Gram throbbed, power pulsing through the leather. In my mind's eye, I saw Rolph leap forward and I rolled to the side.

Too late. His axe careened off my helm and ricocheted off my shoulder with a painful crunch, although the chain kept the blade from biting into flesh.

I pulled the sword in against my chest, and continued rolling onto my back.

Rolph was on me in an instant, his hand reaching for the sword.

"You cannot," he bellowed. His eyes were full of sorrow and madness.

Rolph dropped onto me, his weight crushing the wind from me. I brought a knee up into his thigh, and he shifted his weight, allowing me to get my left arm under his.

"Get off . . . ," I grunted.

He grabbed for the sword, and I punched him in the throat. Any normal man would have fallen to the side, gasping for breath. Instead, he head-butted me in the chest.

Breasts may be lovely cushiony things, but they do not like to be punched. Pain exploded in my chest.

I cried out and thrashed to the side, throwing him off balance. I twisted, getting my legs free, then wrapped them around his waist and rolled.

He slipped to the side and just like that, I was on top of him. I smashed my gloved fist into his face, breaking his nose. Blood sprayed across the ground, and his grip loosened on my bad arm. The sword lay on the ground between us and Jean-Paul.

As long as I kept Rolph at bay, Jean-Paul would get the sword and this would all be over. Only, when he looked at me, grinned that carnivore's grin of teeth and hell, part of me balked.

When Jean-Paul moved toward the sword, the overwhelming urge to keep it from him flooded me. If he ended up with the sword, everything I loved would fall to ruin.

I launched myself off of Rolph and reached the sword half a beat ahead, pulled it against my chest, and rolled.

Jean-Paul stomped the ground where my head had been and twirled to face me. He crouched in a fighter's stance, ready for anything I could throw at him.

Only, I didn't want to fight him. I wanted him to take the damn sword and get out of our lives, hopefully forever. The conflicting emotions warred in my head, one asking to end this, the other screaming to keep the sword from him, no matter the sacrifice.

I tried to rise by pushing off with my right hand, and nearly fell on my face. Jean-Paul smiled and offered me his hand.

"Bite me," I said, smacking his hand and standing without his help. My right arm hung at my side, twitching. In my left I held the sword, letting the power wash over me like a rising tide.

"As it shall be," Jean-Paul said, stepping back, the flames returned to his eyes. "Perhaps I'll take the sword and keep this plaything." He stepped toward Katie.

Katie called out, a guttural choke, her hand reaching for me, but the warning was too late to prevent Rolph's full-body tackle. The world dimmed for a moment as I hit the ground with him on top of me again. As much time as I'd spent under him, I should demand dinner. At the moment, I'd settle for a breath.

"I claim the sword," Rolph bellowed as he swung his right fist into my side.

Pain blossomed along my ribs and I drew a ragged breath.

"You forfeit . . ." He flailed at me. ". . . any claim . . ." His voice broke and I could tell he wept. "Unworthy . . . ," he moaned.

"Oh, hang them," Jean-Paul shouted. "Kill them all."

Fifty-two.

I BROUGHT MY KNEE UPWARD AND THIS TIME, I CAUGHT ROLPH in the groin. He fell to the side and I pushed away from him. Once I was out of his reach I scrambled to my feet, breathing in gulps.

Jean-Paul smiled at me, holding Gram in its sheath. Bastard. I ran forward, only to be knocked to the side by a fifteen-foot-tall wall of ugly.

I landed on my ass, and the giant stumbled with two crossbow bolts in his chest.

"Leave her," I shouted.

My only answer was laughter. Jean-Paul faded back toward the chopper. He had Katie on her feet and was pulling her along by her arm.

"Katie," I choked out. She whipped her head around, and they were swallowed in a wall of bodies.

A wave of huge bodies, each fifteen feet of muscles and bone, ran at me.

I turned, looking for Qindra.

"What a mess," she said, holding her two index fingers together and pointing them like a gun. Lightning leapt forth, swallowing a giant that had swerved toward us.

"The covenant is broken," she said, pulling a feather from the charm at her neck and flicking it at me. She vanished in a puff of smoke.

I tasted stale tequila, if you can believe it, in that moment.

And the rage in me was freed once again.

I strode into the battle, a haze of red coloring every image.

Behind me I heard the distinct sound of crossbows, and several of the giants stumbled in their lumbering gait. Of course, they did not fall.

"Black Briar!" someone shouted behind me.

I drew a hammer in each hand and swung the left at a giant that lumbered past me, shattering his elbow. He swung his left fist at me, and I rolled to the side, smashing his ankle with the second hammer.

He fell, tangling up two others, and I leapt over him, bringing both hammers down in a spray of blood and brains.

The rest of the giants surged past me only to smash into the Black Briar skirmish line.

No matter the hours we trained, nor the coolness of our gear, we were just not equipped to handle this type of fight.

The skirmish line looked good, shields locked, their spears bristling out like a porcupine.

Several giants fell back when they impacted the wall, but the momentum and weight carried them forward in several places. Once they were through, they decimated the line.

There were sixty people in that shield wall. Good, strong people I thought of as family. More than my own mother and father.

Chloe, the hairdresser, died in that next instant, crushed by a maul-like fist. She had done everything right, held her place, shield up. A giantess writhed on the ground in front of the line, Chloe's spear piercing her huge throat.

But Bob the accountant hadn't held. He'd buckled and was crushed beneath the stomping feet of two giants.

The hole that opened split the Black Briar line and Chloe never even saw what killed her.

Spears were dropped and swords drawn. The SCAdians broke into groups of twos or threes, guarding each other's backs while fending off the giants.

I paused at a downed giant, kicked the spear that pierced his chest. He threw his head back, bellowing in pain.

I crushed his throat.

Whirling around, I saw that two of our people were hard-pressed by a giant with a telephone-pole-sized club. On his back-swing, I darted in and drove a hammer's spiked head into his spine.

As he fell to the ground, my people scrambled forward, hacking and cutting. He would not rise again.

Gunther leapt over one fallen warrior, Trisha, I think, and swung his great sword, severing a giant arm. He stood over his fallen comrade and screamed like a banshee.

The giant did not fade, but swung a club around, catching Gunther in the leg, collapsing his knee, driving him to the ground.

I sprinted forward, racing the swing of the giant's club. I threw myself at the back of the giant's legs.

He fell, startled, blood showering the area with arterial flow from his flailing stump. Gunther rose up on one knee and drove his sword into the giant chest, and I rolled to my feet, hammers at the ready.

From the haze, Stuart darted forward, grabbing Trisha and Gunther, dragging them both back toward the barn.

I ran after them apace, ensuring they were not followed.

Then the ogres hit us.

One sword shattered against the body of an ogre, and crossbow bolts fell to the ground, splintered and bent.

I fell upon the closest, striking it in the back, blow after blow, as it staggered forward, trying to turn to face me. It swung its arms around, pinwheeling, but I danced in, hammering. On the fourth blow, a seam appeared. On the sixth blow, the whole shoulder shattered and the ogre fell to the ground, a heap of broken stone.

We could not stand against their strength, their numbers.

"Fall back," I shouted. "Form on me."

Two warriors stumbled to my side, shields up. To my left, another group fought toward me.

"Left flank," I said, moving to meet the second group. Between us, we slew two trolls and then we were five.

We battled forward to a giant who was pounding his club down on a fallen SCAdian. I didn't even recognize them any longer, but those with me pulled the giant down, stabbing it over and over-our cries of anguish and horror rising into the night.

Several giants rushed the far right flank, nearest the barn.

One of them snatched up a smallish warrior, maybe Robert, one of the young computer programmers. Whoever it was, he was flung high into the air. The body hit the barn and rolled down to fall on the ground, broken.

"Right," I shouted, sprinting toward the giants. Several people stood shoulder to shoulder, spears in hand, but they weren't warriors, they were the support crew.

One of ours took a blow just below his shield with a short spear. He went down, keeping his shield up enough to divert the next blow. We rushed forward, swords and glaives catching the troll unaware.

"Thank the Maker," Kyle George said, leveraging himself up onto his feet. The leather breeches he wore had absorbed some of the blow, but blood soaked his leg.

"Get him behind the line," I bellowed.

"I'll take him," Samantha said, wiping her sword on the rough hide armor of the troll. She sheathed the blade and lifted Kyle's arm over her shoulder. While we watched, they lumbered back toward the safety of the barn.

Or, I thought it was safe. The sound of a shotgun blast erupted from that direction.

"Who has that?" I yelled.

Brett, an insurance salesman and damn fine fighter, pointed back at the barn. "Deidre," he shouted. "She's in trouble."

I turned, torn. The barn was behind our skirmish zone-a safe place for our wounded.

A second blast erupted and I saw a giant fall to the ground, where the support crew turned it into a pincushion.

Deidre stood on top of the picnic table, chambering another shell into her shotgun. Helluva woman, I thought.

"Let's move, people," I bellowed. "Troll at two o'clock."

My crew surged forward, taking the troll down. Brett took a hard blow to the head, but the others pulled him back, away from the battle. Then we were four.

Just past the troll that had got a lucky shot in on Brett, we heard chanting.

Once the troll was dispatched, we moved in that direction. I could hear Stuart's voice rising above the rest.

"Black Briar," he called.

"Black Briar!" his squad returned.

"Cut 'em down."

"Cut 'em down!"

A troll fell back, turning and stumbling, blood covering his torso, his armor in shreds.

Imagine his surprise when we stood between him and freedom.

I hit him with both hammers-Redondo-each circular blow striking with practiced precision. One hammer caught his left arm, the second hit the same arm, shattering it, forcing him to drop his spear. I stepped forward, letting the third blow strike the head. He fell with a finality that let my squad ignore him and rush the giant that harassed Stuart's squad.

Between us, the giant had no chance. Once he fell, our two units met and merged. We paused to breathe, twelve stoic Black Briar clan members, winded but alive.

"Too many down," Stuart said, once he'd had a chance to catch his breath. "Too many of them standing."

"Aye," I said, looking across the field. One of the giants had fallen into the bonfire, scattering the logs out into the field, and fires had begun in the surrounding grass.

"Rally to the barn," I suggested, clapping Stuart on the shoulder.