

Rebecca Cross & Rya Wolf

And They Shall Be Nameless

The Quickening

A Novel

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

And They Shall be Nameless is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Julie Crutchley and Leslie Douglas.

Copyright © 2016. Used by permission.

Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Cross and Rya Wolf

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Dedicated to those who,

like us, kick-started their dreams

with one simple question:

"What if...?"

Make your dreams happen.

Jack Lucas:

Where would King Arthur be without Guinevere?

Parry:

Happily married, probably.

– from The Fisher King

CONTENTS

Hesitation

Prologue: Go Way Back and Start Over

PART ONE

1. Favored Children

2. Destination: England

3. Adventure Straight Ahead

4. You've Got to Be Kidding...

5. Discover Your Destiny

6. Armed and Somewhat Dangerous

PART TWO

7. Providence

8. The Ungrateful Dead

9. New Friends in Low Places

10. Stoned on Elven Reefer

11. Legends in the Works

12. The Heart of a Child

13. All the Makings of a Squire

14. On the Road Again

15. First Impressions

PART THREE

16. Who Are These People, Anyway?

17. The Ball's In Pendragon's Court

18. Let the Games Begin

19. Judgment Day

20. First There Were Many

21. Then There Were Two

22. Victory and Defeat

PART FOUR

23. Retaliation

24. A Prelude to War

25. Into the Lair

26. The Challenge of Women

27. Proof

28. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

29. Hooked

30. Dancing with the Devil

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

# ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This effort would not have been possible without the support of the following individuals:

Edwin Firaved Fox Jr. for the use of his most interesting middle name.

Leslie Douglas, for lighting the way on how to get started, not to mention formatting, font changes, cover art, marketing, and so, so much more.

Betty and Michelle Farkas, our first fans, for reading – and cheering, laughing, and crying in all the right places.

Lucille and Mike Sutphin, for reviewing and editing the final copy.

Our families, for putting up with twenty-odd years of our long Friday night discussions, printing endless reams of paper and using up all the ink, and hours of collaborating and typing into the wee hours of the night. "What are they doing now?" seemed to be the question most asked. Well, we are now proud to show you the result. Enjoy.

#  Hesitation

The vacation had started out so well: first-class tickets, five-star hotel, and box seats in the West End. Now there was a damp, slimy wall, a bleeding and unconscious friend, and a greyish one-eyed blob of a creature with a caved-in skull.

Well. This sucked.

She huddled on the stone floor, blowing into her cupped, unprotected hands to warm them and tried to corral her flitting thoughts into some kind of order. She looked left and right, studying the empty tunnels on either side, flickering weirdly in the torchlight. There was a simple decision to be made: sit and wait for someone to find her, or go off in search of help. And yet, she hesitated.

Hesitation. Call it a sixth sense, call it a premonition, call it stupidity. Whatever name you assign to that feeling, mind how you heed it. Hindsight always wins and is clear-cut. Hesitation can result in impossible situations.

When confronted with the impossible, the imagination will begin to weave the most curious explanations into a tapestry of truth. Fight it, and you smother. Recognize it for what it is, and follow the trail where it leads. Sooner or later, all will be made clear. All you have to do is make a choice.

If you don't, the choice will be made for you. And that choice just might change your life.

1Prologue

#  Go Way Back and Start Over

All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish

the light of a single candle.

– Maria Gaulier

Every legend has a prophet of its own. This one has twelve.

When God gave His creatures the command to "be fruitful and multiply," they all did His bidding, including the magical creatures. This included the Dragons, the greatest legends in England's histories, whose existence is unknown to today's children. So sit you down and listen to a tale long forgotten.

This is the tale of Kierkegaard, a gentle female Dragon who was mated to Thaddeus, a powerful beast whose heart was as black as his hide. Kierkegaard sensed his evil nature, but in her blind faith toward her Creator and her new mate, she was certain his ways would change.

Her faith, however, was misplaced in the face of evil. Thaddeus was convinced that the Dragons were destined to rule the world and only one Dragon should take precedence over all the others. He had proclaimed himself that one. As they took their brood hunting one day at the edge of a fiery volcano, Thaddeus told his mate of his plans to order all of the creatures of the land to kneel down before him and declare him the Ruler of this new World. When Kierkegaard protested and finally refused to aid him in any way, Thaddeus, in a black rage, sent her screaming into the caldera, followed by each of the hatchlings. Madness enveloped him, claiming him for its own, and he began a journey to overtake the world as he had promised. Those that openly defied him – the Unicorns, the Pegasi, and other creatures of magic – were immediately vanquished.

It seemed for a time that Thaddeus would be victorious, but things are not always what they seem. One day, when he returned to the volcanic mountain where his reign of evil began, he discovered that one of their hatchlings had survived. It was a small, weak creature, but it was alive nonetheless. Thaddeus instantly moved to throw the little Dragon into the flames to join its brethren, but he was stopped when Kierkegaard rose up from the pits of the volcano and scooped the young one out of harm's way. As transparent as crystal, and as pure as the power of good, Kierkegaard drew her only living child out of Thaddeus's clutches and beyond her to safety; whereupon she delivered Thaddeus into judgment by pushing him into the caldera, as he had done to her. When his evil spirit rose like a green mist from the boiling lava, twisting and hissing, Kierkegaard trapped it in a huge ornate amphora and set it aside in a stone fortress away from the eyes of the world. She did not see that wisps of the mist fell to the earth and cooled into black obsidian pebbles that were instantly swallowed up by the borders of the caldera...but that tale is for another time.

It is written in the forgotten scrolls that Kierkegaard could not bring back the creatures of magic that Thaddeus had murdered. So she took six scales from her breast and created the Council of Twelve – twelve Dragons to take the places of the lost races, two Dragons from one scale. Instead of being crystalline like Kierkegaard, the ensuing horde had scale colors of red, blue, yellow, white, gold, and silver. The black scales of the tiny surviving Dragon were changed to reflect all these hues.

As the centuries passed, the Dragons populated the world, each individual adapting to the environments that suited them best. The original twelve Dragons, brought to life by otherworldly means, settled in Britain, where the poets and historians referred to them as "The Council of Twelve." These creatures had the ability to develop Human form, which led to integration with the upcoming rise of Humanity and created a revered breed known as "Dragonspawn."

The Council of Twelve was not a myth, and its members were not demigods. They were emissaries of the ancient Magic, a Magic that has dwindled in this time. When that Magic shows danger of disappearing forever, the world as we know it would end...unless someone could stop the slide.

♦ ♦ ♦

It should have been a wondrous time of the year. Winter was releasing its icy grip on the earth and the first signs of spring were tangible in the slightly chilly air. But there was something missing in this changing of the seasons, dimming some of the wonder and replacing it with despair. Once the coming of spring was heralded with the song of the bluebird and the bloom of the morning glory, but those days were long past. Now "spring" was discernible when the heavy winter snows changed to heavy rains, the only sign of a marginal increase in the frigid temperatures.

On this particular morning, there was a fine drizzle coming down that left all the land enshrouded in mist. The skeletal trees that poked through the seemingly impenetrable fog only added to the desolate mood that hung heavy in the air. It hung particularly heavy over a steep hilltop, still slushy with the last snowfall, where an old man stood alone, his outline a sharp contrast to the blurred, colorless backdrop of mist.

He was tall, this man – tall and lean of frame and gnarled like an age-old oak. The slight breeze that blew tousled what was left of his stringy white hair as he restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then finally gave up to lean wearily on his heavy wooden staff. Hollow eyes surveyed the land around him, coming to rest on the ground he stood upon. It used to be the very foundation of the golden age. Now it was a quagmire, destroyed by the same magic that had built it.

Fragments of memories seeped in and out of his mind. The power behind them threatened to engulf him at any time, for they were broken dreams of a time that had once been the most glorious ever. Even after a hundred years, the torture the memories wrought upon his emotions was overwhelming.

"Oh, Father, how?" he whispered, his gaze rising to the clouded sky. "How could I have let it happen?" He wasn't really speaking with any hope of getting a reply, since he had asked the same question time and time again. The reason was simply to hear his voice.

No other living souls around would speak to him since the Downfall. They thought him a madman, a pagan horror that threatened their very existence. The man's tired black eyes filled with tears as he thought of the many generations of people that come and go in a century, and those that had truly known him were long gone. He had only himself for company, for even his magic had deserted him – the magic that had made him an outcast and damned him to a life of loneliness and despair, but had also given him the wisdom for which he had once been revered.

He had been the last of the great necromancers. He'd been the greatest to ever enter the guild. But now his power was gone, and the world was sliding further and further into the depths of hell. That much he could see. His visions of the future were still strong and clear. But despite the terrors he was shown, something compelled him to look again and again. What was he looking for? A haven? A foothold which he could grab to suspend Humanity above the flames? Something held his despair at bay just enough for him to continue his search.

His eyes were drawn to a puddle of muddy water at his feet. Show me! he commanded silently, willing the visions to come to him again. Tell me what I need to know!

The surface of the puddle rippled slightly, though the faint breeze had ceased. The water cleared, then bubbled once or twice and a blurred blotch of deep green, like a drop of ink, began to spread throughout the water. The old man concentrated hard, unblinking, as the blotch lengthened and coiled, and finally took on the shape of a Dragon – a magnificent, shining green beast with piercing emerald eyes full of infinite wisdom.

The man's hands tightened on his staff. "Faigan!" he whispered. Within the puddle, the beast raised its head and looked directly at him, and he held his breath. This was the first time the Sight had shown him the Dragon. Could this be the answer he had sought for so long? Was his torment finally ending? A small spark of hope lit within him as he met the surprisingly gentle gaze of the huge creature.

Faigan was the Dragon King, leader of the Council of Twelve, the order of Dragons that held the secrets and wisdom of the Ancient Ages. The Downfall had taken its toll on the Dragons and they had all disappeared, either into oblivion or to the outer limits of conscious being. Who went where, no one knew. Faigan, like the man who watched him through the puddle, had also lost hold on his power when the kingdom fell, but his strength and will had kept him in the mortal world while his companions had simply vanished into the void. Now he was in hibernation, waiting for the day when the Magic would return to the land.

The man stared intently into the water. His visions had always been of death and destruction, of famine and pestilence, and he always knew the final outcomes. Yet still he managed to keep a pinprick's worth of optimism – he still hoped for a change, a slight variation, anything that would give him a clue and at least put his memories to rest. And now his hopes were being answered, or so it seemed. When there is no real end in sight, any fantasy or delusion can inspire fierce promise, and the impulse to believe kept the demons of doubt at bay.

The Dragon blinked slowly and somewhere in the recesses of a time long past, the man heard the faint echo of his name. I am here! he cried silently. Tell me, Faigan! Tell me what I need to do!

Suddenly the Dragon was consumed by a mass of hot, uncontrollable flames that practically leapt from the puddle's configurations. The man lifted a corner of his tattered cloak to protect himself from the searing heat that suffused him like a desert storm, but held his ground. Within the center of flame, figures took form, writhing and curling in the brightness. As they coalesced, the man, tensing in anticipation, found himself looking at two young women, one with hair dark as a raven's wing, the other crowned with the flames themselves. But what filled his eyes the most were the beasts that rose hissing from their shoulders, one blue and one green.

Dragonspawn!

The man leaned forward eagerly as the flames dissipated, his eyes watering from the strain of his concentration. The Dragon's eyes met the man's gaze, and it blinked slowly before the vision rippled and faded away.

The man raised a hand to his streaming eyes as he looked away from the puddle. His hand stopped halfway to his eyes as he saw another vision. Or was it real?

A few meters away from the puddle was a sword, its blade buried a third of the way into the soft earth. The tempered steel was rusted, the leather-wrapped handle was rotted, the gilded crossbar was peeling, and there were pock marks where precious gems used to sparkle. But even at its worst, the man recognized the Sword of Power, the great Excalibur.

Trembling, hardly daring to breathe, his fingers brushed against the hilt. Without warning he was surrounded by a warm, caressing aura of nearly forgotten memories, causing him to fall to his knees as the minuscule spark of hope within him kindled into a roaring flame. In a voice he thought he'd never hear again, the sword's power whispered through his mind, welcoming him, telling him what it needed. It told him what he needed, and above all, it told him what the land needed. Tears of gratitude slid down his sunken cheeks as he listened, and his reason, almost destroyed from the years of hopeless despair, began to mend. The foothold had been found, shaky and hard to grasp, but it was a foothold that halted the slide.

No longer feeling old, the man grabbed up the sword in both hands and hurried away from the foundation on which he'd been standing; the feet that had been weighed down from a century's torment were suddenly lighter than air. The Sword was giving him back his powers, restoring his sanity...and expecting a task in return. The man was only too glad, too grateful to comply, for the task it asked was one he had dreamed of doing but had lacked the means. Now that a portion of the magic was his to control again, he had the opportunity to go back, way back and start over, terminating the mistakes and thwarting trouble in advance.

Eliminate one catalyst. Rebuild a dream. Rebuild Camelot.

It was a task anyone in their right mind would never turn down and he least of all. He was the one who had given everything he had to build it in the first place. Its destruction had been his own fault, and he'd felt it like no one else. Now it was time to change that. Now he could finally right his wrongs.

Eliminate one catalyst.

It was the chance of a lifetime. And the necromancer called Merlin was more than ready to take it.

#  PART ONE

Once Upon a Time

Chapter 1

# Favored Children

I talk of dreams; Which are the children of an idle brain,

Begot of nothing but vain phantasy...

– William Shakespeare

Orlando, Florida – 1988

The prelude to Wagner's Lohengrin filtered through the spacious studio apartment on Pendragon Court, echoing in the empty rooms via cleverly hidden speakers. It floated down the hallway, crept deliciously along the elegantly paneled walls, and eventually found its way into the candle-lit bathroom, where it wrapped itself around the woman in the large Jacuzzi bathtub, soothing her mind with its intricate melodies just as the hot scented water and bubbles soothed her tired, aching muscles.

Tatiana Richfield treasured these moments of solitude. After a day of ringing phones, deadlines, and puzzling manuscripts full of spelling and punctuation errors, not to mention grammatical mix-ups that had even the presidents of the company scratching their heads, there was nothing like letting an operatic genius like Richard Wagner take her troubles away. She stretched and slid further down into the water. Her long flame-red hair, which turned an interesting shade of claret when it was wet, fanned out under her chin and she automatically gathered it into a dripping tail, pushing it behind her and out of the way. Her hand touched something soft and furry...and vibrating. It felt suspiciously like a purring cat.

"Tierza," she murmured, "one day you're going to fall into this tub, sweetheart, and I don't want to hear any complaining when you do." She turned her head just enough to look into the tiny face of her purebred Persian kitten, who was balancing precariously on the edge of the tub behind her mistress's head. The kitten's slanted golden eyes blinked and she mewed in a huffy sort of way before she jumped down and quietly stalked out of the room with her soft white fluff of a tail twitching and pert pink nose held high.

Tatiana chuckled at her pet's performance. The little minx could make Zsa Zsa Gabor look like a dairy maid. She leaned back and closed her eyes as Elsa and Lohengrin began their first duet, losing herself in the music once more. As the notes grew stronger and richer, she eventually slid completely under the scented water, leaving a couple of popping bubbles in her wake. Her hair slid from the rim of the tub to follow, disappearing into the iridescence like a cinnamon sea serpent.

The only daughter of two immensely successful lawyers, Tatiana – "Tash" to her family and friends – had been all but buried in the wealthy coddling of upper class morality. She had been waited upon hand and foot by her doting parents and their household staff since infancy, and she had never known what it felt like to be needy. But fortunately for Tash, she had a keen sense of self-reliance, which developed early enough for her to keep her head above the swamp of overindulgence. She had held two jobs during her high school years, even though her father would have given her any amount of money. Her first car was paid for with her own earnings, and even though the used and battered Chevy Caprice looked odd next to her father's sleek black Rolls Royce and her mother's slate blue Mercedes, Tash was satisfied and felt that her car boldly announced her independence.

Now that she was holding her own as a top-of-the-line literary agent at the nationally acclaimed Avalon Corporation, she had long ago traded the Chevy in for a forest-green 1961 Jaguar E type convertible and had moved into a beautifully furnished studio apartment in the suave section of Orlando. She had done it all herself, without one penny from her daddy. And Jase had the nerve to call her spoiled!

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, but Tash, surrounded by watery exuberance, didn't hear them. There was a muffled exclamation of disgust, Lohengrin stopped in mid-aria and there were a few seconds of silence before the speakers nearly shattered under the force of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." Tash bolted from her haven like a dolphin from the sea, splattering water everywhere. Realizing that she wasn't being robbed (what kind of robber would change the compact disc?), she sank back into the tub. "Good lord," she muttered, trying to calm her hammering heart. "Jase, you idiot..." Now she heard the footsteps coming down the hall. She quickly put her head back on the bath pillow, pretending indifference. Let Jase think she was becoming used to her idiosyncrasies. Two people couldn't endure a nine-year friendship without putting up with the little things. Well, at least some of the little things.

The bathroom door opened and a head poked inside, a head crowned with a wealth of tousled onyx-black hair and showing a face full of the energy and mischief that Jasin Támariz was notorious for. Although she could be cool and businesslike when the need arose, the mischievous side of her nature usually dominated, and Jase was forever in trouble because of it, but she brushed off any threats of danger and continued her life in the fast lane with all the joie de vivre she could manage.

No two people could have been more different than Jasin Támariz and Tatiana Richfield. Jase was part Seminole, and that heritage, combined with living on the wrong side of the tracks in a very prejudiced community, had unfortunately dropped her on poverty's doorstep the day she was born. She had run away from her abusive drunk of a father at an early age and had luckily been taken in by a wealthy Spanish couple before she had languished on the streets. Jase never forgot her life before her adoptive parents found her and she was determined never to be that helpless and destitute again. Her perseverance had paid off, and now she was the artistic director of Orlando's Toreador Theater, as well as the proud owner of American Babylon, one of Florida's most prestigious Spanish/Norman equestrian ranches. However, despite her rich surroundings, she remained as carefree and cynical as a New York gang leader, acting on impulse and burrowing her way through trouble like a rabbit burrowing through a thicket of thorns.

The two had met at the tender age of fifteen, at an obscure but costly boarding school, forced to live together in the same small dorm room. On that first day of school, they had disliked one another on sight: Jase saw in Tash a spoiled snit born with a silver spoon in her mouth and her nose in the air, and Tash saw in her new roommate a first-class ticket to being booted off the campus, not to mention an invitation to life-long trouble. It didn't take long, though, for them to realize that Fate had dealt them both a prodigious favor, for each one discovered that the other's so-called faults were traits that the other secretly relied on. Jase needed Tash's stability to keep her out of daily crises, whereas Tash longed for just a little wildness in her otherwise productive and tidy life. The only thing they had in common were their vivid, overactive imaginations, something that made everything they did together either one holy hell of a mess or an incredible adventure. Naturally, they became the best of friends.

No imagination was evident in Jase's voice or manner now, however. The mischief was in full swing as she leaned against the door frame, careful not to dislodge the little white kitten that perched on her shoulder. Tash noticed that she was dressed for a night of bar-hopping – a skimpy white tank top that allowed the head of her 12-inch blue Dragon tattoo to peek over one sun-browned shoulder, sleek button-fly Levis, and her beloved, battered Durangos. Her hair, usually pulled into a horsetail-thick English braid, rippled down to her waist in a wavy blue-black waterfall, and gold hoop earrings with a circumference of at least 2½ inches sparkled in her ears. It was going to be another of those "beat-'em-off-with-a-broom" nights that Jase reveled in.

The merry dark eyes took in the sight of the water-soaked floor. "Did we do a swan dive into yonder whirlpool?" she asked.

Well, so much for appearing nonchalant. Tash let her breath out slowly. "It's your fault, you ass. You scared me to death. There's a doorbell out there, you know."

"Give me a break," Jase replied. "You're telling me that you would have come running to welcome me at the door in your birthday suit, dripping your Calgon water all over your nice hardwood floor? Such an image. You gave me a key to avoid doorbells, remember?"

"Much to my regret."

"Oh, don't moan. Besides I'm glad I interrupted this travesty of opera, candles, ad nauseum...Really, Tasher, I know you were bred to this, but enough is enough."

Tash sighed. Her dream date with Wagner had met its untimely end. "You are such a Neanderthal," she muttered, closing her eyes again. "All your taste is in your mouth. Don't you know classical music when you hear it?"

"Sure, I've got some classical stuff playing right now," Jase replied, hooking a thumb behind her to indicate the racket pounding over the stereo. "I can't take violins and sopranos on Friday nights." She scratched under Tierza's chin affectionately, making the kitten purr like a well-tuned Ferrari. "Come to think of it," she mused, "I can't take them the rest of the week, either."

"Nice try," Tash murmured, eyes still closed. "Let's not forget that you've gone with me to see Phantom of the Opera four times –"

"That's different –"

"– and you cried all the way through Faust."

Jase frowned. "I did not."

Tash would not be swayed. "You did. Aaaaand I do believe I saw tears during La Boheme, and during that one scene in The Marriage of Figaro..."

Jase waved her hand in dismissal. "Well, anyhow, I'm not talking about stuff like that. I mean like..." She paused, trying to think of something to rest her case.

Tash opened one eye. "Like?"

Jase gave up. "Ah, screw it. What I mean is this is music."

"I never said it wasn't." Tash replied, tapping her manicured nails against the white porcelain of the tub. Classics aside, she couldn't help but admit that ol' Bruce did make her toes curl.

Jase started to jam with the Boss, making the kitten hold on for dear life. "Come on, you bloody silverspoon," she growled in mid-guitar riff. "Orlando gents don't like pruny skin. Up! Out! The delights of Friday night beckon!" She dropped to one knee and howled, "Baby, we were born to ruuuuunnnn!"

With her toes, Tash deftly hit the drain guard and lay back as the water level began to recede. "When are you going to grow up?" she asked in a no-nonsense tone.

Jase continued to bop. "As soon as hell freezes over." She started singing again, purposefully off key.

"Shut up, will you?" Tash groaned. "Let me get over a hectic Friday afternoon before I start on a Saturday morning hangover." She held up a handful of suds remaining in the drained bathtub. "And by the way, this is from The Body Shop in London, seventeen dollars a bottle. It is certainly not Calgon."

"Well, pardon me for not smelling the difference." Jase jumped up on the sink, cat and all. "You're in a royal snit. Did you have a rough day?"

Tash padded over to the shower and turned on the water to rinse off. "That's an understatement. The phone rang constantly, the big wigs want the Emerson manuscript by ten o'clock on Monday, and Tony Cesaro keeps spelling 'all right' as one word. Then, to top it off, Monica hit the wrong key on the 'puter and deleted the Royhill package. Thank God I had a floppy disk backup."

Jase grimaced. "Sounds like you need a new secretary."

"She is a new secretary, Jase, and she's never messed with computers before." Tash slid the door open and grabbed her towels from their waiting hooks. "Do me a favor and go turn that thing down before the Thompson's maid calls the cops again."

"Aw, let her call," Jase said flatly, parking her boots on top of the white marble sink. "That old biddy would call the cops on her own mother." She shifted Tierza to the other shoulder and grinned. "Besides, I haven't had a good shouting match with a cop since the day I wouldn't sign my last speeding ticket."

"Feet off the sink, please," Tash commented, and Jase complied. "You spent the night in jail, too, if I recall," Tash continued. "I'm not bailing you out again. Turn it down."

Another battle lost. Jase grumbled as she walked out and turned Bruce's gravely growl into a barely audible purr and came back in the bathroom. "You realize I just committed sacrilege?" she complained.

"Suffer," Tash retorted unsympathetically. "No Wagner for me, no Bruce for you." She reached outside again for her green silk robe. "So talk to me. I guess your day was as eventful as ever?"

Jase giggled. "Ian backed into my stepladder while I was touching up part of a backdrop and got doused in cadmium yellow paint. I spent half my morning running from him. I guess the man just can't take a joke."

Tash shrugged into her robe and shook her head, knowing just how hard Jase tried to escape from Ian O'Donnell, one of the Toreador's most irresistible leading men and the most likely candidate for luring Jase into something akin to marriage. "No wonder you're pawing at the ground," she said. "I wish he'd hurry up and pop the question so you'd stop sowing wild oats all over Orlando."

"You've got your genders crossed, Tasher. Men sow the oats."

Tash put her hands on her hips. "So what is it you do, then?"

Jase grinned. "Enjoy them."

"Whatever. Now what are we doing tonight?"

Jase threw her arms wide. "Throw on your party togs, woman. We're celebrating."

"What did you do now, seduce that hot Spanish actor your cousin's always raving about – what's his name, Antonio Bono, Bandolier –"

"Banderas," Jase supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, that's it. Cause in that case I won't celebrate; I'll kill you – I happen to share her opinion, you know."

"Don't worry, I'm not that lucky. It's a little closer to home, though. Lady finally foaled this morning."

"Did she!" Tash's face was suddenly alight with pleasure, for The Lady of the Lake was her favorite brood mare on Jase's ranch. "Well, that is worth a few rounds. How many does that make? Twenty?"

"Twenty-two," Jase said proudly. "I'll need to expand the ranch or sell some kids" – Jase affectionately referred to her horses as her "kids" – "and it's gonna be a while before I do that, so I guess I'll have to con my tightwad manager into building a new baby barn."

Tash leaned forward eagerly. "So tell me – does the new addition look like Cal?"

"You'd better believe it," Jase laughed. "Black as coal, with blood as blue as the Mediterranean." She leaned back against the wall and put her feet back up on the sink again. "Mr. Andalusian Stud is the best sire I've seen for throwing type on my Percheron ladies. The colt's strutting around already like the Prince of the Forest. He thinks he owns the place."

"No doubt you've named him properly."

"Not yet. Thought I'd let you have the honors, since Lady's one of your favorites."

Tash, who had just settled her expensive Vanderbilt glasses on her perfect Roman nose, turned and gaped at Jase through the crystal-clear lenses. "You're letting me name one of your Spanish/Normans? What's gotten into you?"

"Generosity. You can pay me back by buying the poison tonight."

Tash rolled her eyes. "There's always a catch." She gave up on trying to knock Jase's feet to the floor and jumped up on the sink herself. "Now what are the rules?"

Jase's lip twisted and she gestured at Tash's glasses. "First off, leave those damned things here tonight and wear your contacts." Tash glared over the golden rim of the aforementioned damned things, which made Jase snicker. "I'm just pulling your chain, Tasher. You know you look good in anything. Now think a bit – this shouldn't be too hard for a well-read lady. You've read Malory. You've read Homer and Socrates. What would you name a colt whose sire was named 'Caligula's Midnight Messenger' and whose dam was named 'The Lady Of The Lake?' And no funny business."

Tash tapped her fingernail against her cheek, thinking. "'Dangerous Liaison,'" she suggested after a few minutes.

Jase picked up a jar of bath crystals, hefting them meaningfully. "That ain't Malory. Try again."

Tash took the hint. "Okay, sorry. Let's see...how about 'Champion of the Queen?'"

Jase considered. "'Champion of the Queen.' Yeah. Very good. Gives him a royal air."

The word prompted Tash's memory as she vigorously towel-dried her hair. "Royal...oh! That reminds me. I have a surprise for you." She slid off the sink and ran out of the bathroom.

Jase followed, groaning. "Oh, no, wait a minute. I really don't want any more of your surprises, Tash."

"No, trust me," Tash said, digging through her purse. "This one's really great."

"That's what you said about your last one," Jase retorted, balling her hands on her hips. "I don't call a box of Today sponges a great surprise."

"You can't tell me you weren't surprised," Tash said, abandoning the purse and reaching for her briefcase. "You nearly yelled the office down."

"And for good reason, too!" Jase countered. "They're a pain in the ass. Have you ever tried them?"

"That would be a moot effort, wouldn't it?" Tash threw back, pushing her damp hair behind her ears. "God knows you need them more than I do. Running from Ian, my aunt Fanny...Damn! Where are those things?" Paper flew in all directions as she dug through the briefcase.

In spite of herself, Jase was curious. "Really, Tash, what have you got up your sleeve now?"

"Ah!" Tash grinned triumphantly and held up a thick white envelope. "This is what's up my sleeve." She held it out. "Open it and die."

Jase frowned as she took the envelope from the outstretched hand. God only knew what was in this thing. Despite her no-fuss-and-no-muss mind, Tash had a badly twisted sense of humor. What did this contain? An unpaid parking ticket? Condoms with glow-in-the-dark pinstripes? A coupon for rose-scented Calvin Klein kitty litter? The possibilities were endless.

"Jase," Tash said, "will you stop staring at the thing and just open it? Believe me, you'll like this."

Jase sighed and dipped her hand resignedly into the envelope. It came out holding a plane ticket to...Her jaw visibly dropped and she steadied herself on Tash's dresser.

"A first-class ticket to England," she said in awe. "We're going to England? Really??" She broke into a rousing, if slightly off-key version of "God Save The Queen," substituting "la-la's" for the words she didn't know. Jase firmly believed in singing her feelings. If the song matched the occasion, she sang it with gusto.

"Oh, we're definitely celebrating tonight," she crowed after a few minutes, when she had too many "la's" and not enough words. "It's on you, right? I don't owe a penny, right? What's the skinny, Tasher? Did you finally get hold of some cadmium yellow? With Alex, I hope?"

Tash smiled tolerantly. Jase was always trying to set her up with her co-worker. "Calm down, Tonto; it's nothing like that. I thought we could use a little vacation, so I made all the arrangements on Tuesday. And yes, it's all on me. Call it an early birthday present. And never, ever call me a cheapskate again." She started to stuff the papers she'd scattered back into her briefcase. "Think of the quaint bed and breakfasts, melting British accents, the Tower of London, Ascot, Wimbledon, Salisbury Plain..."

"Ah, yes, Salisbury Plain," Jase repeated, staring dreamily at the ticket.

"Quit drooling on the tickets," Tash ordered. "You don't think I'm going over there without seeing Stonehenge, do you? Yes, Jase, the ticket's authentic; we're going to England for a whole week." She smirked. "So much for buying your booze tonight. You owe me about six bottles of Glenfiddich for this."

"Glenlivet."

"Who cares? Either way, your liver still rots. And either way you owe me."

"Whatever," Jase said softly, still looking at the ticket.

Tash faked exasperation. "With all the money you're making now, can't you even offer me a bottle of old Scotch? Geez, and you call me a tightfist."

Jase finally looked up from the ticket. "What made you decide to go now?"

Tash was still stuffing papers in her briefcase. "What?"

"Why now?" Jase repeated. "It'll be freezing. It's still winter."

Tash looked thoughtful. "Is it? Well, hell, I thought it was June. No wonder Alex looked at me funny when I wore that bikini to work yesterday."

Jase didn't laugh. In fact, her manner had taken a 180-degree turnaround. Tash's eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown.

"What gives?" she asked. "If you don't want to go, tell me."

"Tell me why you're in such a rush," Jase repeated. "No planning, no phone calls, nothing. Why so quick?" Her eyes were probing. "Anything you want to tell me?"

The corner of Tash's mouth quirked. "Well, all right," she said reluctantly, "Don't laugh." Jase nodded and Tash continued, feeling foolish. "I've had this...really strange dream for the past three nights about Stonehenge. It's all wreathed in mist – you know, hardly there." Tash's eyes became distant as the picture sharpened in her mind. "It's exactly the same every night. There's something in the middle of the circle. When I look a little harder, the mist seems to solidify into the shape of a Dragon, a green Dragon. It raises its head and looks at me with these incredibly bright green eyes. I want to run, but I can't move. And yet at the same time I don't want to move...I don't know. Are you getting any of this?"

Jase had a queer look on her face. "Yeah."

Tash nodded back. "Good. Then it speaks to me in this voice puts Patrick Stewart's out to pasture." She grinned, waiting for Jase to make some smart-ass comment, and when Jase just looked at her expressionlessly, Tash made a sound of disgust. "Oh, come on, Jase, we've thought up better tales than this. What's your hang-up?"

Jase slid off the sink and put Tierza on the floor, watching for a moment as the kitten wandered out of the room. Then she turned back to Tash and smiled a bit.

"Come to us, favored child," she said quietly.

"Huh?" Tash was taken off guard.

"That's what the dragon said. 'Come to us, favored child.' Am I right?"

Tash stared. "How...how did you know?"

Jase took a deep breath and started to pace. "Because I've had the exact same dream on the exact same three nights. Heavy mist around Stonehenge, a coiled green Dragon that appears out of nowhere, the same voice...and when I wake up, I have the worst urge to hop the next plane to England."

Tash indicated the envelope in Jase's hand. "So do I." She roused herself after a few uncertain moments of silence and took the envelope back. "Start packing," she ordered, putting the envelope and more papers in her briefcase. "We're out of here Monday evening."

♦ ♦ ♦

Tash sat at her prized Steinway baby grand piano and pondered. The celebration had been abandoned for the evening since Jase had to make some phone calls. Tash had already called Alex Talbot, her partner, or "co-scribbler," as she'd dubbed him; he'd told her to have a good time, drink a lot of Guinness, learn some cockney, and bring him an Oxford University sweatshirt. Things were taken care of on her part. Now she could concentrate on the purpose of this trip itself.

The same dream had returned to her subconscious for three nights in a row, like a video replay. Had she honestly lost her mind this time? No, Jase had dreamed the same dream. They'd had similar dreams in the past and had brushed them off, but never the same exact dream, with the same mist, the same Dragon, the same words.

Come to us, favored child. What did it mean? What did it have to do with her and Jase? Or was it just coincidence? All she knew was that the overpowering urge to go to England was too strong to deny each time she woke up from the dream. No, there were just too many questions for this to be a coincidence. Tash turned a deaf ear to the small voice of reason within her that told her she was being foolish, being rash...because she knew in her heart that something was going to happen when she and Jase went to England.

Little Tierza jumped up on the bench beside her and gazed up with big golden eyes. Tash gazed back. It was said that cats knew the world's secrets. How she wished she could ask the kitten what she knew.

"Come to us," she whispered, and her fingers slowly spread out on the smooth ivory keys. Lost in thought, she began to play.

Chapter 2

#  1Destination: England

It matters not how straight the gate.

How charged with punishments the scroll

I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

– William Ernest Henley

The 747 was almost lost in the clouds as it cruised low over the British Islands. The current weather report showed that conditions at Gatwick Airport were not pleasant: the notorious clouds were dumping heavy sheets of rain across the runways, raising heavy mist and making the visibility downright rotten. But the pilot had seen much worse and began to bring the plane down with the confidence that years of training had sharpened to perfection.

The male flight attendant's distinguished lilt crackled over the speaker system, waking Jase from a deep sleep. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent towards Gatwick Airport, and we will be landing in approximately 15 minutes. It's 6 degrees Centigrade – that's roughly 42 degrees Fahrenheit – and raining in London, and the current time is 10:00 a.m. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, and thank you for flying Virgin Atlantic."

Jase grinned. She was such a sucker for a British accent. Even random directions like landing procedures sounded like sweet music when spoken by an Englishman.

All around the first-class cabin of the plane, people stirred from sleep, snapped seatbelts together, and set watches. Jase folded up her blanket and glanced down at Tash, satin sleep mask still in place, still doing the tango with the Sandman somewhere. Jase shook her head. How could Tash sleep through that last message, especially when it was so...so English? Jase nudged her carefully, once, twice. At the third nudge Tash moved, but snuggled further under the blanket.

"Don' wanna go to school," she mumbled.

Jase finally gave up and poked her with a well-aimed elbow. "Wake up!" she said sharply, causing Tash to sit bolt upright with a very unladylike grunt of surprise.

Tash pushed her sleep mask up and blinked owlishly at Jase. "Oh, it's you. We there already?"

Jase sat back. "I'm beginning to think you'd sleep through Judgment Day. We land in about ten minutes. Fasten your seatbelt."

Tash clipped the ends of the belt together and turned to look out the window. Her lack of reaction puzzled Jase. Usually Tash was uncontrollable when something excited her, and Jase knew the prospect of being in a country she'd dreamed of going to for years had to excite her. She should have had her nose pressed to the glass and been saying something utterly stupid – something along the lines of, "Look! Grass! British grass!" Yet she sat quietly, staring out the window at the gray cottony clouds, her expression thoughtful. Maybe she was just tired.

"Are you awake?" Jase asked, only half teasingly, trying to jolt her out of her reverie.

Tash nodded, still looking out the window. "I'm just thinking about the dream I had."

Jase felt chilly, as if she'd swallowed an ice cube whole. Tash had taken the words right out of her mouth. "Tell me about it," she prodded.

Tash's eyes suddenly came into focus. "Not now. Later, when we're alone." She was folding up her blanket when she suddenly jerked her head toward Jase, wearing a surprised expression. "Hey. Guess what." Her voice carried a note of discovery.

"What?" Jase asked, totally uncomprehending. Tash's subject changes could be mentally dangerous, she abruptly recalled.

Tash's face broke out into a huge, illuminating, and completely silly grin. "We're in England! England, Jase! Look!" She pressed her nose to the window. "Look at the grass! That's British grass! And there's rain! British water! And look, fog! London fog...!"

♦ ♦ ♦

After an uneventful run through customs and a stop at the luggage pickup terminal, the pair found themselves trying to figure out the London streets in a rented Mercedes coupe. The downpour had finally lessened into a spasmodic trickle of rain that promised a cool, clear evening. Jase found the art of driving on the right side of the car and on the left side of the road a particular novelty and thereby designated herself as chauffeur-in-charge for the entire trip. Tash viewed this particular quirk with amused silence, letting Jase race around to her heart's content. Tash herself took the opportunity to check out the scenery, snapping a few photographs of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament while Jase drove madly around the streets, searching for the one that would lead them to their hotel. With her attention on the road and a small map that the rental company had provided, and Tash's attention on her camera, they both defined the concept of "damn Yanks," especially to the pedestrians they almost ran over in their attempts to achieve their goals.

About twenty minutes passed before Jase finally found the hotel and they went through all the formalities of checking in. After Tash had tipped the porter, she flopped unceremoniously onto one of the suite's lavish double beds and sighed deeply. "Wake me for supper," she mumbled. Her eyes closed, but popped open quickly as a pillow landed on her midsection with a soft plop.

"You are not going to sleep," Jase ordered. "Tash, for God's sake, we're in England."

Tash smiled drowsily. "Yeah. Great, isn't it?"

Jase couldn't resist smiling back. "Absolutely. You've come across the ocean to the Land of the Once and Future King, and now you want to hit the sack. Uh-uh. Up, cretin. I want to talk to you."

Tash turned onto her belly and her eyes slid shut again. "'Bout what?" she asked, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"About the dream you had on the plane."

The sleepiness departed as the dream came back into Tash's mind. "Oh, yeah." She sat up and ran a hand through her tousled red hair. "I said I'd talk about it later, didn't I?"

Jase put her hands on her hips. "Later is now. Talk."

"Yes, ma'am." Tash rubbed her eyes. "Well, for starters, I saw the Dragon again."

Jase sat down on her own bed. "Huh."

"Yeah. But it was different. It was...somewhere, I don't know. It wasn't Stonehenge. But it was really misty again, like in the other dream. I could hardly make him out. Somehow I know he's waiting. He keeps reappearing out of nowhere, you know –"

"Yes, go on," Jase interrupted.

"Well," Tash continued, her voice taking on a tone of wonder as she got caught up in the description, "he sat up and looked right at me with those incredible eyes. Then he raised one of his wings, and I saw a woman lying there, sleeping."

Jase nodded, but didn't say anything.

"She had long black hair," Tash continued, "like yours, but it wasn't you – she was too regal-looking to be you –"

"Thanks," Jase interrupted. "Please skip the comparisons."

Tash grinned. "–and she was wearing this deep purple robe without any decoration whatsoever. But she didn't need any, Jase, because I swear this lady was..." She gestured helplessly. "Don't laugh."

"Was?" Jase prompted, leaning forward.

Tash sighed. "Well, she was glowing, or something like that. She had an aura around her, this soft white aura, and she looked so noble, like a queen or a goddess. I felt like a peon, 'cause there was such power radiating from these two. The Dragon lowered his wing and the mist became really thick, so thick that I couldn't see them anymore. But I heard the voice again, and it said –"

"We await you, favored child."

They said the phrase together, stared at each other in shock, and Tash peered hard at Jase. "You..."

Jase's eyes were still wide. "Yes, I had the same dream. Exactly the same, right down to the aura around the lady, and the feeling that I was...well, witnessing some sacred event."

Tash stood up and began to pace thoughtfully. "This is interesting. Scary, but interesting." She started to nibble on her perfectly manicured thumbnail, but stopped herself in time. "Jase, we were supposed to come here. I feel it. Can't you?"

"All I feel is cold," Jase replied, rubbing her arms. "I'm not too fond of this supernatural stuff, especially when it's true."

Tash ignored her as she tried to sort things out. "Yes, it's a sending of some kind. But now I don't know whether or not we're supposed to go to Stonehenge. I wonder if that was just a signal, like a landmark to let us know where in the world we were to come..."

"Don't get all philosophical on me," Jase replied. "We're on vacation, for God's sake. Let's go to Stonehenge anyhow; we might as well do all the sightseeing we can."

Tash stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips. "Look, we can't just blow this off. It's too precise to be a coincidence."

"I know," Jase agreed, holding up her hands. "I know. But I think the best thing to do is not focus on it so hard. Let's try a diversion of some sort."

Tash frowned. "Yeah, but..."

"I'm serious, Tash. This could be the start of something incredible. Never look a gift horse in the mouth."

Tash had been ready for another droll comment, but Jase's words caused her to shut her mouth so quickly that her teeth clicked together. Never wish too hard for something, you might get it...If you love something, set it free...all the old smarmy card store phrases suddenly applied to the situation. If these dreams really did mean something, then perhaps Jase was right in opting for a cavalier approach. "Okay," she sighed, "you win. Divert me."

Jase grinned like the Cheshire cat. "How does shopping in Piccadilly sound? Then we can grab some shepherd's pie and a few pints of Guinness, go to the Tower, squander some money and some film, and hit the West End. There's bound to be some poor, unfortunate souls waving front-mez Phantom of the Opera tickets for anyone who might have the cash..."

Tash had grabbed her camera and her jean jacket before Jase finished speaking. "Last one to the lobby is a hemorrhoid," she said, darting out the door.

Jase was right behind her. "Tally ho!"

♦ ♦ ♦

Merlin stroked his beard absently as he watched the two women through the giant crystal stalactite that hung from the ceiling of his underground chamber like a shining icicle.

"At last," he murmured to himself. "Thank the Mother, it is almost finished." He turned away from the crystal, lost in thought. As he passed the dining table, he snatched a small loaf of bread and tossed it into a shimmering pool of water in the corner. Blind albino fish appeared like white lightning at the surface and attacked the loaf in frenzy.

His familiars were the only things Merlin expected to find in his old chamber when he returned. So many years had passed, and since the seal of protection he had once conjured had disintegrated along with the rest of the Foundation, the chamber had become choice pickings for thieves, petty magicians, thrill seekers, and self-righteous priests of a dozen orders. However, when the sword Excalibur returned a portion of his powers, it had taken him only days to restore the place. That was where the easy part had stopped. He had settled to the task Excalibur had requested: finding the chosen ones. It had taken several long years to find them, using only the vision from Faigan and flashes of images from his own dreams and meditations. It had taken even longer to bring them together, a task he could have accomplished easily if he'd been in his full faculties. But he'd had to start from nothing, and he had limped through the past several years like a novice Druid, struggling with the simplest tasks. Now, finally, it was almost finished. He'd planted and nurtured the love of the Golden Age in their minds and hearts; he'd guided them toward one another and bound them in friendship, and had mentally raised them from foolhardy youth to maturity. Now they were here at last, close by, full-grown adults and ready for the task he would set before them. And when his task of delivering them to Avalon was complete, all of the Magic would be his to control once more. That was one of the promises Excalibur had made.

Merlin stopped by the pool and sat on a large stone topped with a crimson cushion. He watched the fish assault the helpless loaf of bread until there was nothing left but a few crumbs, and with several little splashes, they disappeared below the surface.

The necromancer leaned down and swirled the water with the tips of his fingers. "Wait, friends," he said. "I need your assistance."

For a moment the water remained calm; then suddenly the surface broke to admit the bony head of the oldest fish. This one was larger than the others, and had discernable eyes under a thin whitish film. Merlin could see the others under the water, grouped in a circle around their father.

"The last two dreams have worked," the necromancer said. "The chosen ones have arrived in England."

"Are they yet aware of their purpose?" the fish whispered in sibilant tones.

Merlin stroked his beard again. "Yes...and no," he answered slowly. "They are aware that something is amiss, but they have not figured out the truth. 'Tis making them a bit nervous."

The fish's head cocked to one side, an eerie Humanlike gesture. "And what do you think, wizard? Do you believe them prepared for this task?"

"They are ready," Merlin said shortly. "So where should I lead them? Which crossover point would be the best for our purposes?"

The old fish left its brethren in the shallows of the pool and came forward, where its surprisingly strong front fins pulled it up the sloped bank until only its long fantail remained in the water. "You will not be able to lead them any further," it advised softly. "Where they cross is dependent on where they take themselves. Be ready for them when they near any of the crossover points."

"Hm." Merlin bit his lip in thought. "And then what, old friend?"

"Nay, Merlin, I cannot give you that which you seek, or that which I do not know," the fish replied gently. "You have been given the power to aid them here, and the power to set them in the proper hour. How you use those powers is yours alone and you must use them wisely to attain the goal." The fantail slapped against the water, splashing cool droplets. "However, I can give you a warning. Beware of those whom Excalibur has called. Do not expect them to be biddable and meek. Each has her own set of rules and ideas."

"How do you explain that?" Merlin asked, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Three days ago you knew nothing about them."

The fish's carpy lips drew upward in a slight smile. "Three days ago, they were not in England."

"Ah," Merlin replied as comprehension dawned.

"It will be hard for them to be accepted," the fish continued, swishing its tail slowly. "Their differences will work as much against them as for them."

"How can I ease their tension?" Merlin asked, his brow furrowed. "Can you at least tell me that?"

"They are Dragon-born," the fish answered, "but it may help to know which bloodlines they belong to. Therein lies your answer." It motioned with a fin. "Go and search, wizard. I shall wait."

Merlin looked into the clouded eyes of the fish, then abruptly stood and crossed the chamber. He stopped in front of a giant leather-bound book, threw open the tarnished silver clasp, and began to turn the pages.

The old fish turned its head from side to side, watching as its progeny climbed up the banks next to it. Heads bent together and excitedly chattered about the favored Dragonspawn. For the first time in centuries, the chosen ones were female.

Meanwhile, Merlin's quick turning of pages began to slow, and finally it stopped altogether as he found what he was looking for. "Here," he said, almost to himself. "Jasin Támariz...the bloodline is blue. She has descended from the Dragon Vaitare. That promises stubbornness and some –"

"Never mind the woman's characteristics," the old fish interrupted. "Read further along the line." The younger fish whispered among themselves again.

Merlin glanced along the thick blue line, turning back over the years past earls, dukes, barons, and kings, including Uther Pendragon. Merlin paused as he saw the name, remembering the story of how Uther, a full-blooded Dragon, had petitioned the Council to permanently revert to Human form for the love of a woman...a Dragon who had forsaken his true body to sire the legendary Arthur.

"You found Uther, then?" the old fish asked, watching the wizard closely.

"'Tis odd," Merlin replied, still reading. "I had almost forgotten this story."

"Aye, and creation itself has forgotten," the fish concluded. "Everyone, including the historians, now believes that Uther was born Human. It must be mended, Merlin. Read further and look for the other's bloodline."

Merlin obeyed, blotting drops of sweat from his furrowed old brow. Ah, if only the magic were completely his! He felt so inadequate, so helpless. Merlin the Almighty Necromancer, the great Wizard, was being helped through these basic steps by a Familiar. It was humiliating.

"I know, my friend." The fish's gravely whisper was comforting. "It is hard for you. But the answers will come in time. Look for the other's bloodline."

Merlin put a rein on his frustration and began to sift through the pages again, his eyes scanning hundreds of names. White lines blended into gold, and red lines blended into blue, then brightened to green. Merlin's scanning slowed and finally he found the other name on the green line. His eyebrows lifted at this revelation. Tatiana was descended from Faigan, as was he. That meant strong insight and a developing sixth sense...Forget the characteristics, he reminded himself sharply. Oh, bother it all!

"One blue, one green," he said aloud. "And this means...?"

The fish pulled itself forward urgently. "Eliminate the catalyst, Merlin. Match the bloodlines."

The answer came then, so quickly that Merlin nearly reeled from it. Eliminate the catalyst.

Guinevere.

His mind began to whirl with the memories. One of the oldest Council codes commanded that two mated Dragonspawn could not be from the same bloodline in respect to the anguish suffered by the Dragon Mother Kierkegaard. The child of Faigan was not of the royal blue bloodline, and thus she was his chance to thwart destruction. He would bind her to the king, and he would bind Vaitare's child to one just as suitable, one who would also stand firm in the path of the destruction that caused the rift between Arthur and his best friend...

Lancelot! He would bind one to Arthur and the other to Lancelot, thereby thwarting the interference of Guinevere and erasing the cause of the Downfall. Catalyst eliminated. Dream rebuilt.

The necromancer shut the book again, almost giddy with success. It was nearly too simple to comprehend. The old fish nodded, seeing the answer on Merlin's face, and disappeared into the water, followed by its brethren.

Merlin glanced at the crystal stalactite. It was dark now, showing no more visions. But already Merlin had his ideas. It was time to send them back, back when the Foundation was new and the threat was only a bad memory. And he would go back with them to see his work through.

He reached out and touched the crystal with both hands. A warm green glow began to emanate from his palms, growing stronger with each passing second. "Favored children," he intoned, his voice commanding, "come back with me. Come to me..."

♦ ♦ ♦

The dark sky carried a hint of gray when Jase suddenly opened her eyes, wide awake. The faint sound of traffic drifted up from the streets, finding its way through brick and insulation. Beyond that, all was still.

Jase looked at the clock beside her bed. It read 4:19 a.m. What had awakened her from such a deep, uneventful sleep? She and Tash had traipsed all over London, purchased a wealth of British goods, and had even managed to wrangle two tickets to a small-theater performance of Shakespeare's As You Like It after they found out Phantom of the Opera was completely sold out. They'd gotten back to the hotel late because of a quick-stop-turned-long-stay at a pub down the street from the theater with some friendly (albeit rowdy) members of the play's cast. They had been dead tired and had fallen into bed as soon as they walked in the door. So why wasn't she tired now? And what the devil had awakened her? If she didn't know better, she would have thought someone had called her...

Jase looked across the room at the figure swathed in blankets in the other bed. Tash was still asleep, and Jase decided it must have been a dream of some kind, after all. As she watched, Tash smoothly turned over and propped her head up on her hand, catching sight of Jase sitting up in bed as she did so.

"I can't sleep, and hell if I don't know why," she said, no trace of slumber evident in her voice. "I just woke up out of the blue."

Jase studied her friend's face in the shadows. "So did I. I should be exhausted, but I don't think I could go back to sleep if I tried."

"Well, there's nothing worse than lying in bed when you aren't tired," Tash grumbled. "We might as well get up." She stood up slowly, pulled a pair of jeans, a white sweatshirt, and sneakers out of her suitcase and started to dress. Jase followed suit.

"Let's go for a drive," Jase suggested. "There's nothing better for insomnia...as long as I don't fall asleep at the wheel."

"Want me to drive?" Tash asked.

Jase shook her head. "I already laid down the rules on that. That Merc is mine. You ride shotgun for the entire trip."

Tash took the room key off the bedside table. "As long as you're paying for it, fine. But let's get something to eat first."

Jase shook her head. "Always thinking with your stomach," she lamented teasingly. "You're gonna get fat."

"Me?" Tash returned coolly. "You're the one who always insists on hitting the nearest bar. Haven't you heard about the fat content in booze? From the looks of things it doesn't –"

Jase put up a hand to halt the impeding lecture. "Okay, round's over. Let's get some breakfast."

Tash grinned smugly as she licked her finger and made a mark on an imaginary chalkboard. She walked out the door with her nose in the air, and Jase's kick at her behind missed by a few inches.

Chapter 3

#  1Adventure Straight Ahead

We are entering a world where the old rules no longer apply.

– Phillip Sanders

The full moon was descending slowly toward the horizon as the early morning progressed, but until the sun rose, the moon was still the ruler of the skies. Its fading rays cast shadows on the snow-dusted plains of southwest England and reflected off of the hood of a lone car that sped quietly down the dark road.

Jase and Tash had been driving around for the past two hours. They had used a full tank of diesel within the limits of London, and at Tash's suggestion, had refilled the tank and had left the city. Armed with the road map and their imaginations, they headed south, kidding one another about going on a quest for the site of the fabled Camelot. This got them singing songs from the stage musical Camelot until they were both hoarse.

"Where are we?" Jase asked. "We've been driving on this road forever."

Tash, the navigator, took a penlight out of the glove compartment and peered at the map. "Well, we're still heading southwest. Looks like we're coming up on the outskirts of Glastonbury."

"Glastonbury!" Jase repeated, trying not to salivate. "We've gotta stop, Tash. I want to walk around when there's no tourists there to interfere. Come on. Please?"

Tash glanced over at her friend. "You don't have to beg. That sounds great. We can take our own Avalon tour."

It wasn't long before Jase pointed out the window. "Hey, look there." Tash turned in the appointed direction and saw a small church in the middle of a huge meadow. Before she knew what was happening, Jase had pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"Jase, we've got about five miles to go before we're officially in Glastonbury," Tash said, studying the map as Jase opened her door.

"I know, I know," Jase replied, "but I want to check this out." She held her hands up in a photographer's pose. "It looks like a Monet original." She grabbed her Minolta and started toward the church. "Put the map down, Tash," she called over her shoulder. "Stuff this picturesque shouldn't be missed." Tash sighed and got out of the car.

The church was very old. The crumbling stones were covered with moss, and the copper nameplate was dull green from long exposure to the intemperate English weather. Tash ran a hand over the nameplate, which was unreadable. "Just think, Jase...this chapel could have been on the border of Avalon. All you have to do is find the right crossover point in the mists and voilà!" She made a flourish with her hands. "Instant Camelot."

Jase nodded. "You can feel it, you know. There's magic in the air." She continued studying the copper plate, trying to make out the print, while Tash walked around the building.

"Jase!" Tash's voice was hushed, but rang out like a shout in the early morning air. "Come here and look at this!"

Jase stepped over a small stump and followed Tash's voice. Tash was staring out over the broad expanse of smooth, unbroken snow behind the church, and when Jase stopped by her side, she saw why. "Oh, wow." She raised the camera and started snapping.

The sky was beginning to turn gold and pink above a grove of swaying pine trees, which circled the outer edge of a large, deep valley that extended toward the horizon. About fifty feet from where both women stood, the snow-dusted ground began to slope gradually downward toward the center.

"Come on," Jase said, starting forward. Although she didn't know why, she had a sudden strong urge to watch the sun rise while standing smack in the middle of that broad expanse of virgin snow.

"Where are we going?" Tash asked, looking down at the valley. "It's pretty, but there's nothing there. The snow looks pretty deep in the middle, too."

"You're such a city girl," Jase commented. "C'mon, afraid to get your feet wet? We'll prop up by the fire when we get back." She gestured at the scene. "There's nothing like the open wild, Tasher. Look at the space! My kids would get all the exercise they'd ever need in a lifetime! Of course, the fencing I'd have to purchase would bankrupt me, but...Hell, maybe a few wranglers would be cheaper in this case."

Tash tuned her out as they walked down the gentle decline to the center of the valley. The snow was ankle-deep and deceptively powdery, and their feet swished through it as if it were pure cane sugar. The faint crunching sound that arose as it moved against their jeans was pleasing to the ear, whispering promises of things yet to come.

A pair of ptarmigan, startled from their hiding place, took flight with a great flapping of wings. Jase, ever the naturalist, stopped to watch as they flew to another part of the valley. Tash looked up but kept moving, wishing a second later she'd stopped with Jase.

The ground either opened up or disappeared, and Tash fell forward into oblivion – or so she thought. Actually she fell into a dark and dank hole roughly eight feet deep, landing in a sprawl and trying unsuccessfully to bite back the curse that rose to her lips.

"Tasher!" Jase's head appeared above the hole. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Tash said disgustedly. "Yeah, I'm all right." She rose to her knees warily and grimaced, picturing the nice blue bruises that would be on her extremities tonight. "Nothing's broken," she called, and then winced as she heard a crunch beneath her right knee. Moving a little to one side, she realized that she'd crushed her glasses. "Aw, damn," she groaned.

"What?" Jase asked, leaning further into the pit. "What'd you do?" Tash held up what was left of her glasses and Jase managed to stifle a grin. "Well, it could have been your head, Silverspoon. Personally, I think you got the better deal. It's not as if you're blind as a bat."

"Piss off," Tash muttered.

"Oh, dry up, we'll get you another pair – made out of solid gold, if you'd like. Now come on up here. I'll give you a hand."

"Uh..." Tash looked around. The earthy walls stared back at her.

Jase decided to pick. "Don't tell me – you found a diamond mine. Leave it, kid; you've got enough diamonds for six princesses. In fact, we could trade in those fancy specs of yours for a Lamborghini." She laughed merrily at the expression on Tash's face. "For Christ's sake, Tasher, quit sulking and come on up here."

Tash wasn't through with her sulking. "For someone who's into art, your lack of perception is startling. Have you noticed that I'm just a bit out of reach? Or did you think I suddenly shrank in size?"

Jase was laughing now. "I think this is God's way of telling you that you're on your way to hell for socializing with me!"

Tash sighed. "Jase, please – just get me out of here."

"All right, I'm sorry." Jase peered into the hole. "Can you find any kind of foothold?"

"Hardly. There's just dirt and...wait a minute." Tash put her hand on a projecting stone in the wall and applied a little pressure. It immediately came loose and fell with a muffled clink on the debris on the ground, causing her to skitter backward to avoid being hit. "Damn," she muttered, then called up, "Just like I said. Dirt. Nothing solid. I'm gonna need some help here."

This wasn't funny anymore. Jase leaned back from the hole, frowning. "Well," she asked her surroundings, "anyone got any bright ideas?" The moon smiled back at her, the church offered no advice, and the snow just shifted in the breeze. The breeze itself was no help either. So much for talking to the wind, Jase thought grumpily.

There was a huffing sound from the hole and Tash's voice floated up. "Damn it, Jase. I told you we should have spent the extra money for the rental with that real fancy new car phone. But nooo...you said it wasn't worth it."

Jase leaned back over the hole and gave Tash an indignant look. "You are such a technology whore!" she spat, frustrated, because she'd been thinking the very same thing. "If you weren't, you wouldn't have looked at it twice!" She glanced about again, looking for signs of civilization. As her gaze crossed the valley toward the church a thought struck her. She looked back down the hole. "Tash, I've got an idea. Back in ten!"

Tash started to reply, but Jase had already disappeared. She looked around at her surroundings and began to imagine just what kinds of horrors she could find down here. Snakes, cockroaches...She jumped violently as another piece of stone fell from the hole and clinked against the other rubble.

Tash let her breath out in a snort. "You're twenty-four years old and you still believe in the bogeyman," she muttered to herself irritably. She slapped both hands against the wall in disgust. "Thousands of miles across the ocean in a turbulent 747, following dreams brought on by jet lag, airline food, and Wagner withdrawal, and now I get sucked down an old Roman well. Curiouser and curiouser, my butt." She held up her ruined glasses and sighed. At least Jase was right about that; she was only mildly myopic. Still, she was bound for a bad headache if she didn't get some replacements soon. Her contacts were in her suitcase back at the hotel...at least she thought they were. She jumped again as something skittered across the ground and craned her head up. "Jase?" she called. "Jase? Hurry up, will you?" There was no response. She muttered under her breath and turned around to survey her surroundings again.

As she turned, she noticed a hole in the wall, a large arch that she hadn't seen before. Tash frowned. Had that arch always been there? Of course it had. She rolled her eyes at her overactive imagination and approached the hole hesitantly, hoping to God that there was nothing hibernating in there.

There wasn't. Tash found herself looking down a tunnel, with walls just as damp and crumbly as the ones that had surrounded her earlier. There was an exception, though: there was a torch at the far end of the tunnel, flickering faintly.

Tash looked back over her shoulder at the stone, straw, and dirt on the floor. She walked back and bent down to pick up a piece of stone. Its roughened edges bit into her hand as she hefted it thoughtfully, looking up to study the ragged opening she'd fallen through. Pieces of straw and stone still jutted from the edges. Tash looked back at the stone in her hand, then down the tunnel.

Not a Roman well, then. A passageway, she thought. Out in the middle of nowhere. I wonder where it leads. And where's the straw coming from? She started toward the tunnel again, then stopped as she heard a jingling noise overhead, followed by a small cascade of dried mud. Jase's head appeared over the side a second later.

"Hey," Tash called up. "Guess what I found."

"Diamonds?" Jase asked with a grin.

"No, a Glock nine millimeter, which I'm gonna blow your ass away with if you keep flapping."

Jase shook a finger. "I'm going to wash your mouth out with soap, young lady. Shouldn't talk that way to someone who's got the ability to help you out."

"Shut up." Tash hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Look, there's a passageway down here. An underground tunnel."

Jase frowned. "A tunnel? You fell through a hole in the ground!" She grinned suddenly. "Did you fall on your head?"

"Oh, ha ha. Very damn funny." She pointed. "There's a tunnel down here, there's a torch on up the way. The last time I checked, rats don't light torches, so there's someone down here. Logic, bonehead." She gestured. "Why don't you come down here and explore with me? Maybe it leads to the inside of the church."

Jase shook her head. "Huh-uh. I'm not going to risk a one-sided screaming match with polite bobbies from Scotland Yard for breaking and entering. Besides, how the hell would we get back out?" When there was no answer from Tash, she snorted. "Uh-huh, that's what I thought. Didn't think of that, did you, Silverspoon?" She held up the end of a chain. "We got lucky. It's that time of year where all these rental cars have tire chains and tow chains in the trunks. Think you can climb out by pulling yourself up on this? I know I can steady you."

Thoughts of the tunnel evaporated at the sight of that chain and Tash groaned, remembering days long past when Jase was on one of her "push it or die" exercise kicks and forced them both into bench pressing. Tash's biceps burned suddenly at the memory. "God, Jase, you know I'm not good at this –"

"Hey, if you have a better idea, now's the time to tell me," Jase called back.

Tash looked up. "Keep your hair on. I can do it."

Jase started to reply, but forgot what she was going to say when a weird, rumbling groan wafted up out of the hole. Jase cocked her head, listening hard, and the sound came again. Tash was staring off to her right, not moving.

"What the hell...Tash?" Jase called quietly, urgently.

Tash started and looked up, showing eyes the size of plates. "Give me the goddamn chain!" she snapped, motioning frantically.

Jase didn't waste a minute. She wrapped one end of the tow chain around her waist and left wrist, then threw the other end into the hole. Tash grabbed the chain and started up the wall. The groan came again, much closer.

The wall was slippery, the chain was rough, and Tash realized that all that bench pressing hadn't done squat for her upper arm strength. Her shoulders throbbed as she climbed another few feet and stopped, panting. Sweat rolled down her face despite the chill in the air, and she felt her hands sweating as well, knowing that wasn't a good sign.

"Tash!" Jase's voice was strained. "Come on! I can't hold this chain much longer!" Her arms were horribly cramped as well, but she clung to the chain with all the will she could muster.

Was it her eyes, or was it getting lighter in the hole? No, Jase could clearly see the floor, and she could see that Tash had stopped again. Her face was so pale that Jase wondered vaguely why she was still conscious. Tash was trying to speak, but her lips moved soundlessly. Adrenaline flooded through Jase's veins and she started to pull on the chain, trying to drag Tash up the last few feet.

Without warning, a pair of pale arms darted into view from behind Tash and grabbed the chain, giving it a wrenching jerk. Tash fell back with a scream. Jase, caught unawares, was dragged in headfirst. Both women hit the ground hard. Tash landed on her back, but rolled quickly to her feet and staggered away. Jase, as luck would have it, landed on her face and promptly lost consciousness – but not before she caught a glimpse of what had pulled them in.

At best, it could be described as a cross between a maggot and a champion wrestler. It was the color of old paste and a sickly greenish-yellow aura surrounded it, making it even more inhuman and ethereal. It wore a graying loincloth and nothing else, and its body was disfigured, but there was no mistaking the strong legs, the long, powerful arms, the clawed hands that held an enormous battle hammer, and the single baleful eye that followed Tash as she continued to back away.

Tash couldn't believe what she was seeing, nor had she ever felt such cold terror. The thing advanced slowly, dragging the battle hammer, and Tash's eyes widened. There was nowhere to go, and she was running out of space as it was. Even as she thought this, her back brushed the wall.

The creature's eerie groan rumbled through the cavern again and it raised the hammer. Tash, frozen where she stood, watched it swing in a fluent arc. She idly wondered what it would feel like to have her brains splattered all over the wall.

She never found out. The hammer connected with her temple, but there was a loud crackle and bright green sparks showered from the side of her head. The hammer then glanced off of Tash's shoulder, producing the same light show, and fell to the ground. Tash crumpled down next to it, dazed but not out.

The creature hesitated, blinked its solitary eye, and then slowly turned its attention to the prone figure a few feet away. Tash, however, didn't realize this and scrambled to her feet in order to get away from the monstrosity. Her head reeled and her steps faltered, and she grabbed frantically at the moist stone wall in order to regain control. After a few dizzying seconds her head cleared and she glanced at the weapon on the ground, confused.

The crushing blow from that hammer should have split her skull wide open. Instead it had glanced off of her head and shoulder as if deflected. And where had the sparks come from? There was not time to ponder, as Tash now saw that the creature had shuffled over to Jase's still form. It reached down and wiped the blood from the side of Jase's face, looked at the red smear on the sausage-shaped fingers with that one eye and then, to Tash's horror, slowly licked them clean with a long forked tongue. It then pulled a sharp knife from someplace among its blubbery folds and reached for Jase.

Tash reacted without rationality or thought. She rushed forward and grabbed the creature's battle hammer, unaware that the weapon must have weighed close to two hundred pounds. But she was so intent on getting that thing away from her friend that other thoughts didn't matter.

A deep green glow radiated from her hands the moment they closed around the iron handle, surprising her so much that she went to drop it, but her hands wouldn't unclench. Some sort of power, sure and forceful, surged through her, allowing her to lift the hammer above her head as if it were made of plastic. The creature turned toward her, but only to witness its own death as the hammer screamed downward into its upturned face. There was a loud crunch as the skull caved in, splattering blood like thrown paint, and the beast dropped like a stone.

The green glow instantly winked out, Tash's fingers unclenched, and the hammer fell to the ground with a thump. She barely had time to jump back to keep it from falling on her toes. She stared at her hands, stunned. Just what the hell was this? Had they stumbled onto a movie set or something?

Her thoughts were interrupted as Jase groaned. Tash hurried over to the other woman and looked her over. Blood covered her face and shirt, the effects of a pretty messy but surprisingly unbroken nose. Tash sighed and gently put a hand on Jase's shoulder, and Jase nearly sat up straight with a scream of pain.

"What? What?" Tash asked frantically, pulling back.

Jase let her breath out painfully. "My shoulder," she gasped.

Tash tentatively pulled Jase's open collar aside and stopped as she saw the disfigured lump surrounded by a large black bruise. A good-sized puncture wound was thrown in to boot. So all the blood wasn't from her nose.

"Oh, shit," she breathed.

"What?" Jase panted, trying to look. "What's the verdict?"

"Lie still a minute and close your eyes," Tash ordered firmly. Jase complied and Tash gently felt her way along Jase's collarbone. "Tell me if this hurts too much," she said, and applied slight pressure right above the lump. The bone moved with an audible click, and Jase unsuccessfully tried to stifle a cry.

Tash looked around helplessly. "Jase –"

"I know," Jase interrupted. "It's broken. And there's a lot of blood, right?"

"Yeah," Tash said. "A lot. I'd advise you not to look."

"Great," Jase muttered. "Just great." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Think you can climb out of here?"

"How?" Tash asked, frustrated. "The chain fell with us and – What the...?" She bolted to her feet and Jase's eyes flew open. She saw Tash staring up toward the hole and she quickly glanced up herself.

The hole was gone. In its place was smooth, dry slate. But it hadn't been covered up; it had simply vanished as if it had never existed. Tash scrambled to her feet and ran over to the tunnel, noticing that the walls were no longer damp and slimy. Her heart began to pound.

Behind her, Jase painfully shifted her position and wiped her face with her good hand. It came away smeared with drying blood. She gaped at the redness with wide eyes.

"Tash," she demanded, "get me out of here."

"I'm working on it," Tash snapped, searching around for another tunnel, a door, anything. That creature had come from the first tunnel, and she was damned if she was going to try that way.

"Work faster," Jase retorted, her voice edged with panic. "There's blood everywhere, my God, look at it..."

Tash stopped as she heard the tone of her friend's voice. She'd heard that tone once before when an unruly colt had kicked Jase's arm, causing the bone to pop through her skin like a needle through silk – just like her clavicle now. Jase could staunch all kinds of bleeding on other people, but the sight of her own blood reduced her to a quivering, pleading victim of mounting hysteria. Now, of all times, it was happening.

Tash crossed the floor in two steps and knelt by Jase's side. "I'm glad you always listen to me," she snapped. "Didn't I tell you not to look? Close your eyes, Jase. Don't think about it."

Jase grabbed Tash's shirt, smearing the white cotton with red stains. "Tash, please," she gasped, her eyes beginning to roll wildly, "make it stop...get me out of here." She took a shuddering breath.

"Stop it," Tash instructed sharply, pulling Jase's hand from her shirt. "Stop it right now. You're going to really have problems if you don't calm down." She started to get up, but Jase grabbed her shirt at the hem. The sudden movement caused her to cry out in pain.

"Tash!" she screamed. "Help me!"

Finally, in order to keep Jase from doing further damage to herself, and to calm her own strained nerves, Tash slapped Jase hard across the face, causing her to break her grip and reel back. The wild expression disappeared and Jase slowly lay back on the ground. Tash sat down beside her, trying to still her pounding heart, and looked up at the tunnel ceiling again. Now what were they going to do?

Chapter 4

#  1You've Got to Be Kidding...

I've always had a feeling that any time you can experiment, you ought to do it, because you never know

what will happen.

– Walt Disney

The minutes ticked by with the speed of a drunken snail as Tash put together a dozen ideas and discarded them all, one by one. Climbing back out of the hole was simply out of the question, since the chain they'd been using for escape now lay in a tangled knot where it had fallen, and besides, the hole itself was gone. Moving Jase in her condition was impossible, of course. Going down the tunnel was questionable, firstly because it was terra incognita and secondly because that thing had come from that direction. Furthermore, Tash didn't relish leaving Jase alone. It seemed that no matter how simple or elaborate the plan, it was destined to crash into a brick wall. Or stone wall, Tash thought, glancing over her shoulder at the silvery granite her shoulders rested against. She looked down at Jase, who was sound asleep on the ground. Exhaustion was a most wonderful incentive, it seemed. Tash wished she could sleep as comfortably; unfortunately, sight of the bloblike body of the creature nearby made her feel like she'd wake up in a cocoon or something if she dared to drop off. Exhaustion or not, there was no way she'd be able to relax until she was positively certain it was dead.

Tash rose quietly to her feet and slowly made her way over to the creature's body. Hesitantly, she kicked at it, ready to run screaming down the tunnel if there was the slightest hint of movement. The lumpy body jiggled like old Jell-O, making Tash jump back with a squeak, but no other movement ensued. It was dead, all right. Tash sighed deeply, trying to calm her piano-wire nerves, and pulled off her jean jacket. Reaching down, she draped the jacket over the creature's head and shoulders, then stood up to survey her handiwork. Her lip twisted in disgust as she watched the thing's internal juices seep through the faded denim. Well, at least its head was out of sight; now maybe she'd be able to get a little rest before trying to conjure up any more ideas.

Tash slid slowly down the wall beside the sleeping Jase, rubbing her arms to ward off some of the chill. How the hell were they going to get out of this? She and Jase had been in some pretty good scrapes before, but this topped the meter. Maybe in a few years they'd laugh about it, but damned if Tash felt like laughing now. If only Jase hadn't broken her collarbone. If only it weren't so cold. If only someone would come along and find them.

If, if, if. What good was speculating going to do? As long as I'm dreaming, Tash thought as she curled up beside Jase, I'd like a nice, crackling fire and maybe some hot chocolate...The comforting images continued to drift through Tash's mind until her eyelids finally drooped and she forgot how cold it was.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase was having the most interesting dream. She was flying in a jet plane high above the earth, which eventually turned into a fancy car that was speeding through London at Mach 5. She was behind the wheel, laughing hysterically as people, goats, and other things jumped out of her path. She let out an Indian war whoop as the car hit a ramp that appeared out of nowhere, and she was airborne again. The car curved gracefully through the air, then started to drop to the ground again, and Jase braced herself for a landing that did not come.

The ground was gone. She was falling into a pit, falling faster than she ever imagined possible. The hysterical glee turned quickly into hysterical panic, and she illogically slammed both feet on the brake, trying to get the car to stop. Instead, the car disappeared completely and she was surrounded by cold, damp air that whistled past her ears as she plummeted away into nothingness.

She awakened with a start, eyes wild and imagination raging. Her senses told her she was not suspended in free-fall, and she relaxed with a sigh of relief and raised her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. She raised her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. She raised her hand...Dammit, why the hell couldn't she raise her hand?

A quick glance at the hand in question revealed it to be immobilized tightly against her chest with clean linen strips, and the accident came back to her with startling clarity. Well, at least someone had gotten them out of the hole and it looked like she was in the hospital...She frowned sharply at the stone ceiling far above her head. Hospitals did not have stone ceilings, or flying buttresses, or tapestries. Where the hell was she now?

Jase sat up, steadying herself with her good arm. Was this a fancy bed-and-breakfast in one of England's castles? No, this certainly wasn't fancy. There were no electrical outlets, switches, wires, or bulbs; the only visible light came from a single candle on the bedside table, the cheerfully crackling fire in the fireplace across the room, and a faint gray-white outline of approaching daylight that peeked out from a small window covered by a thick red and gold woven cloth. Pretty rural. The question was, how rural? How far were they from the little chapel where they'd left their rental car?

Jase's musings were interrupted as the door opened and a young girl glided almost noiselessly into the room, carrying a tray that contained fruit and what looked like a small roasted bird. She did not speak, but dropped a little curtsey and set the tray on the table beside the fireplace. Jase stared dumbly, unable to speak for the sudden dryness in her throat. What kind of hotel or bed-and-breakfast service allowed their hired help to walk around in their bare feet and long white robes? Were they in a convent, then?

"Wait a minute," she managed to croak as the girl turned to leave. "Where am I?"

The girl – a child, really – smiled, showing a dimple in one cheek. "The Castle of Avalon," she replied. "Please eat something. My lady says you must regain your strength."

"Oh," Jase said slowly, "okay." The girl padded softly to the door. "Wait a minute," Jase said again. "Where's, uh, the woman that was with me?"

The child pointed. "She is in the room next to yours. You may visit each other, my lady says, but you must not leave these rooms until you are sent for."

Jase's first impulse was to tell the little girl that adults could go wherever they want, but she gritted her teeth and managed a smile. "Uh...sure. Tell your, ah, lady that we'll do just that." The child smiled back and left the room, and Jase fell back on the bed. They were going to be sent for, huh? What trouble were they in now? Would they be sued for trespassing? It certainly wouldn't be surprising. Next they'd end up in a British court with men who wore those little wigs during trials.

Jase got up and went over to see what was on the menu for breakfast. The wooden bowl brimmed with grapes and apples, and was crowned with a small white wheel of cheese. Beside the bowl was the roasted bird she had seen when the girl brought the tray in. It was incredibly small; Jase could have held the entire carcass in her hand easily. She lifted the plate to sniff at it, then pulled off one of the tiny legs and took a taste. Delicious. She went to look out the window, taking the plate with her, and pulled the curtain aside. It revealed a rough-hewn window sill wide enough to sit on, so she crawled up, plate and all, and gazed out the window.

The scene before her would have made any photographer drool with anticipation. A magnificent lake with thick billowing mist rolling off its glassy surface lay in splendor before her, surrounded with blue-green fir trees. The Castle of Avalon. At least the name fit. Jase wished she'd brought her camera with her, but she'd left it outside the hole when they'd...She shuddered at the memory of that white critter, whatever it was. Whatever happened to them, she swore that she'd never drink too much again. She lifted another piece of the little bird to her mouth as she gazed at the lake, and suddenly she froze.

There was something out there.

Jase put the morsel back on her plate and stared until her eyes were sore from the strain. She was sure she'd seen something in that lake. Something huge. Rubbing her eyes, she stared some more. Fifteen minutes later, she was just convincing herself that she hadn't seen anything at all, that it was just her imagination, when the mists on the lake parted to reveal a large golden head and elegant neck, both covered with scales. The neck grew longer and longer, arched gracefully across the water and disappeared back into the silvery waves without so much as a splash.

Jase didn't even hear her plate hit the floor as she gaped incredulously. In the next second, she scrambled out of the window and stood against the wall, heart pounding. "I do not believe what I have just seen," she said to herself. Her mind reeled as it rationalized. There was just no way she had just seen...

What exactly was it that she'd just seen?

Taking a deep breath, Jase summoned enough courage to peek around the edge of the window. There was nothing there...No, wait, there was something. A row of golden spines sliced through the surface of the water, skimmed a few feet, and submerged again. Jase let out the breath she'd been holding and leaned back against the wall. There was no more doubt. She'd just seen a Dragon.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tash had just finished her meal when the door bolted open and Jase came running in, looking as flushed and excited as if she'd aced a major college entrance exam. Tash put down her wooden bowl and frowned. "You shouldn't be running around with that arm –"

She didn't finish. Jase grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her from the chair. "Come here and look at this," she urged, nearly throwing Tash at the window.

Needless to say, Tash was irked. "Do you mind!" she snapped, scowling at the other woman. "What the hell's gotten into you?"

Jase pulled back the curtain. "Look out there," she commanded. "What do you see?"

Tash obeyed. "Well, there's a lot of mist out there. I admit it's pretty, but –"

"Oh, quit being so damned literal! What do you see, Tash?"

Tash dropped the curtain. "Suppose you tell me what you saw."

Too excited to be angry at Tash's tone, Jase began to babble. "Tash, you won't believe what's out there, you just won't believe it, but you've got to because it means everything to us, especially why we're here, think about it –"

"Whoa, hold it!" Tash took Jase's arm and led her to the bed. "Now take a deep breath and start over."

Jase took the deep breath. "There's a Dragon in the lake."

Five seconds of silence passed before Tash shook her head worriedly. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought," she mused, reaching out to touch Jase's forehead.

"You think I'm hallucinating?" Jase asked, pulling away. "Tash, think! Have you looked around in here?"

The other woman shrugged. "Not really. I was getting ready to come see how you were when –"

"Noticed anything different? Any lights, electrical fixtures, things like that?"

"– you came barging through the door like a fool –"

"No bathrooms, no nurses, no EKG machines or televisions or –"

"– and start talking about seeing Dragons, of all things –"

"Tash!" Jase took her friend by the shoulder with her good hand. "Don't forget the dreams we've had. Dragons, remember? They called this place the Castle of Avalon! Think about that and please go look out the window."

Tash forced herself to remain calm. "Look, I'm sure the place was named by someone with a touch of romanticism in his heart. If you or I had such a place we'd come up with something similar, I'm certain."

"Right." Jase pointed to the window. "Go romanticize that."

Tash sighed and obligingly went to the window. "Okay, what am I supposed to see?"

"Just wait a minute. You'll figure it out."

"For crying out loud..." Tash's voice died away abruptly as she suddenly leaned forward to stare. Jase sat back smugly, recognizing that expression.

"Oh, my God." Tash continued to gape out the window. "Jase, there is a Dragon in that lake."

"You don't say."

♦ ♦ ♦

Merlin strode through the long corridor to Avalon's great receiving hall. His steps were long and purposeful, without an iota of the pain that had once wracked him. Ah, it was good to be healthy again. He was a maddened old mage no longer; thanks to the restoration of his powers, he was once again in the prime of his life, strong and sure. Being a necromancer certainly had its positive points.

The guard before him opened the door and announced his presence. Merlin headed toward the woman sitting on the throne at the far end of the room. As he approached, she smiled broadly, got up, and crossed the floor to greet him.

"Merlin!" she said warmly, embracing him. "'Tis wonderful to see you again, old friend! What brings you here?"

Merlin returned the embrace sincerely. "Work, Vivian, work. I came to make sure you had my women."

The Lady of the Lake held him away at arm's length. "Those two are yours? In the name of the Mother, Merlin! They killed one of the Cyclops guards. We thought they were renegades come to change history." She shook her head in disgust. "Why did you not warn us? Take them away from here at once!"

Merlin rubbed his chin, which felt odd without its waterfall of grey whiskers. "I am afraid I cannot do that," he admitted.

Vivian looked confused. "You cannot...Why not?"

The necromancer glanced at the guard, obviously embarrassed. "Come, we must talk privately." Vivian nodded and redirected them to the small antechamber behind the dais, instructing the guard that they were not to be disturbed.

Once the door was firmly closed and the two had made themselves comfortable, Merlin began his tale. From beginning to end, he told the Lady of all that had happened to him. He explained what had transpired after the Downfall, and described his reunion with the mighty Sword of Power and the task to which it had set him, of which she knew nothing. Not a detail was left out as he told of his familiars and the plot to bring in outsiders from the future to interfere and change the course of the world by changing legendary history.

Vivian listened intently, and when the necromancer was finished, she shook her sadly. "Although I credit your motives, my friend, I am afraid I cannot support them. The curtain of time is thin in this area, and crossovers happen often. I cannot let history be altered, especially by children of the future who could die here doing it, or more possibly destroy the events of the past that lead to the prevention of their own births. That is why this castle is here, to protect that which must be protected."

Merlin nodded. "I felt the same as you. It is not by my design that this occurs. Yes, Excalibur found me, and yes, I was quite the madman at the time. The sword now resides back with the only man born to wield it, and my orders no longer come through it, but through the Dragon Mother herself."

Vivian was stunned. "Kierkegaard? Can you.....are you sure, Merlin? This is a matter that must be clear."

"I am certain, lady," Merlin confirmed. "It has already been –" His words were cut off as a soft wind suddenly blew through the room. A thousand tiny pinpoints of light appeared out of thin air and coalesced into the image of a magnificent crystalline Dragon. Jewel-bright eyes blinked at the two mortals knowingly, and in the next instant the vision was gone. Both Merlin and Vivian stared at the place the Dragon had occupied, then looked at each other with newfound purpose.

"It seems we have much to teach our guests before we turn them loose in Britain," Vivian pondered.

Merlin smiled. "That we do, lady. They have much to learn."

"I fear this won't be easy," she countered knowingly.

"That is definitely an understatement." He pulled his cloak around himself and bowed to her. "However, my first task is complete. It's your turn now. I leave them in your very capable hands." He chuckled. "Have fun."

♦ ♦ ♦

"Well, now what?" Jase asked. She and Tash were curled into two big wing chairs in Tash's room, both feeling like they'd been hit by a steamroller.

Tash shook her head. "I'm dreaming. There is just no way I saw a Dragon in that lake. There's got to be a logical explanation."

"I have one, if you're interested," Jase remarked, knowing Tash wouldn't listen to her anyhow.

Tash didn't. She rose to her feet, talking to herself. "The first thing we've got to do is find out what happened, and figure out just where we are..."

"Tash," Jase cut in, "I think the question is more like when."

Tash looked up. "What?"

"No, when." Jase slowly uncoiled from her chair. "There's your logical explanation. There was a living Dungeons and Dragons character in that tunnel that tried to kill us, there's barefoot girls providing room service, there's no plumbing or electricity, and there's a Dragon in the lake, whether you think there's one or not. Furthermore, we're in a castle in Avalon. It all adds up to two things: we're dead – which I know we aren't – or we're not in our own time anymore."

Tash opened her mouth to deny the possibility, and abruptly shut it when she realized that everything Jase had said made perfect sense, except..."Come on now, I refuse to swallow that conclusion. This is just a movie set or something. Isn't it?"

Jase shook her head. "Well, you'd better get the bigger picture. Do you see any movie equipment? Do you see any entourages or actors? Nix, Tasher. I think we have a problem here."

Tash absentmindedly put a piece of cheese in her mouth as she pondered Jase's words, chewed slowly, and stopped, a horrified expression on her face.

"What?" Jase asked tensely. "What's wrong?"

Tash's jaw worked as she grabbed her cloth napkin from beside her plate, and she spit the mouthful of chewed cheese into it. "Blahh!" she moaned. "Wine, water...something!" She grabbed the nearest goblet and started drinking frantically.

The tenseness left Jase's face and she smiled. "Your face is turning green. What did you just try to eat?"

Tash was swishing some wine in her mouth, still making noises of utter disgust. She looked around for something in which to deposit her mouthful, then gave up and spit in a hopefully unused corner of the room. "The cheese," she gasped. "It's vile."

Jase picked up a piece from the plate and sniffed it carefully. "There's nothing wrong with it," she said. "It's goat's milk cheese. My grandmother used to make it." She took a bite. "Not bad, either."

"Matter of opinion," Tash gasped, still spitting into the napkin. "Ptah! Damn. Is there any regular cheese?"

"This is regular cheese to these people, Silverspoon. Here, eat some of this bread. I want to see if this turns you another interesting color."

Tash was trying to think of something to counter Jase's words when there was a knock at her door. Tash and Jase looked at each other as the door opened and the same barefoot child entered the room. She picked up Tash's dishes and beckoned to the two women.

"Where are we going?" Jase asked.

The child dimpled again. "My lady has asked to see you," she replied.

"Oh." Jase turned to Tash. "Her lady wants to see us," she repeated.

"I heard her, Jase."

♦ ♦ ♦

They followed the girl down dark halls, all the while tilting their heads back to stare up at the tapestries, lamps, and portraits. There was not a speck of dust anywhere. The soft footfalls of their sneakered feet were the only sounds they could hear; the child's footsteps were as silent as feathers falling on cotton. Occasionally they would pass a white-robed woman whose cloak cowl was pulled up to hide her face, but no one ever spoke. Tash began to wonder if they had died after all and this place was the halfway house to the Twilight Zone. She expected to see Rod Serling step out from behind one of the draperies at any moment.

The child led them to a pair of massive oak doors, one of which had a large brass knocker screwed into it. She lifted the knocker and tapped it three times against the base. Tash started as the sound echoed down the long corridors. This place was starting to give her the heebie-jeebies.

The door opened soundlessly and the girl beckoned them through. Jase and Tash followed her into a huge room with a raised dais on the other end, and standing before the throne on that dais was...

"Jase!" Tash gasped. "Look!"

Her shining black hair hung past her waist like a waterfall of purest satin, framing a face of ethereal beauty. A thin circlet of silver encircled her head, joining above her eyebrows into the shape of an eye. A deep purple robe swept gracefully from her shoulders, its outline sharp against the barely discernable glow that seemed to radiate from her figure. Everything about her commanded respect and honor.

Both women stared in wonder. This was the Lady from their dreams! This was the Lady who had been sleeping in the arms of the great green Dragon!

"Welcome, children," the Lady said. "Please come forward." She motioned to the little girl, who, after a quick curtsey, left the room and shut the huge door securely behind her.

"We will be more comfortable in my inner chamber," the Lady began, but was interrupted by a very nervous Tash.

"Excuse me," Tash blurted, "but who are you and what's going on here?"

The Lady smiled. "I am called Vivian, Tatiana. You and Jasin are in my charge during your stay here in Avalon."

"Uh – " Tash shot a hurried look at Jase, who shrugged her good shoulder.

"All will be explained," Vivian promised.

"I hope so," Jase murmured.

As soon as they were all seated, Vivian looked long and hard at each woman. "Merlin has told me of your purpose here," she began again, and was once more interrupted.

"I'm sorry," Tash broke in, "but where is here? Who's in charge around here?"

"And who's Merlin?" Jase commented. "Not the Merlin?"

Vivian held up her hand and both women fell silent. "He told me this would be difficult," she murmured to herself, "and little did I know...Now then, let me answer your questions. 'Here' is the Castle of Avalon, on the borders of the mists of time. I suppose you could say I am 'in charge' since this is my land and my castle. As for Merlin, I am certain you have heard about him in your own time. He is quite famous throughout Britain, you know."

Tash and Jase were silent for a moment. Vivian and Merlin...no, it just couldn't be. "Mists of time?" Jase repeated. "Do you mean that we have somehow ended up in another time?"

Vivian nodded. "When you fell into the hole behind the Glastonbury chapel, you penetrated the mists and passed from your time into this one."

"I knew it!" Jase said, turning to Tash. "You see? I'm not crazy at all!"

Tash was still trying to grasp at logical straws. "But there's no such thing as time travel. There's no such thing as –"

"Dragons?" Vivian interjected softly. "You did see the Dragon in the lake, did you not?" Tash was silent, and Vivian pressed forward. "What of your dreams, Tatiana? You dreamed of a green Dragon, did you not? Consider this: You ask for proof, and yet you dreamed four consecutive nights about a place you'd never been to. You ask for the truth, and yet you saw the hole you fell through close up as if it were never there. You do not believe, and yet you fought one of Avalon's guardians with the light of the Dragon magic, and won."

Tash's head was beginning to hurt. She pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging slowly as she mulled over what Vivian was telling her. Proof – everything was just as the Lady had said. Was it true, then? Had she and Jase really fallen through the hole into another time? And what, by the way, was the light of the Dragon magic?

A warm tide of some sort suddenly washed through her head, stopping the headache almost immediately. Tash looked up and blinked as Vivian's hand left her forehead, and then she blinked again as she realized she could see clearly across the room. Her vision was no longer slightly blurred. Dumbfounded, she could only stare.

"Do you understand now?" Vivian asked.

"Um..." Tash looked to Jase for some sort of confirmation, but Jase was watching her curiously.

"I know it is difficult for you," Vivian remarked gently. "But you must believe. There is much we have to discuss, and time is running out."

Tash was shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I thought I could handle this logically, but this isn't working out at all..." Her voice held a note of panic.

"Tash," Jase began.

Vivian cut her off. "'Tis all right to be frightened, little one," she reassured Tash. "The task the Council sets before you is great." She looked at Jase. "Maybe you both should go back to your rooms and talk," she suggested. "I seem to be moving in too quickly." As if by magic, the barefoot child appeared from the shadows and waited for the two women to get to their feet. Tash stood slowly, waiting for her knees to collapse.

"Come on, Tasher," Jase said, and they followed their guide back to their rooms without another word. Tash only glanced back over her shoulder once, and she really wasn't surprised to see that the Lady was gone.

Chapter 5

#  1Discover Your Destiny

It's kind of fun to do the impossible.

– Walt Disney

The chamber door closed softly, and Jase and Tash were back in Jase's room. Tash immediately fell into a chair before her legs gave way. "What nonsense have we gotten into now?" she muttered, more to herself than to Jase.

Jase responded anyway. "Pretty cool, huh?" she asked, leaning back against the door. "This is a real corker, Tasher. But it's still pretty cool."

Tash put a hand to her forehead to nurse a headache that was no longer there, thanks to...Oh, hell. "Quite frankly, Jasin, this isn't cool. This is too much, just way too much."

"Oh, come on," Jase replied. "It can't be that bad." Tash looked at Jase like she'd grown another head. "I mean," Jase amended, "think of all the years we've been craving a really good adventure. Looks like we've got one." She grinned suddenly. "Hey, I'm actually willing to try this out! Not that we seem to have much of a choice," she muttered aside, "but what the hell? Who knows what could happen?"

Tash was now convinced that Jase was crazy. "Listen to yourself!" she snapped. "We were almost killed, Jasin! You've got a broken collarbone due to that thing in that tunnel! It was going to have you as a midday snack! And you want to 'try this out?'"

Jase was undaunted. "When you're calling me 'Jasin' in that tone, I know you're ready to freak out. Calm down. We just got off to a bad start, that's all." She dropped into the chair opposite Tash. "It could be fun."

"Right. 'Fun.'" Tash repeated the word like it was a rotten Brussels sprout in her mouth. "Fun, right. None of this makes any sense whatsoever." She stuck her finger in Jase's face. "You got that? None! There's not one iota of logic to any part of this, and don't tell me it's all some grandiose dream, because I know better."

"Why should it make sense?" Jase wanted to know. "Life doesn't make sense. That's what makes it interesting. Anyhow, your griping is all water under the bridge, Tasher – we're stuck here and there ain't a thing we can do about it." She waggled her eyebrows. "Besides, you never know who we're going to run into here. Maybe you'll get lucky."

Tash was disgusted. "Is that all you ever think about? You're such a pig."

"'You're such a pig,' " Jase mimicked. "Your primness makes me want to puke sometimes. You know you're thinking of the exact same thing."

"I am not!" Tash declared, outraged.

Jase settled back in her chair with a smirk. "Sure, whatever. Just make sure you don't move in on any of my territory."

Tash whipped around and Jase, who had already anticipated the predictable volatile reaction, ducked easily. A terra cotta mug sailed over her head and smashed into dusty fragments against the wall. Jase glanced over her shoulder at the ruin and grinned. "Good one. Do you feel better now?"

Tash's anger broke apart like the mug. "Yes, I guess I do. But I still can't find a logical excuse for this."

"Maybe you should try throwing logic to the wind," Jase suggested, picking up the remnants of Tash's mug. "I'm sure we'll get an explanation sooner or later."

Tash considered. "I suppose so..."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere." Jase brushed off her jeans and sat back down. "You know, for someone with an imagination like yours, you sure do have trouble suspending belief when things get concrete."

"This is different."

"Is it? Just because you can stop the story when you want to? Live a little, Tash; let the story lead you for a while. You might like it."

♦ ♦ ♦

Sleep came easily that night, and for the first time, neither one dreamed. The next morning they were awakened, given breakfast, and were brought once again before the Lady of the Lake.

"Have you come to terms with yourselves on the situation?" Vivian asked without preamble, looking at each of them.

"Good morning to you, too," Tash mumbled. Her comment was duly ignored, and Vivian continued as if they had given affirmative answers.

"Things will be much easier for you to understand now. I have, of course, been informed of your reason for being here, and that we do have a schedule to keep. Tomorrow you will begin your training –"

"Excuse me," Jase blurted. "Training? What training? I don't want to –"

Vivian interrupted smoothly. "I will explain everything and answer all your questions, but let me finish first." Jase obligingly sat back.

"In your time," Vivian began, "you have legends, myths, and fables of a magical place called Camelot, and of King Arthur and his knights. There was a time when the legends contained some truth, but unfortunately time also has a way of distorting what it does not like; therefore, in your time the stories contain more fiction than fact."

"What does that have to do with us?" Tash asked. "I'm afraid I don't see the connection."

Vivian smiled. "Perhaps I should have told you the most important thing first. Tatiana, you and Jasin have been brought here to change the course of history. You are to right the wrongs of the past and give the Golden Era of Camelot the chance to flourish that was cut so appallingly short by the vestiges of evil."

The silence in the room was so great that the faint sputtering of the flickering candles could be heard. Vivian waited patiently, waiting for the words to sink in.

Tash and Jase were completely astounded, so floored that they could do nothing but stare dumbly at the figure across from them. Then, suddenly, the questions began.

"How did – When –?" Tash asked, stumbling over her words in her eagerness to get them out.

"Who was –" Jase began just as eagerly. "What –?"

Vivian put a hand up. "Hold, please. I told you I will answer your questions when I have finished."

Tash and Jase glanced at each other. "Okay, that's fair," Jase said. "Let's start with 'How.' "

"And 'what,' " Tash added. "Don't leave out a thing."

Vivian acquiesced. "As I said before about legends...the Golden Age of Britain was one of the most wonderful eras ever. There was complete peace, harmony with Mother Earth, and prosperity for all. Your time is full of discord, full of wars and pestilence. But when Arthur ruled, things of this sort were unheard of." She frowned at their blank expressions. "You have read the tales?" They nodded. "All right then. Yes, it was a most glorious time...but it did not last, my children. Evil entered this paradise." Her face clouded, and for a moment she was lost in thought. "Such evil..." She peered at them sharply. "It is this evil that you must destroy. That is the task at hand, and you both will be trained for it."

After a few seconds of silence, Jase cleared her throat. "Um, I've read the tales, but I don't want to take anything for granted. What exactly is this evil?"

Vivian smiled faintly. "Ah, yes, the 'what' question. 'What,' indeed!" She leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Jasin, what brought about evil in the Christian Bible?"

Jase's forehead creased. "You mean in the Book of Genesis? Uh, that was the snake, wasn't it?"

"Ah, the snake," Vivian replied. "That pitiful lowlife. Yes, evil came in the form of a serpent. But don't be too literal. Something else was blamed for the end of Paradise."

"Eve!" Tash exclaimed. "The destruction of Paradise was caused by woman's infallibility."

Vivian nodded. "Exactly. Evil was caused by a woman's desires." She sat back in her chair. "Personally, I had always thought that the Christian concept of evil was ridiculous, I'll say that frankly. But now I laugh no longer, for a woman's desires did indeed cause the destruction of Britain's Paradise."

"This is an old bedtime story, Vivian," Jase commented. "Morgan le Fey started the destruction."

"Oh, yes," Vivian replied languidly. "She was responsible, with her petty meddling with sorcery. But she was not alone. Evil rarely travels alone. It has more friends than the hydra has heads"

Tash's lips pursed. "So you're saying that another woman aided in the downfall," she said, almost to herself. "All I can come up with is Guinevere."

"You read well at bedtime, Tatiana," Vivian replied. "Yes, it was poor Guinevere. She was not suited for Arthur. But, cursed with a beautiful face – beauty can be a curse, sometimes – and forced to marry a man she barely knew, she naturally attracted another and strayed to him."

"Lancelot," both women said together.

"Lancelot," Vivian repeated. "Guinevere is not completely at fault. The poor child could not help who she desired. But you must understand that this cannot happen with a king, especially King Arthur. To add insult to injury, the child was barren and was unable to give the king the heir the kingdom needed. That is why she was an accomplice of sorts for the tarnishing of the Golden Age."

Tash and Jase absorbed all of this. "So what you're saying is that we have to divert the affairs of Morgan and Guinevere," Jase concluded. "The two of us against two backwater women. How difficult can that be?" Tash rolled her eyes.

"Do not overrate yourself, Jasin," Vivian warned. "There is much that counts against you."

Tash shook her head. "How do you expect us to do this, Vivian? And why did you choose us, when there are so many scholars on the Arthurian era in the world? They would have a much better chance of survival than we."

"The scholars, as you call them, would not move to help us," Vivian stated flatly. "Think about it. They stand to lose, should the rules that govern history change. No, they are not qualified for this task. But you are. Your backgrounds simply make you the best ones for this sort of work."

Jase sighed. "That doesn't help us very well."

Vivian sat forward in her chair. "In your reading of the 'legends,' you have heard of the Council of Twelve." Tash and Jase looked at her blankly, and Vivian's delicate eyebrows rose. "You have not?" Both women shook their heads. Vivian sat back, slightly stunned. "So it has happened. The cornerstone has been lost in the future and the order has been erased." She took a deep breath. "The Council of Twelve are the guardians of Camelot. They came from magic itself to protect all of mankind. They were the grand champions of the Once and Future King."

"Magic itself?" Tash repeated. "Are they..." She searched for the words. "Do they have, you know, substance? Or are they just..." She shrugged helplessly. "Hell."

Vivian nodded. "They have substance, yes. In your time, people do not believe in Dragons."

"Dragons!" Jase gasped. "There are no Dragons in the stories of Camelot. Are you certain they're Dragons?"

"They are," Vivian replied.

"You're joking," Tash put in.

"I most certainly am not," Vivian confirmed.

Tash sat up straighter in her chair. "We've both dreamed of a Dragon," she began.

Vivian nodded again. "Yes, I know. Those dreams were sendings, projections into your subconscious minds to get you here. But I'm getting ahead of myself." She sat back again, ignoring Tash's quickly stifled exclamation. "The Age of Camelot is nothing without the Dragons. They are more than just creatures who have long since passed through history. They transcend the boundaries of time, space, and dimension, and yet they are connected to the very fabric, the ideals that just happen to govern the natures of men and women. The destruction of these ideals led to the destruction of the Dragons themselves.

"When Arthur grew to manhood and was crowned, the entire order came to his coronation, something that has never been done before. And when Arthur built Camelot, the order came to its rising and laid the first cornerstone of the castle. This stone bore an inscription – you could call it a dedication, though it was more than that – and each of the Council breathed their fire upon the stone so that the castle would be forever protected by their combined powers. And indeed it was, until the Downfall.

"You see, my daughters, that came about when Guinevere sought another man's love and when Morgan le Fey followed the dark path of sorcery. Guinevere lost her virtue and Morgan's son Mordred tried to usurp the throne of Camelot. Arthur was killed, and with him went the beliefs of the people. People like me and the sorcerer Merlin were looked upon as insane heathens. The Council were snuffed out, one by one, by loss of faith."

Jase glanced in the direction of the window, where she knew a golden Dragon was just beyond, swimming in the glassy lake. "They're real," she said softly. "By God, here be Dragons."

"Most certainly," Vivian agreed. She rose smoothly from her chair and went to the window, where she turned to face the two women. "Everything falls together. We all exist within the same fabric. If the corner begins to unravel, then it affects us all."

"All of this would certainly explain why the world has gone to hell in a handbasket," Jase mused.

Tash's head was beginning to hurt again and she frowned at Vivian. "This certainly is a lot to lay on someone's shoulders all at once."

Vivian dipped her head in understanding. "Agreed, but necessary. There is more information that I must still pass on to you. But perhaps I should wait..."

"No," Jase said, standing up to stretch her legs. "You've already overloaded my brain with this; might as well go for full burnout."

Vivian looked at Tash, who shrugged and waved her hand in assent. "Very well. We have the chance to right the mistakes we know will happen – the ones that did happen. They can be changed, eliminated, and we can begin again. You should know that, although Merlin and I have been given the task to train you, we are not the ones ultimately responsible for bringing you here."

"Who's responsible, then?" Jase asked, bending over to stretch out her back.

Vivian smiled. "The Dragons are responsible."

Jase's body came up with a snap. "Say what?!"

The Lady sighed. "Jasin, have you not heard a word I said? The Council has called you to halt the Downfall before it begins. With their help and the help of the Ancient Magic, time has been rewound." When neither woman protested this information, Vivian continued. "Merlin and I have discussed the options available to you and to us on these matters. There are a great many variables on achieving your goals. How you go about doing that is ultimately up to you. All that matters is that they are achieved."

"What exactly are these goals?" Tash asked.

"There are three," Vivian replied. She ticked them off on her fingers. "Guinevere must not marry Arthur. Guinevere cannot be allowed to turn to Lancelot. And, most importantly, Morgan le Fey absolutely must not rise to power."

Tash shook her head. "This can't be real," she murmured.

"What is real?" Vivian asked. "Merely a hypothesis. You must decide here," she pointed to her heart, "whether or not you believe. Belief is more important than reality."

Jase had heard enough. "Is that all we have to do? Believe this and poof! things will be jake? We're just supposed to march into Camelot, declare that we are from the far distant, morally incorrect future, and blame them for messing us up? Political correctness gone medieval! 'My life sucks and you tinheads are to blame.' Oh, I can see this now." She dropped a sarcastic curtsey to Vivian. "I'm sorry, m'lords, but we're gonna have to tell you what to do for a while so that you don't screw up the future of mankind. Mind your p's and q's, and the Dragons – oh, and have a nice day."

Vivian considered. "With a little more tact, Jasin, that might just work."

Tash interrupted before Jase could comment further. "Vivian, although Jase has no decorum, she does have a point. How are we to go about this? You mentioned something that bothers me a bit."

"What bothers you, Tatiana?"

Tash frowned. "You said we're supposed to interfere with Guinevere and both of her men. May I ask how?"

For the first time, Vivian looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Tatiana, you are a woman. That alone will aid you."

Tash looked into the serene blue eyes of the Lady and found her answer staring back at her. Instinctively she rose to her feet. "You want us to lure them!" she said, horrified. "You want us to seduce Lancelot and King Arthur! How dare you suggest such a thing! I can't...I won't...!" Her voice dissolved into angry sputters.

Jase, albeit calmer, was just as disgusted. "Oh, that's rich," she said softly. "We're to play whore to the king and his best knight. Well, Viv, I'm no saint, but there are a few things in this world that I won't do, and you just hit the top one on my list, babe."

"You are not in your world anymore," Vivian reminded her.

Jase's eyes blazed. "No, I'm in one where women are at the whim of any jackass who stands in their way!"

Tash, finding her voice and her temper, picked up the slack. "Where did that idea come from, anyhow? Merlin? Only a man would be so...so...condescending. How could you even suggest we do something like this?"

"Very easily, Tatiana," Vivian replied defensively. "Here and now is the time of men. The illusion of a hero is expected by the evil that stalks us all. But such power and change will not be expected from two – er – 'insignificant' women like you. Nay," she said, holding up a hand to silence the continuing outbursts forming on both women's lips. "It is only one possibility of how to thwart the evil, but it is also the best possibility."

Tash was already shaking her head. "No. That's not what you said. You said earlier that evil in this era was caused by women. Two women, in fact. We're not going to repeat that cycle."

"Child, you should never speak in absolutes," Vivian warned. "They have a way of returning to haunt you." She sighed. "As I have said, it is merely the best way to thwart this part of the problem. I did not say you absolutely had to do things that way. Besides, just the sight of you both may be all it takes to get their attentions. I did not mean for it to sound as if you should...er, throw yourselves at them."

"Sure sounded like it, Viv," Jase countered. "God knows I like men, but I will admit that I do not make first moves, nor do I chase them." Tash cleared her throat, and Jase shrugged. "Well, all right, I don't make first moves, anyhow. What I'm trying to get at, though, is that this is a really fine line we're walking. All it would take is one good argument and boom! We've destroyed an entire kingdom and ruined the chances for the future. Maybe the scholars have it right, after all."

"I agree," Tash chimed in. "I would not be able to live with myself if I did that."

Vivian looked at Tash and shook her head. "That will not happen if you give yourself willingly, and he accepts."

Tash looked at her warily. "Accepts what?"

"Don't be so obtuse, girl!" Vivian retorted a trifle irritably. "What I am trying to emphasize here is that the attention must be taken off of Guinevere. All that needs to happen is for Arthur and Lancelot to notice someone else. Half the catalyst will be annihilated quickly and quietly. And once the duty is done, you will be returned to the world you know now. So whatever the cause, you must take great care to guard your hearts."

"So we're not only to seduce them, but we're to leave them as soon as they take the bait, providing they do?" Tash asked, appalled. "What kind of – There's got to be another way to do this!"

Vivian eyed her coolly. "If you had been raised on my island, in my service, it would be easier for you to accept."

"Well, thank God I haven't!" Tash retorted. "Service! Talk about a double entendre!"

Vivian's mouth tightened, then abruptly relaxed. "I will let that remark slide, because I realize this is much for you to swallow. But I have got to get through to you. I have tried to see things from your point of view, and I have weighed all other options. They will not work. Believe me, Tatiana, this is the only way that you can succeed. This is what must be done to save Camelot and the future." She held their uncertain gazes with her own. "So much is at stake here. And Camelot's golden era alone is the priority – not you, not me, not anyone. It must survive." A hint of pleading had entered her voice, and it was not lost on the two women. "You are the only hope, my daughters," she concluded softly, "the only test that can truly save us all."

Jase and Tash looked at one another in the silence that followed Vivian's words. Something passed between them, quietly, but loud enough for Vivian to understand that they had accepted her terms. Merlin was right; they were indeed the ones for the task ahead.

"All right," Tash said after a few more moments of silence.

Jase nodded slowly and her eyes moved to connect with Vivian's. "We're in."

Vivian nodded. "Then it begins."

Chapter 6

#  1Armed and Somewhat Dangerous

May you live in interesting times.

– Ancient Chinese Curse

For the next few months, Jase and Tash were schooled in the arts of Avalon. At first, their lessons were history as the current world saw it, boring and monotonous sessions that had Tash sitting with her chin propped up in one hand and fighting to keep her eyes open. Jase, wonderful scholar that she was, blatantly fell asleep during each class.

Herbal medicine and minerals followed the history, and both women paid far more attention to these interesting teachings. Uses and combinations were quickly mastered, and they soon could identify everything from arsenic to zinc and treat afflictions from asthma to whooping cough. Jase, after correctly identifying mallow root and giving a thorough textbook explanation of its use in fighting stomach ailments, immediately congratulated herself by ordering a round of hot spiced wine for everybody in the classroom. Since there were only the two of them and their fledgling priestess instructor, everyone proceeded to get happily intoxicated and then tried out the effects of pink flowered storksbill to ease their headaches.

Language was the topper, which both women found delightful. Jase, who was already bilingual, picked up the Celtic tongues with ease. Tash struggled with speaking the slippery syllables at first, but with Jase's help, she gradually became fluent, and conversations between the students and their instructor were long and involved. Jase even got as far as teaching them all dirty limericks in Welsh, and the instructor slyly reciprocated with a few bawdy drinking songs that had them all laughing late into the night.

Magic came next, sessions that Tash and Jase looked forward to eagerly. They hoped these classes would be the most enjoyable, but unfortunately, things took a turn, as they turned out to be pretty disappointing. Their instructor in these endeavors was an ancient Druid who taught astrology, including the seasons and sabbats. He seemed as daft as he was old, giving windy lectures on lunar phases and planetary movements that were so bizarre and strangely obscure that both women wore blank expressions like masks throughout the class times. At one point, Jase bluntly told the man that they could learn more from nature itself than from his ramblings. Where was David Copperfield when they needed him?

Naturally, the old Druid thought the problem lay with his recalcitrant pupils, and only after three hour-long sessions did he give up. He hobbled out of the lesson with a side comment to Vivian that the women were completely hopeless and only Merlin himself could beat the "touch" into their heads. As she watched the once-revered old teacher leave, Vivian decided that enough was enough. No more nice Lady.

Jase and Tash were still laughing over the man's sputters when Vivian came into the room and, with one sentence, quelled their disrespect: "You are both idiots."

Both women stared at her for a few seconds of shocked silence. "Excuse me," Tash asked politely, "but did you just call me an idiot?"

Vivian folded her arms. "Anyone to treat a master of natural arts in such a manner does not deserve to be called anything more than an idiot."

"Master!" Jase repeated vehemently. "That old codger couldn't teach a pig to fart! Does everyone around here just go into their own little world at the drop of a hat?"

"He was trying to begin at the beginning and introduce you to magic by initiating the simplest spells," Vivian said patiently. "As for his vagueness, he is used to addressing his own kind, and I would have expected you to understand that."

"How could I understand that when I didn't understand him?" Jase asked, laughing. "No two words that followed each other were even related. I don't know what he was speaking, but it sure as hell wasn't English."

"Really?" Vivian asked. "And just what language was it?"

Put on the spot, Jase sat back and snorted. "Something they speak on Pluto, probably. Don't ask me for specifics. I only know that within his first five or six words I was lost. Completely lost."

"I see. Tatiana?" Tash shrugged, and Vivian sighed again. "Very well, then your lessons fall to me."

Within ten minutes, Tash and Jase found new meaning to the term "drill sergeant." Vivian promptly skipped the preliminaries and started them off with charm building, a technique that had both women in cold sweats within twenty minutes. But Vivian wouldn't tolerate any more lost time, and for the next few weeks she pressed her two students doggedly, making them repeat her lessons over and over until they could finally construct charms to her satisfaction. They eventually found themselves perfecting some advanced methods that could easily baffle all barbarians, almost all of the peasantry, and more than half of the nobility.

The most difficult lessons centered on casting and breaking spells. Jase continually complained about the unnecessary inclusion of this particular technique, mostly because she had a devil of a time doing it. Tash somehow managed to fall into the routine, but even the easiest, flimsiest spells were eluding Jase's abilities, and it was making her downright cranky.

One rainy morning, Jase arrived late to their sixth spell-breaking lesson, looking like Death without its morning cup of coffee. She slumped into her chair and promptly fell asleep, oblivious to the stares of her curious fellow classmate and tolerant instructor.

"Jasin," Vivian said after a few minutes of silence. "Jasin? Are you not feeling well?" There was no answer.

Tash tapped Jase on the shoulder, producing no response. She tapped again. Nothing. Setting her teeth, she poked Jase firmly in the side, causing her to sit bolt upright with a squeak, her bloodshot eyes wide.

"She's just a bit ticklish," Tash said to Vivian.

Vivian smiled faintly. "Are you with us now?" she asked Jase, who had propped her chin up on one elbow.

Jase nodded, making her arm wobble back and forth. "Sorry," she apologized thickly. "I didn't sleep for sh – er, I didn't sleep well last night."

"Why not?"

Jase sighed, running her hands through her raven-black hair. "All I did was toss and turn and dream of a blue Dragon," here her voice rose a notch in severe irritation, "who made me perform magic all night!" She rubbed her eyes. "I'm exhausted. It's bad enough I spend all my spare time trying to learn this stuff and now it invades my sleep."

"That must be difficult," Vivian observed sympathetically.

Jase's head fell back onto her hand. "Yeah, a little."

"I'm sure the weather isn't helping."

"Nope."

Vivian nodded, then gestured to the window. "Make it stop."

Jase blinked. "What?"

"Stop the rain," Vivian repeated firmly.

Jase looked at the window, then at Vivian. "I just told you I'm exhausted."

"Exhaustion does not matter to a master of the magical arts. Your concentration must overcome your physicalities. Sit up."

She wasn't joking. Sighing, Jase drew herself upright in the chair, glanced hastily at Tash, and raised her hands in what she hoped was the proper positions. "Um...elements of the sun...elements of eternity...fire and faith and...uh..."

"Stop."

The command was sharp, and Jase's eyes popped open, full of perplexity. Now what? She was sure she'd done nothing wrong.

"The objective of decent spell-making," Vivian continued, ignoring Jase's expression, "is to perform it without looking like you're trying to recite a passage of poetry."

"Well," Jase countered lamely, "it is poetry, of a sort."

"No," Vivian corrected sharply, "it is a pact, a binding contract with the forces of nature to bend them to your will, and in response, to bend to the will of nature."

Jase yawned. "English, please."

Vivian shook her head. "You are speaking the words like they are printed on paper. You need to be one with them. You need to feel them flowing through you, and it will respond."

"Use the Force, Luke," Tash murmured, and Jase stifled a laugh.

Vivian was not amused. "Do it again, and stand up this time."

There was no real change in the Lady's tone of voice, but it did carry that unmistakable tone of absolute power. Jase, already irritated from her lack of sleep, was becoming downright surly, and this General Patton manner that Vivian was using didn't help matters any. Stiffly she rose to her feet and put her hands into position again. "Elements of the snow...sun, I mean...uh..."

After a few minutes of stumbling over the words, Jase's irritation was flaring into downright anger. Hadn't she memorized this entire passage a week ago? Furious, she redoubled her efforts, grinding her teeth together. "Sun of...elements of the shade..."

Suddenly a burst of white light exploded behind her eyes, sending sharp, blinding pain shooting through her head. With a loud gasp, she fell onto her knees, clutching her head between her hands. Tash jumped up from her seat, but Vivian motioned her back.

Jase's head was reeling. She clutched it tighter and tried slitting her eyes open. The white light was still there, and there was something in it, but it was too bright to make out.

[Try again.]

Startled, Jase recognized the voice of the blue Dragon from her dream. "That hurt," she said aloud, rubbing her temples as the pain slowly receded.

[It was necessary, child,] the voice replied. [The touch does not come easy to anyone. There is pain of varying degrees for all.]

"Glad to hear I'm not alone," Jase muttered.

[Try again,] the voice urged.

Jase was willing, simply because the voice was more encouraging than Vivian. The light ebbed as slowly as the pain had, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw Tash watching her with concern. With a little effort, she stood and faced the window again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Use the Force, Luke. She grinned slightly at the thought, and then she let the silence in the room fill her consciousness. She could almost feel the strength of the rain against the castle walls.

"Elements of the Sun," she said softly, raising her hands, "Elements of the Day, come this way. Powers of the Night and Day, I summon thee..."

The words were smooth, liquid, commanding...and, as Jase concentrated more, her hands moved on their own power, reaching toward the window, beseeching, asking, persuading. Tash and Vivian watched, the former with pride, the latter with growing satisfaction, as the heavy downpour outside lessened, then subsided. A beam of sunshine pierced through the thinning cloud cover, promising change for the afternoon.

Jase dropped her hands, looking smug. "There you go. Nothing to it."

"Very good, my stubborn little pig," Vivian replied. "It seems that you have just learned how to fart."

Jase's jaw dropped for a second as her own words came back to her, and the three of them sat in the classroom and laughed away the rest of the lesson.

♦ ♦ ♦

Once the magic had secured itself in both women's minds, it made things much, much easier for the two of them. The remaining magic levels were taught to them without so much as a puzzled look, and the break that followed the final lesson was very needed and well deserved.

Despite what Tash and Jase had thought, the time had passed quickly on the Isle of Avalon, and before they knew it the close of one year was upon them. With the introduction of the new year came the introduction of some special individuals.

Tash was roused by her chamber priestess early one morning – too early, in her opinion – and was told that she and Jase must make haste to greet some visitors who had arrived only a few minutes before. Yawning, grumbling, and wishing for a cup of strong Kona coffee, Tash lurched into some clothes, raked a comb through her hair, and stumbled out into the hallway, meeting up with an equally sleepy and grumpy Jase. Not even bothering with a "good morning," they stumped toward their appointed classroom, muttering to themselves under their breath.

Vivian was waiting for them, sitting at the table in front of the room with a man dressed in black. As Jase and Tash entered, the man looked up and put down the mug of mead he'd been holding. Jase and Tash stopped before the table and made their customary bows to Vivian, nodding courteously to the visitor, and stifling yawns.

"I know 'tis early for you, since you took to your beds late," Vivian explained, "but I wanted to introduce you to the greatest necromancer in our time –"

"Vivian, honestly," the man interrupted with a smile.

She smiled back. "– the man who will be your mainstay at the court of Camelot," she finished. "Jasin, Tatiana, I believe you have heard of the wizard Merlin."

Jase and Tash blinked, astonished out of their sleepiness as the man came forward to take their hands in his. Merlin? This was Merlin? Good God, he was devastating, something straight out of the pages of best-selling romance novels. Merlin is supposed to be a harmless-looking old gomer! Jase thought in amazement, openly staring as he bent over her hand with all the charming grace of a cavalier. This man was anything but harmless-looking. He was amazingly tall, nearing six and a half feet, and dressed all in black from head to foot, excepting the deep crimson cloak that swirled from his shoulders. His tousled, shoulder-length hair was as black as his clothing, and his eyes were so dark it was hard to tell iris from pupil.

"Jasin, Tatiana – I am honored," he said, his voice matching the rest of him, deep and refined.

Tash smiled tentatively. "It's we who are honored, sir."

Jase was more succinct. "You're Merlin?" she asked. "You look like a Chippendale."

Merlin and Vivian exchanged glances. "I warned you," Vivian said quietly, causing Merlin to chuckle.

He looked at Jase amusedly. "A 'Chippendale,' hmm?" he repeated.

"A Chippendale is a...um..." Jase didn't dare look at Tash, who was trying unsuccessfully to stifle a wave of laughter. "Never mind. You really don't want to know."

Merlin held her gaze. "I know of your time, my lady. Believe it or no, I do know what a 'Chippendale' is."

Jase face turned a delightfully deep shade of red. "Oh," she managed, causing Tash to laugh outright.

Merlin and Vivian laughed too. "Now," Merlin continued, unwilling to let Jase slide out of his clutches just yet. "How would you have me appear? Tight breeks, no shirt?"

Jase knew when she was being teased, and since she liked this guy immensely already, she decided to play along. "That sounds wonderful, but I was thinking about...well, what happened to the long grey beard, the flowing robes, stars, moons and – and – things like that?"

Merlin's lip twitched. "I hated that look," he replied. "Stars, moons, and, er, things like that. Blame Hollywood."

Jase glanced at Tash, who was obviously enjoying the banter. "I see," she said. "Tash, do you have anything to say?"

Tash put her hand up to her mouth to repress another grin. "About what?" she asked. "Chippendales? Or Hollywood?"

"You're determined to let me make a fool of myself, aren't you?" Jase said aside to her. "This is Merlin, for God's sake."

Tash spread her hands helplessly. "If the shoe fits..."

"I'll put it on and kick you with it," Jase finished.

Merlin was laughing with them, and Vivian, satisfied that such ease had been established between the three, stood up. "All right, comedians. Now that you have met Merlin, your new history instructor is waiting for you in the other room."

"Aw, Vivian," Jase complained, "one more lesson and my head's going to explode."

" It would serve you right, too," Vivian replied. "Now go. Selene cannot stay for long."

"Thank God," Tash muttered under her breath, following Jase out of the room.

Once they were gone, Merlin reclined back in his seat. "Fascinating."

Vivian shook her head. "Wait until you spend time with them. They are maddening, especially Jasin, as you can see."

"But capable." It was a statement, not a question.

"Oh, aye," Vivian agreed softly. "Very capable."

Merlin didn't reply. When the Lady of the Lake was certain of something, it was best not to question.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase and Tash thought the morning's surprises had been over when they met Merlin, but when they entered the room that Vivian had indicated, they stopped short, their jaws dropping agape for the second time in an hour.

Their instructor was a Dragon. It – she, rather – stood more or less eight feet tall, and if one could call a Dragon delicate, then this one definitely had delicate features: a delicate snout; a delicate, albeit long tail; delicate silvery eyes. Her scales were as iridescent as opals, and her whole bearing spoke of elegance.

"Good morning," she welcomed them in an odd reverberating tone. "I am Selene, your instructor."

Tash and Jase looked at each other. "It talks," Jase commented, apparently stating the obvious for Tash's sake.

Selene laughed musically. "I trust you've not met a True Dragon until now."

"Well..." Jase couldn't bring herself to explain about the blue Dragon that spoke inside her head. "We haven't met a Dragon until now. I guess we expected something more, uh..." She trailed off, not wanting to insult the Dragon.

The white head dipped to hide amusement. "Bigger?" she supplied, flaring the small hackles across her head and back. "Full of fire and brimstone, baring hideous yellowed teeth and massive killer claws?" She knowingly picked at her strong white fangs with a pearly talon. "Perhaps taken to terrorizing the countryside in the quest for gold and virgin women?"

"Er..." Tash looked at Jase, bemused.

Selene laughed again. "Come, now. It is up to me to set the record straight for you."

"Oh." Understanding came quickly to Jase. "You're going to tell us about the other Dragons. Like you."

Selene shook her head. "Not like me. I am merely a common Dragon. That is one thing you will learn about Kierkegaard and the Council of Twelve – they are anything but common."

"As in Kierkegaard the philosopher?" Tash asked.

Selene tilted her head to one side. "Where do you suppose he got his name?" she asked lightly. She indicated the two chairs before the fire. "Be seated."

When they all had made themselves comfortable (and it was interesting indeed to see a Dragon sitting in a chair like a Human being), Selene continued. "I want you to take everything you know or think you know about Dragons and forget it. Most of it is nonsense. Most of it." She poked a claw on the arm of her chair. "What you are about to learn is the truth, and this truth must be remembered so that history remains correct. First, I will tell you of Kierkegaard and the Council." Tash and Jase glanced sidelong at each other, feeling like kids who'd just met the real Mother Goose.

Selene curled her tail around the legs of her chair and, like Alice, began at the beginning. "Every legend has a prophet of its own. This one has twelve..."

♦ ♦ ♦

Selene was with them for three weeks before she left Avalon. Before her departure, she informed Vivian and Merlin that her students were well-versed in all matters and were nearly ready for their task at hand.

Nearly. What came next would take at least half a year and more strength than learning how to stop rain storms. What did being a drill sergeant mean, after all, without doling out basic training?

The morning after Selene left, Jase and Tash were introduced to their respective trainers in weaponry. Jase instantly took a shining to the broadsword and the lance, while Tash favored the efficiency and grace of the longbow. Their training started that very day, and no mercy was granted despite their gender. Each morning after that saw them drilled in physical training exercises until the sweat ran freely and their muscles quivered from the strain. After these exertions, Tash usually fell flat on her back and prayed for physical fitness. Jase just fell flat, in a melodramatic sort of way.

After a break for a quick lunch, they were placed into the hands of their taskmasters and thoroughly instructed in the complexities of their chosen interests. Jase's master was Ryder, a tall, muscular man of the Avalon woods who had been raised on the art of swordplay. Tash was handed over to Flint, also of the woods; slender and graceful as a stag, he was Avalon's authority on the longbow.

Jase had always been an avid lover of the outdoors, and since she had spent half of her life with horses, as well as participating in mock battles with her chapter of the Society for Creative Anachronism, she took to jousting and swordplay with joy, like a duck to water. She soon surpassed all the preliminaries and began studying the complicated and intricate tricks of jousts and duels with real swords and lances, all of which she sailed through with a minimum of difficulty. Ryder, who had taken a shining to his eager student, was mighty pleased with her and began to teach her some of his own personal techniques, which he swore that, to his knowledge, no other person knew besides himself.

On the other hand, Flint had to start from ground zero with Tash on the art of archery. She wanted to know everything about the longbow and arrows, from what kind of wood was the best to use to which feathers made the best fletchings. But despite her penchant for learning, Tash had one hell of a time picking up on how to shoot the large ashwood bow. When she first tried to pull back on the string, Flint had immediately discerned her need for upper arm strength and forced her into at least twenty push-ups and ten chin-ups every morning. Until she could use the ashwood bow, he started her out on a makeshift willow branch bow, and met with another brick wall: Tash's aim was atrocious. But she insisted that she would learn how to do it herself, and thus shunned his offers of assistance.

Luckily, Flint had infinite patience, and with that patience came some grueling tasks for Tash. She was given only one arrow, and each time she missed the target, which was about nine times out of ten, she would have to retrieve it. The little willow branch bow was compact and easy to pull, but it still shot the arrows some distance, and sometimes Tash would take nearly fifteen minutes looking for the arrow. In addition to this ruthless exercise, she had to drop at Flint's feet and give him fifteen push-ups each time she returned from finding the arrow.

During her breaks with Ryder, Jase watched Tash run back and forth between the shooting line and the target, and she saw how Flint leaned back against a nearby tree with a patient smile on his face. Surely Tash could see that all Flint was waiting for was a request for help? Surely she'd ask him for it? Then again, Tash had always gone out of her way to prove that she could do something alone so people wouldn't think her spoiled.

The arrow had missed again and Tash, exasperated, dropped the bow on the ground and went jogging after it. Jase finally decided to intervene.

"Tash!" she hissed. "Aren't you getting tired of running back and forth?"

"Sod off," Tash replied tiredly, digging through the tall blades of grass.

"You're obviously doing something wrong," Jase said. "Why don't you find out?"

"I forget you're so perfect," Tash snapped, locating the arrow and pulling it out of the ground. "Keep your eyes on your own business. I'll handle it myself."

"Somebody has to tell you that you're being a stubborn shithead," Jase snapped back. "The man's there for a reason, Tash. I ask Ryder to help me, Flint's there to help you! Don't be so bullheaded!"

Tash stood up and walked back to the shooting line, ignoring Jase's comments, and Jase shook her head in resignation as she watched Tash do her push-ups and continue to run after arrows. Well, if she wanted to exhaust the hell out of herself, then so be it. She'd tried, after all.

It wasn't until an hour later that Tash finally gave in. She had spent a long time aiming at the target, and she could picture the bullseye with her eyes closed. But when she let the arrow loose, it flew over the target into the tall weeds beyond.

Tash threw down the bow in frustration. "What am I doing wrong?" she said angrily, turning on Flint. "What the hell am I doing wrong?"

Flint uncoiled from against the tree like a lazy panther. "At last you ask," he said wryly. "Great Mother, but you are stubborn! If you had but asked for aid this morning, you would be hitting that target by now."

Tash looked at him like she'd never seen him before. "So why didn't you tell me this earlier?" she asked.

One of Flint's upswept eyebrows cocked. "I am the instructor, you the student. I do not give answers unless I am asked."

Tash studied him for a few more minutes, and he stared back, his green eyes steady, solemn, and unblinking. Finally Tash smiled. "Okay," she admitted, "I'm mulish. I'm a fool."

"Aye, you are mulish, but you are no fool, Tatiana," Flint replied. "You are aiming too high. You know to put the bow higher because of the distance from the target, but you do not know how to compensate. I will show you, if you will permit me." He leaned down and picked up the bow. "Shall we?"

Tash nodded. "Yes. Show me how to work this beast."

And show her he did. Sometimes he would stand right beside her, holding the bow with her, pulling the string back with her, but letting her sight the target. This technique helped both student and instructor to spot problems. Within the next few hours, Tash was hitting the target, and within the next few days, she was hitting the bullseye. And as the weeks went by, Tash developed a perfect and dangerous aim, no matter where the target was or how fast it was moving, and she was able to pull the string of the big ash bow back to her ear without so much as a twinge of discomfort. She was pleased with herself, and Flint was very proud of her.

Months passed. With their mornings spent in rigorous physical exercises, part of the afternoon in jousting, fencing, archery, and broadsword play, and the latter hours of the day in refreshers of their previously learned courses, Tash and Jase were exhausted at night, hardly able to eat before they fell into bed. But changes were taking place. Under the combined tutelage of Ryder and Flint, Jase and Tash were slowly transformed from untried amateurs to hardened experts – as hardened as a woman could get and still be called a woman.

Vivian watched the two women like a hawk from her tower window. Things were proceeding beautifully. It wouldn't be long before they were ready.

♦ ♦ ♦

One evening, approximately six months after the physical training began, Vivian called the two women to the chamber they'd dubbed "the classroom" and made them stand side by side in front of her so she could study them. The changes in their appearances were remarkable. Both were darkened by the sun, Jase more so because of her Seminole blood, and Tash without so much as a freckle. Their bodies were hard with muscle and yet lithe and graceful, and though their faces were calm and relaxed, there was an alertness in their eyes that had been absent before. Vivian suppressed a smile at the thought that Jase's days of falling asleep in class were long gone. She motioned them closer and indicated the two plate-sized pools of molten silver that quivered slightly at her feet.

"Ryder and Flint have informed me that your physical training is complete," Vivian said, "and they commend you both on your natural talents. You are both ready to begin the task you were called upon to perform. But you need protection." She gestured toward the pools. "And there it is."

Tash and Jase watched curiously. Each pool resembled spilled mercury from a broken thermometer, and as they watched, the centers rose and fell in rhythm, as if they were somehow breathing. It was unsettling.

As if she were reading their thoughts, Vivian smiled. "Always remember not to judge something by its physical form," she reassured them. "None of the elements for this armor were raped from the earth. It is simply and purely magical."

"I can see that," Jase remarked deadpan, still eyeing the silver pools skeptically. "The stuff looks like it's alive."

One of Vivian's feathery eyebrows raised in amusement. "It is alive."

Jase's head jerked up. "Come again?"

"It is not going to ask you to dance, Jasin," Vivian explained, chuckling. "When I say 'alive,' I mean that it is not ordinary, immobile armor. This goes from liquid to solid with just a thought. It remains in this form until you wish to don it. So all you have to do is imagine what you would like your armor to look like and you have it."

"Just like that?" Tash asked, still incredulous after three years.

"Just like that," Vivian confirmed.

Tash grinned. "All it takes is faith and trust..."

"And a little bit of pixie dust," Jase finished, laughing.

"You do not need dust," Vivian said, "and I doubt you would find a pixie south of the Roman Wall. But faith and trust will always be good to have." She turned to Tash. "Close your eyes, Tatiana, and conjure up a suit of armor."

Tash remembered a simple but striking suit of armor she'd seen at a medieval fair in Orlando. The only distinguishing features were an attacking griffin on the breastplate, long spikes on the gauntlets that could be withdrawn into hidden sheaths, and upswept Dragon wings on the salade helmet. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that image.

Jase suddenly blurted, "Son of a –"

Tash's eyes jerked open, just in time to see one of the silver pools jump toward her like a pouncing cat and dart up her legs. She gave a little scream of surprise, but before it died, she found herself encased head to foot in solid metal. Stunned, she turned toward a full-length mirror in the corner and saw she was wearing the armor she'd envisioned, right down to the curve of the claws on the attacking griffin. She raised the faceplate of the helmet and her face gradually donned a huge, delighted smile.

"Joan of Arc, eat your heart out!" she said happily.

Vivian nodded, pleased. "Well done. Now," she turned to Jase, "it is your turn. You know what you want, and there are no limitations. Do what you will."

Jase grinned devilishly. She knew what she wanted, indeed. For years she'd tried to get various armorers to make her a suit she'd designed. After seeing her sketches and hearing her explanations, they'd either laughed or admitted they did not possess that kind of skill. Well, skill be damned, she was finally going to own that suit!

She closed her eyes and let her thoughts turn to the details. The sollerets would look more appropriate on a motocross raceway. The cuisses were doubly thick on top of the thigh. The tassets of chain mail had pseudo-Dragon scale overlays. Half-inch spikes rose across the backplate and pauldron, partway down the breastplate, and over the upper arms. Two side protectors aided the gorget. The double-thick couters had razor-sharp diagonal edges. Intricately detailed gauntlets had thick leather palms and thin, individual finger pads. Topping the whole thing off was a salade helmet with eye slits that extended to the temple, crowned with straight-backed Dragon fins. She had never understood why these world-renowned artists couldn't do this suit. It was quite simple, actually.

Tash shuddered involuntarily as she watched the silver pool at Jase's feet expand and contract. Then, like lightning, it leapt at Jase, darted up her body, and solidified into a suit of armor before Tash could blink. Tash shook her head as she recognized the pattern that Jase had tried so hard to create back home.

"Jase, for God's sake," she remarked.

Jase raised her faceplate, also grinning hugely. "Just imagine what the SCA would pay for this armor!" she exulted. "I never thought I'd see the day it would actually be real!" She ran to study herself in the mirror, as excited as a teenager going to the prom, then turned to Vivian, who was watching Jase like a proud parent. "I'm curious," she said. "Where did this armor come from?"

Vivian pursed her lips, thinking. "You might call it legendary," she said finally. "You've learned about the Council from Selene. Like all councils, they have a leader, or, in this case, a Mother: Kierkegaard, the Prism Dragon. She created this armor for her children to don as extra protection and passed it on to some of her spawn...or so the legends say." She indicated the newly created suits of armor. "You will notice the Dragon scale engraved in the metal, if you look hard."

Jase, who had been listening even as she preened in front of the mirror, immediately pushed the faceplate back up and peered hard at the armor on her arm. Sure enough, when she held her arm a certain way, thousands of tiny scales were visible in the candlelight. They looked like laser etching, refracting the candle flame into a burst of color as she turned her arm another way.

Vivian smiled as she watched the two women twist their bodies around to study the effects of the Dragon scales. "Now, the boots you both are wearing will house the armor in its unused state," she continued, and both women directed their attention to their boots. "However," she continued, "with practice, it will also form without you in it, if that is your desire. You can then clean it or repair it as you wish. Even though it was created by Kierkegaard, it needs care just like every other suit of armor because, despite the magic that creates it, it will rust." She nodded at Tash. "Try it. Imagine yourself free of the armor."

Tash closed her eyes and concentrated. Instantly the metal quivered and turned back into its liquid form, where it quickly slid from her body like egg white from stone and disappeared into the tops of Tash's boots. After a few seconds, Jase's armor did the same thing. They looked at each other, delighted.

Vivian nodded approvingly. "Good. The pools are willing to respond to you. They will also 'remember' the forms they have taken and will use those forms until you change your minds. Your concentration will improve in time, and you will be able to shed and wear the armor as quickly as you wish." She beckoned to someone behind Tash and Jase, and they turned to see two priestesses coming toward them with weapons in their hands.

Vivian took a long, ornate bow of ash wood and handed it to Tash, along with a quiver full of silver-tipped arrows, and a slender, straight-bladed sword. A heavy broadsword with a single deep blue lapis stone in the pommel was given to Jase. Each received two short daggers and oblong white shields with no markings or designs.

"You have earned these weapons, my daughters," Vivian said. "Now they will aid you in your quest. Remember what you have learned, remember the legends, and remember why you are here." She raised her hand and the mist around them began to thicken. Her voice began to fade slightly. "As Dragon's spawn you may return as necessary, but for now I send you off in search of your destinies. They await you, favored children. Search for Camelot..."

The mist swirled around the room, and soon Tash and Jase could see nothing. However, they knew they'd been dismissed, and they waited patiently until the heavy curtain of fog lifted. They blinked, though, when they found themselves standing on the far banks of the Avalon Lake, with two large bundles in front of them.

Jase was the first to speak. "Alice just fell down the rabbit hole," she said. "What is this, Girl Scouts? 'Live off the fat of the land' and so forth?" She put her hands on her hips. "I don't know about you, but I'm beginning to think we're submerged in a D&D game and it's so intense that it seems real. Let's put the dice away and go get a pizza with everything – including the little fishies."

"No can do," Tash replied thoughtfully, still looking around the area. "Consider this: If we were playing D&D, your foremost character would be Falcon DuLac, right?"

Jase grunted an affirmative. "Of course. Falcon's a Level 15."

"Right. Describe Falcon to me, please."

"What?"

"Falcon. Describe him to me."

"What the hell for?"

"Jase, you're trying to figure something out, and I'm trying to show you what you're figuring. Don't be stupid. Just tell me about him."

Jase looked irritated. "Fine. For the umpteenth time, he wears that suit of armor I conjured up, and he rides a big black Friesian with silver tack...oh." Her voice trailed off as she suddenly realized they had no transportation whatsoever.

Tash tapped her finger to her temple. "No horse, Jase. Falcon doesn't go anywhere without Charr. You don't have a horse, so therefore, we aren't playing D&D. Nice try, though."

Jase shook her head. "Well, it looks like we walk to Camelot," she sighed, "if that's where we're going," she added. "I don't know my own name anymore. I think I've lost my mind. How long have we been here?"

Tash spread her hands. "Your guess is as good as mine. A long time. That's all I can tell you, except that your name is Tonto."

"My name is not Tonto," Jase growled under her breath.

"Then you haven't lost your mind." Tash scanned the area and finally picked up all her gear. Reaching in her pocket, she held up a small pouch. "At least we can buy something to eat." She dumped a handful of coins into her palm, and Jase's eyes widened.

"Where did you get that?" she asked.

Tash grinned. "My chamber priestess warned me that Vivian was going to send us 'out' this morning, so she slipped me some money." She pulled another purse out of her pocket and tossed it to Jase. "Here."

Jase put the pouch in her own pocket without opening it. "Why didn't mine tell me?" she asked. "Airheaded broad. Must have had a blond moment."

"Now, now," Tash replied easily. "There was nothing wrong with her. You were too busy playing Conan, that's all. Quit arguing with me and let's go." She eyed her gear dispassionately. "I would like to have some mode of transportation, though. This stuff looks heavy."

Jase shrugged. "How? I don't have a magic carpet with me, and we never learned how to fly."

"Oh, dry up," Tash grumbled, annoyed. In response, a light rain began to fall and Tash glanced up at the sky in disgust. "Wonderful. Well, wherever we are, we're definitely still in England." She slung the bow and quiver over one shoulder, strapped the shield on her pack, and hefted the entire mess onto her back. "Wish we had a map. Let's go."

Jase hefted her own gear. "Start spread-in' the news," she sang, purposefully off key. "I'm leav-in' to-day...I want to be a part of it, King Ar-thur's court..."

"Jase, please."

"Sorry."

#  PART TWO

This Ain't No Route 66

Chapter 7

#  Providence

...It had become a glimmering girl,

With apple blossom in her hair,

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

– William Butler Yeats

Jase rolled over slightly and opened her eyes sleepily, noticing four things at once. First of all was the time – it was morning, and the eternal blackness she and Tash had trudged through the night before had lightened to a murky gray, the only color daylight could squeeze through the densely packed trees. Second on the list was the weather – it had graciously stopped raining and the moss she was lying on was well on its way to drying. Thirdly was her physical condition – she was stiffer than a two-by-four because she'd slept in her armor to avoid being soaked with rainwater. And last and certainly least was her sanity – she was reasonably sure that someone had used the aforementioned two-by-four to beat on her armor...or was it just the sharp pinging sound of the rain that had driven her nearly mad the night before? As it was, she was crankier than a hand-turned automobile this morning.

She sat up carefully, groaning as she felt pain in places she never thought she'd feel pain. Her complaints awoke Tash, who lay encased in her own metal skin across from her.

"Whassamatta?" Tash asked thickly, slowly sitting up. Her joints screamed in protest and she groaned herself, immediately awake. "Lord, I'm stiff," she gasped, trying to rub her back through her armor.

"That's 'whassamatta,'" Jase griped. "This stuff might protect me from all types of weapons and weather, but I'll be damned if I sleep in it again." She willed the armor away and struggled to her feet, gingerly stretching her cramped muscles over and over until most of the pain subsided. Tash shed her own armor and lay back on the damp pine needle and maple leaf bed she'd slept in.

"Come on," Jase said. "Up and at 'em. I want out of this forest within my lifespan."

"I want a masseuse," Tash murmured.

"There's probably slugs or big bugs under those leaves," Jase commented, knowing that would motivate Tash quicker than anything, and she was right; before she had even finished speaking Tash was on her feet. She glared at Jase and picked up her bow.

"I'm going to get some breakfast," she said curtly. "How about if you get a fire started."

"Just kidding," Jase said to Tash's retreating back.

Tash snorted and disappeared into a nearby thicket, while Jase started looking for some dry wood. Surprisingly, under a thick tangle of stickerbushes, she found a few dry branches that had been screened from the weather. She collected these into a small pile. When Tash returned twenty minutes later carrying two small rabbits, Jase was carefully nursing the temperamental flame she'd kindled within the tangle of wood and soon had a small cooking fire burning. They cleaned and spitted the rabbits in silence, and ate them quickly when they were done.

"Well, now what?" Tash asked, kicking some damp earth over the remains of the fire.

"Now what?" Jase repeated, picking up her gear. "We look for Camelot, of course." She threw Tash a "what-a-stupid-question" look.

"Thanks for reminding me," Tash replied, taking a swing at her companion, who ducked. She spread her arms. "If we could see the damn sun, we'd be able to pinpoint southeast, but hell, we're blind in these woods."

"I guess that means we just have to find a way out of the woods." Jase tapped her temple and grinned. "Smart, huh?"

"Jase, I'm so glad I have you along to tell me these things."

"Always glad to help. Onward, Christian soldier."

"Charge."

♦ ♦ ♦

After an hour's march, the forest was just as dense as before. Jase dropped her gear in frustration.

"What is this?" she grumbled. "Are we walking in circles? Did we miss a yellow brick road a few miles back?" She put her hands on her hips. "Hell, at this point I'd take the red brick road. Incidentally, did you ever wonder where that red brick road led to in that movie?"

Tash, ignoring Jase's rambling, was looking off to her right. Caught up in her Oz comparison, Jase seized the opportunity. "What's the matter, you see lions and tigers and bears, oh, my?"

Tash pointed. "Oh, my." Jase looked in the same direction and just made out the silhouette of a crumbled structure resembling a castle turret.

Jase dropped into character as the Dungeon Master. "You stop outside a ruin of a castle. If you roll higher than seven, you go in. Less than seven, you keep walking." They glanced at each other, and their fists came up. After a count of three, Tash held up five fingers, and Jase held up four. They grinned and Jase stepped to one side. "After you, mademoiselle."

"Merci," Tash replied. "I think." She picked up her pack and made her way toward the ruin, Jase trotting behind.

Olive green moss fought for dominance with lichen and other fungi over the decomposed gray stones. For all the herbal parasites, it was surprising that the old structure still stood in one piece. What remained of a pair of massive doors – the wood had rotted away long ago, leaving behind a vulgar-looking colony of fungus – hung from rusty iron hinges, and the gloom beyond beckoned to both women.

Sword poised, Jase entered first, looking around for signs of anything moving. "It's dark," she said pointedly over her shoulder.

"Make a torch," Tash suggested. "I'll go find a piece of wood." She turned and went off to do just that.

Jase set her gear on the ground and opened her pack. She pulled out a towel that she'd swiped from Avalon and a musty bottle of liquid, which took her the next ten minutes to pry open. At one point, she thought she'd have to break the bottle, but the tight seal finally gave way and she pulled the stopper out impatiently.

There was a rustling of leaves and Tash came around the corner holding a branch almost as long and thick as her arm. "You know, Jase," she mused, "this sounds stupid, but I've got the worst case of déjà vu."

"Don't worry," Jase said with a chuckle. "You've never been here before, because I would have known if you had, right? After all, I'm your shadow."

"No, hold on," Tash replied slowly, shaking her head. "I've seen this place before. I just can't remember where."

Jase tried to help. "A book, maybe? One of those tour guides?"

Tash was still frowning. "Huh-uh."

Jase shrugged. "Well, don't dwell on it." She indicated the branch. "That's good. Gimme."

Tash obediently handed over the branch, and Jase wrapped the towel around it, tying the ends together. She then picked up the bottle and poured its contents liberally over the material.

"Where'd you get that?" Tash wanted to know, pointing at the bottle Jase held.

Jase shrugged. "I wished for it."

Tash sighed. "Cute. Just say you stole it, Jase. Nothing you do surprises me anymore."

"Wanna bet your Steinway on that?" Jase asked.

"That would be useless," Tash returned. "You don't play."

"I can pawn."

Tash looked heavenward. "Never mind. What have you got there, anyhow?"

Jase sniffed the contents and made a face. "Moonshine. Petroleum. Maybe a mixture of both." She sniffed again, deeply, and immediately the contorted expression was gone as she donned a Cheshire Cat-like grin of familiarity. "Scotch!" she amended. "It's a long way from home. Shame to waste it, though." Curious, she took a quick pull and shuddered as the slug went down. "Whoo! Oh, that's some good shit!"

"Don't drink it," Tash ordered. "I won't have you reeling all over the place from a bout with scotch, homesick or not."

Jase muttered something about alcohol abuse and set the bottle aside. Tash picked it up to take it out of Jase's reach and hesitated as she felt how light the bottle was.

"Are you making a torch or cotton flambé?" she asked, shaking the bottle meaningfully.

Jase looked at her. "I just want it to light."

"Cotton flambé," Tash confirmed. "It'll light, all right."

"Whatever." She handed the branch to Tash. "Hold this." She took her flint stones out of her pack and knocked them together repeatedly. She was unsuccessful the first few tries, but then a nice fat spark leapt from the clashing stones and there was a loud whuff! as the alcohol-soaked towel caught it. Tash almost dropped the makeshift torch as the flames shot high in the air.

"Nice job," Tash said, watching the flames subside. "Now everyone for 30 miles knows we're here. We don't want a bonfire, you know."

Jase didn't comment as she picked up her pack, grabbed the torch from Tash, and thrust it through the doors into the yawning darkness beyond.

They were expecting crumbled walls, more moss-covered stones, and maybe even trees upon a long-disintegrated floor. Instead, they beheld a huge chamber where the floor was covered with dusty black and white tiles, and the unblemished gray walls were draped with faded black tapestries. It was also full of statues. There were hundreds of them, all the same cold gray as the walls. They were scattered intermittently around the room between giant, ornate vases and amphorae, looking as if they had been deliberately placed a certain number of paces apart. And such statues! There were creatures of every sort, some that the women recognized, like satyrs and dwarfs, others they didn't, and it was better that they didn't. There were also regular animals, like stags, foxes, and rabbits. In fact, it was the sight of a little rabbit statue that jolted Tash's uneasy feeling of déjà vu into a full-blown memory.

"Wait a minute," she whispered. "Now I recognize this place."

Jase looked over her shoulder warily. "Yeah? Where from?"

"I dreamed about it," Tash explained hurriedly. She bent down to study the rabbit closely. "It's the same," she murmured. "Just the same."

"Well, don't keep me in the dark," Jase said impatiently.

"We are in the dark, moron."

"Who are you calling a moron, moron?" Jase returned, spinning around at a faint scrabbling sound. It was probably just a mouse, but her nerves were on edge. She had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched.

Unfortunately she spun too quickly. The torch nudged a huge amphora to her right as she turned, just enough to push it off its stand. She made a hasty grab for it, but she was too late; its top-heaviness sent it smashing to the floor. Both women jumped as the crash echoed off the walls and then there was silence. The shadows darted and shifted as if suddenly alive, and then they returned to normal.

"Cha-rist!" Tash said angrily. "Why don't you wake the damn dead next time?"

"I'll just add it to my long and distinguished list of miracles," Jase snapped. "Let's get out of here. Something's weird about this place."

"Sshh," Tash hissed, pausing. "Did you hear that?"

Jase froze, her ears straining. "Hear what?" There was silence for a few seconds, and then, very clearly, came the unmistakable scraping noise of stone moving against stone. Whatever it was, it certainly was not a mouse.

"That," Tash whispered back.

Jase's first impulse was to extinguish the flame from the torch, but she knew if they had no light at all, the chances of finding the door they came in were not too good; even though it was still daylight outside, the woods were so dark that they could pass the door by without so much as a second glance. So she kept the torch lit and held it high, and they saw what was making the sound.

Half of the statues in the room were gone. As they watched, wide-eyed, a stone fox slid a few inches across the floor and stopped. A few more inches. Stop. A few more inches. Stop. Then, before they could blink, and without so much as a warning, the smooth grey stone rippled into bright red fur and the live fox, no longer a statue, slipped quietly into the shadows.

Tash groaned low in her throat. "Aw, Jase – now what have you done?"

"I didn't!" Jase hissed back. "I had nothing to do with this!" But she couldn't shake the feeling that she had done something. She thought suddenly of the amphora she'd broken. Was it a signal, maybe?

The rabbit in front of Tash suddenly wiggled and darted between her feet like it had been shot from a bow. She squealed involuntarily and leapt back, knocking over a tall, lithe figurine behind her. It crashed to the floor, and instantly the room was filled with a most horrifying, unearthly wailing. A wraithlike form flowed from the broken remnants of the statue like smoke, its eyes glowing red in the darkness of the room.

"Holy shit!" Jase cried, stumbling backward. She flailed the torch about wildly, desperately searching for the exit. Her sharp eyes caught a patch on the wall that seemed lighter than the rest of the expanse and she wasted no time. She grabbed Tash's wrist and took off at a full run, dragging Tash behind her. A few moments later, both women exploded from the crumbling ruin with the irate specter hot on their trail.

Tash had heard of adrenaline bursts and second winds, but nothing compared to the way her feet surely flew over the uneven ground right now. There was nothing, she thought, nothing like a little stark terror to boot you in the ass when you needed it the most. Tash's longer legs gave her the lead, but Jase had absolutely no problem keeping up. Their hearts were pumping 96 octane through their bodies, and the hideous wail of the creature behind them spurred them on faster than any policeman's siren on a rowdy Friday night back home.

Branches snapped backward from Tash's outstretched hands and into her face as she ran through the dense trees, but she never felt the tiny stinging slaps. Jase was right behind her, and so was the creature. Would the thing ever give up? They wouldn't be able to last much longer. The trees suddenly diminished and they burst into a clearing...but it wasn't empty.

♦ ♦ ♦

Arthur Pendragon, High King of England, watched as his huge gyrfalcon settled on his outstretched gauntlet, the cruel talons of one foot sinking into the thick leather. He gently disentangled the partially mangled turtledove it had captured from the other set of talons and strung it with the others at his side. The bedraggled, limp birds left smears of blood against the shocking white coat of Firaved, Arthur's huge destrier, but the noble beast was familiar with the sharp metallic smell and did not shy away from the small bodies.

Arthur drew a deep lungful of the fresh air and let it out slowly, surveying his surroundings. A wistful smile softened his hard, rugged features. It wasn't often he got away from royal duties to partake in this sort of activity, and it seemed the time for recreation was getting shorter, while the time of war and strife was getting longer.

There was a pounding of hoofbeats behind him, and he glanced back to see his good friend Lancelot ride up with a squire in tow. A good-sized wild boar was tied securely behind the squire's bundle of hunting weapons. Lancelot smiled as he watched Arthur arrange a small hood of red leather around the gyrfalcon's head.

"It's missing the Dragon insignia," he pointed out good-naturedly.

Arthur looked up. "Not everything I own has my brand on it, Lance." He nodded toward the boar. "You've had luck, I see."

Lancelot glanced over his shoulder. "Aye. The others are doing just as well. Percival bagged a twelve pointer in the meadow, the biggest I've seen in years. Bedivere and the hounds rounded up some partridges and rabbits. There'll be a feast tonight." He tilted his head back to look at the sun. "We've quite a long road to travel, milord. We'd best be heading back if we're to make it to the castle by nightfall."

Arthur nodded and stretched carelessly. "It's times like this when I bemoan the rigors of royalty, my friend. 'Struth, I would spend all my days on the hunt if I could get away with it."

"There's nothing like relaxation," Lancelot agreed.

"Ah, there's one word I hardly hear anymore." Arthur scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And yet, the hunt is anything but relaxing. It exhausts me more than any other...shall we say, 'recreations.' "

"Now, surely you jest, milord," Lancelot replied, a humorous twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "Maybe you should try more than one maiden a night. Perhaps eight or ten would suffice?"

Arthur leered. "My reputation is bad enough as it is. At that rate I'd poke every wench in England...and probably none would turn me down."

"Vanity, vanity," Lancelot sighed mockingly. "Well, it could be worse, you know. You could have been homely."

"Mmm."

"And impotent," Lancelot added.

Arthur laughed. "You arrogant bastard."

Grinning, Lancelot turned to the squire. "Round up the others, lad." The squire pulled an ivory hunting horn from his belt and put it to his lips, sending three clear, sweet notes wavering through the air.

The horn could have been a summons, or it could have been a warning. At any rate, as the final note died on the wind, the squire's horse suddenly reared up as the dense foliage next to him erupted and two Human figures crashed out, staggering slightly as they yanked broken limbs and leaves out of their way. Startled by the onslaught, Lancelot's and Arthur's horses both shied and reared in kind. Arthur groped wildly for the reins and dug in his knees, but the frantic gyrations of the horse and the screech of the gyrfalcon as it blindly scrambled from his wrist soon unseated him and he fell to the ground just as the other members of the hunting party rode into the clearing. Arthur's body landed directly in the path of one of the runners, and there was a dull thud as the hooligan tripped and hit the ground right next to him. He rose up on his elbows, ready to demand an explanation.

The words died a quick death on his lips as he found himself nearly nose to nose with the most breathtakingly beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life. She scrambled to her feet in the next second, running toward his horse; as he and the others watched, dumbfounded, she swung herself up onto its back, urging the horse to its fastest run before she even got settled. The other runner, also a beautiful woman, had run smack into Lancelot, pushing him back a good five feet before he gained his balance. She looked up at him in shock, and before Lancelot could open his mouth or think to grab her, she quickly skirted around him, vaulted into the saddle of his own mount, and followed the other at breakneck speed.

The members of the hunting party blinked at each other. The whole episode had happened in less than a minute. No one had had time to move.

"What in Lucifer's own hell –!" Lancelot began angrily, as Arthur slowly rose to his feet. But Lancelot had no sooner gotten the words out when there was a horrific wailing in the thick underbrush and the banshee was upon them.

"Jesus and Mary defend us," Bedivere gasped, drawing his sword as the others darted forward to defend the king. Percival was thrown off his feet as the gaunt but surprisingly strong arm of the creature struck him across the chest and darted toward Lancelot, reaching for him with long ragged fingernails. Lancelot grabbed a spear from the frightened squire and instantly impaled the specter through the chest, pushing the spear shaft through its scrawny back. The sight of the creature skewered on the spear without shedding so much as a drop of blood was unnerving, and all the while its maddening shrieks pounded against their eardrums.

Perhaps it was a delayed reaction to the impact of the spear, or perhaps it was just a miracle. The creature had staggered somewhat as Lancelot had pushed the spear through its body, and that slight hindrance cost it its enchanted life. As soon as there was some distance between the two, Arthur pulled the legendary Excalibur from its sheath and thrust it sharply through the creature's neck, hoping to at least draw its attention away from Lancelot. Instead, the wailing stopped abruptly, there was a flash like lightning as magic met magic, and the specter fragmented into a pile of black dust, falling to the ground like dirty snow. For a fraction of a second, the dust seemed to take on a spherical shape, but before it truly coalesced, it disintegrated, and the afternoon breeze gently blew away the remnants, leaving everyone to wonder if something had indeed been there. Save for the absence of the two horses and the ringing in everyone's ears, everything was just like it was before.

Arthur sheathed his enchanted sword and looked around warily, wondering if yet another apparition was right around the corner.

"That was a banshee," he heard Percival say. "How in the name of God did it get out here?"

Arthur tuned out the discussion as his mind focused on the two intruders. Were they enchantresses? Who were they? Who was she? He blotted the woman's image away as best as he could while he retrieved the now subdued gyrfalcon from the nearby bush it had blundered upon and rearranged the hood that sat askew upon its head. He sighed, frustrated, and ran a hand through his disheveled rust-colored hair as he pondered on how to get back to Camelot sans equine transportation. They wouldn't make it this day, that was certain.

"Well," he said to Lancelot, who had walked up beside him, idly brushing the dust from his legs, "it looks like we'll get our exercise today, my friend."

"Nay, milord," Lancelot answered firmly, "you will not walk back to your own castle." He gestured to the squire. "Give the king your horse, boy. Bedivere can carry you." The squire obediently slid to the ground and began to untie the boar behind the saddle.

"No, leave it," Arthur instructed, one corner of his mouth turning up. "I need proof that I was in on this hunt, too." He thought for a moment of the dozen or so plump doves the gyrfalcon had caught that morning, then shrugged. Oh, well, Fate usually did some amazing things to him, and with good reason. Why she'd decided to deprive him of his folly and steal his warhorse as an added throw-in remained to be seen. Was it destiny? He thought of the green-eyed woman again and decided that maybe it might have been.

He handed the gyrfalcon to the squire so he could mount up. "The horse is strong enough to hold two," he suggested, extending a hand.

"Nay," the knight replied, pushing his hair back from his eyes. "I will be back tomorrow morning." He pulled some of his own hunting gear from the pack on the squire's horse. He looked over his shoulder at Arthur. "I know you'd prefer the same, but like you said, the trials and tribulations of being king..."

Arthur waved a hand. "I know, I know. Very well, then." He hoisted himself into the saddle and reached for the gyrfalcon. When it had settled on his wrist, he gripped its jesses tightly and motioned forward with his other hand. "Move out." The party left the little clearing and Lancelot followed, gradually falling behind as those on horseback gained speed.

♦ ♦ ♦

It watched as the party moved on, leaving behind the one whom it had been watching for a long, long time. No longer would it be a shadowy spectator to life, but now, the chance at power was at hand. Through him.

The great knight of Camelot. It was a shame he couldn't be killed; it was a pity the creature couldn't sink its teeth deep into the strong, tanned flesh or rip him apart limb from limb. Ah, no, surely she would find out and lock it up again. It had been trapped by her power for too long; now it was free again. Free! No, the knight couldn't be torn apart. He couldn't die.

Not yet. Now was a time to play. He would be toyed with, like the helpless rodent he truly was. Under the dark one's power, the knight was a puppet. And oh, how the dark one would enjoy watching her writhe, knowing she must abide by the ancient rules and not intervene!

True, there was one now who could stop the creature – the woman with the raven hair and flashing eyes, the one whom that meddler Merlin planned to mate with this proud, arrogant knight. She could destroy the evil easily. Oh, but not if it destroyed her first. And it knew just how to destroy her. It would make her what itself was, piece by piece...starting, of course, with the knight.

The creature stole through the trees on feet of fog, smoldering eyes never leaving that tall figure just ahead. Just a few days more, noble Lancelot. Just a few precious days, and then thou art mine.

♦ ♦ ♦

The trees had thinned considerably since Tash and Jase had stolen the horses, and it wasn't long before they thundered onto a broad, open meadow. They were so glad to feel the sunlight that they immediately slowed the horses to a canter, and finally to a stop. The animals' sides heaved and their bodies were flecked with foam from the hard, unrelenting run.

"God in heaven!" Jase gasped, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Now I really know we're not in Kansas anymore."

"Will you knock off your theater trash for once?" Tash snapped fiercely, for the sudden release of tension was making her grouchy.

"Hey, lighten up, Tash," Jase snapped back, leaning forward and trying to breathe deeply into lungs that still occasionally spasmed from adrenaline bursts. "It's over now." Under her breath she muttered, "I think."

"All right, sorry," Tash said immediately. "I'm still freaked out." She bent down to pat the horse's neck. "Thanks, fella. I couldn't have outrun that thing if my life depended on it." As her hands rubbed the soft white hide, she studied its trappings with interest. Whoever owned this horse was incredibly wealthy. The red and gold was striking against the white, and the Dragon insignia added a flair...Tash sat up and closely studied the insignia. She'd seen this before, somewhere. Something else to ponder over.

"These horses are gorgeous, aren't they?" she asked Jase, hoping the other woman would give her a clue. God, but she was tired of these uneasy feelings! She felt like a detective with a completely unsolvable case.

"Yeah," Jase replied, studying the red trappings on her own horse. "They're well cared for. The owners are probably of noble blood or something."

"Oh, great," Tash said, putting her hands on her hips, not realizing how ridiculous that looked astride a horse. "We've stolen from royalty."

"Nobility," Jase corrected.

"Either way," Tash continued impatiently, "think of how many years that would put us behind bars back home."

"Nah. The States don't go for that horseshit anymore, no pun intended. These were just a couple of rich farts out on a Sunday jog. Trust me."

"I'll trust you when it rains emeralds." Tash's eyes dropped back down to the rich crimson cover with its golden Dragon. Golden Dragon. Crimson and gold. The colors and insignia reminded her of...Suddenly her eyes widened. Royalty. Serious royalty.

"Oh, no," she groaned.

"What's wrong now?" Jase asked sharply, picking up the reins, ready to run.

Tash cradled her forehead in her hand, looking like she had a major headache. "Oh, no," she repeated. She said it a few more times.

"Tash," Jase warned, her tone holding no room for further argument.

Still worrying her forehead, Tash pointed to the Dragon insignia. "Do you know what this is?" she asked.

Jase frowned. "A Dragon. So what?" As soon as the words were out, the answer came to her. "Oh." She grinned sheepishly. "Whoops."

"'Whoops???' I stole the king's horse!" Tash wailed. "I knocked the king – the king! – off his horse and then I swiped it!" She dropped her head into her hands. "I'm off to a good start!"

Jase was more coherent as she thought back over the incident. "Well, we've been seen, at least," she said thoughtfully, "even if it was a bad introduction." She studied her horse. "If you nabbed Arthur's horse, I'll bet you dimes to doughnuts that this is Lancelot's right here." She patted the piebald affectionately.

Tash was calming down. "How do you know it was Lancelot?" she asked.

"Lucky guess, I suppose," Jase replied. "Plus, there's this." She indicated a small insignia on the horse's saddlebag closure — a miniature shield painted with red and white diagonal stripes. "It's in one of my books."

"Did you... see him?" Tash asked curiously.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"You know what I mean. Did you look at him?"

Jase smiled. "Oh, sure. Tall. Dark. Gruesome, in a sexy sort of way."

Tash rolled her eyes. "You and your men. I'm telling you, if you keep it up, you're gonna catch some damn disease that you can't cure, like kids."

"Oh, spare me your jealousy," Jase countered, eyes twinkling merrily. "I wasn't the only one checking out a male specimen. What about you? Was there some eye contact? Hmmmmmm?"

Blatantly ignoring that comment, Tash touched her heels to the horse's sides and started forward. "Let's go," she said over her shoulder. "We can find some other horses. We'll let these animals go, and they'll find their own way back home."

"Oh, come on, Tasher," Jase crooned. "Tell me. Tellmetellmetellmetellme." Tash continued forward, a little faster. Jase spurred her own mount and jogged up beside her flustered friend, enjoying this immensely. "What color were his eyes? Huh? Talk to me!"

Silence. Then Jase noticed Tash was watching her out of the corners of her eyes. Jase leaned forward expectantly and put a hand to her ear, and Tash couldn't repress a slight grin.

"Grey," she admitted. "Like slate."

Jase nodded, satisfied, and they rode on in silence.

Chapter 8

#  The Ungrateful Dead

Such a house broke!

So noble a master fallen? All gone! and not

One friend to take his fortune by the arm,

And go along with him.

– William Shakespeare

Several soggy miles passed beneath the women's feet over the next two days. At Tash's urging, they had released the horses, and it presently took every bit of Jase's good humor to keep from strangling her friend. Here they were, slogging through ankle-deep mud, while heavy rain plagued them incessantly, and when it had first begun to fall, they had once again donned their armor in an effort to stay dry. Within twenty minutes the constant sharp pinging of the rainwater striking metal had driven them nearly insane and they opted for the drowned cat look instead. Better to be wet and sane than dry and psychotic.

On the evening of the second day, Tash called for a halt and wearily sank down beneath a giant ash tree. "This is the best idea either of us have had all day," she said with a sigh.

Jase collapsed beside her. "Amen to that." She fell back against the trunk of the tree in exhaustion. "I'd love to have a hot bath right about now, with bubbles to the ceiling, a bottle of good port, and perhaps some dry clothes..."

"I think we'd better find someplace warm to hole up in tonight first," Tash suggested.

Jase grinned lopsidedly. "How practical. Well, God's Holiday Inn is all around us. Have you no appreciation for nature?" She indicated the trees with a grand gesture.

Tash frowned. "I don't think it'll be too bad tonight, as long as the rain holds off. It's still warm –"

"Not for long, though," Jase interrupted. "My arm is killing me right now."

"Cold front coming through, huh?" The old break in Jase's arm could predict rain, snow, heat, and cold better than the Weather Channel.

"I'd say it'll be freezing come tomorrow morning, and the rain'll start back up too." Jase struggled to her feet. "Rain, sleet, snow, whatever – You're right. We don't want to be out here. Being wet in warm weather is one thing. Being cold and wet is entirely another, and I don't think they know anything about Nyquil here." She raised an eyebrow. "And I seem to remember a certain someone refusing to go get a flu shot with me."

Tash stood up and picked up her gear. "Let's find a cave or something."

"It might not be that easy," Jase warned.

"You think I don't know that?" Tash asked in disgust. "You're so literal. Let's just find something. I don't need a cold."

They walked in silence for a few minutes and Tash looked up at the clusters of branches way, way above her head. "The trees are so thick," she said, almost to herself. "I wish we knew where we were."

In front of her, Jase stopped abruptly, and since Tash's attention was on the overhead branches, she walked right into Jase. She shot her friend an irritated glance. "You could have told me you were stopping."

Jase ignored her. She spread her hands out before her. "I was saying something about God's Holiday Inn, I believe."

Tash looked over Jase's shoulder and saw what appeared to be an abandoned inn. Half of the roof was collapsed and most of the wood beams were rotting, but the stone walls appeared sound.

"You have got to be kidding," Tash commented. "Who knows what could be in there? And after that castle, I don't want go into anything old and crumbling!"

A distant rumble of thunder echoed through the forest and Jase raised her eyes toward the slivers of sky visible through the thick growth of trees. They were deep indigo instead of pale blue, signifying that another storm was approaching at Warp 9.

"I'd rather deal with what's in there instead of dealing with that," Jase replied, hitching her thumb upward. "Come on, Silverspoon. It ain't the Ritz, to be sure, but at least it'll be dry and will keep the wind off us." She eyed the collapsed roof with a touch of doubt. "At least, I hope it will."

Confronted with yet another brilliant bout of logic, Tash followed suit. They had to crawl through a window to enter the place because the door was blocked by the caved-in roof, and they made it through none too soon, for the wind suddenly began to blow with a vengeance, parting the branches above them with ease, and the sky simply opened up to vomit torrents of water on the ramshackle inn. Jase and Tash crouched by the window and waited for the rest of the roof to cave in or for the walls to crumble. But the structure held steady and after a few minutes of tense silence, they let their breath out and moved away from the window, seeking the security of the back wall furthest from the collapsed roof.

"Look at this," Tash whispered, trailing a finger through the dust and cobwebs that coated an old chair beside her. "This place has been empty for years and it's been undisturbed." Seeing a stump of candle on the floor, she picked it up and scratched away congealed wax until she'd exposed a scrap of the wick. She passed it to Jase. "You've got the tools. Think you can light this?"

Jase sighed and dug the flint and steel out of her pocket. Here was one piece of equipment that grated on her nerves. "I'd kill for my old Zippo right about now," Jase growled as she started to pound the pieces together. Each strike was futile, and finally Jase lost her temper. "Damn you, light!" She tried one last time, and finally there was a brief spark. By sheer luck, it landed on the minuscule wick and flared brightly.

Jase threw herself against the wall and let her breath out, almost blowing the flame out as she did so. "If we're going to change history anyhow, I think the first thing I'm going to do in this era is invent the match." She glared at the flint and steel with loathing and shoved them back in her belt pouch. Tash nursed the precious flame in her palm as her eyes shifted around the room, looking for more candles. She managed to find one other that lit much easier than the first and handed it to Jase. Now that they could see their overnight accommodations, the urge to explore became almost unbearable and they went toward different directions in the room to scrounge.

Jase went behind the rotting bar and rifled through the shelves. The first shelf held earthen jugs, great bulging flasks covered the second, and at the far end, nestled against the relative safety of the wall and the protection of cobweb layers, was a squat, cube-shaped chest, heavily padlocked.

In Jase's opinion, locks always hid something worth looking at, perhaps worth snitching as well. She balanced the candle on one of the shelves and carefully brushed the cobwebs from the chest's surface. A few puffs of air, combined with a few sneezes, cleared away the dust. She studied the box closely. Crafted from iron, plain, crude, but well-built. She pulled on the lock. Very secure. Not for long, though, she thought gleefully, pulling her dagger from among her belongings.

Across the room, Tash was examining a stack of weapons she'd found underneath a rotting burlap cover. She sifted through swords, bows, hammers, maces, battle axes...in all, quite a collection, with lots of gilded hilts and smatterings of semi-precious stones visible through dust and rust. The pile was fairly close to the door and she presumed the inn was one of those places where weapons were left just inside to prevent fights. Well, maybe not to prevent them, but maybe to keep them to fists and chairs. At least the blood flow was kept to a minimum. That made sense. What didn't was why all of these weapons had never been retrieved by their rightful owners. Tash shrugged and began to pry the stones from rusted hilts. Their loss, she decided.

There was a pronounced click across the room and Tash looked up. "What did you find?" she called.

"Jackpot!" Jase crowed, holding up handfuls of gold coins and letting them fall back into the chest. "We're rich, Tasher!" She beckoned. "C'mere. Look what else I found."

Curious, Tash put down the sword she was currently stripping and crossed the room. She stopped dead when Jase held aloft a chain of gold from which dangled...

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked.

"Looks real to me," Jase remarked, prodding the inch-wide square emerald with her finger so that it spun daintily. "Since you like emeralds so much..."

Tash didn't hesitate. "Gimme." She snatched the chain from Jase's fingers and studied the jewel up close. Tash had always had a weakness for emeralds and this one was exquisite. She opened the latch and fastened the chain around her neck. The emerald twinkled in the hollow of her throat. She grinned like a kid at Christmas and indicated the chest. "What else is in there?"

Jase laughed. "I knew you had a greedy spirit in there somewhere."

"Appreciative," Tash corrected, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Well, it's all the same, I guess," Jase confessed, digging through the coins in search of more wealth. Her hand came in contact with something soft and she immediately gripped it and pulled it through the gold pieces. It was a dull blue linen pouch, which Jase wasted no time in opening. Inside was a silver chain with a teardrop-shaped sapphire suspended from it, along with some dangling sapphire earrings and a decorative brooch. Jase stuffed the earbobs and the brooch back into the pouch and, like Tash, donned the necklace.

"I wonder where this stuff came from," Tash pondered. "Highwaymen, maybe?"

"Maybe," Jase said thoughtfully. "Thieves of some sort, there's no doubt. What kind of innkeeper would keep goods like this behind a bar and then not take it with him when he left?" She crossed the room toward the stack of weapons which Tash had uncovered. "Any of this worth looking at?"

Tash was still looking at the chest of money before her. Highwaymen? Thieves? Returning in the rain, perhaps? She began to feel a tad uneasy. "Jase, maybe we ought to just fill our moneybags and get out of here," she said slowly.

"What?" Jase looked over her shoulder. "Did you say you wanted to leave?" She chuckled affectionately. "You can be such a wimp, Tash."

"Excuse me?" Tash was indignant.

Jase waved her away. "Think a bit. We're broke and, thanks to your death grip on your conscience, relying on our own two feet for transportation. Given the choice between running and swiping, guess which one I'm going to do. I'll fight highwaymen if I have to." She indicated the room. "Besides, the place hasn't been disturbed in years. You said so yourself."

Tash's mouth started to curl up. "You're greedy."

"Me?"

"Yes. You're stinking greedy."

"I am not."

"Jase, you're a miserly, greedy pain in the tuckus."

"I'm a practical pain in the tuckus."

Tash eyed her for a few seconds, then shrugged. Yeah, okay, maybe it was practical to swipe the cash. It didn't change the fact, however, that Jase was a pain in the tuckus. She knelt down quickly and began to scoop handfuls of coins into her leather coin pouch. When it was full, she produced another pouch from among her belongings and filled that as well. She tied both shut tightly and attached them to her belt, then stood.

"Jase, come on. I want to go." Jase was nowhere in sight. Frowning, Tash started toward the other side of the room. "Jase?"

"Over here." Jase's voice was somber.

Tash followed Jase's voice across the room, not liking her tone. "What's the matter?" she asked, wary.

"Maybe this is why the place hasn't been disturbed," Jase replied, pointing.

Tash stopped as she saw Jase kneeling beside a skeleton wearing a suit of armor crusted with layer upon layer of rust. An old Roman footman's pike was thrust through its back. One arm stretched forward, ending in a bony hand instead of a gauntlet. It was clutching a fist-sized crystalline sphere that looked as if were made of black diamond.

Tash grimaced involuntarily. "Looks like he got killed for trying to steal something," she said pointedly. "Just like we might."

"That's ridiculous," Jase retorted. "He had great taste. Look at that thing! That could probably buy us our own castle."

"What do we want with a castle, idiot? We're on our way to The Castle."

"I won't deny that. Nevertheless..." Jase leaned down to pull the orb from the skeleton's grip.

Tash involuntarily backed up a step as she felt her warning sense prickling, like she were being watched across the room by someone she couldn't see. She looked around carefully for an intruder, but there was only bare wood, dust, and an occasional burst of lightning from the storm outside.

Why then did she feel so uneasy?

Jase grunted with her effort to remove the orb. The damn thing must be glued to the bones. She jiggled the phalanges with her other hand as she yanked at the sphere, and it receded an inch. "Come on, you pretty bastard," she muttered under her breath. "Almost gotcha..."

Tash's uneasiness grew and she slowly moved to the center of the room, looking around almost frantically. Something was definitely wrong. An overwhelming sense of angered evil lingered in the air, so strong she could almost smell it, like decay. A whispered chuckle echoed on the breeze...or was she hearing things? She turned in the direction where it was strongest and her eyes focused on the orb between the skeleton's fingers. She gasped as she glimpsed a pair of demonic-looking yellow eyes slowly blinking at her from the orb's depths.

"Jase!" she cried. "Wait! Let it go!"

The damn thing just wouldn't budge, and Jase sat back with a sigh of disgust. Irritated with her own failure and Tash's croakings of doom, she opened her mouth to lecture...and froze.

The skeleton was moving. It sat up like a living person, making the rusty pike screech horribly through the ancient armor. It pushed back the visor on the helmet with its free hand, revealing a grinning skull. Pinpoints of yellow light shone in the empty eye sockets. They stared, fascinated, unable to move, as the skeleton flicked the orb between its bony jaws and pushed itself to its feet. Somewhere inside Jase's numbed mind, she compared the skeleton's likeness to Frank Frazetta's demon paintings and decided he would have had a field day with drawing this character.

What the hell was she sitting on the floor for? She jumped to her feet and wished for her armor. It closed around her body immediately and she jerked her sword from its sheath just as the figure jerked the remnants of the pike from its body and pulled its own rusty blade from its swordbelt. It attacked with startling speed for a skeleton. God, that sounded ridiculous; since when did skeletons move? But as steel met steel with enough force to produce a shower of sparks, Jase decided right then and there that anything was possible. All right, skeletons walk, pigs fly, horses talk, I believe it all! Just let this thing die and I'll never ask another question as long as I live!

Tash was jolted out of her state of shock by the ringing steel. She pulled her own sword, donned her armor, and ran forward to join the fight. The new motion caught the skeleton's attention, and it turned and met Tash head on, forcing her onto the defensive. Her initial shock wearing off, Jase rejoined Tash in the attack.

They fought like a tag team; however, their tradeoffs were becoming shorter and shorter as they began to tire. At one point, they both attacked at the same time, and for a fleeting moment it seemed they would be victorious, but somehow the skeleton managed to deflect their blows. Things went abruptly downhill after that, and hit rock bottom when the skeleton's arm snaked out, fastened the bony fingers on Jase's shoulder, and threw her into a corner with enough force to crack the rotting wood beams behind her. Jase slumped a bit, shaking her head, and managed to hold her sword up in defense against the skeleton's onslaught.

"Get out of there!" Tash shouted, charging forward.

"I'm all right!" Jase shouted between blows. Damn, this thing was strong. "Take what you can while I've got it cornered!"

Even in the worst of times, Jase would think of looting. Tash hesitated for a second, then ran behind the bar. Keeping an eye on Jase, she pulled out three dusty jugs, carried them to the window, and all but threw them just outside the sill. She hurriedly reached for some of the weapons, then hesitated again and quickly abandoned the idea; most of them were rusted and too heavy for them to carry, anyhow.

Meanwhile, the skeleton had Jase nearly on her knees and she was completely on the defensive. Tash, catching sight of this as she turned away from the pile of swords, found that her feet were moving before she even made the decision to run.

With a mighty leap that would have impressed Superman himself, Tash landed on the skeleton's back. She was completely unprepared for the balance upset; the skeleton might fight like almighty hell, but for all its doggedness, it was nothing but a configuration of bones surrounded by a too-heavy metal skin. The skeleton staggered under the force of Tash's weight and its arms flailed, trying to reach her. Frantically, Tash wrapped her legs around its torso to steady herself and grappled with the helmeted head, pulling and twisting. At the same time, she threw all of her weight backwards and both she and the skeleton toppled to the floor. The resounding crash drowned out the thunder from the dying storm outside.

Tash was struggling and Jase was pulling, and neither noticed that the skeleton was no longer moving until Jase had shoved the body aside and Tash was left holding its head in her hands. She heaved the thing like a soccer ball and pitched it across the room. It clattered into a corner and rolled a few inches, stopping with the empty eye sockets facing them. Its hideous mouth was agape with the orb still held fast between its clenched teeth.

Jase looked down at Tash, who was still lying on the floor. "Just like one of the Sinbad movies, huh? You okay?"

Tash glared at her, her adrenaline spent. "When?" she panted. "When are you ever going to learn to listen to me? I said leave. I told you to leave the thing and come on." She got to her feet slowly. "But noooo. You had to go poking your nose into something like that." She gestured toward the headless body. "Jumping armor, green sparks, Dragons, living statues, fighting skeletons... Jase, for God's sake, heed me the next time I talk to you. I can't put up with any more trouble like this. They'll wrap me in a straitjacket before I'm thirty years old."

"You fell in the hole, not me," Jase reminded her, amused as always by Tash's lectures.

"Yeah, I did. But who wanted to stop at the church? Who wanted to go on a nature walk? Who...?"

Jase, tuning out the remainder of the lecture like a cow paddy would tune out flies, studied the pile of weapons that Tash had abandoned. She bent down to pick up a huge battle axe and froze again, head cocked.

Tash heard it too. Something was moving, something that sounded like a hesitantly rolling bowling ball. They both knew immediately what it was without even turning, but turn they did, and watched in growing horror as the helmeted head rolled itself in spurts toward the body. As it neared, the body itself began to twitch, and one hand reached out slowly toward the direction the head was coming from.

That spurred Jase into action. "Run!" she shouted, dropping the axe and giving Tash a tremendous shove.

Tash didn't need the goading; she was already halfway out the window as it was. She climbed out into the storm and fell to the soaked ground with a wet, sucking plop. She stood up to help Jase through the window. Jase wasn't there.

Tash grabbed hold of the sill and pulled herself up, ready to climb back inside. She paused, incredulous, as she saw Jase tossing rotted chairs and tables into a pile. Across the room, the head was still rolling jerkily toward the decapitated body, and it only had a meter or so to go. Jase hurriedly kicked it across the room as she ran to pick up another chair.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tash shouted. "Come on!"

Jase didn't answer. She threw a dusty jug onto the conglomeration of rotted wood, but as luck would have it, the damned thing did not break. Jase cursed and hurriedly popped the cork, pouring the contents all over the pile she made. She splashed some on the body of the skeleton, still holding its hand out for its head, and made a thin trail toward the window. She then pulled the flint and steel from her pocket, closed her eyes in a quick invocation to whoever might be listening, and struck the pieces together. A nice fat spark leapt from the flint and Jase made a mad running dive for the window.

She was halfway through when the flames touched the spilled alcohol and leapt high. The fire wasted no time in spreading across the floor and it enveloped the skeleton in a blanket of flame. With an unearthly howl that prickled the hair on the women's necks, it collapsed into a tangle of rusted armor and burning bones.

Jase breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Jesus, that was close." She rubbed her hand across her mouth. "Too bad we couldn't take any of that money or those weapons. We'd be pretty wealthy." She shrugged her shoulders. "Still...we got out unscathed, and that thing is dead, and we –"

"Jase, stop your babbling and take this," Tash interrupted, holding out one of the leather pouches. Jase looked at the bag, then at Tash, and back at the bag, then took it from Tash's hand. She poured the contents into her hand and gawked at the intermingled gold pieces and multifaceted jewels.

"When did you pick these up?" she asked, her voice hushed.

Tash snorted. "When you suggested it," she retorted. "You were too busy playing hero and calling me a wimp when you should have been practicing what you preach. Where would you really be without me?"

Jase carefully poured the coins and gems back into the bag. "Broke, both financially and physically." She put the pouch in her pocket. "Thanks, Tash," she added quietly.

Tash grunted in reply and they stood back and watched the building burn, thanking the powers above that it had stopped raining.

Chapter 9

#  New Friends in Low Places

A friend in need is a friend indeed.

– Benjamin Franklin

How long they stood there was uncertain, but when Tash finally turned to leave, the inn had been reduced to nothing. Not enough rotten wood remained for even a stack of kindling. Distant thunder heralded the approach of another torrential downpour, and both knew they'd rather catch pneumonia than battle another demon like the one they'd just incinerated.

Jase gazed at the dying flames as she took a long pull on one of the flasks that Tash had salvaged. "Burn, sucker," she muttered, "and take that spook to hell with you."

Reaching over, Tash took the flask away. "Keep drinking like that and you'll join him." She replaced the cork and tucked it within her pack. "Let's leave. Now. I've seen enough."

"Okay, Mom." Jase followed Tash doggedly through the forest, occasionally looking back over her shoulder to watch as the burning embers of the inn gradually faded to a tiny speck and finally disappeared from view.

Once the inn was out of sight, Jase felt a little better and walked along behind Tash in peaceful silence. Her spirits improved as she glanced up and noticed that the trees were thinning enough to expose a wide ribbon of sky directly above them. However, a peal of thunder rumbled through the forest and Jase's spirits were literally dampened as it started to rain again. The drops of water spattered on the already-soggy ground ahead of them, then became a steady downpour, and finally a toad-strangler that made Tash stop in disgust.

"I can't see a thing!" she protested loudly. "How the hell are we supposed to see through thunderstorms in the dark?"

"What do you suggest?" Jase yelled irritably over the thunder. "There's nothing around here but trees."

"Really, Einstein? What gave it away, those tall things made of wood?" Tash glanced around and pointed. "There. There's one big enough to hold both of us, and those branches will hold off most of the rain."

"A tree? Tash, we can't sleep in a tree," Jase argued. "If lightning happens to strike, we'll both be toast!"

"You got a better idea? It's either that or mud, with bloated earthworms crawling all over you."

"All right!" Jase snapped. "This oughta be fun, trying to climb a wet tree! I hope you like splinters!" She adjusted her pack and headed toward the tree, Tash right behind her. They both stopped abruptly after two steps.

There was someone standing between them and their tree.

♦ ♦ ♦

The meal had ended and conversation was dragging. Arthur sat back in his chair and suppressed a yawn. By God, winter could be a monotonous season after the Solstice celebrations, even during wartime. He glanced over at Merlin, who looked like the after-supper boredom was the most interesting state of affairs the kingdom had ever seen. All in due time, he thought ruefully. If reports from the north continue to be negative, things will really get interesting.

"So, Merlin," he said, trying not to stretch too languidly and failing miserably. "What entertainments have you for us this night? Some prophecies, perhaps?"

Merlin blinked, and Arthur bit back a smile. So Merlin wasn't as alert as he'd thought. "Or are you too preoccupied?" he asked, amusement evident in his voice. Those around the table who overheard Arthur chuckled, not unkindly.

Merlin's teeth gleamed in the candlelight. "I am never too preoccupied for prophesying, milord." With feline grace, he rose from his chair and slipped through the notch in the Table, causing the serving women to vacate the inner circle to make room for him. He walked around the space carefully, reaching out every now and then to pluck a morsel of food from some of the serving trays.

A prophecy for the king, a show for the courtiers. Really, who am I to disappoint them?

As he moved around the table, his eyes met those of every knight and lady who sat around it and finally they connected with the king's. Holding his gaze, Merlin closed his hands around the bits of food he'd gathered and began to murmur something under his breath. Then, piece by piece, he tossed the bits of food into the air. The crowd oohed and ahhed as a sweetroll rained grain down upon Merlin's head, a small chunk of venison expanded into a rearing stag, and a boiled egg split and released a pair of turtle doves. All were only illusion and vanished within seconds. There was a smattering of applause around the table from some of the ladies and Merlin bowed slightly.

"Have you traded positions with the court jester?" Arthur asked with a smile. "Do I really look that bored, my friend?"

"You asked for a prophecy, milord," Merlin remarked. "I freely admit I added the effects to amuse you, but they carry a true message."

Interest flickered across Arthur's face. "Tell us."

Merlin indicated the air above him. "From grain to deer to dove," he said. "The signs are good. This year will be heavy with harvesting, hunting..." He trailed off, letting a pregnant pause do its dirty work. Everyone leaned forward right on cue, and he continued. "...and love." He waited for the excited whispering to die down.

"Ah, love! And love for whom?" Lancelot asked with a grin. He'd had one too many goblets of wine, and his flushed features promised torment for his lord and king. Arthur groaned and dropped his forehead to his hand as the Captain of Horse leaned forward. "Please say the signs point toward the king, Merlin." He turned to the already enthralled crowd. "The land has a king, and the king needs an heir! The signs are ripe! The time is now! What say you, good people?"

"Lance," the king began, exasperated, but the crowd cheered in delight, and Lancelot stood up, bowing in response to the hearty applause. The chants of "Heir! Heir! Heir!" began to rise, and Lancelot conducted them with his dirk. Arthur couldn't help but laugh. His people had been strained by battle for far too long, and if teasing the king gave them even a chance of respite, then so be it. He stood up and clapped a hand on Lancelot's shoulder, swaying in time with him and the chants of the crowd. Goblets of wine were thrust into the air, sloshing their contents upon the heads of their owners.

"So, milord!" Lancelot boomed cheerfully, "a toast! To the upcoming Pentecost games! To your kingship! And," he aimed a bawdy salute toward a portion of Arthur's anatomy, "to your unborn progeny! Long live your seed, mighty king! And may the powers of true love descend upon you, post-haste!" The cheers that followed this proclamation shook the rafters, and Arthur pulled Lancelot down into his chair, buffeting him good-naturedly on the shoulder as he did so.

Merlin, who had borne the speech with tolerant amusement, once again rose to his feet and raised his hands for some semblance of silence. "The love of a good woman is without a doubt one of the finer things in life," he said, "but the love of king and country are, as well, and that love is seated deeply in our beliefs, both Christian and pagan, that the land and the king are one!" He waited for the applause to die down. "In all seriousness, my good people, you know of the scars ravaged on our land. We will continue to fight for the freedom of a united Britain, and I have foreseen that it will be so. The harbingers of that freedom are coming, and their time is close at hand." He looked around at the attentive faces, including those of the knights and the king. "Their homeland is incomprehensible, their courage boundless, their powers strong and sure! Mark me well, my countrymen. When you see two shields with neither crest nor title, hearken to greet those who will change the ways of the world with little more than a thought. They are your salvation, they are your light, and they are your deliverance."

♦ ♦ ♦

"Whoa." Jase stepped back, treading heavily on Tash's foot. "Where'd he come from?"

"Hell if I know," Tash replied, rubbing her toes, "but look, he's motioning to us." The little fellow was indeed beckoning. He couldn't have been more than five feet tall, even though his face belonged on a taller, much older-looking man.

"Whaddaya think?" Jase whispered over her shoulder.

"Go," Tash decided. "We ought to be a match for one man if he turns out to be trouble. And besides, I want out of this damn rain."

"Okay, we'll go." Jase raised a hand to the man, who replied in turn with an intricate hand signal that Jase took to mean "watch your step." They followed hesitantly, but their steps soon led them right behind their guide, and as the lightning flashed in the sky again, they both managed to contain their surprise as they realized their guide was an elf.

There had been no elves at Avalon, but that did not mean they had been ignorant of their presence in Britain. Tash and Jase had learned of all the races that at one time or another inhabited the island, both past and present, real and imagined. Their time with Selene had been a lesson primarily on the race of Dragons, but had expanded to include all the races. That didn't curb their surprise, however. Learning was one thing, but seeing was something completely different, and they gawped at their guide for several seconds before he motioned to them sharply and they found their feet.

The elf led them to the leeward side of the tree, revealing a huge crack in the great trunk. He beckoned to them again and disappeared into the crack. Jase hesitated, skeptical, but then a brilliant flash of lightning and a massive crack of thunder changed her mind instantly and she was through the crack before the echo of the thunderclap faded. Tash was right on her heels.

The inside of the tree was just what they expected – dark and cramped and woody-smelling. As Tash entered, the tree sighed and heaved like Jonah's whale, and the crack suddenly sealed up like a great mouth. Not even a seam remained. Jase swallowed. Oh, this is just peachy, she thought wildly. I've come all this way, fought God knows what and seen so much, just to get entombed in a damned tree!

Behind them, the elf led them down a flight of rough-hewn steps. Jase wondered just how big the tree was. But the steps were steep and she figured they were going deep underground. Her guesses were confirmed when she felt the wood under her feet give way to stone.

Down and down they went. There was no light, and Jase began to ponder just where the elf was taking them...that is, if they were actually still following him. She had no sooner thought this when the darkness began to fade, enough for Jase to make out Tash's equally puzzled features. The further they walked down the steps, the brighter it got until their guide turned a corner sharp enough for him to almost double back on his steps and suddenly the area was flooded with light. They squinted painfully, each bringing a hand up to shade her eyes.

The elf before them seemed to be holding back a curtain that led into a giant underground cavern. Resplendent tapestries, paintings, armor, and treasure were in every corner. The most impressive item in the hall was an elaborate sleeping Dragon carved from the cavern wall itself. Several tunnels on various levels had a steady flow of people – elves – coming and going through them. Tash tried to remember the location of the tunnel they'd emerged from before their guide moved them on, but nothing came out of that. It all looked the same to her.

A slender young woman in a dress of pale blue approached them with the grace of a willow tree. The guide bowed respectfully and gestured toward Tash and Jase, saying something they couldn't understand. The woman approached them, dropped a slight curtsey, and said something that sounded like all consonants.

Jase smiled in response, then leaned slightly toward Tash. "Say what?" she murmured, the smile still plastered on her face.

Tash's smile was plastered, too. "Just nod like you understand her," she hissed. She repeated the strange words as well as she could, thanking God for phonetics. Jase followed Tash's orders and simply nodded.

The woman indicated for them to follow her. As they complied, Tash and Jase noticed that a tall elf with handsome, craggy features was now sitting in the curve of the carved Dragon's tail. On his head, winking amongst the silvery wings at his temples, was a simple circlet of gold.

"Looks like the guy in charge to me," Jase whispered.

"I hope he speaks English," Tash murmured back. "Otherwise this is going to be a very one-sided conversation."

They followed the woman down a series of stone steps to the floor level of the cavern and noticed that the true size could now be comprehended. They had been six levels from the floor, not even a third of the way up. When they'd passed through the tree, it seemed they'd passed into another realm altogether.

When the woman stopped before the throne, she dropped another curtsey to the king and announced the guests...or at least Jase took it for an announcement. As soon as the woman's voice was heard, there was instantaneous silence and every head turned to look at the newcomers. The elf who had found Tash and Jase was called forth and he began to speak, gesturing toward the two travelers every so often. As each minute passed, Tash and Jase became more and more uneasy.

Once the explanations were through, the king contemplated them with cool, pale green eyes. They remained stone still, meeting his eyes unwaveringly. Jase was on the verge of shifting her position impatiently when suddenly the king laughed, a deep, throaty sound.

"Greetings, my friends," he said, "I am Zebulon of the First Hall Elves, and I welcome you to my realm."

Relief was obvious on both faces. "Thank you, sire," Tash replied. "My name is Tatiana and this is Jasin. We were beginning to wonder how to explain our presence here to you."

Zebulon waved a hand. "There is no need, lady. My nephew Gideon has already answered for you. I consider myself hospitable, and to leave two weary travelers to drown in a beast of a storm is not a grand gesture on my part." He smiled and motioned to a servant holding a tankard of ale. "Especially since you are...shall we say, not of this place." His eyes twinkled. "There is little wonder you are confused, and I am sure you have questions."

"Many questions," Tash said, glancing at Jase. "First, where are we?"

Zebulon spread his hands. "This is the First Hall, deep within the heart of Britain." He laid a reverent hand on the tail of the Dragon carving. "Our Mother left it to us when she joined the Council."

"Which Dragon is that?" Jase murmured out of the corner of her mouth to Tash, who waved her away.

Zebulon, who hadn't noticed, was smiling broadly. "Here, let us drink a toast to our Mother and the rest of the Council." He gestured and the servant refilled the tankard without hesitation. Another servant appeared and offered tankards to Tash and Jase. Tash sipped hers slowly, but Jase, never one to turn down a drink, especially now, quaffed heartily and held out the empty tankard for a refill.

The king's throaty laughter rang around the chamber. "Good! good!" he chuckled. "I've not known a Human to take a shining to Elven ale so quickly!"

Jase smiled and spoke for the first time. "Chalk it up to years of Friday night binges coupled with Saturday morning hangovers as a result of severe overindulgence of Bacardi 151." She took another swig. "If I can handle that, I'm ready for anything."

Tash explained Jase's babbling to the perplexed king. "She can hold her alcohol well, milord." She jabbed Jase with an elbow. "Stop it," she hissed.

"Aye, that I can fathom," Zebulon replied, his furrowed brow smoothing. "And yet you sip lightly, lady."

Tash glared sidelong at Jase, who was holding out her empty tankard again. "I said knock it off," she whispered aside again, then said aloud, "Always, sire; one of us must stay sober to keep the other out of trouble."

Zebulon nodded. "'Tis good to have someone to watch over you, is it not, Lady Jasin?"

Jase removed her nose from the welcome tankard and nodded. She swallowed. "Yes, sir, certainly is. And Tash fills the job admirably." She grinned at Tash and continued drinking. Tash gave up. Jase was well on her way to oblivion already.

"Tonight all will watch over you," Zebulon said. "Both of you. Anything you want or need will be provided. There is food, gambling, dancing, conversation, and every other pleasure to indulge upon within my realm. You can leave in the morning, if you wish." He leaned forward and gestured them closer. "If you fancy any servant within this hall, just take them aside and make your wishes known," he said, low. "They will please you. Anyone else can say 'nay' or 'yea' as they will."

Jase nearly choked on her ale, but recovered, none too gracefully, while Tash smiled wanly. "Uh, thanks," she answered, "we'll keep that in mind."

Zebulon nodded. "This is my daughter, Aetra." He beckoned to the woman in blue and she came forward. "She will escort you to your rooms."

After they were settled in a wonderfully spacious chamber, Aetra directed them back to the main hall and encouraged them to mingle. As she left their company, Jase turned back to look down the tunnel, head cocked as if she were listening.

"What's the matter?" Tash asked.

Jase's forehead wrinkled. "Do you smell something...funny?"

"'Funny?'" Tash's voice was a little bright. "Do you mean suspicious funny, strange funny or ha ha funny?"

"Strange funny." Jase sniffed again.

Tash sniffed too. "I can't tell which smell you're talking about. The whole place is a feast for the olfactory nerves." She inhaled dramatically, nostrils flaring, and Jase realized that she wasn't the only one infected by the freewheeling party spirit. "What I smell the most is that." Tash pointed toward a table laden with platters of food, one of which sported a huge mound of roasted venison. "Excuse me while I make me a sandwich." She took two steps and turned back. "And don't worry; I'll make sure the invention honors still go to Sir John Montagu." She laughed and darted toward the table, but was immediately intercepted by an unusually tall, striking elf with a pleasant laugh and easygoing manners. She flashed Jase a triumphant, impish grin over her shoulder, gave her a thumbs-up, and went galloping madly across the dance floor with her new partner.

Jase smiled to herself. Well, good. Now she could enjoy herself without having to worry that Tash was watching every move she made. Now she could get into trouble in peace.

She slowly melted backward into the confining shadows of the corridor and literally followed her nose as the smell got stronger. Her feet and nose led her to a small chamber not far down the hall, and in this chamber were a group of elves, sitting in a circle and chatting amongst themselves. Jase hesitated, thinking that she'd interrupted a council of some sort, when one of the elves sat up straighter and gestured to her. It was Gideon, Zebulon's nephew.

"Come, lady," he invited. "Join us." He gave her a dazzling smile.

Jase smiled self-consciously. "Er, I didn't mean to interrupt," she said.

Gideon waved her reply away. "Nonsense. Here, Riker, make room for her." He motioned to a spot next to him. "Come, please."

Jase slowly picked her way along the green and brown cushions and finally sank down next to Gideon, who clapped a warm hand on her shoulder. Feeling the tenseness there, he automatically began to massage. "Relax," he urged. "We're enjoying the party, too." He took something from another elf and held it out to her. "Have some."

Jase almost laughed as she finally realized the smell she'd been following came from the stone pipe the elf was holding out toward her. She plucked it from Gideon's fingers and held it by the bowl and stem, sniffing. Elven wacky weed. This ought to be real good.

Mistaking her scrutiny for confusion, Gideon gently retrieved the pipe and demonstrated, inhaling deeply. He again offered it to her. This time, Jase did laugh. Oh, hell, why not? It was a party, after all. She retrieved the pipe and took a long drag, causing the others to applaud her effort. Bowing, she passed it to the elf next to her and let her head drop forward onto her chest, feeling her head beginning to swim. She'd enjoyed some joints before, when she was in college, but this definitely wasn't good old marijuana. This was something that she couldn't identify, something that lit small fires within the recesses of her lungs and struck sparks within her brain.

Whatever it was, it was too strong. When Gideon took his third puff on the pipe and held it out to her, she was already unconscious on the pile of pillows.

Chapter 10

#  Stoned on Elven Reefer

Lead me not into temptation; I can find the way myself.

– Rita Mae Brown

Tash was thoroughly enjoying herself on the dance floor. Her dashing partner, Arion, was a terrific lead and Tash only stepped on his toes twice as he directed her through an intricate carol.

"I hope I don't mash the bejeezus out of your feet before the night is over," she laughed. "Make sure you switch partners every now and then."

Arion grinned down at her. "You may mash me all you wish, lady. I do not intend on having any other partner this evening."

"We can't dance all evening, you know," she said coyly.

One of his upswept eyebrows arched elegantly. "Can we not?"

"Well, do you want to wear a hole in the floor?"

"Ah, dear lady, there are other ways to waltz, you know. We do not need the dance floor – unless, of course, you prefer it."

Tash smiled back with difficulty. "Um, I thank you, sir, but I prefer to, ah – dance normally."

Arion shrugged gracefully. "My loss, pretty one."

They danced in silence for a while, and Tash felt her discomfort over the incident recede as her sixth sense prickled again. She stopped dead in the middle of the floor and dropped her hand from Arion's shoulder, searching.

Arion looked down at her, frowning slightly. "What troubles you?"

"Jase." Tash continued to search.

"Pardon?"

"My friend," Tash explained. "The one I came in with."

"Ah. The raven-haired vixen."

Vixen? Tash rolled her eyes. "Um, yes, that's the one. I seem to have developed an acute sense that warns me when she is doing something drastic or stupid. It's usually both at the same time."

Arion chuckled and pointed. "Yonder is the tunnel you both came through. When I came to collect you as my partner I watched her go back that way."

"Good. Come with me." Tash grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the tunnel. It took them a while to fight their way through the crowd, but once they were in the clear, Tash wasted no time in running for the tunnel. She knew Jase wouldn't pass up an opportunity to get into a scrape, and this place was a haven for opportunities.

"Phew." Tash stopped in the middle of the tunnel, nostrils flaring. A sickening-sweet aroma of some kind hung thick in the air. This was Jase's "strange-funny" smell, of course. Behind her, Arion sniffed and grinned. Tash glared at him. "What is that?" she demanded. "It's making me dizzy."

"It should, milady," Arion replied, chuckling. "That is tamsin."

"And what is tamsin?"

Arion grinned. "Tamsin is a rare plant that grows underground. Some of us use it as a recreational ... er, diversion."

Tash closed her eyes and counted to ten. Opportunities, indeed. So much for that; it was time to straighten out the situation. And Jase. Again.

"She is probably with Gideon's circle," Arion speculated. "She will be safe." He saw Tash's expression of wearied tolerance and his face sobered. "Come," he said, taking her elbow. "If her presence there troubles you, we will remove her." He pulled her into the room and they stopped short, staring.

The cloud of smoke hung heavy in the air, and the strong odor made Tash cough. The group of elves were still sitting in a circle, some blissfully unconscious on the piles of pillows. The others, including Gideon, leaned forward, their expressions ranging from dumbfounded to frightened to rapt. In the middle of them all, standing on a short table, was Jase. Her feet were planted shoulder-width apart, her arms were flung out from her sides, her eyes were tightly closed, and she was chanting something.

Tash took all this in at a glance and tightened her jaw. The woman needed a 24-hour babysitter. Or stronger than that, even; at least a baby didn't go off and get stoned. Maybe a Leavenworth prison guard would suffice. She flung off Arion's grip on her elbow and started toward her high-flying dependent friend.

Arion's hand on her shoulder stopped her. She frowned at him and began to protest, but he put a finger over her lips. "Hush," he said briefly, his expression serious. "She is speaking with a Dragon."

"Yeah, right." Tash pulled his hand from her shoulder and started forward. "Damn you, Jase, I told you –" She got no further, for she was soon enveloped in a pair of strong arms. "Arion!" she snapped, struggling. "I told you, I'm not interested! Jasin! Get off of that table now!"

Arion's hand clamped over her mouth. "Madam," he hissed in her ear, "I will tell you one last time. She will not heed you until she is released! If you continue to disobey and provoke me, I will have no other choice but to force you from this chamber and do what I must to keep you otherwise preoccupied! Now cease!"

Tash ceased. She had no choice; she was unable to move in Arion's grip. She watched as Jase swayed back and forth in her chanting, feeling that she'd been more than patient. So Jase could now speak in tongues. How meaningful. Whatever nonsense she was spewing was beyond Tash's grasp; it could be a speech, a story, or an invitation to join the party. Well, in any event, what it definitely said was that Jase had been laced with something else besides good old Columbian weed. Good old Columbian weed didn't make you sound like you were reciting Mother Goose stories in Yiddish while trying to regurgitate last night's dinner. Or did it? Who was she, a sparkling example of Humanity, to explain the wonders of the psychedelic world to a bunch of short, wacked-out medieval druggies, one of whom was her best friend? Why didn't Jase just pass out and get it over with?

Jase chose that exact moment to stagger to the edge of the table and collapse in Tash's arms. Tash looked at her in disgust. "I hope you have a terrific headache in the morning." She pushed Jase at Arion. "No more hallucinogenic conversations with the Dragons allowed tonight. Bring the 'vixen' to our room, and sorry, but you don't get to tuck her in, nor me either." She stomped on up the hall, determined that, come hell or high water, they would be high-tailing it out of there first thing in the morning.

Arion smiled as he watched the woman storm away. Readjusting Jase's limp form in his arms, he followed Tash down the hall. How he enjoyed Humans.

♦ ♦ ♦

Miles to the east, in yet another maze of hallways, a young woman wandered through the upper levels of the palace at Camelot. She walked with determined purpose, burrowing further into the fur mantle that she clutched about her to ward off the cold drafts that occasionally snaked down the stone corridors.

She'd been summoned again, the second time this week. These midnight meetings with the Lady Morgan secretly made her nervous, for she knew – or, rather, had heard – that Morgan was a witch, with the capability to maim or charm with the lift of a finger. But so far she'd not threatened at all, she just talked...and questioned. Probing questions they were, about delicate things that usually made her blush or caused confusion, but she answered them to the best of her ability, and Morgan had seemed satisfied. She endured the talk and the questions for two reasons: one, because she was curious, and two, because Morgan was the king's sister and she had asked her how to gain his favor. It was no secret that her father had plans for her and Arthur. And Morgan had promised to help her, after all. But she couldn't help but wonder just how Morgan was going about it, especially by asking such personal, embarrassing questions.

She stopped before a large oak door, which led to one of the many towers adorning the palace. Looking up and down the dark hallway and listening, she perceived no other presence and quickly slipped through, locking the door behind her. The greasy candles mounted in sconces along the wall picked out her faint shadow as she made her way up the steep steps, holding the hem of her too-long shift above her feet.

When she reached the door at the top of the steps, she was surprised to find it open. Morgan was sitting at a table, staring into a perfect sphere of what seemed to be made of obsidian.

"I'm here, my lady," the girl announced in a small voice, not wishing to alarm the sorceress. Without lifting her eyes, Morgan gestured carelessly and the girl slowly made her way to a single wooden chair nearby. She folded her hands in her lap and waited, the perfect picture of innocence.

Morgan restrained herself from losing her patience at the girl's prim stature. The little bitch didn't understand what she had in mind, she was so impossibly naïve. Well tonight, that sparkling purity had to be tarnished. But not just yet. Right now she was busy communing with her own.

Morgan caressed the black globe reverently, recalling the day fourteen years ago when it had called her. She had been just a simple priestess then, a virgin child like this chit who sat in her chamber now. Oh, the thrill of that moment, when the power filled her! It was a power she couldn't deny, a power that sank its black claws deeply into her consciousness and drew her down into the whirlpools of darkness. Of course, there had been pain, and perhaps a little violent abusiveness, and yes, even a little horror, but that burst of vitality had made her feel reborn, and that was worth a little discomfort...A laugh of pleasure bubbled up from deep within her. Ravishment, that's what it had been. Mental and physical ravishment, and she had gloried in it, and had hungered for it ever since.

"Lady Morgan?" The young girl's voice trembled with nervousness.

Jolted from the memory, Morgan remembered her task at hand. "Ah, yes, Guinevere, I almost forgot you were here." She pushed the globe aside reluctantly. "Agravaine will be here anon." Rising from her chair, she pulled Guinevere upright. "Did you follow my instructions?" She jerked the mantle from the girl's shoulders, causing her to shrink back. "Stand up straight, child," she ordered. "Arms at your sides." Guinevere obeyed, and Morgan studied her attire piercingly. The thin, nearly transparent shift clung to the girl's body, which was well matured for her tender years.

"Good," Morgan whispered, tossing the mantle back at Guinevere, "good. I am pleased."

Guinevere looked puzzled. "I don't understand, my lady."

Morgan's smile was icy. One thing that made her plans so easy was the girl's incredible simple-mindedness in these matters. Such was the advantage to convent schooling! "But you will understand, child," she said aloud. "Tonight is our final consultation...and your first lesson." After that, you'll understand everything.

There was movement behind them and Morgan turned to find her devoted son Agravaine entering the room. Tall, powerfully built, and as arrogant as he was handsome, he had proven himself an adept assistant to her plans, as well as an excellent quencher of primal lust. When the urge to rut hit her, Morgan simply didn't care who quenched it, and, so it appeared, neither did Agravaine.

"You called, madam?" He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Morgan turned to Guinevere. "Remove your mantle again, child." As Guinevere obeyed, Morgan raised an eyebrow at Agravaine. "I have need of your services tonight, my dear."

Agravaine was staring at Guinevere's curves under the thin shift. "Aye, I can see that. Might I ask what I owe this pleasure to?"

Morgan turned back to the shivering girl and pointed to a door across the room. "Go in there and await Agravaine. I need to talk to him." Like a puppy, Guinevere bobbed a quick curtsey and did as she was told.

"What is brewing behind your deceptively lovely face, Mother?" Agravaine asked as soon as the door shut behind the girl.

Morgan beckoned him closer. "She is part of our plan," she said low. "This child is my path to controlling Camelot and possibly England."

"Well, three cheers for Leodegrantz's daughter," Agravaine chuckled. "And just how, pray tell, is she going to do this?"

The deceptively lovely face turned hard. "Think, you fool. Leodegrantz wants her to marry the king, but she fancies herself in love with Lancelot. She's given us the perfect opportunity to pit them against one another. As long as Arthur and Lancelot are united in friendship they will never know defeat...but once she is married to Arthur, she will cause a rift between them due to her desire for Lancelot. The kingdom will crumble because of that rift, and we will be there to pick up the pieces."

Agravaine considered this information. "'We?' How do I figure into this?"

"In order to skillfully seduce Lancelot, she needs a few lessons," Morgan said with a knowing smile. "Break her in well, my lad. I give you two hours, and then I will take her back to her room in secret."

Agravaine licked his lips unconsciously. "And if she refuses me?"

"Then force her!" Morgan hissed. "I do not care what you do, just make sure she does not leave this tower unschooled."

Agravaine felt his body respond powerfully as he thought of the lush curves of the girl's body. "I would welcome a good plowing," he muttered thickly.

Morgan eyed his crotch and snorted. "Don't waste your time in fantasy," she said scornfully. "You only have two hours." She pointed to the door. "Go. She waits for you."

Agravaine stood, pushed past Morgan, and strode purposefully toward the door. When he threw it open, Guinevere got up from her seat on the bed and came toward him, wearing a childishly interested expression. "What are you going to teach me?" she asked. Agravaine chuckled low in his throat and shut the door.

As she heard the bolt slide in place, Morgan smiled in satisfaction and returned to her contemplation of the black obsidian globe. She was soon lost in its depths, oblivious to the sounds from the other room.

♦ ♦ ♦

The fun-loving elves gave Tash and Jase a grand sendoff, loading them up with food, maps, money, and gifts, the most important of which were two magnificent black stallions. Thus geared and mounted, a determined Tash and a silent Jase left the throng behind, and none too soon, as far as Tash was concerned. She didn't hate the elves – in fact, she was immensely grateful to them – but she hoped she could elude their company in the future.

She leaned forward to study her companion's morning-after state. "How's your head, stupid?"

No response. Huh. "Anybody in there?" No response. "I've warned you against taking candy from strangers." Jase sighed and Tash turned in the saddle, placing a hand over her heart. "My word," she quipped, "the stirrings of life!"

"Mmmgph."

Tash laughed. "It's time to play One Thousand Questions. Do you remember anything you did last night?"

"Mmmm."

"No? Let me help. You danced on the table top and sang gibberish. It sounded like a record being played backwards."

"Uh."

"And drugs, Jase. You know better than to inhale that shit! You are aware what it probably did to your lungs, not to mention your brain? Or what's left of it, anyhow."

"Mmph."

"Anyhow, it looked like you were in touch with something. Or someone. Do you remember?"

"Mm."

Tash eyed Jase expectantly. "Well? Are you going to tell me?"

"Uh."

"In something other than monosyllables, maybe?"

Jase slumped a little further into the saddle. "Lemme rot in peace."

"Hey, a whole sentence!"

Jase clutched her head. "God hates me. I'm sure of it."

"Two!" Tash crowed. "Let's try for a paragraph now. Were you really in touch with a Dragon, or was Arion trying his hardest to lure me into something more mysterious?"

Jase's forehead screwed up in her effort to think. "Talked with somebody," she muttered. "He...she..." She smacked the side of her head. "Can't remember!" she snapped, then grabbed her temples. "Owwwww..."

"All right, never mind," Tash sighed. "It'll probably come back."

"Remember one thing," Jase said a few seconds later.

Tash leaned forward, all ears. "What?"

Jase rubbed her temples gingerly. "Red ants were chewing on my cerebellum."

Tash grinned. "You mean what's left of your cerebellum, dunce."

Jase made no comment. Tash shook her head and consulted her map. According to the elves, they could reach Camelot within five days if they continued due east, but Jase had suggested, pleaded, and finally demanded that they traipse around, work a few semi-miracles, and achieve legend status. It would heighten their reputation and perhaps make them more easily accessible to the Round Table, Jase explained. Tash, seeing the logic of this (dubious logic, but nevertheless logic), reluctantly gave in. Only after they had made themselves known in different spots around the country would they move on to Camelot. And then, as far as Jase was concerned, the real adventure would begin.

Chapter 11

#  Legends in the Works

I    cannot tell how the truth may be;

I say the tale as 'twas said to me.

– Sir Walter Scott

When the two riderless horses belonging to Arthur and Lancelot showed up unexpectedly at the stables of Camelot, most people said, "How lucky! Now you won't have to purchase and train new ones!" and left it at that. However, to Arthur, the matter was definitely not closed. As soon as he had received word of their return, he and Cai immediately went to the stables to search for some evidence on the two thieves. If those two could be called thieves – they were more like blessed opportunists, given the circumstances of the aforementioned thievery.

After dismissing the stable hand that had just started removing Firaved's tack, Arthur went over his mount with the proverbial fine tooth comb, but came up empty-handed. Nothing was damaged or missing, except, of course, the bounty of that day's hunt. Even thieves had to eat, he supposed.

"You know, Arthur, a stable boy could have handled what you have just done," Cai observed.

"A stable boy would have thrown out any trace of those two women," Arthur snapped. "Are you aware that horse stealing is an offense in this country?"

"Horse stealing, ha! The problem isn't stealing, brother. It's that those riders were women. Two lasses you haven't forked yet, you rake. Ho, they must have been quite the beauties to put you in a mood like this."

Cai was one of the few who could get away with that kind of talk when Arthur was in a foul temper, especially when his words rang true. If it was possible, Arthur scowled deeper, producing an expression that had frightened people out of the court room in the past. But Cai wasn't daunted. To him, Arthur was his little brother, High King or no.

"This is a valuable animal, Cai," Arthur said flatly. "It takes time and money to train another warhorse."

"It also takes time and money to break in your women," Cai stated. "Admit it, brother, you were hoping both of them would have come right in with the horses, asking for food and lodging...maybe a little cozying...maybe one of them could be that love of your life that Merlin was talking about earlier. Hmmmm?"

Arthur tried to keep the stormy expression on his face, but under such a blatant statement, he found himself grinning wryly. He knew he had the reputation of a rake, much to the despair of his counselors and the amusement of his knights. Any pretty woman caught his attention. But these two especially made him sit up and take notice. Especially that redhead.

"Come on, now, 'fess up to your brother," Cai wheedled, seeing Arthur's grin. "Planning on putting two more tallies on your wall?"

Arthur snorted and reached for a grooming brush. "You're my steward, Cai, not my procurer. Remember that."

Cai grinned back. "Aye, milord. Whatever you say, milord." He motioned to the stable boy, who came forward and offered to take the brush. After a few strokes, Arthur handed the brush to the lad, glared at Cai, and left the stables. Cai chuckled and followed. Sometimes it was so fun to stir up the High King of England.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was cold in the drafty throne room of Castle Chariot. That was the first thing that went through the traveler's mind as he surveyed his surroundings. Cold, and damp, and dark...three Human miseries he never had been able to tolerate for long. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be in Human form.

A twitch of a long finger caused a fire to leap into existence in the empty fireplace. The traveler sighed and sank into one of the chairs before it. His eyes, which were the odd color of old topaz, reflected the flames until it seemed that the sockets themselves were burning. Maybe they really were, all things considering.

How many years had he been gone from this part of the world? He had lost count over the decades. Or was it centuries? However long it had been, he'd had plenty of time to think, and now he was ready to try out some of the plans he'd devised. He was ready to pick up where he'd left off. But first, he needed some information about those who had inadvertently helped him find the way out of that damnable tangle of rotted trees that the world had somehow forgotten. How had they managed to get there when no one else had found it for years?

He shivered impatiently and pulled the edges of his tattered black cloak more securely about him, then moved his chair closer to the fire. It appeared that the mistress of this castle wasn't going to welcome him in the way he'd hoped. Well, he'd have to take care of that later. He gazed into the fire, and his breathing eventually slowed as he concentrated. The popping of the burning logs faded as if someone had turned down the volume, and the flames flared until they were white-hot. Within the brightness, images began to appear. The traveler watched with satisfaction as two forms took shape, blurred at first, then sharpening into two distinct Human figures. It seemed that incarceration hadn't dimmed his abilities.

After a few minutes, the traveler had all the information he needed to know about his two saviors. His hunch had been proven correct; they were indeed able to penetrate the levels of existence. Such power was hard to come by these days. But they were obviously unaware of their strength. How he would love to educate them. He was especially drawn to the darker woman, whose power walked the line between creation and destruction, much like his own. Maybe he was drawn to her because his little request for information had identified her as the one who had shown him the way out of the woods. He must remember to thank her personally.

Well, it looked like Chariot's owner was not coming to greet him at all. Perhaps he'd better go to her instead. He could imagine the expression on her face now. After all, there was nothing the traveler liked better than surprising people, and Morgan hadn't seen him in years. It was time to renew the acquaintance and dole out lessons in manners. He stood, stretched languorously, and swirled his cloak around his body. Instantly the fire was out, and the room was empty.

♦ ♦ ♦

The Orkney Islands were located far to the north of Britain, seemingly within spitting distance of the barbaric Scottish highlands. Few chose to live on the cold, desolate hunks of black earth and granite, but those who did felt it was their prerogative to make a daily claim to ownership. Politics didn't matter in this godforsaken part of the world, but there was only one man whose claim of ownership had any real bite. That man was King Lot, self-proclaimed lord of the self-created kingdom of Lothian.

Lot was a cold-blooded, cold-hearted man with a sadistic temper. He was hard, cruel, and unforgiving, and his taste for vengeful power was known far and wide – as far and wide as the borders of Orkney, anyhow. It was his ambition to extend that power further, right to the castle of Camelot itself. For Lot took it personally that he had not been ordained King of Britain. After all these years, it still chafed him that a demon-raised, orphaned brat – not yet old enough to be called a man – had been crowned in his stead.

Outside the castle, the ever-present winds howled around the short, thick turrets of the castle. Northshore, it was called, and rightly so; it hunched like an ugly beetle on the edge of a steep cliff that plunged straight down onto a pile of jagged rocks, where the icy water of the sea churned relentlessly. The constant salt air and ocean spray coated the stone with a slimy sheen. The castle itself was a bastardization of living cliff line infected with manmade walls. Its appearance suited Lot, for it made those under him feel uneasy and afraid. And Lot was pleased when people feared him. Fear, after all, was power.

This night, the one who feared him was a simple servant, and Lot, who had been bored the entire day, decided to make an example of the poor man. He wanted the rest of the household staff to know that tripping while serving the King was not to be tolerated, especially when the King's dinner landed in the King's lap. Now the servant lay submissively on the floor beside the master's roast goose, pressing his ashen face against the cold stone and praying he would come out of this alive.

Lot had screamed and ranted himself up to a pleasurable rage, aiming well-placed kicks at the unlucky servant, and he ended his tirade with booting the goose carcass against the wall, splattering the flesh and bones everywhere. Other servants scurried to clean up the mess, terrified that they would suffer the same fate if they didn't hustle. Lot treated himself to one more hard kick, this time against the servant's temple, and then gestured to the men cleaning the wall.

"Take him to the dungeon master," he growled. "He'll teach him about holding on to things." The servants obeyed hastily, two carrying their counterpart and one cleaning the blood from the stones. They deposited the man in the dungeon and hurried away, not caring to see what the sadistic dungeon master would do. But there was no torture amusement that night, for the man had been killed by Lot's well-placed kick to his head. Every now and then, someone got lucky in Lothian.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase's condition slowly returned to normal. The tamsin weed experience had been strong enough to knock her out of commission for nearly a week. Every now and then she slid back into trance mode, which both frightened and irritated Tash unendurably, and Tash always gave into her urge to shake Jase out of it. And Jase never seemed to remember what she had been babbling about. Though she tried comparing it to a typical hangover, the only thing that matched up was forgetting what she did altogether. Tash said matter-of-factly that it was typical of Jase's behavior on a Saturday morning and advised her to let the whole affair hang. Jase, after puzzling over the mystery hour after hour, finally threw up her hands and took Tash's counsel. Besides, there were more exciting things to ponder in this strange time.

Excitement was waiting around the next bend in a little hamlet that popped up like the numbers in an antique cash register. As Tash and Jase rode over a steep incline, they found themselves in interesting company. Several peasants gathered about in a circle, hiding what was between them. Some held jugs of water, others held rags stained with what suspiciously looked like blood.

As if on cue, a youth suddenly pointed at the two approaching knights and a hush fell over the crowd. Jase expected the theme from Star Wars to start any moment, and bit back a small smile. The urge to laugh faded, however, when the peasants drew back to reveal two more knights, one kneeling over the other, who looked to be badly injured. When the horses stopped before the kneeling knight, he raised his head to regard them with helpless anger.

"What happened here?" Jase asked.

"An attack," the knight snapped. He gestured toward the trees. "Rock trolls ambushed Balin in the gully. He didn't have time to draw, and I just barely got him out alive." He leaned down and shook the unconscious knight gently. "Balin. It's Balan. Wake up, brother."

Jase's eyebrows rose behind her faceplate. Balan and Balin. Idylls of the King. History was right before her eyes, kneeling in the mud in this shithole of a place. She slid off her horse and knelt by Balin. "May I?" she asked in a low voice.

Balan assented. "If there is anything you can do, please do so."

"No promises," Jase muttered under her breath, but bent over Balin anyhow. When it came right down to it, men weren't so different from horses, so she studied his injuries with the practiced eye and skillful hands the years of horse breeding had given her. Upon checking his head, she found the answer: a big knot rose from the base of his skull.

"Concussion," she said to the kneeling knight. "If you don't move him too much, he should heal, Balan."

The knight glared at Jase warily. "I do not believe I know you, yet you know my name," he observed. "And you know my brother as well? And what is this concussion you speak of?"

Whoops, Tash thought. Think quick, Jase.

Jase did. "You believe no one has heard of the knight Balan? The bards sing your praises across the lands, and naturally they link your brother's name with yours." She congratulated herself, hoping that the bards were indeed singing the man's praises, and felt the lump on Balin's head again. "He took a hard hit to the head and it is possible that he's hurt his brain, not to mention he's probably cracked his skull. That's called a concussion. Do you understand?"

Balan's frown deepened, making him look even more ferocious than Jase thought he looked to begin with. "I am not an idiot, man. We need to make him comfortable." He looked around the crowd. "Who lives closest to this spot?" he asked loudly.

A short, thin old woman stepped forward. "I do," she said, her voice authoritative, even though it cracked from age. "My home is yours, sir knight."

"All right, then," Jase replied. "Lay him flat and level – on the floor, if you have to. Keep a close eye on him; make sure he still breathes. Do you follow me so far?"

The old woman gave Jase a hard look. "Yer pardon, sir, but I've helped birth more babies and nursed more children than ye could ever sire. I believe I can keep me eye on a man who isn't moving."

Jase bit her lip to keep from laughing. Well, she'd just been told, hadn't she? She had to remember that these people were simple, but not stupid. She pulled her coin pouch from her saddlebag and emptied some gold coins into the old woman's hand. "Take this," she instructed. "There's enough for yourself, both knights, and their horses. Buy what you need and take care of Sir Balin until he recovers."

"Or dies."

The voice was deep, though wispy as the wind, and all heads turned toward it. A collective gasp rose through the crowd, and Balan instinctively drew his sword and stepped over his unconscious brother. Jase and Tash strained to see the voice's owner, but the crowd was too close together to see anything. However, apparently everyone present, including Balan, knew the voice all too well.

Jase was annoyed. Her present attempts to calm the peasants, to reassure them that everything was under control and Balin would be well, were now empty promises, thanks to this unwelcome presence with the big mouth. She stood up and drew her sword. The peasants in her immediate vicinity gave her ground.

"And just who are you?" she said angrily. "Show yourself!"

The crowd parted hesitantly, like a stuck zipper, as if they were afraid that the voice's owner would kill them all if they moved a scant inch. Jase held her sword at the ready, and when the last burly peasant moved aside, she was given a clear view. Her sword dipped slightly and her eyes widened in shock. She'd made another big mistake.

In front of her stood something out of her own Hollywood and Stephen King-induced nightmares. A gaunt, spectral figure shrouded in tattered gray robes sat astride a skeletal grey horse. There was something not altogether Human about the newcomers — maybe it was the way they kept fading in and out of focus as if they were standing in a blinding desert sandstorm. It would have been easier to handle if the wind was blowing, but the air was very still. Lovely. If this wasn't Death itself, then it was his brother. Or a long-lost cousin, at least.

Jase felt her burst of adrenaline fade like she'd sprung a leak. Banshees, skeletons, and now this. "Christ," she muttered, letting her sword point fall to the ground along with her guard. "All the beasts to destroy in this land and I get all the spooks." She turned to look at Tash, noticing that the entire crowd of peasants had disappeared like fog on a sunny morning, leaving only the knight Balan in their wake. Well, she couldn't blame them. Swallowing the dryness in her mouth, she repeated, "Who are you?"

"I have been sent by Ugland," the thing replied in its raspy voice, both quiet and powerful.

"Who's Ugland?" Tash asked, coming up to stand beside Jase. "What do you want here?"

"Ugland has seen your future," it sibilated venomously. "Your destruction will be his ultimate victory." One skeletal hand pointed. "He awaits you both in yonder gully. Ride and perish."

"Yeah, well, whatever," Jase said after a slight pause. "Nice to meet you, too." Throwing all tact and mystery aside, she added, "You may tell Ugland, who awaits us in yonder gully, to kiss our asses. You, of course, are excluded from this proposition."

A gargoylish coughing laugh spewed from behind the thing's dirty wrappings. "If not willingly, then let it be by other means," it rasped.

Tash put her sword away and her eyes narrowed behind her faceplate. "Get out of here," she commanded, forcing an authority she did not otherwise feel.

Surprisingly it obeyed. The skeletal horse turned and, with unnatural speed for such a dilapidated-looking beast, darted forward and was lost from sight, its hooves not making a sound on the ground. Its voice came back to them on the wind: "Other means..."

Almost immediately a scream of hysteria rent the air, and Jase and Tash jumped at the jolt of sound. A little boy not more than five years old was running toward them, sobbing at the top of his voice.

"She's gone!" he shrilled. "It took her! She's gone!" He clutched frantically at Jase's leg.

Jase sheathed her sword and knelt down, taking the boy's shoulders in her hands. She shook him slightly. "Calm down, lad," she commanded. "Who did it take?" The thing's threat was fresh in her mind.

"Maisri!" the child cried, ignoring Jase's reassurances. "It grabbed her as it rode by!" He burst into fresh tears. "She's my sister! Please get her back!"

Jase looked over at Tash. She couldn't see her, but she knew the other woman's face was as pale as her own. Without hesitation she handed the boy over to Balan and headed toward her horse.

"Don't do it, man," Balan warned quietly. "'Tis a hoax. The demon pulled the same gesture on me and Balin with another child. Not only was he lost, but his father as well."

"Isn't living and dying by the sword your job?" Jase snapped. "Maybe I misunderstood those bards, eh?"

Balin ignored the contempt in her voice. "To protect, serve and die; yes, that is what I do. However, I will not do so foolishly. There is a time to know when the odds are against you. Men, animals and nature are one thing. But demons? They are quite another."

"Not when you've had experience with them," Jase shot back.

"Even so," Balan replied, undaunted, "the best thing to do is leave this place. I, too, thought that I could make a difference. 'Tis not so."

Jase climbed onto her horse, noting the tenseness in the animal's muscles. "Maybe not where you're from, but – " she began, but a shrill cry echoing from the nearby gully cut off her words.

"You're not us, either," Tash finished, spurring her mount. "Let's go!"

Jase gathered up the reins and turned toward Balan. "Return that little one to his mother," she ordered curtly, indicating the still-sobbing boy. "I'll be back to check him and your brother! Yah!" Beaucephalus reared back and bolted after Tash at a ground-eating gallop. It took only a minute to catch up, and both sped on, drawn by the screams ringing in their ears.

The trees gradually grew less and less, and suddenly disappeared altogether as the ground sloped sharply downward. A rocky pathway bordered with walls of solid granite nearly thirty feet high rose up before them. Immediately both horses stopped, reversed direction, and tore back through the trees the way they came. Unfortunately they were riderless.

Tash and Jase lay on the ground, blinking at the sky and cursing easily spooked equine senses. Tash rolled over slowly, making several attempts to rise and failing clumsily each time. Nothing seemed to be broken; there were no strains or bruises, thanks to the armor they wore. She just felt tired, so damn tired...

It was the air, she suddenly realized. The air was thick and putrid, and somehow Tash knew the reek it exuded was bad magic. As if to further clarify that knowledge, she noticed something moving in her peripheral vision. She turned her head for a closer look.

"Jesus H. Christ!" she gasped. She shook the cobwebs from her eyes and brain and struggled to her feet. "Jase! Get up!"

"Huh?" Jase asked thickly, rolling over.

"Get up!" Tash yelled. "We're surrounded!" As further incentive, she kicked backward with an armored heel into Jase's thigh, bringing her to her feet with an expletive on her lips.

"You didn't have to do that!" Jase snapped, inspecting the armor for damage.

"Quit primping!" Tash shot back. "You want to lay there and get attacked by those?"

Jase suddenly became aware that there were scores of short, stocky creatures moving in on them, each with arms that were longer than their entire bodies and had an incredible reach. They were covered with black and brown tangled hair, intermittently spotted with visible, crawling clumps of lice. Beady black eyes and long, sharp yellow teeth completed the image of carnivorous little beasts that lived for one purpose: killing.

Jase's face twisted in disgust. "Gah. Somebody beat these guys with one big ugly stick."

Tash snorted. "I think they used the entire forest, not just one stick." They stood back to back, trying to watch six little creatures at once. Both had drawn their swords.

"Attack of the Mutant Midgets," Jase spat. "They look like orangutans on steroids."

"I'm guessing these must be Balin's rock trolls," Tash replied.

"Must be," Jase agreed. "If they were the ones who got to Balin, it looks like they're capable of breaking your neck with one of those arms."

"Simply delightful."

Right at that same moment another shrill scream filled the air. Both women's heads jerked toward the sound and there, high on a ledge, crouched a little girl, staring wildly at a troll working its way up the wall and reaching for her. They watched her kick at it twice and miss before finally stomping the thing's fingers until it let go and tumbled down the granite wall with soft thuds.

Jase was mentally commending the child for her bravery when she felt something brush against her thigh and, looking down, saw the dirty fingertips of a troll reaching for her. Without thinking she brought her blade down and cut straight through the arms, leaving bloody stumps. In the backswing of the stroke, she arced the sword around and sliced it through the creature's throat. Blackish-red blood spurted all over her legs. The stench was nauseating.

Once again faced with life-threatening forces, their training confidently surfaced and they struck back with deadly accuracy. The trolls fell lifeless left and right. Though they were carnivorous killers, they were incredibly stupid, thinking only to reach for the kill instead of defending themselves. Thus they died like lemmings, leaving a blood-encrusted trail behind the two knights.

The women were trained, but they were only Human. Their arms began to ache from the constant swinging, the sensation altering from burning ache to numbness. Sweat poured off their bodies under the armored suits, making them feel like they were encased in large pressure cookers.

Jab, cut, parry, hack, thrust. Repeat. Ache, ache, numb, ache, numb. Repeat. Parry, cut, hack, thrust. Ache, numb, numb, ache. But with every thrust and jab, and with all the aches and numbness, they slowly inched toward the child on the ledge.

♦ ♦ ♦

From the doorway of the old woman's cottage, Balan saw the horses approaching and immediately noticed they were riderless. He sighed inwardly and shook his head. Two more good knights had been taken by the evil in the gully. He shifted his gaze and saw the little boy whose sister had been snatched by the ghostrider. His face was still tearstained, and he studied Balan morosely. Feeling sorry for the little fellow, Balan motioned him over.

"Come here, lad," he invited. "Do you like horses?" The child nodded, and Balan saw a glint of interest in those sad eyes. "Well, good," he continued. "You know, between you and me, I think that groom there with those horses needs a lot of help. Why don't you go out and say I sent you to give him a hand with rubbing them down? I know he'd be grateful for someone like you."

Child psychology by name wasn't yet a twinkle in anyone's eye, but its roots worked well on the little boy. His face aglow, he turned and ran off to the smith's stable. Balan smiled and turned back to the cot, noticing that the old woman was watching him.

"The children are very close," she said. "They're twins. It makes it harder, y'know." She sighed. "Well, I found 'em on my doorstep as babies, and I took a shinin' to 'em...now I love 'em as my own."

Balan hesitated. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I wish..."

She looked up at him sadly. "That ye could do somethin'? Don't we all, milord. Don't we all." She shook her head. "Ye can't beat magic like that. Merlin hisself could, maybe, but not us mortals. We all used to hope someone would save us. But when ye live in the shadow of black magic, there's nothin' ye can do except watch the others die, one by one, and wait yer turn."

"And yet you never left this place," Balan mused.

The old woman snorted. "This is my home," she said. "I was here long before that thing showed up. They ain't gonna drive me out until they come to take me. I ain't afraid to die, milord. I'm an old woman. And I know I'm bound for Heaven cuz I done my time in Hell, see."

Balan was silent for a moment. "Answer a question for me, goodwife."

"Name's Mara," she replied. "Just Mara. Everyone calls me that, and you will too, see? You'll be Sir Balan, of course."

He nodded. "Yes. Well, Mara, seeing as how we all ran off after that rider without getting any previous information...who is he? Or what?"

"Oh, the rider's real enough," Mara answered curtly. "Comes to steal something for Ugland or he delivers up one of us to the trolls for lunch."

"Who is Ugland, anyhow?" Balin asked, curious.

"Now he be a 'what,' not a 'who,'" Mara answered contemptuously. "Dwarf, or gnome, or something 'tuther. Ugly little beast, whatever he be. He's a boil on the arse of this community." She spat to one side to emphasize her point. "Used to come beggin' and stealin' all the time and we used to kick him out of our paths and such. Somewhere along the line he picked up knowledge of the black arts and he's ruled the gully and them there trolls ever since. Now he's gettin' all of us back for all that kickin', and he's usin' that damn ghost to round us up."

"And yet no one's seen him since he became so powerful," Balan mused.

Mara chuckled dryly. "Sure they have, boy. They's the ones that die."

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase shakily sat down on a slab of granite and pushed back her faceplate to survey the carnage in the gully. Trolls and troll parts lay scattered throughout, and flies and lice fought for dominance over the lumps of bloodied flesh. On the other side of the gully, Tash stifled an exhausted yawn and watched wearily as the little girl carefully climbed down from her perilous shelf. The child was now close enough to reach and Tash managed to pluck her from the gully wall.

"Got her," she called. "Let's go." Jase stood, slid her face plate back down, and they shuffled slowly out of the gully. At the mouth of it, Tash's steps slowed and she stopped. Jase stopped a couple of steps later, and as if they were cued from an unseen director, they both turned to look behind them.

"Ah, shit," Tash muttered. "Jase..."

"I see him."

About thirty yards away, looking far more solid than before, was the "ghost" on the skeletal horse. He was also carrying a very real-looking lance, and he was waiting.

Jase suddenly thought of heroes who had distracted the enemy enough to win the battle. Horatius at the bridge, fighting off dozens with swords. Han Solo in the Death Star, running yelling down the halls. In the next second she lunged forward into a full run right toward the skeletal horse, howling at the top of her lungs. Behind her, Tash muttered a foul word and set down the little girl behind a nearby boulder, instructing her to crouch there and be quiet, no matter what happened.

The rider hadn't been fooled by the so-called distraction. This went through Jase's mind quickly as they bore down on each other. It also crossed Jase's mind that the rider had a very large and deadly weapon, and all she had was her sword, which was in its sheath at this moment, banging against her thigh. The rider's lance got closer and closer, and suddenly Jase dove to one side, suffering only a glancing blow from the skeletal horse's hind hoof.

The rider pulled the horse up and attempted to turn, but there was a sharp twang! and a long black arrow struck the emaciated animal in the eye socket. The horse's head snapped back and it fell over, pinning the rider's left leg beneath its twisting body. Jase, who had recovered herself, sprinted toward the fallen rider with her sword over her head. With one powerful swing, she severed the rider's head, then drew back up and chopped again into the horse's neck.

Jase raised her visor and rubbed the sweat from her forehead with a shaking hand. She'd made an incredibly stupid move, one that could have gotten her killed, but luck had been with her. She saw Tash advancing on her and steeled herself for a lecture. But none came.

"You okay?" Tash asked. Jase nodded, slid her visor shut, and they went to pick up the little girl. But no sooner had they gone a few steps when an outraged bellow echoed through the canyon.

"Christ Almighty, now what?" Jase declared irritably, turning back around. She was answered by another bellow, closer now, and swords were drawn as crunching footsteps were heard. They were ready, swords poised to strike as the new threat burst from the brush.

Tash felt like the wind had been taken from her sails. She dropped her sword arm and stared in disbelief at a fat little gnome stomping and screaming like a little kid throwing a temper tantrum. She'd expected something...well...bigger. More grand. Calmer, maybe. But not this. Certainly not this.

Jase was downright laughing. She, too, had expected more, and the release of tension left her practically rolling on the ground. Her laughter was infectious and Tash began to laugh as well.

Ugland was furious at this turn of events. Furious because his rock trolls and his rider were maggot feasts. And furious because he was once again being laughed at. Well, he'd show them. His hands jerked up above his head, holding a smooth black orb. A sickly green glow swirled around it, pulsing like a disembodied heart, humming its black magic song. It had the desired effect on his tormentors, for they stopped laughing at once.

Tash's bow was out in a flash and a phalanx of arrows flew from the dancing bowstring. Each arrow buried itself deep into muscles and organs. But even though the arrows stuck out of Ugland like spines on a porcupine, the disfigured little creature kept coming toward them. His face was a visage of death, but his body lived on. His arms were still raised, the black ball held high.

"Tash, the orb!" Jase said suddenly. "It's the same as the one the skeleton had!"

"What?" Tash was momentarily distracted.

"That elf drug!" Jase replied frantically. "That's what I couldn't remember! Beware the black eye. That's what the Dragon told me!"

"Jase –" Tash began, but Jase wasn't listening anymore. She darted forward, swinging her sword in a graceful arc. She sliced through Ugland's hands, which fell to the ground still clutching the orb and, with the backstroke of the same swing, took off his head.

Blood spurted in all directions as the head rolled. But the body shockingly stayed upright. As Tash watched in horror, the body continued to walk toward them, and the fingers on the severed hands still turned the glowing orb in a slow circle.

Desperately Jase dove forward and began to pummel the orb with her sword. On the third hard strike the orb cracked, and on the fourth it shattered. There was a flash of puce light and the hacked body of Ugland finally fell lifeless to the ground. A smell like flowers left too long in water began to spoil the air.

Half a world away, a black Dragon screamed.

♦ ♦ ♦

Balin had awakened with one hell of a headache. Balan had hovered like a nervous mother hen until Mara had kicked him out, reminding him of his brother's head injury, and now Balan was entertaining a weary bard who had stopped by for food before heading south. The bard had caught wind of the story brewing and was pressing for details.

"No," Balan said sadly. "Neither one voiced a name."

"Nothing else?" the bard asked.

"Nothing," Balan replied. "Their only concern was protecting everyone." He watched the young brother of the kidnapped girl as he brushed one of the black stallions the knights had been riding. "That's what heroes are for," he continued. "They become martyrs."

"Aye," the bard agreed. He looked into the sunset to arrange his ideas, but the words would not come. He started over, trying a new approach, but that didn't work either. It was in this position, staring at the sun, that he noticed the figures walking out of the sunset toward the hovel.

Astonishment made his eyes widen and his jaw drop. Two knights were walking toward him, one holding a little girl. Were they ghosts? He expected them to melt into the gathering shadows. But no, they kept coming. There was a neigh from one of the horses nearby, and he glanced over to see the two black stallions trotting out toward the knights as if to greet them. He stood quickly, pulling Balan up with him. Balan glanced at him curiously, then looked in the same direction.

"By the Dragons themselves! Back from certain death!" He clapped the bard on the back. "There be a story for you, man! And with the child, as well!" He pulled the door open and called inside to Mara. There was a scuffling sound within, and she appeared at the door, her eyes bright with hope.

Tash and Jase came closer, noticing the crowd gathering to greet them. The child in Tash's arms begged to be put down and Tash complied. The girl bolted straight into the outstretched arms of her brother and stepmother.

When they were in hearing range, Balan greeted both of them with a hearty salute. "Well done, brothers! You've made yourselves heroes on this day!"

"Heroes?" Jase quipped. "No, we're just doing our duty, like you."

"Touched by God, you are," the bard cut in. "Nay, the titles are just. You have proven your courage, and it seems magic preys not upon you either."

"We got lucky," Tash replied, trying to downplay the praise, but the bard would have none of it.

"Lucky?" He chortled. "I think not. But I pray, tell me your names, sir knights."

"No, we can't," Tash replied, steeling herself for an argument.

Although the bard gave her an odd glance he did not challenge her, instead accepting her reply with a thoughtful nod. He bowed deeply. "The song of legend is before me. I am on my way to Cornwall, and the story of these brave knights will be ready to tell when I get there." The bard made to turn away, but he regarded Jase and Tash once more and smiled hugely, gesturing at them. "And they shall be nameless," he declared. With that pronouncement he turned away, and with purposeful strides began his journey south.

Jase and Tash watched him go. "Well," Jase murmured gleefully, "prepare for fame and fortune, my friend!"

"Huh," Tash muttered. "If being famous means putting up with stuff like this every day, I'd rather die in oblivion."

"Pessimistic wimp."

"Arrogant pinhead."

"Round's over, Tasher. Let's ride into the sunset before we start a cat fight."

And they did just that, without so much as a goodbye. But they weren't forgotten.

Chapter 12

#  The Heart of a Child

A    dwarf sees farther than the giant

when he has the giant's shoulder to mount on.

– Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The sun was inching toward the horizon when Tash and Jase stopped on a small hillock, looking down into another small hamlet, the umpteenth one they'd passed. Much to Jase's disapproval, they'd taken a route around the others, for Tash was wary of towns. Their presence attracted too much attention, and though Jase came close to basking in it, Tash felt like people could see straight through their armor. After all, women were burned, beaten, or otherwise maimed and murdered in this time for pretending to be who they weren't supposed to be.

"Well?" Jase asked. "Are we going around this one, too?"

Tash shook her head. "Not this time."

"Come again?" Jase couldn't believe her ears.

Tash threw her a dirty look. "No, we are not going around this one. We're going through."

Jase brightened. "Really! Now that's the best idea you had all day!"

Tash shook her head again. "I said through it, Jase, as a shortcut. We are not stopping."

"Aw. Come on. My ass turned to rubber days ago."

Tash snorted. "You were born on the back of a horse. Try again."

Jase had the grace to look sheepish. "Well, thought it might work," she said in a little voice.

"I thought you wanted to get to Camelot?" Tash asked sourly.

"I do."

"Well, then, why must you insist on stopping in every little podunk town between here and there? It's taken us almost six months as it is! We're never going to get there at this rate!"

Jase flicked her hair back from her face. "We'll get there when we get there –"

"In this lifetime?" Tash growled.

"You are overreacting, as usual."

"I am not. I just would like to see Camelot before the end of the century."

"You always were impatient, Tash. We will get there sooner or later."

"Patience may be a virtue, but it sure isn't one of mine. Are you forgetting there's something we have to do when we get there?"

Jase frowned. "I haven't forgotten."

"Well, you could have fooled me. Time is ticking. Arthur could have married the girl by now."

"Look, all I want to do is stop for supplies and look around. Is that such a crime?"

Tash sighed and gestured. "You can call me impatient if you want, but you, my dear, are the one who's so damned impulsive. Take a look around you. We are in the northernmost end of Britain. The towns around here are few and far between, and most of the people are living worse than slum rats. We stick out like diamonds in a pile of mud. No, we are not stopping. Not here."

Jase shrugged. "Well, mud can cover up the twinkle."

Tash didn't smile. She let out a long, slow sigh, one she usually reserved for idiot parents with uncontrollable children. "Not here," she repeated. "That's final."

Jase swallowed her protests. "Okay," she said. "We'll go through. But I want to stop in more than one town a month. There's too much to see and there's too much to do. I don't want to miss anything."

Tash nodded, nudging Rhone into a walk. "You won't miss anything," she reassured. "You're too nosy."

"A deal's a deal," Jase warned. They went on in silence for a few minutes, and Jase commented, "You know, you worry far, far too much."

"One of us has to. We wouldn't be around long if you did the worrying."

"But we'd go down with big-ass smiles on our faces."

"I've no doubt. Now shut up and put on your armor."

♦ ♦ ♦

They had passed through most of the hamlet without preamble, gathering enough blatant stares to last them for a few days, but that was all. Tash actually thought they'd make it through without a hitch, but she'd temporarily forgotten the God-given rule that things hardly ever went smoothly when she and Jase were together.

"Get outside, you good-fer-nothing brat!"

A man's voice cut through the late afternoon calm, hoarse with fury, followed by a thunderous clattering of what sounded like iron pans. The horses danced from the unexpected burst of noise and Jase and Tash hurriedly brought them under control, wondering what the hell was going on. Each had made up her mind to keep going, but when they saw a huge burly man drag a thin little boy out the door of a nearby hut and smash his fist into the child's face, both of them were off of their horses in an instant.

"I'll teach you to disobey me!" the man roared, hurling his fist into the boy's face again and throwing him to the ground. He grabbed a long leather whip from the hitching post outside the door and unfurled it without hesitation.

"Leave him alone."

The man jerked around to see two knights standing just behind him, swords drawn. For a fraction of a second he paused, and a look of uncertainty crossed his features. Then just as quickly it was gone, replaced by the repugnant sneer. He hawked rudely and spat at the pair. "Ain't none of your bizness," he said, his voice rough from shouting.

"It is," Jase replied frigidly.

The child was attempting to crawl away from his tormentor and the man looked down at him with loathing. "Don't you move afore I says you can, you little maggot!" He kicked the boy in the ribs viciously and the child immediately rolled up in a knot, but he didn't make a sound. Jase almost went for the man, but Tash's hand on her arm stilled her.

Jase summoned iron control from deep within her and remained where she was. Her voice turned from ice to acid. "You really don't want to do that again, because it would piss me off, and to do that would be worse than killing the kid." She sketched a little bow. "Do you follow me...asshole?"

The man's face split into a hellish grin, revealing teeth rotten enough to bend in half. "Then I'll just have to kill you first, won't I?" He took a step toward Jase and raised the hand that held the whip. Immediately his arm was jerked back, causing him to pivot on his heel.

Tash had circled around him as Jase was talking, and now she held the end of the whip in both hands. "That would be a moot effort, friend," she counseled in a pleasant tone. "Or are you dumb enough to think whipping someone wearing armor would do some damage?"

Just as she expected, the man bellowed with rage and charged toward her. Tash simply stepped aside and pulled hard on the whip, snaking it from his grasp and causing him to nearly lose his balance. She turned away from him and walked toward the cause of all the ruckus.

Jase was on her knees studying the boy, who lay close to unconsciousness. He wouldn't come loose from his fetal position, whether from pain or fear Jase couldn't tell. Her guts clenched in fury as she tried to wipe some of the blood from his face.

"Not very sporting of him, was it?" Tash asked.

Jase's voice sounded strangled. "I'm going to kill that bastard," she vowed. "I'm going to kill him with my bare hands."

Tash wisely kept her mouth shut, knowing Jase wasn't kidding. Since Jase had been an abused child before she'd been adopted by the Támariz family, she had become a champion to any injured or frightened child she came in contact with. Quite simply, there was hell to pay for anyone who wreaked havoc on a child in Jase's presence.

Tash's thoughts were cut off by a primal roar of fury and she turned to see the burly giant running toward her, hands outstretched. She dropped her bow, knowing she'd never be able to nock an arrow in time, grabbed a dagger from her ankle sheath, ducked beneath the outstretched arms, and plunged the dagger into the man's blobby belly, yanking up hard. She sidestepped the spouting blood and let the man fall into a heap on the ground.

Tash looked at the blood on her knife, then at the dead man on the ground, and clenched the handle hard to keep her hand from shaking. She knelt down and wiped the blood from the blade and sheathed it. Jase was watching her, and Tash was glad the helms hid both of their faces.

"How is he?" she asked, changing the subject.

Jase shook her head, still looking at her. "He's out cold," she said softly. "All I can do now is play the waiting game. The rest is up to him." She turned her attention back to the boy. "I'm bringing him along."

"No." Tash was firm. "For God's sake, we can't take him with us. We'll take him away from here, of course, but we'll find him a good foster family or something."

"I'm bringing him along," Jase repeated stubbornly.

Tash put her hands on her hips. "You know, if you had your way, we'd have a string of tykes toddling behind us from here to Camelot – and, I might add, that's a hell of a line, considering how far away we are."

Jase wasn't listening. She experimentally probed at the boy's ribcage and back, then pulled up his shirt up to examine him a little closer. She froze as she saw old scars crossing over one another all over his back, some snaking around to his chest. How long had this poor kid been subjected to such torture? She touched the raised flesh with fingers that trembled with rage, then glared at Tash, gesturing furiously. "Maybe this will change your mind."

Tash felt sick as she saw the old scar tissue. She might not have the patience to tolerate children, but she wasn't so cold-blooded as to return one to a life of hell. She looked down at the dead man beside her, then noticed for the first time (and how she could have missed them was beyond her) that they'd drawn a crowd. Everyone was staring at her and Jase like they were avenging angels, and Tash felt her discomfort rise. Just what they needed – a bunch of ogling peasants to spread the rumor that Jase and Tash were murderers, philanderers...whatever struck their fancy.

"Tell me about this swine," she said abruptly to the man closest to her, a squat, thin wisp of a creature with a surprisingly bulbous nose. "Why was he beating this child?"

The little man doffed his skull cap. "M'lord, 'twas how Calenus treated everyone who rubbed 'im the wrong way."

"What's your name, friend?" Jase asked from behind Tash.

"I'm called Rolf," the man said. "I've lived here all my life, m'lords. Believe me, ye've done us a great favor, ye have."

"Is this Calenus the boy's father?" Tash asked.

"Aye, that's so," Rolf replied, "and a great misfortune it is." He eyed the unconscious boy sadly. "His name's Reno. His da there be part of the McIntyre clan, but he was banished, ye know. Killed the laird, he did."

Like Jase cared. "Where's his mother?" she wanted to know.

Rolf hesitated. "She passed on some time ago."

He probably beat the shit out of her, too, Tash thought in disgust. "Does the boy have any other family?" she asked Rolf.

He shook his head. "No, sir. But me sister could care for him 'til he's well enough, and then we could send him to old Angus the cobbler to be fostered. Angus is a good sort."

"That's not necessary," Tash replied. "We're taking him with us." She was aware of Jase's relief even through her armor.

Rolf's eyes widened. "Ye'd burden yerselves with this lad?"

"No burden," Jase put in. She handed the unconscious child to Tash and mounted her horse, then leaned down to take him before her. "I'd rather see to his welfare than leave him here."

Rolf took the reproach humbly. "Aye, then he'd be better off with ye. I hope ye find him a good home."

"Count on it," Jase muttered under her breath.

Tash mounted up. "Good day to you, friend." She clicked her tongue to Rhone and rode off, Jase following.

"Maybe we should have done something with the body," Jase commented, once they were out of hearing range.

Tash snorted and looked back over her shoulder at the mob pulling the big body away. "He can rot for all I care." She reached behind her and pulled out a wool blanket, then held it out to Jase. "Here. Can't have him catching cold on top of everything else."

Jase smiled faintly as she wrapped the blanket around the boy's thin shoulders. "Why, Tasher, I believe you have some maternal instinct in you after all."

"God forbid," Tash murmured, but Jase didn't hear her. They left the rickety hamlet behind them, unaware that the child they had rescued would immortalize their names forever in the history of Camelot.

Chapter 13

#  All the Makings of a Squire

T   rain up a child in the way he should go;

and when he is old he will not depart from it.

– Proverbs xxii, 6

In the early hours of the morning, the two women were still ahorse, putting as much distance between the scattered villages and themselves as they could. They were now out in the open, riding across rolling hills and plains that sported an occasional rock formation or steep slope. Jase had reined Beaucephalus in to a careful, slow walk in order not to disturb the sleeping boy she held cradled in her arms. She'd dressed his wounds and had discerned that he was out of danger for the time being, but due to the slumlike state he'd been forced to live in, he could very well be wide open to attack from any number of things. Jase mumbled to herself for the millionth time about the absence of any immunization from diseases, once things of the past that seemed quite real and close by.

Tash, meanwhile, was flitting about like a maddened bluejay. One minute she and Rhone were ahead of Jase, scouting the trail they were riding, and the next minute they were far behind to make sure they weren't being followed. Tash's precautionary measures usually got on Jase's nerves, but this time she was glad of it because her hands were taken up by a much more important burden.

As the hours passed, Jase began to worry. The boy was moving restlessly in her arms and was burning hot, and here they were miles out in the middle of nowhere. She waved to Tash as the other woman rode by.

Tash immediately came up beside her. "Any change?"

"He's developed a fever," Jase replied.

Tash reached over Jase's arm and touched the boy's forehead, frowning as she felt the heat radiating from his skin. "Damn," she murmured. "We're gonna have to stop." She pointed to a steep grassy knoll that thrust out of the ground not too far ahead. "I'm going to check that out," she said. "If it's clear, we can set up camp there. It'll block the wind from him, at least." Without waiting for a reply, she dug her heel into Rhone's flank and headed toward the knoll.

Jase wrapped the blanket closer around the boy and looked up at the dark grey sky. Her arm was pounding fiercely and she rubbed it, frowning. What were they in for come dawn? It was early March now; the forecast could bring on anything from a downpour to a blizzard. She looked back down at her charge's face. "Just what you need," she said softly. "Don't worry, kid; we'll find shelter somewhere."

Tash and Rhone came running back up. "It's clear," she said curtly. "Let's go."

Thanks to the sharp slope of the hill, they were able to set up a good shelter from the oncoming storm. The leeward side of the knoll caved in slightly, and Jase took advantage of the imprint to string up a makeshift tent using her bundle of oilskins. While she struggled with the heavy material, Tash went off in search of firewood, water, and dinner. She returned half an hour later with all three and commenced to build a small campfire while Jase soaked a cloth in some of the water and began to sponge the fevered boy.

The fire crackled cheerfully, and Jase glared at it, wondering how anything could be so damned cheerful right now. Tash quickly spitted a rabbit on a green branch and set it over the fire to roast, then turned to Jase expectantly.

"What?" Jase snapped after a few seconds.

Tash held up her hands. "Don't bite my head off. Fever let up any?"

Jase sighed in frustration. "Sorry. He's still the same, as far as I can tell. I've gotta get some water into him before he dehydrates."

"Here, let me help." Tash picked up one of the flasks she'd filled earlier and held it to the boy's lips, letting a small stream flow across his mouth. Nothing happened. His lips didn't move, nor did his tongue.

Jase frowned. She didn't think he was comatose, but if he wasn't responding to the flow of water, then they were in more trouble than she had originally thought. "Open his mouth," she instructed abruptly. "He'll be forced to swallow — that is, if his throat isn't swollen."

Tash took hold of the boy's jaw and gently pried his mouth open. She held the flask up to his mouth again and was rewarded when he swallowed the water. "I wonder why he doesn't make a sound," she wondered. "Was he born mute, do you think? Or did his father do something to him that made him unable to talk?"

"Possible." Jase shook herself and reached out for the flask. "Here, give it to me. He still needs water, voice or not."

♦ ♦ ♦

The night was frigid and blustery, and Jase thought her arm was broken again when she awakened the next morning. Tash was nowhere to be seen, and Jase pushed the oilskins aside, trying to decipher what time it was.

A blast of cold air and snowflakes hit her in the face. She cursed and shielded her eyes as she took in the whirling majesty of the snowstorm that now sat over them as comfortably and as stubbornly as an overweight duchess. The ground wasn't white yet, so apparently it had just started. Whatever the case was, she had to get the kid somewhere warm, and she had to do it quickly. The only problem was where the hell they were going to go.

"Damn," she muttered as she crawled back over to the child. His fever had broken during the night, and now he was drenched with sweat, shivering as the cold air penetrated the tent. Jase wrapped him tightly in all the blankets she had and pulled him up against her so he could share her body heat.

The tent flap was thrown back violently, and Jase thought for a moment that the wind had blown it open. But Tash poked her head through a few seconds later, her face flushed with excited discovery.

"Where have you been?" Jase asked, sounding like a mother on a school night.

"Shut up and clear out," Tash replied breathlessly. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I've been out scouting. I found a place for us to hole up until this storm passes."

"So close?" There were such things as miracles, after all. "Never mind, I'll ask questions on the way," Jase promised. "Pull the tent. I'll watch him."

The snow was coming down hard by the time they broke camp. Jase looked down at the child in her arms with concern, hoping they would find this would-be bower of warmth and bliss soon or she and her charge would soon be living popsicles. She peered ahead through the swirling flakes for Tash. There she was, just ahead by that rock cluster. Hold on...was that rock cluster moving? Or was the cold starting to muddle her senses?

Jase saw Tash gesturing to her sharply, and then she noticed something crawling out from underneath the stones. Oh, for God's sake, Tash had to be kidding...The crawler got to its feet, showing a tall, slender figure, and Jase suddenly knew without asking that the slender figure would have a set of ears capped with points. Elves again. The little suckers were everywhere, always popping up when storms brewed.

"This is Tadini," Tash said, gesturing to her companion. "Tadini, Jase. He'll take us below out of the storm and can find someone to look after the runt."

"Elves again?" Jase asked simply. "I distinctly remember you saying you never wanted to consort with elves ever again."

Tash's face turned a deeper shade of red, and Jase knew it wasn't from the cold. "Yeah, well, in times of desperation...I can handle myself, thank you. You just stay away from anything that smells funny."

"Strange funny or ha ha funny?" Jase asked with a grin.

"Are you coming down or not?" Tash was trying not to smile herself.

Jase held the boy out to Tash, who took him until Jase dismounted. They both looked at their guide.

"This way," he ordered. "Bring your horses."

"Where the hell are we going?" Jase asked, looking around. There was open meadow all around them. As soon as she spoke, Tadini pulled on a particularly large rock that slid up like a garage door, revealing a long tunnel that sloped downward.

"Oh," Jase replied, with a glance at Tash, who shrugged. Jase muttered a curse under her breath and took hold of Beaucephalus's bridle. "They appear out of the woodwork," she grumbled. "I'm never taking a shower again. They'll come out of the drain and pull me down into the septic system. Who needs Norman Bates with guys like this?"

"Oh, Jase, do stop mouncing or I'll make you think Norman's your daddy. Move, please. Our guide's getting away."

It took them nearly twenty minutes, once again going down in the pitch dark, broken by Jase's constant complaints about the unwelcome reoccurrences of déjà vu on this journey. This time they were ready for the sudden onslaught of bright light, and they found themselves in a cave similar to the one they'd been in before, but not as opulent or as full of people. However, as they followed their guide past elf after elf, it was all too apparent that this tribe was much different from their cousins in the First Hall. Though they were still a handsome people, they lacked the gaiety and mischief that Tash and Jase had encountered before. Instead, they seemed wary of intruders, but upon full eye contact they gave small smiles and nods of greeting. Tash and Jase were mystified by the whole affair.

"Which Hall is this?" Tash asked Tadini after she was greeted this way for the fifth time.

"This is the Sixth Hall," Tadini answered. "I am sure you find our ways odd after consorting with Zebulon's Hall."

Tash and Jase exchanged glances. "Relatives, are they?" Jase asked.

Tadini chuckled. "No. The First Hall is the king's court. You might call it a castle."

Jase shook her head. "Houdini – "

"Tadini," he corrected.

"Right, sorry. It's an obvious question, but I'm gonna ask anyhow. How do you know we were at the First Hall?"

Tadini didn't turn around. "Your mounts," he said. "They bear the mark of Zebulon."

"They do?" Jase asked. "Where? I didn't see a brand on him anywhere."

"Nay, Zebulon uses no brand," Tadini agreed.

"Okay, then how do you know we came from there?" Apparently this guy didn't answer questions until they were baldly put to him.

Tadini smiled. "They told me."

"Who, Zebulon?"

He shook his head. "Your mounts."

Tash's eyebrows went up. This was news.

"Aye. They are Elven, after all."

Again Tash and Jase exchanged glances, and together they looked up at their perspective mounts curiously. No, for all their stately beauty, they looked like regular stallions. Nothing suggested they were Elven creatures. Nothing suggested they could talk. But they'd seen too many odd things in this time to doubt their guide.

"Er, Hou – Tadini," Jase managed after a moment, "I wonder...was that all they told you?"

Tadini looked over his shoulder. "Let me put it this way," he said wryly. "It is lucky you two are not mares."

Jase laughed. "Is that so?" She shifted her precious bundle and tugged down on Beaucephalus's bridle so she could look him in one violet eye. "Well, you'd better keep that thing away from me, my lad, or you'll be a gelding before you can say 'Kiss me.'" Beaucephalus snorted and nudged at her hand, and Jase obligingly dropped a kiss on his soft nose before breaking into "Talk to the Animals" from Doctor Doolittle. Tash joined on the second chorus, and Tadini just smiled.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tadini had sent word to the stables, and the horses were taken away without protest. Apparently everyone knew who they were, and after their previous Elven run-in, Tash and Jase didn't even bother to ask how or why.

They'd been given a room with two soft featherbeds and promises of hot meals, and, more importantly, they were able to take baths. Tash, blissfully lying up to her earlobes in steaming scented water, idly wondered if all the elves in Britain knew who they were. It was damned interesting, if not a little unnerving.

Jase made no move to get into the other tub of water. Now that they were alone again, her attention was drawn back to her young charge. Tadini had sent for a healer when Jase had explained the need for medical assistance, and now she sat in wait, watching as the boy's chest rose and fell as he slept. His fever was gone, he was sleeping normally as far as Jase could tell, and she breathed a sigh of relief and thanked God for small mercies, even if they appeared in the shape of Elves.

A knock on the door admitted a wizened Elven woman carrying a scruffy burlap bag. She pushed past Jase with a nod and bee-lined for the child on the bed, immediately drawing back the blanket to check him over. She drew a soft breath at the marks that covered his back, but she recovered and, reaching into her bag, pulled out a handful of what looked like long stalks of grass. These she popped into her mouth and chewed idly as she pushed the boy's hair off his forehead, then took the chewed stuff and spread it over the area under his eye where the blow from his father had split the skin. Her eyes finally rose to meet Jase's, and Jase's hackles rose at the faint rebuke she saw in the watery green gaze.

"It wasn't me," she said shortly.

"Do you know who?" the woman asked. Her voice was as smooth as velvet, with no hint of age, and Jase vaguely wondered just how old she was.

"Yeah, I know," she replied. "His father did it to him. All of it." The woman continued to look at her steadily, waiting patiently for more information. Jase had nothing more to say, but she suddenly felt defensive under that bland stare. "I tried to fix him up as well as I knew how!" she argued heatedly. Across the room, Tash's eyes opened at Jase's tone. "I did what I could," Jase continued hotly. "Honest to God, I did what I could. In another time and another place, this –" She gestured at the boy. "This could have been me, this almost happened to me. I couldn't let it happen to him."

The old woman shook her head. "You have done well, child, make no mistake about that," she replied. "You can let go of the guilt inside you now. The boy will survive, thanks to your care." She indicated the tub of water. "You'd best get in there now. The soak will do you good." She reached into her burlap bag again and hobbled over to the tub, where she sprinkled a handful of green herbs into the water. "This will relax you. Cease your worry."

Jase, more than mollified, obeyed. She stripped off her dirty clothes, which were picked up by the old woman, and practically fell into the still-hot water with a sigh of relief. The old woman left the room without a backward glance, and Tash and Jase were left soaking away two weeks of road dirt, each feeling more at peace at that moment that they had in a long time.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tash awakened from a good long sleep and stretched luxuriously. Whatever had been in that water had loosed all the kinks in her back and neck from sleeping on the ground, and the feather bed had spoiled her all over again, just when she was getting used to living outdoors. She'd worry about that later. Right now she wanted to poke her nose into the life of the Sixth Hall.

She tiptoed past Jase, who lay sprawled on a quilt on the floor so the boy could have the bed. She shook her head and, kneeling, pulled another quilt up over her sleeping friend. Jase could be a pain in the keister, but she had a heart of gold in there somewhere.

There was a guard outside the door. Tash explained that she wanted to go for a walk; was that all right with him, or were they prisoners in their own room? The guard was quick to reassure her that he'd been placed there by the old healer woman so the travelers within would be able to sleep uninterrupted. She was free to go where she wished. Tash, relieved, thanked him and did just that.

She ran into Tadini along her way. "Just the person I was looking for," she said. "We need supplies and traveling information. We're headed southeast and – what are you smiling at?"

"You are headed for Camelot," Tadini finished for her, his telltale grin widening.

Tash smiled back hesitantly. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

He winked. "I see things. I've heard things." He gestured for her to follow him. "Come with me and I shall find that which you seek." He took a few steps, then stopped dead and turned back. "There is a price, though," he warned.

Tash, who had managed not to plow into the little guy, put her hands on her hips and looked down at him. "What's your price?"

Tadini grinned. "Competition. It will hone your skills for the tournament at Camelot."

"How did –"

"I hear things, I said."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. And just who will I compete against?"

"Oh, me, of course," Tadini answered. "I enjoy archery."

"You and how many others?" Tash wanted to know.

Tadini laughed then. "You see things as well. Just a few friends, lady. Trust me."

In less than ten minutes, they reached the chamber they'd entered the day before (or a few hours before; Tash wasn't certain of the time down here) and Tash saw what Tadini meant by a few friends. The hall was transformed into a huge archery arena, complete with targets and eager spectators.

Tash glanced down at Tadini. "Just a few, huh?" Tadini shrugged cheerfully. Tash looked around at the clapping inhabitants and shook her head. Had she actually thought this bunch devoid of gaiety? Well, elves or not, they obviously took part in entertainment just like everyone else during bad weather. Tash could just picture them during football season with a wide-screen TV. The image made her laugh.

Tadini took the laugh to mean she was taken in by the excitement of the moment. He took a longbow of ash wood from a rack along the stone wall and handed it to her. "Shall we?"

Tash looked at the bow, then at Tadini, and gave in. What could it hurt? She took the bow from the elf, plucked the string experimentally, and grinned down at him. "We who are about to die..."

"Salute you," he finished with a courtly bow.

Tash nocked an arrow, feeling very confident. "You'd better," she replied impudently, "because you're gonna lose."

♦ ♦ ♦

Something was tickling her arm, luring her out of a deep, satisfying sleep. Jase yawned, scratched her elbow, and burrowed back under the quilt. It wasn't long before the tickling began again, stronger than before. Jase muttered something unintelligible as she brushed her elbow again, then opened her eyes and raised her head enough just enough to check on the boy. He was sitting right beside her, appraising her with eyes that were gentle and brown as those of a collie.

"Oh, good, you're awake," she mumbled, letting her head fall back on the pillow. "That's great." The quilt hadn't yet settled back over her head when she shot up like she'd been bitten by a bedbug. The boy lurched back, frightened.

"You're awake!" Jase exulted. "By God, you're awake!" She snatched the boy off the bed, pulled him onto her lap, and gave him a tight bear hug. The little fellow didn't know what to make of such an exuberant greeting, but after a few struggles, he decided it wasn't violent and gave up, letting the woman embrace him.

Jase pulled away from him at last. "Boy, you do not know what I've gone through to keep you alive. For a while I thought it was all for nothing. But look at you! Look at you! You're gonna be just fine, kid, just fine!"

The boy eyed her askance, no doubt wondering about her odd manner of speech, but he obviously understood praise when he heard it and smiled hesitantly. He surveyed his surroundings. Jase watched him like a hawk as his eyes slowly roved around the unfamiliar room. The sound of a slamming door made him jump and he immediately pushed up against her.

Jase put an arm around him and turned his face up so she could look him in the face. "It's okay," she reassured. "We took you far away from there. He can't hurt you anymore. No one will hurt you anymore. There's no reason to be afraid of me or anyone else. Do you understand me?"

The boy nodded, looking immensely relieved. He slapped his fingers against his lips.

"I know you can't talk, squirt." He shook his head. "What, I'm wrong? What are you talking about, then?" The lad dropped his hands and looked around the room. Seeing the pitcher of water, he pointed emphatically, making Jase turn around to see what he was gesturing to. "Coming right up!" she said, reaching for the pitcher. She poured some water into a cup and handed it to the boy, who gulped it down like there was no tomorrow.

The door opened and Tash came in, smiling like she'd just swallowed a chocolate cake. "Jase, we're set. I beat Tadini's butt so bad he's gotta roll down his socks to...Hey, look, the kid's awake!" She squatted down beside Jase and ruffled the boy's hair. "Hey there, munchkin. Feeling better?" The boy nodded hesitantly.

"What's going on?" Jase asked.

Tash stopped in mid-ruff. "I've been competing for some information. Tadini bragged he knew all about archery; I showed him he don't know squat."

"Nice grammar from an editor."

"Sue me. Anyhow, I know how to get to Camelot. Tadini sat down with me and gave me point-blank directions that even I can follow."

"That's saying a lot, considering you get lost in your own back yard."

"And even better," Tash continued, ignoring Jase's tactlessness, "we must definitely enter this Pentecost tournament at Camelot."

"We know that already," Jase said, giving Reno another cup of water. "Vivian told us that."

"But she didn't say why," Tash stressed. "Tadini told me that the Pentecost tournament is revered throughout England because no one is turned away from competition, and the champions are offered places in the Brotherhood of the Round Table."

Jase's eyes widened. "Is that so? Well, that's one way of getting your foot in the door!" She looked down at the boy in her lap. "Hear that, squirt? There's a possibility we could be part of the Round Table!"

Reno was utterly confused now. He vaguely remembered being carried through the meadowlands by two knights on huge black horses, and now here he was in the company of two perplexing women who talked so oddly and so fast that he couldn't keep up. He tapped Jase on the arm, his face screwed up in a frown.

"What is it?" Jase asked. Reno pointed at her, then at Tash, and then spread his hands. He climbed out of Jase's lap slowly, managed to keep himself steady, and turned back to his audience. He thumped his chest meaningfully with his fist and waved his hand about like he had a sword.

Tash and Jase exchanged looks. "You want to be a knight?" Jase guessed. Reno shook his head. He hauled back his hand and snapped it forward as if he were wielding a whip, then thumped his chest again and pointed to both of them in turn.

Tash sat back on her heels. "Oh, you're looking for the knights that saved you," she replied. The boy nodded vigorously and pointed at her again.

Jase shook her head. "Tash, you gotta show me how you do that."

"It's easy; you just pay attention." Tash replied aside to Jase, then looked back at the boy. "Okay, little one, here's the story." Between herself and Jase, the tale was unraveled in front of their attentive listener. Jase got the impression that even though the lad was mute, he had to be gifted in some way. Any other child his age would have either been confused or lost interest in the story, but not her charge. He didn't interrupt, nor did his attention wander. He did look doubtful when they told him that they were the knights he was describing.

"Okay, let's show him," Tash suggested, standing up. "Watch this, kid," she instructed, then slowly willed on her armor.

Reno's eyes and mouth grew wide with wonder. He stood up and walked around Tash, examining her from every angle, reaching out an occasional curious finger to touch. Tash knelt down so he could slide her faceplate up to see her face inside. Once he was satisfied with Tash, he turned to Jase and pointed to her questioningly. When Jase obliged him, a delighted grin broke out on his face, all doubt erased.

The three sat back down again, armor shed, and the topic of communication came up. "They told us your name," Jase said. "Reno McIntyre, right?" The boy nodded and grinned, showing big front teeth.

"Can you count?" Tash asked. The boy nodded again. "How old are you?" she wanted to know. He looked down at his hands, balled them into fists, and slowly began to extend the fingers, his forehead bunched in concentration. When ten fingers were extended, he nodded to himself and triumphantly held them up to Tash.

"Ten years old," she confirmed. He nodded. "Great. Can you write?" At that, his face fell and he shook his head.

"Back to square one," Tash said to Jase. "Wonder why he can count and not read."

Jase knew that one. "It looked like his father was a merchant of some sort," she replied. "I'll bet that when he wasn't beating the hell out of the kid, he probably used him as a stockboy or something of the kind. He had to know how to count so he could fetch the number of items his father wanted or he'd get the shit kicked out of him." This was confirmed by a nod from the boy.

Tash was impressed. "Hey, good going, Jase."

"You see, I can pay attention when I want to. Now what are we going to do about his not being able to read?"

"We'll teach him," Tash replied. "I have this feeling that he wants to learn." Reno nodded vigorously, and Tash laughed. "Okay, you're on." She introduced herself and Jase to the boy, then said, "Here's what you can call me." She made a signal with both hands that looked like flames waving in the air.

"What's that mean?" Jase wanted to know.

Tash grinned. "That's the symbol name they gave me in my sign language class. 'Fire.' For my hair." She repeated the signal to the boy and he imitated it, then pointed to her.

"What about a name for me?" Jase asked, intrigued.

Tash snorted. "I could be really, really cruel to you right about now," she joked, "but that wouldn't be fair; you couldn't retaliate."

Jase knew what she was talking about. "Don't you dare give him a derogatory symbol for my name," she warned, "or you are in deep ca-ca."

Tash thought a minute, then tapped her nose twice with a curved index finger. "That's what you can call Jase," she instructed, making the signal again. He made the signal, then pointed to Jase. His lips moved to form the name as well.

"That looks like he's wiping his nose," Jase pointed out. "Better mean something more than that."

Tash nodded. "It does. That means 'eagle.' As in Eaglefeather."

Jase was momentarily taken aback. "Eaglefeather" had been her birth father's Seminole surname, one she had vowed to never use again, but one she had secretly taken pride in because of the heritage behind it.

"Do you want me to change it?" Tash asked, noticing the expression on Jase's face.

"No," Jase replied quietly. "No, don't change it." She managed to smile. "Thanks, Tasher."

Tash opened her mouth to reply, but Reno tapped her on the shoulder. He pointed at Tash and made the fire sign, then at Jase and made the eagle sign. Then he pointed to himself.

"Well, let's see," Tash said, tapping her cheek with a finger. "What would suit you the best?" She turned to Jase. "What do you think...? What? What's that look for?"

Jase did have an extraordinary expression on her face. "I just got the most radical idea," she said, hushed. "And I just came up with the best name for him."

Tash leaned forward. "Which is?" she prompted.

Jase tilted her head to one side. "Squire."

It took a few seconds for Tash to realize what Jase was implying, but once it sank in, she sat back on her heels, looking thoughtful. "Reno," she said to the boy slowly, "we have a proposal for you. We are knights, and since we are on our way to Camelot, we are in need of a squire. Interested?"

Reno's eyes almost came out of his head and he immediately held up his ten fingers.

Tash nodded in understanding. "Jase," she said in the same tone, "Reno here thinks he's too young to be a squire. What do you think?"

"I say bullshit," Jase replied immediately. "Kid, you've just proven to me in the last hour that you can accomplish anything. Squire sounds great to me."

Reno's face was shining brighter than any kid's would on Christmas morning. He looked at Tash and thumped his chest again, urgently. Tash obligingly showed him how to sign his new title, and he repeated it over and over, pointing to himself in between signing.

"I believe that's a 'yes,'" Jase concluded. She stood up and stretched. "In that case, lady and gent, we have some instructing to do, and not just in the worldly arts. We'll start tomorrow morning." She pulled on the bell beside her bed. "Studying makes me hungry."

Tash agreed. Secretly she was pleased. Reno was so eager to learn and so quick to remember, she couldn't help but ponder on how well all three of them would be talking a few months from now.

Chapter 14

#  On the Road Again

I    have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain – and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light...

– Robert Frost

"Reno! Front and center!" The desperate shout came from Jase, who'd found a honeybee hive and, after coaxing the bees to depart with the help of a smoking fire, had been happily raiding the honeycomb when she was set upon by another honey lover. Now Jase and her adversary were staring at one another, each hardly moving a muscle.

"Reno!" Jase yelled again. "Get your ass over here now, boy! And bring the quarterstaff!" Not too far away, the boy squire, who was practicing his letters in the dirt, raised his head at his mistress's shout. With a sigh, he rubbed his hand across the carefully scratched letters and followed Jase's voice.

In the two months that had passed since their stay at the Sixth Hall, the three had been traveling southwest, on the trail to Camelot at last. Along the way, Tash and Jase had been amazed at the level of literacy their new charge had achieved. Between the three of them, they had come up with a series of hand signals and gestures that allowed almost fluent communication between them. His newest challenge, ciphering, was getting better every day. Reno was a prodigy if they'd ever seen one, starving for any lesson the women might want to teach him. Jase figured his natural urge to learn must have been suppressed fiercely in his early childhood, thanks to his pitiful excuse for a father, and took him under her protective wing, passing on the instructions and lessons of her own teacher Ryder. He never got bored during these lessons; he never complained, he never eased up until he was told, and as the days went by, it was obvious that the boy was rapidly becoming a squire worthy of a champion knight.

One of his champion knights was in a screaming dither at the moment, and Reno had quickly become used to her quirks. He followed Jase's voice to a large oak tree, and saw her backed up against it, holding a sticky honeycomb against her chest, staring down into the tall grass at her feet. Her head turned to the left as she sensed his appearance.

"It's about time, kid!" she snapped. Reno put his hands over his ears, then his fingers flew in reply. Jase frowned at him. "Not funny, you little brat. I've got a slight problem here. Where's the quarterstaff?"

Reno indicated that Tash had taken the quarterstaff with her. She frequently liked to jam it down rabbit holes and bash the occupant's heads so they'd be decent enough to let her skin them for dinner. Now what was the problem that was making Jase yell like a stuck pig?

Jase gestured with her chin. "That," she explained. "Try to distract it if you can, but don't get too close."

Reno tiptoed a little nearer to the rustling and parted the grass with a curious foot. He frowned as he saw a squat brown polecat watching him warily. This was the ferocious beast that had his sword-wielding mistress backed up against a tree? He turned to throw a jeering comment at Jase, but she was gone. Since the critter's attention was off of her, Jase had taken the opportunity to jump to one side and to safety. Reno, however, wasn't so lucky; the polecat was a little offended that it had lost its chance at the honeycomb, and it was also frightened to death of nearly being stomped on. Before Reno knew what had happened, he found himself enveloped in the most god-awful odor he had ever had the misfortune to smell. He jumped back with his hands over his eyes, and the polecat darted away into the tall grass, hissing.

Jase collapsed into laughter. "Oh, Reno, kid, I'm sorry," she gasped. "When I told you to distract it, I honestly didn't mean for you to try to scare it off!" Reno glared at her, disgusted, and threw a few irate hand gestures her way. Jase managed to sober up. "Okay, it's not funny. And yes, you do stink. Get in the lake, squirt, and I'll see if I can raid a tomato patch or something."

Reno huffed and indicated the woods around them. Jase shrugged. "Well, maybe in the meantime we'll try some lye soap," she suggested. "Now get in there." She jogged back toward their camp. "And stay downwind!" she called over her shoulder. She was answered by a splash as Reno leapt into the lake.

Tash had returned from her hunting with a pheasant and two rabbits. She looked up as Jase came into the camp and frowned at the honeycomb stuck to Jase's shirt. "I hate honey," she said pointedly.

Jase put the honeycomb on a stump and unceremoniously licked her fingers. "Suffer," she replied. "Reno and I like it. And I thought we'd paint up ol' Thumper there to take away the rabbity taste."

"Really?" Tash asked. "And shall we have white or red wine with the pheasant, madame?"

"Maybe a mixed drink would be better," Jase answered. "You know, two part H, one part O."

"Sounds good to me." Tash reached for the pheasant, then hesitated and sniffed the air. "Phew! Did you have a visitor when I was gone?"

Jase sniffed delicately. "Oh, you mean the Eau de Pepe Le Pew?" She began to chuckle. "Yeah, our valiant squire was defending my honor and got doused."

"In other words," Tash translated wryly, "you tricked him into drawing it away from you, and then jumped out of the way when it sprayed."

Jase grinned. "Guilty."

"Some mother you'll make. Is he in the lake?" Tash looked around for the boy.

"Yeah. I came back to take him some lye soap; thought that might do some good."

Tash pursed her lips in thought. "Yeah, that'll do. But I'll tell you what'll do better: milk."

"Milk?" Jase repeated. "Haven't heard about that one."

"I read it somewhere."

"Oh. Well, that's all well and good, but we're..." Jase indicated the trees around them.

Tash laughed. "You know, right on the outskirts of this picturesque little forest — on the other side, mind you — is a picturesque little farm. I saw it when I was getting dinner."

"And I gather this picturesque farm also has picturesque cows?" Jase asked.

"You gather correctly," Tash replied. "Now why don't you go make yourself useful and get some picturesque milk?"

"You mean steal it?" Jase was aghast.

Tash wasn't fooled. "When has that stopped you from taking what you wanted before?"

Jase's horror-struck mein turned indignant. "I don't steal, Tash!"

Tash still wasn't fooled. "Yes, you do. When it's important."

Jase had already opened her mouth to counterattack, but considered. "When it's important," she repeated slowly. "Yeah, okay, this is important." She walked over to Beucephalus and started to saddle him up. "You realize," she said over her shoulder to Tash, "that you're screwing up your role of official guardian by asking me to do something as abhorrent as this. My mother would be very disappointed in you."

Tash sighed. "Get out of here."

Jase grinned, made final adjustments on Beucephalus's saddle, and swung herself up. "I'll be back," she said, and started to sing "Old MacDonald" as she rode through the trees.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tash was busy with spitting the rabbits and the pheasant for a few minutes, and when they were roasting over three small fires, she went down to check on Reno. The lad was standing up to his chest in the lake, scrubbing his hair so hard that Tash idly wondered if there would be any scalp left by the time he got done.

"How's it going?" she asked. He stood up, looking wretched, and signed quickly at her. "Calm down," she counseled. "It can't be that bad." She motioned him over to her, and when he was about five feet away her nose wrinkled. To his credit, the smell wasn't as strong as it originally had been, but it was still there. At her expression, Reno stopped and stood dripping, looking forlorn.

She took pity on him, deciding that she could probably get used to the smell, if only to get that look off his face and preserve his dignity. "Here," she said, putting out her hand. "get out of there before you get chills. Come on up by the fire and dry off. Jase has gone for some milk; that'll nip the smell in the bud. There's no sense in you freezing off what butt you've got."

Reno reluctantly got out of the water and followed Tash back to camp, giving her a wide berth and staying downwind. The little beggar was even thoughtful in misery, Tash saw, and decided to give him the entire pheasant for himself. He cheered up when she told him this, and he was even more pleased when she took Jase's suggestion and rubbed the bird's skin down with the sticky honeycomb. After a few minute's hesitation, she did both rabbits too. True, she didn't like the stuff by itself, but there was something to be said for honey-glazed meat.

The sky was losing the last vestiges of daylight when Jase returned. Tash looked up from the remainder of her rabbit. "Took you a while," she observed.

"Just a bit," Jase replied. "Here, I got us a surprise." She handed Tash a tunic, shirt tails gathered up to fashion a makeshift basket. Inside were a half-dozen brown eggs. Tash hefted the tunic and eyed Jase expectantly. Jase shrugged.

"Breakfast," she commented. "Too bad I couldn't get some bacon, too, but..." She shrugged again and walked over to Reno, plunking an earthenware jug in front of him. "You don't smell too bad now, kid," she said. "Why don't you take this and give yourself a good rubdown? It'll do the trick." Reno swallowed the last of the pheasant, told Jase to save him half of the honeycomb, and went off into some nearby brush with the jug.

Jase settled herself on the ground and reached for the now well-done rabbit that Tash held out to her. "You put the honey on it," she said, pleased.

"What took you so long?" Tash asked, passing over the comment. "Did you run into trouble?"

Jase looked toward the bushes where Reno was scrubbing himself with the milk. "No," she said in an undertone. "I hocked some things for Reno."

"Like what?" Tash asked. "Anything really...big?"

"Well, that depends on your sense of survival and logic," Jase hedged. "I got him some clothes –"

"And how did you manage that?" Tash wanted to know.

Jase grinned. "They were drying out on the fence," she confided, and giggled. "Anyhow, I also got him something he'll really appreciate."

Tash picked up the cue. "And what's that?"

Jase shook her head. "No, I think I'll keep you guessing, too. Well, did it work?" This last comment was directed at Reno, who came out of the brush wrapped in a quilt. He nodded and spread his wet clothes out on the ground to dry, then came over to sit by the fire.

"You know, you don't have to sit wrapped up in that blanket until morning," Jase said. She reached behind her and held out the packet of clothes. "Hope they aren't too big." Reno looked at her for a few seconds, then opened the packet. The covering was actually a green wool cloak, which concealed two pairs of breeches, well-worn but still in one piece, a thick pair of stockings, and a long tunic with a hood. Reno didn't waste any time in bounding back to the brush and throwing on his new garb. The breeches were a little bit big, but it was nothing a piece of rope tied around his waist wouldn't cure. The tunic and cloak fit like they were made for him. He came out of the brush grinning widely, looking perfectly fit.

"No, don't thank me," Jase protested as Reno did just that. "Consider it an offering for getting you into trouble this afternoon." Reno considered, then forgave Jase with one nod of his head. "Thanks," Jase said evenly. "Now there's one more surprise."

Reno looked incredulous. What on earth had he done to deserve all this? He looked pointedly at the honeycomb, then decided that wasn't the surprise when Jase took him by his arm and positioned him so he was standing facing toward the dark woods.

"Close your eyes," Jase ordered. "You too, Tasher." They obliged, frowning curiously as they tried to put names to the bevy of interesting sounds sweeping past their ears, two of which were definitely Jase's murmuring and crunching footsteps.

"Okay," Jase said breathlessly, "you can open your eyes now."

Reno and Tash opened their eyes, and both sets of eyes bulged, one set with wonder and the other with shock. In front of them was a dappled grey Welsh pony, complacently chewing half of an apple that Jase held out in her palm.

"Jase, where did you get this?" Tash asked in a hushed tone.

Jase shrugged again. "Well, you told me to take whatever I could find..." At Tash's horrified expression, Jase chuckled. "No, honestly, Tasher, it's perfectly legal. I put on a few theatrics and bought the little fellow from the farmer. I gave him a good price for the horse, the clothes, and the food. He thought it odd that a knight wanted such mundane things, but I concocted a tale of gathering them for a widowed woman I was protecting and he didn't ask any questions, especially when I handed him the money."

Tash looked relieved. Jase studied Reno's rapt expression as he walked around the pony, inspecting him from every angle. She put the lead rope in his hand. "He's all yours," she said softly. "And you can thank me for this one, if you want."

Reno looked up at Jase, took the other half of the apple from her hand, and reached out toward the pony's charcoal-colored muzzle. Its ears flicked forward with interest as it regarded the boy with solemn purple eyes, then lipped the apple from his palm and pushed its nose into his empty hand.

Reno immediately handed the lead rope to Tash and patted the animal gently. Then he turned to Jase and looked up at her. She smiled back down at him until he pulled on her arm, tugging her down until she was on her knees before him. And as soon as she was there, she found herself engulfed in a fierce hug.

Jase hugged him back, trying not to squeeze too hard and failing. Reno didn't seem to mind. In fact, his grip tightened as well. Jase rested her cheek against the boy's head and closed her eyes. All her life she had wanted to fight for a child, to take one from an abusive home and show what it meant to give love and be loved in return. Now, nearly fifteen hundred years before she'd made that decision, before she'd even been born, she found her goal achieved. She'd hoped it would be rewarding, but she never thought it would feel like this.

She was a champion knight, after all.

Chapter 15

#  First Impressions

B   eware, as long as you live,

of judging people by appearances.

– Jean de La Fontaine

Sunrise found the little party back on the road to Camelot, but scarcely an hour had passed before discontent set in. Tash insistently declared that they were going in the wrong direction and Jase came close to losing her temper while trying to defend her position. Reno watched the arguments with undisguised interest, thinking that there probably was nothing more entertaining in the world than two women squabbling over something as ridiculous as who was right and who was wrong. As they rode in stony silence through yet another poor hamlet, Jase stopped a lone farmer on his way to the fields and abruptly questioned which direction would lead them to Camelot.

The farmer, clearly awed at being addressed by two noble knights, immediately pointed southwest. "Aye, milords, the grand castle-city of Camelot lies that way, two day's journey. Follow the Usk River and 'twill take you right through the gates."

"Two days? You are sure?" Tash asked.

The farmer nodded. "Aye, two days. 'Tis Pentecost and some of the younger ones in this village travel there. They get a good meal, a look at the court...'tis like a holiday for them." He looked them up and down. "Are you registered in the games, milords?"

"Aye," Jase replied.

"Well, best of luck to ye, then." He touched his hand to his battered cap.

Jase impulsively handed him a few pieces of gold. "Thank you, my good man."

The farmer's eyes gleamed as he took the gold pieces. "Bless ye, milords," he said thankfully. "Godspeed."

Jase nodded and touched her heels to her horse's side. Tash moved up bedside her, and Reno, not wanting to miss a thing, edged his way between them. As soon as they were out of earshot, Tash spoke up.

"Okay, so I was wrong. I thought we were supposed to go northwest."

"An honest mistake," Jase returned.

Her tone made Tash bristle. "Yeah, which is more than I can say for your mistakes."

"Tash, face it," Jase said calmly, "you get lost backing out of your garage."

Tash opened her mouth to retort, but abruptly closed it. That was true; she could read anything but a map or a compass. She always pretended to be new in town when someone asked her directions because she knew she'd probably end up sending the victim of her quest to Northeast Asia or possibly lands more distant.

Jase pushed up her faceplate and grinned at her now-silent companion. "Truce?" she asked.

Tash pushed up her own faceplate. "Shut up," she said sullenly. "One day I'll win a fight with you."

"What are you talking about?" Jase laughed. "You win a great many fights, especially when they count."

"I'd like to win one of these utterly stupid ones once in a while," Tash admitted. "I'd feel more important."

"Now I've heard everything."

"No, you haven't."

"I have."

"You'll hear a scream that breaks the damn sound barrier if you don't shut up."

"That would break my eardrums, so I wouldn't hear anything."

"How about if I break your neck, Jase?"

Reno watched the two like a spectator at a tennis match – first one, then the other, then one, then the other.

"My, you're touchy today," Jase observed, pushing her luck. "Is it PMS?"

Tash glared at her sidelong. "I'm tired of all this damn riding. Seems that all we've been doing for a century now is swaying back and forth on horseback –"

Reno pulled on Jase's arm and asked what PMS was. Jase grinned at him. "I'll tell you when you're older," she promised, then tuned back into Tash's complaining.

"– I thought we were going to 'go about' for two or three months, but no, you insisted that we keep going north. Next thing I know, we've been playing Good Samaritan for a bloody year."

"So what?"

"So my ass must be full of calluses by now, that's what!"

"Oh, the bear-with-a-sore-ass syndrome," Jase noted. "That's too bad. Do you want to stop?"

"Would you please stop?" Tash asked wearily.

"Sorry."

The banter was interrupted as Reno pulled on Jase's arm again. Jase glanced down at him, only halfway paying attention. "Hmm? Now what, squirt?"

The boy tapped his head and held up four fingers. Jase's eyebrows rose. "No kidding. Is that right?" He nodded vigorously. "Well, hell. Hey, Miz Bear, the half-pint here has a point."

"About what?" Tash asked irritably.

"My goodness, how sour the grapes are today!" Jase remarked, making a face. "Do relax, Tasher, it's most unbecoming." She hooked a thumb at the boy between them. "Reno just reminded me that we've been here longer than a year."

Tash sat quietly for a few minutes, and then looked over at Jase, her irritation fading. "You know, I didn't even think about that," she said. "We spent...what? Three years in Avalon?"

"Yeah, about that. It's taken us about six months to get our damn bearings and six months more to see and do all we could. We have been walking in circles, I'll grant you that, but we've also introduced ourselves to most of the peasantry around England, if you get my meaning."

Tash was calculating. "Four years. We've actually been here for four years. God in heaven! Wonder if they stopped looking for us back home?"

"Couldn't say."

Tash was still reacting. "I've lost my 'get 'em or die' cravings for root beer floats and McDonald's French fries. I can't even remember how to play 'Claire de Lune' anymore! Do you believe that?"

Jase waved Tash's ramblings aside. "That's really interesting, Tasher, but let's stick to the present, shall we? Now that we're finally on the road to Camelot, maybe we should start pondering what we'll get ourselves into when we get there."

Tash shifted in her saddle. "Okay, let's ponder. What was he saying about the tourney? I wasn't listening."

"He asked if we're entering, and I told him we were. That was all," Jase said. "And it's a great idea. We've been formally trained. You can handle that longbow better than Robin Hood, I'll warrant, and I could take on Darth Vader."

"And Lancelot is Luke Skywalker, right? You'll lose, Jase."

Jase wasn't amused. "May I continue?"

"Now who's the bear?" Tash replied, good humor restored. "Go ahead."

"Chew on this, Tasher. It would be our first official meeting between us and the guts and glory of Camelot."

"What about Balan and Balin?" Tash reminded her.

Jase's forehead crumpled. "Oh, hell, I forgot about them. No, we'll be all right. We did good with that scenario."

"Mmmm-hmm. Let's not forget our wonderful introduction to the King and his Captain of Horse," Tash continued.

Jase grinned. "Still embarrassed about that, are we? Tasher, that doesn't count. Not yet, anyway." She patted Beaucephalus meaningfully. "We didn't have these boys at that time, remember. And there's the tourney as well. We haven't fought against them yet."

Tash considered. "It's going to take some fancy choreography, Jase. Think about it. These guys are seasoned warriors. We're just rookies."

"Don't chicken out now. Besides, it's only for show," Jase reminded her. "What's to lose? We'll either be welcomed with open arms or we'll be politely asked to leave."

"'Politely' in what sense?" Tash asked wryly.

Jase grinned back. "Okay, maybe 'forcibly ejected' would be a better term. But regardless of either outcome I betcha we're backed up by the commoners. They love stuff like this. And you've seen the support they've given us in our travels."

"We gave them money, Jase!"

"Exactly! That's what would make us sound like legends! We gave them help when they needed it most. Steal from the rich and give to the poor, you know."

"We haven't stolen anything."

Jase ignored that as she began ticking off events on her fingers. "Besides, we did more than hand out money. We've rescued children," here she ruffled Reno's head and he smiled up at her, "we succeeded where known knights – the aforementioned Balin and Balan – have failed, and we've helped bail out those who were too sick, too injured, and too old to take care of themselves. Get my drift?"

Tash started to smile in spite of herself. "You know, the facts do speak for themselves," she confessed.

"That's more like it!" Jase hooted. "And to top it all off, we have an efficient squire." She looked down at Reno, whose eyes were wide. "What do you say, squirt? We've been training you for it. Think you could convince King Arthur that we mean business?"

Reno nodded happily, thrilled to be given such an important job. Jase laughed and affectionately ruffled his dark hair again.

Tash grinned down at the child, then looked ahead toward the horizon. "Two women dressed as knights and a ten-year-old squire," she mused. "Look out, King Arthur. The Cat in the Hat is coming to Camelot." Beside her, Jase was singing "Over There" at the top of her lungs.

♦ ♦ ♦

The meadows surrounding Camelot were a riot of color and noise. Tents representing more than five hundred knights, merchants, smiths and wealthy spectators dotted the landscape in tight clutches. The stables and inns were already filled to overflowing and quarters for rent were almost gone. It was going to be quite a spectacle.

Arthur and Lancelot watched the revelry from atop one of the castle's battlements, imagining the conversations going on between Camelot's knights and those from other lands. "There's no doubt that the lads are bashing heads over each other's strengths," Lancelot joked.

Arthur grinned. "And don't forget the flow of currency and wagering."

"Aye," Lancelot agreed. "Ah, 'tis the one time of year when a little rebel rousing is looked upon with favor." He studied the patchwork quilt of colored tents. "Do you think they will come?"

"Who?"

"The Nameless Knights. The ones the bards are singing about hither and yon."

Arthur shrugged. "If what I have heard of them is the truth, then I do not see how they could avoid testing their prowess among the finest knights in the world." He chuckled. "Of course, that's a biased opinion."

"Naturally." Lancelot leaned against the battlement. "It would be a disappointment if they did not show; I know of a few who would personally enjoy engaging them in the joust."

Arthur looked at him knowingly. "I know at least one of them."

Lancelot flashed a quick grin. "Well, even if the stories are half-truths, I have to admit 'tis one hell of a temptation, Arthur."

Arthur laughed. "Aye, my friend, it is."

"And speaking of temptation," Lancelot continued suggestively, "let's not forget the women." He leaned out over the battlement to study a group of the fair sex weaving their ways along the tents. "Gypsies," he said heartily. "Scum of the earth and half-demons by religion, but willing to do anything for a bloody shilling."

Arthur tried not to roll his eyes too high. "Aye. Bargaining for trophies of another sort."

Lancelot grinned at Arthur's heavencast gaze. "Men will be men, and women will always be there to seduce them and take their money."

"Don't I know that one."

Lancelot spread his hands helplessly. "The rigors of kingship, milord..."

Arthur waved the response away. "Yes, yes, I know." He looked over at Lancelot and tried not to give into his own amusement. "Why don't you go pester someone else about this? Or better yet, why not go pester someone else, period?"

Lancelot's eyes fairly danced with merriment as he bowed. "Who am I to disobey a direct order from the King of England?"

Arthur pointed toward the staircase. "Begone with you." Lancelot obediently trotted down the stairs, and Arthur smiled as he heard his friend's echoing laughter.

The smile faded, however, as he turned his attention back towards the spectacle below him. There was no avoiding the subject of marriage, and the older he got, the more people reminded him of it. Every year the petitions for hands of weddable maidens were set before him, and he knew as he affixed his seal to each petition that the eyes of the congregation were upon him, wondering when he'd make an appeal for one of his own.

It was for the good of the kingdom, if nothing else. But the idea of bachelor king had always suited him. Every woman vied for his attention, each promising bigger and better things. Oh, yes, they'd do anything for him...just as long as they got to rule the roost, as it were.

Treacherous lot. The power and the crown, that was all they wanted, and that was why he wanted nothing to do with them in return. He learned this the hard way early on in his kingship, when a countess as devious as she was beautiful tried to ruin him and had almost succeeded. From then on he was utterly indifferent, and though he was loved far and wide as a wise and good king of law, his reputation as a rake did not do him justice. When fathers wanted him to meet their daughters, he continued to do so with every bit of dashing charm he possessed. The women never knew that he looked upon their fluttering with something akin to contempt, never knew that he could see straight through their little performances at being ladies. One cold, calculating bitch after another fawned at his feet while weighing his wealth in their hands, and he pleasantly seduced one after another, disregarding them as unfit to be his queen when he was through. Only then would he give the scheming chits a few gold coins to keep their mouths shut, thanking them politely for their services, and have them escorted from his presence. He usually recapitulated by finding the poor girl a husband – someone other than himself, of course – and set the bait for his next victim.

If just one of them would stop him, spurn his advances, show a little common sense and quit panting after his damned power then maybe that would do something for him. Maybe then he'd feel this thing the troubadours called love. But no, all he had to do was crook his finger and the bitches would raise their skirts and raise their hands to steal his crown before he could even drop his arm. Therefore he continually gave into his lust and ruined one after the other without as much as a stab of conscience.

It wasn't that he was an unkind man. He hadn't been raised to be so cynical. In fact, under his early training from Sir Ector and the stories he'd heard from his brother Cai about marriage, there was nothing he'd enjoy more than a woman to give him fine strapping sons and beautiful daughters. But after the disasters of his earlier years, he surmised that he was probably destined to sow his wild oats for the rest of his life, because he sure as hell wasn't falling in love with any of his conquests. He wasn't even hitting a heavy "like."

He sighed wearily. It was in his favor that so far he'd sired no royal bastards – at least he didn't think he had. But what did it matter? An eye for an eye, wasn't that how the saying went? Especially if those eyes were green, set in a flawlessly lovely face...

He burrowed his fists into his own eyes, blotting out the image. Christ, that one haunted him day and night. Every so often, while in the midst of bathing or sleeping or writing missives, the vision would come upon him and stun him with its clarity. Over and over again he saw the exquisiteness of her face, the doe-like grace of her body, the length of her legs...Ah, her legs. Nice legs they were, too.

Now there was one worth chasing and ravishing, if only he could find her. When she and her friend had taken the horses and disappeared from the clearing, they'd disappeared completely, and though he'd had his men search high and low for the two of them, the search was in vain. And when the horses had returned riderless three days after their abduction, he had nearly driven himself crazy wondering what the story was behind those two.

He shook his head. Madness. If he continued to think about her, he'd be carried off to Bedlam. He looked down once more on the flurry of colored tents. Maybe, just maybe they were down there somewhere.

♦ ♦ ♦

The moon was already rising as Jase and Tash completed the last leg of their journey. The horses had been walking on a steady incline for a good twenty minutes and Jase looked over at Tash with an anticipatory smile. "I'll bet that Camelot's just on the other side of this here slope," she said.

Tash grinned back. "Spread out in a valley," she replied. "Like Las Vegas."

"Exactly." They continued on in silence for a few more minutes, and finally Jase reined her horse in and slid off its back.

"What's up?" Tash asked.

Jase beckoned to Reno. "Come on down here and hold his reins, will you? Tash, get down. Let's go check out the overlook on foot."

Tash obediently slid to the ground and tossed her reins to Reno. It was a comical picture, so small a boy holding the reins of two enormous stallions and a short, fat pony packed up within an inch of its life. But Tash and Jase didn't dare laugh, because Reno took his job seriously. He revered the two women with everything he had, and if they'd told him to stand on his head at the same time, he'd have done it without so much as a second's hesitation.

Tash and Jase trotted the rest of the way up the slope, slowing as they neared the top, and stopped as they got a clear view of the valley.

"Oh, wow," was all Jase could say. Tash just stared.

Below them stretched the legendary Camelot, the gleaming spires and turrets of the castle shining in the full moonlight and in stark contrast with the deep green of the forests surrounding it. Spread across the valley floor like multicolored blankets were the hundreds of tents, proclaiming the upcoming Pentecost games.

"How many times have I wished for my camera in the past four years?" Tash groaned.

As she studied the tents, Jase got an idea. "Tasher, we're not staying up here tonight," she said firmly.

"Really?" Tash asked, walking back down toward the horses. "We're not sleeping in another tree."

"No, we're going down there," Jase said, pointing. "With the other combatants."

"Oh, of course," Tash returned flippantly. "We're just gonna go set up a tent of our own..." She stopped as abruptly as she started, and Jase grinned at her.

"Please continue," Jase invited.

Tash started to smile. "Would this have to do with that extra big bundles you've been coveting?" she asked, gesturing to the pony.

"Could be."

Tash laughed. "Jase, Al Capone would have paid gold for you."

Jase was insulted. "Hey, it's legal," she complained as they headed back to the horses. "I bought it at –"

"I don't want to know, and I don't care this time," Tash commented. "I'll even go so far as to call you a genius."

Jase grimaced. "That's out of character for you. Don't do it again."

♦ ♦ ♦

When the sun rose the next morning, it cast its rays on a newly pitched tent of shining white material, large enough to accommodate a pair of horses comfortably. Outside the entrance of the tent were two pikes with plain white shields mounted upon them, and standing between the pikes like a sentry was a small boy who had all the bearing of a finely trained page. It did not take long for the gathering to figure out who pitched the tent, and it took even less time for the word to circulate throughout the town and castle.

The Nameless Knights had arrived.

#  PART THREE

Mystery Maidens

Chapter 16

#  Who Are These People, Anyway?

The only thing worse than being talked about

is not being talked about.

– Oscar Wilde

The word spread like wildfire that the Nameless Knights were indeed at Camelot, and curiosity raged through every mind. Would they enter the tournament? Would they accept the many challenges that awaited them if they entered? And if they accepted, would they conquer, and perhaps reveal themselves to the crowd? These questions were perused time and time again, from the lowliest servant to the king himself.

In fact, Arthur let his curiosity get the best of him. After receiving the news of the knights' arrival, he decided not to break his fast and immediately rode out with a gathering of his best knights to welcome the famous strangers to his castle. As the procession neared the billowing white tents that stood off to one side from all the others, the small boy that stood guard stepped forward, and Arthur raised his hand to stop all the horses. The child looked up at the king with unblinking brown eyes. Apparently no one was getting through him.

Arthur smiled in spite of himself. "Good morn to you, lad. You are page to these two knights?"

Reno shook his head vehemently and raised his arm up, indicating size.

Arthur's forehead creased, then cleared. "Ah, something bigger. A squire, perhaps?" At the boy's nod, Arthur looked over his shoulder to Lancelot.

"Pah! He is too young to assume the duties of a squire," Gaheris observed. "His masters indulge him too much."

"Peace, Gaheris," Arthur reprimanded, watching as the boy ignored the remark as if he'd never heard it. "Can you speak, lad?" Reno shook his head. "Hmm. Then send your masters out to me so I may ask some questions."

Reno swallowed, looked around at the gathering of vicious-looking men in full armor, and back at the hard grey eyes of the king. Then he drew himself up and to everyone's surprise he shook his head again.

"No?" Arthur repeated, frowning like a thunderstorm. The boy didn't back down from his glare, but instead stepped up toward Arthur's horse and, stretching up on tiptoe, handed him a rolled-up scroll.

Arthur took the scroll and looked at it, then down at the boy. "From your masters?" he asked, and received an affirmative response. He broke the seal, noting with some interest that there was no insignia on the wax, and scanned the contents quickly. His frown deepened.

"They are in the area," he said sidelong to Lancelot, who had come up beside him, "but they prefer to remain alone until the games begin."

"Then they will enter the tourney." The corner of Lancelot's mouth turned up. "And they were expecting someone, if not us, to come to them."

"Yes, it seems so," Arthur said distractedly, reading the contents again. He looked down at Reno. "The boy is indeed their squire. He is also a mute."

Lancelot studied the boy curiously. Mutes were usually mindless characters that were good for nothing else but the lowliest work, but this one appeared to be quite intelligent and willing to speak the only way he could — through play-acting.

"I know what you think," Arthur said, interrupting Lancelot's train of thought. "I question the same thing."

"I wonder if he has always been unable to speak," Lancelot replied speculatively. "Perhaps an accident...or abuse?"

Arthur shrugged. "We are not provided that information." He motioned to the herald that had ridden up with them. "Make sure someone brings him food," he ordered. "After all, a position like this fires a squire's hunger." As he looked down at the child's serious expression, his hard gaze softened and he winked, a gesture only seen by Reno. The boy smiled back as Arthur turned his horse around, nodded curtly, and headed back down the hill, the group of knights following.

Only after the procession was almost out of sight did Reno breathe a sigh of relief. He did it! He'd actually stood up to Arthur, High King of England! And what was more, the man wasn't the ogre he'd been brought up to believe. He'd keep it to himself that the High King had winked at him while he'd spoken in such a clipped, fierce tone. He continued standing watch until an older squire brought him the promised food, and then he retired to one of the tents, where he fell to hungrily. He was tired and knew that he'd probably be up half the night making sure no one sneaked up on the two tents, for if the High King himself couldn't stay away, there was a distinct possibility that every nosy person for miles wouldn't be able to resist, either. He finished eating and fell onto Jase's cot for a few hours of well-deserved shuteye.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was well after dark when Tash and Jase crept into their tent with more food. Tash had shot down two wild geese that had flown within her range and they'd roasted them over a small fire in the forest. They brought most of the second goose back for Reno, only to find that he had already eaten and had lots to tell them. As his hands flew, Tash and Jase watched, highly interested in the events they'd missed in their eagerness to remain hidden.

"How about that!" Jase said, obviously impressed. "Good job, half-pint. I knew we picked the right guy for our squire." Reno beamed under the praise and his hands became a flurry of motion again.

Jase stared at him. "What? Say that again." Reno complied.

"Come again?" Jase looked at Tash in consternation. "Did I read that wrong, or did he say he saw a rainbow-colored Dragon?"

Tash grinned. "You read it wrong. He said there's a rainbow of Dragons in the area."

"Oh." Jase glanced at Reno, who looked rather pleased with himself, then back at Tash, who looked like she was trying to hide a smart-ass comment. "Okay, spill it," she said finally. "I can't stand it when you hold out on me."

Tash had the gall to look surprised. "What? I correct your grammar and you are suspicious? Jase, I thought you had more couth than that."

Jase looked like she had a headache. "You know as well as I do that I have the couth of a squashed caterpillar. Now tell me, dammit. Are the Big Twelve here? Or are you both just tweaking my ass?"

Tash managed to keep a straight face. "Now why on earth would I want to tweak your ass, Jase? That doesn't appeal to me at all. No, I swear, he says the place is crawling with Dragons." Her eye caught Reno's hands as he signed something at her quickly. "Not the Council Dragons," she amended. "Just common ones."

"Wow." Jase sat back on her cot.

"Are you really surprised?" Tash asked.

"Hmm? No, I guess not. After all, there was Selene in Avalon, and the one in the lake, too. But since we have seen exactly zero in our trek so far, I guess I didn't figure that there would be so many in one spot." Jase shrugged. "Everyone's always got a good story. But to see is to believe..."

"And we've certainly seen," Tash replied. "Remember when we first saw Selene? It was for sure she wasn't an actress in a costume." She sat quietly for a moment, then turned her head toward Jase. "Now that you mention it, I find it rather funny that we've never seen them anyplace else. We've been all over this country –"

"You're exaggerating."

"We've been all over this country," Tash repeated archly, "and you'd think we'd have seen some Dragons or some other Dragonspawn around."

"Hmmm." Jase punched at the pack she was using as a pillow and lay down. "Food for thought, I guess."

Tash picked a piece of the goose out from under its covering. "I guess so."

The tent flap was suddenly thrust apart and Jase and Tash looked up with a start. Reno gesticulated quickly, indicating that a visitor was approaching. Tash stood up with a sigh and donned her armor.

"I'd love to know how he moves without my knowing it," Jase observed wryly, encasing herself in her own armor. "He was just sitting next to me, for God's sake."

"The makings of a real squire," Tash reminded her, and Jase grinned behind her faceplate. Then they went out to meet the visitor.

♦ ♦ ♦

Merlin took his time as he climbed the hill to the white tents. He hadn't seen Tash or Jase since their second year at Avalon, but of course, like everyone else here, he had heard of their deeds as the Nameless Knights. He smiled to himself. Oh, he had to give them credit for that ploy! It was definitely a smart move to hide their faces and figures, and wait for the best opportunity to make their grand entrance. What happened when they did show themselves remained to be seen.

It had taken them nearly a year of wandering to convince each other they were ready to find Camelot. He wondered vaguely if they had tried purposely to avoid it. That was part of the reason he climbed this hill now; he needed to find what their plans were and, more importantly, remind them of their duty. He was also visiting to ask about the child they'd acquired on their travels, why he was being trained as a squire when he was hardly old enough for a greenstick page, and how he had become a mute. Being a messenger from a very curious king certainly had its ups and downs.

As he approached the white tents he saw the child emerge, looking at him warily. He waved a greeting to quell the boy's fears and after a few seconds of hesitation, the lad turned into the tent, presumably to inform the girls of his arrival. He stopped and waited a few feet away, and watched as the tent flap parted a fraction of an inch – just enough to let someone look out with one eye. The child looked back over his shoulder, nodded at an unheard voice, and turned to beckon Merlin forward. Merlin tried to push the tent flap aside, but Reno stopped him with one upraised hand.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, and Reno gestured for him to raise his arms. Realizing the boy wanted to check him for weaponry, Merlin suppressed a quick grin and obliged. "Go ahead, lad. I am just a messenger today – I'm not even carrying my staff." After a quick pat-down, Reno was satisfied that the visitor posed no danger, and he stood aside and raised the flap of the tent. Merlin nodded to him gravely as he stepped through, and found himself immediately engulfed in the arms of two beautiful women instead of dangerous knights.

Merlin laughed at the double armful. "Well!" he exclaimed, "I didn't know you missed me this much! I've never gotten such attention from women before!"

"Are you complaining?" Tash asked warmly, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

"You jest," Merlin replied, smiling down at her. "Come, both of you sit with me." He sank to the ground between them, accepting the cold goose meat and a tankard of wine from Tash. As they chatted companionably, Reno appeared and picked up the near-empty flagon of wine and replaced it with a full one. His presence gave Merlin the opportunity to breach the subject.

"Where did you find the child?" he asked pointedly.

"Who, Reno?" Jase asked, patting the boy's arm. "Thanks, kid."

"As I was referring to a child and he's the only child in the general area, yes, I mean Reno," Merlin replied patiently. "Why are you training him as a squire when he's hardly old enough for pagehood? And, excuse me, but how did he acquire his muteness?"

Jase stopped filling her tankard in mid-pour and Tash stopped scrubbing grease from her hands in mid-wipe. Both of them stared sharply at Merlin, who stared back with his best "it's not my fault" expression.

"Anything else?" Jase asked.

"Let me guess," Tash began, putting down the towel. "All these nosy people are talking about Reno's muteness and –"

"And they think we caused it," Jase continued in disgust, "especially since he's not an idiot."

"Therefore, you've been sent to snoop," Tash concluded.

Merlin spread his hands and nodded. "Christ," Jase continued. "After everything we've done and now they think we would lift a hand to hurt –"

"'Tis not the common folk," Merlin cut in. "'Tis the knights and the king. You have easily won the people and they believe you would not hurt the lad –"

This time Tash cut him off. "But we don't have the trust of the 'gentry,'" she finished grimly. "Incredible."

Merlin smiled. "Well, if it will help, I do not blame you."

Jase glanced at him wryly. "Gee, thanks, Merlin. I feel much better."

"I am gratified. Now why not tell me what the real story is behind the child so I can quell the rumors before they begin?"

Jase and Tash filled him in: how they had rescued Reno from his abusive father; how Jase had immediately taken a fierce protective liking to him; how they had learned to communicate with one another; and how they had taught him reading and ciphering. Their conversation lasted into the early morning hours, and when Merlin finally took his departure, he was halfway down the hill before he realized he'd never reminded them of their task here in this time. He brushed it aside. There was no need. He knew what their plans were, and he was satisfied. They had proven that they knew why they were here as well as he himself did...if not better.

As dawn rose over Camelot, the Nameless Knights had once again faded with the passing of darkness. None but their child squire saw them go. And that child squire, standing ever faithful between the rippling white tents, found himself to be a speculative curiosity to those gathered for the celebration.

Chapter 17

#  The Ball's In Pendragon's Court

And the night shall be filled with music

And the cares that infest the day

Shall fold their tents like Arabs,

And silently steal away.

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The next day, Tash and Jase took a gamble and decided to return to their tents around mid-afternoon. They were both surprised and pleased to see that their sector was devoid of any activity, and that meant no ducking into the tents like hunted animals.

"I don't know," Tash murmured, scanning the area from behind the tree limb she'd pushed aside. "It's too quiet. I think we'd better stay put."

"Tash." Jase sounded highly piqued. "Don't start any of your crap on me. Look, for God's sake. It's a piece of cake. There's no one there but Reno." She waved to the boy, and Reno, catching the movement, looked their way and waved back. Jase flashed him a series of wide, sweeping hand signals, indicating the area, and Reno responded in kind.

"What did you just do?" Tash asked, frowning.

Jase looked smug. "I'll give you credit for the sign language, but I taught him about ship signaling."

"Now just where in the hell did you learn that?"

"Remember that antique barn manager I hired on a few years back? Tim Gritweller?" When Tash looked confused, Jase added, "C'mon – you don't remember Grizz?"

"Oh! Of course I remember Grizz, I didn't know what his real name was."

"Yeah, well, try on Master Chief for size," Jase chuckled. "Turns out that old coot was an old salty dog. And he had been a signalman in late World War II. So he taught all the signals to me and the whole barn crew when those damn intercoms didn't work out. They used to scare the shit out of the horses."

"I remember that," Tash interjected. "Is that what you were doing? I never did understand what was going on, and I never bothered to ask."

"That was it. We didn't have any flags, but the point got across. Works well here too, apparently, and the kid's quick to learn."

Tash smiled. "I noticed that. Maybe you can show me these signals sometime; they'll come in handy. So the area is clear?"

"Of course. We can go back."

"Mmm. I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Tash, I'm getting a hell of a case of poison ivy from wading through these weeds and shit."

Tash gave her a withering look. "Wear your armor, then. We came in here to practice, remember."

"It's too hot and too cumbersome to wear that stuff! And we've practiced! And I'm itching! Case closed!"

Tash studied the empty fields, then glanced at Jase, who was scratching her thigh and looking pitiful, and she relented. "Okay, let's go. Maybe we can invent an early version of calamine. Put your armor on, though – it's still light outside, and someone could come over that ridge and see us."

Tash was right. They were nearly back at their tent when a large bay gelding cleared the top of the hill in front of them. On its back, garbed in a scarlet Pendragon tunic, sat Arthur's herald.

Tash stopped short, and Jase, who had been occupied with pulling ivy from her gauntlet, ran into her with a clunk. "What the – oh, son of a bitch."

Though her expression couldn't be seen, the frown was perceptible in Tash's voice. "Did you say something about cake?" she said stonily. "Did you say 'A piece of cake' or 'let them eat cake'?"

Jase sighed. "Just shut up and let's see what he wants." Together they straightened up and strode forward, stopping just in front of the huge horse's nose.

"You have a message for us?" Tash asked.

"I do," the herald replied, handing Tash a scroll. "You both have been requested to appear before the king tonight."

Tash's eyes dropped to the scroll, its red wax seal stamped with the Dragon insignia. She broke the seal and unrolled the scroll, and Jase idly pushed the inquisitive horse's nose away as she bent over to read the summons.

"Why does the king want to see us?" she asked when she finished reading.

The herald backed the horse up. "It is the king's place to explain. He will be awaiting you at the allotted time. An escort will come for you. Good day." With a respectful salute, he turned the horse around and went down the hill at a gallop.

"Terrific," Tash muttered. "An audience with King Arthur. Just fabulous." She pushed back into the tent and shed her armor, muttering.

"Be cool," Jase advised, following suit. "We can pull it off. We've pulled off everything else."

"Yeah, well, I get the feeling that the man can see through lead," Tash warned. "He struck me as a guy who can get anything he wants by just looking at someone long enough."

Jase grinned suggestively. "Oh, are we back to his eyes again? Honestly, Tasher, I didn't know that those nice slate-grey orbs hit you that hard. Maybe we do have something to work with here."

"Don't start that again."

"Come on, Tasher, remove your foot from your mouth. In fact, remove your entire leg. You're swallowing it as you speak, and it's turning your face a most interesting shade of crimson." Jase chuckled merrily. "Just try to keep from flinging yourself at the man when he blinks his bedroom eyes. I hate to be embarrassed in front of a crowd."

♦ ♦ ♦

That evening, right on schedule, Reno poked his head inside the tent and told them their escorts to the castle had arrived. Jase and Tash looked at one another.

"You know," Tash continued, donning her armor, "this will be the first time we've really shown ourselves in Camelot. There's going to be quite a crowd."

Jase grinned. "Time to play the game, isn't it?"

"I want more than two hundred dollars when I pass 'go,' though," Tash remarked wryly.

Jase laughed. "Yeah, if we're not careful, we'll miss Boardwalk and go directly to jail."

The implication behind that sobered Tash a bit. "Come on," she said curtly. "Time's a-wastin'."

"Down the hatch," Jase added, donning her armor.

Reno had their horses saddled and ready, and they mounted up without a word to their escorts. They were quite aware, though, that they were being stared at. In fact, they were being so bluntly stared at that Jase, getting edgy, finally turned to the one closest to her and barked, "Well?" before she thought.

The knight beside her was tremendous. He pushed back his visor to show a ruddy face, a shock of bright red beard, and deep blue eyes. "Beg your pardon," he said politely, "but I daresay I have never laid eyes on so small a knight before. If what I have heard about you is true, I will have to watch my back in the tourney."

Jase managed to keep quiet, despite the fact that she wanted to yell, "Oh yeah?" like a swaggering little kid. They rode in silence for a time before Jase looked up at the burly knight and asked, "Since you have initiated conversation, Sir Mountain, I fear I must now ask your name so I know who it is that I will be beating in the tournament."

The knight grinned, pleased with the comeback. "My name is Gawaine, son of Lot of Orkney. I look forward to your joust, sir. And you are...?"

"I am who I am, Sir Gawaine." And that was the end of that conversation.

The knight next to Tash was younger; apparently he hadn't been a knight for long. He had been sizing Tash up, and finally asked, "Do you speak, sir?"

"Only when necessary, sir," Tash replied, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.

He didn't. "I suppose you are who you are, as well?"

Tash could almost hear Jase singing "I Am What I Am" from La Cage Aux Folles, and she tried not to sound too impatient. "Aye."

The knight shrugged. "Very well. My name is Percival, in case you were wondering."

She was, actually, and she was also wondering what Jase thought of being in the company of two of the greatest knights of Camelot. In response, she simply nodded and they continued on toward the castle. Once they dismounted, they were led through the entrance hallway toward the Round Table Hall. They tried in vain not to stare like tourists, but their heads continually tipped back to study spiral staircases, lengthy dark corridors, and tapestries so long that their hanging points were out of sight. Jase vaguely wondered how the hell someone hung a tapestry that high, or cleaned it...hell, even lifted it.

Gawaine pulled open a pair of massive oak doors and Jase and Tash gawked at the huge chamber beyond. Rich red and purple tapestries hung on the stone walls, embroidered with fine golden thread. And there were people, dozens of people everywhere, dressed within an inch of their lives. The place was awash in bright colors, scarlet, royal blue, deep forest green, sunny yellow, shocking fuchsia, purest white. Tash almost squinted from the brilliance of flashing jewels around throats, hanging from ears, dangling from wrists, sewn on lustrous clothing. A pickpocket would have cried with joy at the sight.

Jase and Tash were devouring the place with their eyes, glad that the faceplates hid their gaping expressions. They weren't even aware that the figure sitting on the dais on the other side of the room had looked up and, seeing the messengers returned, beckoned to them. He sat alone, Tash noticed. Thank God – they were in time, after all.

"Come," Gawaine ordered, directing them forward. Jase and Tash came back to the present situation and followed Gawaine across the room. The crowd parted to let them through, and a flurry of whispers rose and fell in waves as the Nameless Knights walked by. Faces of knights, lords and ladies blurred in and out of sight, but the imposing figure at the end of their path wiped out their peripheral vision and focused all their attention on him with just a casual wave of his arm.

"Thank you, Gawaine, Percival," Arthur said low, but his voice carried across the room, causing the whispering to cease. The two men bowed their heads and stood off to one side, leaving Tash and Jase standing alone in front of Arthur, High King of Britain.

By this time, Jase's once-steely determination was beginning to waver. It wasn't every day that one stood before the legendary King Arthur, after all! As for Tash...well, she hoped to God the man wouldn't speak to her, for all that would come out would be a small squeak. If only she couldn't see his face! Those damned eyes of his were enough to turn her to putty.

"Welcome, my friends," Arthur said cordially. "I apologize for the hastiness of my summons, but 'tis not every day we have rumored legends in our midst."

Jase didn't know the hell how, but she found her tongue. "You have yourself, milord Arthur," she pointed out, remembering to pitch her voice low. "You and your knights are legend throughout the civilized world."

Good form, Jase, Tash thought, glad that at least one of them had their wits about them.

Jase's words met with rumbles of approval from the rest of the court, and Arthur smiled, a smile that would have curled Tash's toes if she hasn't been frozen to the spot. God, the man was startlingly good-looking...No, for God's sake, don't start, she thought hurriedly.

"Well spoken, sir," Arthur was saying. "It is your deeds and words that bring you before us now. Lesser knights would have gone unnoticed. I invite you to sup with us tonight and perhaps enlighten us about yourselves and where you come from."

Terrific. Tash looked over at Jase, wondering how they were going to talk their way out of this one.

Apparently Jase had it all figured out. "We are honored, milord," she said regally, "but I am afraid we must respectfully decline your most generous offer."

It was as if she had hit a switch, for immediately the room was as silent as a tomb. Without moving her head, Tash looked around the room and saw stony gazes on everyone's faces. Great, Jase! she thought frantically. When a High King asks you to stay for dinner, you say YES!

Arthur's face held no malice, but his eyes turned to silver frost. "Why?" he asked politely, but Tash, in her anxiety, picked out that thread of insult in his tone.

Jase cleared her throat. "Milord, grant us pardon and let me explain as well as I can." She squared her shoulders and Tash thought she looked like a drama student about to give a Tony-winning monologue. "My companion and I were the victims of an unfortunate...accident. We have since then left our own country." She ran her fingers slowly along the right side of her faceplate. "Our faces, milord..." Startled whispers raced through the hall. "Were we to remove our armor, I could assure you that shock would be the least of the reactions. In the face of such gentle company," and here Jase bowed at the nearest lady, "'twould be a disaster. Therefore, we must desist."

She sounded like a drama student, too. Tash didn't know whether to be highly impressed with Jase's quick thinking or knock her upside the head for making up such a tale. As it were, she was trying to keep from groaning aloud at the theatrical tone Jase was using. Only the fact that it was working kept her quiet.

During the course of Jase's explanation, Arthur's cold stare had thawed into an expression of understanding. The rebuffed invitation was not a deliberate insult, but instead an attempt to protect everyone involved. "My abject apologies, my friends," he said sincerely. "If either of you need assistance in finding the dastardly cowards responsible for this unspeakable deed –"

Jase waved a gauntleted hand. "Nay, milord. It was a true accident – a case of wrong place, wrong time."

Arthur nodded. "You are still more than welcome to accept my hospitality."

Jase nodded back. "Thank you, milord. With your permission?"

Arthur stood. "You may go." He gestured to a chamberlain. "A room will be prepared for you. The evening meal will be brought to you there. And afterward, your presence at the evening festivities would be gratifying."

Jase carefully prodded Tash with an elbow, and Tash straightened. "We would be honored, milord," she managed, inwardly cheering that she'd managed an entire sentence. They turned to leave the chamber.

"Gentlemen –"

They turned back at the king's quiet tone. For a moment, Tash wildly thought that he might have realized her voice wasn't deep enough. He merely smiled at them, that slow dazzling smile that made maiden's hearts – and Tash's, as well – skip a beat.

"Welcome to my court," he said simply.

Jase and Tash bowed and walked away. Once again the crowd parted, and everywhere Tash looked, there were curious but definitely friendly faces. Jase had only wanted breathing room with her speech. Instead, she'd won the respect of Camelot.

♦ ♦ ♦

They were shown to a spacious chamber, and when the servants had brought in tempting trays heaped with venison and flasks of good wine, they were free to indulge. Jase dug in, oblivious to Tash's pointed stare.

"Well?" Tash asked after a few minutes of silence. "Care to enlighten me?"

"On what?" Jase wiped her mouth on her sleeve, knowing what was coming.

She wasn't disappointed. Tash exploded right on cue. "You know what! I cannot believe you lied to them like that! Weren't we given strict instructions not to lie to them like that?"

"And here we go." Jase knew exactly what she was talking about, but she really enjoyed it when Tash flew apart like this. "Instructions, eh? Like what?"

"Like what? Okay, explain this." Tash over-mimicked Jase's dramatic tone. "'We were the victims of a tragic accident.' 'In the face of such gentle company.' And, oh, I just loved this: 'Twould be a disaster.' Damn right it 'twould! You've been in that theater way too long, and it's starting to show! 'Our faces, milord.' Christ!"

"Tasher, get a grip on yourself –"

"Oh, piss off! What are we doing in here? What if they come in in the middle of the night to – to speculate?"

"Tash –"

"When this guy finds out we have no scars at all –"

"Tash –"

"– not to mention certain anatomical parts, we're gonna end up on the hot end of a stake!"

"TASH!" Jase put her plate back on the table. "Jesus! Look, it worked, didn't it? One of us had to say something. We sure as hell would be on that hot end a lot quicker if you were the one who did the speaking."

"Oh yeah? Well, you...you..." Tash's jaw worked as she tried to come up with a convincing argument, and then she gave up and wearily slumped into a chair. "Ah, okay, fine, you're right. I couldn't move at all, much less speak. But still –"

Jase held up her hand. "Shut it. Listen, I didn't lie at all. First of all, it was an unfortunate accident; you fell down a hole and then I got dragged in. Right?"

Tash's eyebrows rose thoughtfully. "Yeah, I'll grant you that. But what about the disfigurement bit?"

"Huh-uh," Jase said, twitching a finger. "I never said anything about disfigurement. Everyone assumed I meant disfigurement, but I never mentioned disfigurement." She chuckled. "Everyone would have one hell of a shock if they saw our faces, wouldn't they? I freely admit I added the fancy language for embellishment, but consider the implications. In all actuality, 'twould be a disaster."

Tash sighed and dropped her head in her hand. "All right, then. Guess I'll give you your points for the day. You have quicker wits than I do."

"Oh, nonsense. Your wits just got muddled by a pair of grey eyes."

"Please."

"Don't deny it. The man's gorgeous. Go for it."

Tash's head came up slowly. "Go for what, exactly?"

"You know." Jase wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Dude's pretty hot. Whoo." She blew on her fingers to illustrate.

Tash glared at her. "Why don't you run after him, then, if you're so eager?"

Jase shook her head. "We've already discussed this. I don't have the breeding for a king. I'm not interested in any long-term thing."

"And yet you told Vivian that you don't chase men. You're so full of shit." Tash put her feet up on a chair. "You're forgetting how well I know you. All some man has to do is spout some pretty words, produce a diamond, and you'd cry and give in. You'll hook up with some red-alarm guy before he can say 'Yield.'"

"All right, guilty," Jase admitted. "But I'm holding tight to Vivian's warning on not falling in love. We're not going to be here forever, you know." She grinned wickedly. "Besides, Ol' Lance himself looks like he'd be good for a bit of romp 'n play. He's dangerous and...well, if he knocked on my door right now..."

"I know just what you'd say and what you'd promise him," Tash finished dryly.

"He'd come in, all right," Jase replied, eyes merry.

Tash sat back in the chair, trying not to smile and failing. "You're incorrigible."

Jase took another bite of the venison. "Nah, I just know the good stuff when I see it." She motioned to Tash's tray with a greasy hand. "Go ahead and eat before it gets cold. Then we'll go mingle."

♦ ♦ ♦

When the two women finished eating, they were ushered to the dining hall, armor-clad and feeling slightly ridiculous, but grateful for the cover. Crowds of people sat at long wooden tables which lined the walls and fell into parallel rows across the floor. A big open space in the middle of the floor was currently occupied with various entertainers – a jester alternately juggled sharp daggers, torches, and apples, from which he occasionally took bites; a pair of gymnastic tumblers bent and twisted themselves into assorted contortions; a traveling magician pulled multicolored scarves from his mouth and tossed coins that appeared out of midair to children; and a trio of musicians played intricate melodies upon their fat-bellied lutes. It reminded Tash of a three-ring circus, and she vaguely wondered where the ringmaster was. Or who he was. Hell, maybe she was the ringmaster!

Jase enjoyed the entertainment immensely. Sometimes while listening to the music, the urge to break in and start singing something ludicrous was so strong that she had to bite her tongue. She knew she'd have the crowd in stitches with some of her songs – she'd love to sing "Camelot" and have the crowd sing it with her after the second verse, but she knew her perfect alto would be a dead giveaway to her true identity, and so she suffered in silence. But that didn't keep her from humming.

Her eyes wondered absently around the hall and settled on Arthur, sitting on the dais on the other side of the room, watching the entertainment with lazy interest. There was just no doubt about it; the man was a looker. No wonder Tash was loopy.

She looked over at Tash and saw her talking to the young knight who had accompanied them on their short sojourn to the castle. Percival, she recalled, was an excellent archer, and there was a possibility that Tash would be going up against him in the tournament. She wondered idly if Percival knew he was conversing with the one who would beat him at his own game. Jase had no doubt about the outcome; Tash could nail a bull's eye with her eyes shut, thanks to Flint and his incredible patience.

The seat next to Jase was occupied by an older knight, probably in his early fifties. His eyes were bright and alert and were a lovely shade of sky blue. His hair, which curled just at the base of his neck, had already turned silver, and a well-groomed mustache and beard framed his fairly sensual mouth. Just by studying his aristocratic profile, Jase could tell he was a man of some importance, and she found herself wanting to know who he was. On his other side sat a very attractive young lady, just barely out of girlhood, and Jase, feeling adventurous, suddenly knew how to get an introduction out of the man.

"Your lady is quite beautiful, sir," she observed aloud.

As she intended, he turned toward her, and Jase was a little surprised to see a thin circlet of gold about his head. She'd missed it before, probably because it was underneath his lush silver mane. So he was a king, too. He eyed her steadily, and for a minute Jase wondered if she'd made a mistake in saying anything at all. But then a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Aye, she is," he replied in a deep baritone that almost set the floor rumbling. "Too beautiful for her own good, I sometimes fear." He studied Jase's armor cryptically. "'Tis too bad you must attend a party in your armor, lad. Surely your appearance isn't that distressing?"

Jase was sorely tempted; she was sweating terribly inside the metal skin and she had to struggle to keep from opening the visor of her helmet to grab a breath of fresh air. But she hardened her resolve and shook her head. "Impossible, unfortunately," she answered quietly.

"Ah," the man said. "I would like to look into the eyes of one of the famous knights with no name." He cocked his head inquisitively. "Is it possible we shall learn your name after the tournament?" he asked.

Not even after that, Jase almost said, but she shook her head.

"Well, then, sir, allow me to give you mine, so you know who you will face on the field. I am Leodegrantz of Camyliard."

Jase's eyes widened. "An honor, sir," she managed, almost forgetting to pitch her voice low.

He smiled warmly then. "Nay, the honor is mine, Sir Knight, as your reputation precedes you." He turned to the woman-child beside him and put a hand on her tiny shoulder. "This is my daughter, the Lady Guinevere."

Jase tried not to stare and failed. This kid was Guinevere, the future Queen of England? Former queen, she corrected. There was no way this pretty child was going to occupy a seat beside the man on the dais. Not when there was another potential candidate, anyhow.

Calling up some more drama, Jase put her hand over her heart and nodded to Guinevere. "Your servant, my lady." The girl stared at her with wide-eyed fascination and Jase grinned behind her faceplate. Get a good look, little one, she thought with contempt. You seem so deceptively innocent, but don't forget, I know who you are and what you did. We're gonna take you for one hell of a ride.

Leodegrantz cleared his throat, breaking Jase's concentration. Guinevere gasped and turned pink under her father's disapproving look, and Jase began to apologize for staring so blatantly at the girl.

"Nonsense," he said indulgently. "I have already told you the child is too beautiful for her own good. She favors her mother, thank Heaven." He leaned toward Jase and murmured, "'Tis sorry I am, man, but I have plans for this one."

I'll bet you do, Jase reflected gleefully. Well, 'tis sorry I am, my friend, that I have to mess up your plans. "I understand," she said aloud, and permitted herself a small, theatrical sigh. "She would not have me anyhow, looking the way I do."

Leodegrantz clapped her on her shoulder powerfully and she felt it all the way through her armor. "It's breeding that counts, lad, not looks," he said, leaning close. "Hell, I got her mother, and look at me!" He laughed as he rose from his seat. "Come, daughter, you have not presented yourself to the king. Excuse us." He nodded courteously and walked away, taking the girl with him.

Jase watched as they stopped before Arthur, and the girl sank down in a graceful curtsey. Arthur smiled politely and said something to her, but Jase couldn't hear him. She was so caught up in watching the scene that she jumped when Tash sat down in the seat Leodegrantz had vacated.

"I saw you talking," Tash murmured, looking in the direction of the dais. "Who are they?"

Jase snorted. "Take a good long look, my friend. That's the 'G' word and her father."

Tash turned her head slowly, and Jase could almost see the look on her face. "Guinevere?" she asked quietly.

"Guinevere," Jase confirmed. "There's our catalyst."

Chapter 18

#  Let the Games Begin

We learn from history that we do not learn from history.

– Georg Hegel

The day before Pentecost dawned cool and clear. With the first light came the call for the tournament registrations; this was followed by the first round of lot drawings. The registration line teemed with squires of various heights and descriptions, but there was only one who was ten years old. The other squires eyed the boy inquisitively and some even tried to engage him in conversation despite the fact that he was a mute, but Reno remained politely distant. He wasn't here to discuss his mistresses with the others.

As he walked up to the table, the registrar raised an eyebrow at him. He raised one back, as if daring the man to say something. But the registrar knew who this little fellow was, and with a faint smile he dipped his quill into a nearby pot of ink.

"Name?" he asked, his pen poised.

Reno responded with the hand signal Tash had taught him for his name. The registrar looked at him blankly, and Reno sighed and indicated that the man hand him the quill and a scrap of parchment. The registrar, bemused, relinquished the quill and Reno carefully scrawled his name on the piece of parchment.

The registrar looked amazed. The lad could write, too! His respect for the little squire rose another few notches. He recovered enough to take the quill back and scratch the boy's name under the squire list, then handed it back to him.

"Names and homelands of your masters?" he continued.

Reno took the quill and parchment again. They are Nameless, he wrote.

The registrar read the note and shook his head. "They got to have names, boy; else they do not enter the tourney."

Reno pointed to the parchment, puzzled, and the registrar shook his head again. "Christian names are needed, as well as homelands," was all he would say.

Reno was frustrated. The only thing he could do was leave the line and discuss this with Jase and Tash. He leaned over the table and pointed to himself, then toward the hill where the white tent stood.

The registrar understood. "Go quickly; the lot drawings will start soon." Reno nodded and ran back up the hill to the tent.

Jase and Tash looked up from their conversation as Reno burst into the tent, his hands flying furiously.

"Whoa, slow down," Tash reassured him. "Now, run that by me again. What do they need?"

Reno pointed at Tash, then at Jase. He extended the index and middle fingers of each hand and tapped them together urgently.

Tash let her breath out slowly. "Names. Damn it."

Jase slapped her cot in disgust. "Bloody hell," she groaned. "They've been calling us 'the Nameless Knights,' and I thought that would do."

"What about the armor?" Tash suggested, scratching her nape thoughtfully. "Our suits are as different as night and day."

"But we'd still require a nickname," Jase said.

"No, not if we beef it up a little." Tash was already grabbing her boots. "Let's go up to the registration table. I've got an idea." Reno darted out the door to fetch the horses.

Within minutes the word spread that the Nameless Knights had returned from their sojourn in the forest. The two made quite a picture as they rode toward the registration table, a large crowd of curious and excited people right on their heels.

♦ ♦ ♦

A striking woman glided effortlessly through the milling crowds near the registration table, studying the lists of the first mock battles with the cold, calculating eyes of a cobra. To the others, she looked like any other woman trying to pick one of the combatants for her personal champion, one who would carry her token into battle with him. But this lady wasn't looking for a champion. She was looking for someone she could lure into her small but deadly nest of vipers.

Morgan le Fey was not a nice person.

Her ears caught a voice nearby that stopped her in her tracks, a voice that said the name she had recently become highly interested in: Nameless Knights. She stopped gliding and pushed her way through the thickened crowd of people that tightened around the registration table, where she saw the two knights that the bards sang of talking in low voices to the scribe. She managed to work her way to the front so she could watch the proceedings unhampered.

"We do not have names," Tash was explaining. "You can recognize us by our armor."

"I apologize, sir," the registrar replied, "but we will be unable to call you for your individual tilts that way. After all, there are two of you."

"I am aware there are two of us," Tash growled, beginning to lose her patience with the man. "You will call us by the title dubbed us by the peasantry. We are Nameless."

The registrar twisted the quill between his fingers nervously. "Sir, your pardon –"

"Must we petition the King himself in order to compete?" Jase broke in. "We partake in only two events, this one in archery and I in the joust."

"But," the man whined, "I must have –"

Behind Tash and Jase, Morgan stepped forward contemptuously. "Since when has a brave knight needed a name to fulfill his place at the games?" she challenged.

At the sound of her voice, Tash and Jase turned and the man behind the table cradled his head in his palm like he had a very bad headache. "Milady," he began, but Morgan cut him off.

"Yes, there are two of them, my good man," she purred. "But as long as there is a way to tell them apart, there is no need for such excitement." She pointed at both knights in turn. "The Nameless Archer. The Nameless Lanceman. Put those in your ledger."

The crowd's agreeing whispers rose and fell in a sigh as the registrar hurriedly scribbled the names in his book. "What about...what about homelands?" he questioned timidly.

"The flatlands," Tash supplied.

The registrar didn't ask anything else. After he added the word in the ledger, he closed the book with a thump. "Lots will be started in five minute's time," he called. "Registration for this year's games is closed."

Tash and Jase breathed sighs of relief, and neither had to see the other's face to know that both of them were thinking, That was close!

Tash turned to a gangly peasant boy standing next to her and gestured tactfully at their savior. "Tell me who yonder lady is," she said quietly.

The youth smiled. "Ah, 'tis Lord Arthur's fair sister, the Lady Morgan."

Both of them just looked at the boy, who began to feel decidedly uncomfortable. "You jest," Jase finally said.

"Nay!" the boy replied, trying to hide the shake in his voice. "Ask the king if you believe me not."

Tash turned away. "I wouldn't go that far," she muttered. Then, low enough for only Jase to hear, she whispered, "Sound company, my friend. Do not pass go..."

"Sshh," Jase hissed back as Morgan glided toward them. They both stood up straight and looked at the woman. She was as stately and beautiful as an ice carving, with sunset-colored hair and piercing grey eyes like her brother's. No, not quite like her brother's, Tash thought. They were too crafty, too predatorial to be similar to the king's. There was something not right about Morgan altogether, something out of place and distasteful, like a fly in a bowl of soup. But then, Tash and Jase had already known that.

"Our thanks, milady," Jase said as Morgan slid up to stand beside her. Immediately she wished she'd kept her mouth shut, for Morgan's hand slipped into the crook of her arm and her fingers spidered along the gauntlets. Quickly, impatiently, Jase pulled her arm free.

"My pardon," Morgan cooed, lowering her eyes submissively. "I only wished to talk to you."

Jase started to move away, but Morgan stepped in front of her and let her hands move over the breastplate of Jase's armor. Jase felt a rising surge of disgust. "Milady, please –"

"I will please," she purred. "In exchange for my help, I will please very much."

Jase took a quick step back. "I think not."

"Why?" Morgan's voice was petulant. She suddenly flattened herself against Jase's armor and fluttered her eyes smokily. "Do you not like women?"

Standing a bit away from the pair, Tash cringed. So did Jase as she disentangled herself from Morgan's perfumed embrace. There were still too many prying eyes and big ears in order to answer that question simply and truthfully.

It was also not the time to suffer such embarrassment at the hands of a witch like Morgan le Fey. Tash leapt to Jase's defense. "Milady," she said stonily, "we are sworn to the quest. The demands wrought upon us forbid your kind of company." With that, she leaned forward, grabbed Jase by the elbow, and they both left Morgan standing there with her fists clenched in fury.

♦ ♦ ♦

"Ugh, Christ!" Jase exclaimed as soon as they were back in the tent. "Did you see that? Bitch was all over me!" She shed her armor quickly, showing a completely revolted expression. "Bleah! If I only had time for a bath..."

Tash fanned her hot face with a registry list. "Either way, our butts would have been chewed on by someone."

Jase punched her fist into her hand. "I should have belted her one," she snapped. "If she had been anyone else I probably could have and claimed..." She paused, trying to come up with the right word.

"Insolence?" Tash supplied.

"Yeah, that sounds good." She sat down on her cot just as Reno burst in the tent, once more gesticulating at the speed of an airplane propeller.

"Not again," Tash muttered wearily, donning her armor again. "Kid, every time you come tearing in here, it's like the world is closing in on you."

"Maybe we should hide out in the woods again until this is over, poison ivy or not," Jase suggested. They pushed back the tent flap to check out their company. They blinked as they got a good look, for coming up the hill was a Dragon.

The Dragon was a pure-blooded creature bearing resemblance to their instructor Selene in Avalon. At least it walked upright like Selene, but there the resemblance ended. There was nothing delicate about this Dragon. It stood about six and a half feet tall, with a thin whipcord tail draped casually over one arm like a long robe. Its scales were the tawny gold of a lion's pelt, streaked with random patterns of dark brown that shimmered like tiger's eye in the sunlight. Its snout was short and the bright yellow eyes above it gave the face a vaguely Human-looking appearance. Stubby spines ran down the back from the base of the neck all the way to the tip of the tail. Two ornate horns perched like a crown on the creature's head.

Behind the noble beast trotted a young page, trying to look impassive, but it was obvious that he was proud a peacock at accompanying a Dragon. Jase and Tash didn't blame him in the least; even with all the training they'd received in Avalon, the sight of one of these creatures always made them feel like they had just stuck their fingers into electric sockets, a sensation that had never really completely faded.

As Tash and Jase came out of the tent, the Dragon stopped in front of them and nodded formally. "I am Brindle," he intoned, his voice as strong as a bell's toll. "I am a messenger in the service of King Arthur."

"Good day to you," Tash answered. "What can we do for you, Brindle?"

The Dragon turned slightly to look at the boy standing behind him, and the lad immediately jumped forward with a scroll. Tash reached forward to take it and got a chill down her back as she recognized the King's seal.

"Is this another summons?" Jase asked bluntly. "We have already had an audience with the King and have told him of our shortcomings."

Brindle eyed her beadily. "Yes, he knows of your...shortcomings. Nevertheless, he wishes to see you both tonight."

"What for?" Jase questioned. "We have done nothing to warrant this harassment."

"Harassment?" Tash repeated in a low voice, looking up from the writ.

Jase recognized that tone and knew Tash was glaring at her through the eye slits in her helmet. "In a manner of speaking," she finished lamely.

If Brindle could have smiled, he would have. "The king wishes to speak to the knights en masse who are participating in the events tomorrow."

"Oh, I see," said Jase. "A 'break a leg' speech."

Brindle shook his head, not understanding the rhetoric. "Broken bones might happen on occasion, but only by accident."

Jase took the scroll from Tash and read it quickly. "Thank you, Brindle. You may tell the king we will be there this evening."

Brindle nodded, motioned to the page, and they both turned and started back down the hill. As soon as the tent flap went back down into place, Tash removed her armor. "Jase," she said softly, "when Britain's most legendary High King says he would like to see you, you don't charge him with harassment." Jase shrugged in apology and started singing, "I Wonder What the King is Doing Tonight."

Chapter 19

#  Judgment Day

The road to success is always under construction.

– Old Fencing Adage

With the rising sun came the line of competitors, up long before dawn to oversee last-minute details, make final weapons checks, and eat hearty breakfasts. The kitchen stewards, blacksmiths, and sword makers had not slept at all during the night, but then that was to be expected with the multitude. Work that had started before dawn the day before was slowly nearing its end, and in good time, for as the sun rose on the morning of Pentecost, the patchwork quilt of colorful tents came alive in a flurry of activity and excitement.

The fields around the castle were swarming with the parade formations of aspiring champions in spit-shined dress armor and tack, waving multicolored banners and freshly-painted shields. Each combatant was assigned a group he was to ride with from the castle grounds to the main arena, passing the townspeople on the way, and finally stopping before the royal bleachers to be announced by the accompanying herald who rode before them with the appropriate lists. The sight of so many grown men trying to find their place in line like a group of frustrated kindergartners was the true definition of "organized chaos."

Groups were arranged from highest working honors to relative unknowns, which placed Tash and Jase dead last. They waved off the apologetic adjudicator who hesitantly broke the news to them, amused that the man appeared so uneasy (Jase jokingly commented on the power of the grapevine), and assured him that the position was much to their liking, as it gave them the opportunity to observe each and every knight who went before them.

"Think of the hundreds of historians who would give their livers to see all this," Tash mused.

"It boggles the mind," Jase agreed. "I mean, we read about these people. Now we can go back and say we know these people." She gestured. "Keep your eyes peeled for anyone familiar."

"All I see is metal and horseflesh," Tash said patiently. "How the hell am I supposed to know anyone?"

"Tasher, I'm shocked. All that reading on heraldry and cresting you've done and you can't remember a damn thing!"

Tash looked indignant. "Bite your tongue. Hard."

"That would hurt. Now show me you know something!"

Very deliberately, Tash pointed. "That," she said pointedly, "is Pellinore's banner. Satisfied?"

Jase looked at the gold cross on the sky-blue standard and raised her eyebrows with interest. "Really? And which one's Pellinore?"

"I have no idea," Tash began, but was cut off by a curse behind her, spoken in one of the loudest, throatiest voices she'd ever heard. She and Jase turned quickly and saw a florid-faced, silver-haired knight with a generous girth dismount from a limping grey gelding and gesture furiously at his squire.

"God's balls, boy! Do you mean to send me into the damned arena on a beast that's about to fall in its tracks? Ho! Smith! Blast the fellow, where's he gotten to now?"

Jase looked over her shoulder at Tash. "Pellinore," they both said together, and each heard the laughter in the other's voice. Jase slid to the ground and approached the blustering man with hands raised in the universal gesture of surrender.

"Steady, my friend!" she said in a voice almost as loud, and Tash chuckled quietly at Jase's forever-present drama. "There's no sense in getting so riled up over something that can be easily mended."

Pellinore turned on her, his face turning redder. "And just what the bloody hell d'ye mean by that, now? Damned worthless bastards, always in such a hurry to get things done, and doing 'em piss-poor –"

Jase, ignoring his fuming, brushed past him and quickly noted the animal's posture before raising its foot. "Relax, man. He's casting a shoe, that's all. Tap a new nail in and tighten the rest, 'tis all you need."

"I know that, dammit!" Pellinore sputtered. "Why the hell do you think I am looking for the smith? Ho! Smith! God's balls, where is that damned fool?"

"Is this who you're looking for?" Tash asked, coming up behind them with a blacksmith in tow. "Excuse us." She ushered the beleaguered smith quickly past Pellinore before he could begin raining curses down on the man's head and leaned over the horse's leg with Jase. Between Jase and the smith, the error was smoothly repaired and Tash spirited the man away before Pellinore could blink.

"You're fixed, milord," Jase remarked.

"What...Wait! Where did he go?" Pellinore demanded. "I did not even get to put my foot up the idiot's –"

"You've reprimanded everyone within earshot," Jase interrupted severely. "'God's balls' this and 'God's balls' that. Watch your temper, Lord Pellinore, or God's balls – or any other part of His anatomy – won't be able to help you."

Pellinore, taken aback by the blunt honesty of his savior, sputtered for a few seconds and then started to chuckle. "Well, I have made a spectacle of myself, 'struth! I'm beholden to you, sir. Best of luck to you today."

"And to you," Jase replied. The king tipped her a jaunty salute and jogged up to his place near the front of the line. Jase moved back to stand by Tash, who was regarding her thoughtfully.

"What?" Jase demanded after a few seconds.

"I gotta admit it," Tash remarked, "you do have a way with the loud ones."

Jase chuckled. "Nothing to it. I just told him not to take the Lord's balls in vain. That's one of the Ten Commandments, you know."

"Moses is probably up there right now deciding whether or not to drown you in the Red Sea."

"Well, let him do it later," Jase replied as a trio of heraldic-sounding trumpets sent their clear fanfares into the air. It was a grand spectacle, a ribbon of bright color flowing past the patchwork quilt of tents and extending like a beacon across the green meadow to the main jousting field, where towering bleachers had been built to accommodate the huge crowds of people who had come to watch those from all over England and lands far distant to compete in Camelot's famous Pentecost tournament. The cheers of the spectators could be heard all the way to the end of the line, and Tash and Jase looked at each other, knowing the other was smiling in excited anticipation. This was what they'd been waiting for since they'd first left Avalon. This was the moment. This was the time.

First into the jousting arena, amidst a thunderous ovation, were the Knights of the Round Table with Lancelot at their head, the Pendragon standard fluttering proudly above them all. Next came Leodegrantz of Camyliard, tall and majestic upon his stately blond Belgian stallion, leading his men in five columns of ten. He wore a silvery ribbon from his daughter's sleeve tied about his lance, and as he passed her spot, he bowed slightly in her direction. Guinevere giggled and hid her face in the girl's shoulder next to her.

After Leodegrantz came the knights of Orkney, headed by King Lot, three-year holder of the archer's championship laurels and last year's second-place jouster. A pair of broken ribs would keep him out of the joust, and even though the 50-pound pull of his bow jarred him, no one dared to tell him to sit this year's tourney out. He didn't smile and he didn't acknowledge the applause of the crowd; he simply passed the shouting spectators without so much as a backward glance, and the maidens in the bleachers shivered with delighted anticipation. It was whispered that Lot was descended from a race of demons, and the maidens forever scared themselves silly with stories of how he circled the castle at night, leading unsuspecting men into the swamplands and leaving them there to flounder to their deaths while he mounted his winged demon Familiar and took off into the night. He certainly looked the part today, cold and calculating, and ruthless as a shark.

Behind Lot came Pellinore, looking no worse for the wear after his tantrum. A favorite with everyone despite his bluster, he grinned broadly and waved to the crowd, and he even threw sweetmeats to the children outside the arena parameters. They laughed as they scrambled for the treats, squealing their thanks to "Uncle Pelli."

Lesser kings and a bevy of dukes and earls followed, and finally Jase and Tash rode through the makeshift gates. They were astonished at the roars of the crowd, not realizing at first that the cheers were for them. It was an intoxicating experience, one that fueled their blood in anticipation. So much for being "unknown."

As they rode by the royal bleachers, the herald glanced at his ledger and cried out the names entered there. The cheers went up even louder, and Tash idly wondered at such an ovation for knights never seen before. In her own opinion, it was a little frightening, for the tales about them must be just this side of supernatural, if not beyond. Her earlier excitement wavered as reality hit her. What the hell was she doing here? She hated crowds, she hated pomp and pageantry and showing off...She glanced over at Jase, who was eating the attention up.

You're being stupid, she admonished herself sternly. You're supposed to be enjoying this as much as she is. She looked up at the bleachers and saw Arthur standing at the balustrade, and she felt that gaze of his all the way through her to her bones. Somehow, instead of adding to her discomfort, it took it away completely and she sat up straighter in the saddle, meeting his gaze squarely. She bowed slightly and he raised his hand in acknowledgment. It gave her a surge of confidence and she grinned ruefully behind her faceplate. All right, Merlin and Vivian. You goaded me into this, now watch the results! I'm going to win this damned archery contest, see if I don't!

"What's the matter?" Jase asked as she pulled up alongside. "You're awfully quiet."

"Is that a crime? I'm just speculating."

Jase knew Tash too well. "You mean you're just anxious. Tash, you are a champion worrier, you know that? You could work that damn bow blindfolded and hit a bullseye. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I'm not anxious," Tash snapped. "I'm just a little..."

"Anxious."

"Shut up."

"Shutting up, Tasher. Now just sit back and relax. We're gonna be on top today!"

"You've got an ego bigger than Karl Malden's nose."

"And you've got a worrywart complex bigger than Jimmy Durante's. Now pay attention. The king's gonna talk and you don't want to miss that, do you?"

Tash didn't bother to answer. Jase grinned and turned her attention to the royal box, where Arthur was raising his hands. The crowds immediately fell silent as his deep, vibrant voice filled the air.

"People of Camelot! People of Britain! Welcome..."

Those were the only words Jase heard. She looked nonchalantly around the field at the seemingly endless rows of knights. She swallowed. It occurred to her that Tash wasn't the only one who was nervous. Jase herself was downright scared to death. What am I doing? she thought frantically. What the hell am I doing here? Tash, for God's sake, what have I pulled us into? A bout of insanity, that's what I've pulled us into! She stared at the knights again. Armed knights, all the size of barns, all on horses just as big...all who could squash her like a beetle. All it would take was one little slip.

I'm not going to slip, she told herself firmly. I'm not going to screw this up. I'm here, and I might as well face the fact that, like it or not, I'm going to have to take my medicine like a man. Like a woman. Whatever!

"Something wrong?" Tash asked, and Jase glanced over at her, noticing that she wasn't even looking back. Her attention was on the king.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" Jase replied easily.

"You've got your horse's mane tied in a knot," Tash replied just as easily, gesturing. Jase noticed that she did indeed have the wiry strands wrapped very tightly around her fingers, and Beaucephalus was patiently trying to pull her loose.

"Oh." Jase let go and Beaucephalus jerked his head away. One of his eyes met hers with such a pained expression (or so she imagined) that Jase couldn't help smiling.

"You're a good actress, Jase." Jase looked over, but Tash was still listening to the king. Jase could tell she knew...and hell, what did that matter?

"Thanks," she answered and turned her attention back to the king as well.

"We are all united under one standard, one land," Arthur was saying. "That is our peace. That is our harmony. And on this Pentecost day, that is our celebration. Good fortune be with you all." The speech was met with yet another thunderous ovation, made even louder by the booming voices of the contestants. Tash and Jase joined in as well, finding it a little difficult to deepen their voices and cheer. Indeed, Tash wondered if her vocal cords would be permanently damaged by the onslaught.

The herald and arbitrators came onto the field and the herald cried out the names of the first five groups of combatants. Jase was surprised to find she was in the third group and due to fight within the hour. She swallowed the butterflies back down and jumped when Tash clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on," Tash invited. "Let's go over some last minute strategy."

"Did you say 'tragedy'?" Jase asked, watching the first group take the field.

"Only if you chicken out. Now buck up. Like you just told me, you can do this blindfolded. Think of the number of times you sent Ryder reeling."

"Yeah," Jase muttered. Then, "Yeah! I did, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Tash replied patiently. "And he's three times bigger than you." She sized Jase up for a few seconds and put her hands up in a photographer's pose. "Well, maybe six times bigger. Everyone's a mountain compared to you."

"In your face."

They reached their tent and ducked inside, leaving Reno with the horses. Once the flap closed, they both removed their armor and pushed their sweat-dampened hair back from their foreheads.

"Okay, what's this last-minute strategy?" Jase asked, falling down on her bunk.

"Nothing," Tash said. "I just wanted to get you away from the field before you started panicking on me."

Jase sat up. "Hey, I don't want to hear anything like that from you," she said shortly, pointing an accusing finger. "You have it easy. All you have to do is aim at a target. You aren't the target. You don't have to go up against a party of grizzlies who are running at you like a freight train and carrying a fifty-pound skewer."

"Exactly right," Tash replied. "I haven't been drilled to the teeth in that like you have. Look, I'm not accusing you. I want to get it in your head that you do know how to do this, and I know that if you watch too much of it, you'll start to doubt yourself something fierce. That will be your defeat. I know you, and I've seen it happen a lot in the past. So I just wanted you to get away from it and sit here and tell yourself you can knock Gawaine or Gaheris or any of them flat on their asses. They're just men. If you can't join 'em, beat 'em."

Jase was slightly mollified. "Well, then," she said after a short pause, "I guess I oughta thank you."

"You're welcome. Now I also wanted to come back here because I've been snooping and I've got some news to tell you."

Reno opened the tent flap and came in with two goblets of watered-down wine and two bowls of fresh cheese. He put it on Jase's cot and left, but not before he snitched a piece of cheese from Jase's bowl. She growled at him and he bared his teeth in a snarl, popping the slice in his mouth as he ran outside. Jase grinned after him.

"Damn kid, always eating my stuff. What's this news you've got to spread?"

"Mordred," Tash said simply.

Jase paused, a piece of cheese halfway to her mouth. "What about him?"

"He's already been born."

"What?"

"Wait a minute!" Tash interrupted. "There's something different. Now depending on which story you've read, Lot was married to Morgan, and Gawaine and company are all theirs. And she was still with Lot when she had Mordred. It was very obvious, though, that Mordred was the king's, right?"

Jase's eyes were still blazing. "Yeah, so?"

"So things are a little changed, Jase. Morgan isn't married to Lot; at least he doesn't acknowledge her as such. But Mordred is Morgan's son. I don't know who by, but I know it was not by Arthur."

"Really. Who told you that?" Jase asked, frowning.

"Percival," Tash supplied. "He's a good sort. I don't think he'd lie about that."

"Well, that's some relief," Jase pondered. "Arthur didn't sire Mordred. That's good to know."

"Now hold your horses," Tash interjected. "There's more."

Jase picked up her goblet. "Which is?"

"Rumor has it that Mordred is Dragonspawn."

Jase choked on the wine and immediately erupted into a fit of coughing. Tash reached over and pounded Jase on the back between her shoulder blades. Eventually the coughing stopped and Jase looked up at Tash through watery eyes.

"Dragon – hic – spawn!" she finally managed. "Super, Tash! Hic! Super! Whi – hic – ich Dragon did the deed?"

Tash shook her head. "Don't know. Like I said, it was a rumor that Percival heard. He also told me to keep it under my hat because anyone else of that line might try something funny. What that means, I don't know, because if it's a rumor, it's sure to spread anyhow, right?"

"It's like – hup – when you win the lottery and find – hic – out just how much family you really ha – heep – ave. Hic. Shit. Got any water?"

"No, I don't. Sorry. He looks like a mean son of a bitch, too."

"Mordred is here? Heek."

"Hold your breath and count to ten. Yes, he's here. I saw him last night at dinner."

"How come you didn't point him out to me?"

Tash shook her head. "I think you just answered your own question. Talk about drawing attention to someone...!"

"All right, st – heep – uff it. What else did Percival tell you?"

"Just that Mordred was polite, quiet, intelligent, and diligent as a beaver."

"Nice analogy," Jase groaned, rubbing her temples like she had a headache. "Dudley Do-Right. Even more – heek – to be screwed up in our heads. Hic. Dammit. I'm beginning to – hup – get the legend mixed around. Hic." She sighed. "That's it?"

"That's it," Tash confirmed.

Jase grinned slightly. "Getting pretty – heek – tight with ol' Percival, aren't you?"

"Why not? He's a good guy."

"And what color are his eyes, Tasher?"

Now Tash glared. "Ever heard of the aerial activity that requires a filled pastry in motion? Why don't you go try it?"

Jase opened her mouth to reply, but suddenly Reno flung back the tent flap with a snap, startling them both with the unexpected noise. Reno hooked a thumb over his shoulder and told them that the third group had been called for standby. They nodded and got to their feet, stretching.

Jase took a couple of deep breaths and smiled hugely. "How about that!" she said happily. "My hiccups are gone!"

"Shut up," Tash muttered sourly. "I know where they went. Hic."

Chapter 20

#  First There Were Many

When I think of the number of disagreeable people

that I know who have gone to a better world,

I am sure hell won't be so bad, after all.

– Mark Twain

Jase sat astride Beaucephalus and arranged her heavy lance for what seemed to be the thousandth time in fifteen minutes. Any minute now the call for her joust would sound and she was beginning to feel the stirrings of nervous anticipation in the pit of her belly. She repeated the rules and regulations over and over in her head until she could say them backwards, adjusted her lance one more time, and silently wondered how embarrassed she would be if she lost this first round. After all, she and Tash were legends. Weren't they?

Two major contests were the extent of this year's tournament, with jousting taking place in the mornings and archery in the afternoons. Small contests took place all day long to accommodate those who couldn't get into the arenas for the main festivities. The first round of jousting was to be judged by double elimination, a process that made the new and eager participants salivate with expectation and made the more seasoned warriors grumble into their faceplates. When a knight defeated his opponent, he immediately faced off with another, and if he defeated this one, then he was declared the winner of the fight and two new knights were brought on the field. Two jousts in quick succession seemed like a hardy way to show one's prowess, but even a hardened champion would tire after an hour's constant pounding with a hefty oak lance, with no time to catch his breath in between rounds. When adrenaline was fired off in such quick succession, it was altogether too easy to lose concentration and do something stupid, and thus the knights complained. But alas, they could complain until their faces turned as blue as the Avalon Lake itself, for the king's adjudicators had deemed the means necessary for the sheer number of combatants at this year's games. The possibilities for ensuring the fairness of the games had been discussed, and the only open venue was to extend the tournament from a traditional one-day event to two, with the final championships being held on the second day. As for combat space, two fences had been erected on the jousting field already and there was talk of putting up a third.

But even though quarters were tight, space was limited, rests were few, and tempers were stirred, there was still much excitement in the air. The bleachers surrounding the fields were filled with enthusiastic spectators who cheered incessantly and ladies who fluttered with delighted alarm when two combatants came together in a clash of steel. They didn't hesitate to offer some token to their chosen champion before his joust, reveling in the courtly attention the knights gave them before the crowds. What nobility these handsome knights had! What courage! What honor!

What bullshit! Jase thought scornfully. Half of these guys are the biggest pompous asses I've ever seen in my life! As soon as she thought this, Beaucephalus shifted nervously as a tremendous chestnut stallion moved up alongside him. Atop the beefy animal sat another mountain of a man, almost as big as Gawaine and a hell of a lot uglier. His face looked like it had been cut from a piece of old leather with a dull knife, and his dark red hair partially obscured a long, wicked scar that ran from his right temple to the corner of his mouth. His eyes, hard as hickory nuts, moved over her contemptuously and he snorted with undisguised arrogance. Jase turned her back on the behemoth and moved her horse away from him.

The current fight ended as a young knight from Cornwall was smartly unhorsed by Leodegrantz. It was his second victory and the air rang with the cheers of the crowd as he triumphantly left the field. Seeing Jase, he directed his horse over next to her and flipped up his faceplate, grinning hugely.

"You're up, my friend," he said. "Yonder lad is your opponent."

Jase looked over her shoulder at the huge man who had so openly insulted her just a few minutes ago. "That?" she asked, incredulous. "I have to fight that?"

Leodegrantz laughed. "Aye, he's a giant, that's sure." He glanced about and leaned a little closer to Jase. "Be careful with him, though," he cautioned. "He's one of Lot's crowd."

That had an ominous tone to it. Just what she needed. Jase shrugged, trying to act confident. "Well, I've taken on worse," she said nonchalantly.

"Nevertheless," Leodegrantz continued, "watch your back. There are rules here that young Gaheris refuses to follow."

So this particular pompous ass was Gaheris of Orkney. Why couldn't she have guessed, especially after meeting his mother? She snorted. "Why not disqualify him, then?"

Leodegrantz shook his head. "Because he wins. And besides, any knight would rather fight a cheater than take the easy way out." He leaned back. "I've a feeling he is not going to be much competition today. Keep in mind that your status is on the mind of every knight here, and that will make him nervous."

Jase heard the horn blast for the next match and felt her stomach tie itself in a knot. "Well, I guess that's my cue," she said. "Thank you for the information, sir."

Leodegrantz clapped her on her shoulder. "Good luck, lad."

"I'll need it," she muttered, digging her heels into Beaucephalus' side. As she galloped onto the field, a cheer went up and it took a few seconds before she realized the shouts were for her. Her actor's pride took over and she immediately reined Beaucephalus into a prancing trot, which always made them both look majestic. She made her way to her spot at the other side of the field, reveling in the cheers and laughing to herself over the infernal fuss the women in the front rows were making over her and her dancing warhorse.

A red silk scarf fluttered into her path and she pulled Beaucephalus in, carefully scooping the scarf from the flattened grass with her lance. Looking about for the scarf's owner, she felt her gorge rise as she saw Morgan le Fey staring right at her. The bitch was smiling in a way that made Jase want to run her through, but she collected herself with difficulty and gallantly extended her lance with the scarf draped over its point to the woman. Morgan, apparently insulted by the return of her token, tightened her lips angrily and Jase had to bite her own lips to keep from laughing out loud.

"I thank you, milady," she said in a dramatic and well-pitched tenor, "but I am a warrior, sworn to the quest. I would rather see this token grace your fair neck than see it besmirched with the blood of my opponent."

Jase almost spit to one side at the foul taste the words filled her mouth with, but apparently no one else found them foul. Indeed, she had saved face in the hearts of the many romantically mired young maidens, and all of them heaved a collective sigh at the unknown knight's chivalrous words, while Morgan took her scarf back with a slight curtsy. Jase, seeing the way eyelashes batted at her from all turns, shook her head. Oh, well, it couldn't hurt, just as long as these supposed feckless virgins didn't attempt to jump her in some dark hallway. They'd be in for one hell of a surprise.

She finally made her way to her position on the field, where Reno stood waiting for her, almost invisible behind the stack of lances he held. Behind him, two pages were setting up a stand for the lances, overseen by Tash.

Jase trotted up. "What are you doing out here?" she asked. "This is against regulations."

"Who the hell are you?" Tash returned tartly. "Captain Kirk? The lance police? You've been too busy consorting with the ladies to see that your squire was tottering under the weight of these damned poles you're going to use, so I thought I'd help the poor boy out." She pointed to the boy in question, nearly invisible under a stack of lances. "See? You can hardly make him out for all the weaponry."

Jase cleared her throat. "Just a few theatrics, Tasher."

"Too much...as usual."

Jase relented. "All right, maybe so. But still, I seem to have acquired some followers, and until otherwise notified or unmasked, I think we'd better act like we like it."

"Even with Morgan?" Tash asked distastefully.

"Pah." Jase spit to one side, then cursed softly as she bent over, reached under her faceplate and rubbed the spittle off her cheek. "The bitch can't take no for an answer."

"Doesn't look like it," Tash said shortly, watching the pages put the last of the lances on the rack. "There, see? You do have a squire, after all."

Jase heard the smile in Tash's voice and pointed toward the sidelines. "Everyone's a comedian. You can go now, Gallagher."

"Sure, Casanova. Watch out for flying scarves." Tash gave a Benny Hill salute, which looked absolutely ridiculous in her armor.

Jase pointed more imperiously. "Out. Lance police or not, you should not be out here."

"All right, I'm going." Tash sobered a bit. "Be careful. Despite the festivity, remember this really isn't a game."

Jase wished she could lift her faceplate so Tash could see her impish grin. "Of course it is," she said. "Bet some money on me."

Tash gave her a thumbs-up and left the field. Jase scanned the area, looking at her opponent over yonder and wondering if the Chinese were right and it was indeed possible to push mountains aside by mere thought. Hey, Tash, did you see this morning's headline? "Mighty Mama Moves Mount McKinley, Millions Make Merry." Hell, she was kidding herself.

She became aware of a tugging on her heel and looked down at Reno. "What?" she asked. He signed something at her quickly and she nodded. "I heard, I heard. King Leodegrantz told me about him not ten minutes ago." More frantic signing. "Take it easy, squirt. I'm not gonna cheat to beat him but rest assured, I will beat him, one way or another. I've just got to be smarter than him, that's all."

Reno grinned at her and Jase laughed, knowing just what he was thinking without any hand signals. "Yeah, that won't be any effort at all, will it? He looks about as intelligent as a weed whacker...and trust me, squirt, a weed whacker is not a smart device."

Reno shrugged and made some last-minute adjustments on her stirrups. Jase watched him carefully and felt something akin to maternal pride. This ten-year-old kid knew more about a squire's position than most squires at the proper age knew. He was young, but he was sharper than a tack and smart as all-get-out. Nothing would make her get rid of him.

The horn fanfare signaled the start of the match and Reno moved away, wishing Jase the best. The butterflies in Jase's stomach disappeared as she moved to the starting line and saluted at her opponent. He returned the salute, rather rudely. Pompous ass, she thought in disgust. All right, Mount Gaheris, prepare to eat some dirt. She watched as an adjudicator took his position, looked from one knight to the other, and brought his arm down in a swift chopping motion.

Jase immediately dug her heels into Beaucephalus's sides and the stallion leapt forward, tearing up clods of soil. As he accelerated, Jase felt her body falling into the textbook maneuvers she'd been drilled in, and this gave her renowned confidence. She swung the lance level higher, sighted down its length to pinpoint her target, and locked her arm in place.

Gaheris' lance was targeted low, aimed toward her leg, and Jase quickly dropped her shield to compensate for the angle. They met with a bone-crunching clash and with enough force to send Jase's shield arm swinging back like a tree branch. She brought it back into position at once, her senses screaming at the jarring blow she'd just received to her arm. At a quick glance, she saw she'd sent Gaheris' shield flying, but they both were still astride. Well, it was only one pass, after all.

She could do this! She smiled hugely inside her helm, feeling like she'd just passed a solo flight. This is no different than the practice runs I used to take, she thought confidently. Oh, Ryder, if you could see me now! She pulled her concentration back together and took up her position at the other side of the field. She could hear her opponent's furious bellows as he collected another shield and lance from his squire, jerking the materials from the boy's grip in such a way that the lad stumbled. Jase's lip curled. Poor loser, she thought in contempt.

Once again the adjudicator dropped his arm and the second pass began. Jase had more confidence this time around as she sighted and locked her arm. But she had overcompensated and her lance snapped under the force of the blow. She gained her seat quickly and rounded Beaucephalus toward Reno to pick up another lance. Idiot, idiot, she charged herself. Pay attention! That almost cost you!

The third and fourth passes went unhampered, but the fifth run saw the opponents come in too close to each other and caused them both to lose their lances and veer sharply away, almost sending them both to the ground. As Jase regained her balance and went for another lance, she saw Reno's face was pasty white and he looked like he was going to get sick.

"If you're going to faint, squire, then you shouldn't be out here!" she reprimanded sharply. "I'm all right! Quit worrying about me!' She gestured abruptly for the new lance and Reno, controlling himself, passed it to her quickly and straightened her shield.

The signal went down for the sixth pass and Jase was determined to end it once and for all. She sized up her approaching opponent, seeing how he was well-protected behind his shield. She dipped her lance slightly and was rewarded as he moved his shield down and out. At the last possible second, Jase heaved up hard on her lance, feeling her biceps protest, and the tip hooked the edge of Gaheris' shield. The shield jerked from his grip and slammed upward into the knight's chin, snapping his head backward and sending the rest of his body along with it over the giant chestnut stallion's rump, where he fell in a heap on the ground.

The chestnut, suddenly riderless, bucked its way across the arena until a stable boy brave enough to challenge the frightened steed grabbed hold of its reins and pulled it to a stop. The unhorsed knight rolled over and raised his faceplate with a vile curse. Jase was upon him in an instant and jabbed him in the chest with the lance.

"Do you yield?" she asked.

Gaheris opened his mouth to retort, but then thought better of it and placed both hands on the end of her lance. "I yield!" he proclaimed over the noise of the crowd.

"I grant you quarter," Jase answered formally and drew her lance up, pulling the knight up with it. Her already aching arm muscles didn't like that one bit, but it added to the flair of the moment. Gaheris bowed to her shortly, but his earlier arrogance seemed to be gone, and Jase felt an impulse to cheer herself. No one would have heard her, for the crowd was shouting loud enough to be heard in Rome, but she allowed herself a victory sign, holding her shield and lance over her head. The crowd cheered louder, if that was possible.

It was over quickly as Gaheris left the field and her new opponent took his place. Jase sized him up rapidly. He wasn't as large as Gaheris, but that didn't mean he didn't know his business. Let's find out what his business is, she told herself imperiously.

It didn't take long to find out he really did mean business. As Jase's lance struck the knight's shield, he pushed forward hard, making her drop the lance, and his lance hit her breastplate at the shoulder with driving force, throwing her back. Only some fancy footwork by Beaucephalus kept her ahorse.

She leaned over the stallion's neck as he trotted back to Reno, not knowing whether to praise the beast or kick herself at her utter stupidity. Here she was, thumbing her nose at her opponent, and only a few minutes before she had been looking down her nose at pompous asses! She chose to praise Beaucephalus for keeping her on his back and not to dwell on the other.

As she accepted another lance from Reno, he signaled his dislike of her overconfidence to her. "Look, dammit," she growled, "I don't need you to tell me what to do."

Reno flung a few words back, warning Jase that she would have only herself to blame if she messed things up because of her ego. Jase blinked at his vehemence, then nodded. He was right. "Okay. I'll straighten up." Reno indicated her shoulder and Jase rubbed the spot. The armor was dented where the lance had struck. "I'll have to beat this out tonight." Reno motioned to her shoulder again, frowning. "It hurts," she said bluntly in answer to Reno's question, "but that's not going to stop me." She turned away from the concerned lad and moved Beaucephalus back into position.

This time when she met with the opposing knight, she popped her lance low on the outside and sent the man sprawling. There was a roar from the sidelines and Jase sighed in relief as she prodded Beaucephalus forward. The knight, still lying on his back, raised his faceplate and looked up at her in resignation.

"Do you yield?" Jase asked. The knight simply nodded and grasped the end of her lance. "I grant you quarter," Jase replied and pulled the man to his feet.

"Thank you," he said wearily.

"Are you well?" Jase asked, concerned. Maybe she'd hit him a bit too hard.

"Aye," he reassured with a grin, "ye just knocked the bloody wind out of me."

Jase nodded to him and rode over to Reno, who was grinning ear to ear. On the sidelines she saw Tash, holding two thumbs up jubilantly, and Jase smiled as she saw a well-stuffed leather pouch dangling from Tash's grip.

Reno was already on his little Welsh pony, which had been dozing during the match and now stood patiently, waiting for the bigger horse to catch up. Jase noticed his eyes were drooping as she rode up, and she couldn't resist kicking the fat little beast in the rump as she went past him. The pony leapt straight up and bolted a few feet before Reno finally got him under control. The boy looked at the tangle of lances and canvas on the ground, which had only a few minutes ago been a neatly wrapped bundle, and then he glared at Jase meaningfully.

Jase laughed. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice, you little midget. You yell at me to pay attention; I suggest you take your own advice. You never know what's behind you."

Reno threw a few meaningful four-letter gestures her way as Tash came onto the field to help the boy gather up the mess. He tried to dissuade her, but she told him to shut up with one curt move of her arm and he acquiesced.

"No, let him do it, Tasher," Jase said teasingly. "You ought to hear what he just called me."

"I would have called you worse," Tash reprimanded as she pulled the fallen stack into a semblance of the bundle it had once been and Reno pulled the hemp rope tightly around it. "Now, almighty champion, don't forget you have to acknowledge the presence of the king." She pointed toward the overhang in the middle of the bleachers.

"Oh, hell!" Jase swore. "I almost forgot. Stay here with the Pillsbury Dough Boy and I'll be right back."

"He's too thin to be the Dough Boy!" Tash called, exasperated, but Jase just laughed. Tash tried not to laugh herself at the utterly confused expression on Reno's face as he asked her what the heck a Pillsbury Dough Boy was. "Never mind," she managed. "Take it as a compliment."

Meanwhile Beaucephalus, hot and blowing, was nudged into a prancing jig toward the royal box. Jase sat straight and tall, knowing all eyes were on her, and as she pulled Beaucephalus into a smart stop right before the king's box, she couldn't resist adding a few more theatrics. The huge stallion immediately went down into a bow and Jase likewise bowed over his neck, making a very impressive picture. The crowd loved it, and Jase grinned smugly as she heard the cheers.

She looked up into Arthur's set face, and she wondered quickly if maybe she should have just raised a hand and hightailed it out of the ring, but as she watched, his eyebrow cocked and his mouth turned up a bit at the corners. He raised his hand in acknowledgment and Jase breathed a sigh of relief as she wheeled away and cantered quickly off the field.

"More drama?" Tash asked dryly as Jase came up beside them.

"It was the king," Jase said in way of explanation.

"Showoff."

"Jealous?"

"Hardly."

Reno intervened hastily and offered to bring some food to their tents – if they could keep from killing each other that long. There was no need to make a scene in front of the commoners.

"He's a babysitter, too," Jase observed, at which Reno threw her another hand signal. "Hey, watch your mouth, little britches," she warned, scooting up in the saddle. "Want a ride, Tasher?"

"Now that'll look really good," Tash remarked. "Haven't we already been accused of not being normal men? No, thanks."

Jase raised her hands in surrender. "I'll meet you back at the tents. I have to sign in with the registrar."

"Done." Tash turned around and walked away with Reno, giving him a verbal menu.

Jase waited for about twenty minutes at the registrar's tent until her name was found among the shuffle of parchment and matched to her next opponents. She was surprised that her next fight wasn't until the next day, and that gave her an idea of how many knights were competing at these games. The registrar explained that the games would start over again on the morrow and proceed just like today's until the competition narrowed down to the best ten knights. These ten would then compete until the number was reduced to one.

She didn't know how she would do it, but Jase planned on being that one.

Chapter 21

#  Then There Were Two

Nothing is so aggravating as calmness.

– Oscar Wilde

The sun had set nearly an hour ago, and Reno sat outside the white tent waiting for the moon to rise and fighting to stay awake. He'd eaten with his mistresses and now that his belly was full, he wanted nothing more than to stretch out on the ground like a puppy and go to sleep. But alas, that was not one of his duties. Even though he knew Jase and Tash would never reprimand him should he fall asleep – in fact, they'd probably encourage him – he felt in his heart that a good squire never sacked out on watch, and he was determined to see the night through. Jase and Tash would call it martyrdom. He called it toughening up.

However, despite his valiant battle with the pesky Sandman, he felt himself sliding toward oblivion. The day's work had caught up with him and had attacked with a vengeance, and even though he considered himself "toughened," he was still a ten-year-old boy. His eyelids drooped, lifted, then finally closed, and his head dropped down onto his knees.

The sound of voices coming up the hill caused him to jerk awake and he scrambled to his feet, feeling guilty. But the brightening moonlight showed him the intruder almost immediately, and when he recognized Merlin, he relaxed, but forced himself to keep awake.

"Good evening, lad," Merlin said pleasantly. "Keeping the watch late, eh?"

Reno nodded. He hoped the necromancer hadn't caught him napping.

Merlin was known to see everything, so he could definitely see that the child was exhausted. He smiled. "I brought someone up here to keep you company tonight." He looked behind him and Reno couldn't repress the big smile on his face as the rainbow-streaked face of a fat little Dragon peeped around Merlin's back. The Dragon waddled forward, his stumpy little digits signing a greeting. Reno beckoned to him and together they sat down to watch the moon rise higher into the heavens.

Merlin went inside the tent and soon found himself on the floor with a plate of food set before him. "Well," he said laughingly, "such service from two knights! I am honored, sirs."

"Don't call me 'sir,'" Tash admonished. "I've been called 'sir' all day and I'm starting to believe I'm a 'sir.'"

"Would you like me to check?" Merlin asked, eyes twinkling.

"Don't tempt me," Tash replied, while Jase just smiled.

Merlin put on a resigned face. "Very well, ladies. I came to see how you fare."

"Haven't you been watching?" Jase asked. "We're tearin' 'em up." She rubbed her shoulder and grimaced. "Actually, I believe we're tearing ourselves up, too."

"Let me see." Merlin set his plate aside and began to run his fingers across Jase's shoulder. She turned around so he'd have better access and he began to massage slowly.

"Yes, I have been watching," he continued. "You are both doing remarkably well. I caught the last round of your shooting this afternoon, Tatiana. Very impressive."

Tash shrugged. "I had a good teacher."

Merlin smiled. "Aye, 'tis true. Flint is an excellent bowman, and he would be pleased to see you winning against Percival and Lot tomorrow."

"Yeah, he would," Tash replied, "but let's not jump off our bridges before we get to them, okay?"

"I have every confidence," Merlin assured her. He looked down at Jase, whose eyes were almost closed from his careful ministrations. "And what of you, lady?"

"Mph." Jase was loath to wake from Merlin's spell. "Do you hire out?"

"I regret it has not crossed my mind. Tell me about your joust tomorrow."

One eye opened. "What would you like to know? Which one will drop me in the dirt?"

"Nay, relax. Think of the company you will be keeping."

The other eye opened. "I've thought of nothing else since the closing this afternoon, Merlin," Jase said a little tensely, sitting up and hunching her shoulder away from his fingers. "I get my pick of behemoths. Tash, give me the lists." Tash obligingly rifled through Reno's belongings and extracted a vellum sheet on which he had copied the women's fighting schedules.

"He wrote that?" Merlin asked with interest, indicating the sheet.

"Yup," Tash replied smugly. "Smart kid. He likes to practice as much as possible, so Jase made him a notebook from Vivian's vellum stash."

"I know paper's pretty expensive," Jase put in, "but it's for a good cause. The kid's a natural, and he keeps great records for us." She ran a finger down the page. "Here's my schedule, Merlin – look, check it out. I get Leodegrantz, Siegfried, Lionel, and Lancelot...to name the ones that scare the piss out of me. I'd rather fight the Adirondacks, the French Alps, and the Rockies. I think I have a better chance."

Merlin resumed his massage while reading the list over her shoulder. "What of the others? There's Roland, Lucan, Gareth, and Agravaine..."

"Yeah, but they cancel themselves out," Jase pointed out. She tilted her neck forward. "A little to the right, please."

"Right here?" he asked, digging in his thumb.

"Ooooh. Yeah, right there."

"Do I get some of this treatment?" Tash asked from the corner of the tent. "My bow arm could stand a little pampering."

"You'd roll up in a ball the minute he touched you, Tasher," Jase reprimanded. "You're too ticklish."

"Not on my elbows, Jase."

"Splendor of Avalon, ladies," Merlin laughed, "I never thought the two of you would be fighting over me, now! Let's behave ourselves, shall we?"

"Merlin, there's a tale about a short pier –" Tash began, but Merlin cut her off.

"Your arm, you say? I will be happy to oblige you, Tatiana, I promise. Now, Jasin, what is this about canceling each other out?"

"Well, think about it," Jase explained. "Roland will face off against Lancelot; you don't have to be a nuclear physicist to see who's going to kick the bucket. I honestly don't think Lucan can beat Gawaine, and after watching Leodegrantz's skills this morning, I know that clumsy bull Gareth stands a snowball's chance in hell against him. Siegfried knows enough about Agravaine's cheating, so he'll win that one."

"And Lionel?" Merlin asked, smiling at Tash over Jase's shoulder. She had this down, didn't she!

Jase shrugged. "He's against me first thing tomorrow morning. Who knows, after today anything can happen. Besides, I don't know what this shoulder's going to do when I sleep tonight."

Merlin eased up on his massage. "I do not believe this will hamper you. Make sure you warm up before you go out there." He moved across the tent to sit beside Tash. "Your elbow, milady?"

Tash offered her arm and Merlin began to massage her arm at the wrist, working his way up. Tash, to her credit, didn't flinch once.

"What are you two going to do if one or both of you wins your respective competition tomorrow?" Merlin asked nonchalantly.

Tash and Jase looked at each other. "We'd be the winners," Tash replied finally. "And we'd be part of the Round Table. What else is there? What are you getting at?"

"Your names," Merlin said. "They will ask your names and you will be required to give them. No more pretenses."

"And just what names do you have in mind?" Jase asked, not liking the tone of his voice.

Merlin looked at her, surprised. "Is there something wrong with the ones you have?"

"Um," Tash began, and stopped. Jase just stared at him.

Merlin stood. "You're going to have to show yourselves sooner or later. You may as well make it sooner." Without another word, he turned and left the tent, leaving them staring after him.

"Wait a minute...!" Jase jumped up and jerked the tent flap back, but she already knew Merlin wouldn't be there. Sure enough, he was nowhere to be seen, but Jase's mouth curved in a small smile as she looked around. The night was quiet and undisturbed, the moon was at its height, and its light was cast upon Reno, curled against his Dragon friend, sound asleep.

♦ ♦ ♦

If butterflies had haunted the women's stomachs on that first day of competition, they had surely mutated into bats on the morning of the second day. Jase's shoulder felt like it had been gripped in a steel vise all night long and the nasty-looking bruise that spread across her collarbone had Reno nearly pulling his hair out.

It had been announced at dawn that Sir Lucan and Sir Agravaine had dropped out of the finals. Lucan's horse had acted up during the night when it had gotten loose and had cracked a hoof as a result. Because it was the only horse the man would ride, he respectfully withdrew from the tournament. Agravaine was dropped from the list less respectfully; he had intoxicated himself to the limit during the night and was still unconscious.

The hours sped by, and Jase chewed nervously on her lip as she watched Siegfried and Lancelot on the field. She'd fought against Lionel and Gawaine and had somehow emerged as the victor of both trysts. Gawaine had almost broken her arm with his last pass, but she'd managed to hook her lance into his chain mail and jerk him off his horse before he could compensate. Now here she was, watching Siegfried with her heart in her throat, hoping against all hope that Siegfried would unhorse the famous champion of Camelot.

Naturally, she hoped in vain. Lancelot smoothly moved his shield in the last pass and Siegfried's lance buckled and splintered against the force he'd put into the thrust. Lancelot wasn't even shaken as his opponent's lance struck his shield. Instead, he threw his weight against the thrust and Siegfried tumbled backwards over his horse and landed unceremoniously in the dirt. The cheers went up for Lancelot and Jase felt her throat go dry as Siegfried climbed to his feet, yielded his advantage, and bowed good-naturedly to his conqueror. Lancelot clapped him on the shoulder and left the field. Jase watched him gallop by, his horse's red and white trappings flowing majestically on the morning breeze, and altered her earlier prayer, hoping Leodegrantz would beat her so she wouldn't have to face Lancelot's silver magnificence.

Leodegrantz met Jase at the entry gate and nodded to her. She returned it and they rode into the arena together. She took position at the far end of the field and dug her heels into Beaucephalus's sides at the signal.

Jase's lance cracked from the impact on the first pass and Leodegrantz pitched his own in the dirt to keep his balance. They circled back around the track and Jase pitched her lance to the side as Reno came trotting up with another. When the lance hit the ground, it broke into two pieces and Reno shook his head, warning her to watch her shoulder. "Easier said than done, kid," she huffed under her breath and took her position again.

This time both lances splintered on impact and Jase felt like she'd been hit with a woolly mammoth. She clung to Beaucephalus with both hands, fighting the urge to fall, and abruptly remembered her prayer to let Leodegrantz win. All she had to do was let go and at least a quarter of her body wouldn't be marred by black and blue bruises. It would be awfully easy...

No! Dammit, no! She righted herself fiercely and dug her knees into Beaucephalus's body, charging to the other side of the arena. She motioned to Reno curtly and without preamble he had another lance tucked under her arm. King Leodegrantz, she decided, was going to fall this time.

He was determined too; she saw that in the way he leaned forward. They both met head on, and both of them teetered precariously on their horses. Jase's arms flailed and by sheer luck she managed to grab a few strands of Beaucephalus's mane, halting her fall. Leodegrantz had tossed away his shield and the extra momentum, coupled with the weight of his armor and the angle of his seat, wasn't so fortunate. Jase turned just in time to see her opponent go crashing to the ground.

Grinning like an idiot under her faceplate, Jase rode up to a brilliantly smiling Reno and took the last lance from his outstretched hands. She turned Beaucephalus on a dime and ran back toward Leodegrantz, who had just risen to his feet. He pushed back his faceplate and Jase was surprised and pleased to see an expression of pride – in her – on his face. She dropped the lance to his chest anyhow.

"Milord," she intoned, trying not to let her smile show in her voice, "I believe I have the advantage."

"Aye, lad, that you do," Leodegrantz replied. "I yield to you. Well done." Those last two words were almost lost in the shouts of the crowd, but Jase heard them and knew that those two little words were going to go down in her history as the best praise she'd ever received.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tash idly tested her string as she watched Percival on the archery field with Prince Valderas Rubio de la Cartageña of Andalusia. The short, flamboyantly-dressed peacock of a man had either missed or struck wide of each of the targets, and Tash, knowing he probably did nothing but sit around his domain and order the servants thither and yon, could see the man didn't have the strength to pull the string back to reasonable tension. Against a seasoned bowman like Percival...well, there was no hope for him, especially since Percival was hitting every target.

Tash actually hoped de la Cartageña wouldn't win, anyhow; she wanted to go up against Perse herself, for starters, and she'd also bet fifty gold crowns with Sir Gareth that her new-found friend would boot the fat little Spaniard in the butt.

The prince released his arrow and the crowd murmured as it hit the edge of the target and bounced off. King Lot, with the confidence of a victor resting on his laurels, remarked rather loudly that if de la Cartageña had spent as much time on the fields as he obviously done on his hair and beard, then there would most definitely be a new archery champion this year. The guffaws from those standing around Lot carried to the prince, who couldn't help but overhear the statement, and he left the field in a huff after his final disappointing shot. Percival, of course, hit the bull's-eye and was declared the winner of the round.

Tash collected her fifty gold pieces from Gareth, but the smugness she'd felt only minutes before was gone. In its place was genuine contempt for King Lot and his lackluster wit. Before she knew what she was doing, she immediately took off after the sullen Spaniard, who was astride his magnificent white stallion and preparing for a quick departure from Camelot.

"Sir? Prince...uh...Prince Cartageña?" she called. "Prince Valderas?" What the bloody hell was his name? She tried again, digging up some of her almost-forgotten high school Spanish. "¿Señor? ¡Señor, por favor!"

The prince pulled back on his horse, surprised to see a fully armored knight running toward him. His features settled into a dark scowl.

"What is it you want?" he asked in heavily accented English, his displeasure obvious.

"Only to wish you a good journey," Tash said, "and to thank you for your participation today." She felt she was saving face for Camelot if she could convince the man that her words were true. "Please do not let the short-sightedness of the arrogant mar your perception of this place." There, that sounded as good as one of Jase's theatrical speeches.

Some of the harshness went out of Cartagena's face, but he still looked piqued. "Sí, they have much arrogance." He continued looking down at her until Tash began to feel a little self-conscious. Was her slip showing or something, God forbid?

He finally picked up his reins. "I must go," he said with barely thawed politeness. "Buenos tardes."

Tash automatically extended her hand. She was tempted to draw it back, but that would be rude, so she continued to hold it out while he stared at her. "Vaya con Dios," she added for good measure.

A small smile eased the bitter lines from his hard little face as he leaned down and grasped her hand. Then, with a little nod, he wheeled his horse around and galloped away. Tash watched until he was a little speck, then turned around to head back to the shooting grounds. She stopped as she saw Percival lounging against the post of the fence.

"What?" she asked irritably, her mind still on the Spaniard.

Percival grinned. "You intrigue me, Nameless. What did you say to him?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Tash hedged carefully. "Just wished him well."

"Ah."

She hastily carried the topic into his territory. "Oh, come now. You never learned the language of the Gauls or the Spaniards?"

"Now where would I have learned that, might I ask? I believe the closest thing I had for a companion during my learning years was the tree I slept in at night." His grin widened. "Hell of a womb, that."

"You are such a wild barbarian type of fellow," Tash remarked.

"And you are such a cultured, missish and mysterious knight," Percival returned smoothly. "You never cease to amaze me."

Tash grinned beneath her faceplate as they walked back to the archery grounds. "Well, my friend, I promise that I will not let you down in that aspect. You are going to be quite amazed in a few minutes."

Undaunted, Percival laughed good-naturedly. "Aye, my friend, I have no doubt that I will. And yet...Would you like to put fifty crowns on that, just to be safe?"

Tash rose to the challenge like a fish to bait. "Consider it done." They shook on it just as the mediator called their names, and they both took the field with renewed vigor.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase winced as Reno's hands dug into her shoulder, kneading it without mercy. She had untied the drawstring shirt she wore and had pulled her arm free of the sleeve so the boy could apply his ministrations directly.

She jumped as he pressed a particularly tender spot. "Ouch! Easy, boy, easy! I need to use that arm this afternoon, remember!" Reno made a chuffing noise and continued rubbing.

Tash picked that moment to enter the tent, shedding her armor as soon as the flap fell back into place. She looked like she was ready to burst with some news. "Hey, campers, you won't believe it...!" The words faded as she took in the scene before her. "My God."

"Don't you start as well."

Tash pitched her gear aside and came over beside Jase, kneeling down to examine the huge purple bruise. "What the hell caused this?"

"A lance, it seems," Jase replied dryly.

"Well, it would have to be, since there aren't any Volkswagens around here anyplace," Tash commented, her tone just as droll. "Reno, do you have any more of that horse liniment?"

"Now just a minute," Jase interrupted as Reno nodded, holding up the tin. "There's no way I'm going to put that shit on my body."

"Think of it as rancid Ben-Gay," Tash said practically. "It'll ease the stiffness, no matter how it smells."

"It'll also cause me to heave," Jase muttered as Reno spread a thick layer of the glop across the bruised area. Jase wrinkled her nose, then jumped with a hiss between clenched teeth as Reno massaged the liniment into her skin with one hand and hit another tender spot. "Jesus, kid, what the hell are you doing to me?" she spat.

Thoroughly irritated, Reno slammed the tin on the cot and stomped around in front of Jase, his hands flying as he berated her for her complaints. Did she want his help or not?

Jase was so surprised by the boy's outburst that she could do nothing but stare at him. The little mite was definitely not the typical ten-year-old brat. Who'd have thought he'd have so much gumption? Then again, he'd been around the two of them for months. "Just watch where you grab," she muttered sullenly.

Reno didn't bother to answer. He set his jaw and went back to work on her shoulder, but his touch was more careful and his ministrations, along with the deep heat issuing from the liniment, actually made the ache in her shoulder lessen. Jase sat back and relaxed, turning her attention back to Tash, who was raiding the tray of fruit left over from breakfast.

"So talk to me, Tasher," she said. "Your face was ready to split when you came in here." There was no answer, as Tash was attacking a cluster of grapes like she hadn't eaten in a month. "Tash. Tash? Yo!"

"Wha?" Tash finally snapped, her mouth full. "Cah oo hee I eeing?" Jase sighed and waited while Tash took her time chewing; she finally swallowed and wiped her hand across her mouth. "Now. What did you want?"

Jase smiled thinly. "This morning? Archery? How? Did? You? Do?"

"Oh. Oh!" Tash's face immediately split into the huge grin again. "Today has been incredible, Jase, really. I've won every round!" She reached for an apple. "You wanna hear the good part? I knocked Percival on his butt! And you wanna hear the best part? I bagged one hundred gold crowns in the bargain!" She bit into the apple with relish. "I can't believe it. Flint would fall on his face."

"He'd probably swell up like a peacock and say, 'I knew her when...'" Jase commented.

Tash laughed. "Probably." She took another bite of the apple.

"You're not hungry, are you, Tash?" Jase asked sardonically.

"Actually, I'm starving," Tash replied with her mouth full, then hurriedly added, "No, Reno, wait a minute – " But the little squire was already on his way to the kitchens. Tash sighed. "Slippery little devil."

"It's his job."

"Yeah, but still. Anyhow, it looks like I'm up against King Lot for the title."

"Lucky you."

Tash snorted. "Ain't that the truth. The man's got about as much charisma as cat vomit wrapped in a dirty sock and hidden in the sludge at the bottom of the Mississippi River."

"There's an image."

"Yeah. Makes my stomach cramp."

Jase leaned back and grinned. "Well, looks like both of us – that's us, two once-insignificant women in a man's world – are going against the champions of Camelot."

Tash's eyes widened and she dropped to her knees enthusiastically before Jase. "You beat Leodegrantz?"

"I don't know how the hell I did, but yeah, I did. Now I get to worry about facing off to the Dark Age's answer to Godzilla, Mohammed Ali, and the Red Baron wrapped in one. Honestly, I don't know if it spells our luck or our doom. I think Fate must have gotten trashed last night."

"Oh, to hell with Fate!" Tash exulted. "This is absolutely incredible! We're taking this place by storm, Jase!"

"Tasher, do calm down," Jase replied in her best mother-hen voice. "This isn't over yet."

"And don't you be such a bore; you're beginning to sound like me. You know you can knock Lancelot on his ass if you think about it. Think about this, too, Jase: You've fought against the Adirondacks and the Rockies..."

"And the French Alps are but one more set of mountains," Jase finished, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice any longer. "All right, I'll admit I'm ready to bust myself! God, Tash, we are this close. This damned close! The pre-opening reviews were great. Expectations are high. The theater is open for the gala. It's a full house and all we've got to do is get through the finale, and it'll be a standing ovation, win or lose. Either way, it's Tony time!"

Tash shook her head. "Now you're getting too wired."

"Oh, come on. You like it when I'm too wired."

"Of course. You make me look the sane one."

They looked at each other for a few seconds and burst out laughing, just as Reno came back inside with a tray almost as big as he was. Jase and Tash got up to take the tray away from him before he collapsed, and as soon as it was out of his hands, he immediately went back to work on Jase's shoulder.

"Hey, hey," Jase scolded, pushing him away. "You've been working like a dog, boy. Take a load off and eat with us." Reno gave her a stubborn look and pointed at her shoulder. Jase frowned. "Nonsense, squirt. Winning isn't so important that you can't sit down and eat with us first. Now get your bum over here." Reno considered, then sauntered over and plunked himself down beside Jase. Tash filled the goblets and raised hers in a toast. "Well, my friends," she said softly, "here's to victory."

Reno raised his goblet, as did Jase. "Here's to kicking serious ass," she intoned, and they all laughed as their goblets met with a clink.

Chapter 22

#  Victory and Defeat

It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless, of course, you are an exceptionally good liar.

– Jerome K. Jerome

Tash patiently listened as the mediator recited the rules for the championship archery shoot. Beside her, full of dour self-assurance, was King Lot. He'd looked at her when she took the field with enough ice in his gaze to freeze beer, and then he had spit to one side with contempt before turning his back on her. Tash had to restrain herself from poking him in the ass with one of her arrows. Arrogant bastard, she thought to herself, watching Lot out of the corners of her eyes as the mediator's droning went on and on. I hope I can take him down a peg or two!

The mediator was explaining the contests now and Tash refocused her attention. Two challenges had been set up for the two combatants, the first being a free-standing target and the second being fast-speed targets. If there was a tie, a third challenge had been prepared, but the combatants and the audience wouldn't know about it until the stalemate occurred – that is, if it occurred at all.

Since Lot had been the champion of this particular sport for the past three years, gambling was in full swing and the stakes against Tash were high. Only three people bet in Tash's favor: Percival, because she had beat him fair and square, just as she said she would, and because she had taken fifty crowns from him and he wanted to win it back; the Spanish prince (who hadn't left after all), because of the peculiar fellowship this knight had extended to him; and, of course, Jase, who had bet every coin she had with about fifteen bystanders, because she knew what kind of teacher Tash had learned from, and besides, she liked to gamble.

The mediator gestured for them to take their places and Lot pushed by Tash without as much as a by-your-leave. Tash rolled her eyes, shouldered her bow, and looked over to where Jase and Reno were extending excited thumbs-up signs. Tash returned them and trotted over to her position.

Since Lot was the reigning champion, Tash graciously yielded the first shot to him. This particular contest called for accuracy – a judge shot at the target and the contestants must place their arrows as near to the judge's arrow as they could get. They watched as the man took a bow from a nearby page's hands, aimed at the free-standing target about forty yards away, and released the arrow. The crowd ooohed and aahed as it hit the target seconds later. Tash shook her head as she studied the arrow quivering right on the top rim of the target. This was going to take some intense sighting. If miscalculated by even a millimeter, the shot could miss the target completely.

A hand fell on her shoulder. "Well, lad," Lot said in a quasi-fatherly tone, "do you think you can hit yonder arrow?" He snickered derisively.

Tash smiled smugly under her faceplate. "Aye, milord," she said. "And do you think you can hit yonder target?" There, take that, you imperious asshole.

The mocking smile on Lot's face became considerably forced, and finally disappeared to be replaced by cold dislike. "Cocky bastard, aren't you?" he grumbled threateningly. "You had best stay out of my way, boy."

Tash decided the man had absolutely no sense of humor.

Lot marched to the line and nocked an arrow on his huge longbow. The crowd became silent. He studied the target for a few minutes, eyes narrowed, then brought up the bow with startling speed and released the string. The arrow flew straight and true, hitting the target right beside the judge's arrow.

It was an excellent shot, and even Tash was impressed by the way he'd shot so quickly. More bets were made and earlier stakes were raised as Tash toed the line, testing her string. Lot walked past her, smirking. "Beat that one, boy," he jeered softly.

Tash's smile was grim. Good shot or not, she really didn't like this guy. "Watch me," she returned just as softly, ignoring his snort as she walked away.

The target looked very small from where she stood and for a moment Tash's confidence wavered. Could she hit something this far away and strike more accurately than Lot? She didn't have time to work herself up to heartburn, for suddenly her mind formed a clear picture of Flint standing close behind her and pulling back on the string with her, which was how he had taught her precision. He was fond of comparing an arrow with a fine peregrine falcon; as far as he was concerned, the arrow was what did the sighting, not the archer. "Let it look at the target first before it takes to the air," he'd told her time and time again. "Soon it will learn to trust your instinct." At first Tash found his comparison amusing, but as her shots became more and more concise over time, she found out that his methods made perfect sense.

Tash looked at the target a moment longer and slowly drew a long black arrow from her quiver. Flint had given her a few of these arrows the day before she'd left Avalon. The heads were made of the same stuff as her armor and were so sharp that they felt heated to the touch. The shafts were polished ebony, and the fletchings were swan feathers. Tash had been loath to use them, thinking they should be set on a shelf somewhere for decorative purposes, until Jase had bluntly asked her which shelf she had in mind. Since then the arrows were used only for specific purposes and Tash always retrieved them when she could.

This was one of those specific purposes, and Tash, recalling Walt Disney's version of Robin Hood, felt that the mediator's arrow was but a thin strip of willow capped with a little sharpened flint head. Feeling a bit devilish, she raised her longbow and aimed carefully, letting the arrow do the sighting.

"Too far for you, eh?" Lot called from the side. The crowd stirred, feeling the tension that crackled through the air. Tash was tempted to turn a few degrees and shoot him instead, but she forcibly closed her ears to his taunts and riveted her attention on her shot. Eventually the murmurs of the crowd died down as they watched the motionless archer. After a few minutes of tense concentration, Tash's fingers released the arrow and the field was so quiet that everyone heard the twang of the bowstring. Tash didn't lower her bow nor relax her stance, but she did hope her concentration hadn't been for nothing.

She wasn't disappointed. The black arrow struck the base of the mediator's arrow, and the sharper head drove the stone head of the mediator's arrow deep into the hide target. The wooden shaft snapped loudly and kicked high into the air from the force of the shot, and Tash's arrow was left quivering in the very spot where the mediator's had been only seconds before.

"Yee-haw!" Jase shouted from the sidelines and the crowd followed suit, cheering wildly. Tash turned toward the crowd and sketched a little bow, noticing at the same time that Jase was holding up three bags of coins. Tash shook her head. Jase would gamble on an earthworm race. What was worse was that she'd probably win.

Since the marker arrow was no longer on the target, the mediators immediately deemed Tash the winner of the first round. Lot fixed Tash with a glare that carried a warning and stomped toward the next field. Tash shouldered her bow and followed him, wondering how Lot had fared at the neighborhood sandpile as a child.

The next targets were three fragile clay discs, launched into the air within a few seconds of each other by a makeshift slingshot at the other end of the field. Each disc must be broken in the air by the combatant's arrow, the mediator explained. Lot grinned smugly at Tash as he took his place at the line, then readied his bow. At his signal, the first disc flew into the air, then the second, and then the third. None of them hit the ground intact.

Tash was even more impressed. She might not like the man, but she had to admit he was damned good. Lot shouldered his bow and walked past her, pushing her aside in the process. The crowd murmured at this blatant display of dislike, but Tash ignored it. She took a deep breath to silence the thudding of blood in her ears and drew her first arrow, nocked it, and motioned to the mediator.

Lot hawked loudly and spit to one side as the first disc was released, and Tash's concentration wavered just the slightest bit. But it was enough. Her arrow just brushed the side of the clay disk and she watched with growing horror as it fell gracefully to the ground, breaking into millions of pieces on impact. The crowd groaned.

"Ho!" Lot guffawed. "Not as good as you thought, eh, boy?"

Tash gritted her teeth to keep from throwing back a comment, to keep from stomping her feet in frustration. Damn it! That black-hearted bastard had cost her the challenge! And what had happened to her concentration? Flint had told her again and again to shut out the sounds around her...Damn, damn, damn!

Lot had hit all three discs, but there was also a point system involved because the two combatants were such good shots. Tash quickly finished off the last two discs, but even so, Lot was declared the winner of the second round, and the crowd applauded half-heartedly. The man's cheating ways hadn't been lost on them. But now a stalemate was declared, and the last contest was quickly set up and the rules explained. The mediator held up a small leather sack filled with sand and explained that the competitors would be shooting at three of these targets together as they were tossed into the air. The object was to shoot hard enough to keep the arrow in the bag, but to also make sure there was only one arrow – the winning arrow – protruding. Did the competitors understand these regulations?

The competitors did. They stood side by side with arrows at the ready, and the first bag shot straight up with the speed of light. Immediately the bowstrings twanged and the bag fell to the ground with both arrows jutting from it, declaring an impasse.

Lot's surprise was genuine. He turned on Tash, who shrugged, and his face contorted into a scowl. He held up a fist to her in warning, and Tash simply turned her back on him and nocked another arrow.

The second bag took to the air and arched to the left, giving Tash, who stood on the right side of the shooting area, a better aiming advantage. She didn't waste it either, and her arrow hit it solidly in its underside, but Lot's arrow struck right next to hers in the next second. The shot was once again declared null.

The crowd could not contain their excitement as they realized the outcome of the next shoot would determine who won the competition. Tash had lost one point in the second contest, and Lot had lost one point in the first one. It all depended on who hit the bag first. Never had they known anyone who could rival King Lot! Never had they seen two who shot so well that they could hit the same moving target, and almost in the same place! One person in the entire crowd wasn't surprised, though...and she was making a fortune.

Lot was absolutely livid. His laurels were threatened by a knight errant whose name, title, and homeland were unknown, probably imagined, and he was not about to give up his pride and honor to such a lowly peon. He nocked his last arrow slowly.

"Tasting the sweetness of victory, friend?" he sneered. "I promise to make it sour for you if you take what is mine."

Tash drew her last black arrow. "Milord," she said quietly, "shut up and shoot."

Lot's smile reminded her of a rabid wolf, and idly she wondered just how much trouble he could cause for her. She abandoned her thoughts as the final projectile was shot into the air, and she drew back her bowstring and took quick aim.

It was then that Lot decided he wasn't going to give his opponent a chance. The minute he saw Tash draw back her arm, he deliberately stepped in front of her, blocking her aim. He chuckled as he braced his legs wide apart and pulled his string to his ear.

He didn't get the chance. Tash, now completely pissed at the man's cheating, raised one foot and pushed it hard into the back of Lot's knee. Lot lost his balance just enough to send his arrow flying off in the wrong direction, and Tash quickly sighted and released. Her arrow pierced the bag squarely, spraying sand everywhere.

There was a collective gasp, followed by another exultant whoop from Jase, and then the place went up. A new champion had been declared! The invincible King Lot had been tilted from his laurels by a Nameless Knight!

Lot bellowed at the nearest mediator that he had been cheated, that the other competitor had purposefully pushed him in the back of the knees and made him lose his balance. The mediator replied, in no uncertain tones, that maybe Lot shouldn't have deliberately stepped in front of the other competitor to begin with. There would be no disqualification.

Tash had retrieved her arrow and was turning to leave the arena, but stopped still when she saw Lot regarding her like she was a decaying corpse. He was directly in her path, and Tash sighed as she realized she'd have to have her go-around with him before he'd let her leave the field. She started toward him, and he came toward her as well.

He stopped right in front of her. "Good shooting, lad," he said, "good shooting indeed." The expression on his face rotted the sincerity of his words and Tash pushed down the urge to skirt around him. Poor losers needed to be humored.

"You are a worthy opponent," she replied, putting out her hand. "It was my pleasure to compete with you."

Abruptly Lot pushed her hand away. "I will retain what is mine," he growled low. "No one steals from me. No one."

And no one cheats on me, Tash almost said, but she held her tongue. Before Lot could say another word, she walked around him and left the field, feeling like she was edging away from a pit bull that had gotten loose. He made no move to come after her and she relaxed, but she knew she'd made a dangerous enemy.

Jase came forward with Reno at her side. Both carried bags of coins.

"Well, champ, we cleaned up!" Jase crowed exuberantly. "We are richer than J. R. Ewing!"

Tash grinned. "I still can't believe I did it, especially after he got in front of me."

"Ha," Jase said. "The people around me were hoping Lot would lose after that stunt. Percival almost came over the fence, he was so pissed."

"I'm glad you held him back," Tash commented.

"I didn't," Jase said. "Reno did."

Tash looked down at their squire. "Really?" The kid nodded vigorously. "Good show, squirt. All's well that ends well, huh? Now let's go collect the other half of this victory."

"Um...yes, let's," Jase hedged, feeling like her lunch had come alive.

Tash looked at her, exasperated. "Oh, come on, Jase. Don't start again. You're going to do just fine."

Jase glared. "Need I remind you that you had it easy?"

"Would you stop belittling me?" Tash snapped. "I certainly didn't have it easy." She held up the black arrow to prove her point. "I earned this, Jase; I didn't walk into it blind, okay? You think it's easy to hit a small, moving target? You couldn't do it. So quit looking down your nose at me and get rid of the damn doubt or you're going to screw it all up on the last pass."

Tash's vehemence made Jase feel better. She realized she hadn't been looking for a reassuring pat on the back; she'd needed some hard words, words that would make her defend the strengths she knew she had and thus boost her confidence.

"I'm not going to screw it up," she promised defiantly as they headed toward the jousting field. "I'm going to come out smelling like roses. Just watch."

"That's more like it," Tash said, and both of them started to sing "We Are the Champions" as the crowd made its way toward the jousting field.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase's heart sat beating in her throat as she waited at her side of the field, watching as Lancelot came through the gates. The roars of the crowd left little doubt that he was the favorite. To the spectators, he looked to be the epitome of champions, sitting erect on his giant piebald with his personal standard fluttering above him and his silver armor shining piercingly in the afternoon sun.

To Jase, he looked like a Mephistophelean nightmare. The sheer size of the man and horse alone would be enough to send Joan of Arc screaming for the hills, orders from God or no. She didn't stop to think that she'd tilted with and beaten brawnier men today; all she could see was this shining example of knighthood with "CHAMPION" stamped all over him. She squinted involuntarily to protect her eyes from the sun's reflection on his armor.

Reno touched her arm, jogging her from her reverie, and she accepted the oak lance. As soon as the weight of the wood settled in her hand, her pulse began to slow. She carefully lowered it into the rest hanging from her breastplate, finding the most comfortable position, and by the time she took her place at her starting point on the track, she was ready. She signaled her readiness to the king and Beaucephalus reared just as she raised her hand. The horse seemed to know she liked to make a spectacle; she could almost hear the oohs and aahs. She smiled automatically and patted his neck.

Lancelot's horse stood as still as a statue. It would, Jase thought cockily. Maybe he is just all show. That's right, Jase, butter yourself up. You'll save your hide. Beaucephalus pranced impatiently and Jase reined him in, waiting.

Arthur's arm suddenly dropped and Jase released the reins. Beaucephalus immediately leapt forward with the power of a locomotive, throwing clods of earth behind him. A hurried glance showed that Lancelot's horse certainly wasn't a statue; if Beaucephalus was a locomotive, then this oncoming beast was a frigging jet fighter. Jase took a sturdier grip on her lance and leveled it at Lancelot's shield.

Somehow – and God strike her dead if she knew how – he evaded her lance completely and struck her a solid blow on her shield. She dropped the shield and grabbed for her reins, pulling herself upright. Sure, he's all show, Jase! Do yourself a favor and never, ever give yourself advice! She swung around and returned to the starting point, taking her shield from Reno. She dug in her heels and lowered the lance point again, watching sharply for any trickery. Lancelot lances a lot, she thought, and the foolish words thumped through her head over and over like a child's nursery rhyme as she bore down on her antagonist.

This time she hit him. Oh, he hit her, too, but she managed to deflect the major part of his blow. They both kept their shields and their lances on this pass, and Jase felt a little more confidence trickle through her. She was careful not to get too confident – she'd learned that lesson well now.

The next pass went by with both combatants hitting each other hard against the shields, jarring the lances from their grasps. Lancelot smoothly took another from his squire and waited for his opponent to come back around. His huge draft horse tossed its head and pranced restlessly.

Dammit, Jase thought irritably, can't he at least look like he's getting the shit kicked out of him?

No such luck. As soon as she had another lance tucked under her arm, Lancelot touched a heel to his horse's ribs and the animal leapt toward them with that same warp speed. Jase had to shake her head at the man's calm. This was a cat-and-mouse game to him, and she had to admit he was one hell of a cat.

He had a cat's lightning reflexes, too, she discovered. As they neared each other, his lance came up quickly, neatly evading her shield as she moved it to counter the attack, and the point jabbed into her sore shoulder with enough force to move Mount Everest to one side. At least that was what it felt like to Jase. She almost bit through her lip to keep from screaming, then gave up and cursed a blue streak as she lost her balance completely and went bouncing across the track. She was vaguely aware of the roars of the crowd as they chanted Lancelot's name.

Reno, astride his pony, came charging up beside her, his face filled with fear. Jase rolled over and sat up, wincing as she put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. The armor was badly dented and pierced where the lance point had struck, and she couldn't tell if the skin was broken or not.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she gasped as the boy slid to the ground and ran to her. "I just got the wind knocked out of me." He frowned and stabbed a finger at her shoulder. "What did you want me to do, jump off?" she asked sharply, and he whipped his head back and forth in violent denial.

Jase was desolate. Damn it, she'd been so close! Why couldn't she have held on a little bit longer? She'd been embarrassed in her life, but nothing beat this humiliation. She brought her fist down on her knee, furious at the turn of events. It was over. She had lost.

Reno was pulling at her arm and Jase pushed him away, lost in her misery. But Reno pulled at her again, and Jase, losing patience, glared up at him. "Damn it, kid, leave me alone!" The boy set his teeth and jabbed his finger over Jase's shoulder. Expecting to see Tash, Jase whipped around, ready to tell the other woman to stuff her pity where the sun didn't shine.

It wasn't Tash, though. All anger cleared from Jase's mind as she saw Lancelot's squire holding out a large oak lance. Behind him stood one of the mediators. "Sir Lancelot offers you another lance," the man intoned. The audience murmured.

Jase was incredulous. Another lance? The man had beaten her, and he wanted to make an example, was that it?

"Take it!" A cry went up from the stands, and even though it was pitched low, Jase recognized Tash's voice instantly. The cry was immediately picked up by others, and pretty soon the air was filled with anticipation. What would the Nameless Knight do?

Jase didn't hesitate. Maybe Fate wasn't so bad, after all. She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed the lance from the boy, causing an uproar that threatened to split timbers. The fight wasn't over!

Reno was jumping up and down with joy. As for Jase, she sent up a prayer to whoever was responsible for this small miracle. Now let them see what she was made of!

Jase looked down at Reno. "Can you whistle?" Reno shook his head. "Terrific. Go get my horse, then." Reno pointed, and Jase turned around and saw that Beaucephalus was right behind her, regarding her with what she imagined was concern. She grinned beneath her faceplate and patted his nose affectionately.

"I'm okay, boy," she murmured. "Let's go dump Lance on his ass, huh?" Beaucephalus snorted and Jase mounted up. Jase took another lance from Reno and took her position, noticing that Lancelot was once again at rigid attention atop his still-as-a-statue horse. She'd have to knock him off on this next pass and tie the number of falls or he'd take the title again. She signaled her readiness to the king and the next pass was on.

It was quickly over, too. This time, Jase imitated Lancelot's previous move and hauled up on her lance, not as quickly as he had, but it had the desired results. He immediately compensated for her defensive stance and aimed lower. The lances struck simultaneously, there was a collective gasp from the crowd, and Jase was out of her saddle before she could open her mouth to curse. She pounded her fist on the ground and rose to her feet, then stopped in surprise as she noticed Lancelot was just getting up from his own fall.

She'd unhorsed him! Somehow she'd done the impossible and had knocked the legendary champion of Camelot in the dust! Judging by the reaction of the crowd, she'd accomplished what they considered to be an impossible feat.

The squires brought swords onto the field, and Jase took a deep breath. As far as she was concerned, this was the impossible feat.

Reno handed her a sword, and she studied it curiously. This was certainly an odd-looking piece of equipment for a sword fight. Its edges had been filed to rounded dullness and its point was capped with what appeared to be a thin layer of cork wrapped in a soft material she suspected was silk, held in place with crimson cords that crossed over the blade and knotted under the hilt. It was an ostentatious, albeit somewhat interesting piece of equipment, much different from the wooden swords Ryder had drilled her with in Avalon, but she surmised it added to the pomp of the spectacle. She shrugged, grasped the pommel firmly and went to stand before the champion.

Lancelot was waiting patiently, the blade of his sword resting on the ground and his hands resting idly atop the pommel. As she neared, he raised his faceplate slowly, and Jase almost dropped the sword. As it was, she did stop for a few seconds to stare.

She'd only caught a glimpse of him when she ran past him in that forest chase, and since she hadn't seen him much since their arrival at Camelot, she'd forgotten her first impression of this man. But now she remembered. Oh, how she remembered. How could one forget that rugged, suntanned face and those godforsaken eyes? Here was another awry thread in the tapestry of the Arthurian legend. This man was certainly not homely. He took her breath away, just as Merlin had, except that while Merlin had the grace of a panther, this man had the fierce beauty of a timber wolf on the prowl, with eyes that hypnotized his prey. Seeing that piercing blue gaze riveted upon her now made Jase's knees go weak. Her forehead was level with his chest, and she had to tilt her head back to look into his face. His eyebrow raised curiously, and she sighed, too soft for anyone but herself to hear. She shakily thanked God again that armored helmets had faceplates, for if she had to fight this Adonis of a man with his face uncovered, she'd surely lose, and not just the game, either. She didn't even stop to think that if she didn't have a faceplate, this fight would not be taking place at all.

"Well, friend," Lancelot said, his voice catching Jase's attention even more so, "you must feel a bit lofty right now, eh?"

"Lofty?" Jase was confused.

"Aye, lofty," he said easily. "After all, 'tis the first time I have been unhorsed in these games."

"Oh, I see." She felt like an idiot. It was his fault, of course. Why wouldn't he put his damn faceplate back down? "Um, thank you for offering me another lance."

He nodded. "So tell me how you feel," he pressed.

"Huh?"

He smiled, and Jase suddenly felt lightheaded. "Invincible?" he supplied. "Heady?" He sensed Jase's faint-hearted hesitation and his grin widened. "Nervous, perhaps?"

Jase groped for the truth. "Nervous as hell," she admitted. "But still enough in control of my own wits to give you a good fight, sir."

Lancelot nodded. "Any man who says he has quelled his fear when he goes into battle is a fool and a damned liar."

Jase let her sword rest on the ground like his. "And your thoughts right now?" she prodded. Ridiculous! She was making small talk with Sir Lancelot! Was he nervous, too? She couldn't picture that.

In response, he slid his faceplate down again, much to Jase's relief. "You shall see," he promised.

Yeah, I'll see all right, Jase thought as a mediator came up from the sidelines and touched them both on the shoulder, then stepped back. Immediately the ornate swords came up and the blades met with a clang. Tampered with or not, the steel still rang sharp.

Lancelot was pleasantly surprised by the speed of his smaller opponent and immediately heightened his guard. Runt though he was, the nameless knight had made it to the final round and, most importantly, had unseated him with a slight brush of his lance. Size meant nothing, after all. This was a warrior to be reckoned with.

The knights circled one another warily, each measuring the other's steps. Jase watched how Lancelot moved, the way he held his sword, and tensed her muscles in anticipation, waiting for him to bring the fight to her, as Ryder had instructed.

Suddenly he lunged. Jase had been expecting a feint, but if he wanted to go at it hammer and tongs, then so be it. She immediately forced engagement and startled Lancelot even more, for the lunge had indeed been a feint. He recovered quickly and went on the defensive as the nameless knight rained a flurry of slashes and thrusts on him. He deflected them, gradually turning the tide until Jase was on the defensive.

She backpedaled to gain some room. Her nervousness was long gone and her muscles were now quivering with excitement as she withstood the barrage of strikes from the champion knight. She moved automatically to parry, swing, thrust and block with her shield, taking delight in how easy the movements came to her. She wished she had a video camera so she could view herself later. Oh, well, she'd have to depend on Tash and her extensive vocabulary if she wanted a full description.

Time slipped by, and the two knights gained a healthy respect for each other as the fight went on. The crowd was actually silent, breathless with expectation as first one knight and then the other took a barrage of sword cuts. Gambling was in full swing in the stands, and Reno had taken to writing down the numerous bets Tash had made to keep them straight in his own head as well as hers.

Things took on a new light on the field in the next few minutes. With a particular twist of Lancelot's wrist, Jase's sword went flying from her grasp. The crowd leaned forward eagerly. Was this the end? Was Lancelot going to retain his title?

Not yet. Jase glanced up to follow the flight of her blade, then, holding her shield defensively before her, she began to inch toward it. She had almost succeeded in reaching it when Lancelot made a particularly hard thrust, sending her toppling to the ground. She immediately ducked out of the way, grabbed the hilt of her sword, and rolled neatly to her feet, dropping into a crouch almost at once.

Aye, he was a quick one. Lancelot could not resist giving his opponent a nod of respect, and the crowd added their appreciation as well in noise level alone. Jase tipped her head back slightly to acknowledge the tribute, and she and Lancelot began circling each other again.

Something in the other knight's stance disturbed Lancelot and he was hard pressed at the moment to pinpoint it. His eyes narrowed beneath his faceplate as he assessed the other's position, the movement of his feet, the way he held his sword in his left hand, the other feinting with the shield...The jab came unexpectedly and he parried just in time to block it, and the next one as well. As he brought his shield up to halt the following flurry of sword cuts, he realized that his opponent was fighting left-handed.

Lancelot knew that the peasantry and yes, even some of the nobility thought left-handed individuals were works of the Devil, and the Church would probably demand that he cross himself immediately to ward off evil spirits. He for one thought the notion was a tremendous load of pig shit and there was no way in heaven he was going to start rambling off the Rosary here on the field. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that the nameless knight had taken the advantage, and he had to compensate for the imbalance. Instantly he sidestepped the broad swing of his opponent's sword and blocked it with a twist of his wrist, smiling as he did so. He'd fortunately received training on left-handed fighters and knew how to disarm one whose mind worked opposite from his.

Unfortunately, however, Lancelot realized a moment too soon that his opponent was connivingly ambidextrous. As soon as he made a feint to his competitor's right side, the knight backpedaled and tossed the sword into his right hand, passing the shield to the left while the sword was still in the air. It happened so quickly and was such a neat feat that Lancelot was on the defensive before he had completed his blink of surprise. He held off the barrage of thrusts and slashes, then changed his stance again to counteract the knight's right-handed fighting.

It was just what Jase was waiting for. As soon as she saw Lancelot's sword position change, she juggled her sword back to her left hand again (a tidy trick she learned from Ryder, once he found out she was left-handed) and attacked with vigor, taking full advantage of her second wind. The cords on both swords, weakened by the constant onslaught, finally gave way, and the corks shortly followed. Neither combatant noticed. Jase pitched her shield away and took her sword in both hands, hacking at Lancelot's completely defensive posture.

It was over before she realized it. Somehow she made some sort of twisting, balletic movement, Lancelot's sword went flying, and the point of the sword was at his throat. The crowd roared and she blinked, feeling like she'd awakened from a deep sleep. She looked down at Lancelot, kneeling at her feet, and idly wondered what happened. Had her alarm clock gone off? Did the director yell "Cut!"? Was it the Force?

Lancelot pushed his faceplate up, astonishment written all over his clean-shaven, sweaty face. He stared at the nameless knight, wondering how so small a man could beat a champion like himself. Guile, he answered himself, guile and wit and speed, that is how. He smiled reluctantly as he considered the irony of it all. I must be getting old.

Jase found her voice and tightened her grip on the pommel. "Sir Lancelot," she asked softly, "do you yield?"

Lancelot held out his hands in supplication. "Do I have a choice, friend?" he asked, humor evident in his tone. "Aye, I yield."

Jase's reply was lost in the pandemonium of the crowd as they surged to their feet, shouting wildly. This was a day to be remembered, a day for the bards to long sing about! There were two new champions to be crowned with the victory laurels! Two new champions to take their places among the knights of Camelot!

Jase offered a hand to the fallen champion and helped him to gain his feet. He patted her shoulder in congratulations and motioned to the crowd to continue its cheering as he walked away. Jase tried to maintain her cool, then gave up and let out a tremendous war whoop. It was answered in the stands by Tash, who was coming out onto the field to join Jase, her arms laden with leather money bags. She dumped them on the ground and slapped Jase a high-five, much to the curiosity of the nearer onlookers.

"I don't believe it!" Tash was saying. "P.T. Barnum would have swiped you up in a minute! You were juggling, Jase – all you needed was an apple in there to take bites out of at every pass!"

"Yeah, and then you could have stood up and put an arrow through it, and the William Tell Overture would have been playing over the speakers – "

"On kazoos," Tash put in.

Jase laughed. "Yeah, on kazoos! Can you imagine how these people would react?"

Reno rode up on his little pony, leading their horses in tow. He pointed to the king and motioned excitedly. Jase nodded. "Okay, kid, we're going. Watch the bank, will you? Tasher, shall we?"

"Aye-aye." Tash mounted up and pulled Rhone into a slight rearing pose. "Let's go, Ringling Brother."

"Right behind you, Robin Hood. Heigh-ho, Silver, and all that happy horseshit." Beaucephalus snorted and Jase laughed.

The sea of people that had appeared on the field parted, showing the trail to the king. Both stallions were prancing and tossing their manes, and the new champions were sitting proudly erect. However, what happened next made them remember that pride was a sin.

The crowd quieted as Arthur rose from his chair and appraised them. "Well done!" he intoned. "You have brought great honor on yourselves today, and in doing so, you have earned the right to be counted among the Knights of the Round Table." He rested his hands on the stone balustrade before him and waited. Jase and Tash looked at one another. Were they supposed to do something?

An adjudicator trotted up to them from the sidelines. "Dismount, kneel down, and remove your helms so you may make the pledges face to face," he ordered.

Jase glanced at Tash hurriedly, then back at the adjudicator. "But sir –"

"Do you or do you not wish to make your pledge to the High King?" the man asked stiffly, his voice a little loud.

Put on the spot in front of the king, the court, the spectators, and the whole damn world, Jase glanced at Tash again. Tash sat as still as a statue, and Jase, mentally crossing herself, took matters into her own hands. "Aye, we do."

The adjudicator seemed to relax. "Very well, sir. Please dismount, kneel, and remove your helms."

Once more, Jase looked at Tash, who nodded, and they both slid from the horses' backs. Tash quickly indicated with one hand that they remove the whole suit of armor instead of just the helm. Jase sighed. If they were going to be burned at the stake anyhow, they might as well not be pressure-cooked. She nodded back at Tash and, at Tash's signal, threw her life to the whims of Fate.

There was a collective gasp as the knights' silver armor simply melted away like ice, exposing two very female figures. The adjudicator stumbled back in shock, and exactly three seconds of stunned silence passed (Jase counted) before the shouts began. Off to one side, she could see Morgan standing in the bleachers, but she was too far away for Jase to make out her expression. But others were close enough, and Jase repressed a shudder as she saw the rage on the men's faces and the outraged shock on the women's.

"Witches!" This was from Lot, his face twisted with fury, and Tash snapped her head around to see the King of Lothian bearing down on them. "Milord Arthur, I foreswear this championship on grounds of deceit! How dare these wenches presume to take what is rightfully a man's place!"

"I protest!" another voice shouted. "These scolds have made a mockery of this tournament!"

"Throw them in the dungeons!" Gaheris shouted from beside Jase, anger suffusing his leathery face.

Tash raised her eyes immediately to Arthur's to gauge his reaction to this suggestion. He stood as if he had been frozen to the spot, his face completely blank, except for his eyes, which were blazing with...something. Tash found herself staring back at him just as intensely, and each waited for the other to break the stare.

God's blood, it was she. He couldn't be mistaken, not with that face and those eyes. When her armor had receded to God knows where and that copper-gilt hair been exposed to the brilliance of the sun, all of his senses came alive, shouting for him to recall the hunt in the forest that had brought them together, albeit for an instant, for the first time. Realizing that she could bulls-eye a target better than his champion archer, and that she'd been right under his nose all this time, was too much to handle.

He noticed that she was ignoring the shouts around her...both of them were ignoring the shouts, shouts that called for their immediate removal from the arena, for a public hearing, and some even for their deaths. But still they didn't move. They stood their ground and waited, their eyes locked on his.

"Burn them!" Lot was yelling. "They have deceived us all! They have taken advantage of our hospitality to steal what is rightfully ours! Try the bitches for witchcraft and burn them!"

Tash's knees were holding up remarkably well, she thought. Perhaps it was because Arthur hadn't said anything...but in the next second, that assumption was nipped in the bud. Arthur held up one of his hands, signaling for silence, even though his eyes did not break from Tash's. Eventually the shouts died down to a cemetery level and Arthur put the silencing hand back on the balustrade.

"You have heard the accusations," he said quietly. "What say you?"

Jase drew herself up, putting pressure on her bleeding shoulder with her good hand. "We retract nothing," she said, loud enough for all to hear. She looked to Tash for confirmation.

Tash nodded. "Nay, milord," she agreed, "we do not."

Arthur studied them for a few more seconds, then redirected his gaze out over their heads, staring at something they could not see. "Take them," he ordered quietly.

Jase and Tash were immediately confronted by two guards who appeared from the sidelines, and were politely but firmly escorted from the field. Shutting out the boos and shouts that had been cheers only ten minutes before, Jase noticed only two things before they left the tournament grounds: the malevolent smile of King Lot, and the cool, thoughtful stare of the High King.

# PART FOUR

Strangers No More

Chapter 23

#  Retaliation

Hear one side, and you will be in the dark;

hear both sides, and all will be clear.

– Thomas Chandler Haliburton

Dungeons weren't all bad. It depended on the owner of the castle, Tash decided, looking at the stone ceiling of their cell. This one was pretty clean, considering what it was used for. The straw on the pallets was fresh, the chamber pot in the corner was emptied regularly, and the only really discernable smell was the mustiness of the dank air. It was almost comfortable. But it was still a dungeon. And she and Jase were locked in it, awaiting their fates.

Well, she should have known it would happen, eventually. Men of this time didn't take too well to women besting them in anything, especially in warfare. What worried her most was the way old Lot had called them witches and had screamed for their deaths. She hoped to God that Merlin would appear and get them out of this.

Behind her, Jase stirred on her pallet and sat up, blinking in the semi-darkness. There were torches lit outside their cell, allowing enough light through the small opening at the top of the barred iron door for them to see their way around, and the expression on Jase's face was one of grim resignation. "Heard anything?" she asked.

"Nothing." Tash turned and leaned against the bars with a sigh. "I hope they don't listen to Lot."

"Oh, they'll listen to Lot," Jase said with dark confidence. "They'll have to. But Arthur seems to be fair. He'll give us a chance to speak in our own defense."

"If we get a trial," Tash put in.

Jase shook her head. "He'll give us a chance," she said again. "We'll get a trial."

"I don't know," Tash muttered under her breath. "I hope you're right."

♦ ♦ ♦

"Psst."

Tash had fallen asleep against the wall near the door. Now her eyes opened, suddenly wary. Had she heard something?

"Psst. Milady."

Milady? Yes, she'd heard something. Tash pushed herself to a sitting position and peered through the bars at the top of the door. The torches had all been doused, save for one, and it outlined Percival's form just outside the cell.

"Sir Percival?" Tash struggled to her feet.

The young knight glanced up and down the narrow hallway, then back at Tash. "'Sir' Percival?" he repeated, and Tash was startled to hear humor in his voice. "What happened to 'Perse?' There is no reason to be so formal."

"No reason?" Tash hissed. "We're to be burned at the stake, and you say there's no reason? Pardon me if I don't find amusement in that statement, sir." She tried hard to hide the fear in her voice, but Percival heard it.

"Do not heed Lot's blather," he said. "Your lives are to be spared."

"Told you," commented Jase, who had come up silently behind Tash while Percival spoke. Tash slumped back against the wall in relief.

"What else?" Jase continued. "I can hear the proverbial 'but' at the end of that statement."

Percival nodded. "Your lives are to be spared, but you have been stripped of your champion laurels. And you are expected to stand trial for your actions."

"So we do get a trial," Tash murmured, her eyes closed as she put her head back against the cool stone. "What will the punishment be, then, if we're found guilty? Dismemberment? Crippling?"

"Tash, you're so morbid," Jase observed.

Percival pursed his lips thoughtfully. "There are such punishments," he admitted, "but Arthur would not use such penalties with you. If he finds you guilty, then you could be permanently exiled from Camelot." He shrugged. "'Tis difficult to say when it is the king's decision."

The women glanced at each other. There was no way they could be exiled from this court – not after the years of training and wandering throughout the land to prove themselves, not to mention finally worming their way into the castle itself. Both of them knew that no matter what, they had to be proven innocent.

"When does this trial take place?" Tash wanted to know.

"Tomorrow at dawn," Percival answered, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I will speak on your behalf, and I have been procuring others to do the same."

They stared at him in undisguised fascination. "Why?" Tash finally asked. "Why should you do that for us?"

Percival grinned. "Most of the knights still see me as being a backwoods lad," he confided. "They do not believe I earned my spurs, as it were. But it was they who stood idle when I offered to champion Pellinore's daughter Elaine against the accusations of Sir Agravaine."

"Pellinore's daughter?" Jase asked, bewildered. "And Agravaine? Don't you mean..." Tash elbowed her and she caught herself hastily. "I mean, did you win?"

He spread his hands. "Do I not wear the armor of a knight? Aye, I saved the lady's virtue, and gained my own in the bargain. We were wed for a short time, but she died in childbirth." The quick flash of pain in his eyes disappeared with his next words. "Our son favors her greatly, I've been told."

"You have a son already?" Tash asked, and she in turn was elbowed by Jase. "Where is he?" Tash continued, rubbing her ribs and giving Jase a quick glare.

"Oh, aye," Percival replied, "though I have not seen him in some time. The lad is being fostered in the country. I will send for him as soon as he is old enough to train as a page, which should be...oh, next year sometime."

"What did you name him?" Tash asked, keeping away from Jase as much as possible.

Percival cocked his head to one side. "I named him Lohengrin, lady. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Tash answered, trying to sort through the information. So Percival fought Agravaine instead of Lancelot and protected the virtue of Elaine instead of Guinevere. And the swan knight, Lohengrin, had already been born. More changes to remember.

"I see. But enough of my exploits," Percival continued. "The reason I champion you now is that you accepted me as a fellow knight from the first. And also because..." He glanced at Tash and the corner of his mouth turned up. "I had already guessed that you were...well, not what you seemed to be."

"What?" Tash exclaimed.

"I knew it," Jase muttered under her breath.

"Just how did you know that?" Tash demanded. "I was so careful – "

"You can't make a sow's ear out of a silk purse."

"What – Will you shut up? Perse, how?"

Percival coughed. "Aye, well, she makes a point. 'Twas when you went after the Spanish prince to apologize for Lot's misconduct. A man would have let him leave with what dignity he had left. A woman would have run after him to offer her apologies for our boorish behavior."

"Well, that explains why he looked at me strangely," Tash said aside to Jase, who was still shaking her head and muttering under her breath. "Oh, knock it off," she ordered sharply. Jase snorted, but stopped muttering.

"Aye, he looked at you strangely, all right," Percival remarked. "He also realized that he was speaking to a woman."

Tash fell back against the wall again. "Terrific," she said low. "Who else saw beneath my veneer?"

Percival grinned. "No one that I know of. I take pride in knowing that I was not deceived."

"Go ahead and gloat," Jase said sourly. "Was Bonehead's conscience the only thing that gave her away?" She glared at Tash again, who ignored her.

"Nay, there were other nuances," Percival replied, "but they are too petty to mention."

"Good job," Jase said to Tash. "I dress you up and I can't take you anywhere."

"That is the problem, lady," Percival interjected before Tash could open her mouth. "You can cover a sheep with a wolf's skin, but 'tis still a sheep."

"Don't you mean wolf in sheep's skin?" Jase asked, sullen.

"Not in this case," he said, with a quick smile at Tash. "I must leave you now. You will be escorted tomorrow morning to Arthur's Gathering Hall, where the trial will take place."

"Super," Tash muttered. "We'll see you then, I guess."

Once Percival had left, Jase turned on Tash. "You're always blaming me for getting us into scrapes," she groused. "Well, now it's you! You and your damned femininity! Can't you swagger a little just once? Hawk and spit on the floor next time! Think of what you could have cost us!"

"Calm down," Tash said tiredly. "That's neither here nor there. What matters now is that we have to stand trial tomorrow for being women." She shook her head. "Some crime. I'm tempted to become a liberal feminist."

"Well, you've got law on your side," Jase commented, referring to Tash's parents. "Did you ever listen to their court stories as a child? I'll bet they make you recite your Miranda rights before bed instead of prayers –"

"Jase, go to sleep," Tash interrupted, a little more bitingly than she intended. "I'm tired of listening to your bitching." But at the same time, she perused Jase's words thoughtfully. Yes, she had listened to her parents' stories over the years and had even watched them in court cases. Maybe, just maybe, their knowledge would be helpful in tomorrow's onslaught.

And so while Jase fell obligingly onto her pallet and into a troubled sleep, Tash closed her eyes and began to recall those stories...

♦ ♦ ♦

The guards came for them at dawn. There was no formality, no fight, and no sound. Tash and Jase were silent as their hands were bound together by stout hemp, although Jase glowered balefully as the rope was pulled a little too snug about her wrists. They were surrounded by four guards, one on either side, one in front, and one behind, forming an armored diamond. As they left the dungeons and made their way up the cold stone hallways toward Arthur's Great Hall, they kept their chins raised and their eyes averted from the curious servants and passers-by that immediately turned on their heels and followed behind them, murmuring to each other.

The Hall was filled to overflowing with spectators who had come to see them defiled, or so it seemed to Jase and Tash. But in fact, the onlookers were simply curious to catch a glimpse of the two women who had beaten the pants off of all of the knights of Camelot, and had disguised themselves well enough so as to fool nearly everyone. As Jase looked around at the sea of faces around her, she noticed that the men looked stone-faced, but the women were staring at them like they were superheroes. One woman, a tall, matronly peasant with a bold pair of assessing eyes, actually nodded to Jase in a defiant way that made Jase feel a lot better – there was at least someone on their side.

Tash's gaze was directed straight ahead to the imposing man sitting on the dais. The way he was sitting, with his arms firmly planted on the armrests of his tall throne chair, showed that he definitely meant business, and the eyes that had disconcerted Tash so badly since she'd first seen him were hard pieces of granite set in a face that was just as stony.

But Tash wasn't about to let those eyes get to her today. She meant business, too. They were charged with deceit, a charge punishable by exile from the court. They were completely on the defensive; without attorney or affidavit, they had only their own words to prove their innocence. Tash had been up nearly all night trying to think of something convincing, and she thought she just might be able to pull it off, if they were in a mood to listen and not condemn on sight.

"This trial is in session," said the man to Arthur's left, a rather reedy individual with a great bush of gray hair and a pinched look around his nose and mouth. He dipped a quill in a pot of ink and poised it over a roll of parchment. "State your names for the record." Their full names were dutifully scratched down, and then the bailiff – at least that was what Tash took him to be – dropped the quill and looked pointedly at Arthur, who was staring at the two defendants...or rather, he was staring at Tash. This time, she met his stare equally.

"You are both charged with conniving to deceive the court," Arthur said finally. "How do you plead?"

Jase spoke for the two of them. "Milord, we plead 'not guilty.'" The room buzzed with whispers.

"How can you say that?" the bailiff asked haughtily. He rose to his feet, gesturing to them both. "You come to the court in armor, tell lies about your hideous disfigurement, and then proceed to besmirch the good names of our most valiant knights –"

"Objection, milord!" Tash interrupted in her best lawyer's voice, making Jase jump and stare at her. "The issue should not be joined until all sides of the argument are heard, including that from the defense!" Was this guy the plaintiff, then? How on earth did this damn court work?

The voices in the room rose from a buzz to heated discussion, and Arthur was forced to bang the handle of his dirk on the table before him until silence ensued. "The accused will stand silent until otherwise indicated," he said severely, and Tash obediently closed her mouth. She glanced sidelong at Jase, who wore her best "Give 'em hell, Tasher!" expression.

Time passed, and Tash held her tongue throughout the proceedings, although she was sorely tempted to tell the so-called witnesses who came forth that they were full of pure, unadulterated bullshit. She was thankful for Percival's defense, and grateful for the group of knights he gathered to speak on their behalf. However, Merlin was nowhere in sight, and his absence made her quite disgruntled, somewhat impatient, and not a little uneasy.

Jase, surprisingly, was silent by her side, listening to the witnesses. Tash hoped to God that this wasn't one of those "trial by ordeal" courts that called for impossible feats proving guilt or innocence, because she and Jase were screwed if it came to that. As the hours wore on, though, it became more and more clear that this seemed to be a skeletal version of a modern-day trial, even though major parts, like the jury, were missing. Tash crushed the many pictures her imagination was creating and obediently kept her silence...that is, until the sentence came.

As the final witness left the floor, silence fell over the room and Tash got the feeling that the proceedings were over. She glanced over at Jase, whose face was set in determined lines, and they both drew themselves up to receive their fates. Arthur conversed in quiet tones with the plaintiff/bailiff/stenographer/whoever the hell he was, and the sweat started to pop out on Tash's forehead. If only he would just get it over with! There was a final nod of the reedy man's head, and Arthur stood, centering his wintry stare on the condemned.

"In the light of the evidence provided by the Knights of the Round Table and the court itself, it is my duty to inform you that you have been found guilty as charged on all accounts. You have precisely three-quarters of an hour to gather your belongings and leave Camelot forever."

The room erupted. Shouts of protest came from Lot and his followers, who had deemed to see the women beaten, at least, for their trickery. Other forms of protest, which were in a more positive mien, rose from Leodegrantz, Percival, and Prince de la Cartageña. But over it all rose the voice of Jasin Támariz, who had remained silent throughout the events and wasn't going to stand for it anymore.

"This is pure, uncontrived horse shit!" she bellowed. "What do you mean, 'in the light of the evidence presented? What evidence? Are these guys such poor losers? Why don't you give us a chance to speak up?" The guards were surrounding them, pulling them back toward the entrance to the Hall. Jase butted against them angrily. "Tash, don't just stand there!" she barked at her friend, who was studying the king thoughtfully. "Kick the son of a bitch in the –"

"Milord Arthur!" Tash called. Her voice was barely heard over the din of the crowd, but Arthur's head turned sharply at the address, eyes searching for the hailer. Tash tried again, a little louder. "Milord Arthur, give me permission to speak! Please!"

Arthur's gaze finally settled on her, and she struggled to keep her gaze connected with his, even as the guard tried to turn her away.

"Hold." The command was clear and distinct, and the guards halted obediently. Tash pulled her arm free from her guard's grip and turned around to face the king.

His gaze was hooded as he studied her. "What do you want of me?"

"Your permission," Tash replied, "to speak on behalf of myself and Jasin."

He waved her plea aside. "Sentence has already been passed."

Tash took a step forward. "Yes, sentence has been passed...and very unfairly, if I have something to say about it."

The people near the front of the crowd were aware that something was going on at the foot of the dais, and shushing sounds began to fan throughout the throng like waves on a beach. Eventually the noise level dropped like someone had found the volume control and had slowly turned it down.

"Preposterous!" the fussy-old-fart-plaintiff sniffed. "Your sentence – "

"Now of course," Tash continued, ignoring the sputters of the man as if he were an annoying gnat, "there is the fact that you never have heard of the Magna Carta or even State's rights, being what they're worth in England, but I can vouch that our so-called crime is more of a misdemeanor than a felony. Since a lawyer was not appointed to us, as was our right, then I would like to act as one and speak on our own behalf – and for all purposes intended, perhaps you may see our point and be moved to make an amendment to your sentence."

"You have no rights!" the plaintiff thundered.

"Let her speak, you blustering pisspot!" a woman's voice called harshly, and a murmur of discontent swept through the crowd, punctuated by a few titters.

Arthur's cold gaze swept the area in the direction of the voice. "There will be no further outbursts from the floor," he declared, and turned to leave again.

"Is it not a king's prerogative to hear all sides of an argument?" Tash demanded, and Arthur's eyes met hers. "Is it not the reason holding court was invented in the first place? You're known as the High King of all Britain, and yet you won't listen to the least of your subjects as they try to defend themselves against empty accusations?"

"Wench, how dare you presume –" the plaintiff began again, and his words ended in a muffled splutter of outrage as a heel of bread sailed from somewhere in the crowd and hit the side of his ear, twisting his wig over his face. More titters erupted from the crowd. Jase looked around, trying to find where the bread had come from, and her eyes met those of the matronly peasant woman who had silently given her courage at the start of the trial. The woman smiled faintly, and quickly and quietly dispatched an equally large servant –hastily bundling what looked like a broken bread loaf into her apron – from the room. Meanwhile, Tash and Arthur were still glaring at one another, neither giving quarter.

At this time, Leodegrantz rose to his feet and stepped forward. "Milord Arthur, your law does allow appeal against unlawful imprisonment or exile."

Arthur's gaze shifted. "I'm well aware of the law, Leo," he said irritably.

Leodegrantz nodded. "Then I ask that you grant my request for the woman's tale to be told, so that you, and we all, can judge cleanly and fairly."

Arthur studied him a minute, then appeared to sigh in resignation. "Oh, very well." He gestured to the plaintiff, who had rearranged his wig, and sat back down in his chair. He nodded at Tash. "Speak."

Tash nodded. "Thank you, milord." She moved to the foot of the dais, recalling how she used to hide in her father's closet and watch as he gave his defense to her mother's vanity mirror. "As taught to us by your own benefactress, the Lady of the Lake – he who is hailed as a true knight has everlasting stamina, undying nobility, loyalty to the king they serve, and a lion's share of strength. The vows of your Knights say as such." She indicated herself and Jase. "I would like you to look at us both and recall how we were before we shed our armor. We were admired, we were respected, we were even hailed as legends long before we came here. We bested your knights in mock battle – not in trickery or so-called 'witchcraft,' but in true combat. But now that we have removed our helms and have shown what lies beneath our metal skins, all you see are two women – individuals who are, by your jaded views, the weaker sex, belonging in a kitchen, a sewing room, or a birthing chamber."

She directed her gaze to the crowd. "Have any of you ever considered the stamina a woman has to have in order to stand for hours over a hot stove and prepare food for a hundred hungry men? Have you considered the amount of loyalty a woman carries as she paces the floor night after night waiting for her husband to return from a year-long battle, rejecting all advances from other men who have tried to seduce her? Have you considered the strength and courage it takes to bring a child to birth – the months of waiting, the hours of agony – just to pass on the family name?"

The room was silent, every eye on the woman standing at the foot of the dais. "In short," Tash pressed, "a woman has just as much as a knight – strength, stamina, and loyalty. Jasin and I just chose to redistribute ours in a different fashion. After all, it takes some strength to wrestle with the 150-pound pull on a six-foot ash bow, and it takes some stamina to stay ahorse after being skewered by a huge oaken lance."

"What nonsense, woman!" Fussy Old Plaintiff Git barked rudely. "'Tis written in God's Book that the evil of Woman caused the flight from the Garden. You are responsible for man's downfall, and therefore must suffer the consequences."

"And if men are so strong, then why couldn't Adam have prevented Eve from picking the apple?" Tash countered. "Was it really the woman's fault?" The man frowned at her, but shut up. Tash turned back to Arthur, who was watching her solicitously. "I ask you, milord – are we being exiled for besting your knights and becoming champions all within the limits of the laws of knighthood? Or are we being sentenced because we did these things in these 'evil' guises? Is it simply understood that women are forbidden from combat at the games, or is there a written law? If there is, Sire, than by your written law we are guilty and we have no defense. But I believe that what is truly at stake here is simply a blow to the male ego." She raised her hands in emphasis. "I need to make my meaning plain here: We are not here to usurp. We wore the armor because we wanted a fair chance, and if you had seen us as we were, there would have been no chance."

"Are you then admitting to the crime of deceit?" Snivelly Plaintiff asked.

"Are you telling me, sir, that you would have allowed us to partake in the games just as we were?" Tash countered boldly.

"Of course not!"

Tash smiled faintly. "I rest my case, then."

"Prejudiced asshole," Jase muttered under her breath.

Tash stepped toward the dais. "In closure, milord Arthur, call our conduct what you will. If you feel we've deceived you, that our biggest crime here is trickery, then dismiss us and we'll say no more about it. But before you deem us the criminals you think us to be, you must understand that we are here to join, to partake, to live among the great ones of Camelot...to be one of you. Just because we are female does not mean we are faithless, insincere, or disloyal."

The crowd burst into murmurs, and Tash looked over her shoulder to gauge their response. The men who had looked so grim and stony when she and Jase had entered the room now looked uncertain, and some of the shyer women were smiling openly. Jase motioned for her to continue. Emboldened by such confidence, Tash turned back to Arthur. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes had lost their wintry frost and he was studying her with interest.

Tash fired her last arrow into the target. "Milord, from what I have been taught, there is no such law that forbids women from participating in the games. Keep in mind that Jasin and I have not broken even the simplest of laws." She ticked them off on her fingers (which would have been more effective if her hands had not been tied, but she managed). "Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." Here she glanced at Lot, who sneered at her. "I beg you to reconsider, milord," Tash finished, "and I ask you again...can you – any of you – honestly say we have done wrong?" She stepped back and dropped her head in a short bow. "Do with us as you will, but please make your decision come from justice, not jealousy."

A pin could have dropped in the room and its bouncing would have been heard in the furthest corners. Arthur brought a hand to his chin and rubbed it absently as he watched the woman before him. He'd been ready to exile them on the spot as soon as he saw them walk into the room, anything to get this flame-haired temptress – what was her name? Tatiana, that was it – out of his sight and out of his mind. When he had passed the sentence on them, he'd felt more in control of himself than he had in months. But it hadn't lasted, of course. As soon as she had asked permission to speak, he felt a stab of doubt pierce his king/judge demeanor, and that doubt incited him to grant her quarter. Now his former certainty lay in tatters, because despite the fact that she and her friend had indeed participated in deception, she had presented a very astute and uncomfortably sound testimony in their defense. His alter ego, the rake, triumphantly pointed out that he was defeated by a show of both brains and beauty, while his rational mind continued to pick at the woman's words, even though he knew deep down that he was in the wrong and she was most definitely in the right.

A lovely name, Tatiana...very fitting for her. He couldn't bring himself to stand up and renounce his sentence. Not just yet.

The door at the end of the room suddenly burst open, saving him from an immediate decision, and a squire bolted in, oblivious to all eyes that were suddenly focused on him. His own eyes were so wide with terror that he seemed to have no eyelids at all. He pelted toward the dais, then fell to his knees and practically slid to a stop before the king, not waiting to be acknowledged.

"Milord!" he cried. "Sir Bors has returned from his sojourn! He...he's..." The squire's voice faltered, but a woman's scream from the courtyard finished the sentence. There was only a short, shocked hesitation before the room began to clear in waves, curiosity making them push against the door in clumps that wouldn't fit through all at once. Arthur stood, gestured for the guards to stand watch over the two women, and he ran to the door, his big shoulders pushing the spectators aside like they were rag dolls. The knights followed in his wake until they were all just outside, and only then did they stop to stare in horror at the sight before them.

Bors lay crumpled in a heap just within the courtyard gates, surrounded by a sickly orange-green glow that shifted over him like a living thing. Within the glow, the once noble man was nothing but a bloody pulp of quivering flesh and bone that should have been dead days ago.

Arthur had killed thousands of men in battle and had seen sights gruesome enough to turn the stomach of a maggot, but nothing in all his war years had ever prepared him for this. A young squire standing next to him reached out as a spasm rocked Bors's shattered body, making him howl in pain.

"Don't touch him!" a voice commanded sharply, causing the squire to jerk his arm back and look up into Merlin's blazing black eyes. He pulled the boy back from Bors, gesturing to everyone nearby to clear a space.

"What in the name of God is it?" Gawaine asked, his face ashen.

"Cruentus Consindo," Merlin said grimly, his normally smooth features distorted with fury. "A torture spell. If you touch him, it will kill him and then transfer to you in a matter of seconds."

"Who –" Arthur began, his expression thunderous, but a choked wheezing from Bors interrupted him.

"Milord –" Bors gasped, his voice hoarse from screaming, "Milord, beware! Lot – Lot wants Camelot! Wants war –" He jerked violently as his body went into a seizure and Merlin shoved Arthur back just in time to avoid the flailing limbs.

"Sweet Jesus," Arthur snapped. "Answers, Merlin. Who has this type of power?"

Merlin shook his head. "Deduction would point to Morgan, but I had no idea she had gotten this powerful."

There was motion at the edge of the crowd, and Lancelot and Cai brought the struggling King of Lothian into view. The man had apparently tried to flee as soon as the news of Bors' plight had been announced. There was no denying Bors' accusation in the face of such evidence, especially since the expression on Lot's face also showed no protest, no cause for innocence. He looked almost smug. That smugness in the presence of Bors' agony was proof enough for Arthur.

"What is this?" the king asked menacingly. "Miscreant, what have you done?"

"Only what has been predicted," Lot replied.

Arthur was in no mood for riddles. "Do not play the prophet with me, man. I have overlooked most of your abhorrences in the past, but this –"

"Is none of my doing," Lot interrupted smoothly. "But it could be. Hear my terms, Arthur, and you may be spared the same fate. Grant me the rule of Camelot, the lives of those two witches who have deceived us, and the control of the Knights of the Round Table, and I will let you live." The last few words of Lot's ridiculous speech were drowned out by derisive laughter from the people around him.

Arthur stared at Lot in fascination. One corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Fine words in the face of such company," he said, though the tone of his voice told Lot he thought otherwise. "Just what makes you believe I will agree to these terms?"

"You're no king," Lot jeered. "You're just a whoremonger, only fit for impregnating sluts and peasants."

Cai's arm wrapped hard around Lot's throat, cutting off the words. "Milord Arthur," he cried, "let me take this bastard and –"

"Peace, Cai," Arthur said, "Simple words should not bring a warrior into such a passion." He directed his attention back to Lot. "Just yesterday you accused two people of deceit and ordered them burnt at the stake as witches, while all along you have carried the greater sin of treason upon your soul."

"'Tis you who speak of treason!" Lot snarled, straining against Cai's hold. "I speak of salvation! Your stupidity will mean the end of England! I will sit on high and rule from the heart of the Dragons themselves!"

Arthur snorted in disgust. "You're mad." At this quiet statement, Lot spit hard in his ruler's face. The blob of phlegm struck Arthur between his eyes. He didn't flinch, but his eyes hardened. Very slowly he reached up, wiped the offending matter away, and motioned to the guards.

Lot's face twisted into a savage expression of triumph. "The Red Dragon will fall," he howled. "Look on your last days, minions of Camelot! Lothian will plunder and defeat, and one day rule!"

"Shut up!" Cai snapped, bashing Lot in the mouth with his gauntlet. Blood streamed from Lot's lip, and as he was dragged away, Arthur noticed the snarl on his face had changed to a broad grin.

♦ ♦ ♦

As soon as the guards had left their sides, Merlin ran to the two women and loosened their bonds. They rubbed their wrists to restore the circulation.

"Where have you been?" Jase hissed. "Jesus Christ, you certainly pick your times to disappear!"

"Now is your chance," Merlin said in a low voice.

"Chance for what?"

Merlin gestured to Bors. "Free him."

They stared at him in horror. "Are you insane?" Jase gasped. "We don't have the ability to do that!"

Merlin took Tash's wrist in a firm grip. "You do. You can break it. You learned how to counteract strong spells. Remember?"

"What is this, a test?" Tash hissed. "You can't be serious! For God's sake, we're talking about wresting certain death off of a spellbound man! Have you lost your mind?"

"I have not," the necromancer replied firmly. "You sparked some doubt in Arthur a few minutes ago. There's no time, girl. Finish it."

Frantically Jase and Tash tried to recall Vivian's teachings as they watched Bors writhe through another spasm of pain, and Tash shook her head mutely.

Merlin grabbed both of them hard by the shoulders. "Stop it. Do not start doubting yourselves now. You've broken spells like this before. The tide has turned for you. Do not let it turn back. If you're going to get the support of the crowd you must act now."

The speech had the right effect, and Tash took a deep breath, stabilizing her nerves. Merlin was right. If there was an opportunity to turn the tables completely to their side, now was the time. "All right," she said. "Let's do it."

"What? Wait a minute!" Jase hissed. "This is a real torture spell! We're no experts! We're screwed if we kill him!"

"We're screwed anyhow, remember?" Tash replied harshly. "Merlin's right; this is our only chance to stay here! If we don't at least try, he's going to die and we're out of here! We can do this!"

Merlin had been watching Bors while the two argued, and he finally stepped between them. "You must tell me now if you cannot handle this task. Bors cannot last much longer."

Tash glared at him and her jaw worked with the things she wanted to say, but instead she pushed up her sleeves and nodded to her friend, her jaw set. "Okay, Jase, let's do it."

Both women moved hesitantly toward the incapacitated knight. They had to shove their way through the morbidly curious crowd, but very few realized who they were until they were well past them. Giving each other a solemn look they parted and stood on either side of the rotting knight.

"Here!" Leodegrantz moved forward in alarm. "What are you doing? Get away, both of you!" His shout swiveled several heads in their direction, and hands reached out to grab them.

"Stop!" Merlin thundered. "Let them pass!"

The crowd murmured warily and Arthur turned sharply to his counselor. "What are you saying?"

"You will see," Merlin replied. "Let them work."

"Are you mad, man? They –"

"Let them work, I said!" Merlin roared. "If you were going to punish them with banishment anyhow, their welfare is no longer a concern of yours! Now back, all of you!"

Merlin's order had the desired effect, and the knights who had been reaching for the women dropped their arms and stepped back. Merlin held Arthur's shoulder in a firm grip, and he nodded at Jase and Tash.

Now or never.

Bors had ceased convulsing and now lay in an unmoving heap. They dropped to their knees, gave each other one last look, and raised clenched fists together in an arch over the fallen knight. Their eyes slid shut in concentration. A faint blue glow emanated from Jase's fists, and a similar glow came from Tash's, only it was green. As they drew their hands apart, the combined power remained between them in a brilliant blue and green net that set off sparks and arcs of lightning as it lengthened.

Merlin nodded to himself in satisfaction as the crowd stared in silence, amazement evident on every face. They had to realize now that these two women were special. If they only knew the real truth! His eyes slid over to the king and the Companions, and he noted with some amusement that the earlier doubt which had been suffused in each expression was gone. In its place were curiosity, amazement, and not a little concern.

Tash and Jase lowered their hands to the glow surrounding Bors' body, and there was a brilliant flash as the blue-green light contacted with the orange light. Bors suddenly jerked to his knees like a puppet on a myriad of strings and he screamed, his back arching strongly. His arms flung out momentarily, the skin and flesh hanging like melted wax from his partially exposed bones. Then he collapsed like a rag doll, unconscious, and there was a sizzling sound like exploding circuitry. Immediately the orange light flared and darted like quicksilver up the women's arms, pushing their combined forces before it like bunching material.

Merlin's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step forward. This spell was strong; it was resisting the mantle. In doing so, it was transferring itself onto the two who were trying desperately to fight it. Damn! At this stage he couldn't help them...they had to destroy it themselves or be destroyed in the process.

Concentrate! he urged them silently. Focus!

Tash was enveloped in an agony she'd never experienced as the flesh on the backs of her hands bubbled, split, and peeled away. She was aware of something pushing at her mind as well, a black heel that tried to grind her cerebellum beneath it. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and mentally shoved with all her strength, pushing the heel away from her consciousness. Inch by inch, orange was swallowed up by blue-green and the skin drew back together, but not for long. The orange glow suddenly doubled in intensity and instantly pushed to her elbows, ripping skin and muscle. Blood ran from her lip as she bit through it to hold back a scream of agony. She had to concentrate! She couldn't give into this spell or she would be lost.

[Foolish little spawnling,] a dark voice suddenly whispered inside her head, [do you really think someone as puny as you can defeat me?]

Jase, in agony herself, had shut her eyes the minute the glow had pulled back her skin, knowing the sight of her own blood would make her hysterical, and she didn't have time to be hysterical. The black thing was picking at her awareness as well, whispering things she couldn't understand but frightening her all the same. She kept up a steady cerebral push, holding the attacker at bay. A strangled moan from Tash caused her to slit her eyes open, and the sight of her mangled flesh made her gasp sharply.

[Oh, that's nothing, my dear,] the dark voice whispered in Jase's mind. [Watch this.] Lured by her lack of concentration, the spell took the initiative and jumped to her armpits, opening fresh lesions across her shoulders and arms. Seeing this, Jase's concentration went out the window completely and she howled as the spell snapped the bones of her forearm in triumph. A scream burst from Tash, followed by the systematic popping of each joint in her fingers.

The crowd was deathly still, appalled that they were witness to such carnage. They looked to Merlin, to the king, to do something, anything to free the three prisoners from this torture. But Merlin stood and watched, holding back the king, Lancelot, Percival, and others who wanted to dart forward and pull the women back from a horrible death.

Floundering in a pool of excruciating pain, yet still finding the determination within her to push down the destructive force, Jase found the strength to send up a desperate prayer. Help me! she implored silently. If I'm chosen for this task, then for God's sake, tell me what to do! The dark power within her surged with anger at the plea. Her elbow snapped under the force of the spell and she cried out hoarsely.

Suddenly the darkness receded, walled off by the blinding white light that had blazed through her consciousness in Avalon. But this time Jase felt no pain from its intrusion, for she was too wrapped up in her body's torment.

[Block the pain, daughter,] the now-familiar voice urged gently. [Refuse it.]

Jase screamed again as her mangled arms were meticulously popped out of joint. She tried to ask how to block the pain, how to focus, but the words wouldn't come. Tears ran down her face, mingling with the blood on her chin and mouth.

[Repeat what I tell you,] the calm voice insisted. Jase tried to question some more, then felt her eyes closing under the calm discipline in the voice.

"Jase, no!" Tash sobbed, seeing Jase's languishing state. "Don't stop! Fight it!" Jase didn't answer; her eyes were shut and her lips moved soundlessly. The orange glow, sensing victory, pressed onward up toward Tash's neck. "Jase!" she screamed, frantically beating the spell back as it writhed just under her collarbones.

Abruptly, Tash's own consciousness was flooded with bright, soothing light, chasing the dark presence away from her as well. [Control, my child. Listen...] Another voice, smooth and deep and comforting, whispered calmly through Tash's mind, and she recognized the voice of the green Dragon from her dreams. She eventually stopped struggling and obeyed, slipping into the same state as Jase. Like an old record, she began to chant.

At the sidelines, Percival strained against Merlin's grip. "Are you going to just stand there and let them die?" he said angrily.

"Wait," Merlin commanded, his eyes narrowing as he watched the combatants.

"I've waited long enough!" Percival cried, drawing his sword. Arthur put a hand on his arm, stilling him.

"Merlin," the king warned dispassionately, "tell me something positive or we shall disarm this spell our own way."

Merlin's eyes slid shut for a few seconds as he concentrated and Arthur, losing patience, turned to the knights behind him. "Very well. Gawaine –"

Merlin's eyes snapped open. "Father!"

"What?" Arthur looked over his shoulder.

Merlin leaned forward expectantly. "Dragons," he murmured. "Be still." Arthur followed his gaze, as did the others.

Covered with their own blood, Jase and Tash still knelt on either side of Bors, all three now completely surrounded with the same orange glow. But Jase and Tash had no further injuries than the ones on their mutilated arms. They were no longer struggling and screaming in agony. Their heads were bowed, and their lips moved like they were chanting something, swaying slightly from side to side to music that only they could hear. Then their heads slowly came up, and those nearest to see the flushed faces clearly stepped back in shock.

Their eyes were no longer Human. Reptilian split-pupiled orbs stared straight ahead as the two women continued to sway back and forth, their lips still moving silently.

"Dragonspawn!" someone exclaimed. "Look! They are Dragonspawn!" Voices rose and fell as the word was passed, and the crowd pressed forward to see the truth for themselves.

"Back!" Merlin ordered loudly. "Stay back, good people, stay back from the control of the spell! Let them finish their work!"

The crowd obeyed, murmuring all the while. Dragonspawn! Those born of the respected Dragon line were few and far between. If these two were born of that line, then maybe there was a chance that Sir Bors could be saved.

"Did you know this all along?" Arthur demanded.

"I did."

"My God, man, you could have said something!"

"No." Merlin shook his head. "'It was not my place, Arthur; their work stems from a higher power. And anyhow, 'tis not my place to meddle, remember."

Arthur snorted at that last remark, but secretly he was relieved. There was always an explanation for someone's actions. Clenching his teeth together, he watched the two women continue to fight. Dragonspawn or not, if something wasn't done soon...

Arthur never finished his thought. The blue-green light that had surrounded the women's fists earlier had returned, flaring brighter than before inside the sickly orange glow. Their arms dangled at odd angles, but the power within them enabled them to hold their damaged limbs aloft. The quiet chant that they had begun became audible for the first time, a language unknown to everyone listening. Once again the energy net formed between them. But this time, the orange glow was sucked into the net, disseminating into flashing threads of color. The threads of orange and blue-green intertwined like a tapestry weaving, each field fighting for dominance. As one, the women slowly raised their broken arms, their movements precisely measured, as if something or someone else were directing them. As their arms lifted, the blanket of light lifted as well, leaving them and Sir Bors totally unmarred; their wounds and broken bones had healed the instant the spell had been removed.

The writhing bundle of orange and blue-green light still pulsed within the boundaries of the women's clenched fists. Both got to their feet slowly, still chanting, still moving like timed automatons, and their arms out full length. The chant rose to a shout, until one word was cried aloud in unison and their palms flung open together. A brilliant burst of deep blue flared from each of Jase's hands, and a burst of emerald green flared from each of Tash's. The four balls of light met in the center of the pulsing blanket of energies, sparking like a fireworks show gone awry. A crescendo of thunder boomed and the blanket disintegrated into a shower of twinkling blue and green particles that rained down harmlessly onto Bors' still body.

The forces that had been directing Jase and Tash abruptly released their holds and they both dropped unconscious to the ground. That was the signal for the crowd to come alive. They surged forward, everyone talking at once, everyone wanting to take a good look at these brave saviors who had challenged the work of Hell and had won. The blood of the ancient Dragon line surely ran in their veins. And something else ran in them as well, something all-powerful. Who were they, really?

Lancelot pushed through the crowd, picked up Jase's still form, and bore her away without a word. The crowd watched with interest. Even though the woman he carried had beaten him soundly in the tournament, he had come forward with others from the Round Table to offer defense for the two accused. In the eyes of the majority, Lancelot was still the champion of Camelot, even though everyone would now look at both women as heroes of another sort. Gaheris and Gawaine, their opposition forgotten for the moment, carried Bors behind Merlin. Percival followed them, carrying Tash, and behind him, walking slowly and thoughtfully, came the king.

Arthur's steps echoed through the halls as he made his way toward his tactical chamber, turning over the morning's events in his mind. If the women's trial had taken place immediately after the games instead of today, Sir Bors surely would have died and Lot would have been long gone, back to his own land and his destructive plot to ruin Camelot. He would have been found out eventually, of course, but still it would have been too late.

He came to a decision as he closed the door behind him. These women didn't deserve exile. They deserved pardons. And if they were still determined to fight as knights, then he would allow them that right, with some boundaries. After all, they had shown that a woman did indeed have just as many attributes as a knight, even if they did exhibit them differently.

As he began to sift through some of Lot's deeds, he paused, suddenly wondering if his decision had been swayed in any way by the fact that he secretly wanted the red-haired woman to stay.

Chapter 24

#  A Prelude to War

Passion governs, and she never governs wisely.

– John Adams

The dungeon was rather noisy tonight, the young prison guard decided, glancing down the hallway to the cell where the one lone prisoner was kept. One would think that a king would behave with more dignity. But then again, this was King Lot, who had a reputation for several things, but not for being noble. The guard listened to threats of what would happen to all of them if the prisoner got free; finally, with a shrug, he walked quietly down to the particular cell and slammed his pike against the door. There were a few seconds of startled silence before the threats and howls continued, this time with epithets aimed in his direction. The guard shook his head in disgust and continued on his rounds.

Meanwhile, many levels above the dungeon, the noise was far louder than that from the treacherous king. The knights were all gathered in Arthur's tactical solar, arguing at the tops of their lungs. The noise was quite terrific. The Hall of the Round Table would have been a more ideal place to hear shouting, but Arthur had ordained that the Hall was to be used specifically for calm discussions – everyone with swords sheathed, everyone bound in brotherhood. Only now, the brotherhood was divided into pro-Lot and anti-Lot arguments. Everyone had a point of view on the subject and everyone was voicing that view at the same time. Tash and Jase, neatly recovered from their ordeal, had been given permission to sit in on the meeting/argument, and both now wished they'd never asked to voice an opinion. Their opinions couldn't be heard over this din.

"Did you ever hear such a racket?" Jase asked in disgust. She leaned back in her chair, balancing on two legs against the wall. "What happened to all that broo-ha-ha about these guys solving problems in unison?"

"Consider it another bunch of hooey," Tash replied. "Remind me to shake the crap out of you the next time you suggest sitting in on one of these meetings." She drank down the remainder of the ale she had been holding. "Okay, I'm not putting up with this any longer." She stood up and slammed her heavy pewter tankard against the table. "HEY!" she shouted.

It had the desired result. Everyone in the room stopped in mid-sentence and glared at them. Tash immediately felt like a little kid who had interrupted a big executive meeting for a particularly stupid reason, like wanting a glass of water.

"Is there something you want to say?" Arthur asked, his gaze riveting her to the floor.

Tash turned red, as always, under the intensity of his stare, but nodded. "Yes, milord. First off, you need a gavel." She chuckled, but stopped quickly when the others didn't, and cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Anyhow, screaming at each other like banshees is getting you nowhere. Why do you argue so on such a matter? It's all too obvious that Lot has done something wrong."

"Exactly," Jase put in before Arthur could reply. "Otherwise, Sir Bors would not have returned to Camelot in the state he was in. And I am pretty certain that it was never intended for him to return to warn us."

"That is my argument as well," said Lancelot, and the room immediately exploded into shouts again. Tash shook her head and plopped back down in her chair. The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched and he gestured at the others. Eventually the shouts died down again.

"Everyone has heard Lot's words," Lancelot stated as soon as it was quiet enough. "Why are we trying to make excuses for a man who literally spit in the face of our High King?"

"He is still the king of his own land," a voice said.

"In other words," Jase countered, "he can act like a petty terrorist and have temper tantrums because he has a fancy title and crown?" The knights looked at each other, bemused. "Oh, come on. Can't you see the man is against all of you?"

"How can you be so sure, woman?" challenged Agravaine, rising up from his seat. "You have no proof beyond the story of a man under a spell. The information he had could be concocted from his own hatreds. It could have been planted with the spell. How do you know Lot is the one at fault?"

Because it's been written down for centuries, Jase wanted to shout.

"You saw him. You heard him. He all but threatened to kill the king outright. How can you not call that treason?" The knights began to mutter ominously, but Jase plowed on. "Sir Agravaine, if you take in a dog and it continually bites you, you get rid of it. Lot has bitten hard enough to draw blood. It's time to throw him out before he causes some real damage."

"He was right about you," Agravaine sneered. "You're the dog here, bitch."

"Wise up, prick," Jase snapped. "Your father's a traitor, and that's all there is to it."

"You –" Agravaine took two steps toward Jase and she rose to meet him. Immediately Tash moved forward to grab Jase by the shoulder, and Leodegrantz and Percival took Agravaine by the arms.

"No brawling in the King's solar, you young fool," Leodegrantz ordered, cuffing Agravaine sharply. Though twice the size of the older knight, Agravaine looked like a sullen little boy as he glared at Jase, then turned and stomped from the room.

"Are there any other disputes over King Lot's guilt or innocence?" Arthur asked from his corner of the room. When no one responded, he continued. "Very well, then. The penalty for treason is either banishment or execution. I will announce my decision later. Thank you, gentlemen." Dismissed, the throng filtered slowly out of the room to attend to their own matters.

"I don't envy him," Tash said softly, looking over her shoulder at Arthur's back. "He's got a hell of a decision to make, and he's going to take heat for it either way." She frowned suddenly. "Why do I get the feeling that we just got out of this by the skin of our teeth? And moreso, why do I feel that this isn't going to solve a thing?"

"Don't know, Tasher," Jase replied. "All I know is that it's a good thing my tongue works when Arthur speaks to me." Tash punched her hard on the shoulder and they disappeared down the hall, leaving the High King of England to his unpleasant task.

♦ ♦ ♦

The executioner stood like granite, his black hood hiding his face from the eyes of the world. Only a select few knew the man's identity and that was the way it was supposed to be. Carefully, he checked over the instrument of his craft – a simple rope with a knotted loop, the sight of which struck fear into the hearts of the most stalwart knights.

It had taken Arthur three days to decide on Lot's fate. Hastiness was not part of his nature, but fury certainly was, and he had surpassed the time limit he had given himself in order to keep anger from clouding his judgment. His final decision was met with nods of support from his council. No one stood to refute him this time; Agravaine had disappeared from the court the night before, his apartments empty.

Tash and Jase stood on the curtain wall with Percival, Leodegrantz, and the Dragon called Brindle, watching the preparations. The courtyard around the gallows was thronged with people. Such executions had become rare, and the hanging of a royal or a noble had not been seen since Arthur had claimed the throne; therefore, this almost counted as a holiday for the peasantry. Tash, on the other hand, wasn't so enthralled.

"This is barbaric," she muttered.

Jase nodded agreement. "But it keeps the prison population low," she pointed out, "and it's a cure for repeat offenders."

"I'll give you that," Tash agreed reluctantly, "but it's still a crude –"

"It's necessary, Lady Tatiana," Leodegrantz interrupted. "Those found guilty of abhorrent crimes get what they deserve."

"Hanging is too good for him," the Dragon Brindle growled. "He should be beheaded."

"God, no," Tash countered, "that would be worse than watching this."

"Hush," Jase said, as Arthur appeared at the battlements with his knights surrounding him. A door opened directly beneath him and Lot appeared, his hands bound behind his back. He certainly was a sight to behold – four days of howling and screaming gave his eyes a feral, insane look and his long black hair was matted and filthy. The morning sun caught a line of drool hanging from the side of his lip. If there was ever any doubt from anyone that this was a madman, there was no doubt anymore.

The guard behind the fallen ruler of Lothian – the same guard who had tolerated the prisoner's howls for what seemed like eons in the dungeons – gave Lot a shove with the blunt end of his pike, sending him staggering forward. Lot nearly fell on his face, but managed to keep his footing and began cursing the guard, the castle, and all of Camelot with a hoarse, cracked voice. Immediately the crowd came alive, and the roar they made nearly caused Jase to jump out of her skin. Lot was pelted with rotten vegetables as he made his way to the gallows, and he rained threats on the nearest peasants as he passed. If this is a noble man, Jase thought sourly, then I'm Bozo the Clown.

The procession to the gallows lasted only a few minutes. When Lot was in place with the rough hemp loop around his neck, Arthur stepped forward, arms raised for silence. The crowd complied, and Arthur glared down at the prisoner.

"Well, Lot," he called, "have you any last words, regrets, or confessions before your sentence is carried out?"

Lot's eyes blazed. "You are a fool!" he shouted. "Those witch women have addled half of your puny brain, and that crazy wizard has addled the other half! Hang me to amuse yourself, if you must, but I warn you – I shall only become more powerful! Take heed!"

Arthur ignored the threat and motioned to the executioner's assistant, who stepped forward with a hood of burlap. He pulled the hood over Lot's head, but not before Jase caught the expression on Lot's face. It was an expression of anticipation, and Jase immediately felt that Lot was waiting for something to happen. She glanced around the courtyard, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Everything seemed to be...wait. Her sharp eyes caught movement at the edge of the courtyard gate. She narrowed her eyes, staring, and was rewarded with a glimpse of a helmeted head peeking around the wall. Jase started in shock. That was not the helmet of a knight of Camelot!

As the idea registered in Jase's mind, the hangman pulled the lever that opened the trapdoor beneath Lot's feet. As Lot began to fall, the hangman's assistant yanked a short but undeniably sharp sword from his robes and cut the rope in two with one powerful slice, all in a move that was almost too fast to see. Lot plunged all the way to the ground, choking and gasping for breath, and the assistant pulled off his own hood to reveal the face of Agravaine. "To arms, men of Orkney!" he roared, and the helmeted man Jase had just eyed at the gate burst into the courtyard, followed by a small army of lumbering Norse barbarians on horseback – men known to be loyal to Orkney and Morgan le Fey.

Pandemonium ensued. Arthur and his knights scattered from the battlements like sand in a storm, and the battle was joined. Peasants yelled and shrieked as they were cut down by the heavy double-edged axes carried by the Norsemen. Arrows flew from the loopholes around the courtyard and from the curtain wall, where Tash and Percival were shooting like mad. The two men who were pulling Lot from underneath the gallows were hit by Arthur's archers, and Tash was trying in vain to locate Agravaine. Treacherous bastard! He was no better than his father! There he was, grappling with the hangman on the gallows. Tash drew back, sighted, and let the arrow fly right toward Agravaine's exposed back, but at the last minute, Agravaine whipped around with the hangman in a strangle hold, using him as a shield. Tash's arrow hit the unfortunate man in the solar plexus, killing him instantly. Infuriated, Tash swore a blue streak before grabbing another arrow.

Agravaine dropped his Human shield and jumped from the gallows, where he hauled his fallen father to his feet, threw him over his shoulder, and plowed through the crowd, cutting down anything in his path.

Jase, meanwhile, had sprinted from the curtain wall up to the parapets, her eyes on Agravaine and his cronies. From her position, she could see a small bundle of the invaders, Lot with them, on horses outside the walls, waiting for the retreat signal. It crossed her mind that their escape could be barred. She had to get to Tash and Percival. They could stop them! She turned to run back down the wall-walk, and was jolted by the sight of Lancelot running hell-bent-for-leather right toward her. With a small shriek of surprise, she darted out of the way, just in time to watch Lancelot run toward the edge of the parapet and dive off. Jase gasped in horror and ran to the edge, joined by Tash and Percival, who had been running behind Lancelot. They saw the knight hanging from the drawbridge chain, which he slid down effortlessly and dropped neatly on the other side of the moat.

"Jesus," Tash gasped. "Did you see that?"

"Having eyes, yes, I did," Jase snapped.

Tash pointed. "There's the rest of them out by the gate. Percival saw them and was going to warn the King, when he saw Lancelot coming up the hall. Apparently he saw the same thing and was going to perform yonder miracle to get outside the courtyard walls. Geez, how the hell did he manage that without killing himself?"

Jase didn't bother to ask. She should have known Lancelot would see it all so clearly. She immediately climbed to the top of the parapet, calculating the jump to the drawbridge chain. God, it looked awfully high! But if he could do it...She donned her armor and drew a deep breath.

"Jase! What the hell are you doing!? Get down, you idiot!" Tash grappled for her crazy friend, and Jase kicked backward to knock off her hands, but in doing so leaned forward, and the weight of her armor did the rest. With a long, drawn-out "Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" Jase plummeted from the parapet, not so gracefully as Lancelot, but just as fast. She grabbed frantically for anything to stop the fall and managed to hook one arm around the drawbridge chain. The pain slammed through her shoulder as she defied the pull of gravity with just one limb, but she managed to slide down the chain like she was on a pulley until she reached the ground. And this was what she saw.

The lad who had tried to lower the portcullis and keep the invaders in the courtyard had been killed by a well-thrown double axe, and the last few horses were sprinting from the courtyard. Agravaine was slashing anything in his path, and managed to get to the gate opening. He started across the bridge for his horse and stopped dead as he saw Lancelot sitting in the saddle. Jase jumped to one side, almost losing her footing, but she managed to stay on the bridge and got behind Agravaine as he turned to run the other way. Arthur, Gawaine, and Leodegrantz came up behind her.

Lancelot rode up on Agravaine's horse. "Scum," he said softly, "you shall pay dearly for this." Agravaine knew what that meant. He drew himself to his full height and waited as Lancelot drew his sword and raised it to deliver the death blow. Suddenly there was a high-pitched sound – wheet! – and a black Norse arrow buried itself in Lancelot's tricep. He dropped his sword, clutched at the arrow, and rolled from the horse. Agravaine sprang into action, leaping for the empty saddle. Arthur, Gawaine, and Leodegrantz immediately charged forward to intercept. Instantly the air was full of arrows from another group of Norsemen in the trees nearby. Cursing, Arthur and Leodegrantz ducked behind the courtyard wall as Gawaine managed to drag Lancelot to safety.

Just as quickly, the arrows stopped, but they had done their work. Agravaine, Lot, and the others were gone. Arthur's knights had not been fast enough to block their escape.

"Damn," Arthur swore softly.

"They had surprise on their side," Leodegrantz said in disgust. "I should have expected such from one like Lot."

Arthur looked grimly around the courtyard – the wounded and dead peasants, the dead Norsemen, and the now-empty gallows – and drew a hand through his hair. If he'd not made this a public execution, so many would not have wasted their lives. And Lot would no longer be a threat. But if wishes were horses...

"Where is Lancelot?" he asked.

"Here, milord," Lancelot answered, coming to Arthur's side, followed by Gawaine.

"How bad is it?" Arthur asked, studying Lancelot's arm. The arrow had been removed and was now wrapped with a piece of cloth torn from Gawaine's cape.

"Bad enough to put me out of commission for a bit," Lancelot admitted, but he was interrupted by Tash's voice as she sprinted into the courtyard, Percival behind her.

"Jase! Where's Jase?" she asked. Kings and knights looked at each other, baffled, and then remembered that the woman Jasin had been standing in front of them before the Norsemen started shooting. Tash saw the looks on their faces and ran out the gate to the bridge. "Jase!" she shouted, "where are you?"

"I'm down here, Tasher!" The answer came from under Tash's feet. Tash ran to the edge of the bridge to see Jase pulling herself out of the moat onto the bank.

"People are getting shot at with arrows and you decide to take a swim?" Tash asked in disgust, trotting down to the bank to help Jase to her feet.

"Hey, don't talk to me in that tone of voice. I just miscalculated. I tried to duck out of the way and I became a duck instead." She shook her hair back over her shoulders, scattering water droplets. "Quack," she added. Tash rolled her eyes.

"Lady Jasin, are you unharmed?" Percival asked as they came back up the drawbridge.

"I'm fine, Percival," Jase assured him, then put a hand up as the others came their way. "I'm fine, guys. Honestly, one would think you all actually cared or something."

Lancelot cleared his throat. "Just showing some concern for a...for a..." He looked at the others for help.

"Sister knight?" Tash suggested lamely.

Lancelot chuckled. He turned to follow the others, then looked over his shoulder. "And by the way, I did not expect you to follow me over the battlements. That was an impressive move, milady. You have earned your laurels today." He bowed slightly and continued back into the courtyard.

Jase colored slightly at the compliment. Tash tried hard to conceal a smile, but Jase saw it anyhow. "Don't you tell him, either," she warned quietly. Tash zipped her lips closed and threw away an imaginary key, and the two trudged on in silence.

Chapter 25

#  Into the Lair

The only difference between me and a madman

is that I am not mad.

– Salvador Dali

The field of battle lay before the waiting army like the maw of a waiting Hell-beast. At another time, it would be rather pretty to look at, but those who looked upon it now knew that within the next few hours the green meadow would mean little more than a bloodstained epitaph. The standard of Camelot rippled above the cavalry, who waited patiently at the top of a slope, watching the goings-on of Lot's pathetically small army. It seemed the ruler of Lothian did not have as many supporters as he believed; even with the clans of Morgan's Norsemen joining in, it was obvious that they were pitifully outnumbered. However, it was the nature of men to be obstinate in the face of such odds, and thus Lot foolishly stood his ground.

King Arthur, Leodegrantz, Lancelot, and Gawaine were in the forefront awaiting a treaty party from Lot's stragglers. The four greasy-looking characters riding toward them could hardly be construed as knights, but if any sort of peace was to be made, then beggars could not be choosers.

"Now there's a tasty-looking bunch," Jase commented, watching Lot's groupies from her position with the cavalry. "I'm ready to make a deal with them for sure. Looks like a real trustworthy group." Sir Siegfried, who sat nearby on his enormous charger, looked at her coolly. It was amazing that she and the other woman had simply assumed that they would be riding into the melee with the rest of the Camelot knights. Arthur had forbidden them to go, but somehow or other, they managed to ignore the king's rules and had secured decent positions. At least the red-haired woman was back with the archers, whereas this one...

"What's the matter, Mr. Mountain?" Jase asked, breaking Siegfried's study. "Afraid I won't be able to beat the hide off of yonder scumbags?"

"I've no doubt you'll try, lass," he answered politely.

"Try, hell." Jase squirmed about in her saddle until she found a comfortable position, with one leg thrown up on Beaucephalus's neck. "Come on, give me a little credit, will you? I can hold my own down there."

"Aye, Siegfried," said Bedivere from Jase's other side. "Or have you forgotten how this minx managed to unseat you in the games?"

"Aye," Siegfried replied, "but that was games. This is..."

"More games," Jase answered, eyes twinkling. "Watch me and see."

"Aye, we'll all be watching." Siegfried was downright surprised at how the thought of this cheerful young woman's blood being spilled made him feel.

Jase misinterpreted his morose expression. "Aw, can't take my twisted wit, eh? Well, get used to it, Sir Mountain, because it comes with the territory. I've got to have a hell of a sense of humor in this situation." She shifted in the saddle again. "And an ass of iron, too, it seems," she added. "What's going on down there?"

Bedivere leaned forward. "Looks like the negotiations are over."

"And it doesn't look like there were any agreements made," Siegfried put in. "Well, it will begin soon enough."

Arthur's party galloped up the slope and took their places among the knights. Arthur's face was a mask of fury, and he did nothing to conceal it as he issued orders to the criers around him. The word spread quickly that Lot had not even come to fight; that he had sent Agravaine instead. Swords were unsheathed, spears were hoisted, and standards were readied. At the signal, the cavalry standard waved and Camelot's army began its march forward.

Across the field, almost hidden from sight behind his own army, Agravaine watched Camelot's advance. He had been briefed about the High King's displeasure at the absence of Lot. Instead, he had the command of this ragtag lot. Even with his mother's Norse reinforcements, it was all too plain to see that they were defeated. Well, what did he care? He didn't ask to lead this charade of a battle. He hadn't caused the trouble, had he? The best thing to do was to let the trouble take care of itself, without any interference. And who was he to interfere? All right, so he would sound the charge. Then, while these fools ran forward to their deaths, he would hang back with his officers, would gradually disappear into the woods, and let someone else handle the consequences. That was the way to go! He nodded to himself, pleased.

Of course, his actions would cost him the regiment and his mother's Norsemen. His father would rage at him for days over it. But were they here now staring certain death in the face? If they could hide, why shouldn't he? Well, they could rage until the skies fell. His decision was made. Good riddance to them all.

With a flick of his wrist, he ordered the advance to sound. The Northshore army surged forward into the fray with cries of doom, double-edged axes and maces flailing. Within minutes, most of them were little more than stains on the green grass. The archers of Camelot surrounded them completely, and arrows fell on them like apocalyptic black rain. Those who escaped the deadly missiles were cut down by the cavalry. There was nowhere to run. And not one of them noticed that their leader and his officers had disappeared without a trace.

♦ ♦ ♦

Agravaine stopped his flight long enough to catch his breath. In the initial stages of the battle, Camelot's archers had shot his horse from under him. Why the hell hadn't he taken another horse? Because he'd been in such a damned rush. Ah, well, it had all been for the best. Not one of those fools had noticed his escape. But he was alive, and that was what mattered. Then why did he feel guilty all of a sudden?

Nonsense! He allowed himself a small grin as he continued walking through the forest. All right, so he'd hung back while the others fought. Wasn't that what a leader was supposed to do? If the leader was killed, then who would lord it over future armies? The king was never supposed to ride into battle, anyhow! If something happened to the king, then all hell would break loose, wouldn't it? But he wasn't a king. And Arthur, who was a king, was always at the head of his army, the first one with his sword drawn...

Agravaine shook his head to clear it. He was not a coward, damn it! He had done what he had to do! He was needed to aid his father and mother in their quest to take over Camelot! But he had run away from the first skirmish in that quest...

Damn his conscience! Agravaine slumped down on the forest floor, suddenly overwhelmed at what he had done. He, who had once been a revered knight of Camelot, had thrown it all away to be the right-hand man of an usurper. And that usurper was his own father. God in heaven! Why hadn't he stood up to Lot, like Gawaine and Gaheris? Why was he always the one who...

He suddenly realized how quiet it was in this forest. There were no birds, no insects, not even the rustle of wind in the trees. Furthermore, as he looked around, he realized he didn't even know where he was. Not one thing looked familiar. Wildly he scrambled to his feet and drew his sword, feeling every inch of the coward he now knew he was. Something was wrong. He could feel it in every treacherous bone of his body.

The bushes in front of him suddenly parted, nearly causing his heart to stop. Out stepped a figure he'd come to know well in the past few weeks. "What do you want here?" he growled, lowering his sword.

"Agravaine, lad, how nice to see you," the man replied, in a voice that meant just the opposite. "What happened to your little army?"

Agravaine sneered. "Why ask? You already know, being the all-mighty, all-seeing spy that my mother dotes on."

Thaddeus smiled wolfishly. "Oh, yes. I know, lad. I just wanted to hear your...shall we say, 'excuses,' before you are punished like the bad boy you are."

"Get out of my way, little man," Agravaine ordered. "Your meddling ways have cost this country the peace it deserves."

"Oh-ho!" Thaddeus gloated, "do I detect a change of heart? My boy, you just ran away from your own army! You don't care if the whole world falls apart, just as long as you get the lion's share of power."

"You bastard!" Agravaine snarled, and brought his sword down to split the other man's skull. But somehow the blade bounced off Thaddeus's head like it was made of diamond, and the back-kick of the stroke sent waves of agony through Agravaine's wrists. Agravaine yelped involuntarily and dropped the sword on the ground; before he could dive for it, it was in Thaddeus's hands.

"Well, well, little man," Thaddeus breathed softly, holding the blade right before Agravaine's eyes. "Now who's got the power, eh?" Agravaine opened his mouth to speak, to do anything but stare at the blade, but all he could do was move his lips soundlessly.

"Cat got your tongue?" Thaddeus asked. "Ha. And you were going to be the new Prince of Camelot..."

Agravaine found his voice. "You're finished," he began. "Arthur will –"

He got no further, for Thaddeus, with a quick flick of his wrist, split Agravaine's face from temple to chin with the sword. Agravaine fell back on the soft forest floor, writhing, blood spilling between his fingers.

"Now listen to me, young craven," Thaddeus ordered. "Arthur will do nothing as long as I am able to draw breath. Because I...I am the one who is in charge around here." He leaned over the bleeding man on the ground, and something in his eyes made Agravaine freeze. "It looks like I have to teach you a little lesson."

"What...what do you mean?" Agravaine managed, mesmerized by those strange golden eyes. Were his own eyes playing tricks on him, or did this man suddenly look more animal than Human?

Thaddeus moved closer. "Agravaine," he whispered, "the first thing I have to teach you is how to die with dignity, like any good soldier would."

A sudden scream pierced the air, and a few birds in the trees nearby suddenly took flight. A fetid wind blew through the trees, carrying with it an echo of eerie, quiet laughter. Then there was silence.

♦ ♦ ♦

The triumphant army returned to Camelot and was welcomed with a huge feast. Everyone had their own version of the battle to tell, but the basic facts were the same. Tash and Jase had the presence of mind not to say a word about the battle or their own triumphs on the field, but it turned out that it didn't matter, for everyone did it for them. Many had expected the pair to flee when the fighting had begun, but in truth neither one had made a hasty or wasted move. Every one of Tash's arrows had brought down one of the enemy, and Jase had been in the second row of the forward guard at the initial charge. There was no more doubt that the two could hold their own.

Chapter 26

#  The Challenge of Women

You can't out-argue a woman. – Sinbad

Spring gave way to early summer. Tash and Jase settled into life at Camelot with relative ease once the short battle with Agravaine and his troops was over. In return for their assistance, Arthur had given them their own apartments within the castle and assigned them some servants. No one gawked at them when they wore their armor anymore, but that didn't mean they weren't getting noticed. In fact, they were noticed a lot, and they both continually parried the covert passes and outright bold requests from Camelot's unmarried male contingent.

The court also became accustomed to the pair sparring with the burly knights during the morning practice, sitting in on the Round Table meetings and court, or just hanging around after the evening meal. And even though it was a bit odd, they even got used to the fact that in the mornings, before any sane person was awake, Jase was out running through the streets of the nearby village.

Two individuals took great interest in Jase's morning runs: the Dragon Brindle, and Lancelot. Within a week after Jase's runs started, Brindle had offered to run with her in order to protect her from what he considered dark and potentially dangerous streets. Amused by his gallantry and secretly pleased with the company, not to mention the competition, Jase accepted, and the challenge of keeping up with the surprisingly agile Dragon soon transformed from pleasant jogs to heart-pounding races.

Lancelot wasn't the least bit interested in running with the pair; although he conceded it was a great way to keep in shape and build stamina, he preferred to hone his skills in the sparring yard. However, it didn't stop him from watching every leg of the course from the battlements, and that was what he was doing now.

Lancelot still wasn't sure what to make of this mysterious, dark-skinned woman. She was cool and composed in the face of danger. She was damned impetuous, too. He smiled involuntarily. She certainly was different from the addle-headed, giggling, talk-a-lot-without-saying-anything women of the court. Having been raised by the Lady of the Lake in Avalon, he knew well the virtues of a strong woman, and he knew better than to look at one with bewildered awe, as most people of the court were doing with this woman and her friend.

However, the illusion of a strong woman had nearly cost him his status with Leodegrantz's daughter Guinevere. She had appeared so sure of herself, and she had turned a lot of heads when she was presented to the court. He was immediately interested, despite her tender age, but fortunately the pretense wore off when he discovered that the girl was too willful, showing downright stubbornness and disobedience toward her father. In the end, he saw her as she truly was: wild, unruly, mouthy, vain, and deceitful – just like any other courtesan. Thank God he'd come to his senses. He knew Arthur felt the same way about the girl, and was trying to find a way to tell Leodegrantz to put her in a nunnery until she straightened herself out. The court would be well rid of her, as far as he was concerned.

He shook his head and redirected his eyes – and thoughts – to the rapidly returning figure of Jasin and the Dragon Brindle. The two were neck and neck, literally flying over the ground. Even from his high position on the battlements he could see Jase's concentration, and he could almost feel the strain in her muscles himself. It was going to be a close race.

She's a challenge. The words sprang unbidden into his mind, momentarily breaking his concentration. How long had it been since he really, really accepted a challenge?

He suddenly wondered what in life made her and her friend so different from those at the court. What experiences truly differentiated them? What would it take for Jasin to trust him enough to be let within that realm? No woman had ever occupied his interest so much. He turned from the battlements, forgetting about the race as he resolved himself to finding some answers.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase ticked off the seconds in her head as she raced through the streets. She was slow this morning. Brindle would certainly finish first if she didn't pick up the pace.

A door suddenly opened in her path, and Jase gasped as she dodged to one side. The startled tenant, who was carrying a couple of earthenware jugs, stumbled backwards into the doorway with a curse, and there was a muffled crash. "Sorry," Jase called over her shoulder, but didn't slow down.

On she ran, and eventually her path turned her for the castle. Now it was all uphill. She grunted low in her chest as she felt the strain on her muscles. But for now she was still ahead. She could see the gatehouse at the drawbridge, and Brindle was nowhere in sight. Permitting herself a smile of satisfaction, she slowed the pace just a bit. She was almost there; she was going to make it...

A flash of motion to her left caught her eye, and she glanced over just long enough to see Brindle streaking low across the ground. He was still breathing easily, damn him. Jase picked up her pace, but Brindle suddenly veered to one side and dove into the moat. Jase growled in frustration and pushed herself harder. She'd just lost her lead; the Dragon could swim faster than most horses could run.

Brindle popped out of the moat seconds before Jase reached the gatehouse, waited for her hand to reach toward the wall, then idly reached out with one clawed finger and tapped the stone just before Jase's palm slapped against it. Jase immediately slid to the ground, exhausted, and glared playfully up at the Dragon.

"Can't you even look tired, scale-face?" she gasped.

"My dear Jasin," Brindle gloated, "Dragons don't get tired."

"Of course," Jase muttered, pushing her sweat-dampened hair off of her face. "How could I have forgotten? What bullshit." She extended a hand. "Help me up, will you?"

Brindle complied and Jase made a pretense of straightening her rumpled tunic. "So you don't get tired," she noted. "However, after all that exercise..."

"Yes?" Brindle questioned, right on cue.

Jase grinned. "I'll bet your balance is just a bit off." In the next second her body slammed into the Dragon's like a seasoned rugby player, and with a yowl they both careened into the moat. The guards patrolling the ramparts glanced down at the pair splashing and laughing and throwing half-hearted insults at each other, shook their heads, and kept on patrolling.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase crept up the hall to her room, soaked to the bone. She wanted to change her clothes before Marisa, the maidservant assigned to her and Tash, arrived to begin her morning duties, and Jase really didn't want to listen to the woman's gripes. Jase knew that Marisa thought she was a heathen and a lunatic, and occasionally she liked to heartily confirm it, just to see Marisa sputter.

She was wringing the tail of her tunic out on the stone floor when a low chuckle wafted out from the shadows behind her. She whirled around, startled, and relaxed as Lancelot stepped into the light.

"Interesting way to begin your day, milady," he observed. "Trotting through the streets, and swimming in the moat with the Dragon..." He held out a towel. "Quite a sight to behold."

Jase looked sheepish as she took it. "All right, the swim wasn't planned. I had to save my honor, you know." She rubbed her hair with a towel. "So have I started another round of tales with my morning runs? You all ought to have your own network news station."

"I'm sure...I think. At any rate, the townsfolk do talk, but I confess that I've been...ah...a spectator of your morning runs for some time now."

Jase raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" she asked. "Why?"

Lancelot shrugged. "It fascinates me."

Now Jase was suspicious. "Why?" she asked again.

Instead of answering, Lancelot offered her his arm. "May I escort you back to your room?" he asked. "You really should get out of those wet things."

Jase sighed. "And I suppose you're hoping I'll ask you to help me, hmm?"

"What?"

Instead of answering, Jase muttered something under her breath and pushed past Lancelot's arm. She had taken approximately two steps when Lancelot's fingers closed around her shoulder, stopping her. "You don't like me very much, do you?" he asked baldly.

"I never said that," Jase countered.

"All right," he conceded, "then you don't trust me."

"You want me to trust you?" Jase asked. "You just propositioned me, and you ask me to trust you?"

"I did not proposition you!" Lancelot stated defensively.

Jase looked him right in the eye. "Let me put it this way, Sir Lancelot: I don't trust anyone that's male. And I don't trust very many females, either. Tash is the only one here that I would even consider trusting. Ask her and she'll tell you why. Then again, maybe she won't."

Lancelot spread his hands. "I do not understand why you –"

"Let's keep it that way, then," Jase finished, handing him the wet towel and walking away before he could say another word.

Lancelot looked at her retreating figure, then at the towel. "That went well," he mumbled as he headed toward his own quarters.

♦ ♦ ♦

The wind whistled through cracks in the mortar of Northshore Castle on the moors of Northumberland. A fire attempted to burn in the fireplace of the huge war room, but only succeeded in sputtering cheerlessly as the damp chimney continuously dripped water onto the flames. This did little to improve Lot's mood as he paced around the room, muttering to himself and wrapping his cloak tighter around his bulky body to ward off the persistent chill. It wasn't exactly a cozy place, but it was the best the exiled King of Lothian could do after his escape from Camelot's gallows.

The only other person in the room didn't seem to mind the cold. Golden eyes watched Lot from under fine black eyebrows, then glanced at the heavy oak table in front of the fireplace, where a war-game map of Camelot and her boundary kingdoms lay next to a pile of scrolls, carefully dictated and sealed with the mark of a raven.

"This had better work," Lot growled, rubbing his arms. "The man could have my balls on a platter in minutes, not to mention my head on a spike."

"Trust me," the messenger soothed. "With my power behind you, you cannot fail." A white grin flashed on the swarthy face. "Besides, my lad, he's got other things occupying his mind."

Lot stopped his pacing. "You mean those two wenches," he sneered. "Arthur never could keep his rod in his breeches." He rubbed his nose, which had begun to run. "Still," he continued thoughtfully, "that pair is trouble. I can sense it. They're trouble for all of us."

The messenger rose fluidly to his feet. "Leave them to me." He gestured to the scrolls on the table. "Deliver your missives, milord. Secure your allies, and then we'll discuss Camelot more in depth." He held out his hand, and Lot grasped it firmly. For just a moment, he thought he felt something sharp through the thick leather gloves, but the messenger released his grip, nodded once, then raised the hood on his cape and let himself out into the gloom.

♦ ♦ ♦

Arthur signed his name to what seemed to be the umpteenth scroll and handed it to an aide to be rolled up, sealed, and delivered. He rubbed the aching knuckles of his writing hand and rose from the chair, wincing as his thigh muscles cramped in protest. There had to be an easier way to respond to his border patrol reports, but he really couldn't think of any at the moment.

His attention was caught by the sound of feminine laughter in the courtyard, and he casually glanced out the window. The woman Tatiana ran into view, pursued by three of his massive hunting hounds. Before he could even react, Tatiana fell to the ground and the hounds were upon her. Arthur opened his mouth to shout a command at the dogs, but stopped in surprise as he noticed their frantically wagging tails. Playing! They were playing with the woman, these hounds that in the past had actually torn their prey apart! Now they were squirming like pups, licking Tatiana's face and hands, and even whimpering with delight.

The other woman, Jasin, came into view with two more hounds jumping at her sides. She was laughing too, and singing something. He didn't understand the words, but Tatiana joined in and got to her feet, brushing her breeches off. Jasin threw a small pouch at the other woman, and Arthur chuckled. Jasin's talent as a gambler was already well-known in the castle, and the bag was obviously the winnings of a bet of some sort.

Lancelot wasn't the only one who was amazed by the pair. Arthur had to admit that the women's skills were perfect. He noticed their effortless camaraderie with the other knights, easily accepted as one of them, and yet they always stopped to play with the dogs or talk with the children of the court. They were rather unnerving and, at the same time, so very alluring.

Arthur shook his head quickly and turned away from the spectacle the two were making in the courtyard. He couldn't let his fantasies get in the way of his present situations. There were messengers to send, and plans to be made. Lot was surely planning something. With an inward sigh, he sat back down at the table and began writing again.

Chapter 27

#  Proof

I am like the Unicorn

Astonished as he gazes,

Beholding the virgin.

– Thibaut de Champagne

Tash moved a rook. "Check."

Percival frowned at the danger to his king. He'd tried a lot of his own tactical plots on this game, and she was still beating him. He picked up a rook, put it back down, and looked harder at the board, almost willing the pieces to move for him. He picked up a knight, pondered, and then smiled triumphantly as he plunked it down, cutting off her route. "Ha!" he exulted. "Get out of that one!"

Tash raised an eyebrow. "Is that the best you can do?" She moved a knight of her own and sat back with a grin.

Percival stared. He looked at the knight she'd set down, back at Tash, and finally sat back, daunted. "You sly little witch. Who taught you that move?"

"My father," Tash replied, reaching out a finger and tapping Percival's king over. "Care for another?"

Jase came up to the table, sweaty from an afternoon of swordplay with Gawaine. "Still fooling with those chessmen?"

"Just finished the third game," Tash answered, resetting the board.

"Three games?" Jase looked appalled as she turned toward Percival. "How can you stand to play this damn game that long?"

"'Tis like plotting a battle," Percival explained. "Sometimes it is more intoxicating than wine."

"Hold still while I examine your head." Jase stuck her index finger in Percival's temple and gently pushed. "Yup, soft as a baby's behind." She watched as Tash moved a pawn. "Who's winning?"

Percival moved a pawn of his own. "Hmph."

Jase tried not to laugh, but she didn't succeed. "Percival, she plays like she invented the game. I don't know why I asked."

"Nor do I," he grumbled. He pointed a warning finger at Tash. "I will win this one."

Tash took one of his pawns. "Wanna lay a small wager on that?"

"What have you?" Percival asked, grinning rakishly.

"Wellll..."

"Careful, Tasher," Jase joked. "I think I know what he'd like to wage." She put her hands in her pockets, searching. "I'll go three to one on my compadre. Anyone got any dough?"

"Try the kitchen," Percival suggested.

"How about if you hand over one of your deerskin tunics if I win?" Tash suggested. "That one with the green leather laces, perhaps?"

Percival considered. "Mmmmm. Fair enough."

"And if you win?" Jase prodded.

His eyes glinted. "Since I cannot have what I really want...I get to partner you for the entire evening at the full-moon gala."

Tash smiled. "Done." They sealed the bargain with a firm handclasp, then Percival kissed the back of her hand and moved a bishop.

"Hey, Perse," Jase stage-whispered. "You know what you get when you cross a whore with a chess pawn?"

"Oh, no," Tash groaned.

Percival looked at her, nonplussed. "What are you talking about?"

"A riddle, Percival," Tash prompted, studying the board.

"Ah." Comprehension dawned. "Very well, then. What do you get when you cross a whore with a chess pawn?"

Jase's finger and thumb indicated size. "A little fucker 'bout that high," she answered deadpan, and Percival, after a second of shocked silence, roared with appreciative laughter.

"I have to admit, though, that I don't know what good two inches will do," Jase continued with a leer.

"Well, you know size isn't supposed to matter," Tash interjected, grinning at Percival, who hadn't recovered yet from the joke.

Jase couldn't resist. "Well, a husband is really going to take to you," she replied. "He'll show you something this big" – she held her finger and thumb up again, about an inch apart – "and tell you it's nine inches...flaccid."

Tash glared at her in disgust, while Percival erupted into more whoops of laughter. The rumpus attracted the attention of a passerby, who reversed direction to join them.

"What goes here?" he asked.

All three looked up and the two combatants rose respectfully, trying to contain their mirth. "Good day, milord," Percival greeted. "'Tis a test of wits. This one," he pointed at Jase, "has more than the lot of us put together."

"I've no doubt," Arthur noted. He motioned them to sit back down and indicated the board. "Who's winning?"

Percival sighed. "I admit she has me where she wants me."

"Perse," Tash scolded, exasperated.

"Does she?" Arthur eyed Tash calmly, and the cool appraisal in his eyes made Tash drop her eyes and flush. "Tell me, lady, do you always win?"

Well, there was a loaded statement if Tash had ever heard one. She looked back up at him again and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly. "Aye, milord," she answered distinctly, thinking of Guinevere, "I always win."

"Hmm." Arthur glanced at Percival and a quick message flashed between them. Percival chuckled and got up from his seat, and Arthur sank down in it smoothly. He moved the pieces back in place and sat back in the chair, eyes hooded. "Care to oblige me?"

He'd thrown down his gauntlet and Tash couldn't pick it up fast enough. "Who am I to turn down the High King of Britain?"

He picked up a pawn and set it down in one of the squares. "A challenge," he replied, smiling faintly.

Tash picked up a pawn of her own. "You want one, you've got one."

♦ ♦ ♦

"Check." Arthur sat back twenty minutes later, his grey eyes observing Tash's response.

She didn't give him one. She studied the board intently and quickly moved a bishop to cover the path to her king. Lifting her gaze to his, she smiled smugly. Arthur smiled back, thinking how he'd love to give her something to be smug about.

He dropped his eyes back down to the board and picked up a knight, studied its position thoughtfully, then set it down a few squares away, leaving his king wide open for attack. Immediately Tash moved in for the kill. "Check!" she said triumphantly.

Arthur blocked the threat with a rook. Tash pursed her lips and quickly moved her bishop in a counterattack. He raised an eyebrow and, almost casually, pushed his own bishop into the place she'd vacated.

"Checkmate," he said.

For a moment Tash was confused, but then she saw the unbelievably stupid move she'd made and her head dropped. "Well, hell."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh. "You always win, you say?"

Tash shrugged. "Well, usually. Looks like I've met my match."

"Aye, that you have." Arthur stood up and put out his hand, and she took it as she stood. "I would prefer another game with you sometime, lady. It has been a long time since I have found anyone who can keep up with me."

Tash inclined her head, trying to look nonchalant. Arthur bowed slightly and, releasing her hand, he turned to leave. "Oh, incidentally," he added, holding up his hands and spreading his fingers apart, "this is six inches. And this" – he widened the gap – "is nine." He smiled then, and walked away, leaving the two women and Percival staring after him. A moment later, Jase started laughing, and so did Percival. Tash felt like she was going to sink through the stone floor.

"Tash, you are so red!" Jase chortled merrily.

"Like an apple!" Percival chimed in.

"I hate both of you," Tash grumbled. "Come on, I'm hungry."

♦ ♦ ♦

Feeling like she was going to explode, Jase heaved herself up from the table and struggled not to belch. Then again, wasn't it good manners to belch and show appreciation for the meal? Or was she too far back in time? Or too far ahead? Or even in the right country? She couldn't make a decision and the belch burst out anyhow, quietly, thank God, as she waddled out the door.

Merchants had come that day with shipments of precious delicacies from afar, and if Jase hadn't known better, she'd have thought Saint Peter himself had come to Camelot. The master baker had whipped up caloric nightmares from the shipment, the favorites being three huge layer cakes filled with clotted cream and festooned with wild cherries and candied rose petals. Jase had eaten at least five pieces on top of her already prodigious supper. Now the wild pig entree was battling with the cake over which would be digested first, and her stomach, fed up with all the activity, was threatening to reverse the whole process.

Jase moaned softly as she stumbled on up the hall. How stupid could she be to eat so much? Maybe she'd go lay down for a bit until the bloated feeling had settled. That set in the fear that maybe she'd never get up again if she lay down. She was beginning to wonder if she should tiptoe outside and stick her finger down her throat when a cup of vile-smelling liquid was suddenly thrust under her nose and everything threatened to come up without her having to make so much as a fist.

"Drink this," Tash ordered.

"Aw," Jase groaned, "let me be."

"Drink it and shut up," Tash commanded, holding it to Jase's lips. "It'll make you feel better, no matter how it smells. And if you puke on me, so help me God I'll use your hair to clean it up with."

Jase complied, although the sourness of the stuff nearly made her gag. But soon after she'd swallowed it, the churning in her stomach calmed a little and she drank the rest in one swallow, grimacing as she handed the cup back.

"Better?" Tash asked.

"Yeah. What is this?"

Tash smiled. "Berthe made it. Early form of Alka-Seltzer, I imagine."

"Why do I do this to myself?" Jase moaned, continuing on up the hall toward her room, one hand on her stomach, as if she feared it might upheave at any second.

"You used to ask that question every Sunday morning," Tash answered. "After you'd cleared out every bar in Orlando. Haven't you found an answer yet?"

Jase gave her a withering glare as she opened the door to her room. She clumped across the room and fell on her bed with a groan. "Go away and let me sleep this off," she grumbled.

Tash backed out the door, pausing on the threshold. "What was it Mammy said?" she pondered. "'Eat like a field hand and gobble like a hog...'?" She shut the door a moment before one of Jase's boots struck it with a thump. Laughing, she went on up the hall toward her own room.

♦ ♦ ♦

Arthur watched the reflection of the candle flame play across the deep red wine in his goblet. It swirled over the surface like a living thing, forming little designs in its wake. Designs that resembled snowflakes, designs that resembled flowers, designs that resembled a woman's hair in the wind...especially red hair in the wind...

With a flick of his wrist he emptied the goblet and set it down hard on the table. Damn her hair. Damn her, for that matter. Damn her for making him think in soft focus instead of the clarity he needed. He recalled the concentration on her features as she'd studied the chessboard, the length of her fingers as she moved the pieces, the sight of her tongue licking her lips as she contemplated her next move...oh, hell. Pushing himself out of the chair, he paced across the room to the huge stone fireplace and leaned against the mantle, pressing the pads of his fingers against his eyelids and blotting out her image.

The door opened unexpectedly and Arthur's head jerked up, frowning at the intrusion, but relaxing as Bedivere strode into the room. "What news?" he asked.

Bedivere held out a scroll of parchment. "Another plea from the Scottish bishops."

Arthur snorted as he took the scroll and opened it. "Another one, eh? The battalion has already cleaned out the eastern seaboard."

"Precisely."

Arthur scanned the document and his eyebrows drew together slightly. "Well, it seems all that is left to fight are children," he murmured. "Half-grown boys and their dogs are defending their homeland." His flinty eyes lost their hardness as he read the document again, and then he abruptly rolled it up and set it aside. He picked up a quill and a clean sheet of parchment and began to write quickly.

"Send for a messenger, Bedivere," he ordered. He rolled the parchment up, sealed it, and stamped his signet ring into the soft wax.

Bedivere studied Arthur's face. "You will withdraw."

Arthur nodded curtly. "Aye. But only because they have yielded. We will ride with the dignitaries within a fortnight to discuss the terms." He handed the scroll to the knight. "Inform the others." Bedivere saluted and left the room. Arthur remained standing by the fireplace after he'd gone, watching the flames consume the logs. After a few minutes a smile came unbidden to his face, softening the hawk-like fierceness of his features.

After sixteen months of slaughter, Scotland was paying tribute. Triumph was his. And at long last, the whole of Britain was his.

♦ ♦ ♦

The sun was just setting when Tash left the stables. Jase usually went with her on these early evening sojourns, but since she'd stuffed herself nearly to death, Tash decided to let her sleep it off and go alone. Besides, she missed having time to herself.

When she reached the path to the forest, she reined Rhone in and slipped him a handful of barleycorns she'd swiped from the stalls. The stallion whickered his thanks and nudged her cheek with his soft nose before quickly lipping the treat from her palm. Tash ruffled the black mane affectionately and took a look at her surroundings. A slight breeze tousled the leaves of the trees and reminded her just how warm it was this evening. Perfect. Too perfect.

She was alone, and she might never again get such an opportunity to do the thing she'd always wanted to do since she and Jase had first seen the place. With a last glance around, she squeezed a heel in Rhone's side and veered off the path, her long forest green cloak fluttering out behind her. She felt as gleeful as a child who'd done something naughty right under her mother's nose. Little did she know, though, that she was indeed being watched from afar.

Arthur had come out to the stables to add some items to his saddlebags before he forgot them – an annoying habit in men that any amount of centuries was unable to change. When he'd seen the woman who had been irking his conscious and unconscious mind for weeks on end riding away alone into the forest, he made a quick decision and, before he could deter, swung up onto the bare back of his destrier and took off after her. He wound his fingers through Firaved's mane and pulled his head back to prevent the horse from darting forward after the other stallion. He didn't want Tash to see him...not just yet.

She hadn't seen him. She was too intent on reaching the glade and the beautiful mist-enshrouded pond it housed before darkness fell completely. She bent her head as she rode under the low-hanging branches and slowed Rhone as the foliage grew denser. Then, suddenly, she broke through a tangle of wild rose bushes and she was there.

The evening mists were just beginning to wreath themselves around the little pond, which was surrounded by a small grove of evergreens and rose bushes. It was almost as if it were magical, or, on the more realistic side, maybe attended by a gardener with a lot of imagination. Either way, the effect worked its spell on her and since she and Jase had charged through the brush one night and stumbled (literally) into the pond, she'd wanted to come here again and voluntarily take a swim. Alone.

She had secretly yearned to do this for years. She remembered confiding to Jase her desire to find a secluded pond and take a skinny dip, ever since she'd seen that lake in which Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze had practiced their lifting technique in Dirty Dancing. Jase had laughed and told her to remember her father's Magnum and about six cans of mace if she did such a thing alone in the modern-day world.

This wasn't the modern-day world, and Jase wasn't here to pick on her. The place had called to her, and now she was here. Perhaps the beauty of the place called to her own active imagination and made her feel like a dryad or something very pagan. Oh, hell, she didn't know, she didn't care, she just wanted to go for a swim, with no one to hear or see her save the crickets and the lightning bugs.

She'd gotten more than she'd bargained for. Curious and determined now to follow her, Arthur dropped quietly from his horse's back and tethered him to a tree where he was safely hidden by the overhanging brush. He knew if he continued any further astride, she'd either hear the twigs break beneath the horse's hooves or see the ghostly white form through the branches of the trees. Besides, he had a better chance of weaving silently through the brush by himself. He pushed some of the branches aside and swore quietly as the thorns of a rose bush sank into his flesh. Damn it all, where was she going? Had he been correct in his earlier assumptions? Was she indeed a witch, sent off to conjure her demons?

He brushed the idea aside impatiently. Witch, indeed! How ridiculous! Witchcraft wasn't needed to turn his thoughts to her as had happened so often lately. He reached for another thorny extension of the rose bush and pushed it aside carefully, and then he froze at what he saw.

Before him was a breathtaking forest glade with a small pool of clear water at its center. Off to one side her horse was cropping at the short grass, the reins securely looped about a low-hanging birch branch. But he wasn't interested in the horse. He was interested in watching the woman standing at the edge of the pond, removing her cloak. She tossed it aside and Arthur studied her slim form clad in a white shirt and a pair of breeches. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead as she unbuttoned the shirt, hesitated, then drew it off and cast it aside. The breeches followed moments later.

The cool water felt terrific and Tash waded up to her hips before she dove smoothly beneath the surface. She came up a few moments later in the center of the pond, treading water and looking for all the world like the dryad she'd imagined a short time before. Pushing herself onto her back, she floated, staring up at the moon through the trees and wondering why she hadn't done something like this long ago.

At that same moment, the High King of Britain, crouched uncomfortably behind a prickly rosebush, thought for the first time in his life that marriage looked like a positive institution, especially if he could just have this one by his side every day. He thought for a brief moment of the children he could sire on that magnificent body. And she definitely had brains to go with the beauty. She would make a fine queen.

He shook his head violently. What a load of codswallop! He couldn't bear to sit there all a sweat another minute. All he had to do was reveal himself. She'd respond, he knew she would, especially looking the way she did now. Besides, anyone who would come swimming buck naked and alone in the forest, where anyone could chance upon her, deserved to be leapt upon and forced. Even though he knew deep down that this was an incredibly stupid excuse for committing the ultimate sin of violation, the flaming heat within his loins made him think otherwise. He was on the verge of rising to his feet when he noticed her pull herself upward with a splash, staring at the evergreen trees on the opposite bank. In an instant, she disappeared back under the water.

Arthur immediately dropped to a crouch and felt instinctively at his side for his sword. Of course, it wasn't there; he'd left the stables in such a hurry that he hadn't even thought to bring a weapon. He berated himself as he glared across the pond where the woman's head had surfaced close to a tangle of reeds on the opposite bank. Damn you! he thought blackly, tense on the balls of his feet. How the hell do you expect me to protect you with no weapons at hand? Why must you plague my mind every bloody hour of every day?

He stood in that wary stance for so long that his legs began to ache, but no threatening presence came forward. Just as he was about to relax his guard, something appeared at the edge of the pine trees, something that hadn't been there two seconds before. Arthur peered sharply, trying to discern just what lurked there before he moved, and when it stepped daintily into the light from the newly risen moon, his eyes widened in shock.

It was a Unicorn.

Tash, crouched among the reeds in the shallows, stared round-eyed at the breathtaking creature, certain that she was dreaming. A Unicorn. A real, living, breathing Unicorn! It was the closest thing to perfection she'd ever seen, with its opalescent spiraling horn and coat so white that it looked like neon snow in the moonlight. Like a woman under a spell, she moved toward the bank and rose from the pond, water running from her naked body in sparkling rivulets. The Unicorn started as she came toward it. Its nostrils flared and it stamped the ground with cloven hooves. The coal black eyes regarded her curiously, and Tash hoped it would come closer. She couldn't resist holding her hand out to it, and it closed the gap between them. It bent its head down to grant her access, and Tash drew her breath in with pleasure at the feel of its satiny coat. The Unicorn closed its eyes and pushed its face into her caress as if it enjoyed the attention, then gently nudged her hand away. Swiftly, before Tash could move, the shining horn came down and the razor sharp tip scratched in quick succession right above her heart.

Arthur shot to his feet and thumped his head smartly on a low-hanging branch. He cursed under his breath and opened his mouth to yell a warning when the creature suddenly bolted and was gone. He had to clap a hand over his mouth as he sank back down in his hiding place.

Tash blinked. Had there just been a Unicorn in front of her? Or was her imagination stuck in overdrive? The stinging sensation on her chest reminded her of what else had occurred and she glanced down to study the wounds. There were three small cuts that crossed over one another and formed a shape like an asterisk. Thin rivulets of blood ran down the valley between her breasts. Tash licked her finger and wiped the blood away, then stood slowly. Maybe she should go back to the castle and sleep this off. A Unicorn, a real Unicorn, had come to her. In all her dreams she'd never imagined such a thing. Maybe she was back at the castle, already in bed. She made her way across the pond, dried off as much as she could with her cloak, then dressed quickly and left the clearing.

From his hiding place, Arthur was besieged with a mixture of emotions. Certainly awe ran the highest, with relief running a close second. He stayed for another quarter of an hour, then very carefully he disentangled himself from the rosebush and melted away into the growing shadows, lost in thought.

When the beast had lunged, he'd been certain it was for a death's blow. But instead of being killed, the woman had been hailed. Furthermore, he'd sat right there and watched her touch it. She'd laid hands on a creature of purity, and since it had allowed her to do as such without a life payment, it only meant she was not the temptress he'd thought she was. A clear image of her standing there on the bank, naked and dripping, formed unbidden in his mind. All right, so she wasn't tried, but damned if she wasn't a temptress! He would find some way to get her in his bed, and when he did...

Hell. He clenched his fists against the rising friction caused by his walking and pointedly decided he needed to figure out a way to claim her before he went completely mad.

♦ ♦ ♦

"You've got to be kidding." Jase was all ears as Tash told her story.

"I swear on a box of Godivas that I'm not," Tash promised, raising her hand in a scout salute.

"Gad!" Jase groaned, clutching her stomach. "Swear on the Bible, like everyone else. I'm off sweet stuff for good."

"Okay, I swear on the Bible then." Tash grinned. "I just wanted to see what you'd do if I mentioned food."

"Hope I didn't disappoint you."

"Not a bit. What did Shakespeare say? 'Now I will believe that there are unicorns.'"

"Did Shakespeare say that?" Jase asked. "I always thought Hallmark wrote it."

"Hallmark?"

"Yeah, well, it always shows up on bookmarks and such."

"You're a barbarian. That's from The Tempest."

"I know that, for God's sake, I'm just messing with you. Anyway, did you tell Merlin about this marking stuff? It might mean something, you know. He could tell you."

Tash considered this. "I didn't think about that."

"And you call me slow? Rock."

"Oh, shut up."

♦ ♦ ♦

Merlin listened without interruption as Tash told the story a second time. When she finished, he studied her for a few seconds and then he began to smile.

"What?" Tash asked, feeling her face turn red.

"The unicorns know the future High Queen when they see her," he said simply.

Tash frowned. "Beg pardon?"

He indicated her shirt. "Pull that aside a minute and let me have a look." Tash obediently pulled enough laces on her shirt to show the star-shaped wound on her skin. Merlin studied the scabbed area and nodded slowly. "Ah," he said quietly.

Now just what the hell did that mean? "'Ah,' what?" Tash demanded.

Merlin smiled broadly. "Nothing more."

Tash shook her head. "You make no sense."

"Ah, but 'tis my job to make no sense." He shrugged. "It is out of my hands, little one. I only know what must be. They know what shall be." He sat back, satisfied. "You say you were alone in the clearing?"

"Yes." She looked at him sharply. "Why? You know something I don't know?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Distrustful, are you not? I know I was not there, if that will put you at ease."

"Well, then why do you ask?" Tash didn't know why she was ruffling like a hen, but she was. "All right, I broadcast to the world that I haven't gotten laid yet, if that's what you're getting at."

"Er, no, it wasn't. This whole affair may be something you would want to keep to yourself and I was just trying to find out who else might know so we can count on them to keep their silence." He put his hands behind his head and looked at her through half-closed eyes. "Besides, I...already knew that."

"I see." Was there anything the man didn't know? "Okay, then 'tis my job to tell Jase to keep it under wraps."

Merlin watched as she left and laughed silently. Poor Arthur, he thought, chuckling. Steady, lad. It shouldn't be much longer.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tash picked up her rook and plunked it back down on the board, then sat back with a smug expression on her face. Arthur leaned forward to study the board, and actually looked it for a time before he realized he wasn't really seeing anything. Tash cleared her throat and Arthur glanced up at her. "What?" he asked.

"That's checkmate, milord," she said simply.

Arthur's eyes dropped back to the board. "Ah. So it is."

"It's late," Tash observed. "Perhaps we should stop for now."

"Perhaps," Arthur agreed. "I must be tired, that's it." It wasn't, of course. He was too busy looking at her and thinking of her to keep his mind on the game, or anything else of importance, for that matter. Abruptly he got to his feet. "Might I walk you to your room?" Tash agreed and they left the hall together quietly.

Their footsteps echoed in the halls and Arthur knew that tonight was the night to make his move. The previous night had been one he hoped he'd never repeat; he could have sent for a serving girl to relieve his needs, but he hadn't, and his dreams were filled with images of himself entwined in the long limbs of the exotic creature that walked by his side now. He had awakened in the morning in a black mood, determined to seduce the woman once and for all, even if she had been marked by a Unicorn...even if she was a prize candidate for the queenship of England.

That nearly brought him up short. Queen! Ah, blessed Christ, he was getting as addle-headed as a troubadour! Enough of this pining nonsense. Enticing the woman would be no trouble, as far as he was concerned; his past reputation had proven that, hadn't it? And so what if she was virgin? He'd had ample virgins in the past and had the pug-nosed little chits swooning at his feet by the time he'd finished with them. His battle with his conscience faded as they stopped in front of Tash's door, and he was aware that he hadn't even heard a word she'd been saying all the way up the steps.

"Well," she was saying, "thank you for another game, milord. Good night." She started to close the door. Abruptly Arthur's hand came up and halted the door's swinging, and he let his suppressed passion for her show in his eyes.

"Perhaps it's not too late after all, lady." He smiled slowly at her, knowing full well how charming his smile could be. Take the bait, sweeting.

Tash leaned against the edge of the half-opened door. "No, it's pretty late."

Was she flirting, or was she more naïve than he thought? "Maybe I could help wake you up," he suggested. "I know of other games." There, that was pretty direct.

Tash was definitely not that naïve, but she was decidedly surprised that he was so desperate-sounding. "Such as?" she prompted.

His eyes never left hers. "Let's find out," he said softly, and started to enter the room. Now, like all the others, she would flush, giggle, and become putty in his hands. And none too soon, for his liking. His mouth began to water in anticipation.

Unfortunately, he was abruptly stopped by a hand in the middle of his chest. "Let's not," Tash corrected firmly, all hint of stupidity gone. "I said I am tired."

He blinked, unable to accept that she was refusing him. "But – " he began.

She cut him off, gesturing down the hall. "May I suggest a kitchen wench, milord. I'm going to bed now. Alone. To sleep. Good night." Before he could utter another protest, the door was shut resolutely in his face, and there was a muffled clank sound as the bolt slid into place.

For a moment, he stood nose to nose with the wide oaken panels, completely stunned by her dismissal. Then anger flared. How dare she leave him like this? He took the doorknob in a fierce grip and rattled it sharply, testing the lock. It was secure, protecting the damnable maiden inside from his mountainous lust. After a few more rattles, he finally gave up and leaned back against the stubborn portal with a sigh, bringing his hands to his brow so he could massage away the advent of a very bad headache. He stopped in mid-rub as something became clear.

She'd refused him.

He was amazed at how quickly the lust departed. She had refused him, and in doing so, she had separated herself from the hundreds of women who batted their eyes in his direction, setting those eyes on his wealth and crown in mid-bat. There was nothing in her eyes but cool appraisal and an occasional amused spark at the onslaught of a verbal battle during chess, and yes, even a shy interest that he found endearing, but never had he seen the deceit that he had picked up so acutely in other prospects. And so far she was the only one who had been missing that despised trait that caused him to ruin woman after woman.

What if she really was the one he'd been looking for? Arthur glanced over his shoulder at the solid oak shield of the door and couldn't help but smile. It was too soon to tell, of course, but it was looking good so far.

Chapter 28

#  Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage.

– Richard Lovelace

Jase shifted in her seat as the droning voices went on and on, nearly bored to death. Sitting in on the king's daily court – the "daily bitch and gripe," as she and Tash had dubbed it – was not her idea of a good time. She glanced over at Tash, who was listening intently at the issues being presented. This was more her kind of thing, her parents being lawyers and all; she understood these matters a little better. Whereas she, Jase, had always fallen sound asleep during shows like "The People's Court." But then, she thought, trying to suppress a yawn, didn't most people fall asleep during "The People's Court?" She was certainly falling asleep during this one.

It wouldn't do to doze in the throne room of Camelot, however. Jase shifted again and glanced around, trying to look like she was paying attention. Her eyes suddenly locked with Sir Lancelot's across the room, and he smiled knowingly, giving every indication that he knew she was uninterested. Jase's face reddened and she looked away quickly. Although she knew she was supposed to divert Lancelot's attention away from Guinevere, she really didn't want to encourage the man. He'd been paying quite a lot of attention to her as of late. She didn't need this kind of distraction, as she had Ian waiting for her back home.

Ian. Jase hadn't thought of him in a long time and suddenly realized she missed him terribly. What was he doing? Was he wondering what had happened to her? No, Vivian had promised them that they would be returned right around the same time that they had left. Meanwhile, though, Jase never realized how much she needed Ian until she had come here. Typical, she thought to herself sardonically. Too damned blind to see what I've got. Well, I won't be here forever, and the next time Ian hints around about becoming a permanent fixture in my life, I'll blow his mind.

Until then, she had to think of a way to discourage Camelot's Captain of Horse. She was not interested, she told herself over and over, careful to avoid his eyes. She was not interested...

♦ ♦ ♦

As soon as the proceedings in the throne room were over, Jase fairly leapt from her bench and grabbed Tash by the elbow. "Hey!" Tash yelped as she was literally jerked from her place, but Jase dragged her from the room before anyone could stop them.

"Would you mind?" Tash finally snapped, snatching her arm away. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong," Jase replied. "I just wanted to get you out of there before you started dissecting the proceedings. I can't stand another minute of this shit."

Tash studied her for a bit. Whether Jase knew it or not, Tash had noticed that Lancelot had been looking at her friend throughout the morning and it was making Jase more than a little uncomfortable. And she knew that Jase wanted to get out of the room before Lancelot descended on them both. She toyed with the idea of teasing Jase with that knowledge, but then decided against it. "Let's go for a ride," she suggested. "Maybe it'll clear your head."

"Good idea," Jase answered, grabbing Tash's wrist and dragging her toward the nearest door.

"Jase," Tash said, disengaging her friend's grip, "you don't have to rush. He's still in the throne room talking to the king. You have plenty of time to make your escape."

Jase rolled her eyes; she should have known Tash would already know what was going on inside her head. "Okay, let's just get out of here before he comes out." Tash clamped her lips shut against a retort and followed Jase to the stables.

Jase's mood gradually improved as they saddled the horses and mounted up. Whistling quietly to herself, she tossed her hair over her shoulders and grinned at Tash. "Race you!" she shouted, digging her heels into Beaucephalus's flanks. The horse leapt forward like he'd hit warp drive with Tash and Rhone not far behind.

What happened in the next few minutes gave Jase nightmares for weeks. Jase was pushing Beaucephalus for all he had, and she was hollering like a Pict when all of a sudden Beaucephalus lurched forward with a scream and tumbled head over heels. Jase was launched like a rocket right over the horse's head, but she tucked herself quickly and rolled to a stop.

Tash was off Rhone in a flash. She raced up beside the fallen pair and skidded to her knees. "Jesus Christ, Jase, are you okay?"

Jase sat up, rubbing her shoulder as she allowed Tash to haul her to her feet. "Fine," she grunted, pushing away Tash's hands and staggering back to her fallen stallion. "Oh 'Ceph...oh Jesus..."

The horse was lying on his side, flanks heaving as he tried to get up. With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet, limped a few steps, and stopped, head hanging. Making soothing noises, Jase immediately started examining him, stopping as she saw that he was resting his off hind leg with just the tip of his hoof on the ground. The gaskin and stifle areas were already swollen. Jase dropped hopelessly to her knees. "Oh, damn..."

"It's...it's not broken, is it?" Tash asked softly.

In response, Jase reached out and gently kneaded the swollen areas. Beaucephalus snorted and jerked away, blowing hard. "I don't know," she muttered, blinking hard as tears filled her eyes. "It doesn't look good. It might be dislocated, or broken...I don't know."

"Stay with him," Tash ordered. "I'll go back and get a wagon to bring him in." She turned and ran toward her own horse, jumped on, and galloped off. Jase watched her leave; she turned back to her injured stallion, laid her head on his neck, and burst into tears.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase had gotten herself together by the time Tash returned with the promised wagon and one of the castle smiths, Gawaine, and Percival in tow. Jase refused to leave the horse's side despite the fact that her shoulder was really beginning to hurt. Still, she sat with the horse's head in her lap on the way back to the stables, and she sat with him the same way in his stall as the smith assessed the injury. The leg wasn't broken, he confirmed, but the joint was dislocated, as she'd thought, and it wouldn't do any good to try to fix it. He tried to tell her that the best thing was to put the animal out of its misery, but Jase shut him up with a well-placed threat to his existence in both this world and the next.

"If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself," she muttered furiously. "Some things just never change with time." She gently disengaged her legs from under Beaucephalus's head. The horse looked back at her, eyes wide and glassy. "Take it easy, sweetheart. Tash, help me here, will you?"

"You mean you can fix that?" Tash asked, eyeing the leg with none too sanguine hopes.

"I'm gonna try." Jase moved back to the stallion's leg and probed the area gently. Beaucephalus snorted and jerked the leg out of her hands. "Whoa, boy," she soothed.

"Ye're just going to make it worse," the smith warned, watching the proceedings dispassionately. He highly disapproved of the small woman refusing his diagnosis of the situation.

Tash glared at him as Jase breathed hard through her nose. "Get him out of here," she said aside to Tash, but it was Percival who put a hand on the man's shoulder and steered him back toward the wagon, talking to him in low tones. A few minutes later they heard grumbling as the smith made his disparaging way back to his forge. Jase nodded her thanks to Percival as he came back and stood behind Tash, looking down at the horse worriedly.

"I know you don't wish to hear this, Jasin, but he might be right."

Jase shook her head, trying and failing to contain her temper. "Christ. I'm not going to kill a perfectly sound animal just because he has a sprain, Perse. If I could get some fucking help and cooperation instead of preaching, that would be really welcome..."

"It takes strength to set a horse's leg," said a new voice, and everyone looked up to see Lancelot walking toward them. Where the hell had he come from? He stopped beside Percival, looking dispassionately at the injured stallion. "You might have a lot of things, Jasin, but you don't have physical strength."

This time, Jase kept her head. "Then maybe you should come down here and help," she retorted quietly. She gestured to Gawaine, who was standing behind Lancelot. "You too." They obliged, and Lancelot signaled for Jase to move. But Jase held her ground. "My horse, my rules. Since you have all this physical strength, you get to hold him."

Lancelot's eyebrows twitched, but all he said was, "Where do you want me?"

Jase pointed. "Hold his neck. He'll try to sit up when I yank. Gawaine, you hold him here, Perse, you hold here, and Tash, you hold here."

"Do you know what you're doing, lass?" Gawaine asked as he took position.

Jase took a deep breath. "No, but I've seen it done. And I'm not going to let anyone kill him. I've given him a tonic for the pain and something else to relax him, so hopefully the muscles will be loose enough for me to do this."

Gawaine grunted in reply. He didn't sound too convinced.

"Okay, here we go." Jase sat down next to the stallion's good hind leg and gently picked up the injured one. She placed one foot on the horse's belly and carefully laid her leg over the hock of the horse's uninjured leg. Her seat put her in the precarious position of being exposed to all four hooves should Beaucephalus kick out. But she felt down deep that she deserved a kick or two for pushing the horse too hard.

"I'm so sorry, 'Ceph," she whispered quietly. Her shoulders heaved, jerking the injured leg toward her. The stallion shuddered and the three assistants increased their pressure until the horse lay still, flanks heaving. Jase let her breath out slowly. "Gawaine," she ordered, indicating the leg, "here, move this back in place. Gently."

Gawaine carefully eased the limb back to the ground and ran his big fingers along the joint. "I think you got it," he observed with a grin. Jase shifted her position and flexed the leg experimentally, nearly going weak with relief when it moved without resistance. Thank you, God, she thought.

Suddenly the stallion's legs drew up, lashing out. The Humans jumped clear and quickly filed out the stall door as Beaucephalus heaved upward. Lancelot slammed the stall door and ducked as the huge head lunged forward, and there was an audible click of snapping teeth. Behind him, Jase laughed and held out a peace offering: a loaded bucket of oats. The horse snorted and withdrew into the stall as Jase emptied the food into the trough.

"Thanks, guys," she said gratefully. "Look he's moving the leg real well now."

"He's your horse, all right," Lancelot observed.

"That's right," Jase replied. "You should know I kick some ass, too."

Lancelot grinned ruefully as Gawaine and Percival shouted with laughter. "Aye, so I've observed." He bowed and left the stable without a backward glance.

♦ ♦ ♦

Beaucephalus stretched his rear leg obligingly for Jase. Methodically her strong hands worked down the muscles of the stifle joint to the gaskin. The stallion snorted – appreciatively, Jase thought, with a grin. His injuries had healed quickly under her expertise. She stood up and bent her torso backwards, groaning as several small popping noises erupted from different places on her spine. She stretched her arms over her head and gave a final twist that drew a loud crack from somewhere in the middle of her back. "Much better," she sighed, and ruffled the stallion's mane affectionately. "We're a pair, aren't we, 'Ceph?"

Beaucephalus's ears suddenly pricked up and he shifted in his stall. At the same time, Jase's own sharp hearing picked up the small shuffle of hay underfoot and she turned quickly toward the stable entrance. Lancelot was standing there, watching her with interest. Again.

Jase heaved another sigh, but this time there was no pleasure in it. "Oh, it's you," she said in way of greeting.

"Be careful, or you may sound like you don't want me here," Lancelot replied wryly, reaching a hand toward Beaucephalus's black muzzle. Sure enough, the stallion snapped at the offending hand, but Lancelot ducked under the dangerous teeth almost nonchalantly and rubbed the corded neck. "I wanted to talk to you," he continued.

Almost without realizing it, Jase had moved around to the horse's other side. "So what's on your mind?" she asked, reaching for one of the curry combs hanging nearby.

"I want to know why you avoid me," the knight said bluntly. "You relay well with the others but shun me like an illness. What is the reason?"

Well, here we go, Jase thought. She pulled up a three-legged stool and got up on it so she could lean across the horse's back. "Um, look, Lance – can I call you Lance?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I wanted to tell you not to waste your time with me."

Lancelot's hand fell from the horse's neck. "I see. But I repeat – what is the reason?" He jerked his hand away as Beaucephalus snapped at him again.

"'Ceph," Jase admonished quietly, "enough. You've made your point." The stallion whickered, obliging, but still gave the knight a gimlet eye.

Lancelot was giving Jase the same expression. "You're stalling."

Jase glared back. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? You're getting on my nerves, Mr. Silver Knight."

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked baldly.

"Afraid? Um...no."

"Do I make you nervous?"

"Yes." No hesitation there.

He cocked his head to one side. "That is not my intention."

"Intention or not, you make me nervous," Jase replied, "because you're coming on with the strength that a blind woman could see, and I don't like it. Besides, I have a man waiting for me at home." That is, she thought, if we ever get the hell out of here before I'm ninety.

The expression on Lancelot's face could have frozen beer. "What sort of man allows his wife to run around the country playing at knighthood?"

"I'm not married," Jase cut in, ignoring the barb.

Lancelot didn't seem to hear her. "How long has it been since you've seen the fellow?"

Jase groped for words. This was her chance to get this gorgeous, disturbing man away from her for good. And yet...and yet, as she looked into his clear blue eyes, she found herself answering truthfully. "Four years," she admitted, stepping down from the stool.

Lancelot's expression thawed a bit. "Really. And you believe he's waited for you all this time?"

That hit a little too close to home, and Jase swallowed a mercurial thickness in her throat, unable to answer. Her head dropped as she struggled with her doubt. Was Ian waiting for her? Of course he was! He would not even be aware of the passage of time! At least that was what she and Tash had been told... But was he really?

Lancelot maneuvered around Beaucephalus and was now standing in front of her. Jase knew she should tell him to leave, but he'd milked too much information out of her. All she could do was look up into those incredibly blue eyes. When he leaned toward her, she found she could not move at all.

The kiss was slow and gentle. It lasted but a few sweet moments, and then it was over, leaving Jase trembling and apprehensive. Lancelot didn't pull completely away, but leaned his forehead against hers, so all she could do was see his face. "I just want to spend time with you," he said softly. "Am I so below your standards that you won't even give me a chance?"

Something cynical flitted through her mind about typical male pickup lines, but all Jase could do was stammer like a teenager. "I – I can't, Lance, I can't – Ian is –"

"Is not here," Lancelot finished, placing a finger on her lips. "Has he contacted you? Will he come for you? You said yourself that you have not seen him in four years. And he has not asked for your hand."

"No, but –" Jase felt like she was floundering in warm syrup, but her senses suddenly came fully awake when Lancelot suddenly stepped back from her. His presence was so hypnotic, and his motion of retreat left her suddenly cold, an eerie feeling. "What...?" she asked, confused, causing him to grin. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving now," he replied. "You need space, yes?"

Jase shook her head, took a few deep breaths, clearing her head from his charms. She sighed in self-reproach and gathered what remained of her shredded dignity around her like a mantle. "I do," she managed coolly. "I don't understand what just happened, but I'd appreciate if you wouldn't do that again."

"No you wouldn't," Lancelot said with annoying male confidence, "but I will give you the room you need." He smiled broadly, and then turned and walked away without a backward glance.

Jase watched him go until he was out of sight, and then slowly sank into the clean straw. The stallion nosed her, looking for handouts, and she stroked his muzzle absently.

"Damn it," she muttered. "God damn it."

Chapter 29

#  Hooked

What do women want? – Sigmund Freud

With the exception of a few pagan ways such as Beltane, Camelot was predominately Christian, and celebrated as such. Psalm 81:3, "Blow the trumpet at the New Moon, at the Full Moon, on our Feast Day," was the inspiration for the full-moon gala, which Camelot held during the height of the full moon at winter solstice and vernal equinox. The gentry of the surrounding lands or their representatives would come for the week, and there would be dancing and feasting until the moon's waning.

Another of these days was fast approaching, and the castle, like always, became a humming beehive of activity. Cooks squalled at one another as they stirred and chopped, and then punched bread dough to relieve their frustrations. Stewards and maids scuttled to and fro with freshly polished silver, new white candles, and armloads of clean, pressed clothes for the lords and ladies to wear.

In the closed confines of her chamber, Jase smoothed down the skirt of her embroidered blue wool gown and turned to appraise herself in the mirror. Her face immediately screwed up into a macabre twist of distaste and protest, not at all an attractive sight. On the other hand, the expression didn't deter from the glorious change her attire had granted her. Jase studied her reflection pointedly and steadfastly bitched to herself about the dress's attributes. The bodice hugged her upper torso, plunging to a downright alarming scooped neckline that showed off practically everything she had. Of course, it didn't help matters any that the tightly clinched corset thrust her bust forward like the prow of a ship, and she couldn't help thinking that she could probably carry a drink on each breast without spilling a drop from either glass. The material clung to her waist and hips, emphasizing her female shape to the hilt, and the flaring skirt accentuated the feeling of perpetual nakedness underneath its voluminous folds. Even the mountain of linen petticoats she wore beneath the wool didn't ease her discomfort and she was tempted to pull the entire thing off and crawl into bed.

No one is going to attack you, she reminded herself firmly. Men see stuff like this all the time. Calm down. She glanced down at herself and frowned. Her cleavage was so pronounced that she could have easily held a flag between her breasts. Normally Jase would have welcomed a chance to show off her well-sculpted form, but only on her terms. This was pushing it just a tad.

Unceremoniously she grabbed the top of the bodice and tried to haul it upward several inches, but it stubbornly and steadfastly stayed in place. She tried again. Nothing. Not even a millimeter. She clenched her teeth and prepared for one good, furious pull.

"How many times must I tell you to leave it alone?" Marisa reprimanded, slapping Jase's hands away. "You shall tear it if you keep carrying on so. The seamstresses didn't work hard for days on this so you could muck it up." She carefully smoothed the material where Jase had wrinkled it.

Giving up, Jase put her hands on her confined hips and prepared to throw a fit. "I am not wearing this," she announced in disgust.

"Yes, you will," Marisa retorted. "You will attend the feast like a lady, not like a pagan."

"Okay, I'll grant that it's pretty, but look." She spread the folds of the skirt out in her hands. "It's humongous. And this." She indicated her thrusting bosom. "This doesn't look natural at all."

Marisa would not be swayed. "It is the fashion. You will wear clothes befitting your station in this castle and you will stop all of this unseemly nonsense for just one night."

"You can't tell me what to do," Jase growled, trying to appear ominous.

Marisa didn't flinch. "Aye, I can. And yonder friend of yours – who isn't complaining a bit, mind you – will back me up."

"Figures." Jase made a show of picking up the voluminous skirts and moved haltingly toward the door. "Tash can wrap anyone around her thumb and make me look like the bad one. Silverspoon with a silver tongue. Christ, this skirt –! I hope I don't trip."

"Mind your tongue," Marisa advised. "Come with me. You will be late."

Down the hall, Tash also stared at her reflection in the mirror, turning this way and that to get the full effect. Though serviceable and sturdily made, the deep green wool gown was undeniably elegant, with its fine embroidery and beadwork. She hadn't felt this feminine in a long time. She spread the skirt in her hands, and twirled experimentally in place, imagining sweeping across the floor downstairs with...

Her chamber door burst open without so much as a knock and Tash watched in the mirror as Jase stomped in. "Couldn't trust me to keep the dress on, could you?" she complained. "You just had to send over Marisa, now! Don't you know when to keep your nose out of my business?"

Tash's gaze shifted to Marisa. "How much trouble was she giving you?"

Marisa made a chuffing noise. "Aside from nearly tearing the bodice to shreds, she was actually civil."

"Civil!" Jase repeated. "I'm being forced –"

"Jase, sit down."

"Kiss my ass."

"It'll take too long to get all your petticoats out of the way. Thank you, Marisa, I can manage from here." The maid bobbed her head in assent and left the room. When the door had shut behind her, Tash frowned at Jase. "All right, what is your problem?"

"Are you kidding? Look at me!" Jase wailed. "I can't believe you're making me wear all this shit!" She paced a few steps and stopped to look in the mirror. "How many times must I tell you? I Don't. Do. Dresses! Especially ones like this! I mean, Christ...Fifteen petticoats and five pairs of pantalets and twenty-five garters and..."

"Quit bellyaching," Tash ordered. "Besides, I bet you don't even know how good you look."

"That's another problem, sweetheart. This is the first time these people have seen us in this kind of getup. The armor was a bad enough shock, but this," she waved her hands at her nearly exposed breasts, "is calling for orgies. Mark my words, it's gonna be a damn meat market down there."

"Oh, for God's sake, spare me your crap," Tash said scornfully. "You've always walked into bars back home wearing your tiniest tank tops and tightest jeans, and dropped men in their tracks. And you've gloried in it every time. You were a lot more exposed then. Why are you so squeamish about it now?"

Jase sighed and brought her hand up to her cheek, gesticulating like a mob boss. "Tasher, you're not getting the big picture here. I know exactly what reactions and what offers I'm going to get back home, and I know how to respond. These people are a different story. We are a different story. I don't know if you've noticed or not, but we're rather exotic compared to most of these pug-faced women here. We could be leapt on and raped in a minute."

Tash pursed her lips. "And you just couldn't handle that, could you? Well, then, just consider it a challenge." She returned to the mirror.

Jase snorted and pushed herself away from Tash's vanity table. "It's all well and good for you. You're used to this princess stuff –"

"Right, Jase, I wear dresses like this all the time."

"Well, maybe not floor-length, but you're one of those chicks who won't wear something unless it screams 'designer label.'"

The brush paused and Tash glared at Jase piercingly. "You're the one bragging about how exotic you look. As usual."

"I – don't – want – to – wear – this," Jase hissed, emphasizing her words by shaking handfuls of the skirt.

"Well, that's too bad. You're wearing it."

"But...!"

"Jase," Tash interrupted again, continuing her brushing, "you've got no other choice."

Jase's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Okay, fine. I'll wear the damn thing. But if I trip, I will tear it to shreds right there."

"Go ahead," Tash said pleasantly. "You'll be naked and making a fool of yourself, too, but go right ahead."

Jase threw up her hands and turned away. She came nose to nose with Marisa, who had come back into the room. Jase saw the ribbons and pins she held in her hand and immediately backed away, staggering as her heel came down on her train.

"Now then," Marisa said in a no-nonsense tone, "sit here, milady, and allow me to dress your hair."

"Oh, hell no."

Marisa pointed at the chair in a no-nonsense manner. "Sit."

To Jase, she looked like an evil scientist who had just found a living brain for his experiment. She tried to reason. "Now look. The dress I'm stuck with, because I don't care to go down there naked. My hair, however, is another matter. You're not sticking a ton of wooden sharp-edged things in my head. Get away from me."

Marisa's eyes slid over to Tash for confirmation and Tash shrugged. "At least let me weave some ribbons in it," Marisa wheedled.

"No." Jase's voice was flat with denial. "I'll wear it down, unbraided, unpinned, and un-furbelowed. I am not a show horse."

Marisa shook her head and sighed. "All the other maidens will have their locks dressed, you wee heathen. They'll say I'm not doing my job."

"I've never been a slave to fashion," Jase retorted, then relented. "And anyone I overhear saying you don't do your job will get my foot in their ass. Do we have a deal?"

Marisa considered. "Oh, very well. Turn around and let me look at you." Jase obediently turned in a small circle, and Marisa couldn't hold back a smile. "Ah, my lamb, you may not be a slave to fashion, as you say, but you do carry yourself well!"

Jase was pleasantly surprised. "Really? Thank you."

"In fact," Marisa continued, "I do so hope that you are as adept at slaying knights off the field as you do on the field, Lady Jasin. I fear you will not be able to keep them away from you."

Jase couldn't help but bask in the compliment. "That's what I'm counting on, Marisa," she said happily. "That's what I'm counting on."

Tash frowned. "Wait a minute. A few minutes ago, you were bitching about being raped in the dress, and now you can't wait to snag a few gents."

Jase tossed her head. "Didn't you hear her? I look gooooood."

Tash groaned. "Thanks a lot, Marisa. Her ego is already the size of all Britain, and you've just fed fuel to the fire." She beckoned. "Here, since your fingers itch to do someone's hair, you can fix mine. But leave it down, please." She grinned at Jase. "I can't let her have all the men, can I?"

"Way to go, Tasher!" Jase crowed. "I knew you wouldn't let me down!"

"I'll be pleased to be rid of the two of you, and no mistake," Marisa grumbled, but the words were blunted by the twinkle in her eyes. She quickly pulled Tash's hair back from her temples and fastened it up on the sides with two combs sparkling with tiny emeralds. The green stones set off Tash's bronze hair very well, and they intensified the color of her eyes. Tash studied her reflection and sat back, satisfied.

"Now both of you must hurry," Marisa ordered. "No doubt you will make an entrance, but make an entrance you must." She opened the door to leave. "You had both best be warned of the stir you will make!"

Jase laughed as the door closed. "Well, here goes nothing, Tasher. Let's do it." She drew herself up before the mirror in what she hoped was an image of elegance.

Tash smiled. "She's right. You're gonna need a crowbar to beat them off of you, Jase."

"Must come from working around too many actors." Jase looked over her shoulder and bit her bottom lip. "Do I really look okay?"

"Such a sucker for a compliment! Yeah. Yeah, you look great."

Relieved, Jase held her hands up in a photographer's pose. "Good. So do you. But then again, you always look perfect."

"Whatever." Tash opened the door. "As you would say...let's go play."

♦ ♦ ♦

Music wafted up the staircase and both women followed it until they stopped before the entrance to the great hall. They looked at each other like kids at Christmas, and with an air of confidence born of challenge and intrigue, they swept into the hall, and into the spotlight.

Conversation around them actually died away. Tash looked around, wondering what the problem was, and she noticed that every eye was focused on her and Jase. Until then, they had both thought that Marisa was overstating the crowd's reaction. But now they saw she wasn't bluffing – the effect was akin to an earthquake.

Jase regained her composure faster and immediately started talking to the person nearest to her. Tash caught on and turned to the person at her shoulder, who just happened to be Percival. Grateful for his presence, she asked him for a goblet of wine and he was only too happy to comply. Conversation gradually resumed and Tash breathed a sigh of relief.

Across the hall, two people were gauging their own reactions to these fresh glimpses of Jase and Tash. The first was Guinevere, who smoldered inwardly every time her eyes fell upon the two lavishly dressed women, and that was more than enough times to count on both hands. Lady Morgan's plans for her would never work now. The king's sister had helped her achieve some goals – painful and embarrassing at first, but now very important and very enjoyable – in the hopes of piquing Arthur's interest. Now as long as these two odd wenches were about, there was no chance of garnering the attention of any man, especially those so near the tantalizing throne. She longed to rake her nails down their faces until the blood ran, or at least to slap the highborn pride from their faces. But she was not one to make a scene at a banquet, and so she sat next to her father and pouted grumpily, looking like the spoiled child that she was.

The other watcher in the party sat on the dais, long legs crossed at the ankle, his hooded grey eyes watching the glow from the hundred-plus candles caress the coppery highlights in Tash's hair. Oh, it was far too easy to feel lust for the woman; he'd wanted her from the first moment he'd seen her in the forest glade. But something in those damnably jeweled eyes of hers had held him back, had stirred something else within him that he thought would lay forever dormant. He had irritably pushed it aside, not wanting to deal with the emotion that softened his heart like melted butter. He was the High King of Britain; he couldn't afford to waste idle thoughts on a woman, not with so much still left to do!

Then why couldn't he stop thinking of her? He recalled how she'd stood up to the entire court at their trial. Their fates had hung by a thread, and he had already decided to exile them both before the trial even started, especially to get her out of his sight. But she'd bested him even there. She'd put him on the spot with a few cleverly worded phrases, and in doing so, she'd firmly ensconced herself within the court – and within his mind.

She haunted his dreams, she filled his thoughts. What was worse, he found himself seeking her company more than often enough, and a promising friendship had begun. He'd found her to be wonderfully adept at handling a bow and just as proficient at playing chess. She now beat him whenever they sat down to a game, and he secretly accused her of making him lose, which was true, considering he sometimes had trouble concentrating on the game. He had attempted to quench his lust on numerous whores since she'd shed that armor and had proven her Dragon lineage. Every attempt had failed, and every woman had been sent away. Like a parched man who receives wine instead of water, he still thirsted. His heart still persisted to soften like melted butter. He still lost chess games. She was all he wanted, period.

Halfway across the hall, Tash stood alone with a goblet of wine and looked out the window, completely unaware that she'd just captured the king.

Chapter 30

#  Dancing with the Devil

Evil is easy, and has infinite forms. – Blaise Pascal

The months swept by much as the falling leaves had, and soon late autumn was upon the kingdom. Twice during the fall months, the legions of Camelot rode out to disband King Lot's continued attempts at insurrection. Both times, the criminal king's armies were slaughtered before Arthur's superior might. The fact that Lot kept appointing incompetent generals to lead in his name was a statement to a true lack of faith in his own troops. What few survivors there were fled back to Northshore, and Arthur let them go. There was no need to waste valuable resources, and as long as Lot kept sending fools to lead his armies, there was no real threat. The threat, however, was always there, and when it erupted into danger, Camelot would be ready.

As before, when the knights rode out, Tash and Jase had joined the companies going to fight. There was no question anymore about their abilities. Oh, there was still some grumbling among a couple of the older knights, but all agreed that the women's skill at arms were welcome additions. Their presence actually turned out to be a morale boost, for they joked that even women could defeat the soldiers of King Lot. They even chuckled at Jase's adage, "The male ego equals stupidity, which in turn equals defeat."

It had also become obvious that there was a budding relationship between Lancelot and Jase. They had finally gotten past their initial awkwardness and had become friends, and the friendship had strengthened to the point where the other knights began taking bets on who would make the first romantic move. The pair fought at each other's sides magnificently, each almost an extension of the other, and their names were always on the same duty rosters.

The young squire, Reno, also accompanied the two women everywhere they went. He was now always seen in the company of Jase's Dragon friend, Brindle. The elegant reptile had taken a shining to the young mute and they were terrific friends. In recent battles, Reno's squire services were not needed, so Jase suggested that the boy become a war scribe. He and Brindle stayed sheltered behind the lines, and Brindle, with his keen vision, would describe the battle deeds to Reno, who would scribble the dictations onto a tiny bundle of vellum sheets and leather that had been sewn together to create a makeshift notepad. Once back at the castle, he would painstakingly transcribe these scribbles into a large bound journal that Tash had given him. He kept it in a cloth-lined steel lockbox, along with all of his other possessions, and he kept the key around his neck on a long silver chain. He found that when he was nervous, rubbing the key would help.

It wasn't helping this afternoon, however. The third battle with King Lot's army was in full swing, and everything was absolute chaos. The renegade king had actually shown up this time, and the size of his army easily matched or possibly exceeded the size of Camelot's army. The smell of blood, the flash of steel, and the shrieks of death assaulted Reno's senses, and he paused long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow and clutch his key all the tighter.

Lot's garrisons were pushing their advantage, and for a moment it seemed that victory would be theirs, but Camelot's forces regrouped and pushed back, slowly gaining what they had lost. A commotion from Lot's left flank caused a momentary pause, and suddenly the rear guard was decimated by a rain of deadly flechettes that seemed to come out of nowhere. Camelot's knights looked about wildly as more of the tiny missiles sang through the air, but the mysterious archers remained invisible.

However, it was quickly assessed that the targets were Lot's soldiers, who were dropping like flies under the assault. The remainder of Lot's army broke ranks and fled in a riot of panic, more of them succumbing to the deadly darts with each step. At Arthur's command, the front line gave chase and the rest were ordered to regroup under the Pendragon banner. As the wearied troops gathered, the invisible archers appeared as if by magic from the woods. Surprisingly, they were elves; even more so was that they were instantly recognized by two of the knights.

"It's Houdini!" Jase shouted, spurring Beaucephalus over the blood-soaked ground. She shed her armor as she approached and leapt from the stallion's back before he came to a stop. She ran straight to the foremost of the elves and grabbed his hand firmly, shaking it hard enough to make him lose his footing. "What are you doing here?" she gasped, then stepped back and sneezed violently. "And what is this white shit all over you?" She brushed at the flaky white powder that covered Tadini's body.

Tadini grinned. "This? Just mud. The Scots and the Norsemen think we are ghosts." He brushed at his sleeve. "The only complaint I have is that it itches like a fiend."

Jase laughed as King Arthur and some of the other knights, including Tash, came up. Tash slid wearily from her horse and greeted Tadini with another handclasp, this one less exuberant than Jase's but just as heartfelt. "You won this match, my friend," she said softly. "I think you saved our butts."

Tadini nodded and touched her cheek. "I'm glad we got here in time."

Jase turned to Arthur. "Milord, allow me to introduce H...Tadini. He is from the Sixth Hall of Elves."

Arthur leaned over from his horse and clasped Tadini's hands. "Many thanks to you and your archers, friend."

Leodegrantz also extended a hand. "It's been a long time, Tadini. A long time."

"You all know each other?" Jase asked, as Tadini grasped Leodegrantz's hand.

Tadini nodded. "We met long ago, when I was a child."

"What brings you here?" Leodegrantz asked. "As I recall, elves do not usually interfere with 'Human strife.'"

Tadini's eyes lost their good humor. "You are correct, Leodegrantz. However, in this case, we've made an exception. Lot and his armies attacked the Tenth Hall. He wiped out the population, stole the treasures..." He looked at Tash and Jase. "King Zebulon and his son Arion were visiting. They were killed along with the others." Tash gasped and Jase closed her eyes.

"We are truly sorry for your loss," Arthur said quietly. "We will give you all the help we can."

Tadani nodded. "Thank you, King Arthur."

"How is Gideon?" Jase asked. "Is he all right?"

Tadini smiled with what little humor he had left. "He is king now. He hates it." He looked up at Arthur. "Watch your back, milord," he warned. "What Lot took from the Hall can buy lots of soldiers. You can count on our help."

Arthur nodded tiredly. "Unfortunately, I may have to take you up on it, my friend."

"We will be waiting," the ghostly figure returned. He bowed slightly to them all, and then stepped back into the woods with his troops. Within moments all the elves were gone, as if they had never been there.

Arthur studied the trees at the fringes of the forest for a few minutes, and then looked up as Gawaine touched his arm. The pursuing knights were returning, several with prisoners in tow. The sun was starting its descent toward the horizon. It would be a long trek back to Camelot; they had best start on their way soon.

♦ ♦ ♦

The high tower was empty now. It was cold and drafty and dust was starting to accumulate over everything. Ever since Morgan's departure, no one bothered to go there. Except for one person. It was her private sanctuary.

With all the knights and her father gone, Lady Guinevere had no one to keep her in check. She liked coming to this quiet place, where she could do whatever she wished and didn't have to worry that she was being watched. She supposed people would wonder where she had gotten all the little trinkets decorating the room. Kleptomania had replaced Agravaine as her current passion. Her latest treasure was a decorative boot knife she had stolen from Lady Jasin's room. There were many things in that room that she longed to take, but it was best to start small. She took the knife out from among the folds of her voluminous skirts and caressed it fondly. She'd like to find someone to teach her to use this little tool. She took up a clumsy en garde stance and imagined herself slitting Lady Jasin's throat, or slicing a disfiguring scar along Lady Tatiana's face from temple to jaw. She never even heard the footsteps coming up behind her until it was too late. A hand snaked across her mouth and she dropped the knife in terror.

"You need some lessons badly," a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

Guinevere twisted away and turned to face her attacker. "Mordred, you...you stupid fool! You nearly scared me to death."

"And you could have been dead if I'd been 'the enemy,'" Mordred mocked. "What are you up to in here, anyhow?" His dark eyes scanned the drafty room, missing nothing. "It's beginning to look like a Dragon's hoard up here, little girl," he observed. "My, my, my. Look there, now. Isn't that the gold vase missing from the courtyard hallway? And look, there's Sir Bedivere's champion spear." He turned back to Guinevere with a doting grin. "Tsk, tsk. Just imagine what your father would say. His dear daughter, a thief."

Guinevere had grown paler as Mordred talked. "Mordred, you cannot tell anyone about this."

"Oh?" Mordred cocked an eyebrow. "You do know, of course, that I am Arthur's favorite nephew, and it is my duty to inform him of –"

"Favorite nephew?" Guinevere interrupted. "Bah! You're nothing but a...a bastard!" She looked shocked enough herself that she'd said the dreadful word.

Mordred gasped and raised his hands to his face. "Oh no – a bastard! Whatever shall I do?" He chuckled low in his throat. "I'll make a deal with you, my pet. I will keep your secret if – if – you do something for me." When Guinevere didn't respond, Mordred crept forward and took her chin in his fingers. "I know about the lessons you were receiving from Agravaine," he whispered. "I shall pick up where he left off. You will find my methods just as enjoyable as his, I promise. If you desist, however, I will gladly turn you over to your father and the king and make sure they send you to a convent in barbaric Scotland. The choice, my dear, is yours."

Guinevere stared at him as if he were mad. With a quick jolt, she tried to flee from him, but Mordred was too quick. He casually dragged her by her hair, kicking and yelping, and threw her on the musty bed, where he set to his work immediately. There were no more questions asked.

♦ ♦ ♦

It was one of those nights when sleep stayed just out of arm's reach. Jase had tried everything from reading some utterly boring stories to drinking warm wine to counting sheep, but nothing worked. As a last resort, she slipped from her bed, threw on a heavy robe, and started walking the halls of the castle. Maybe some exercise would nip her insomnia in the bud.

After a few hours of wandering about like a restless ghost, Jase was finally beginning to slide toward catatonia. Her mind drifted from vague subject to vague subject until there was nothing there but a blank void that just barely reminded her body to put one foot in front of the other. But the blank void was also a distraction, and Jase paid no heed to the shadows around her, not noticing that one had detached itself from a dark corridor and was following her.

She came to a junction between the east and west wings and paused, taking a moment to force her mind to remember which way to go. The hesitation cost her a good night's sleep. The shadow that loomed behind her lunged and the pleasant fog instantly left Jase's brain as a surge of adrenalin brought all of her senses to full wakefulness. A large hand clamped across her mouth, while another curled around her torso to pin her arms to her sides. She jerked violently and tried to bite the offending hand, but it squeezed cruelly until her jaws ached.

"Not a sound, little hellcat," the offender commanded quietly, and Jase's eyes widened as she recognized Lancelot's voice.

"Lance?" she managed. "What –?"

The hand tightened. "I said shut up."

There was an odd tone in his voice that Jase hadn't heard before, and she felt a small thrill of fear. "You're hurting me. Let go."

He didn't. She started to struggle again, but the hand that covered her mouth casually squeezed a little tighter until she found it difficult to breathe. Her struggles ceased in an effort to make him release the pinching grasp.

"So you can take orders, after all," he rumbled in her ear, not relaxing his grip. "It is wise to realize when the odds are against you." Jase had the common sense to be afraid, so she refrained from moving. Her efforts were rewarded as his grip loosened slightly.

"Listen to me carefully." Lancelot raised his voice to a normal tone. "In three days you will meet me at Salisbury Plain. You will tell no one of this meeting, for we are not going there to talk. Make sure you bring your champion's sword, and we will settle this thing between us like," he squeezed her jaws painfully, "gentlemen."

His grip relaxed again, and with one wrench Jase tore herself away, turning to face him squarely. His handsome face was twisted into a sneer and his cold blue eyes burned with a queer inner light. "What the hell's the matter with you?" she hissed. "What are you doing?"

"Are you going to abide by my rules, or must I force you into them?" he snapped, ignoring her questions. "You will not run from me, little coward. You will face me or die. Just you and me, 'warrior,' with God as our judge."

Was he kidding? Jase hesitated, wondering whether she should take him at his word, laugh, or run off down the hall at full speed. He'd been so wonderful to her since the gala ...And then anger flared. Who the hell did he think he was? Was this the valiant knight of Camelot she'd read about since she was a child? Was this the shining example of heroism she'd come to idolize? Was this the man she was falling in love with?

"With God as our judge?" she repeated. "If you don't knock this off, then God'll have to beat some sense into you!"

Lancelot's eyes narrowed. "You are just a showpiece, woman. The roar of the crowd, the interference of a mediator, the feigned importance of a game...they are what matter to you." His lip curled. "Methinks you a jester, for that is all you seem to have the glory for."

Jase sneered. "Really. Well, methinks only a fool would not be able to tell the difference between selfish glory and true honor."

His features turned to granite and he grabbed her by her chin, eliciting a startled gasp from her. "You dare to insinuate that – "

"No," Jase said, now as angry as he was, "that was no insinuation, that was fact. After all, you're the one who insisted on the joust that dropped your ass in the dirt."

"Three days," he interrupted, shaking her slightly. "You will meet me in three days." He pushed her back from him in contempt.

"I am not going to fight you," she insisted, trying to rub some feeling back into her lower jaw. "What the hell's happened to you? A few days ago you were pledging to cold-cock anyone who dared look at me the wrong way!"

"You will meet me!" Lancelot warned. "Do not try my patience further!"

"Like hell," Jase said stubbornly. "Christ, Lancelot, the tournament was last summer! Accept your defeat with a little dignity! You'd think your mother would have taught you that poor losers aren't well-liked!"

The next thing she knew, she was lying stunned on the floor with blood welling from a gash on her cheekbone and her head ringing like a brass gong. All of her impertinence fled and cold fear took its place, chilling her to the bone. Wiping the blood from her face, she shakily pushed herself to a sitting position and stared up at him, wide-eyed with disbelief.

Lancelot stood over her, his face a mask of fury. "You need to be taught the proper place for a woman, wench," he remarked frigidly. "But then, you think yourself an almighty warrior." He grabbed the collar of her shirt and pulled her to her feet. "Do you fear my sword, then? Are you as lily-livered as you seem?" He jerked her face close to his. "Aye, that you are. I tell you for the last time: come display your so-called courage to me, you pompous child. Three days. I shall await you." He pushed her back to the stone floor and stalked down the hall.

Jase didn't move for several minutes. The pain that snaked through her head and her terror kept her on the floor, and she desperately fought to control herself before she gave into the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. When she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, fear overcame pain and she jumped to her feet, regardless of the surging throbbing inside her skull, and plunged down the hall, trusting that instinct would lead her straight to her room and praying that she wouldn't run into anyone on the way.

Luckily, she got back to her chamber without any further confrontations. She dropped into a chair and immediately poured herself a goblet of wine, trying to control her shaking so she wouldn't spill the liquid all over the floor. Only after two goblets did the pain in her head recede and she was able to rise to her feet and risk a look at her face in the mirror. He'd hit her, for God's sake; he'd actually clubbed her enough to make her head spin. She had fought hundreds of men on the battlefield, killing some, wounding others...but no one, absolutely no one, had ever struck her like he had, as a show of power, not even her drunken good-for-nothing birth father. And for what? At sword practice just a few hours ago he'd been so pleasant to her. But now...She studied the small cut on her cheekbone carefully, noting that it was but a scratch that would probably heal within two days.

The bruise...well, that was another story entirely. It almost covered the entire side of her face and by morning would be a sickly shade of purple that would be impossible to cover up, even if she did have makeup to cover it with. It would broadcast her insolence to the entire court, and she wondered absently just how many people would ask her who had hit her. Upon closer scrutiny, she found she wouldn't even have to answer that question. Lancelot had hit her with the hand that wore his signet ring and the blood had risen to the imprint his crest had made on her cheek. The mark resembled a big red stamp, proclaiming to everyone that the king's champion had used her for a punching bag. Lady Jasin, one of the Nameless Knights, brought low by a jealous champion's fist. It was too humiliating to contemplate.

Well, she wasn't going to be around to see their pitying expressions or hear their goddamn whispers! She spat a few curses at her reflection and pushed herself away from the mirror, reaching for the saddlebags she'd brought with her from Avalon. She began throwing her gear in the bags as fast as she could, her hands shaking once again. She'd need nearly everything, and she planned to be gone within the hour, because she would ride all over hell and creation to avoid the scheduled confrontation with this suddenly abusive man that history called the most valiant knight in the world.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tash knocked on Jase's door, frowning when there was no answer. It was nearly three in the morning, for God's sake. The frown turned to a smirk. Maybe she was out sparking someone in the moonlight or something. Jase had a thing for moonlight. She also had this thing about sparking. Well, all she wanted was some willow bark; she had a headache that would turn Caligula in his grave. She opened the door and went inside, and stopped still at the sight of Jase lying on her bed, looking right at her.

"What – Why didn't you answer the door?" Tash asked, not a little annoyed.

"I'm tired," Jase said. "And I don't want company. Good night."

Tash immediately closed the door. "All right, now you know an attitude like that deserves complete attention. What's the matter?"

"Get out." If Jase's tone were any flatter, it would have been printed on a page.

"You're being a bitch," Tash observed. "Out with it."

"Tash, please." Jase looked over at her pleadingly. "Just leave me alone, will you?"

Tash saw it then. She all but leapt onto the bed and took Jase's jaw in her hand, turning her head roughly to one side. "Holy Jesus Christ," she spat.

"Get off," Jase ordered, trying to pull her face free, but Tash held on.

"Talk," Tash commanded.

Jase opted for a lie. "Nothing happened. I tripped on the steps and hit the corner of the banister."

"Banisters don't have signets," Tash snapped, outlining the design with her fingernail. "Don't lie to me. What the hell did he hit you for?"

Jase gave up. "I don't know. I didn't do anything to him."

"That son of a bitch," Tash murmured. "That dirty son of a bitch. You need to go to the king, you need to petition this – "

Jase's bitter laugh interrupted Tash. "What good would that do? They'd say he was putting me in my place."

"Well, if you won't do something, then I will!" Tash said angrily.

"Tash," Jase interrupted again, her voice weary, "let it rest. Please, just let it rest."

"Let it rest!" Tash snapped. "You want to sit idle while some man beats the shit out of you –"

"I said enough, damn it!" Jase sat straight up and pointed to the door. "Leave. Just get out. I'll deal with this on my own terms."

Tash looked at her for a minute, and then quickly scooted off the bed. "Okay," she said in a hard voice, "fine. I'll let you wallow in it, then. I just came to get some willow bark, because I have a headache that has now sprung into a brain-burner. Is it too much to ask you where you keep it?"

Jase waved at an earthenware jar on the bedside table. "There's some in there."

Tash didn't hesitate to snatch the lid from the jar. She reached in, grabbed one of the small paper packets, and slammed the lid back down. "I'll leave you alone now," she said. "Good night." The door shut behind her with enough force to make the knob rattle. As soon as she was alone, Jase stood up, pulled her saddlebags out from under her bed and resumed packing.

♦ ♦ ♦

The knight drew his sword and slashed through the blue Dragon's throat. The blood spouted from the severed vessels and began to flood the land. As the Dragon floundered on the ground in its death throes, it opened its mouth and a woman's scream burst forth...

Merlin jerked awake, breathing heavily. He'd been having a pleasant dream about the Pentecost games, and suddenly it had become a nightmare, a nightmare twisting out of control that threatened the downfall he was trying so hard to stop.

He rose quickly, dressed, and silently made his way through the castle, replaying the details of the dream in his mind. He'd learned to trust and interpret his dreams over the years. The knight, the silver knight battling with the blue Dragon...He puzzled it out as he walked down the quiet corridors, replaying the details in his mind.

Hurried footsteps sounded in the hallway ahead of him, and Jase appeared out of the gloom, almost plowing into him in her hurry. She looked up at him quickly, then skirted around him and continued on up the hall at a quicker pace. But in that quick instant when their eyes had met, Merlin had seen fear in her face.

"Jasin!" he called sharply. She slowed and stopped, half turning as Merlin came up behind her. The look from one eye was now pleading.

"Merlin," she said helplessly, "let me go."

"Come back here," he ordered, noticing the bags thrown over her shoulder. "Where are you going?" Then he saw the bruise and his mouth tightened as he raised a hand to her cheek. She didn't pull away as his finger outlined the reddened imprint of the crest.

Lancelot and the daughter of Vaitare at war. He had suspected this might come to pass since the woman had taken the victory laurels at the games. He had dismissed the notion when it seemed everything was going so well. Obviously, something was badly wrong and cataclysmic disaster was at hand.

He tenderly cupped her chin in his hand. "Tell me what happened."

Jase jerked away from his hand. "What's to tell?" She adjusted the bags on her shoulder and tried to turn around, but Merlin turned her back toward him.

"Back off," she said angrily, pushing his hand from her shoulder.

"You are running," Merlin said flatly. "That is not your way."

"No?" Jase snapped. "Well, neither is this." She pointed to her bruised cheek. "Running for a while will at least keep me injury-free."

Merlin stroked his chin, thinking that the dream he'd just had could very well become reality. "You cannot leave," he said finally.

Jase looked at him. "You're forbidding me?"

Merlin ignored that question. "You cannot leave," he repeated gently.

The quiet declaration raised Jase's hackles. "Can't I?" she retorted sharply. "He wants to fight me, Merlin, and why he wants to is beyond me! Something has happened in his head and Christ if I know what it is! I've got to leave! I will not be a sacrificial lamb to his God-sized ego!" As her voice rose, Merlin put a finger over her lips and gestured to remind her of the hour of night. He took her elbow and directed her down the hall, out into the courtyard. Once they were outside, he propelled her in front of him, and she turned to face him, waiting for his response.

"Well?" she prodded. "What do you say to that?"

Merlin put his hands on her shoulders. "Jasin," he said slowly and clearly, "you must meet his challenge, as ugly as it sounds."

This was not what she expected. "What?"

"He has demanded satisfaction," Merlin explained, "and you must give it."

Jase looked at him incredulously. "Why? So he can soothe his vanity by beating the shit out of me? He's snapped. Don't you look at me like that, wizard. I don't care who you're working for or what my so-called orders are. This wasn't part of the package you sold us at Avalon. Martyrdom isn't my forte."

Merlin shrugged. "This time it may have to be."

"Oh, right," Jase retorted sarcastically. "Did your almighty Sight tell you things will come out white in the wash, or are you one load short?"

"Nay." Merlin frowned. "I do not comprehend this completely myself, but –"

"But what?" Jase interrupted. "It's all right for him to act this way? It's all right for him to slug me whenever he feels the urge?"

"I did not say that," Merlin countered sharply. "Now be silent for a moment. You must understand that Lancelot is as much the lifeblood of this kingdom as is Arthur, Excalibur, and the Brotherhood of the Round Table. If you do not accept his challenge, he will not return to Camelot...and the kingdom will crumble again because, as good a knight as you are, you are not Lancelot."

"I am quite aware that I'm not Glorious Sir Lancelot," Jase began hotly, but Merlin cut her off.

"Then you must understand he is needed here."

"Fine!" Jase said shortly. "Send someone else to tangle with him. I'm going."

"You will go to Stonehenge," Merlin countered quietly.

Jase blinked. "What part of 'no' do you not understand?" When he didn't answer, she threw her bag in the dirt. "Just yesterday he was my friend. A few hours ago he was...well. Now he's suddenly out to kill me. And you want me to stick around and let him do it!" Her finger jabbed at him. "Get it through your head, Merlin. I am not dying for anyone. That's a long-standing policy for me. Not my parents, my boyfriend, my best friend, and certainly not for your so-called plans!"

The necromancer's eyes narrowed. "One for all, hmm? I do not believe that you are that selfish."

"No, that's not selfishness, that's reality," Jase replied angrily. "There's no honor in dying, and even martyrs lose their luster after a few years." Merlin put his hands on her shoulders and she shrugged him off. "Dead is dead, wizard. That's it. Got it?"

"You still don't see," Merlin replied. "Time and the powers that be will determine when the walls between realms open. If you do not resolve this, who is to say you will not meet him later on?"

"I do see! I understand all that! But you told me yourself that I will never beat a king or his champion at actual combat. That really puts a kink in my style, you know. I've never started or been in a fight that was a lose-lose situation, and I'm not going to start now."

"Yes, I did say that," Merlin agreed, "but I didn't say you had to beat him at this fight. I said to accept his challenge. You will defend yourself, and you can manage that much. Perhaps that will be sufficient to return him to his senses, for the challenge in the fight will be gone."

Jase paused, feeling cornered. "Yeah, but..." she finally floundered helplessly, one hand straying to her cheek. That was the real reason she wanted to run. God, she couldn't face him again, not after that. She was terrified to face him again. She'd never feared any man before, but by Christ she had reason now. She never knew that a man could be so strong, never really knew that they had it in them to be so willfully brutal. She'd always taken men for granted, secretly enjoying her own power over them, seeing how far she could wrap them around her finger, assuring herself that they were harmless. But now, for the first time, she was the one being wrapped around a man's finger, wrapped so tightly that she couldn't break away and would be left struggling helplessly while he laughed. She shuddered at the possibilities of such prospects, prospects that suddenly loomed realistically before her and could happen not just now, but at any time. She now knew what it meant when a man took hold of a woman in anger and didn't plan to let go of her. And she was afraid, damned afraid.

"Please," she finally confessed, "please. I can't. You weren't there when he did this. It was brutal and it was malice, and he gloried in it. There was something – something not right in his face, in his eyes. He meant it."

She backed away instinctively as his face darkened. The black eyes were cold and his voice was hard when he spoke. "I cannot believe that you are the same woman who has faced the enemy and wielded your sword upon them, and yet you sit here quavering over a simple slap on the face. You're acting just like a frightened little girl. I am ashamed of you."

That hurt, a lot more than Lancelot's slap. Outraged, Jase rose to her full height, her eyes sparking. "You rotten son of a bitch!"

"Jasin, despite what you may think or still believe, you have to get it through your thick skull that this is real! These times are hard, they make for hard men and obedient women, and obedience keeps them alive and unharmed. So stop dreaming pretty dreams about this era. Lancelot is a man, not the perfect, unsoiled hero you believe him to be. You, my dear, are a very independent woman, and in this time you defy everything that he and every other man," he stressed the word, "believes about women. You have to get it through your head that it is neither uncommon nor unlawful for a man to put a woman in her place! If you don't obey him now, think of what he could do to you later!"

"Now you've got it," Jase snarled back. "Now you see what I'm talking about. That's why I am not staying here. Obviously this is more than I can take! Send me home! I am done here!"

Merlin made a sound of frustrated disgust. "You just refuse to listen, don't you? You stubborn, selfish woman! The world as you know it is at stake, yet you don't give a damn." He shoved her toward the stables. "Go, then. Begone."

Smoldering, Jase opened her mouth to make a smart retort, but the look on Merlin's face dared her to speak. Her mouth snapped shut so abruptly that her teeth clicked and turning her back on the sorcerer, she grabbed her knapsack and walked away, heading for the stables.

Think, damn it! her mind screamed. Think about what you are doing! Just save yourself; you've got no ties to this place. Did he actually call me selfish? Me? She entered the stables and without preamble began saddling Beaucephalus. Selfish! Ha! He's the one who's selfish. He expects us to do everything for him, and he'll get the credit! What could possibly change? What would I be changing? He called me selfish! ME! He's not the one staring down the business end of a sadistic knight. Fuck him and fuck his plans. I'm outta here.

Beaucephalus nudged Jase out the stall door and out of her reverie. He jerked at the reins and began to prance impatiently, and Jase pulled him down. "Knock it off, mister," she growled, "or you're dog food. I'll walk out of here if I have to, and I'll just leave you for Tash to deal with. How will you like that, eh?"

Tash. Jase stopped her banter as she thought of her friend. God, Tash would berate the hell out of her, and for two good reasons: firstly for allowing a man to scare her this badly and secondly for running off without putting the guy in his place. Tash would think her selfish, too. Well, she'd have to learn to live with that. With a sigh of resignation, she went out the door, pulling Beaucephalus behind her, and found Merlin just outside. She wasn't surprised. She eyed him for a minute, then snorted and mounted up.

"Remember –" he began.

She cut him off sourly. "Shut up and go to hell. It's over. I'm going home."

The wizard sighed. "Remember," he repeated quietly, "you have a purpose for being here."

Jase slowed her steps, then, as if thinking better of it, forced herself to continue riding Beaucephalus out of the courtyard.

♦ ♦ ♦

She ended up going to Stonehenge after all, cursing under her breath as she approached. She was sure Fate herself would run screaming for the hills if she had to go through this ordeal. The bitch could dish it out, but she couldn't take it. Squaring her jaw, Jase gave Beaucephalus his head and the charger virtually leapt from beneath her as he surged forward with his freedom. Horse and rider leaned into the frigid wind that whipped them both, tossing their matching manes in wild abandon.

Two days ago they had left Camelot and Jase had kept the horse reined to walk. Selfish or not, beaten or not, Jase still harbored an innate love for the story that was Camelot. She had convinced herself to go home, and yet, she knew it wouldn't happen until her assigned task was complete. And she had no control over that. She had become so despondent with the sudden turn of events that she didn't care anymore – she only cared to end it and end it quickly.

So, for the period of time they had merely wandered in the general direction of the stone circle, coming close to the site yet never fully approaching it. There were times when Jase almost gave up on the entire idea and turned away to run, but something she could put neither name nor reason to keep her out here in the cold. She couldn't muster the courage to fight a man who could kill her with one blow to her head, yet neither could she return like a dog with its tail between its legs to the man who was trying to save an era and tell him she'd failed. Now the third day was here, and her mind was made up. The duty, if not the courage, to confront Lancelot was there, somewhere down deep, and like it or not, she had to do it. Today her heart or her body would be destroyed, but just which outcome would come to pass remained to be seen.

She reined Beaucephalus in at the top of the hill, just outside the circle. The charger's ears pricked and he turned his magnificent head to one side, whickering softly. Jase followed his gaze and saw Lancelot's horse and camp within the edge of the stone, not too far away from where she stood. Compelled to put everything to an end once and for all, Jase rode over to the camp and dismounted, making sure Beaucephalus was tethered far away from Lancelot's stallion. Only one fight would take place here today.

Despite his horse's presence, there was no other indication that Lancelot was anywhere nearby, and this made her overly anxious. She wanted to get it over with now, before her doubt returned. Shivering from the cold and a little uneasiness, she made a small fire and settled herself before it to take the chill off her bones.

♦ ♦ ♦

Lancelot watched the woman from the opposite side of the circle, where he'd been sitting for the past hour. The position of the stones kept her in his sights, yet impeded her view just enough to hide him from her searching gaze. He'd been surprised that she had showed up at all, for she had been very adamant about not fighting. He'd conditioned himself into believing that she wouldn't come, and now that she had, he wasn't sure that he wanted to face her anymore.

He frowned suddenly. What the hell was the matter with him? He'd been constantly changing his mind since he'd arrived – first he wanted her to show so badly that he was on the verge of riding back to the castle and kidnapping her, and the next moment he was relieved that she had stayed behind. Why couldn't he make up his mind?

Christ's blood, he'd never had any trouble with women until she had walked uninvited into his life. She brought about too much change with her strange customs and her odd words; she was too independent, too unpredictable, and too different from the other women. Lancelot didn't like that difference one bit, and yet at the same time he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

[What are you waiting for, Sir Lancelot? Go to it.]

The voice was back inside his mind, making his brain compress until he had to hold his head between both hands and squeeze it between them until he could relieve some of the pressure. No! he thought angrily. For God's sake, she's a woman!

[That is the point, my lad. She humiliated you. She bested you. Now take your revenge. I will even help you.]

Lancelot struggled hard against the suffocating presence, but he struggled in vain. It wasn't long before his blood was pounding in his ears and the decision was made. He demanded satisfaction and he wanted his lost honor. Clenching his jaw in determination, he stood quietly and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

♦ ♦ ♦

Jase glanced at the sky, noticing how overcast it was getting. There was snow in the air. She could smell it and her right arm was beginning to throb. Rubbing the ache away as best as she could, she fought down a surge of irritation and anxiety. Where the hell was he?

"Come on," she said aloud. "I want to get this over with. It's cold out here."

"Well then," a voice behind her growled, "maybe you should have stayed where women belong: in the kitchens."

Jase's heart had almost stopped when she heard his voice, and she waited for anger to suffuse her body in response to the man's insult, but to her surprise nothing came of it. When that first shock wore off, she realized that she felt strangely empty inside – no hate, no sadness, and no fear. Only a small spark of resignation was recognizable. She turned slowly and saw Lancelot standing behind her. For all his appearance of placid indifference one would think he was coolly appraising her, but Jase knew that a duck looks calm above the water's surface when underneath it was really paddling like hell. She stood up and he moved forward, a sneer forming on his handsome face.

"Shall we?" he invited casually, indicating the stone circle with his naked sword.

Jase shook her head. "No."

His teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. "I gather you came here to 'talk,'" he taunted. He held the sword before him and forced her backwards toward the stone circle. "Well, go ahead and talk, my lily-livered warrior. Talk all you wish! Talk while you still have a tongue to wag, while you still have a throat to make sounds with!" He lunged easily and sent her back the final few feet. "But kindly do me the courtesy owed me while you 'talk.'" He gestured to her scabbard with his blade. "Draw," he commanded. "Fight me, then beg me for mercy, and I might consider sparing you. 'Tis how it should have been in the first place."

Jase shook her head again. "I said no."

"Draw!" he repeated, the mocking sneer no longer on his face.

Jase felt desperation rising within her. "I won't fight you, Lance!" she cried. "Why can't you understand that?"

"Right now I understand nothing but this!" he snarled back, waving the sword at her. "Draw, damn you!"

It was no use. Jase gathered the remnants of her courage around her and raised her chin in defiance. "Read my lips, you arrogant bastard. I won't fight you."

Lancelot's face twisted in fury as the last string of hesitation within him snapped. "Then die," he said coldly, and he was upon her.

###

To be continued in

And They Shall Be Nameless: The Wreck of Humanity

(Book 2 of The Dragonspawn Legacy)

# ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Rebecca Cross holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and takes great delight in the written word. She has been an avid reader since she was a child; as a writer, she has created castles full of fiction since the mid-1980s, has contributed several stories to fan magazines, dabbled with song lyrics and poetry, and has piles of half-finished short stories stuffed in cubbyholes and drawers around her house. She enjoys traveling, and when she's not planning her next vacation adventure, she enjoys a quiet life in the country.

Rya Wolf is an eager adventurer, having traveled to many countries across Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Americas. She is an all-around equestrian disciplined in the arts of English, Western, and show jumping. For fun she prefers tent camping and trail rides on her American Paint horse. She has an affinity for nature and a unique way with animals. She holds a Bachelors of Arts degree in communications. She is an avid reader and near rabid writer when an idea hits her.

