Flames licked the side of the Snoozing Sprite tavern from a dozen different fires. Men and women, even children, scrambled about Braemar, buckets in hand, battling valiantly against the continuing hail of flaming arrows. The grating scraping of steel against steel cut the air as battle joined in a pass west of the town, and the watchman on a ledge along the mountain wall east of Braemar cried out that Kinnemore's army was in sight, to the west, to the south, and to the north.

Lord Badenoch looked forlornly at the one apparently opened trail, a narrow pass running east out of Braemar, deep into the towering peaks of the mighty Dvergamal range. His army had been backed into the town, chased across the foothills by Kinnemore's superior forces. Even dug into the high ground, the militia of Braemar and the handful of dwarfs and gnomes that fought beside them could not resist the overwhelming flood of Connacht's army. They had been forced to break ranks barely minutes after battle had been joined, and Badenoch had declared the fight a rout and had told his men to run with all speed back to Braemar, and to gather together their families and their goods.

Badenoch knew that they could not hold the town from Kinnemore. He and his people would have to take up the offer of Kervin the dwarf and go into Dvergamal. At least, that is what the Lord of Braemar expected that most of his people would do. He would not force their loyalties in this matter. Those who wished to go into Dvergamal would be welcome; those who preferred surrender to Kinnemore would not be judged, at least not by Badenoch.

It all seemed a moot point now, though. Unexpectedly, King Kinnemore had chased Badenoch's retreating force right through the night, and the break of dawn had brought the assault in full on Braemar. Now the Lord knew that he would need to leave a strong contingent of warriors behind, to block the eastern pass and keep Kinnemore at bay. Braemar would lose many men this day, and Badenoch fully expected that he would be among the fallen. And he would lose his village, precious Braemar, to Kinnemore's fires. Tears welled in his wise eyes as he looked upon the scrambling throng of the bucket brigade, people fighting to save their homes. Fighting an impossible war.

"Tell them to stop," the Lord said to one of his nearby commanders. "Go among the people and tell them to waste no more energy battling the fires. We must be away, on the trail before it is too late." "It is already too late," came a gruff, but not unsympathetic, voice from the side. Badenoch turned to see Kervin and three other dwarfs rounding the corner of the building behind him, their faces more grim than usual.

"Kinnemore has men on the trail," Kervin explained. "He knew that you would try to run and so he sent riders along the passes north and south of the town."

"How many?" Badenoch asked.

"Enough to hold us at bay until the main force closes on us from the other side," Kervin assured him. "How do you know this?" the Lord of Braemar demanded accusingly, his voice full of anger. "My watchmen have said nothing . . ."

"The stones told him," answered one of the other dwarfs, and Badenoch quieted, knowing then that Kervin's information was indisputable.

There would be no retreat into the mountains; Kinnemore had them surrounded. Badenoch looked all about helplessly, to the people still battling the flames despite the protest of his commander, to the soldiers running in from the western pass, many of them wounded and all of them carrying the unmistakable look of defeat. How far behind was Kin-nemore's army? the Lord wondered.

"Dear Kervin," Badenoch said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Then what am I to do?" "Stonebubbles," Kervin replied under his breath. He sent a stream of spittle to the ground. "Surrender," he said firmly.

Badenoch widened his eyes in surprise, never expecting to hear that word from one of the sturdy Buldrefolk. "I see few options," Kervin went on determinedly. "They will soon close over us and that monster King will slaughter every person in the town. For the sake of your children, and the helpless wounded and aged, offer your surrender to King Kinnemore."

Badenoch paused for a long moment, contemplating the advice, knowing in his heart that Kervin was right. "What of the Buldrefolk?" he asked. "I doubt that Kinnemore would even accept your surrender, and even if he did, you would be speaking for only a handful."

Kervin snorted, as though the entire line of thought was absurd. "My kin and I will stand beside you - for the time. But we'll offer no surrender to King Kinnemore, not a one of us. He will allow us to go back to our mountain homes - and the gnomes to go to theirs - or we will fight him, every step." Kervin chuckled and spat again. "It will take more than a king's army to keep a dwarf out of Dvergamal!" he insisted, and his wide smile brought a small measure of comfort to the beleaguered Lord of Braemar.

Badenoch nodded appreciatively at his bearded friend, but his answering smile lasted only the second it took the Lord to remember the grim task ahead of him. Kervin's judgment was right, Badenoch knew, though the admission surely pained him. If the stones told the dwarf that soldiers were blocking the eastern pass, then the war had come to an abrupt end. The folk of Braemar could not afford a prolonged battle, could not afford any battle at all.

Badenoch motioned to his commanders, all of whom were listening intently to the conversation with the dwarfish leader. "Coordinate the firefighting," Badenoch explained. "Perhaps the King will accept our surrender and allow us to keep our homes."

In truth, Badenoch had given the commands only to keep his people busy, only to keep them from dwelling on the impending defeat. He doubted that Kinnemore would show much mercy, and knew that he, long a thorn in Connacht's side, would surely be replaced - as Baron Pwyll of Dil-namarra had been replaced. Badenoch hoped that he would face his death bravely.  

The real King Kinnemore was not as tall as the imposter haggis, but still he towered over Gary, and with the exception of Tommy (of course), Gary was the tallest of the group. He was twice Gary's age, but held himself straight and tall, his expression firm yet inquisitive. He used Kelsey's fine-edged sword to shave, leaving that telltale goatee, and though his clothing remained ultimately simple, it seemed to Gary that this man was indeed a King.

The troupe made fine progress away from the Crahgs, with Kinnemore taking Diane's horse and Diane accepting Tommy's invitation to ride on the giant's shoulder. Gerbil was a bit upset that his cage had to be left behind, but Kinnemore promised the gnome that he would be given all the credit he deserved, by his gnomish kinfolk in Gond-abuggan, and by Connacht.

Truly King Kinnemore was in good spirits, ultimately relieved to be finished with his years of torment. His body was sore in a hundred different places, from the transformation and the years of living as a wild beast, but his mind was as sharp as ever, and his determination was plainly splayed across his handsome and strong features.

"I never forgot my true place," he explained to them all. "Even at those times when the savage instincts of my trappings overwhelmed my conscious decisions, I never forgot who I was."

"Even when you split Kelsey's horse in half?" Geno had to ask, just to put a typically negative dwarfish spin on all that had occurred.

Kinnemore took the remark lightly, with a resigned smile, then put a plaintive look upon his son, a look that tried pitifully to apologize for all the lost years. "And I never forgot my son," he said, nearly choking on every word.

Geno, still no fan of Prince Geldion's, wanted to interject another sarcastic remark. He looked at Kelsey before he spoke, though, and the elf, somewhat sharing the dwarf's feelings, recognized the look and gave a quick shake of his head. And so Geno let it go, figuring that both Kinnemore and Geldion had been through living Hell.

Kinnemore rode beside Geldion, talking, always talking. When they made camp, the King listened to Kelsey and to Mickey, both complaining about the reign of the imposter king, a reign of terror during which every village of Faerie, every hamlet and every secluded farmhouse came to despise the name of Kinnemore. Mickey talked of impossible tithes demanded by Connacht, and of the edicts that declared magic, all magic, the work of evil demons; Kelsey talked of the seclusion of the Tylwyth Teg, of how in recent years, the elfs had come to remain mostly within their borders and had worked hard to keep any who was not Tylwyth Teg out of Tir na n'Og. Geno spoke similarly of the situation concerning the Buldrefolk, though the taciturn dwarf wasn't saying that the new developments, the heightened seclusion from the humans, were a bad thing, and Gerbil explained that the gnomes of Gondabuggan had long ago forsaken the kingdom altogether.

King Kinnemore sat quietly and listened through it all, obviously pained, then turned to Gary and Diane. "And what of you two?" he asked. "What of the spear-wielder and the woman who figured out Ceridwen's most devious riddle?"

Gary and Diane looked to each other and shrugged, not knowing what they might add to the conversation. "There's not much from Bretaigne," Mickey explained. "The lad and lass're a long way from home."

Kinnemore accepted that readily enough. "And glad I am that you are a long way from home," the King said. "All of Faerie's peoples owe you their gratitude."

"All but Ceridwen," Gary remarked.

"Indeed," agreed the King. "And when this is done, you shall be properly rewarded, and Ceridwen properly punished."

"Just put things back together the way they belong," Diane was quick to respond, echoing Gary's sentiments exactly.

"Indeed," the King said again, and he was pleased.

Gary snapped his fingers suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. "Give him the armor and spear!" he said excitedly, pointing to the King.

Young sprout! the sentient weapon protested.

"Geno can fit it to him," Gary went on, ignoring the whining weapon. "Let Kinnemore look the part of King -  that will put the Connacht troops behind him."

None of the others seemed overly exuberant at the suggestion - especially Geno, who wasn't thrilled at the prospect of trying to realign the tough metal. The dwarf had needed the flames of a dragon's breath, after all, to forge the metal of the spear. Kinnemore shook his head doubtfully through it all, and held his hand up repeatedly to stop Gary from going further with the reasoning.

"You are the spearwielder," Kinnemore declared. "And the wearer of Donigarten's armor. And from what my son tells me, you have earned the right many times over."

Gary glanced sidelong at Geldion, surprised that the man would show him any respect at all.

"You are the spearwielder," the King said again, determinedly, "and though you owe your allegiance to a far- off kingdom in the land beyond the Cancarron Mountains, I ask of you now that you remain for the time in Faerie, at my side."

Gary found that his hands were trembling.

"As my champion," Kinnemore finished.

Gary nearly swooned. Once again, he felt as though he was part of something much larger than himself, something eternal and important. He looked around to see Kelsey, Geno, and Gerbil all nodding solemnly, and understood then that he could do much to help the causes of their respective people. Prince Geldion, too, was nodding his head, putting aside his own ego for the sake of a battered kingdom.

Whether or not he could defeat Gary in single combat was unimportant at that time; Geldion had witnessed his own normally loyal soldiers converting to their enemy's cause in the name of Sir Cedric, and he had personally counseled his father to name Gary as champion of the throne.

And then Gary looked to Tommy and Mickey, and to Diane, all beaming - especially Diane - understanding the honor that had just been given to him, sharing his moment of glory.

"I'll do my best" was all that Gary could think of in reply.

Kinnemore nodded and seemed satisfied with that; then he rose and walked away from the firelight, motioning for his son to follow so that they could continue their private conversation.

Gary feared that he would be too excited to sleep, but he did drift off, and slept more soundly than he had in many nights.

Trumpets heralded the approach of the giant King as he rode triumphantly into Braemar, flanked by a score of armored knights. The pennants of Connacht and Dilnamarra waved in the morning breeze, one on either side of the King, and Lord Badenoch shuddered to think that the flag of Braemar would join that procession when Kinnemore turned north, towards the smaller village of Drochit.

The people of Braemar lined the wide street, cheering as they had been instructed, though halfheartedly, to be sure. Connacht soldiers filtered through the throng, prodding any who did not seem excited enough.

Both Badenoch and Kervin were waiting for Kinnemore in the center of the town, on the wide way between the central building, called the Spoke-lock, and the Snoozing Sprite. They said nothing, silently watched as Kinnemore rode a complete circuit of the town, smiling smugly and turning his head slowly from side to side to survey his newest "loyal" subjects.

Then Kinnemore was before the Lord of Braemar and the leader of the dwarfish contingent.

"I am not pleased," he said from high on his horse.

Badenoch did not reply.

"Your mere presence here wounds me, good dwarf," Kinnemore went on, revealing that his displeasure was not with the Lord of Braemar - at least, not entirely. "I should have thought that you and your kin would have come into the town at the side of the rightful King of Faerie."

"We were already here," Kervin replied sarcastically, "and saw no point in going out just to turn around and come back in."

Kinnemore's features crinkled into a scowl, and a low, feral snarl escaped his tight lips.

"We figured that you would be coming in soon anyway," Kervin went on easily, ignoring the glares of the armored knights, almost wishing that one of those smug humans would make a move against him.

"So be it," Kinnemore remarked, his grim tone hinting that there would be consequences for the actions of Kervin's dwarfs, and for Kervin's treasonous words.

"And what have you to say?" Kinnemore asked Badenoch. "To attack your King out on the field."

'To defend against an invading army," Badenoch corrected.

"Invading?" Kinnemore echoed, seemingly deeply hurt. "We marched to celebrate the dragonslaying, an event worthy of . . ."

"Then why is Baron Pwyll of Dilnamarra not among your ranks?" Badenoch dared to interrupt.

Kinnemore grinned evilly. "The Baron was delayed in Dilnamarra," he replied.

Badenoch slowly and deliberately shook his head, knowing full well that what he was about to say would ensure a noose about his neck. "Baron Pwyll was murdered in Dilnamarra."

"How dare you make such a preposterous claim?" Kin-nemore balked.

"Your own son made such a claim!" the flustered Lord of Braemar retorted.

Kervin sucked in his breath; he did not think that so wise a thing to say, and even Badenoch, as soon as he had finished, realized how foolish he had been to reveal that Geldion had been about.

Kinnemore trembled; again came that animallike snarl. He calmed quickly, however, and painted his disarming smile back on his face. "You have spoken with Prince Geldion?" he asked.

"We have heard about the events in the west," Badenoch replied cryptically. "We know that Dilnamarra was overrun, that Tir na n'Og was besieged, though the army of Connacht was handed a stinging defeat at the hands of the proud Tylwyth Teg."

'That is not true!" Kinnemore roared, and he seemed to Badenoch as a spoiled child at that moment, a brat who had not gotten his way. Again he composed himself quickly.

"You should be more careful of your sources of information, Lord of Braemar," the King said. "False information can lead to rash, even fatal, decisions."

Badenoch squared his shoulders and did not justify the remark with a reply.

"So be it," Kinnemore said at length. He nodded to his left, and ten knights obediently dismounted, their armor scraping and clanking noisily. Kervin tightly clutched the axe hanging on his belt.

"Good dwarf," Kinnemore said, noticing the move, "you and your people are without guilt."

"We were on that field," Kervin boldly pointed out.

"You were misinformed," the King reasoned. "By a treasonous lord."

There, he had said it, plainly, and though the proclamation surely stung Badenoch (and condemned him), he was glad that it was finished, glad that the gloating King had put things out clearly on the table.

Badenoch relaxed, even turned to smile at Kervin and to put a calming hand atop the volatile dwarf's shoulder as Kinnemore's soldiers surrounded him.

Kervin returned the look, but the dwarf was not smiling. The only thing stopping him from cutting down the nearest guard was the knowledge that Badenoch had tried to calm him for more than his own sake. If Kervin started something now, then surely his rugged dwarfish kin would join in, and probably half of those men loyal to Badenoch as well. When it was over, Kervin realized, and Badenoch obviously realized, most of Braemar's men, and a good number of the town's women and children as well, would be dead.

So Kervin held his place and his temper. Badenoch was taken away in chains and King Kinnemore addressed the crowd, telling them that they had been deceived, but that he was here now, and peace would prevail and all would be put aright.

As much as the weary folk of Braemar wanted to believe those words (at least the part about things being put aright), not a face in town brightened with false hope.

"They are in Braemar," Gerbil reported to the group, except for Prince Geldion, later that morning. The gnome, an expected and not out-of-place visitor to these eastern parts, had been riding alone, up ahead, visiting the area farmhouses (though most were now empty). "Word spreads that Badenoch has surrendered." "Stonebubbles," Geno grumbled.

"A wise move," Mickey remarked. "Be sure that all the town would've been laid to waste if he did not."

"Stonebubbles!" Geno growled again.

'That could make our course easier," Kelsey reasoned, and Kinnemore was nodding his agreement. "We know now where to find the imposter," said the King.

"But how to get in to him?" asked Diane. "If Kinne . . . if the haggis is in Braemar, then all the town will be surrounded by his army. I'm not so sure that they'll be willing to believe that you're really the King." Kinnemore nodded to the east, where a lone rider could then be seen, fast flying for the group. ��That will be the job for my son," he reasoned. "By all accounts, he is still the commander of the Connacht army, second only to the imposter. Let us see if Prince Geldion is worthy of his heritage."

Diane studied the King hard at that moment, soon coming to realize that Kinnemore did not, for the moment, doubt his son. She was glad for that, for Geldion's sake and not for her own.

'The haggis is in Braemar," Geldion said, bringing his mount to a fast stop before the others. "And Badenoch has surrendered."

"So we have heard," Kinnemore replied.

"Badenoch is in chains," Geldion went on. "And word has it that he will be executed at sunset." "Big surprise," Mickey remarked.

"What about Kervin?" Geno asked.

Geldion shrugged. "I heard nothing," he honestly answered. "But if the dwarf is still in Braemar, then know that he is not in good spirits!"

"How shall we get in?" Kinnemore asked abruptly, directing the question to his son and reminding them all that they hadn't the time to sit and talk. Even at a swift pace, they would not make the village proper before midafter-noon, and if they encountered any delays, then Badenoch would be hanging by his neck. "I doubt that I will be able to talk us all into Braemar," Geldion, who had obviously been planning that very job, answered. "Not the giant, certainly, and the dwarf and elf . . ." "All of us," Gary interrupted grimly.

Questioning looks came at him from every side, even from Diane.

"All of us," he said again, not backing down an inch. "We have been through this together, and so together we'll see it through, to the end."

"But lad," Mickey quietly protested.

"Use your tricks," Gary demanded of Mickey. "And you," he added to Geldion, "use your mouth. Tommy's been a horse before, and so he'll be a horse again," he said, referring to the time when Mickey had made Tommy look like a mule so that he and Geno could deliver the reforged spear and armor to Dilnamarra inconspicuously.

"And you'll be more believable," Gary added to Geldion, "if you're surrounded by soldiers when you escort the spearwielder into Braemar."

"Human soldiers," Geldion corrected, eyeing Kelsey and Geno doubtfully.

"So they'll appear," Gary replied without missing a beat. "As will your father. The haggis does not know what happened to you."

"So we're hoping," Mickey interjected. Gary turned to the sprite, seeming unsure for the first time since he had begun laying out his plan.

"We're not for knowing what Ceridwen's seen, lad," the leprechaun explained. "And what she's telled to her haggis lackey."

"Then we'll have to take that chance," King Kinnemore unexpectedly answered. ��The plan is sound, so I say." He looked around at the troupe, affording them the respect they so obviously deserved. "And what say you?" he asked of them all.

"Lead on, Prince Geldion," said a determined Kelsey. "And quickly. Lord Badenoch is too fine a man to share Baron Pwyll's undeserved fate."

Geno grumbled something (certainly less than complimentary) under his breath, but then nodded his agreement.

They were off in a few moments, after the leprechaun worked a bit of his magic, with Diane riding Tommy, who now appeared as a plow horse.

They encountered soldiers an hour later, the back ranks of the Connacht army, settling in for their stay on the fields to the west of Braemar. Whispers went up all about the newcomers, concerns for the appearance of the spear-wielder, and more than one soldier eyed the group intently, fearful of a leprechaun's tricks, perhaps. But not a man would openly oppose Geldion, and he and his escorts were allowed passage.

"Do you know the commander of this brigade?" Kinnemore asked his son quietly as they made their way through the large encampment. The wise King was thinking that perhaps the time had come to enlist some allies. Even if they got into Braemar unopposed, convincing the army that he was the real King, and their leader an imposter - and the haggis, no less - might not be an easy feat. The prospect of a battle within the town seemed plausible.

"Roscoe Gilbert," Geldion replied, and he paused and eyed his father, coming to understand and agree with the logic. "I have trained with him on occasion."

Kinnemore nodded and Geldion broke away from the others, trotting to the nearest campfire to enquire of the field commander's whereabouts.

"Thinking to make some friends?" Mickey, sitting invisibly on Gary's mount right beside the King, asked. Kinnemore, eyes steeled straight ahead, nodded slightly.

The group did not pass all the way through the encampment unopposed. A line of cavalry galloped around them and stood to block them with Prince Geldion and an older warrior, Roscoe Gilbert, sitting directly before the riding King.

Kinnemore eyed the man directly and slipped back the hood of his traveling cloak.

Gilbert did not blink.

"An incredible tale," the soldier said a moment later, his tone showing that he was not convinced. "A true tale," Gary replied boldly.

Gilbert turned a nervous glance up and down his ranks. He knew that many of the Connacht soldiers had deserted back near Tir na n'Og, swearing fealty to Sir Cedric. And now the spearwielder was here, right in his midst, with a tale to turn all the world upside down.

"And you have nothing to lose by escorting us," Gary went on, "and everything to lose by not."

"What say you, Gilbert?" Kinnemore asked bluntly. "Do tales of Ceridwen's troublesome interference so surprise you?"

They were off at a swift pace soon after, Geldion and Gary flanking Kinnemore, Diane at Gary's side, and Roscoe Gilbert at Geldion's side. At Kelsey's insistence, Mickey let the illusion drop then, showing the elf, dwarf, and gnome as they truly appeared (though Mickey kept up Tommy's facade, knowing that the sight of a giant would unnerve the sturdiest of soldiers in the best of conditions).

They swept through the next encampments without incident and without delay, Roscoe Gilbert and Prince Geldion bringing even more soldiers into their wake. By the time they crossed the western pass, moving into Braemar proper, few Connacht soldiers had been left on the field behind them.

Predictably, the entourage attracted quite a bit of attention as they approached, and most of the people were out and about anyway, since sunset drew near. Angry whispers filtered through the crowd; more than one fight broke out, but the Connacht soldiers were too numerous for the poorly armed citizens of Braemar to do anything to prevent the impending hanging.

Those people didn't know what to expect - certainly nothing good - when Prince Geldion and some of Kin- nemore's field commanders swept into the town. The presence of Kelsey, Geno, and Gerbil, who were all known to them, and of the spearwielder and his wife, whom they considered to be allies, brought mixed reactions, some wondering if the time had come for hope, others thinking that their supposed friends had either been captured or had gone over to the undeniable flow of Kinnemore's tide of conquest.

Kervin, standing by the tree designated as the spot for the hanging, and Badenoch, even then being led out of the Snoozing Sprite's wine cellar, his temporary dungeon, did allow themselves a moment of hope, for they alone among Braemar's populace knew of the mission to the Crahgs.

The imposter King, standing with his knights in a glade beside the Spoke-lock, to the side of the hanging tree, did not know what to make of the entourage, did not know why Geldion would ride in beside the enemy spearwielder, let alone in the presence of Kelsenellenelvial Gil- Ravadry, that most hated elf-lord.

But Geldion did come in, directly, his newfound friends in his wake and his father, hidden beneath the cowls of a traveling cloak, at his side. Geldion walked his gray right up before the imposter, the Prince's eyes unblinking.

The imposter looked from Geldion to Gary, let his gaze linger long over this man who had become such a thorn in his side, this man who had banished Ceridwen, the impost-er's mentor, to her island. Then he looked back to Geldion, trying to find some clue about the unexpected arrival. Why had Gary Leger come openly into Braemar? And why were so many of Kinnemore's own field commanders, and the Prince of Connacht, lined up behind the man?

He waited a long while, but Geldion said nothing, forcing him to make the first move.

"So you have returned," the imposter said at length, indignantly. "I had wondered if you were dead out on the field."

"Not dead" was all that Geldion replied through his clenched teeth.

"Then what is this about?" the imposter demanded. "Have you brought the spearwielder and an elf-lord into my fold?"

"Or have they brought me into theirs?" Geldion said, voicing the imposter's unspoken thought.

"What is this about?" the imposter demanded again, a feral snarl accompanying the question.

"It is about the rightful King of Connacht," said the tall hooded man seated between Geldion and Gary Leger. "And it is about an imposter, a beast tamed by Ceridwen and put in the rightful King's stead." He reached up to clasp the sides of his hood and began slowly drawing it back.

"Kill them!" the haggis roared. Knights bristled; there came the ring of many weapons pulling free of their scabbards.

The friends held calm, kept their composure, and that fact alone bought them the needed seconds.

King Kinnemore pulled the hood from his face. Gasps arose from those close enough to view him, nearly an exact likeness of the man he faced, and whispers rolled out from the glade, down the streets and through every house.

"I am Kinnemore," said the rightful King.

"By whose word?" demanded the imposter. His voice broke as he spoke, guttural grunts coming between each word. Diane and Gary watched him closely, as did Mickey and the others, noticing that his beard seemed suddenly larger and more wild, "By my word!" King Kinnemore said forcefully, rising tall in his saddle and turning all about so that all near to him could hear clearly the proclamation, and see clearly the man speaking the words. "Trapped by Ceridwen these last years in the body of a beast." The rightful King settled in his saddle and squarely eyed the imposter, who was grunting and wheezing, his mouth widening to the sides.

"While the beast sat on my throne," Kinnemore declared. "While the beast led my kingdom to ruin!"

The knights in the glade escorting Lord Badenoch did not know how to react; none of the soldiers, even those who had come into town in the friends' wake, knew how to react. The battle became, so suddenly, a personal duel between these two men who seemed, physically at least, so much alike.

The hush held for several long seconds, no one knowing where to begin or who should begin.

"Long live the King!" proclaimed Lord Badenoch and he pulled free of the soldiers holding his arms (and they were too overwhelmed to try to stop him) and lifted his chained hands in defiance. "Long live the rightful King of Faerie!"

The imposter tried to say, "Kill him!" but the words came out only as a growl, that same feral, uncontrollable snarl that the true Kinnemore had known all too well in his years romping about the Crahgs. There could be no doubt anymore; the imposter's beard had widened, encompassing all of his face.

He shrieked in rage and pain as his body twisted and cracked, Ceridwen's enchantment stolen by the truth, stolen by the appearance of Faerie's rightful King. The soldier nearest to him made a move, but the haggis slapped the man, launching him a dozen feet across the glade.

Fully revealed, the creature whipped back and forth, eyes wild, maw dripping drool.

Cedric's spear took him cleanly in the breast.

He staggered backwards, clutching at the weapon's shaft, growling and whimpering. Then he fell to the grass and lay still.

No one moved, no soldier put his weapon away, and all eyes turned to Gary Leger, the spearwielder. The moment was stolen an instant later, when the haggis leaped up and tossed the bloodied spear aside. "Ee ya yip yip yip!" it wailed, and all covered their ears - and all in the creature's path fell away in terror as it rushed from the glade, and from the town, down the western pass and farther, running to the southeast, towards its hilly home.

"Tough little bug," Mickey remarked dryly.

"Long live the rightful King of Faerie!" Gary cried, sitting tall atop his stallion. He slid from his mount, recovered the spear, then fell to his knees before the mounted King, bowing his head.

That was all the folk of Braemar, and the weary men of the Connacht army, needed to see. The cry went up, from one end of town to the other, along the mountain passes and through every encampment.

The cry went up for King Kinnemore, for Connacht.

And for peace.

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