How the soldier had become separated from his company he did not know. Somewhere in the chaos that marked the clash of opposing forces he had been cut off from them and now he was alone, surrounded by a swarm of goblins that were closing on him like wolves. The joy of the kill was upon them; he could hear it in their harsh voices and see the cruel light of it in their eyes. Frantically the soldier slashed and parried and blocked them with his shield. In his desperation he fought far beyond his skill, killing a few and barely holding off the rest. In the rapid staccato of blows that fell on him every deflected thrust was a surprise and a victory that won him yet another moment to stay alive. His fear and the insane exhilaration of battle sustained him for a while, but no matter how many times he threw them back the goblins kept on coming. Soon his arms became leaden and his breath took on a harsh, gasping rhythm. He furiously fought on, for to stop meant death. He fought on despite his failing strength but at last, inevitably, one of them got through.

Some detached part of the soldier’s mind observed the irony that the worst pain was not from the blade that cut through him, but from his knees driving into the rocky ground as he fell. Apart from that he was oddly numb, only vaguely feeling his right side seem to slide on itself with two slick edges. He did not fall any further, and yet neither would his legs move to let him rise again. The goblins advanced and the soldier struggled to lift his sword. He knew they were coming not just to kill him, but to hack him to pieces. He now had only seconds left.

Then like a sudden torrent a lean shape flowed into the press, moving with impossible speed. A silent, whirling terror with burning eyes fell upon the goblins, dealing swift, unstoppable death. His bright sword flashed, ringing steely notes as it cut the air to knock aside their crude weapons and then slice through their flesh. Screeching in pain and fear they fell under his cool fury like wheat before the scythe. As the last one dropped the warrior spun to a halt and for the first time it was possible to truly see him, seeming to tower over the ruin of his slaughtered foes. Tall and slim he was, clad in a long, fitted vest of thick leather over a shirt of burnished mail. Curving plates of enameled metal armored the vest, skillfully segmented in fluid lines that allowed the warrior free movement. A great bow was strapped to his back on a tooled quiver of exquisite make, like the long scabbard that was slung on his hip. A fall of thick hair spread on his shoulders, black as night and shining with glassy sparks of deep amber and blue. Surely this was some general or prince who had come to give aid. The warrior turned about smoothly and strode toward the soldier. The wounded man toppled over, for a moment thinking himself taken for stray goblin that needed finishing, but the bright, deadly blade swung down and to the side. He saw then that the warrior had the face of a youth, fine boned and smooth, yet fierce, eerily beautiful and grave. With his free hand the warrior snatched a fistfull of the man’s tunic, lifted him off the ground and in a few long strides hauled him to a sheltered place where a cluster of firs crowded against a boulder. He laid the man on the soft, fragrant litter under the trees. Kneeling, he put down his sword and began to pull back the bloody edges of cloth where the man was cut. The soldier’s exhausted, trembling limbs now seemed to melt and he felt a deep cold seep into the core of his body. All of the warmth was spilling out of him to soak the ground at his side. He could feel his heart fluttering as he struggled to breathe and a soft rushing sound began to gradually swallow up the din of the battle. He saw the warrior’s head suddenly come up and then faintly he, too, heard a cry,

“The eagles! The eagles are coming!”

The warrior shifted as if about to rise and with a sudden, desperate effort the soldier reached out to seize his hand. The dark, shining head turned back to look at him. The man had just enough breath to whisper,

“Please,”

Piercing eyes like the depths of midnight met his and did not look away. The hand he had taken closed on his firmly. He could feel its great strength through the smooth skin, and its heat radiated into his own cooling flesh. The warrior said nothing, but he remained and that was enough. This splendid stranger, high-born lord though he might be, now took the place of a brother-at-arms to attend him, understanding as did all who went into battle that in this thing both the noble and most common were as one. The man was comforted, his courage bolstered against the fear, and soon a strange, expectant calm settled over him. He looked into the warrior’s face as he would never have done in his life. That young face, somehow also ancient and alien, was now tinged with sorrow…for him.

There was no need to be sad, the soldier thought dimly. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now; he was done. The foolish misery of the world was no longer his concern any more. And yet, the man thought with a faint twinge of pity, not so this great warrior. He must remain. He would have to fight on. It was hard now to feel his fingers but the soldier willed them to move one more time. In a final effort he made them tighten gently around the warrior’s hand, and then with a sigh he turned away.

The warrior watched as the fragile light in the Man’s eyes dimmed and flickered out. The chill hand that had stayed him grew pliant and heavy and with a soundless exhalation the quivering chest emptied and sank to a stop. Drawing a quick, sharp breath the warrior bent his head, his raven hair spilling to hide his ageless face. On the mountainside the battle continued, its fortunes turning, but in the little cluster of fir-trees there was only stillness. Moments passed and at last the warrior slowly straightened. He laid the cold hand down on the soldier’s abdomen. Carefully he pulled the ragged, coarsely-woven cloak close around the body and smoothed the lids down over its empty, clouding eyes. For yet another moment the warrior lingered in silence, staring at the Man.

Then he arose, taking up his blade again, and went to join the battle.