"How long has this been going on?" Edmund asked, as Bast and the big . . . thing separated.
"Couple of hours," Herzer said.
"You know there's a battle going on, right?" Edmund asked.
"Couldn't be that important if you're here," Herzer pointed out. "Hey, Kane, glad you could join in the fun."
"Fun," Kane said. "I just rode damned near two thousand klicks. I'm not sure I can dismount."
"Well, it's the journey that counts, right?" Herzer said.
"Gunny Rutherford bought it," Edmund said as Bast flashed in and out, stinging the thing and opening up another rent in its tattered armor.
"I'm sorry," Herzer said, quietly.
"Holding the line while the parapet was being finished."
"It's how he would have wanted to go," Herzer said with a shrug. The elf-thing managed to tag Bast, hard and she backed away, favoring her arm.
"Bullshit," Edmund growled. "He wanted to die from a stroke while lying in a hammock being fellated by a sixteen-year-old redhead named Tracy."
Herzer thought about that for a long time and then looked at Edmund for the first time since he'd arrived.
"Why Tracy?" he asked.
"I have no idea," Edmund replied. "He was pretty drunk when he told me that. But it's the sort of thing that sticks in your mind. And I never worked up the balls to ask him. I wish now that I had."
The two combatants separated and Herzer held out his hand. One of the watching Blood Lords slapped a water bottle in it and he tossed it to the elf-thing. Edmund had noticed the pile of them and wondered about it.
"Very . . . something," Edmund said. "Noble, I guess. Stupid, maybe."
"Bast insisted," Herzer replied. Bast had accepted a bottle from Rachel and drained it, tossing it aside and checking over her sword. The elf-thing's was heavily notched but hers was unblemished.
"So, how long is this going to go on?" Megan said, walking up and slipping her hand under Herzer's arm.
"Bast said something about stopping at nightfall," Herzer replied. "Get some rest and food and start again in the morning."
"So what's it to be?" Megan asked, aghast. "Two immortals locked in an epic battle until the end of time?"
"Unless one of them gives up," Herzer said, shrugging.
"Nope, not on," Edmund said. "That thing got a name?"
"Roc," Herzer replied.
"Roc," Edmund said, holding up a hand as he walked past it over to Bast. "Hang on a bit, we've got to pow-wow. Hey, Bast," Edmund continued. "Nice suit."
"Edmund," Bast said, nodding at him and rubbing her left arm. "The battle went well?"
"The usual problems," Edmund said, shrugging. "Bast, we've got other things to do."
"I don't," Bast said.
"No, but we can't simply set aside part of the camp as an arena," Edmund replied. "Are you going to win this, soon?"
"If I were a true elf, yes," Bast said, frowning. "He has not the gaslan. Of all the things they have done to him, separating him from the gaslan is probably the worst. To create a fighting machine and take away its greatest strength . . . madness!"
"That would be Celine," Edmund sighed. "Gaslan?"
"Elf thing," Bast said, shrugging. "Hard to translate. To know of the way of battle. To know the myriad ways that battle may go and to choose among them for the one most right. You have it, a little. So does Herzer, I sensed it in him from the beginning. All elves have it, much. True elf would have won by now. But I have not the mass. I can touch him, but not penetrate. He can, sometimes, touch me. But rarely and then I have the armor."
"You've certainly carved him," Edmund said, looking at the rents in the armor and the blood that covered the thing.
"To laugh," Bast said, merrily. "Fast heal do elves. Fast heal do . . . those," she added, pointing at Roc. "No, must penetrate and cannot, until one of us tires much. May be him, may be me. Not today. Tomorrow. Afternoon. Maybe day after."
"Nah, ain't gonna go that way," Edmund said, shaking his head. "Sorry." He turned to the monster. "Roc?"
The thing, which had been glaring at the Blood Lords, looked at him and nodded.
"In about ten minutes, I'm going to have about a hundred archers here," Edmund said. "Now, the rest of these people are all noble about this stuff. I'm not. I don't think you are, either. You'll probably catch some arrows and deflect others, but in the end we're going to fill you as full of arrows as an armory. Understand?"
"Yes," the beast answered.
"You can surrender and we'll find a nice little fortress for you to haunt, or you can die. Your choice."
Roc fingered his sword for a moment and then pointed it to the ground. He stepped forward, provoking a rustle from the watching Blood Lords, and then took a knee, his head bowed.
"That one," he said, pointing at Bast. "To that one will I give my life. She is worthy."
Bast walked over to him, keeping carefully to the off side of the sword and slipped her saber under his chin.
"Look at me," she said. "Adano."
The beast looked up at her with hate-filled eyes.
"Who binds you?" she asked.
"I am bound to the name of my lady, Celine," the beast answered, angrily.
"You were bound to another name, once," she said, offering her hand and bringing the beast to his feet. She barely came to his waist. "I swear that you can be bound to Her again," she added, placing her left hand on his chest. "Aso mua, shato moas latan."
And they vanished.
"What just happened?" Herzer said. "Did they port?"
"Mother?" Megan said. "Was that a teleport?"
"Dimension shift," the voice answered.
"Elfheim is closed," Edmund said. "Where did they go?"
"Mother?" Megan asked. "Where did they go?"
"I am not programmed to track dimension shifts," the voice replied. "But shato moas latan translates to 'that which is lost.' In a very ancient vernacular, humans would call it . . . Shangri-la. . . ."