I return, I shall ... converse with you," he nickered, then laxed his tug to allow the royal squire and stablehands to know he was ready to continue. Fortivirago dwarfed the stallion quite easily, but from his tone and his regal manner of carrying himself, she held little doubt the stallion was king of equines in the land - as she had been, in a fashion, 'queen' among the Dire Horses if such a term could be applied.

The king was waiting by the time Gallander was led to the entrance.

"Whatever took so long?" he asked of the royal squire.

"He seemed interested in a conversation with the newcomer," the squire answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Fortivirago?" the king asked to confirm.

The squire nodded and bowed, presenting Gallander.

The king gazed upward for a moment as he mounted. He patted his thirteen-year old steed on the side of his neck. "Making a new friend, old boy?" he mused. "I find her interesting ... I wonder ... she could ..." he muttered, then leaned over from astride Gallander's back to look him in the eye. Gallander, in turn, stretched his own neck to the side to meet his rider's gaze. "You can understand her, and she you ..... and she can understand I, and I her ... that presents an opportunity I dare not pass up, old friend. For now, we have a solemn quest to meet," he said with a sigh and tugged on the reins as Aloso and his mount trotted near.

"Ah, good of you to join me, Aloso. I have duties with Gryan ... and I suspect he may need of you someone to answer in challenge he would not dare lance upon me. I do not think it appropriate to bring the real party in question along," he said, nodding his head back toward the royal stables.

"I quite concur, Sire, and am honored to oblige."

N'roh motioned for Aloso to lead. King and knight strode out, passing the caravan of coffins along the road. In no immediate rush as he had been the day before during the surprise attack, Aloso impressed the king by echoing the king's thoughts prior to rendezvous.

"I would be quite interested to know what Fortivirago might tell us about our own mounts," he commented en route. "Olum here, Gallander ... they serve us so faithfully for so many years. They age so much faster, we grieve when we lose them ... yet, we grow comfortable with and used to them. And then comes Fortivirago ..." he started, unable to make sense of his thought.

"Indeed," N'roh picked up. "It shall be quite an adventure, having Fortivirago translate for us ... have a verbal conversation, through her, with our four-legged warriors." He motioned to the road ahead. "Gryan's family is lost, I'm sure ... they were in the heart of the town. His very blood ... I cannot deny him his rights as a knight, nor should I try. There are thousands like him, throughout Keldon, who have lost blood. Each will demand justice ... but I cannot have one horse answer for it all."

Aloso remained silent for several moments, gathering his thoughts. "'Tis an unenviable task. Fortivirago is a wonder, a treasure ... but if I may, your Majesty, however great the benefit she may bring us is not much of a consideration weighed against honor. If Fortivirago is regarded as a warrior, then her honor must be weighed accordingly. Were you a tyrant bent on conquest, and not the peaceful king so amicable and loved even to our neighbors, and you ordered me to slaughter a foreign land and I obeyed - how much of the blame would lay with me, and how much with you?"

The king chuckled for a moment - Aloso had strange ways of looking at things at times. "Mostly myself, I would believe, for I am your King. Still, there is some fault - there are tales of knights serving corrupted kings who honorably embraced the seemingly harshest dishonor of slaying their own king versus continuing to serve evil. I think, in a fashion, Fortivirago is such a knight - or warrior, at least. She turned on the one who commanded her. The guilt and shame over what she did under his command will carry in her heart - as will the guilt and shame over breaking her loyalty, as it would any such knight. She must realize the good we appreciate in the deed she eventually did - but I think it would also help her soul to at least have a taste of honorable answer. Gryan, I think, shall be the one to provide that taste. He is respected, admired, and of all who lost blood in Darmouth - he can represent the others in honorable challenge."

Aloso sighed. "There is much I admire in Fortivirago. In every respect, she is a warrior by her own right - but ... she is still equine. She cannot hold a sword using arms and hands for a duel, nor could she be knocked off another horse in a joust. I do not think it would be honorable to place her in any lethal combat with Gryan - Gryan would not have a chance facing her one-on-one, even mounted on his steed. And if she kills him ..."

"... the people would stone her," the king finished his knight's thought. "I see the difficulties you mention. A lethal duel it cannot be, then, and Gryan's rage will have to stay grounded in our ways of non-lethal challenge. These are unusual circumstances ... the ways of Keldon were laid by the great kings of the past. I find it ... daunting ... but the duty is mine to lay a course for our circumstance that could, someday, be met again."

Aloso sat erectly. "You are the King. You alone belong in the throne at the present. Gryan, myself, and all the other knights will carry out your righteousness, we are sworn to it ... on our own blood. I do not think Gryan has forgotten that ... anyone who has, is not Keldonian."

The journey persisted into the late afternoon. Even so, for some time both Aloso and N'roh could scent death on the breeze carried inland from the sea. Not the scent of the corpses - that dispersed to the wind beyond a few yards, of course - but an air nonetheless of death. At long last, they arrived at the edge of town, a thin smattering of homes and farms inland of the fateful farm assaulted by Fortivirago herself. The farmhouse widow had already dug a grave and buried her beheaded husband by the roadside for the passersby to see. She looked pleadingly up at Aloso, but then looked down as the king passed.

Arrays of coffins, large and small, lined the road from that point in waiting for horses to be brought in to move them - for most of the horses in town were themselves slaughtered. Homes and other buildings were themselves had gaping holes torn through - even, astoundingly, those made of brick. As they rode farther in, they encountered a quiet small army of peasants brought in to deal with the horror, setting the departed into coffins and from that point, human bodies were more visible.

Aloso lead the turn down an avenue to the stables of Gryan's brother, Klem.

N'roh motioned for Aloso to wait by the gate as the king proceeded in. Two larger and one smaller earth mounds lay on one side of a large tree; sir Gryan was on the other side, arranging stones around a relatively huge mound. His sword was leaned against the tree along with his helmet, but Gryan remained in the rest of the armor despite a sopping amount of sweat. A small plow lay nearby, and Gryan's black steed, Toste, stood silently in his war horse dressage. Toste appeared quite sullen, staring at the mound when he noticed N'roh and Gallander.

Toste nickered softly in Gallander's direction, drawing his knight's attention. Gryan looked up to his king's eye. Dirt on his face smudged into mud by his sweat, and smears of blood stained his armor. He rose from the nearly completed circle and bowed. "'Tis Vork, your Majesty," he explained of the mound.

N'roh dismounted. "Your old mount?" he asked as he strolled over to Gryan. "Rise, knight."

Gryan solemnly nodded his head. "Klem, Misa and especially little Rasa tended to his retirement with their loving hearts, Sire. He hadn't forgotten me, in the five years since Toste took over his duties ... I always remembered to bring a bundle of kye-grass for him whenever I visited Klem. He was ... torn so asunder ..." Gryan trembled. "Those beastly monstrosities - whatever they look like, they cannot be horses to be so bloody to one of their own kind! - they sliced through his neck and chest. Klem and Misa, and Rasa ... were so butchered .... how ... how could anything be so brutal to such sweet people as my brother, my brother's wife and my niece? They were no soldiers, no warriors ... they were the most gentle souls in all of Keldon!"

N'roh placed a hand over Gryan's shoulder, then reached around with his other arm to hold his knight in close. He embraced Gryan, the stench of his knight's sweat not even an irritation by compare to his need to let Gryan know his king was there for him in his strife. "They were indeed fine citizens, Gryan, and our kingdom will honor their lives. Keldon will not forget the precious blood we have lost, and you have my word as your King this atrocity will not go unanswered."

"I ... I wish to commit myself to that quest, Sire."

The king nodded as he released the embrace, gazing around at the stable and the trails of blood leading to the various mounds, then away from it all toward a pasture. The railing fence was smashed nearby, a large pool of blood staining the grass within it. A single trail of massive hoofmarks in the soil led between the blood stains - one Dire had killed them all. "You've heard of the turncoat warhorse, I presume?" N'roh asked.

"Aye, your Majesty. I ... caught a glimpse of her silhouette in the stable. Very formidable ... I heard she attacked from Urtonis?"

The king nodded again, turning back to face his knight. "Indeed ... a kingdom we all thought defeated, distant and history. It seems they managed a terrible turnabout against Wradonia, but even with their conquerer vanquished it seems their thirst for blood did not quell. It is quite disturbing so much has changed, kingdoms have crumbled and our first word of it comes as this," the king said, extending his hand to indicate the stable and farther into Darmouth. "It seems the Urtonians methodically leave no survivors to warn other lands ... having seen one of their equine warriors close up and spoken with her, it is not difficult to imagine they had little difficulty even when attacking well-defended lands."

Gryan looked a bit agape at the king's statement.

"Yes," N'roh spoke. "She can speak. I do not know how ... she is the one who provided what information we have. We've fought and captured barbarians before, always hot from blood-lust ... she is not like this. She is calm, almost ... cold ... but cooperative almost to a fault. She willingly volunteered her neck to my sword - she did not flinch."

Gryan sighed and knelt to finish placing the stones, and the king knelt beside him to assist.

"Whatever did this - horse or monster - is a butcher, your Majesty, and nothing less. Whyever did you spare the life of one?"

N'roh set a stone in, then put his arm on Gryan's shoulder again. "Look your King in the eye, Gryan." The laboring knight did as instructed, setting down his own stone.

N'roh spoke, "When she and her war party set sail from Urtonis, they were ordered to do so. Those orders extended to docking here in Darmouth and slaughtering the town. She did not give such orders, merely followed them. The actions she took in and following breaking those orders are her responsibility - not the actions she took under them. The kingdom of Urtonis is responsible, and it Urtonis and those that issued such orders that will answer for it. She is no longer a soldier of Urtonis, she is an honorary citizen of Keldon."

Gryan angrily slammed a fist down in the dirt. "She must pay must pay for what she has done! She had no honor in massacring our unarmed blood!"

N'roh swallowed a backlash for Gryan arguing with his king, as - for the moment - he could not fault this man, even though as captain of the knights he knew damned well better. "She is an honorary citizen. She can only be without honor if I am without - for I bestowed citizenship upon her. If you have a grievance of honor, you may challenge her honor - but it shan't be a challenge to the death."

Gryan grimaced in frustration. "Challenge? How would I joust a horse?"

"Were she an ordinary citizen, she could choose a champion to fight for her. She will participate in the challenge, but I will allow her to choose a knighted champion within our kingdom - and this champion will mount her during the joust."

Gryan's frustration finally began to ebb. "That is most ... unusual ... but I believe it best fits our traditions, your Majesty." He glanced back to Toste, then to king N'roh again. "As soon as we finish up, I shall head back to the castle to ... formally challenge her. She ... would she understand it?"

N'roh nodded. "She ... does not fully know the ways of honor, but she seems to be familiar with human customs and codes."

Gryan resumed placing his stone in place, and N'roh took the final stone and placed it. "Does she even know any of our knights? Whom do you think she'd choose?"

N'roh patted the stone down, finally complete. He rose first, of course not as waried as his knight who had been burying his brother's family all day; he graciously accepted the king's steady hand up. "Aloso. He was the one who encountered her."

Gryan's brow raised somewhat in surprise. "Aloso? He is a ... fine knight ... and has a great amount of honor. I ... pity ... it must be him. I have favored him and I always serving the same side - within or without the kingdom."

N'roh spoke, "He is indeed a knight of great honor - as are you. It is, of course, up to Fortivirago whom she chooses, but she has definitely expressed praise for Aloso, and he spoke well of her, even having been the first and seen the blood so fresh."

Gryan retrieved and sheathed his sword from beside the tree, then picked up and carried his helmet. "Did he escort you here?" he asked as he picked up his helmet and carried it under an arm.

"He did, at my request. He is outside the fence, waiting by the drive." Gryan wiped his brow with his free, greaved hand. "'Tis a warm day. If you would be so kind, your Majesty, invite him in. I shall serve us all some water from the well before the return trip to the castle, and a bit of bread from my brother's stores ... presuming we are headed back next, of course. I'm sure Gallander and Vem could use some water and hay as well before heading back."

N'roh nodded. "Thank you, knight. I shall walk back to invite Aloso in, then, if you'll take Gallander."

Gryan set about the labor, leading Gallander by the reins into the pasture, Toste following along on his own. With the fence smashed, shutting the gate was rather pointless and Gryan simply allowed them in, watching them a few moments before strolling over to the well.

Toste and Gallander breath-exchanged, then both cantered over to the trough, already half-filled. Toste lifted his muzzle for a moment from the drink, gazing at the pool of blood as though he knew it.

Gryan, not paying much heed, lifted a filled pale from the well and carried it into the house as Gallander glanced over at the pool of blood for a moment, too, then turned to Toste and nickered lowly. Without taking his gaze off of it, Toste blew a strained sigh into the air. Gallander responded by nickering softly again and arching his head over the back of Tostes neck.

The pair were still embraced when N'Roh strolled back with Aloso astride Olum. Aloso led his horse into the pasture, then entered the house with Nroh.

Olum whuffled the blood, then snorted into the air. He carefully stepped around it over to Toste and Gallander, and gently lipped Toste's flank opposite the side of Gallander.

Toste blew a sigh, then arched his neck back and toward Gallander slightly, rubbing the top of his neck along the underside of Gallander's neck in their continued embrace. He then slowly walked forward and turned to step out of the pasture, slowly walking around the pool of blood and its trail left by his helping Gryan carry Vork's remains to their final resting place. Gallander and Olum trudged slowly behind but stopped as Toste neared Vork's mound.

Toste slowly stepped to its edge, then weakly raised a forehoof and leaned cautiously forward over the grave until his raised forehoof just touched a steep portion of the mound. Olum closed his eyes and lowered his muzzle down near his hoof, puffing his nostrils into the soil. Drops of tears soaked into the steed's muzzle as he stood perfectly still for many long moments, Gallander and Olum silently drooping their heads to the ground behind Toste.

After several minutes, Gallander and Olum simultaneously rose, slowly walked forward, and each arched their neck and muzzle across opposite sides of Toste's back.

"She always was a fine cook," Aloso tried to quip leading the three men from the house.

"I shan't allow all their stores to spoil," Gryan sighed as he pulled up the rear behind the king. "I shall have my squire arrange to have it donated to the church shelter. I ..."

Gryan nearly bumped into the king who had stopped in his tracks upon the porch, Aloso stopped as well at the sight before them. Gryan gazed up at the sight of his steed in tears, the king and Aloso's steeds touching him in support. N'Roh was the first to move as each stood in silence, partly in disbelief and partly in respect from the only way the steeds actions could be interpreted; he placed an arm around Aloso and Gryan. "Gentlemen," he spoke somberly, "may we never question the valor of our own horses nor discredit their love, loyalty and sorrow as being any less than ours. Let us make a prayer to our God, Jahon, and let us also take a moment to pray to Epona."

Without question, each slumped to their knees on the porch, facing the horses.

"Jahon, our righteous Lord," spoke the King, "may you bless us who watch over this peaceful land. May you guide me as I do my best to serve your word to all my kingdom. May all the souls of those lost here at Darmouth be welcomed warmly in your joyous castle of love and cheer. May you bless our swords with your will to bring to justice those who brought this tragedy about. And Epona, sweet goddess of the Horse, we beg your forgiveness for your foals who perished here; we pray you take Vork into your herd and bless our steeds with the courage, strength and will to help us persue those who have twisted your foals into murderous monsters. I vow to you, Epona, I shall not exact my revenge upon your lost foals but solely to those who twisted them in this fashion. Should you see fit, help guide the one named Fortivirago back into your pasture."

The three men, on their knees, closed their eyes and bowed forward to conclude the prayer, then each stood.

Toste lifted his head at long last, nudging each of Gallander and Olum in gratitude before the steeds walked to the porch in line with Gallander in lead, Olum in tow with Toste between them, each awaiting their rider.

The king and his two knights mounted up and cantered out the drive. Neither they nor the steeds uttered a sound, the steady clop of horseshoe upon the gravelled road of Darmouth the only noticeable sound, and the distant whispers of spades and shovels digging innumerable graves.

Each had seen death before, each had taken lives on the battlefield, but never in such terrible number and never with unarmed citizens targetted and butchered so; it had been unthinkable.

Silently, the trio - nay, the sextet - rode on, out of Darmouth and back toward the castle. Evening began to set when they finally arrived. A royal messenger intercepted and rode alongside, telling the king of a tall list of supplies needed to be readied for Darmouth and the progress on the graves, and that the church was straining its resources to chaplain the dead. With entire families slain in Darmouth, some of whom had no ties outside the small town, identifying the dead was proving a challenge and Darmouth's retired mayor, who was believed to have moved elsewhere years ago, was being tracked down as probably the best qualified to step in and manage relief efforts in the town, and to identify and register the dead.

The king listened and acknowledged the reports, then spoke. "Have a court courier deliver ten kegs of ale to Darmouth, for the gravediggers and others bearing such grisly labour, that it might take the edge off ... send it in a caravan, and five servants, and ample food and other supplies to the largest inns of Darmouth that the labourers might have comfortable rest. See to it!"

The messenger bowed and went off to dispatch the messages.

"Where is the beast?" Gryan asked.

"The royal stables. It would be a challenge to not recognize her," the king responded.

Gryan nodded and rode off. After a moment's hesitation, Aloso followed as the king rode over to the inner royal courtyard to dismount and enter the throne room. Gryan and Aloso tied their mounts to posts outside the royal stables.

Gryan eyed what he could of the beast inside the stable, the contrast of the bright daylight making it difficult to see any detail - but its clear her size has not been exaggerated; her ears barely cleared the stable ceiling. Gryan entered the stable, Aloso respectfully behind.

"I am told you speak, beast. Is this true?" Gryan asked as he reached her stall door, staring directly into her eye.

Fortivirago bobbed her head, but not breaking her eyes from his stare - the fearless answer of a warrior facing another warrior. "I do speak," she answered simply.

"I am Sir Gryan, brother of Klem whom was slaughtered in your massacre upon Darmouth yesterday. I am a Knight of the realm, and by my right as empowered by King N'roh, I demand a challenge of you to answer for the loss of my very blood."

Fortivirago did not flinch, but arched her massive head down over the stall door, keeping her eyes pointed back at Gryan. "I personally slew Klem, the woman, child and horse he was with. There is no need to challenge to determine righteousness, for I am guilty. You may take my life with no risk to your own limb an honorable challenge would risk."

Gryan struggled to retain control over his anger screaming at him to do just that, just then. A hand cupped his shoulder, however - the hand of Aloso, a just reminder that the call of noble duty overrides even blood.

"I am bound by code to challenge you in a non-lethal fashion only - in our kingdom, a joust. Since you are not a warrior who could yourself mount a steed, it is your right - by our traditions - to name a proxy to hold a lance for you."

Aloso removed his hand from Gryan's shoulder, and stepped to his side to look expectantly at Fortivirago.

Fortivirago, in turn, finally broke her gaze to look not at Gryan nor Aloso, but Toste tethered outside the stable. "He is your mount?" she asked of Gryan.

Gryan followed her gaze for a moment. "Yes; he is named Toste."

Fortivirago gazed at the stallion for a moment, then back to Gryan. "I accept your challenge, but ... I fear you do not realize a rather significant disparity between your mount and myself. A warrior in a joust, in the land of my former service, is expected to always fight his or her best, that righteousness would determine the victor."

Gryan grunted in irritation. "You may be half again Toste's size, beast ... but do not underestimate him. He is vibrant, strong and I personally trained him. I do not fear a giant horse, even were our combat to be lethal."

"He knows who I am and what I am responsible for. He holds the same burning loathing of me, and that should be his greatest asset to you. So long as you realize your handicap in this challenge, I accept ... and ask that Sir Aloso bare my lance astride my back."

Aloso raised one hand to cup the underside of Fortivirago's muzzle, and another to his fellow knight's shoulder. "I accept ... and 'tis settled then. Midday tomorrow?" he propositioned, looking to Gryan.

Gryan nodded, bowed to Aloso, then turned and left to re-mount Toste and tend to other business.

"Where did Onyx go?" Aloso asked, curious.

Fortivirago snorted, showing the first sign of irritation Aloso had seen. "Tending to his own business."

Aloso chuckled. "He is trouble, Fortivirago .... I am not sure how you ... view ... unicorns, but however great you view them - he is not. He is a chauvinistic, troublesome colt. The other unicorns of the realm are ashamed to be of his kin. I am sorry if he's caused you trouble already. I'd like you to meet another horse, actually ... my own mount, Olum, if you'd care to take a break from this cramped stall - one of the largest stalls in all this land, but it can't be that comfortable for you."

Fortivirago nodded her appreciation and pushed open the stall door with her own knee; it hadn't been locked and clearly she had kept herself within by her own volition. She walked slowly behind Aloso toward Olum, a reddish-brown stallion of medium height but very muscular build. A dark brown mane and tail, white pastern and dark tanned hooves adorned the otherwise solid-color horse with dim yellow eyes.

"Its been a matter of some ... idle conversation ... between the King and I, that you might do something for us we could never conceive ... be able to tell us what our horses 'say' in our language."

Olum snorted momentarily.

"I can, of course, fully understand him and you almost as well ... and while I am aware of the great variety of human languages, the language of horses doesn't directly translate," Fortivirago cautioned. "He is ... curious ... about me. He wants to know how the air smells and the grass tastes where I am from - he knows I am able to talk to you in your tongue and is curious how I do that." She makes no obvious, audible sound back to Olum - but lightly tosses her muzzle one way, bending her neck slightly another and shifting her posture slightly.

"I'm a bit curious about that myself," Aloso chuckled. He unhitched Olum, allowing the stallion to walk freely; he stepped closer to Fortivirago, arching his muzzle out to sniff at her, but not taking another step closer.

"He says he isn't sure I am fully a horse. Most horses I encounter ... tell me ... much the same thing."

Aloso reached behind Olum's ears to scritch at the uppermost part of Olum's mane. "Can you tell me what his favorite food is?"

Fortivirago nickered lightly to Olum, and Olum returned with a neigh. "Slightly old, bruised apples. He likes them more than fresh apples."

Aloso nodded. "I can ... sense his moods. I can generally sense his fond bond with me, and that he likes to try challenging things. He's dedicated to me and to our cause." He looked back to Fortivirago. "Riding you for tomorrow's joust will probably be the strangest experience of my life ... well, second only to having met you in the first place. A mount I can speak with?"

Fortivirago nodded. "Indeed. It might be prudent for you to practice, as I think you will find there are significant differences between riding me and riding Olum, not the least of which is physical perspective given my greater height."

"No kidding," Aloso commented, patting Olum's shoulder. "We should go to the pasture, let Olum stretch his legs a bit ... and I can try to get used to you," he said, removing Olum's saddle and bringing it into the stable, swapping it for the much larger tack and saddle components of Fortivirago's war armor in a storage space.

Fortivirago nodded and Aloso led the way, walking with Olum in tow. He set Olum free upon entering the pasture, but Olum only stepped away a few paces, gazing back.

"Does he ... not like this idea?" Aloso asked.

"He does not feel we are on the side of righteousness. He knows my crime. He also doesn't like the idea of being replaced, even temporarily, by a strange mount. He does not want to fight in my place, however - he knows the coming challenge is for me."

Aloso turned to face Olum and stepped closer to him, whispered something in Olum's ear whilst scritching his mane some more. Olum drooped his muzzle and trudged off. Fortivirago, meanwhile, lowered to her knees to allow much easier access to her barrel. Aloso managed to dress her fairly quickly, as she leaned the exact directions needed to help out his efforts.

After Aloso finished, Fortivirago lay fully down, making it much easier for Aloso to mount up. The "stirrups" were rather odd, fully encasing with a steel cage-like skeleton and a leather shroud something like an outter armored boot for the rider, quite roomy so as not to be too encumbering, but also quite secure. It would seem to be a defense of the rider's against even the heaviest of axes. The armor felt quite odd, of course - all horsemen prefer their own tack, but there was no time to custom-make tack to fit Fortivirago, so this would have to do. Aloso tapped the side of Fortivirago's neck and she rose.

Aloso felt a few moments of acrophobic exhilaration - he felt more like being atop a tower than a horse. Aloso pondered a slight in-kick, but then thought better of it ... "Let's try a walk, first ... feel like I'm going to bump into birds up here," he chuckled.

Fortivirago readily complied, and Aloso noticed how oddly smooth the ride was. Fortivirago seemed to absorb most of the unevenness of the ground by slightly bending legs at higher areas, stretching her legs more fully out and down in ruts and depressions. Aloso had never heard nor conceived of a horse training regimen so thorough and refined. The height definitely took some getting used to, but the smoothness of the ride - he couldn't notice even a slight sway - made it nowhere near as difficult as he thought. But, it was just a walk ... "Okay, let's try a canter."

Fortivirago obliged and Aloso could feel the acceleration, but still no sway nor swagger, smoother than a carriage with the most refined springs. She called back to him, "I think you may find the normal rider-mount signals more efficient."

For some reason, that felt more odd to command a sapient being in such a manner, but Aloso obliged, pressing in with his heels and leaning forward. Fortivirago responded by breaking into a fast trot. The thunder of her hooves was incredible, churning up the pasture. Despite the speed, however, the ride remained very smooth and even with her legs moving in a blur, she seemed to continue her flex-leg ridesmoothing. They reached the end of the pasture, and Aloso decided to see how smooth she was in turning.

Fortivirago remained smooth, leaning just right in the turn to keep her and Aloso's balance perfectly centered from the change of inertia. Olum was a decently smooth mount, but nothing compared with this - riding Olum at walk was much less steady than Fortivirago now at trot. "Okay, let's see what you have, Forti," he said whilst kicking his heels in deep to signal full gallop.

While side to side and up and down remained incredibly smooth, the forward acceleration forced Aloso to lean tightly forward and hug Fortivirago's neck. Her long, very well-muscled legs made for an incredibly spaced gait, and it didn't take many seconds to reach the other side of the pasture. The thunder of her hooffalls was quite loud at gallop. Aloso patted the side of her neck and half-yelled over her thundering hooves into her ear, "Go to Olum, I want to try something."

Fortivirago obliged, turning on her own under Aloso toward Olum, quietly standing still and watching her. She gradually, smoothly reduced down to a walk without wasting much momentum until she came to a stop beside him.

"Can you tell Olum to charge at us, over and over, just off to a side to run past us like we would if we were jousting? I want to try and picture it ... he's only slightly shorter than Toste."

Fortivirago nodded. "He will. The height difference will be problematic. Back home, its Dire versus Dire - unfortunately I am the only Dire here. He will have to angle his lance high, which will be warisome ... and yours will need to be low. It will be tricky landing a blow that isn't to his head."

Aloso reached his arms to the side, holding an imaginary lance and pictured Gryan astride Toste where Olum stood. "Let's do it," Aloso remarked.

Fortivirago nickered, and Olum galloped away - to Aloso's impress, about precisely where he'd be facing off on a spar. "Whenever you are ready, Sir Aloso," Fortivirago offered.

Aloso signalled both Olum and Fortivirago by slapping Fortivirago's shoulder. Olum and Fortivirago charged forward, Aloso clutching his imaginary lance and picturing Gryan astride Toste where Olum galloped. He found, as they neared and perspective became better, he had to lean over a bit dangerously to gain a proper angle - if he were actually holding a lance, he would likely fall over.

Olumn and Fortivirago both slow at far ends of the imaginary jousting field. "Try leaning forward, atop the lance, and to the side," Fortivirago spoke.

Could she see his imagining it? "How many jousts have you been in, Forti?"

"Eighteen. I and my riders were victorious six times."

"Six?" Aloso asked, a bit astounded - he'd assumed she would be reining champion. "Titanus, my former second-in-command and now first-in-command of the Dires, holds the best record with thirteen victories out of fifteen jousts."

"How many of your defeats were to him?"

"Five."

"Why did you lose so many?"

"The basic objective in a joust is for one rider to knock another off their mount. Rider and mount are more than random comrades, but partners in a relationship. Titanus has had the same rider for most of his life; I have not. All six of my victories were under Chordi, who unexpectedly became king after the death of the previous monarch by being married - again, a bit unexpectedly - to the late king Qarn's daughter. Myself, the other dires and much of the kingdom had expected the throne to pass to one of Qarn's own sons, but on his own deathbed he named Chordi his successor. Chordi and I had a long string of successes on the battlefield; he earned legendary status. After he became king, I became the mount of six different commanders, none of them - including the one I slew yesterday - having earned their rank through combat, unlike Titanus' rider. I can defeat Titanus or any other Dire Horse in any direct horse-to-horse competition, but not sufficiently to makeup for riders I am a stranger to and who do not have much real combat experience."

Aloso nodded. "I am sorry you haven't had someone to partner with for some time. That probably made it ... easier ... to turn on Urtonis."

Fortivirago shook her head, the first move she had made that caused Aloso to sway atop her back. "Nay; it did not make it easier. I ... am not sure why I turned. My ... thoughts ... have lost some of their coherent integrity. I have done my best to resist it, but ... they surpassed my sense of loyalty to Urtonis."

Olum grunted in boredom, but Aloso was concerned about the conversation. "You feel guilty for having betrayed your banner?"

Fortivirago nickered, "It is not an action I can undo. Urtonis created our breed to be the perfect fighting horse ... and I was honored with praise and genuine respect for my abilities as a warrior by my own right. I forfeited all. We are strong war horses, ready for fighting by the time we are yearlings, and we tend to fight for over a decade ... but we are not immortal. I have been hoping to die on the battlefield for some time, that I might not have to deal with the reality of becoming an aged horse. I vowed my life to King N'roh and to you, and I will carry out whatever duties you assign me to the limit of my body ... but I fear my time of any useful service is few in years, not enough to start over and create here from scratch what took me so many horse-years in Urtonis."

Aloso pondered this for a moment, then slapped Fortivirago's neck. Olum took a moment to rise from his bored grazing of the pasture, but soon he and Fortivirago charged at one another. Aloso tried as Fortivirago suggested, leaning forward and to the inward side, imagining clutching the lance under him ... to the side, the imaginary lance was able to angle downward and Fortivirago's back added leverage ... success!

Aloso, Fortivirago and Olum practiced round after round, Aloso learning to refine his position more and more with each practice into the afternoon. Drenched in a fair amount of sweat from the practice, Aloso decided to take a break, riding Fortivirago and guiding Olum to the water trough, splashing water to wipe some of the sweat from his brow as the horses drank.

"Where does your heart lay?"

Fortivirago remained silent for several moments. "I have ... sworn ... my vow ... to your banner, Aloso." Saying the words, however, she doubted herself. For the first time since Aloso had mounted her, she took stray steps as if to pace uncomfortably. "I wish to die on a battlefield by a warrior who truly bests me. I need my blood to spill, to end my days still strong. I ... fear ... I no longer am, and yet still I can find no adequate challenge." Shifting uncomfortably under Aloso, she brayed a sigh before turning her head to the side to give Aloso a sidelong gaze. "I wish to be saved from growing old, feeble and weak. But it may be too late ... I have already betrayed a vow. I ... see things ... that are not there. Put your hand to my muzzle!" she pleaded.

Aloso ungloved a hand and did so, feeling the heat of the blood coursing through Fortivirago's veins.

"Do you feel my flesh? The pulse and heat of my blood? It still serves me, but for how much longer? My mind is ... decaying ... and soon, my flesh will follow. My greatest regret now is my conquest over the dragons. I wish ... I wished I'd lost that fight, died near the end before my victory was final."

Aloso found himself awed and mortified at the words, at a loss to respond. After several long moments, he removed his hand from flat against the side of Fortivirago's muzzle and scratched her head between her ears. "That pains me, Fortivirago, and as much as it pains me for you, it further pains me with Olum. He still has a taste of being a horse, at least. I love to let him roam free in a large pasture ... but still ... he is not a wild horse, not truly free. I would protect him with my life as surely as I would a fellow knight or my own family, I would not give up my bond with him for anything ... but your words make me realize what I gain from him might not make up for what I take from him, his spirit and bond with Epona."

Fortivirago shakes her muzzle. "I have fought many magical beings, even unicorns, but never encountered this supposed supreme horse named Epona. She is but a fairy tale for lesser horses."

Aloso just shook his head, finally beginning a dismount as a cricket marked the onset of dusk. "You may well be the most powerful warrior in all the know lands, Fortivirago," he said, "but the youngest foals seem to be above you in knowing what it is to be a horse. I would be honored to fight by your side, and will be glad to have your veterancy and experience to help guide me in battle, but you must find your way with Epona. I would sooner you devoted the remainder of your days to finding a path with Her than with myself, the King, or the other knights."

Fortivirago flitted her ears as she crouched down low to allow Aloso an easier dismount. "I do not think I can devote myself to an ephermal being I do not know. I rely on my senses, insight, analysis and judgment to guide where I go and what I do. My senses have yet to find any trace of a god, except in the minds of beings I encounter. It was never taught in training."

Aloso, finally on his own two feet on the ground, motioned for Olum who cantered to him. Aloso patted his steed's muzzle and gave affectionate scritches. "Olum and other horses know of Her, don't they?"

Fortivirago nodded. "Every horse not of Urtonis I have encountered believes in a mystical equine goddess, though many have their own name for her."

Aloso remarked, "Men tend to pray for her to heal, help and protect our equine companions - our mounts, our plowhorses and those of us who keep horses purely as companions. Unicorns we understand to be Epona's angels or demigods, to watch over Her many herds - wild or companion to men - and of the few I have been blessed to meet - aside from Onyx - I have witnessed something resembling a prayer, but much more involved. I think it perhaps best that you seek understanding from one - not Onyx, I do not think he has earned much good standing with Her."

Fortivirago stood silently for several minutes "As you wish."

Aloso stretched out his arms, cracking a few joints in the process, whilst uttering a yawn. "Tomorrow shall be an interesting day. I do not believe you evil, strange warrior," he remarked, "lest I would not have accepted serving as your Champion. We do not have much of a history on our side, but I feel - however reserved you are for not having won many jousts - we can be an effective and victorious pair tomorrow. Gryan can hopefully find some closure, even in losing, and grieve for his family separately."

Aloso fastened Olum's lead and began walking back toward the royal stables, Fortivirago cantering slowly along close behind him.

"Maintain a mindfulness and respect for the loss, grief and strife from the massacre, and allow yourself to take from your uncertainty that no warrior gains strength from slaying the innocent, but do not allow your guilt to cripple you," Aloso advised.

Fortivirago remained silent, and after being led back into her stall, Aloso did the same for Olum, then retired to his quarters within the castle.

The fog that had enshrouded much of the kingdom the previous day rested the night; the sky remained clear, and the rays of sunshine in the morning roused all. A stream of subjects, from peasants to fellow nights to higher royalty, began streaming in as word had spread of the monstrous horse and Sir Aloso in a challenge against Sir Gryan. Onyx, too, appeared, but kept himself markedly away from the hustle and bustle, finding a quiet, open area to stand and observe the goings-on. Gossip and chatter ran amok, and a variety of merchants peddled food and drink for the event whilst a number of artisans hurried to prepare paintings, muses and sculptures to capture the event. Both Gryan and Aloso were attended by squires, each having shield and suits of armor thoroughly cleaned and polished, and both Toste and Fortivirago underwent vigorous cleaning.

Weavers furiously labored on cloth barding for Fortivirago, both the King and Gryan agreeing to loan servants and material to the task. An elegant blanket of crimson with a matching hood and white trim was produced, a striking but elegant offset to Fortivirago's blackness.

The hour of midday drew nigh, and both knights began the daunting task of daunting their full gleaming suits of armor, taking great care to not render the slightest scuff. Each mounted, then accepted a lance from their respective squires and held them vertically, peering at one another for several moments before dropping the face shields on their helmets, grappling a shield, and at last Gryan lowered his lance to a horizontal position, answered by Aloso in kind, and the charge began. Fortivirago gave a superior charge, landing their clash only a third of the arena's length from Gryan. Aloso's lance, angled down, found Gryan's chest, throwing his torso and head backward onto Toste's back. Gryan maintained a good grip and balance, however, and held fast with his legs whilst raising his own lance, scraping under Aloso's, managing to knock Aloso's lance from his hands. Gryan and Aloso both easily recovered - no score. It was something to see, however, and a smattering of cheers and applause sprinkled from the audience before quickly hushing into anxious silence. Coins exchanged hands as antes raised.

An attendant took the dropped lance and returned it to Aloso as he waited at the alternate end of the arena whilst Gryan waited at his alternate end. Gryan again lowered his lance and the second charge began. Fortivirago again easily gave a superior charge, but moments before clash, at high gallop, the intense thunder of loud wolf's howling pierced the air and, immediately, Fortivirago collapsed, sending Aloso tumbling through the air, sliding awkwardly over the railing and into Toste. Toste managed to react quickly and slow down, but poor Aloso still received a serious bouncing.

Fortivirago, meanwhile, slid and tumbled completely lifeless as the howling continued; she remained completely motionless when her body finally rested from the tumble. Onyx soon thereafter collapsed as well, crumpling to the ground where he stood; in the next several moments, in rapid succession, many of the men fell as well - including the king upon his throne and Gryan (Aloso already down from his fall). The unrelenting howls seemed to come from both everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Horses and the entire remainder each fell where they stood. Birds fled from the area and seemed unharmed - but all on the ground, every man, woman, child and horse lay unconscious.

Revival came hours later in the precise reverse order of collapse, commoners and children first. As life slowly began to return, a number of gasps and shrieks rang out - laying beside Fortivirago was a large black dragon! Oddly enough, it seemed to be in a protective stance around Fortivirago, dwarfing her in size many times over. It seemed to be staring in the direction of the mountains, and only gave the gradually rousing crowd a casual set of glances.

Nobles and knights finally began to stir, and as a guard stirred to his feet, another cry rang out as it dawned on the guard one very critical man was missing.

"The King!" he cried. "The King ... is gone!" The alarming call roused more, and most of the remainder aroused.

Onyx regained consciousness, leaving only Fortivirago still unconscious, and he reacted even worse at the sight of the dragon than anyone else. "Get away from her!" he cried, lowering his horn in challenge to the dragon.

The unicorn colt drew the dragon's attention, but it merely stared at Onyx.

Without hesitation, not waiting for the dragon to attack first, Onyx charged his horn, a scream of scraping crystals piercing the air. A blue beam shot out of his horn into the dragon, and in a blinding flash, the dragon vanished.

"Hrmmph!" snorted Onyx. "That was too easy ..." he bragged, then realized that it really was too easy. He'd never heard of a dragon, in fact, succumbing to the first shot. What's more, usually the dragon's corpse remains - but nothing remained, no trace of the dragon; it had vanished!

Fortivirago finally stirred, dazed and disoriented - as everyone was - as though recovering from a drunken blackout. The knights and soldiers, better trained than most to play hard, fight hard and recover quickly, forced themselves awake to scour the area for sign of the king. It did not take them long to find the telltale evidence - a series of pawprints and dragmarks leading off in the direction of the mountains.

"Bloody hell ..... wolves carried the King off! On ... branches?" declared one guard. "Captain ... Captain Aloso!" he called, rushing to the captain of the knights.

Aloso's body defied him after having been crushed under Fortivirago, writhing in agony from a broken leg and arm, trickles of blood seeping from under his dented armor. He cursed off the pain, however. He limped over to where the king had been. "Wolves .... took the King!" he repeated in disbelief. "Sir Gryan!" he called to a form trapped under Toste, who was struggling to get to his hooves (and off his knight).

Several squired and guards working together managed to get Toste upright, and though Gryan had been pinned under the horse, he showed no obvious injury - none as bad as Aloso's, anyhow. Gryan accepted a hand from Aloso to get to his feet.

"You do not look well," Gryan remarked - a bit obvious. "Do you bestow Captain upon me?"

Aloso nodded. "You have command."

Fortivirago, the last to regain consciousness, struggled to her hooves. "I ... what ... what happened?" she spoke, her speech a slurred. She slowly made her way over to Aloso. "Did ... did I do that?" she asked of his injuries.

"Aye, you did, mare ... whatever happened affected us all. I think its those damned wolves, they must have done something to us, somehow, and they took the king!" Aloso answered. "There was ... a dragon ... laying by you ..... but Onyx seemed to dispatch it with ease."

Fortivirago snorted. "A dragon? Are you sure?"

"Aye, Fortivirago ... it was just laying there, beside you, and it vanished before our eyes just before you woke up."

Fortivirago shook her head in disbelief. She looked toward N'roh's throne, down at the ground at the wolves' tracks, then toward the mountains. "They mean for us to follow them."

Gryan drew his sword and pointed it at Fortivirago. "Are you in league with them? That would figure, a beast with beasts! GUARDS!"

Several clamored near, but Aloso raised his hand to command them to stop. "Pull yourself together, Gryan, she has understandings we can't. She was knocked out with the rest of us, you saw it yourself! I share some of her logic here ... this was not an assassination, or they would have left the king's corpse here. They abducted him because they want us to follow, it is a tactic I've seen before ... but not one I'd expect from wild beasts."

Gryan kept his sword pointed at Fortivirago for several moments before finally grunting, reluctantly, and re-sheathing it. "You have sworn your oath, beast, and I expect you to live up to it. I swear to you, if I find you are at all responsible for taking our King, I will personally carve you up and feed you to the wolves!" He turned to Aloso. "I shall take every last knight and find what the wolves have done with our King. If they have ... taken his life ..."

Aloso said, "... then you shall see to it not one of them lives. I wish to the Gods I could lead this fight, but I am afraid wrestling Toste was beyond my capability." Trying to take his own mind off his pain as much as alleviate the concern of the others with the joke, Aloso struggled to remove his armor. Seeing this, one of his nearby squires stepped in and helped, revealing a few nasty but not too serious looking cuts from the edges of his armor into his chest and arms. The broken leg and arm were more crippling, and the squire carefully helped Aloso to a bench to rest while another squire fetched a healer nearby, who himself had been among the early to black out.

"Fortivirago, help out with finding the king and recovering him as best you can."

Onyx interjected, swaying a bit unsteadily himself. "No! Something happened to her ... she might be hurt ..."

"I am ... a bit ... dazed ... and at a loss for what happened," Fortivirago countered, "but am regaining my faculties by the moment. I must go, I am obliged - by my oath, and by virtue of curiosity. I have never before been bested in battle, and must find out how I was bested."

The knights quickly rounded up and suited up. The King's and Aloso's squires tasked themselves with replacing Fortivirago's cloth barding with the full armor barding she had initially worn into the kingdom, including the heavy stone blades. The crowd that had gathered for the joust failed to disperse, worriedly chattering about. Several knelt at the throne the king had vanished from and prayed for his safe return.

It took less than an hour for each knight to suit up and assemble behind Gryan, Fortivirago standing out quite noticeably among them with no rider. Seeing all knights - and Fortivirago - ready, Gryan called for the knights to move out toward the mountain, and forward they rode.

"You've had dealings with wolves before?" Fortivirago asked of Gryan while riding.

Gryan remained silent for several moments, not really in a mood to converse - but it was something to pass the time, anyway. "Aye. They've raided our farms and ranches near the mountain, its been tricky dealing with those beasts. Not as big as lions or some other predators I've seen, but they're smart and sneaky. They're hard to catch, harder to kill. We'd be much better off without 'em ... I've never heard of 'em abducting anyone before ... thieving, fighting, killing ... but why would a beast abduct someone, especially so deep in a kingdom's civilized lands?"

Fortivirago remarked, "It would not be typical for wolves to do so. Its not typical for them to go near the activity of men at all, actually. They might adopt a lost, wandering being into their pack, but not seek to abduct."

Toste suddenly began to slow, and Fortivirago and the trailing knights slowed. Toste whuffled intently at the air. "What is it, boy?" Gryan asked, patting the side of Toste's neck.

Fortivirago whuffled the air in the same direction as Toste. "Wolves ... he smells them."

Gryan readied his sword and, looking back, the entourage of knights followed suit. "Can you tell how many there are?"

Fortivirago stepped forward a bit, then perked and swivelled her ears. "There are two, on either side of the path we are following. They are scouts, merely observing us."

"Two we can handle."

Fortivirago looked at Gryan. "I do not believe we should slay these two."

"And why's that?"

Fortivirago remarked, "Wolf packs are very coherent, very cohesive. If you harm even the lowest ranks of them, it will agitate all of them ... and until we know otherwise, would it not be wise to assume the King is still alive? If he is, and the pack these wolves are members of are keeping him, they may kill him if we kill their kind. Wolves are strong and deadly, but they tend to refrain from drawing blood unless strongly provoked."

Gryan shook his head. "They're just beasts, and they've drawn plenty of blood."

"We haven't seen a drop of the King's blood on their trail they left for us to follow."

Gryan sighed. "Fine, but the moment I see them take one step in charge toward us, I'll slice 'em up."

The party advanced slowly through the forested area, following the pawprints and skidmarks, Fortivirago staying equally ahead with Gryan astride Toste. The area opened up, and two wolves indeed observed the entourage keenly. Once within eyesight, the two wolves stood, then turned away from the entourage, pointed in the direction of the trail.

Fortivirago's ears perked. "They seem to want us to follow." She arched her muzzle upward a bit, and - a bit to the shock of Gryan and the other nights - she uttered a very wolfish-sounding howl.

The pair of wolves stopped dead in their tracks, as did Gryan, Fortivirago and the nights. The pair of wolves looked intently at one another, as if in disbelief, then back at the knights. One howled briefly back.

Fortivirago replied with another howl, taking a short step forward.

The same wolf replied with another howl, and a toss of the muzzle forward, and resumed their lead.

Fortivirago turned to Gryan. "These wolves are sapient."

Gryan stammered, "What do you mean, sapient?"

Fortivirago remarked, "They are not wild, not merely members of a pack, but a vast kingdom of wolves. They may not have the capacity for human speech, but they seem to have a very detailed understanding ... they were astonished I could speak their language, and they have deemed myself sapient, which they did not think possible for a horse. Only a sapient being could recognize or value sapience among other sapient beings."

Gryan shook his head. "That's ... just ... not ... possible." Nonetheless, he motioned the entourage forward. Was this just some weird dream? Was he suffering from a bit too much ale? The acting captain of the knights had no idea what would be upon them next.

Gradually, they ascended the mountainside through thick forest following the scout wolves. Gryan did not, for a single moment, lax his grasp on the handle of his sheathed sword. He cast his gaze about from time to time, knowing these wolves - whether sapient, as the monster horse claimed, or not - were tricky and the group he was responsible for could well be heading into a trap.

No such trap sprang, however, and after several hours' travel, they encountered a large group of wolves surrounding a sizeable mound of stone with a log-supported thatch roof and several gapped logs wedged between stone pillars at the near side of the mound, covering a hole in the mound. A shape within the dark interior seemed to struggle weakly to reach the gapped logs, the daylight finally highlighting the face of N'roh. The stones and logs trapped the king within this small prison.