“All right, you dragons!” she said. “You’re at the wrong castle. You want Malencontri. It’s twelve miles west that way-“ She pointed with the sword.

“It’s just us, Geronde,” said Jim. He was working his magic; and in the same instant he said this, he and Angie turned back into their human shapes, in their human clothes. Geronde stared at them, and the weapons in her hands drooped.

“You two?” she said after a long moment. “And you’re a dragon as well, Angela?”

“Jim just made me one for the first time,” said Angie, with perhaps a touch of smugness in her voice. “It’s enjoyable. But Geronde, what in heaven’s name did you think you could do against two dragons with that spear and a sword?”

“Make them sorry they ever tried to bother me-if they did!” said Geronde. “Jim turned you into a dragon and you decided to come here?”

“The other way around,” said Angie. “We were going to come here, and we decided to fly instead of riding over. It was quicker.”

“Oh? Well, it was kind of you to think of visiting-“ she began, but the sound of two pairs of feet scuffling up the steps interrupted her, and up through the opening of the stairwell, now, came a tall, black haired, long-nosed man who was Bernard, the Chief man-at-arms at Malvern, hauling along the sentry by his collar. He stopped and held his captive still, as Geronde turned to face him.

“Shall I hang him, m’lady?” he asked. “He left his post-as well as running from the enemy in cowardly fashion.”

“I suppose,” said Geronde through her teeth, “though useful men-at-arms are not that easy to pick up... On the other hand, he’s no use to us if he hasn’t got the guts to fight-“

The ex-sentry, who had been half-fainting in Bernard’s grasp, on hearing this all but collapsed; so that Bernard had to hold him upright by main strength. Jim hurried to get a word in.

“If I could crave a favor, Geronde,” he said, “might I beg this lad’s life for him? He had just a moment to see the two of us coming; and I think he ran off the top of the tower, pushed more by a feeling that it was his duty above all to warn and protect you; and that was what made him seem to abandon his post so wantonly.”

“He hasn’t got the wit,” said Geronde, looking angrily at the half-collapsing sentry, held tightly in Bernard’s grasp.

“Why, yes,” said Angie quickly, “if I also may pray the same favor from you, Geronde, I’m almost sure I heard him shout something-I think, something like ‘must save m’lady’-before he ran down the stairs.”

“Hah!” said Geronde. “A likely-Well, all right, Bernard, take him away. Send a man up here. As for this one, let him go without food for three days. It’ll give him time to think about following his orders first!”

Bernard hauled away the suddenly joyous sentry, and Geronde turned back to Angie and Jim.

“Will you step below to the solar?” she said. “You must forgive its appearance, Angela. We will go to the Great Hall in due course; but it comes to me that you may want to talk privily for a little while first. In truth, I have been thinking of going over to Malencontri to speak so to you two.”

She led the way downstairs.

Her private bed-sitting room, the solar at Malvern, was nothing to be ashamed of by medieval standards. It was just that, by contrast with Jim and Angie’s own at Malencontri, its lacks showed up. But there was a good-sized fireplace with a good-sized fire in it; and, after Geronde had seen the advantage of the glass-filled window apertures at Malencontri, she had had her own windows glazed also, since she had the money for it.

Still, the room had a rather barren look to it compared to Jim and Angie’s solar-although it occurred to Jim that possibly some of the feeling of barrenness about it came from the fact that the chairs were unpadded and the floor unheated, as he and Angie were used to having it at their own home.

But the fire was bright; and there was an unusually large bed, with its four tall bedposts holding up a canopy as well, thick bed-curtains hanging from them. Those curtains were the first defense against the coldness of nighttime for medieval sleepers of quality.

To further balance the difference between the two castles, Geronde’s servants were very well trained indeed. There was a scratching at the door, shortly after they had sat down; and when Geronde bade whoever it was enter, a servant came in, carrying cakes, wine and water from the serving room and asking if his lady would care for them.

Since it turned out she would-it could hardly have been otherwise with guests there-these were put on the table.

“Now, leave us alone unless there’s a fire in the castle,” said Geronde sharply.

“Yes, m’lady,” said the servant. He bowed his way back out.

“As I say, I was of a mind to come and visit you in any case,” said Geronde as soon as the wine and water was mixed and they had all both drunk and nibbled at what was before them. “But perhaps I should let you tell me first why you wanted to come here.”

“No, no,” said Angie hastily. “You talk first, Geronde.”

“Well...” said Geronde, slowly looking down at the table. “It is not my place really to speak for Sir Brian. He is a knight and a gentleman and can speak for himself. No doubt he told you there need no more be said on a certain subject; and yet it is that subject I would wish to discuss with you.”

“Discuss away, Geronde,” said Jim.

“You have a somewhat strange way of expressing yourself sometimes, James,” said Geronde. “Nonetheless, I think I take your meaning. I will indeed discuss away, since that was what I was going to do if I came to see you. Now, both of you learned almost from the beginning of our acquaintance that Brian and I were betrothed.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Jim. “Almost the first thing he did was show me your favor.”

Geronde’s eyes misted slightly.

“He would do that,” said Geronde. “Yes, that is the way he is. But perhaps when you first met, it was as two knights who might decide to debate something or other. Was that so?”

“He did suggest,” said Jim, “that the two of us might have a go at it on behalf of our individual ladies. I had just told him that I was in love with Angie and he said that was a coincidence, because he was in love with you.”

“He said that!” said Geronde. “But you did not fight?”

“No,” said Jim. “It was rather awkward at the moment, because I was in a dragon body and couldn’t get out of it; and then later on when I was back in my human form we had been Companions. So, for the two of us to fight would hardly have been right. But I knew almost from that first moment of the closeness between the two of you, as something that had endured for some time.”

“Yes. Longer than you might think,” said Geronde. “Indeed, longer than we can remember ourselves, he and I.”

“You knew Brian most of your life, then, Geronde?” asked Angie.

“In truth, we knew each other all our lives,” said Geronde. “Though we were not kin, he was motherless almost from birth and we were close neighbors, of course. His father and mine were good friends. In fact they were two of a kind, those fathers. The result was we grew up together, Brian and I. I was almost never at Castle Smythe, but he was here much of the time.”

Angie looked at her curiously.

“Strange, is it not?” said Geronde. “It was almost as if we were to have no choice but to end up as we have. Brian’s father was very much involved with his cousins, the Nevilles of Rabe; and I believe intended, or at least expected, to mend his fortunes by doing things for them. At any rate, he was always going on trips, mostly to the continent for them- the Nevilles have connections all over, there; particularly in France and Italy. When he went, Brian was left here at Malvern.”

“Brian must have been closer to your father than his own, then,” said Angie.

“No,” said Geronde, “because my father was gone often, too. But here at Malvern, there was a well-trained staff; and, after my mother died, when I was seven, women to look after us both when we were very young. All things in order. Whereas Castle Smythe was-well, you see how Castle Smythe is nowadays. There was really no other place for Brian to be put. Sir Edmar Claive and his cousins, who then occupied Malencontri, were not the sort of men any young boy could be left with; and there were no other suitable households close. So, Brian was left with us; and, as I say, he and I grew up together.”

“How young were you when all this started?” Angie asked.

“The first time, Brian was seven and I was five,” said Geronde, “although we might have been brought together as babes too young to remember it also. But the earliest I remember is, as I say, when I was five; and after that we were together at least for a time almost each year; so much in each other’s company, like brother and sister, that you’d think it would be the last thing in the world for the two of us to fall in love.”

“You did, though,” said Angie.

Jim looked out one of the windows at the cloud-flecked sky and a hawk, almost certainly wild, circling high above the trees beyond the clearing. There had been an interested, prompting note to Angie’s voice that he always dreaded. The heat of the fire and the wine, half a cupful of which he had been foolish enough to drink straight, was making him not so much drowsy as dull-witted; and he was a little afraid that this would turn into one of those “Oh, was your great-uncle living in such-and-such a place, then? I wonder if he knew some of my relatives who lived there?” He struggled to keep his eyes open.

Geronde was nodding in answer to Angie’s question.

“We did not know it at first,” she said. “We only knew as children that we missed each other when we were apart and were never happier than when we were together. Oh, we had some terrific fights in those days; but nonetheless, as I say, one day it turned out we were in love; and later, when I got older, I told my father that it was Brian I intended to marry- that was during one of the few times when my father was home and I could talk to him.”

“He was around that little?” said Angie.

“He was always off on some errand or other that would bring him back loaded with gold, but he never came back so,” said Geronde. “As I say, he and Brian’s father were alike in chasing moonbeams of wealth. In any case, when I told him how I felt about Brian, he stamped and roared that I would never be allowed to marry Brian. That I should marry a duke- a prince! It was yet another of his grand dreams-aside from the fact that I would rather have Brian than any prince in the world.”

She turned abruptly to Jim. Jim woke up and did his best to look alert and interested.

“This was why I was thinking of coming over to talk to you both, James. Brian told me you were awaiting the King’s gift of the wardship of Robert Falon; and might need to present yourself in person before his Majesty-and so could not leave England now. I understand that perfectly; as Brian did.”

“Well...” said Jim uncomfortably. There had been no doubt that Brian had been deeply dismayed by Jim’s refusal to help him in his search for Geronde’s father in the Holy Land, now that they had found out where Geronde’s father was. For Jim to stay home under these conditions, even at the cost of a friendship, was the only sensible thing to do, by medieval standards. Land and wealth were everything; and the gaining of them took precedence over everything else.

Therefore, Brian’s good judgment would agree with the common sense of what Jim was doing; but nonetheless they were literally blood brothers, in that they had both shed blood at the same time in more than one affray; and the ideal of the chivalric knight, toward which Brian himself lived and reached in everything he did, would have scorned the Falon wealth and property in favor of aiding a comrade. Geronde could not have helped but feel somewhat as Brian did.

“Well...” said Jim again, hesitantly.

“James, do not think I mean to make any opposition to your decision,” said Geronde earnestly. “In life, we all must make hard choices. I know well how your heart must have beaten higher, like Brian’s, at the thought of a venture into the Holy Lands; let alone your natural desire to aid a fellow Companion-at-arms. Already, you will probably have decisions to make and matters to concern you, as far as the administration of Robert Falon’s estates are concerned. But I thought I might come and plead with you to consider a certain decision, in spite of all that.”

She looked at Angie.

“I never had a close woman friend until you, Angela,” she said. “I could never stand them. Chattering, spineless creatures, most of them- except for some older ones; and they so stuck in their ways and determined to be right all the time that I would have fought with them continually. But you were different, Angela.”

“Well, Geronde...” said Angie, as obviously embarrassed, Jim noticed with a certain amount of perverse satisfaction, as he had been himself, a moment before.

“It is a matter of being able to agree with each other on things,” said Geronde. She turned her attention back to Jim again. “It is exactly that way with Brian where you are concerned, James. He never had any close friends of his own spirit and rank. He must always be in contest with them-better than any at anything, if it killed him; and indeed, he has been better than most. As a result, he has found few men he could respect; and of those, he had full respect only for superiors such as Sir John Chandos, who is so much older and so proven in war and peace that there could be no measuring by Brian of himself with such a knight. All others of worth he might otherwise have respected, he must be fighting with. You saw it yourself with Sir Harimore at the Earl’s. Brian will kill Sir Harimore one day, unless Harry kills him. But meanwhile he gives Harry full credit for his fighting skills, only. Oh, he can like your bowman Dafydd ap Hywel, because Dafydd is of common birth. Therefore there cannot possibly be any competition between him and Brian; and Brian will cheerfully acknowledge that Dafydd is not only a better bowman than others, but a better bowman than he.”

She turned again to Angie.

“But have you not also heard the like, from Danielle, Angela?” she said. “How Dafydd, in his own rank, like Brian cannot abide an equal? So that when she and he started to live with her father, Giles o’the Wold, and all his other outlaws-how Dafydd must be forever measuring himself against each of the band, before he would be at peace with himself- taking them on in contest two at a time, if necessary.”

She hesitated.

“He would not expect you to follow him,” Geronde said. “No, not even if he knew that the matter of the wardship was now settled. He would not ask it. But you mean a great deal to him, James. You are the one man whom he can accept as an equal. Also, you are the one man he would depend upon in any strait”

“Geronde,” said Jim, “you know I’m not very useful with weapons. Brian could pick up a dozen knights, or even many less than knights, who’d be much more skilled in fighting, and protecting his back than I’d be.”

“But that is not the point, James!” said Geronde, leaning forward. “It is true-and I crave your pardon for saying it to your face, James-that you will probably never be either a goo- a great horseman, nor a master of any weapon; nor even, possibly, a good average man of your hands with any such. But otherwise he admires you tremendously.”

“Oh, you mean my magic,” said Jim. “You must know that’s an accident, Geronde. If chance hadn’t made me a dragon, I’d never have become a magician’s apprentice in order to take care of the magic that I happen to generate without meaning to. It all grew out of that-by accident.”

“No!” said Geronde. “It is not that either. Though we all respect the courage and mind in you that would send you to study that strange Art. No. It is the fact that you are so like what Brian most admires-that which is to be found in Sir John Chandos-a preux chevalier, you are a truly chivalric knight in that you could never do anything less than your knightly duty in all matters.”

“Geronde...” said Jim helplessly. He could think of no easy way of handling a compliment like this. All he could do was sit there and suffer under it He was quite certain that he was nowhere near being the kind of person Geronde was talking about and Brian evidently believed him to be; but he could also feel very clearly that it would be doing her no favor to argue against that fact just now.

“That is why I greatly venture at this moment,” Geronde went on, “to beg you, James, that you consider following Brian and catching up with him, so that you can be with him on the rest of his trip. He will be no farther than the Isle of Cyprus by now-if he is indeed that far. I can give you the names of those he knows there; and you can find him easily by searching them out-for they are men well known on the island. James-by your favor, James-do not say no without thinking about it for a moment.”

“Geronde-“ interrupted Angie; but Geronde charged on, speaking to Jim and ignoring the interruption.

“This is why it is so important that you be with him on this search for my father,” said Geronde. “He will listen to you, James, where he would listen to no other-and you know that he is apt to be drawn aside by a trifle chance at a passage of arms, or some such. He will be stronger and more sensible if you are with him. You are wiser than he. Yes-do not look at me like that-you are wiser than he! So, you will keep him safer by being with him; and he knows and I know that you would never fail him in any strait. That is why I beg you now-I beg you on bended knee-to follow and join him, James!”

“Whoops-whoa!” said Jim, catching her just in time, for Geronde had literally been about to kneel to him. This was not remarkable from a medieval point of view, but from Jim’s twentieth-century viewpoint, the very idea made him go hot with embarrassment. “It’s all right, Geronde. I’m going. That’s what we came here to tell you!”

She stared up at him, and all the blood drained out of her face. For a moment it seemed as if she would collapse like the sentry who had come so close to being hung, if Jim had not been holding her upright.

“That’s right, Geronde,” said Angie urgently, moving to her and putting her arms around her. “Jim’s decided to go. Haven’t you, Jim!”

She stared at Jim. Jim had not quite realized the full meaning of what he had just said. He did so, now.

“Of course I am!” he told Geronde, with as much heartiness as he could manage. He let go of her elbows, because Angie was hugging her.

The blood came back to Geronde’s face. She exploded upward from her chair. She kissed Jim. She kissed Angie. She whirled from one to the other, as if she was beginning to dance.

“It is dinner time!” she cried. “And we will have such a dinner! Ho, there! Attend me!”

The door to the solar from the hall outside burst open, showing Bernard and another man-at-arms, both with swords drawn.

“Put up your weapons, you idiots!” snapped Geronde. “Run to the cook and the serving room. We will have two guests for dinner, Lord and Lady Eckert. It will be the finest and best of everything we have. We will be down in five minutes. You hear, five minutes, and I shall expect to see a table laid, set and with the first of the meal upon it. Run!”

“Run!” roared Bernard to the other man-at-arms, who disappeared from sight immediately. “Your pardon, m’lady-your pardon, m’lord and lady...”

Bernard backed hastily out, closing the door behind him.

“Now, let us pray you to forgive us, Geronde,” said Angie. “We should have told you this right away, without letting you go through all you had to tell us before we told you.”

“What difference makes it?” sang Geronde. This time, she actually did twirl. “Howsomever the news comes, it is what I have dreamed and prayed for. I shall tell five rosaries of beads tonight in thanksgiving. I regret not a word of what I said, not a moment of not hearing until just now. It is the fact that you are going, James, that makes all the difference. Oh, how we shall celebrate!”

“I’ll need to know all you can tell me about how I might follow him and where I might find him,” said Jim.

“You shall know all that I know!” said Geronde. “I shall tell you every word he said, at dinner. But-it will be a long, hard trip for you, James. You do go willingly?”

“Then all is well!” said Geronde. “Though the travel itself may be none too easy.”

“Not at all,” said Jim. “From my standpoint-a nothing. You forget I am a magician.”