"Still the warrior, I see," said Brogan of Anest, who was himself finely armoured, and wearing a great broadsword at his back. As Anest donned an oilskin cloak and enclosed Lily before him so that only her hooded face showed, Brogan asked him, "Have you told your wife how you came by that beast?"

"Told his wife?" interjected Belloc, "Why, I've known him these past seven years and he hasn't told me!" Clucking to Nightwind, Belloc started them off, out into the rain to join with the waiting company.

Riding abreast, Brogan continued, "This young whelp . . . well, he's a whelp no longer. There was an archery contest in Woodfalen some years ago which Anest participated in. Thunder was allegedly the prize. I say `allegedly,' because the giving of the `prize' was supposed to be a joke, and a dangerous one at that. At the time, it was thought that no one could get near that horse, let alone ride him.

"Now, Anest was deemed too young to compete by his father and the Thane, but he managed to disguise himself, and thereby entered the contest.

"The rules were simple; hit a wooden ball about the size of my fist, tossed high in the air, and the horse was yours. There were many fine archers there that day, but let me tell you, when Anest's arrow slammed into the target with a decisive `pak,' you could have heard a pin drop.




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