Anna walked out into bright sunshine and promptly sneezed. While scanning the area, she rummaged through her pack for a handkerchief. She drew it out and examined it, shrugging slightly. All things considered, her sleeve was probably cleaner. She used it anyway, then slung her pack to the ground, letting the handkerchief flutter on top of it. With an audible sigh of relief, she cast herself onto long, soft, green, wonderful grass and relaxed in boneless bliss. "Ten minute break," she told the sky.

Within five seconds, Shiro and Alain had also assumed the position. Brenden was a few seconds slower, having taken the time to doff his boots and mail. They lay on their backs, faces to the sun and eyes shut. "Maybe," said Brenden, "we could take about an hour and dry out."

Anna considered. "Conn, how much daylight is left?"

A shadow obscured some of Anna's sunlight, but she refused to move on general principle. She was pretty sure the shadow was Conn-shaped. "It is but a little past noon here, too," said Conn's voice. "I will be glad to scout the area while you, ah, plan."

"Fine, fine." Anna heard Conn's footsteps recede into the distance. From the lack of other noise, she assumed Colour Sergeant Black went with Conn. For perhaps thirty seconds, she let the sounds of this place wash over her: Distant breakers, the buzzing of insects, the songs of birds, and even the sound of the breeze. Eventually, she let out an audible sigh. "Nice as this is, I don't suppose we can justify lying here doing nothing."

To her surprise, Brenden answered earnestly. "Yes, there is. Be still, think of nothing, and try to get a feel for this place." There weren't really the right words to describe it, but sometimes Anna could feel the undercurrents of reality, at least to the extent they differed from Core Earth. She supposed all stormers had this ability to one degree or another. Certainly, her sixth sense had improved, along with her surety of maintaining her hold on Core Earth's reality, with exposure to alien Weltbilden. Brenden, it seemed to her, tended to bend under the influence of other realities, but when it came to cases, showed himself to be very firmly rooted in Core Earth's reality. Perhaps there's something to be said for the willow approach. She tried to empty her mind, but that proved most difficult. She was in charge this time. If they failed in their mission, it would be her responsibility. Having the fate of England and perhaps the world riding on her shoulders proved distracting.

Anna finally gave up and sat up. She began unpacking her gear, hoping to dry it in the warm sun and figuring out what equipment maintenance couldn't wait. Shiro joined her. After perhaps another two or three minutes, Brenden opened his eyes and sat up.

"Wait a minute, Brenden. You've been here before. If you wanted a nap, why didn't you say so?" asked Anna playfully.

Brenden obligingly stretched and cracked several joints. "True, but I was a touch rushed and more than a little rattled last time. I figured it'd be nice to get my bearings before all Hell breaks loose."

Shiro nodded sagely. "We who succeed at the impossible are rewarded with even more difficult assignments." After a pause that might have been for dramatic effect, he added, "Fortunately, my fee structure expands accordingly."

Conn and Colour Sergeant Black eventually returned. They reported no movement in immediate vicinity of the ruins. A castle squatted on a hill about two miles away, and most likely a town down slope and around another hill from the castle; the pair had spotted several trails leading in that direction, and fishing boats coming and going from that area. What really changed their plans, however, was that Black reported a nearby spring. The water was cold and pure.

"We can take a bath?" asked Alain like a six year old being told Christmas was going to come twice a year from now on.

In the end, they spent about four hours in an orgy of bathing, cleaning, drying, repairing, and repacking. At Brenden's suggestion, they put on their finery before walking to the castle. He had explained the land they were on likely belonged to the local lord, and their reception would be better if they presented themselves to him rather than waiting to be discovered. At Montgomery's suggestion, Conn and the Colour Sergeant fashioned two long poles on which to carry the party's saddles. "I'm quite sick of dragging two of these things about. I should have thought of it earlier," the Victorian had remarked. If nothing else, the saddles should have considerable barter value. Conn and Brenden carried one pole, the Colour Sergeant and Shiro the other.

An hour's moderate walk brought them near to the castle. Anna called a halt. "Okay, Brenden. You're elected herald."

Brenden nodded without surprise. Once a face man, always a face man. For the occasion, Brenden belted a longsword over his newly scoured mail. It wasn't that Brenden didn't know how to use a blade; he had, in fact, studied diligently. Unfortunately, he didn't have Conn's strength or speed backing up his steel. He wasn't confident in his ability to put down a foe with a melee weapon fast enough to keep his own head attached to his shoulders. Hence, his preference for firearms, even when the local reality objected. Anna handed Brenden her banner. Brenden stretched it out on a staff, then hung his own below it. Once he finished tying everything in place, he hefted the staff and asked, "Well, do I look the part?"

"Not too bad, I guess. Glad you took a bath," offered Anna as she pressed tongue into cheek.

Brenden favored her with a wintry smile. "Before I hie off, there's something you need to consider."

"Oh, what's that?"

"Now that we're in Avalon, we're operating under feudal custom. First, if you're male and not a knight or a priest, you're not going to get much respect in the halls of power. Second, you're a countess. You can knight people."

"You're kidding, right, Brenden?"

"Not at all. You and I are covered, but what about the others? Do you want them treated like self-propelled furniture?"

"I suppose not. Can't you knight people, too?"

"Sure, but you're the ambassador. If you knight them, then they're your retainers, and it no one will raise an eyebrow if they act as your bodyguards, which we're all going to do anyway."

Conn broke in. "This makes a great deal of sense. As I understand it, however, this kind of knighthood is different from that bestowed by your queen."

Anna spread wide her arms and shrugged. Brenden answered Conn. "Yes, it is. If I remember correctly, this sort of knighthood gives you the legal right to bear all arms and dispense low justice, among other things. The social aspects aren't too dissimilar, and that's what really counts."

Anna's mind raced. "Wait, wait. On a purely practical note, how do I knight them? I gather I don't use the investiture ceremony Queen Elizabeth performed on us."

Brenden quirked a smile. "Probably not. We'll manage."

Colour Sergeant Black approached Anna, and knelt before her. Conn gave her Excalibur. Seeing that the tide was running against her, Anna didn't bother protesting, even though she was embarrassed by the attention and more than half felt like a kid playing let's pretend. With coaching from Brenden, Anna touched Montgomery's shoulders with the flat of the blade and intoned, "In the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George, I knight thee and give thee the right to bear arms. Arise, Sir Montgomery." Anna's expression was that of someone who had just survived the dentist's chair.

Conn, too, consented to be knighted. Shiro, however, chose to be difficult and declined the honor. I am not about to commit to vassalage. They should be content that I choose not to lie about it.

Anna eyed Alain. Alain shook her head. "I think I shall decline the honor. I am not male. I am not even human. I am a reasonably learned adept. I can get the attention of those in power if need be."

Anna could not argue with this. She gave Excalibur back to Conn. "OK, enough of this. Go off and herald, Brenden."

Brenden took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, raised the banner, and began pacing. As he rounded the bend, he began to whistle. Anna furrowed her brow; she could almost place the tune. She motioned the rest of the party to follow at a distance of about fifty yards.

Brenden was just outside bowshot of the castle when several of the guards noticed him. The castle wasn't terribly large, but it was well laid out and maintained. The curtain wall was about 70 yards on a side and perhaps 20 feet high, with square towers at the corners and two more flanking the gatehouse. The ditch was about 20 feet wide and looked to be at least eight feet deep. From his approach, he could just make out the central keep, which, too, was square. Good, the guards seem on the ball and not overtly hostile. Brenden had read somewhere that in some places, heralds had considered it a matter of honor not to wear armor, trusting in the authority of their office to keep them safe. Bugger that. Being on point sucks. Waving his banner, he shouted, "Hallo, the castle!"

The reply was not long in coming. The accent was a bit odd, but between brushing up on his Chaucer and the experience of his previous trip, Brenden could understand the gate sergeant. "Who approaches the castle of Sir Gavin, Baron of Erinshead?"

Brenden had worked on his reply for some hours. "Lady Anna, Countess of Great Saling, and escort! We are storm tossed envoys whom merciful Providence has delivered unto your lands. We crave your lord's hospitality." This is either going to really wow them, or mark me as a hopeless poofter.

The gate sergeant turned and shouted Brenden's words to persons unseen. Someone replied. The sergeant turned back to Brenden, "Come forth and be welcome." Option A, apparently. Another guard disappeared from the balustrade, probably to tell the baron he had unexpected company.

The baron was out hunting. That suited the party, as it gave them time to settle in and get their bearings: cold stone rooms, a few strategically placed furs on the floor, a bed, and an iron chamberpot. Smoky candles augmented the diffuse light coming through a single, narrow window. Still, it was better than camping outdoors.

The baron rode in just before sunset. Apparently it had been a successful hunt; his retainers brought in two dressed stags and a boar. The baron was wiry, probably about thirty, with thin, receding brown hair plastered to his head. He had removed his armor and was mounted on a riding horse. A page led his destrier, and his armor was stowed on a pack animal. In Core Earth's middle ages, his years would have made him an old man. Avalon was a kinder reality; here he seemed slightly past his prime, but no worse.

A servant approached the returning hunting party and informed the baron of his guests. The baron was apparently delighted to have such August visitors. "Formal introductions will have to wait until he is presentable, of course, but the baron wishes you to attend a feast tonight. The boar appears to be exceptionally fat and tender." The page relaying the message practically bounced with every syllable. It would be his first feast with visitors, and one a countess at that. About an hour after the baron arrived back at the castle, the feast began. One of Sir Gavin's bachelor knights acted as chamberlain and announced the party, having been supplied with appropriate crib notes by Brenden.

Seated at two long tables, running nearly the length of the great hall, were approximately twenty knights, squires, and men-at-arms, perhaps a dozen master craftsmen, another ten or so merchants, ladies in equal number, and, nearest the lord's table, two priests. Sir Gavin and a boy just entering adolescence sat at the head table with six empty settings for the guests of honor.

Anna and Brenden were closest to fully fluent in the local dialect, but this posed little problem, as most of the baron's questions were addressed to them, since they ranked highest. Still, the others were able to communicate, albeit somewhat slowly, and asked and answered a good many questions of the others while the baron monopolized the two Core Earthers.

"My Lady Countess, I hope all is to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, yes. I thank you for your kindness. It is especially pleasant to be under a roof after so long in the field." It was plain to see that Sir Gavin was pleased that his welcome measured up, but taken aback by a woman who was no wilting flower. The baron was too polite by far, however, to say so.

Brenden pegged Sir Gavin as an eminently practical man. It was most likely the baron found himself out of sorts dealing with a lady who deported herself more like a knight (or a horse leech) than a Lady of Quality. However, the baron realized that aiding an ambassador and countess in her time of need could do him and his line no end of good. Suddenly, another level of understanding dawned on Brenden. The boy is the baron's legitimate son from the table talk. But there's no baroness. Sir Gavin is a widower? Oh-ho. So, a nominally marriageable countess who just happens to be an Ambassador Plenipotentiary one day shows up at a provincial baron's keep, hat figuratively in hand. Brenden re-evaluated the entire situation, but found his conclusion fit the evidence only imperfectly. Yes, the baron had a great deal to gain by being a good host. Yes, too, Sir Gavin might try to curry favor with Anna for more personal reasons, but that was not the whole of it. Brenden looked around the great hall again. The feast was a lot less rowdy than its Ayslish equivalent. Brenden saw one squire pinch a serving girl. His neighbors at the table, male and female both, stared at him like he had just crawled out of the midden. The offending warrior muttered a red-faced apology.

When Brenden had been in Avalon previously, he had spent most of his time in the field with one questing knight. His only major stay indoors was as the unwilling guest of the black knight whose overthrow was the object of their quest . I probably didn't get a good cross section of local social interactions. The tendencies that made our middle ages so unpleasant are here: Armed men with a virtual monopoly on making the laws, a ruling class without the wisdom and stability that maturity brings because most people are dead by forty, ignorance, and grossly unequal wealth distribution. Yet something holds them together. These people really believe in the chivalric ideal: Fairness, justice, mercy. The full force of the power of the knightly ideal hit Brenden like a sledge hammer and left him stunned. Damn, I wonder what this will do to Shiro.

Fortunately, Sir Gavin's attention was on Anna. "I understand you are envoys to Camelot. You were shipwrecked here?"

"Yes, but it was not our own ship. Earlier on, we were attacked by enemies. We took their vessel."

"I see. Your party was much reduced in that fight, then?"

"Our journey was not without loss, but our queen thought that a small band would be more likely to slip past the enemy, so we were few to start with." Strictly speaking, not a lie, but Anna still felt guilty misleading Sir Gavin. On the other hand, she doubted they'd be believed if she told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She still had some trouble with that.

"You seek succor for your people?"

"Yes. Even as far away as our home, the tales tell of the justice of King Arthur's rule. Five years ago, foes with strange and mighty powers appeared in our land, seeking to subjugate us. We battle on, but the odds are poor. It has been said for many years in our land that King Arthur would come to us in our hour of greatest need. That hour is upon us."

"From what land come you?"

Go one world over, and we're from the same place as you. Well, not really; I'm an expatriate. Go west until you hit the Pennsylvania Turnpike. . . "We come from the far west."

"Beyond Hybernia?"

"Yes, we come from far west of Ireland."

The baron nodded sagely. "I take your companion, Alain, for one of the Sidhe. I do not know what to make of the one you call Shiro."

There's a tough one. Neither do I, sometimes. Brenden had recovered his wits sufficiently that after several seconds elapsed and no answer seemed forthcoming from Anna, he stepped in. "Shiro is a trader from a land beyond ours. Our fight has become his fight."

Shiro heard his named mentioned and leaned forward to get an angle on the conversation. He added, "I come from so far west that it is actually to the east."

The baron did not act like his leg was being pulled, much to Brenden and Anna's relief. Instead, Sir Gavin stroked his chin. "From the east, you say. Then you must be from the kingdom of Prester John."

"I must," agreed Shiro drolly.

Sir Gavin turned his attention back to the guest of honor. "For how long will I have the pleasure of your company, Lady Anna?"

Anna firmly ignored the sub-context of the question. "I am not certain. While we need to make haste to Camelot, I would like to learn something of the land before we leave, and we need to replace our horses."

"I believe I have sufficient riding horses to remount your embassy. I would be honored if you would accept them."

Anna looked at Brenden, whose gaze was innocently directed at the ceiling. Damn it, Brenden. You're our horse trader. Ah, well. This is why they pay me the big bucks. "I would be delighted to accept your offer, Sir Gavin, but I insist that you take our extra saddles in partial repayment."

Sir Gavin blinked in surprise. "Your courtesy and wisdom bring honor to you and the land you represent." Anna stammered out her thanks. Sir Gavin continued. "As for learning of the land, I do have a history of the realm." Here was something approximating a big play. Books were quite rare, and literacy unusual outside monasteries.

"Yes, yes. Perhaps tomorrow. I think we might profitably spend another day if you allow us access to your library." The baron agreed. For the remainder of the evening, he limited his conversation to pedestrian subjects, apparently content with Anna's commitment to stay another day. Smooth operator, that one, was Brenden's professional opinion.

The feast ran late into the night, and castle life started well before dawn. Well, at least for the castle staff it did. Brenden slept in, happy that he had not been awakened for Prime prayers. A little after 8:00 AM by his watch (which running quite nicely, though he suspected it slipped a few minutes now and again, especially when his hold on Core Earth's reality weakened), he made his morning ablutions and wandered to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. As he sat with his apple, bread and cheese, he heard swordplay in the courtyard. From the sound of things, Conn was giving the local knights more than they could handle. I should probably practice with the blade today. I suspect I could afford to brush up. If using a bow is considered unknightly, I suppose the locals will really frown on automatic weapons. I may need to look good in front of the grandees at some point. After a leisurely breakfast, Brenden retrieved his full kit and went to the lists. Conn was chewing through practice dummies with a vengeance. Several battered looking knights watched with awe.

One of the men-at-arms, who stood leaning on his longsword, looked at Brenden. He was a scarred, older fellow who looked to have more than a few campaigns under his belt. Brenden didn't remember seeing him the night before. Well, someone had to have guard duty. "I suppose you're as fierce as your friend there. I saw Launcelot fight once. Your friend reminds me of him."

Brenden shook his head. "Not hardly, but I manage. Would you care to spar awhile?"

The man-at-arms smiled and offered a beefy hand. "I was hoping you'd ask. After that knocking about Sir Conn gave me, I need to fight a mere mortal to restore my confidence. I'm Angus son of James."

Brenden shook hands. That turned into something of a test of strength, though Angus bore him no ill will. He was just sizing up his opponent. "I'm Sir Brenden." The name sounded awkward in his own ears.

"A lordly one. You act like a regular fighting man. No insult intended, Sir Brenden."

"None taken, Angus. Practice swords?" Brenden canted his head to a stack of heavy, wooden practice swords.

"If you wish."

"Yes. That way I can try something tricky without losing my hands if you've seen it before."

"Oh, is that how it is? Thank you for the warning." Angus laughed as he threw Brenden a wooden sword. With a shout, he grabbed one for himself and launched a furious attack. Brenden parried, but was forced back several steps. As Brenden suspected, he was not nearly as strong as Angus, but their skill levels were about equal. Brenden fenced, Angus tried to batter through his defenses with brute force. This went on for two or three intense minutes.

After Brenden managed a riposte that barely missed Angus's shoulder, the two opened the distance between them to catch their breath, reassess one another, and plan the next move. Brenden moved to the attack with a high lunge. Angus batted it aside, but his return stroke died young when Brenden dropped to a knee and a hand and executed a beautiful leg sweep. Angus went down, his sword clattering away in the dust. Brenden sprang forward, but Angus rolled away. "You have me at a disadvantage, Sir Brenden," said Angus as he got to his feet.

Huh? Oh. Well, since it's just for sport. Brenden cast aside his sword and assumed a rear horse stance.

Angus looked momentarily lost. Brenden's fighting stance was new to him. He covered by wheezing, "A good Christian knight, you are, Sir Brenden."

Brenden grunted, not taking his attention off Angus. As he expected, Angus moved in like a wrestler. Brenden gave him a back knuckle and danced away. Angus circled, Brenden tried a front crescent kick. It landed solidly on Angus's shoulder, but the warrior smothered it with his arms before Brenden could recover. Oops. They say if a wrestler gets in close, the karate guy is finished, Brenden thought as he fell on his back. Guess I'm going to find out.

Angus was a good wrestler. Brenden was in trouble. As various parts of his body were torqued in directions Mother Nature never intended, Brenden felt constrained from using all the dirty tricks he normally would. With that handicap, he eventually was forced to yield. Angus helped him up, then slapped him on the back. "A fine shindy. Show me that move with your leg again."

Brenden did. Angus wanted to see more. Brenden obliged him for awhile, then Shiro wandered over. "You should talk to Shiro, Angus. He's the expert at unarmed combat."

Angus looked a little dubious. Brenden explained. "In the past, Shiro's people were conquered, and their masters would not allow them weapons of any sort. They learned to use their bodies as weapons to win their freedom." Which was roughly true of Core Earth martial arts. Brenden had no idea what was true of Marketplace martial arts, if Shiro was from Marketplace.

Shiro bowed slightly to Angus. Angus nodded. Shiro removed his shirt and the two went at it. As Brenden walked away, he heard the painful thud of someone landing flat on his back. He doubted it was Shiro.

Brenden's next stop was the archery list. While the bow was frowned upon as a weapon of war, archery was an essential skill for hunters. Brenden borrowed a bow and tried to remember long unused motions. No one laughed at him, but the best that could be said of his performance was that he put in journeyman effort. Screw this. I feel like Angus. Time to reclaim my self esteem. Brenden paced off fifty yards from one of the targets, marked it with a stone, and retrieved his Glock 9 mm. I haven't fired it in weeks, and I should probably see how the locals react to it. The other archers checked their fire to watch. Most were further away from the targets. Brenden assumed a shooter's stance and carefully squeezed off his 15 round magazine. Well, at least they all hit the board. Seven out of fifteen in the red isn't my best performance, but it isn't my worst. He picked up his brass and moved back. He had the attention of most of the people in the courtyard. They were curious, but not hostile. Brenden next retrieved his MP-40 and set up at 90 yards, the maximum distance he could get inside the castle walls. With successive short bursts, he knocked over all the archery targets. Much better.

When it became clear Brenden's little demonstration was at an end, several warriors cautiously approached, filled with questions. Brenden patiently explained that it was an advanced hand cannon. His clockwork analogies might or might not have been understood, be he hoped to get across the point it wasn't magic. Some of his audience believed him. "Even so, it's not a proper weapon for a knight," decreed one fellow. There was general agreement among the rest of the crowd.

Brenden had an argument for this. If I can't win over these people, I need to know it before we hit Camelot and really screw the pooch. "I will not deny there is less honor to be gained using this weapon than with good steel. However, I have pledged my life, my fortune, indeed, my sacred honor" -- Thank you, Founding Fathers -- "to ensuring Lady Anna completes her embassy. If I must forgo furthering my reputation and that of my line to ensure Lady Anna's success, then that is a small price for the salvation of my land."

Several of the younger knights dismissed the notion out of hand, but the Master-at-Arms and the older retainers nodded thoughtfully. Well, I've given them something to think about. Not as good a reaction as I hoped, but not so bad as I feared. Brenden went back to swordplay, figuring he'd pushed the envelope enough for one day. With Conn good-naturedly thrashing all comers with sword, and Shiro pounding wrestlers into the turf with clockwork regularity, Brenden got more than his fair share of takers. He held his own for quite awhile, but a succession of fresh opponents finally wore him down. Fortunately, after about an hour, Montgomery, Sir Montgomery now, put in an appearance and let Brenden nurse his bruises. If his title sticks, they'll have to make him an officer if he ever goes back to his unit. I wonder what he thinks of that, Brenden mused. The Colour Sergeant was a saber man, but his efficient fighting style carried over to straight blades, and his workman-like approach to combat unnerved enthusiastic bachelor knights half his age. Brenden appointed himself the cheerleading section for Shiro, Sir Conn, and Sir Montgomery and won a few silver shillings as their fortunes rode high.

The sun was low in the west when the festivities finally came to an end. A score or more of tired, battered, but satisfied men made their way to the kitchen in search of food. Brenden was just about to sit down with a drumstick of something that once had feathers and a flagon of good ale when Anna showed up. He detached himself from the impromptu blow-by-blow replays of the day's better moments, and went over to Anna, whistling absentmindedly. "How'd it go?"

Anna confiscated Brenden's drumstick, sat down, and smiled. "Sir Gavin was flabbergasted that I could read silently, never mind without moving my lips. I think I intimidated him; he stopped with the subtle come-ons. The history was in Latin, but I managed. Not much in the way of facts, but I got some feel for the politics and the personalities."

"And?" prompted Brenden.

"About what you'd expect. Morganna and Arthur's, ah, nephew, Mordred, hold power in the north and want to overthrow Arthur. Lots of the Knights of the Round Table are off questing."

"About what you'd expect," agreed Brenden. "Have you seen Alain today? The rest of us were playing with pointy metal objects most of the day."

Anna shook her head. "No, I was closeted with the baron, trying to recall irregular Latin verbs. I wonder what sort of trouble she got in."

"Well, if it were too bad, we'd know already."

"We can hope," agreed Anna.

Alain showed up about twenty minutes later, just after the baron put in his appearance. Alain approached Sir Gavin, in her hands a bolt of silk. Sir Gavin looked at the elf, then at Brenden and Anna, hoping they could explain Alain's behavior. Anna and Brenden shrugged and hid grins.

"Sir Gavin," began the elf.

"Yes, Alain? How may I help you?"

"I would like to offer you additional recompense for the horses you have so magnanimously offered us."

"Oh?" That had been the last thing that came to his mind when he saw the elf with silk enough to cover the cost of a company of footmen for an entire campaigning season.

"Yes, indeed. May I have your blade for a moment?" Sir Gavin was doubly surprised by this request, but he hid it reasonably well and offered the elf his sword. It was heavy and well maintained, but by no means remarkable.

"Thank you, Sir Gavin. This will take some time." The elf took the blade and sat down at the end of one of the long tables. The baron followed, but stayed at a respectful distance. Alain laid down the silk, then placed the baron's sword on it. She then unsheathed her dagger, and pulled a whetstone from one of her many small pouches. She began incanting and honing the blade of the dagger. The whole room fell into silence save for her arcane singsong. Even to the uninitiated, it was obvious that this magic required all the elf's will and focus.

After several minutes, Alain ended her chant on a rising note and touched dagger to sword. "Done. By Dunad, that was more difficult than I ever expected." She picked up the blade and grounded it on the table. Then she unfolded the silk and held it over the point of the sword. "I believe this is the traditional test," she mused as she let go of the silk. It fluttered down and impaled itself on the point of the sword. Gasps filled the room.

"St. George preserve me. This a wondrous thing you have done, Alain. I am in your debt." The baron practically gushed with gratitude as he reclaimed his weapon and ran his fingers over its edge and the silk in wonder.

Alain nodded. "The enchantment is permanent. I had never attempted that before. I suspect your blade is now equal to nearly any in the land." Conn, with evidence to the contrary, did not gainsay the elf's hyperbole. In any event, the feast that night was even larger an affair than that of the previous night. Still, before he got too forgetful, the baron sent a messenger to the town to have a ship ready to take the party to the mainland on the morning tide, which, fortunately, was not until some hours after dawn.

Morning came too early, but they managed. It was a beautiful day; the clear light of morning fell among the fresh green of the fields and forests, and clean, tangy air blew in from the sea. Sir Gavin and his assembled knights gave them a warm and elaborate send off. Brenden even felt comfortable in the saddle as they wended down the hill to the town. He took up whistling again.

"Brenden?"

Brenden turned to Anna. "Yes, My Lady Countess?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to have Conn do you great bodily harm unless you tell me what you're whistling. It's been driving me crazy for three days; I can almost recognize it."

Brenden laughed. "It just sort of popped into my mind the other day, when we were drying out. I guess my whistling is nearly as bad as my singing; I'd expected you'd recognize it. You really want to know?" At Anna's nod, he added the words.

O Fortuna,
velut luna
statu variabilis
semper crescis
aut decrescis,

he warbled. It took Anna a few seconds to recognize it. Then she grabbed an apple from her saddle bag and beaned Brenden.

Core Earthers are very odd, thought Conn. All the way to the mainland, every time Brenden caught Anna's attention, she scowled and he chuckled deeply and whistled another snatch of Orff's "Carmina Burana."