It took George a moment to realise that the storm of noise into which his consciousness had just re-emerged, was cheering.  And several more to realise that the cheering was for him.  A steadily growing throng of passers-by had gathered at the edges of the courtyard, drawn by the drama unfolding within, not to mention the chance to delay work, school, dental appointments, blind dates or any other of the countless mundanities of everyday life, even if only temporarily.

At first, the drawcard had been simply the promise of some action, a little bit of excitement to enliven an otherwise ordinary day, in what was for most people an increasingly difficult and unpleasant life.  But then, a few of the older members of the crowd had recognised the weapon wielded by the youngster confronting Vardun, while still others had noticed something familiar about the features of the old man, the one now crumpled against the wall, seemingly in dire straits.

Those few had murmured their suspicions to their neighbours, who had in turn murmured them to theirs, and like wildfire, the rumour had spread.  It was back.  He was back.  After all these years, against all expectations, the Blade was back.  And he had just defied the evil tyrant, the man they loathed above all others; Lord Vardun Ri.

Hope was springing anew in hundreds of hearts, hope for freedom, hope for the future, hope that the Blade would once again set Volanda back on the path to peace, the road to righteousness, and the highway to heaps of metaphors.

And if Vardun lopped his head off—as most of them expected he would—at least it would relieve the boredom for five minutes.

So, despite their modest expectations, or perhaps because of them, they cheered.  It had been a long time since any Volandan had cause to cheer, so now they cheered with gusto and with wild abandon.  They cheered for the Blade, they cheered for the defeat of the dark tyrant whose shadow loomed so large over their lives, and they cheered for the simple, unadulterated, all-too-forgotten joy of being alive.  Even if they were due at the dentist.

Motionless, Vardun stood and waited for the noise to subside, outwardly impassive, but seething within.  His informers would be circulating among the onlookers, and his guards would be taking note of faces and names; those who called for his downfall would meet their own before this day was out.

As the cheering faded away, Vardun and George stood and regarded each other.  It was the older, taller man who spoke first.

"So, my young friend, you have chosen the hard way.  Time for me to show you the error of your choice."

Tentatively, George edged forward.  "I'm not your friend."

"Ah, such bravado.  Admirable, in one so young.  One so outmatched.  One so clueless and hopelessly out of his depth.  Let us see how your bravado holds up, once I have shredded your wretched excuse of a grandfather."  Smiling, eyes locked on George's face, Vardun casually gestured in Grandpa's direction.  When after a few seconds there were neither the sounds of anguish, nor of flesh being removed from bones, Vardun frowned in annoyance and turned to see what had happened.

Although unquestionably unshredded, the old man still couldn't be said to be be looking his best.  The bleeding from his arm and stomach wounds had slowed, but his face was deathly pale, and his cheeks hollow.  Propped into a seated position, the wall against his back seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright.  And yet, despite his obviously parlous state, one look at Grandpa was enough to make Vardun take an involuntary step back.

He was glowing.  Glowing with a pale, unearthly light, a light that was simultaneously of no colour and yet which seemed to encompass every shade of the rainbow.  The old man managed a grin, as the shards of glass that hovered around him fell harmlessly to the ground.

"Surprise, dickhead."

Annoyed at having their view blocked by the growing crowd, Korbus and Bup had made the almost unprecedented decision to leave the tavern during daylight hours.  Unfortunately, their position at the back of the throng hadn't really improved things much.

So, despite gnomes' generally strong dislike of being carried, Bup had allowed curiosity to get the better of his dignity, and perched precariously atop his friend's head he was providing a running commentary of events.

Korbus, meanwhile, was attempting to elbow, shove, worm and wheedle his way towards the front of the crowd, while simultaneously trying to keep gnome feet out of his ears.  "Whaddya mean he's growing?  He's not a bloody tulip."

"Glowing, ya deaf old geezer.  He's glowing."

"Glowing?" Korbus gave this some thought.  "That's a bit odd.  What's he wanna glow for?"

"Beats me, mate.  But it's sure givin' ole Vardy the willies.  He's wavin' his arm and wigglin' his fingers, but nothin' seems to be happenin'.  Ooh, 'ang on a second.  Them bits of glass around the old Blade have started to move again."

Korbus winced.  "So Vardun is finishin' off the poor old fella?"  He shook his head, sadly.  "It's shame, he was a pretty tough character, back in the day.  I guess time catches up with all of—"

"I never said which way they was movin'," interrupted Bup.  "They're not stickin' into the old Blade, at all."

"So now he's killin' the new Blade?  Bugger me, first I can't find a pair of matchin' socks this mornin' and now this.  How much worse can today get?  Hey, ease off a bit!"

Bup relaxed his convulsive grip on Korbus' sparse hair.  "Will you stop ya moanin' and just listen, you pessimistic old fart?  Them bits of glass are headin' towards the other mob in the courtyard.  The big lad, the wenches and the fairy, plus the guards holdin' onto 'em."

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, accompanied by a matching one from Bup.

"I'll be buggered.  Those guards just copped it, every one of 'em with a bit of glass in their neck.  The prisoners don't half look dumbstruck.  Although, I'spose, the big lad kind of looked that way already."

Stunned, Laya stared down at the soon-to-be corpse of the guard who had been holding her captive, now lying twitching on the cobblestones, a bright green shard of glass protruding from his neck.  A quick glance around confirmed that her companions had also been freed, but it was soon evident that none of them had the first clue as to what to do about it.  She stifled a sigh.  As usual, she was going to have to take charge.

"Right, you lot.  Let's get out of here.  We'll make a run for it."

Marie regarded her with grave eyes.  "I don't think so.  That's my son over there.  Dream or not, I'm staying right here."

Laya considered for a moment, but then shrugged.  She hardly knew the woman, anyway.  "Fine.  C'mon, Danus."

The big youth turned towards her, his expression just as serious as Marie's.  "No, Laya.  That's the Blade.  I've heard stories about him, since I were little.  Stories about how he could save the day.  Well, today seems like a day that needs saving.  I'm staying, too."

Laya blinked in surprise, and for want of any better options, turned to the fairy.  "OK, Roderund.  Let's go."

Wings shimmering, the little creature alighted on one of Danus' shoulders.  "Alas, my dear, as much as I would be honoured to accompany you in your intrepid attempts to seek freedom, I must proclaim that although it sincerely pains my heart, I simply cannot..." Uncharacteristically, the fairy's oration trailed off.  "Sod it.  Sorry, love—I'm staying."

Laya didn't think to ask Arnutz.  In fact, she seemed to have forgotten that he existed.  He wasn't particularly surprised—that kind of thing tended to happen to him all the time.

Positioned between the legs of a couple of spectators in the front row, Lob and Wuck found themselves with a grandstand view of events.  Provided you could avoid getting stepped on, being gnome-sized had definite advantages.

"Lobby, why did Lord Vardun kill his own guards?"

Lob grimaced.  He'd hated that name since childhood.  "He didn't, you bloody idiot.  It was the geezer.  And if you call me that again, I'm gonna stuff both your legs up your left nostril."

Wuck frowned at Grandpa's crumpled, luminescent figure.  "But he's a mess.  Shiny, but still  a mess.  How could he have killed those guards?  Also, I reckon you'd have more luck if you stuck a leg into each nostril.  Stands to reason."

For a moment, Lob was sorely tempted to give it a try, but with an effort, managed to resist.  He didn't want to miss any of the action.  "He killed 'em with ke mana.  But now the ke mana is killing him," he explained, with a catch in his voice.  "Even faster than the half-a-window he's got stuck in his guts."

The gnome was a little surprised to find himself so affected by the old man's travails.  After all, the former Blade had stranded him in a box, in a foreign world, for thirty-seven years.  He should hate the bastard.  But on the other hand, Lob had tried to steal his socks.  And if he was honest with himself, if he hadn't been caught, he'd probably still be stealing socks, to this day.  With the odd pair of stockings thrown in, for when the nights got a little lonely.

But he had been caught.  Which meant that he'd seen a new world, had some truly astonishing adventures, and become the Awesome Grand-High-Keeper of the Blade; no small achievement for a humble gnome from the backwoods, even if he had made up the title himself.

Yep, he thought, I'll miss the annoying, cantankerous, hard-arsed old git, when he dies.  Which won't be long now, judging by how that glow is starting fade.  He turned his attention to George, edging slowly but surely towards Vardun.  The lad better hurry up, otherwise he's going to find himself all on his own.

Vardun turned back from his perusal of the guards lying fallen around the now apparently ex-prisoners.  His expression was murderous.  "Four!  That's another four of my vassals that your cursed grandfather has killed.  It's becoming very annoying.  Do you know how expensive they are?  How hard it is to find guards with just the right level of stupidity to ensure unquestioned compliance?  They don't grow on trees, you know."

The fuming tyrant drew two long, thin rapiers from his robe.  "So, just for that," he growled at George, "I'm going to hurt you even more than I'd planned to."  Weapons held at the ready, he began to advance.  "And I'd planned to hurt you more than you could possibly imagine."