A Tale of Two Realms: Written in the Hand of your Servant. Part 2:

Kalagarr the Magus - The Border of Frisia/Scainborough.

- and was struck high in the left shoulder by an arrow. Exactly between the pauldron and breastplate. A thin target for any marksman to hit.

With a grunt he fell off his horse.

With luck, he had not landed on the arrow, else it would surely have lodged further inside.

He pushed himself off the ground with his good right hand, and roared for his guards to cover him. He summoned power from the rising wind, and lashed out. Green sparks flying everywhere.

He grabbed the proferred hand of one of his guards, and leapt on to the back of his horse. Painfully, Kalagarr worked a casting with both hands, and lifted a shield around him and his men. It acted also as a beacon for Mykel.

Minutes passed. Mykel was nowhere in sight.

'Out of sight, out of mind,' whispered a familiar voice.

He ran into his mansion. 'Mary? What can I do?'

'Everything, Kal. Anything you so desire. Try the lightning spell, but use it for speed instead.'

'Ok,' he said, scared. So he grabbed her hand. So soft and warm, he thought, despite the fact that she's dead. He looked at the statues dotted around his mansion, and called upon the Gods of Ago, the Gods of the North, rather than the Nine Dragon Gods. For they held more power this far North. 'Thor! Odin! Loki!'

The door to his mansion glowed green, which meant that the casting was ready. He ran through without saying bye, and within a flash, he and his guards where gone. Just as another arrow was about to hit him in the back. One flash. Two flashes.

They were now within five leagues of Fjordrin. He was sure somebody would have seen the burst of power from there, and they continued at a fast pace. The wormhole left by Kalagarr and his team could be entered in by anyone, if they followed the same path taken. That was why they didn't loiter around to see who came after them. With any luck, it would be Mykel. But Kalagarr knew how far his luck run.

Nowhere.

They waited in ambush. Their tiny party waited for the enemy to pursue them. They were formed up in a crescent around the mouth of the entrance. Bows and crossbows pointed at the delta of power left by Kalagarr.

He entered his memory palace and evoked the Old Gods of War to help his men in the forthcoming skirmish. 'Heimdall, Hymir! Tyr!' He pushed through the pulsating door and worked his staff above his head. The runes carved in to the staff, lighting up, as if coming to life, in a bright, if slightly murky, green. The little lines of power that shot into his men filled them with battle courage, battle knowledge, and an eager watchfulness in their eyes.

They anticipated every attack now, brimming as they were, with power. His men spread out to cover more ground.

They waited some more. And then-

Men poured out of the pool hole of power, screaming "SCAINBOROUGH!"

At this chance second, men also burst out from the nearby foliage behind Kalagarr's small group of men, with their leader leading them on in his booming voice. Shouting, "For the King! Scainborough!"

Kalagarr rose up from his cover, and let loose vagrant power in to the air. He pleaded with his men to not shoot, and raised both hands so the two chivalry captains could see him more. "Calm! Calm! We are from Frisia! I am the Magus!"

Horses reined in from all directions. The three groups of men, then, broke out in to incandescent laughter at the whole situation. All the men expected trouble, and all they got in their sights were friends.