Spin Me a Yarn page 1

Indoors, the glow of the fire and plenty of spiced wine. The elements howled at the door, muted by substantial woodwork and thick stone.

Like many of the other patrons, Perrault - for so she had introduced herself when somebody had asked, she had forgotten who - had followed the light in the window, finding its promise of shelter and company more inviting than the lashing of the rainstorm.

Crowding by mutual, unconscious decision around one of the large tables, one of the fugitives had suggested that everyone tell a story from his, or her, past adventures, and in this way the evening would pass pleasantly. Perrault took first turn. It seemed appropriate; she had spent a good few years as a student, and later hunter, of stories, in a land where such things took on lives of their own. Nobody here was to know that, of course.

"This was the first adventure I ever had, and it happened when I was eight years old," she began. And continued...

---

My childhood home was in a magical kingdom, the sort you read about in a fairytale - 'cept with more poverty, vermin and disease than you find in most authorised fairytales. It had got worse since the old king was deposed by his evil daughter, though we didn't know or care much about that. My little brother and I had set out from home on a quest to find our parents. That is, we called it a quest, even if to the uninitiated it looked more like a trail of mischief and petty theft.

The story began at a hostel, one of those that serve overpriced, watered beer and privy scrapings for food. Idlehood's End, I think it was called. Tom and I had our routine honed - he would go in and cut purses and I would lie in wait outside to stall anyone chasing him. This time he came out in a hurry with an angry minstrel and two priests in tow, all shouting at the top of their voices, and half the hostelry running out behind them. Not to help them catch us, you understand, but because this was the best entertainment that went on round those parts, certainly better than the minstrel had been.

Well, I'd barely had time to prepare the diversion, but I threw my ammunition straight and true. A big double-handful of lice and cockroaches caught the bard and one of the priests, hitting a lady mercenary at the same time. Then Tom and I split up, as we always arranged, and raced off for our hiding place.

This time when we reached the forest I got a little way ahead, and was just doubling back to see if Tom had got away all right when I heard shouts and thumps from nearby. The priests and musician, with the lady fighter in tow, had run crash bang into a small, red-headed sorceress on horseback who was heading the other way, and she was screaming something about escape and cabbage. The smaller priest started shouting back about cabbage leading to the fart side, and being a blasphemy unto the God of Privies.

I'd spotted my brother hanging back a short way and, seeing he was safe, went closer to watch the crazies. Just as it looked like the priests were going to come to blows, there was an almighty crash and we finally saw what the sorceress had been running from.

Six feet tall it was, and six across. It held a meat cleaver in each hand, of which it had four, and it was bounding towards the group of them on its stemlike legs and rustling its green leaves as it came. It was a giant cabbage. No, I'm serious. It was an epic battle, actually, as these things go. (Perrault started acting it out with hand gestures.)

The taller priest rushed forward with a bludgeon at the ready to protect the sorceress, the lady mercenary charged in with her broadsword singing, and the minstrel began improvising a song about battles with militant vegetables. The toilet priest was on his knees babbling and the sorceress was trying to summon up some fireballs. She managed snowflakes. Tom was watching all of this with a huge grin on his little unwashed face. Just as I realised what he was about to do, but before I could stop him, he rushed in and started stabbing at the cabbage with the stick he always carried, pretending it was a sword. Luckily the warrior knocked him out of the way immediately and he started crying, which at least meant he wasn't injured and wasn't fighting.

The sorceress succeeded in turning the cabbage red with pink stripes. The lady warrior managed to hack an arm off it and was attempting a second, and the priest had made it drop another of the cleavers. I'd got hold of some stones by this time and was throwing them at the cabbage trying to distract it, which didn't work so well because it was a vegetable. That was when the privy priest jumped up with a shout and a thunderclap. A whirling kind of light descended on the cabbage, and with a crunching, tearing noise, it collapsed into a pile of shredded leaves. The minstrel upped the tempo, switched into a major key and sung of victory. All of us stood gazing at the remains of our unnatural cabbage foe. Tom asked if we were going to be made to eat it.

We might have gone our separate ways at that point if we hadn't all been thrown into the dungeons of the royal palace for, and listen, you'll like this, Unauthorised Desecration of the Queen's Flora and/or Fauna. Nobody even knew whether a walking cabbage was animal or vegetable, only that we did whatever we did to it outside the hunting season. And so we arrived in the hurry-up wagon at the dungeons. Two kids, warrior, sorceress and two priests all crammed into one cell with the damn bard singing songs about cruel captivity and never again seeing his swain fair.

The privy priest immediately used all our drinking water to wash, dry and polish the latrine bucket. I found a rat to play with, Tom demolished the bunks by jumping on them and everyone else seemed content to sit and wait until something happened.

What happened, a few hours later, was dinner - or, well, supposedly. It looked more like goop and smelled like the latrine bucket before the priest cleaned it. The other priest stopped meditating long enough to suggest we make a run for it before we were executed. What did we have? Well, a few plates of goop and a sorceress. The sorceress cast an impressive-sounding spell she said would summon enchanted weapons for us all. In fact it turned the bucket into a cabbage. The privy priest nearly flew into a mania.

So, we had a few plates of goop. In the end the lady mercenary got into place behind the door and when the guard arrived for the latrine run, she brained him with the cabbage. Yes, well, they're quite heavy things and she knew where to aim. We ran out, throwing goop at the magic mirrors they used for security, found a staircase up and... got lost.

Now, at this point, I must make it plain that the coup was entirely accidental.

Castles are big. I lost my rat. The warrior found a rack of broadswords. The toilet priest got lost somewhere around the guest bedchambers. The main problem was that we were following the other cleric because he was biggest, but he didn't have any sense of direction. When we finally reached a door that looked main entrancey and brained the guards, we found we'd got into the throne room.

The queen was screaming about assassination attempts, which was rich, 'cause all any of us wanted to do at that point was get out with our skins in once piece. Then she caught a look at the sorceress and apparently she had a thing against redheads, because the queen started casting some nasty-looking spell at her. The sorceress attempted a counter-spell. I think they must've interfered with each other.

The queen was not amused. She was a cabbage weevil. A lot of things happened quite quickly after that.

Because apparently the queen had, when she deposed her good but senile father, sent him to an old folks' home. And once she was gone, they sent for him right back along with his advisors. By the time we were shot of the castle, there had been a complete regime change. There seemed to be some talk of making us heroes, but Tom kicked one of the advisors in the knee when he tried to pat his head.

So, in the end, I thought it was best for us to leave quietly. And quickly. But not before a raid of the kitchens.

"I know these are meant to be real stories, but all fairytales are true after a fashion," Perrault began when her turn came round again: and she continued...

Once upon a time, a rumour flew around the kingdom of Sabveria of an unusually beautiful youth travelling through the land in search of the Keep of Whestew Bracan, home of the Lady who was said to hold the fruits of immortality. The bold young man - not yet of an age to grow a beard, or so the rumour went - wore a bright and burnished coat of copper, bronze and brass leaves. And so before ever arriving in the duchies of Sabver Soil, the traveller was duly dubbed "Brassycoat", and the people curiously awaited sight or word of this adventurer.

Our hero, you can be sure, knew nothing of these rumours. Brassycoat had barely passed a particular stream that formed the border of Sabver Soil before coming across a bent old woman carrying a heavy bushel of pears. Before Brassycoat came level with her, the good woman stumbled and spilled her fruit all down the hillside.

"Young Brassycoat, young Brassycoat!" called the crone. "Will you help a poor widow gather her wares before the birds and the foxes steal them and ruin me?"

"Be sure of it," Brassycoat said, and ran and picked up the fruit and brought them back, and did not stop until every pear was gathered, even though the woman somehow spilled another one for every three pears gathered.

"Now walk with me, young Brassycoat, and if you will pick up any more fruits that fall, why, I will be home before sunset."

"Good mother, it will surely be faster if you will allow me to carry your load?" But no matter how persistently Brassycoat entreated, the old crone insisted upon keeping hold of her wares. Brassycoat was kept busy running after every pear that fell down the grassy slope; and shortly before sunset, they arrived at the woman's cottage.

"Because you have been kind and patient, young Brassycoat, I will teach you a charm that will keep you safe, for I have foreseen many dangers on your path. Can you whistle?"

Brassycoat proved it, and the old woman whistled a fairy tune, a magic tune, and repeated it until Brassycoat could mimic it perfectly, even while handstanding; and you can be sure that upside down whistling is a good deal more difficult than the normal sort. Then she let Brassycoat sleep upon her hearth until morning.

Morning found Brassycoat travelling again along the roads of Sabver Soil. It was not long before a terrible screeching came from the tree-tops, and a terrible eagle came and made as if to swoop down on Brassycoat; but Brassycoat, bold as you please, whistled the magic tune; and the eagle fell down as if dead (but Brassycoat saw that it was fast asleep and would remain so for four times forty-four minutes).

Four hundred and forty-four steps later, a terrible rumbling and bumbling came from the bushes, and a terrible roaring bear burst out at Brassycoat; but Brassycoat whistled the magic tune, and the bear sat down, tame as you please, and shook hands quite gently.

Four hundred and forty-four steps more, and a terrible roaring and pawing came from the trees, and a terrible tiger pounced at Brassycoat; but Brassycoat whistled the magic tune, and the tiger pretended it had never been interested in Brassycoat to begin with, and stalked away in a temper twitching its tail.

It was another four hundred and forty-four steps and a terrible growling and howling and yowling came from a deep dark cave, and a magnificent dragon came rushing out; but Brassycoat whistled the magic tune again, and the dragon bowed its head and begged like a little kitten. A spare honey-biscuit from Brassycoat's lunch caused the dragon to skip away to its cave with a rumble like a purr.

Now Brassycoat recognised by certain signs and landmarks that the keep of Whestew Bracan was nearby; and forty-four more steps later, Brassycoat stood before the high, forbidding doors.

Two guards with long spears stood before the doors. "What is your business here, you young Brassycoat?" asked one of them.

"I come to seek audience with the Lady of Whestew Bracan and request of her the nectar of immortality," Brassycoat declared, showing no fear.

The guard said, "You may enter only if you answer this riddle: and if you guess wrongly or do not answer, you must leave and not return. Here is the riddle.

"Nothing is exchanged,
Nothing is given back,
That everyone might see nothing
And know what it signifies.
Nothing but death can remove nothing,
Discontented men wish to lose nothing,
And young girls dream of receiving nothing."
(Answers hidden for your riddling convenience - highlight the next paragraph to read them.)

At first our hero could not make head nor tail of this riddle. But then Brassycoat noticed a ring on the finger of the guard and exclaimed "Why, the answer is a wedding band!"

"You may pass," the guard said, smiling.

The halls and doors inside the keep of Whestew Bracan were panelled with precious woods and inlaid with precious metals and stones. Brassycoat, thinking only of the priceless fruit, paid these riches as little heed as if the halls had been bare stone.

Brassycoat tried the first door, which opened onto an opulent chamber wherein sat the most beautiful maiden Brassycoat had ever met; and she made Brassycoat welcome and offered wine and all kinds of sweetmeat. But Brassycoat thought "Hum! you are charming, but this will not get me closer to my prize," and would not be distracted, and left the maiden with polite words.

Within the second chamber Brassycoat found a maiden more beautiful than the first, but would not be distracted and left her behind. Brassycoat tried the next chamber, and the next, each occupied by a maid more beautiful than the last, each time refusing to be distracted, until fifteen doors had been tried and abandoned in this way. But the sixteenth room, ah, the sixteenth! The Lady reclining in this last room, dressed in raiment befitting a queen, was the fairest of all; and beside her circular bed, in a bowl of gold, were the fabled green and yellow plums.

"I bid you welcome, Brassycoat," said the Lady of Whestew Bracan, and her voice was melodious and pleasing.

Brassycoat paid her every compliment without a trace of embarrassment.

"Come, will you approach my couch and talk awhile?" the Lady asked, "for you have already earned my favour, and I confess you are a comely young man."

"Come now, madam," cried Brassycoat, "you think I am a man?" - and, laughing, she boldly threw open her coat of copper and bronze and brass, and came to sit down upon the couch. And the Lady was greatly amazed.

Some time later, our hero left the Lady's chamber with her blessing and one of the magical plums. The Lady had told Brassycoat to eat the plum outdoors and to keep the stone, for in a time of great need, opening the stone would bring aid. Before leaving, Brassycoat looked back into the first chamber.

"What, have you not tasted the nectar of immortality?" the maiden asked.

Brassycoat indicated that she had.

"Then I do not understand why you have come back here?"

"Bound for travel and adventure am I, and I have come to bring you with me; for when one as lovely as you is overshadowed by fifteen other women, it hardly seems fair, and distracting the occasional young quester can be no fulfilling occupation."

The maiden was astonished by Brassycoat's bold speech and agreed to travel with her. And they set out together. Outside, under the open sky, Brassycoat ate the magical plum, licked the juice from her fingers and carefully saved the stone.

As night began to fall, Brassycoat looked around for a place to spend the night, for the maiden was not accustomed to rough living as was our adventurer. At length they came upon a campfire where two men, brothers, had set up camp. Brassycoat hailed them and asked if they might share the fire.

"Be sure of it," said the older of the two brothers, "and what brings the two of you out here?"

"Oh," said Brassycoat, "I have come from the keep of Whestew Bracan, where I have received the blessing of the Lady and carried off one of her handmaidens."

The brothers were amazed at this news, and at the beauty of Brassycoat's companion, and conceived an evil plan. "Come," said one to the other when they had walked out of earshot, "why should this young man - and you can be sure he has not even any hair on his chin yet - have such a fair prize?"

"I will mix a sleeping draught into a cup of wine and hand it to him, and we will steal off with his pretty companion," said the other. Brassycoat was delighted with the wine, and in return handed round some dried apple and biscuits from her pack. But soon she felt her eyes closing, and before she could bid her companions good night, she had fallen asleep. The brothers feigned sleep too, and before dawn they carried off the maiden, who, you can be sure, cried for help but was unable to wake Brassycoat.

When Brassycoat awoke and saw the three of them gone, she fell into despair and cursed herself for her foolishness. She feared for the maiden's safety - and you can be sure Brassycoat did not forget it was she who had convinced the poor girl to come along with her.

It was some minutes before Brassycoat bethought herself of the plum-stone. She examined it, pulled at it, shook it, but could find no way to open it, so she struck it against a boulder, and at that the stone opened up as easily as you please.

And what should come out of the stone but a great grey hound?

"Hello," Brassycoat said to the dog, "and can you help me find my poor companion, who has been abducted by a pair of snivelling, emasculate scum-suckers?" (For Brassycoat, in her rage, had quite lost the taste for gentle speech, and we can forgive her this one lapse.)

The dog looked around with its nose and let out a deep, hunting bay. Brassycoat set off after it. All day they travelled and Brassycoat was just starting to despair of catching up to their quarry when she heard voices in front of them; and she stroked the great grey hound's head and cautioned it to be quiet.

They crept closer and Brassycoat saw the brothers hitting clumsily at each other, for they had begun to fight over the maiden. Seeing her companion unharmed, Brassycoat strode immediately to her and, ignoring the fighting brothers, took her hand and led her away.

Well, you can be sure it was not long before one of the men noticed their prize was missing and let out a furious cry, and they came tearing after Brassycoat. But Brassycoat was not discouraged, and took a comb from her pack and threw it behind them; and quickly as you please, the comb became a wall of iron bars topped with sharp blades over which the pursuers had to climb.

When they heard the villains catching up to them again, the maiden threw behind them her hand-mirror, which became a sloping hill of glass that the pursuers only passed over with difficulty and many a slip. But at length the villains began to catch up with them again, and this time the great grey dog looked over its shoulder and wagged its great grey tail, and the hairs that fell from its tail became huge nets in which the robbers were entangled.

But because the maiden could not run very fast, the villains (after cutting the netting with their daggers, though it blunted them) began to come closer again, and this time Brassycoat took a scrap of bronze material from her coat and cast it behind her with a shout, and the shining scrap grew until it seemed to glow like a heap of treasure. Then down from its cave came the huge dragon, saw the brothers and gobbled them up in one bite.

So Brassycoat, with the help of the dog, led her companion out of the woods until they came to the city of Sabver Ayna, where the dog bade farewell to them with a solemn woof.

Well, Brassycoat and the maid made merry in the local taverns for four days and four nights. And after this time had passed, you can be sure Brassycoat's companion had lost her taste for adventure and wished to settle down. So Brassycoat looked up a friend of hers, a classics and wizardry professor at the university, and commended the maiden to his care. And the last our traveller heard, she had enrolled for postgraduate studies and married him.

And what became of Brassycoat? Well, our hero is still around and about somewhere-or-another, doing this and that. They ask if she is still chasing after adventure? You can be sure of it.

As Perrault's tale of Brassycoat started to come to a close, the man seated to her left put down the mug of ale he was nursing and nudged a figure sitting in the shadows beside him with an elbow.

"What, dammit? I was listening to the little lady's story." Here came the voice from the shadows, which parted in a rather un-shadow-like way as the figure leaned forward; Thus revealing a pale, lanky man in a black military-cut jacket, placing a goblet of mulled wine on the table next to his companion's ale.

His friend flicked an eyebrow at him and smiled. "It's our turn next, Felix. It's only polite. I was thinking the time in Synne Bay, with the Lightbringer?" At this Felix scowled and picked up his goblet. Leaning back in his chair, he took a swig and sighed, running his other hand over his close-cropped dark hair. "You always pick the least flattering stories, Valdemar. But.. okay. If you start to tell it wrong, I'll take over."

Valdemar smiled sweetly and turned back to the table just in time to catch "...be sure of it" and a sigh from the lady on the spot as she relaxed. The gaze of the table swung over and laid upon the pair, a question in their collective eyes. Felix scowled and leaned his chair backwards, balancing it on back legs alone and hiding his face behind the goblet. Valdemar, on the other hand, smiled brightly and leaned forwards onto the table, pale hair flopping forward around his eyes.

"Good evening, fair folk. My companion and I have agreed.." at this, a snort from inside the goblet, and a quirk of the lips from Valdemar. "Agreed, I say, to tell you a tale of a Knight called Lightbringer, and our latest encounter with such, on a Dark and Stormy Night, indeed," and here he dropped his voice so those gathered must lean forward to listen, "much like the one out there beyond those walls."

And the lightning CRACKED! as his lips dropped the last syllable, causing those gathered, hardened travelers all, to flinch slightly or not so slightly as the case may be, and to cuddle their drinks tighter as the rain drove ever harder against those welcome walls of stone. But only the most perceptive of them might notice the way the shadows flickered around the lanky companion in a way most subtly different from the dance of the flames.

"So" he continued "There we were, sitting in the library on the estate of a dear friend of ours, just south of.. well, never mind. The point is, it was a lovely evening on the south side of the world, the view of the setting sun in the apple orchards was a sight to die for. Felix here was perusing some dusty old scroll, probably basic principles of dusty old men with dusty old thoughts."

A choking sound came from Felix's area, and then a whispered call for more wine. Lots of wine.

Valdemar grinned and continued. "And the worst part was, he wasn't even paying the slightest bit of attention to the sunset. Best sunset I've seen in years. So there I was, standing by the window watching this sun go down and wondering how long before Felix'd stop squinting and call for a light. Finally, just as I was about to drag him out of the chair myself and force him to take a look-see, I see a flicker in the corner of my eye and turn to see our host walk in the door. Even Felix is polite enough to put down his scroll and look up when a friend walks in. He looked at us, face pale. 'I.. Our Cousin, in Synne. I was asleep. His death-chime woke me.' His voice quavered as he spoke, and he collapsed into the chair facing Felix, shaking."

Valdemar paused for a second, his face drawn, before continuing. "Now, this was a shock to us for more than one reason. Firstly, this cousin was also a dear friend of ours, a young and strong man. To hear of his passing was a great shock in and of itself. Moreover, he was the Governor of the province of Synne, and for him to die in the middle of the night in his own mansion with no warning spoke ill of matters in the east. The kingdom was at peace at present, and Governors do not die without warning even in times of war. Both myself and my companion were shocked into silence for a moment upon receiving this news, but Felix, for all his many faults, has a mind of steel, and he recovered most quickly."

He leaned forward in his chair, setting aside the dusty old scroll, and regarded our host carefully. 'You know only that? No more?' Our kind host shook his head numbly. Felix stood smoothly and moved around near to me. A pass of his hand over the window and my precious sundown was obliterated by a window into the night sky over Synne Bay."

At this several of the people around the table looked rather closer at Felix where he sat in the shadows. He grinned under their regard and poured himself more wine.

Valdemar coughed, drawing apologetic glances back his way. "As I was saying. We now had a vantage point into the city from which the aforementioned cousin ruled, an unnatural one high in the air above the cathedral spires. The city spread below us, perched on the cliffs of the bay from which it draws its name. I immediately sought out the Governor's manse, high on a hill at the entrance to the bay. The huge plume of smoke rising above it was illumined in bloody orange from below as a hungry fire devoured the central hall. Even as I watched, the fire found its way into the magazines feeding the guns of the fortress it used to be, and a fireball pushed its way into the sky, made all the more disturbing by the utter lack of sound. A sob forced it's way from our dear host's lips, but even as I turned back to comfort him, Felix tapped me on the shoulder and pointed.

Following his finger's path, I saw a tiny figure in golden armor striding down the street from the main gates towards the cathedral our window hung above. I recognized him immediately; not many wear golden full-plate in this age. And of those that do, I imagine even fewer are arrogant enough in their power to be striding forth several feet above the pavement. The companies of musketeers that followed him were confined to the ground, but they strode unopposed through the burning streets, as any who dared form up to oppose them were brushed aside by Lightbringer's arrogant casts of sword and flame. Synne Bay, my friends, is the center of a peaceful province, and while its garrison were competent enough, mere human soldiers were no match for the near-Ascendant who stalked those streets.

I turned to Felix. Our eyes met, and the flashing glint I saw there was surely matched by something in my own face, for Felix grinned and turned, picking up his coat from where it was slung over his chair. I myself turned to our host and caught his eye, smiling gently. 'I apologize for the oncoming mess in your library, dear host.' He looked up, surprise wiping the despair from his face, just as I turned back to see Felix, standing spread-legged before our window, coat hanging loose around his shoulders. He flashed a grin at me over his shoulder and regarded the glass coldly. A sudden unnatural calm settled over the room in the second before the window exploded inwards at Felix's shouted syllable, showering us with shards of glass. The midnight wind poured in through the hole as I stepped through into the air above Synne Bay, Felix a step behind."

A snap of chair legs on the ground as Felix righted his chair and leaned forward next to Valdemar, who glanced at his companion and gave up the tale with a shrug. The goblet settled back onto the table as Felix continued the tale.

"Alright. So I sealed the portal behind us and we floated towards the ground. Performance means a lot among Ascendants; and I had to make sure that golden swaggering fool noticed us. If that meant swaggering more, so be it. We'd left our weapons behind, not being in the habit of carrying steel in libraries. That's easily fixable; I wove a pattern in the starlight and in the shadow from the cathedral spires, bringing us to ground in the plaza armored in silver and wrapped in cloaks of stars. A flourish, and we plucked gleaming swords from the night sky. Lightbringer stopped across the plaza and flipped open his visor. He think's he's imposing, all seven feet of him, standing on thin air, his boots level with my eyes. Hah! A couple years before, the fool couldn't levitate an inch. He's luxuriating in it. When he spoke, his voice boomed out, all deep warm tones, completely unnatural. And what he said wasn't exactly polite either. If I remember correctly, it was as so:

'Now, now, boys. Mortals shouldn't play with gods. I have business here. It concerns you not.'

Not very nice, was that? A rude sort, Lightbringer. Fancies himself a Paladin of the old sort. His real name's Justin, if you were wondering. My ever-polite partner, however, gave him all the courtesy he so desperately didn't deserve. Valdemar stepped forward slightly, his shirtsleeves puffing in the breeze. 'Lightbringer, I couldn't care less what you do here;' Okay, maybe not quite all the courtesy. 'This is a city at peace, and whatever you think of mortals, they are the stone on which the world turns, not pawns in whatever game of gods you play. But if you leave now, no more shall be said in the matter.'

Lightbringer, it must be said, obviously hadn't been keeping up with the times lately. His eyes grew narrower and narrower as Valdemar here spoke, and at the last, he grunted as if struck. 'I don't know who you are, boy, but your pretty magics give you no reason to speak so to Lightbringer. If I must go through you, so be it.' His visor clanged down and he charged, the tip of his great sword scraping along the cobbles as he brought it around and squarely through where Valdemar's head would have been, had he not stepped smartly to the side and brought his own blade up. So began a duel most impressive; arrogant git he may be, but Lightbringer's skill with that sword is not to be denied. Unfortunately. The dueling pair crashed through the air, Valdemar now holding himself to the same position above the pavement.

A flicker in the corner of my vision brought my attention to some fool of a musketeer raising his weapon to draw a bead on my companion. Now, no mere musket ball could penetrate even mere starlight armor woven by such as myself. Still, such a distraction could not be warranted. I whistled loudly, drawing a startled look from the musketeer. Unfortunately for him, the block of stone formed in the air above his head by my whistle was what he should have been looking at. Not that it would have helped, understand, but it would have been more amusing that way. The other of Lightbringer's musketeers swung around, preparing a volley in my direction. Just as I was raising a hand to deal with it, a crash of gunpowder came from the cathedral door behind me and a volley rolled down the street, passing underneath Valdemar and Lightbringer's feet, and flooring the aggressors before I had time to more than half-prepare my spell. I acknowledged the help with a nod and turned my attention back to the fight just in time to see Valdemar sent flying by a sharp backhand, and Lightbringer storming towards the cathedral. Unaccountable. Obviously whatever he wanted was inside there; equally obviously, we couldn't allow him to get there. Especially now he was throwing around my friend.

I spared a glance to check Valdemar wasn't hurt and stepped up to meet Lightbringer as he pounded towards the doors, his armor making a fearsome racket. My sword swung up to meet his in a guard position, and with a whispered word I released a spell to flow up the blade. A netting of copper-green bound our swords together and with a wink and my opponent's roar of anger, I transported both of us far out into the air over the bay of Synne."

Valdemar sighed as Felix picked up his goblet once more and sat back. "My turn again, I see. Alright, friends. I was just picking myself up from where that vicious backhand had hurled me against the bell tower wall in time to see Felix and Lightbringer disappear in a crash of displaced air. I stood for a second, slightly bemused, but all too soon Lightbringer's roars of fury and the clash of swords from over the bay showed me what my companion had done. Not a bad plan, except that Felix, while a fine sabreman, is horribly under matched for a toe-to-toe greatsword duel. Therefore I saluted the officer of the household troops now cleaning up the remainders of Lightbringer's men and set off for the harbor at a run. Several minutes later, I reached the cliff edge overlooking the harbor and saw Felix furiously battling to keep that ridiculous greatsword away, the pair of them going at it hammer and tongs at just below clifftop height, a hundred feet at least above the crashing green waves, and that same distance out into the bay. I took in the situation at a glance, sighed, and stepped over the edge. A push from the cliffside slammed me into the skies to join the duel. Alone, neither I or Felix could match Lightbringer's sheer power and speed, especially angry.

Together the pair of us drove him back step by aching step, out of the bay. Finally he took several steps back at once and grounded his great sword in the air over the open sea. His visor flipped open and he stared at us, panting, sweat dripping from his pointed mustache. 'I'll be damned. You don't even know what I want in there!' he roared. 'It doesn't concern you. Just leave me be!'

I exchanged glances with Felix as we also grounded our star-shine blades in the air and leaned on them, breathing hard. Felix shrugged and looked away, and so I spoke once more. 'We don't care what you want. We don't subscribe the the idea that Ascendants can do what they want and hellfires to anyone who gets in the way. If there's something you want here, go through us or come back with an army and let it be fought out. Otherwise, leave.' I put as much steel as I could summon into my last phrase, standing straighter and resting a hand lightly on my sword. Felix grinned through his panting and snapped his fingers, wreathing them in fire. Lightbringer stared at us, his gaze switching back and forth. 'Pah! I'll be back, then." he growled, turning and disappearing in a flash of rainbow light.

Felix and I stared at each other. Eventually he spoke. 'Damn, that was weird. Now, can I go back to my scroll? It was just getting interesting.'

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. 'You're insane, Felix. Take us home.' I turned once more to gaze on the plume of smoke rising from the governor's manse as Felix spat out a string of syllables describing god-knows-what, and we, in turn, disappeared from that place, leaving only echoes and waves battering the cliffs."

Valdemar sighed and leaned back in his chair. "And that's that. Our dear host hasn't yet discovered what brought Lightbringer to his cousin's city, and as for us, we haven't seen him since. Our next meeting should prove interesting, to say the least. Ah, well." He grinned and took a long swig of ale. "Enough of that. Who's next?"

I've got to admit that for the day and a half preceding I hadn't been paying attention to where we were going (said the black-clad bodyguard, who had shot his companions a look of panicked resentment when they'd volunteered him to tell the next story). So I had no idea how we ended up travelling along the Storchenback in the middle of what they call summer over there. The cliffs there are very high and steep and windy and I wished the trail was a bit further from the edge. About two or three kilometres would do.

After his dog (and here he stabbed a thumb at the long-haired, pale-skinned beanpole sitting opposite him, happily listening) started running along the edge and making great leaps in the air, I stopped looking altogether and concentrated on knitting. It was a basket stitch halter top in merino, which His Lordship for some reason brought back a bag of the last time he was over in Lakshmut on Shade. They like sheep there. I assassinated a sheep once. That's about all we have in common.

Anyway, because I wasn't paying attention with my eyes, I didn't see at first what caused Iceheart, Sixteenth Lord Suitov of Applestone in the kingsdom of-- ("Just Suitov will do," the man opposite told him kindly) -- um, yeah, what made Suitov order us to stop.

I looked outside. It was a company of men on horses. Why did it have to be more horses? They were warrior types, all with side arms, looking more ceremonial than utilitarian. They were wearing light cloaks, leggings and embroidered shirts, torques and armlets; a lot of gold. All very classy, or what passes for class in those floribund boondocks. Finery aside, though, they looked tired, neglected and so lost they didn't care any more, kind of like someone's maiden night party who'd got very drunk and woke up in the next country. As it turned out, this was a better guess than I'd have guessed.

I was still trying to persuade Suitov that it was a good idea to stay away from armed strangers when he waved down the first of the huge eye-rolling fang-drooling beasts and greeted the rider. The leading horse was white, not white like a white horse but like a... something bright white. Its eyes were golden and it was chewing on its mouth thing in a very suspicious way in my opinion. On its back end were two live coals -- the other horses seemed to have the same. Suitov gave them odd looks, but they didn't seem to be burning or hurting them at all. Nevertheless, the beasts kept stamping and shifting around, not liking to be still, and Suitov ended up walking alongside to be able to hold a conversation with the rider.

There was a cat sitting up on the front of the leader's seat thing on the horse. It smirked at everything. This meant that to add to everything else, the dog was walking along very stiffly indeed, occasionally bounding in front and walking backwards for a while, keeping up a keening growling whine.

The leading rider said "I regret that I cannot stop, for my steed is enchanted and will not stand still. For the same reason I cannot dismount, for if my foot touches the ground I shall die immediately." And of course Suitov wanted to know all about that, so we heard the warrior's story while the magician paced alongside, I kept pace with the magician and the magician's dog bounced around to let the cat know what he thought of it.

The rider introduced himself as Beak Mellown and it turned out that he was the nephew of Fluke Mellown, who we were supposed to have heard of. Apparently he was a warrior of some renown in his home county. Now, as I understood it, in that county there's a mountain nearby where enchanted people live and occasionally come out and strike various deals with the locals. Oh, and the enchanted people are immortal. One of their finest warriors had a daughter called Fraisbe who he wanted to marry off to one of Fluke's sons. But they were all either married already or unsuited to wedded life, whatever that means, and she met Beak and said he would do nicely.

Well, they made their vows there and he rode off with his wedding party and hers into the foothills, where a door in the mountainside opened, as if a cavern had suddenly hollowed. They rode for some way in darkness until another doorway opened and they rode out, and he saw for the first time the home of the immortals.

He described it as a joyous land where all the birds and flowers have brighter colours and grow larger than in the world outside. The horses there were stronger, the dogs were swifter, the children played in the meadows or sang in ethereal voices and the women and men were inhumanly beautiful. Mellown said they had no need for monks because they were all blessed. Even the insects had no stings and wonderful fruits grew large and heavy on the trees, their laden branches hanging over the roads as they rode by. It all sounded a little tacky.

He looked behind him and saw that they had ridden out of a similar door in the mountainside, but he seemed to think it was a different mountain. He was confused about that and Suitov stopped asking and let him continue with the tale.

They went to the lady's home, where they celebrated with dancing, games and sports, hunts and tournaments. The apples there grew particularly large and sweet, and Fraisbe used to cut one up and feed it to him every evening. His appearance began to change subtly and soon Beak found he and his friends could keep pace with the men of this enchanted land, and even beat them in their sports. He found his dogs and his beloved horse, horrid things, were similarly changed.

The one thing that plagued their existence were the fierce creatures that sometimes washed up on the shores, either dying and leaving foul corpses or, worse, with enough life left in them to start tearing around the countryside and needing to be killed. These weren't a big nuisance, though, and Beak and his friends spent two years there in great happiness and bone idleness.

Eventually, of course, he thought of his family and wanted to visit them. Fraisbe seemed reluctant. He persisted and eventually she gave permission, but with a strange condition: they must dress in the clothes they had worn when they arrived and take only what they had brought with them. In other words, they must not take anything back through the doorway that originated in the land of the immortals. Beak was confused by this, but he obeyed his wife out of love and told his friends to do as she said.

They got their horses ready and set out. The doorway opened in front of them, but just then there was a shout. Beak's wife was there, furious, and demanded to know who had disobeyed her instruction. She had his friends turn out their pockets and found that one man had taken a flower, which he claimed had been meant as a present for his little sister. Enraged, Fraisbe laid an enchantment on the lot of them. "Do not dare set foot on the ground before the little cat jumps down, for if you do, you will surely die immediately." Suitov made Beak Mellown repeat that line several times, and of course immediately asked if anyone had tested this, but I'll continue with the story.

There was no cat in sight at this time. Beak and his friends rode into the mountainside and through the dark passage, wondering about this curse that had been laid on them. Beak began to worry about his family. It had felt like two years they had spent in the land of the immortals, but how long had it been for the outside world? When they emerged into the daylight he wasn't at all surprised to see a golden cat sitting implacably on his seat thing. What's the word -- rommel? (...he asked Suitov. Suitov replied "Yes, pommel, that's right.") Pommel, then. It was sitting there being unfriendly and not showing any sign of jumping down.

So... (Suitov cleared his throat, causing the assassin to fall silent immediately. "Pardon me; the dogs," Suitov prompted.) Right. Sorry. The dogs had all vanished. Fraisbe had never liked them. Honestly, I'm sure none of us can blame her. So Beak rode off full tilt to his family's home and, to his horror, found it empty and in disrepair. "If you're looking for the Mellowns, you'll not find them here," a voice said. Beak did a turn around on his horse. "Oh, Beak, it's you. I didn't recognise you, you've changed so." It was his neighbour. Beak asked how long he had been away and was told it had been two years.

With pounding heart he asked about his father and found that he had suffered bad luck after bad luck, lost everything he had and eventually moved across the ocean to look for work. His uncle had died in battle. Driving around, they found that all Beak's friends' families had suffered similarly. The last of Beak's party, the one who had been carrying the flower, on seeing his young sister in rags and patches trying to sell daisies on the roadside jumped off his horse and went to embrace her. But as soon as his feet touched the ground he fell down dead.

Beak and his friends rode on in bewilderment, no longer welcome at their homes and not even able to help bury their friend. They rode on for two hundred years. While their horses kept moving by the enchantment they did not seem to need to eat or sleep, and of course they did not age, but they had no enjoyment. They could not dismount and the cat never moved. Trying to push it off resulted in a scratch and nothing more. It was stuck fast. Mellown said they found ways to do all sorts of surprising things in the saddle, but it wasn't the same. Two more of them, at separate times, chose to jump down from their horses and end their lives.

A magpie flew overhead just as Suitov said "I presume others have tried to solve this enchantment."

"They have offered the cat every possible inducement to come down and tried every possible method of scaring it down. Even blows from a sword bounce away."

"A most tricky problem. All the same, may I offer my assistance?"

"If you wish, though I doubt it will do any good. I tell you now that there is no hope to attack the enchantment directly. The cat must jump down."

Suitov nodded and glanced once more at the cat. "If I succeed, I will ask something in return."

"We make you our customary offer: our loyal service for the rest of our lives." He looked at the others, who nodded without much enthusiasm.

That didn't seem to please Suitov. It sounded pretty corny to me too. Anyway, His Lordship said with stern face, "Lifelong vows from an immortal? Eternities are not to be bandied around so readily. Rather agree to work for me until I die or release you, whichever happens sooner. And you will be paid."

Mellown cleared his throat and looked down at Suitov. "Well," he said. "I could almost hope you will succeed where others have not. It seems to me that I have not felt hope since this monstrous cat jumped upon my horse. What is your plan, your lordship? What would you have us do?"

"For now, ride on, because I see your mounts are restless. Wheel around and return to this spot in two hours' time. Pass slowly, at a walk."

They drove off and their horses' golden hooves went thumpity-thump.

"Have you got a plan?" I asked him.

"The makings of one," he said, which meant he had but he wasn't going to tell me yet.

The first thing he did was give the convoy instructions to continue, with the hope that they'd reach our destination on time. Before they left, he jumped up onto one of the wagonbacks. I heard him saying "Is this this morning's catch? No, one will do. Thank you."

I sprang up behind him, arranged myself on a mealsack in a pose of ultimate nonchalant disdain, and said "You're trying fish? I expected something more impressive."

He looked round and smiled. "I'm not trying fish. I'm trying psychology. How are you at cream sauce?"

I said "Um."

Actually I'll admit that I'm not bad at cream sauce. Suitov knows I was once a chef for some months on an assignment. Bits and pieces of knowledge sometimes stay with you. If you don't have time to make stock, or, say, you're out in the middle of a field with a mad dog sniffing over your shoulder, you can do wonders with tarragon and mustard.

Suitov asked if he could help, so after getting him to handwave the fire alight I sent him far away. He's not much use beyond heating things up or making a sandwich.

I also wondered at first why Suitov had brought a chunk of liverwurst with the ingredients I asked for. Basaltine persisted in pawing me, nosing me and declaring that he loved me until I worked it out and let him steal it. He ran away, wolfed it, ran around for twenty minutes and then reappeared and presented me with half a bird's nest, tail wagging furiously. I sent him to show this to Suitov.

When the horses reappeared, looking downright vicious and mutinous in my opinion, I was in position and concealed among the heavy foliage. I watched the riders approach our little tableau. Basaltine was chained to a tree stump. Upon a stylish blanket nearby was set a dish of sole in cream sauce.

A few of the men spotted the fish and scoffed. The cat didn't give it more than a glance.

Basaltine looked up, visibly caught sight of the cat and leapt to his feet, jangling.

"Don't you dare eat that fish, pooch!" roared Suitov from some distance away, out of sight. That tone of voice goes straight to my guilt complex. "If I find that plate's been touched I'll tan your hide!"

Basaltine froze, flattened his ears, looked over his shoulder and sat. He's a ham actor in my opinion.

But the cat was interested. Oh, the cat was intent.

Basaltine looked at the fish several times, looked over his shoulder, whined, repeated this and finally nosed the dish away and lay down with his head turned away, his eyes squeezed shut and his front paws stretched right out as though to remove himself from the temptation.

I think I could read that cat's expression because I swear it smirked. Then it jumped down, streaked across the ground and had dragged the fish off the plate before Basaltine had time to leap up with a hideous growl. The cat judged the length of the chain to perfection. The dog practically choked himself trying to get to the thing.

This was my cue, so I sneaked up behind the cat and took it by the scruff. It writhed, a bony muscular frame inside almost independently-moving fluff and skin, but I can catch and pin a fellow monk and believe me, a cat is an amateur. Just to make sure, I pressed its little paws into the mud. "How d'you like solid ground, kittycat?" I taunted. It made the most obscene yowling noise, almost like a real person.

Mellown was sitting there in disbelief. Behind him, the others were standing up in their foot things saying "What's going...?" "Why've..." "I think it's..." "Has it...?" "...jumped off!"

"Got her? Good chap," said Suitov, appearing next to me. Basaltine stuck a paw through the chain, slipped it off his head and went to Suitov's side. He was the one smirking now. This was partly because he'd swallowed the fish on the way over.

Beak Mellown, shaking a little, got off his horse and stood. He didn't die. A cheer went up from the men, who dismounted too and began to embrace each other, kiss the dirt and jump up and down; well, what would you do if you hadn't stood on solid ground for two hundred years? One dashed into the bushes with a look of tremendous relief.

Meanwhile, the burning coals rolled from the horses' backs and fell to the ground, where they became hunting dogs barking in excitement. Basaltine found this very interesting and went to introduce himself by sniffing their backsides.

"Your servant, my lord!" Mellown said in a thick voice, clasping Suitov's hand and dropping to one knee.

"The credit is shared by my talented assistant W--" See, Suitov says crazy things like that if I don't cut him off like this:

"Don't you dare," I interrupted him, shoving the cat at him. "It was your idea. I was only following orders." Being landed with half a bunch of immortals swearing fealty to me is just what I need, can you imagine? They'd kill me back home.

"Then only one question remains," he said. He held the cat up to eye level, supporting its back feet, while its tail lashed. "Are you satisfied with this conclusion, madam?" Suitov asked.

The cat miaowed and glanced pointedly downwards. Suitov put it -- her -- down. The cat raised her paws to the base of her neck and took off her skin. She stood up in the form of a woman, wearing a black and red off-the-shoulder number that any opera singer would kill for.

"I suppose I have no choice," Fraisbe said in a tone like bleach.

"You--!" Mellown cried, and started forward. I began moving to intercept him at the same instant, but Suitov ordered him to a halt without speaking a word.

"He has suffered enough, I should think," Suitov suggested.

Fraisbe excoriated Mellown with her eyes. "Any love I had for you has long since died, husband," she said.

Mellown said "I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee."

"Too late. I said it first, long ago." She tossed her head. "There is nothing more to discuss, I think. Good day, your lordship." She nodded to Suitov, who offered to kiss her hand and was ignored. The enchantress turned into a crow and flew away.

"Crazy dames. Can't live with 'em, can't get rid of 'em," said Basaltine.

Mellown looked down at him. "My lord, did your dog just talk?" he asked.

"'Ullo," said Basaltine, wagging ingratiatingly.

I said "Believe me, sir, when you meet the rest of his friends, you'll wish talking dogs were the worst of it..."