Wrath of a Mad God by Raymond E. Feist Page A

to give way to men willing to die. Jommy felt the tempo of the conflict change and he recognized a difference in the battle around him: panic was imminent. The men of Kaspar’s company were becoming desperate as they attempted a nearly impossible organized withdrawal, and the attackers were becoming frantic as they sought to keep from being captured while leading the monstrosity to their foes.
    As they struggled to retreat up the hillside, a loud thrumming filled the air.
    The creature was abruptly bathed in light as a shaft of white brilliance shot down from the clouds. It became transfixed, unable to move, and several men took wounds because they had stopped fighting in order to watch it.
    Jommy killed a man in front of him, and glanced over the dying raider’s shoulder. The enemy appeared to have sensed that the day had been lost, and they began to back away.
    Abruptly both sides disengaged. Jommy shouted, “General?”
    “Wait,” came the order, and Jommy did so. He watched the creature below as the raiders moved toward it, never taking their eyes off Kaspar’s men. The rain now appeared to be cooling off, as if the creature’s mystic fire had lost its power. The sizzling sound of steam exploding off its surface diminished and its color faded from a brilliant hot yellow back to the red-and-black appearance of molten rock. Jommy looked over his shoulder at Kaspar, and saw another figure high on a rock behind him. “Look, General,” he said, pointing.
    A being dressed in buckskin leather, with long flowing golden hair, stood holding a staff above his head. He appeared to be chanting. It was obvious to Jommy and Kaspar this was the author of the mystic light.
    With a shudder, the creature dissolved like hot rocks falling apart. Great clouds of smoke filled the air.
    “Prisoners!” shouted Kaspar: too late. The raiders, seeing no escape, wordlessly turned their swords on one another.
    Jommy had seen enough men die in fights to know killing blows when he saw them. He turned to Kaspar and shook his head. The General’s expression was a mixture of disgust at losing his prisoners and open relief at the intervention of the newcomer, who was obviously a magician. With a sigh, he said, “Must be one of Pug’s, come to look out for us. Good thing, too—”
    Jommy shook his head. “I don’t think so, General.”
    Captain Stefan and Servan both came to stand by their commander as the figure on the rock put his staff down. “It’s an elf,” said Servan. “As I live—”
    Kaspar said, “I think you’re right, Lieutenant.”
    The elf said something, a question from the tone of it.
    “I speak more than a dozen tongues and I don’t recognize it,” said Kaspar.
    The elf walked slowly down from his position above them, then halted half a dozen paces above Kaspar and studied them for a moment. “I said, who are you to be trespassing on the Peaks of the Quor?” He spoke the tongue of Kesh, but with an odd accent and cadence.
    “I’m Kaspar, former Duke of Olasko and commander of this company. As for trespassing, I’m here with the permission of the King of Roldem and the Emperor of Great Kesh, both of whom claim this region.”
    The elf’s features showed no emotion, then after a second resolved into an expression of dark humor. “Your masters’ vanities do not concern me. This land belongs to the Quor.”
    Trying to remain civil, Kaspar said, “I want to thank you—”
    “Before you thank me for anything, human, realize I did not save you from the elemental creature. It was a thing of magic so foul I needed to dispose of it before I deal with you.”
    “Deal with us?” said Kaspar.
    “Yes,” said the elf. “You are all my prisoners.”
    Instantly, men took combative stances, for while there was only one elf, they had just seen him vanquish the monster with seemingly no effort. Kaspar said, “And do you, alone, intend to capture all of us?” There were still thirty combat-ready soldiers behind