Our ambush meets without much resistence. We catch the drunken smith completely off guard. His horse fights better than he does! When Oran and I drag him off his spooked steed, he flops onto his back with a graceless thud. While Winter Mist scuttles away to retrieve the horse, a spirited animal that would make a fine addition to our growing collection, I knock the sword from the smithy's hand and pounce on his chest to keep him down. I feel Oran's strong and silent presence behind me waiting like a vulture for the kill. The fall from his horse must have knocked the senses back into Thunder Spear's mead-besotted self. All of a sudden he starts struggling, cussing and spitting. Oran moves closer. I have our prey's arms pinned down but it's my own considerable strength against the hammer toned muscles of this smith, who I now remember as Torann Thunder Spear.

So. He still likes his drink a bit too much. That's how I got the sword off him last summer, he was too drunk to see how badly I was cheating him at dice. That sword! At a glance, I can see that, yes, its Baine's sword he had on him. Ah, good, I'll be able to give it back to her again and maybe once more win her heart the way I did last summer when......

Winter Mist works her charms on Toran's horse. He prances along beside her, docile as a puppy. She kneels by the struggling smith's head and lashes him across one handsome cheek with the horses dangling reins. "We have a message for you and yours," she whispers harshly. He lies very still now.

"There's a woman who was taken into An Caiseal against her will. Another woman was also taken today. You'll know her from this!"

I still have the rags of Creidne's leine wrapped around one arm. I toss them at Thunder Spear. "An old woman won't last long among the outlaws of Magh Croimor!" I sneer, secretly hoping she is still safe.

As if to echo the threat a long,ferocious growl rises from the pit of my stomach. Torann actually forks his fingers at me and cowers slightly. I almost ruin the effect by bursting out laughing.

"Release Baine by noon or the old one will die!" Winter Mist's whisper gets more wicked with each word. "Release her or else! She'll know where to find us."

She leaps up onto his horse and rides off into the night. I grab Baine's sword from where it fell from Torann's hand and make a dash for my pony, just a short sprint away. Oran melts into the dark. I look back to see Torann on his feet limping towards the keep. The torn leine flutters in his hand, brought to life by a gentle breeze.