Egil had started, and now he swore in fury. "You idiot! You twisted freak! How did you come here?"
"How does the wind come, and the rain? I am not as other men." He laughed, a sombre sound with no mirth in it. "I am here, Egil, and that's all that matters. And you will not slay this stranger who is more beast than man, and more man than any of us. The gods have a use for him."
He had moved as he spoke, until now he stood between Stark and Egil.
"Get out of the way," said Egil.
Treon shook his head.
"Very well," said Egil. "If you wish to die, you may."
The fey gleam brightened in Treon's eyes. "This is a day of death," he said softly, "but not of his, or mine."
Egil said a short, ugly word, and raised the weapon up.
Things happened very quickly after that. Stark sprang, arching up and over Treon's head, cleaving the red gasses like a burning arrow. Egil started back, and shifted his aim upward, and his finger snapped down on the trigger stud.
Something white came between Stark and Egil, and took the force of the bolt.