He tried moving his head. Sure enough, the blaze of reflected light seemed to move with him. There would be no avoiding its blinding effect. It was far more powerful than any such thing he might have expected to encounter here. To safely ride past the other knight without crossing lances with him, Jim would have to ride a good ten or fifteen feet to one side of the direct path.

Nor had Brian been speaking idly about the spectators crying “Coward!” if he rode so. From what he had seen of tournaments, and other warlike exercises, those who watched would not be slow to make their feelings known. It was no matter to Brian, who-once convinced he was in the right-would not care if the whole world cried “Coward!” at him. But Jim had grown up being responsive to the reactions of others.

He became conscious that already the glare was making his eyes water. Jim rubbed them clear with the heels of his hands, temporarily shutting out the light- and with the feel of the hands against his closed eyelids, understanding dawned in him. He had not only been blinded, but unthinking... “Look for the front hooves of his horse. With luck you can see him coming,” he heard Brian saying, in a tone of encouragement, beside him.

“It’s all right, Brian,” he said, still covering his eyes with one hand. With the other he felt for the case holding the glasses, found them and fished them out. “I’ve got something of my own, here-“

His first thought had been to alter the glasses slightly to make them a perfect foil for the glare. Then he was nagged once more by the recollection that he dared use none of his magic if Morgan le Fay was watching-as she probably was.

The glasses would have to serve as best they could without any changes. Still keeping his eyes shielded, he sneaked the spectacles up on his nose and hooked the temples over his ears.

Cautiously, he took his hand from his eyes and looked in the direction of the Bright Knight; and the spectacles needed no adjusting. They worked excellently. The glare was gone. The upper half of the lenses wiped it out, leaving all else plain to be seen. He found himself looking at the shape of a knight in armor, a shape that was perfectly featureless. The blackness of him was so solid and lightless it was as if his shape was a hole into a starless infinity, cut into the scene before the castle.

“These things I just put on my nose,” he said, low-voiced, to Brian, “are magic engines. It’s all right. I can see him clearly, now.”

“Can you so?” But there was no doubt in Brian’s voice. The magic word magic had taken care of any disbelief there might have been in Brian. “Still, James, I would counsel you to pass him untouched on the first essay; and on the second, follow my advice.”

“Be glad to,” said Jim. He was about to pull down the newfangled visor he had recently talked the castle blacksmith into adding to his helmet, when he realized this would knock the glasses off his face.

For the ride-by it wouldn’t matter; and he might be able to figure out something before he had to ride directly at the man. A gust of irritation moved him. Damn all magic things, anyway-there was always a limitation, either to the magic itself, or to whatever was necessary to make it work.

A trumpet pealed. Jim, looking, saw the young boy in livery he had met earlier, taking a long, straight horn of silver from his lips.

“He starts!” said Brian; and Jim saw that the Bright Knight already had his horse at a trot, working up to the gallop that he and Jim should both be at when they came together.

There was no more time for thought; and Jim was just as glad there was none. He lifted his reins, leaned forward. Gorp in his turn broke into a trot, understanding immediately what he and Jim were up to and snorting an eagerness to be at the oncoming horse.

The Bright Knight came at him more swiftly as their speeds increased. Jim saw he was indeed sitting too far back, as far as the high cantle of his saddle behind him would allow. The point of his lance, already leveled in Jim’s direction, was wavering around in the air-a certain proof he was, as Brian had suggested, holding it too tightly and trying to aim for Jim too early, instead of merely balancing the long weapon in his grasp until the last possible moment. Only in that last second should he be seizing it with all his strength, to direct it at an opponent already upon him.

Temptation stirred in Jim. In sharp contrast to Brian, Jim secretly hated jousting. Privately, to Angie, he had called it “an invitation to a train wreck.” He had steadily avoided having a bout with lances with Sir Giles de Mer, at the Earl of Somerset’s Christmas party the year before; in spite of the fact that Giles had come all the way from Northumberland in hopes of matching lances with both Brian and Jim. Brian, in fact, had taken for granted Jim would agree to meet Giles under Brian’s critical eye, so that he could better instruct the two of them-and he had been puzzled as to how the chance to do this never worked out.

Now, however, for the first time in his experience, Jim was tempted to deliberately engage in one of the train wrecks. For the first time, he realized he was looking at a knight who might be no better with the lance than he was-indeed, the more he looked the more confident he felt. The feeling was outside all his experience- but the temptation was real.

He could explain to Brian, saying he had meant to pass by the Bright Knight, but blundered against him in the confusion of getting close-sanity returned to him just in time. Brian might believe anything linked with the name of magic, without question; but, with his experience in interpreting every move of a horse and rider, he would see through Jim’s excuse in a flash. And facing Brian’s shock on being lied to by his closest friend in that transparent, almost childish fashion, would be more than Jim himself could face-particularly if the Bright Knight had managed to unhorse him, after all.

No. He must do what Brian had told him to do.

But even while he had been thinking this, the combined speed of the two, now galloping, destriers had almost brought them together; and, to his surprise, Jim now saw the tight-held lance of his opponent swinging away from him, out to one side. After a sudden blink of bafflement, understanding flashed on him.

The other thought, Jim realized, that beyond doubt this stranger he faced, like all his other opponents up until now, was so light-dazzled he could not see what was happening.

The reason for the unusually tight grip on the lance, then, was that the Bright Knight had never had any intention of winning with the point of it. Instead-and even as he realized this, Jim saw the length of the other’s lance being swung out to bar his path. He had just time to jerk Gorp’s head to the side, throwing the big horse off-stride but turning him out far enough so that only the very tip of that lance scored a short path across the left edge of Jim’s shield.

Snorting and tossing his head-now in deep annoyance at his rider-Gorp however let himself be steered back to Brian.

“A foul hit! A craven’s strike!” fumed Brian as Jim halted beside him. “The ditch-born bastard! He would have struck you a sweeping blow had you not turned just in time. Let me see your shield-yes, there stands the proof for all to see; the scratch of his point on your shield. And to think it was the way he must have struck me, also, from my saddle-I thought I felt a blow on that side. But I was dazed from the fall; and, taking him for a gentleman, never suspected. James, cannot you by magick let me seem like you and ride this next time in your place? I would make him to learn what one who knows his lance work can do with such a one as he!”

“I’m afraid not,” said Jim, suddenly finding reason for blessing the fact he could not use his magic here. “This is Lyonesse, remember; where I may not do much I know.”

“Forgive me, James! Of course!” said Brian. “Yet it comes hard-nonetheless, I will put it from mind. Now, it is you who must ride against him in a moment. Let me quickly tell you what to do.”

“Yes. What?”

“You remember how I have been at pains, James, to teach you the art of tilting your shield from a foe’s point to make it glance off? This time I would have you use it in a new way.”

Brian paused.

“Right-I mean, I shall!” said Jim, correcting himself hastily-remembering his medieval role as a pupil, he knew Brian was waiting to hear his promise.

“Very good. This time, then, when you meet him-perhaps even a moment before because you are not yet as practiced with the shield as might be; and because he will be so sure of his sweeping blow that he will not be ready to adjust to another-you must crouch low in your saddle.”

“I do,” said Jim.

“Very well. Remember, be sure your head is down below the top edge of your shield, with no more than a small part of the top of your helm showing above. There is no shame in doing this, James, for you know there are no rules in wayside encounters such as this.”

I shall so perform!” said Jim, doing his best to commit Brian’s every word to memory.

“Wait. One last word, for I see him making ready to come at you again. The blow of his lance sweep, if unsuccessful, will unsteady him in his saddle; and if you, yourself, hit him at the same time with a sweep of your own lance-hitting him in the back, James, in the back!-it cannot fail to topple him from his saddle. In a tournament this would be disgraceful beyond belief-but here, against such a foe, it is perfectly justified. Then quickly get you down and your sword at his face. He will yield-and now time is out. You must go.”

“Right!” said Jim, forgetting himself completely. He hastily poked his spectacles back into their proper position-they had slid down his nose while he was talking with Brian-lifted Corn’s reins, and rode.

The Bright Knight was already into his trot, holding what seemed through the spectacles to be a pure white, but otherwise a perfectly normal if somewhat light, lance. As Jim rode, his opponent broke into a canter, and a moment later Gorp followed suit on his own initiative.

Suddenly it was all too real. The fear of the meeting at arms was utterly gone from Jim; and with it the temptation to compete with his own skill against a rider no more skillful than he. What was left was a surge of adrenaline all through him, and the realization that this land was solid as any earth he had walked or ridden on-and lance sweep or not, the aim of the Bright Knight was to kill him, either after he had been knocked out of the saddle or once he had been conquered and made prisoner.

He and his opponent drew together at what seemed a much faster pace than before. When he saw the white lance shaft of the other swinging out sideways, he crouched behind his shield, holding it as Brian had told him; and, blindly, swung his own lance. It struck something so solidly that his hand quivered and stung as if he had tried to catch and hold the moving part of an engine.

He almost dropped the lance, but not quite. As he pulled Gorp to a skidding stop and turned the horse about, he saw the Bright Knight lying motionless on the grass. His horse, evidently as untrained as the knight himself, was running off toward the castle.

He took Gorp back to the fallen man and dismounted, tossing his reins ahead to the ground. Gorp instantly stood still. The Bright Knight still lay unmoving, his eyes shut, his face pale. Jim felt a sudden emptiness inside him; had he killed the other-no, the knight was still breathing, steadily. Just knocked out, probably.

Jim dropped to one knee to loosen the wide, padded collar of chain mail that protected the Bright Knight’s throat, to make it easier for him to breathe-and at that moment became aware of a tumult of voices and an approaching pounding of feet. He looked up to see all those who had been watching running toward him.

“James! Out sword!” cried Brian’s voice in his ear; and a manacled hand, its chain stretched tight to the other manacle, reached swiftly to pull out the sword still in the fallen knight’s sheath.

Jim drew his sword and stood ready against the onrush. Brian had said there were no rules in these wayside adventures.

The retainers’ lives and livelihoods, he remembered, would be invested in their overlord. Knightly honor was for knights-it was beside the point if swarming over a knight on foot and knifing him to death-even if half a dozen of them were killed or crippled in the doing-would save their Lord or master. As Brian had pointed out, this was no tournament field with an audience watching closely for any violation of honor or manners. It was a private fight and practicality ruled.

But a high voice overrode the other shouts-a high voice on a note of command. The shouting stopped, the rush of retainers stopped; and the woman in the elaborate white dress came forward alone. She ran to kneel at the side of the fallen warrior.

Jim, seeing her alone, had returned to unlacing the neck armor. Just then it came loose and fell away, as did the helm; and for the first time Jim took a good look at the face of the man before him.

Having done so, he stared, for the face he saw under a thick thatch of black hair was the beardless face of a boy just turning the corner into manhood-probably not yet out of his early teens. No wonder he had been as inexpert as Jim, in a time when most squires could be seasoned fighters, with a number of different weapons.

It was an incongruous face to see above the large and powerful-looking body. Jim’s stare was suddenly interrupted by what seemed an avalanche of white, filmy cloth, as the lady kneeling on the Bright Knight’s other side threw herself across the still figure-between the fallen man and Jim.

“Do not kill him-oh, do not kill him!” she cried. “If you must kill someone, kill me! I was the one who sent him against you. He will yield to you. I promise he will yield to you. Have pity. Wait but until he can speak. Spare him!”

Now she was the one Jim stared at. It came to him, admittedly a little late, that she had assumed he had taken off the Bright Knight’s neck armor so that he could cut the other’s head off.

“I didn’t-“ he began; and suddenly realized he could be stepping into a trap. If he admitted to having no intention of killing his opponent, then from the practical point of view of this lady and the retainers, the Bright Knight had not lost the fight at all. Once he was revived, he and the retainers could still take care of Jim and Brian.

Jim swallowed. He stared at her.

He had assumed she was the Lady of the castle. But only now did he appreciate how expensive, in cut and quality, was what she was wearing-like a Witch Queen, herself. The fabric of the dress he looked at was many-layered, of some fine, thin material; and there was a silver chain around her neck, with what seemed to be an enormous pearl at its lowest point-a pearl a good three inches in diameter.

Her hands were long and slender, with smoothly tapered fingers; and she was not merely good-looking, she was beautiful. Nor was her beauty spoiled now by the tears running down her face-rather the opposite. Everything about her spoke of rank and power. Jim felt an unexpected sweep of sympathy for her within him; and all his instincts cried out for him to reassure her that the unconscious man was in no danger.

But caution came quickly to check this. Several years now in a medieval environment had taught Jim that a pitiful face could change expressions like lightning. Jim had seen fourteenth-century ladies make the shift from helpless waif to Valkyrie just that swiftly, on occasion.

“Stay!” said Jim to her, as sternly as he could. “I must first see if all has been well with my friend here whom you held captive!”

With that excuse he got to his feet, and left her, still pouring tears; and now stroking the unconscious face of the Bright Knight. Jim stepped aside with Brian.

“Brian...” he began in a low voice.

“What’s amiss!” broke in Brian, almost angrily, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Will you let this woman charm you into sparing one who has no knightly honor, rights with a magic advantage, breaks all the rules of fair lance work-and he is not even married to her, is no more than her leman!”

“He is not my leman!” choked the Lady. “The world has called him so; and for his safety I have let them think it. But he is my son, my only child!”

Now Jim really did stare at her. She looked hardly more than in her early twenties, herself. But in this era, girls could be married off at nine years of age, or even younger, and bear a child a year or two later.

“Bah!” said Brian to her now. “Rather the other way about!”

“I will swear it!” cried the Lady. “Bring me a Holy Cross and I will swear to it. Oh, my Lords, I have kept him safe, lo these many years, by a spell granted me by my great Mistress, Morgan le Fay-but alack! Neither of us suspected there might come someone like yourself, so skillful with the lance. I pray you, spare him! Perhaps you have a son of your own and can understand...”

Her words continued to pour forth.

Jim risked a glance at Brian, who was staring at her in outrage. He moved the same outraged look to Jim.

“James,” he said, stiffly, but low-voiced enough so only Jim could hear, “I hope you are not taking to heart any of what we are now hearing. “... one so skillful with the lance! indeed! I wonder you did not wish to hide your face on hearing it. By Saint James-your name Saint, doubtless-flattery has its limits; and this demoiselle far exceeds them!”

Jim scrambled in his mind for an answer that would placate Brian and at that same time deal with what indeed was an outrageous buttering-up by the Lady. But, as it happened, she was still talking-now back on her feet.

“... a lad of twelve, to die so young-“ she was now saying to Jim in a choked voice.

“Twelve!” said Jim and Brian at the same time, staring at the six-foot figure on the ground.

“He is big for his age. All were astonished at how he grew. But then his father was full seven feet in height-“

Now Brian and Jim looked at each other. Men seven feet tall were not unknown in these times-though inevitably they were well known when they happened. Harold Hardradda-Harold the Third of Norway, Jim remembered from his future life-had been mentioned in the Heimskrin la as being some seven feet tall. He also had one eyebrow higher than the other, according to a more contemporary historian-for some reason that detail, too, had stuck in Jim’s mind. Then there had been France’s King Charlemagne...

“-but rather I will die myself. If you will not slay me yourself, then suffer me to throw myself on your sword, for I will not outlive him, in Mary’s name-“ And she made a snatch at Jim’s sword.

He tightened his grip on it just in time-some of these women of the gentry were as able with weapons as men-and he was surprised by the strength he had to use to keep her from taking it.

But by this time, the Bright Knight had recovered consciousness. His voice boomed at them from the ground.

“Will you stay out of this, Mother? I’m a knight. If he cannot grant me mercy, I must die as a knight!”

“Never!” shouted the Lady. “Before you kill him, you must kill me first!” And with that she threw herself once more on top of the young man, child, or whoever he was; literally interposing her body between him and any weapon-and, incidentally, effectively muffling whatever he might be trying to say from beneath her.

Both Jim and Brian looked at each other. Then Brian beckoned Jim.

“If by your courtesy you would step aside with me for a moment?” he said.

They walked several steps farther away from the pair on the ground and Brian lowered his voice once more.

Jim hated to lie to Brian, but of course his imaginary knighthood would have had equally imaginary vows, if either of them had existed at all before his necessary protective lie on his first meeting with Brian.

“I imagine so.”

“That leaves it as a problem for us-for you, I might say, but I feel an obligation, since it was to rescue me you engaged in this spear-running. The words of our vows ill rest beside your slaying not only a child of possibly twelve years-if such a child boy he is indeed. But can we take upon our souls the chance of breaking vows made before the altar?-by compassing not only his, but the sin of his mother’s death as well? It might well be a great double sin, James. Against my own inclinations I feel I must crave your indulgence by counseling you to grant them both mercy.”

Jim’s heart lightened amazingly.

“Well, perhaps you’re right. I guess so,” said Jim. “I suppose there’s no hope of doing anything else?”

“Better perhaps out here under the trees,” said the QB, suddenly reappearing. Was it Jim’s imagination, or had the Lady’s face suddenly turned a shade paler? But she laughed merrily, and clapped her hands at the servants. They were too far away for the sound to be heard by any except those with the keenest ears; but evidently the mere sight of her hands in action brought them all running to her.

“A pavilion! A table! Meats! Wine!” she ordered. “Strike the irons from this other good knight”-she pointed at Brian-“and return his weapons!” They raced to obey; and most hurried back toward the castle as she turned once more to face Brian and Jim.

“Sirs,” she said, “I am the Lady Annis of the White Castle, that Keep you see behind me; all of which is now at your disposal. May I crave your pardon, Sir Brian, for any discomfort you might have encountered while you were prisoner in my home?”

“You have it,” said Brian, deep in his throat and without a smile. “Though I have slept more comfortably before this.”

“We will endeavor to make you amends for that, Sir.”

“And you,” said Brian, speaking over her head to the Bright Knight, “I was never made acquainted with your name. But if you are in any way disappointed with my showing against you, it will be my pleasure to remove that disappointment any time you wish to meet me once more with the lance-or any other weapon, for that matter.”

“Sir, my name is Sir Boy; and I join my Lady in hoping that your stay with us was not too burdensome upon you.”

“I minded it not.”

Some of the retainers now returned with a blacksmith, who quickly cut off Brian’s manacles; and this was speedily followed by the return of his equipment and arms, and the erection of a pavilion, and its furnishing with table, tablecloth, wine cups, platters, wine, and food-it all would undoubtedly have been faster if they had been conjured up by magic-but not by much.

“To your great healths, my Lords,” said the Lady, once they were all seated, downing a nearly full cup of wine, unmixed-as far as Jim could see-with water.

Jim thanked her graciously. Politeness had now automatically laid its hand on all of them. Even Brian, Jim noticed, was relaxing now that he had drained a cup of wine-a little greater swallow than usual on his normal company manners- after that first prickly verbal exchange with Lady Annis and Sir Boy. His spine was still stiff, however, and his face unsmiling.

Both Brian and the QB seemed unusually alert, on guard with their hosts. The QB, apparently taking his inclusion in the party for granted, was standing now at one end of the table in the pavilion, the serpentlike forward part of his body curving above its surface on a level with their own.

One odd thing, Jim recognized suddenly, was that-while he could have sworn no trees were close enough to where the pavilion had been pitched to do any such thing-now the shadows of branches could be seen on the cloth roof over his head. They lay dark above the table’s end occupied by Brian and himself, while above Sir Boy and Lady Annis at their end, the cloth showed bright with unshadowed sunlight.

“What do you in Lyonesse, Messires?” asked Annis. “For I see by your armor and weapons that you are from elsewhere.”

“Just passing through,” answered Jim. He was trying to think of some way of learning more about her connection with Brian’s capture-Boy was clearly of minor importance.

Undoubtedly it had been Morgan le Fay behind Brian’s capture; but there must have been some reason it was this Annis of the White Castle who had been chosen to do it.

That reason-and possibly other useful information-might be extracted from Annis if he could be clever enough in questioning her, thought Jim. But he doubted he was that clever-particularly if she was determined not to talk. Her swift and easy switch to the role of genial hostess, and her skill in playing the social part involved, was as good as a preemptive strike. As long as the assumption was that he and Brian were now guests, pinning her down with any obviously hard questions had become socially difficult.

Had Morgan wanted Brian just as bait to catch Jim again, perhaps? No, Morgan could never have arranged for the QB and Merlin to work as a team to feed him the information on where Brian was being held.

Of course not-and one puzzle at a time. He would get further by finding out more about Annis herself. For a beginning, she had certainly managed to at least obscure the question of whether Boy was her lover or her son. But she certainly-he searched for the word he wanted-had seemed disappointed, at least, at not being able to get both Brian and Jim inside their castle.

Meanwhile, the QB, since his reappearance, had been acting very much as if he was on his guard, since suggesting they sit down outside, rather than following Annis under her roof. Jim found himself wishing for an excuse to move the QB and himself out of her hearing, so he could question this one friend he and Brian had here, about this situation.

But nothing came to mind that would sound natural. Only, why hadn’t Annis objected to sitting down with them out here; and insisted on their going to the castle? Of course, obviously the appearance of the QB had been a shock to her. Any such insistence under these conditions probably would have sounded suspicious.

Clearly, if Morgan le Fay was the cause of all that was happening to both Jim and Brian, there seemed to be something more than just a Queenly annoyance involved.

As Queen of Gore, she was too important, here in Lyonesse, to go to this much trouble over the minor irritation Jim and KinetetE had caused her. Almost certainly the Queen had little doubt she could deal with KinetetE with one hand tied behind her back, if she only had KinetetE here.

It was an opinion, Jim was fairly sure, that would be very badly wrong. He would bet on KinetetE any day. But Morgan-used to having most things her way here on her home grounds-would have to learn better the hard way before she would believe. Meanwhile, it was annoying that he and Brian could not be about the work they had come to Lyonesse to do, because of this chance side issue-

A wild thought struck him suddenly. Surely, Morgan le Fay-independent, all-powerful here in magic with Merlin out of the ring-could not have been recruited or brought to be an ally of the Dark Powers in their attempt to take over this land!

Or could she?

There was some evidence that the forces involved here had already started to line up on opposite sides. The QB was on their side; and Merlin, the one individual possibly more powerful in magic than Morgan, had pretty well declared himself out of the contest. But the trees were helping; as they had been ready to help on the Gnarly trip, by reaching down and strangling the black-furred giants the QB had ordered to leave Brian and Jim alone.

How in the name of this crazy world could a takeover of Lyonesse by the Dark Powers be to Morgan’s advantage? For that matter, how could it be to the advantage of the Dark Powers? The Powers might be able to win it; but they couldn’t occupy it without physical servants to hold it at their orders. And Jim could not see Morgan voluntarily becoming the servant of anyone or anything.

But that wasn’t the situation. None of this made sense. Morgan’s siding with the Dark Powers did not make sense. Moreover, this was the first time, Jim realized, that he might have encountered someone who could be considered to have evil in her bones-so to speak-instead of being merely human-or animal, or Natural- and seduced into evil by greed for wealth or power. He found her and all those around her, like Annis, hard to understand...

While he had been thinking all this, however, Annis had continued talking, keeping up an easy flow of unimportant conversation. He came back to sharp attention suddenly, though, when he heard her saying “-and it would pleasure us deeply if the two of you would guest with us for a few days.”

“I regret,” said Brian, without waiting for Jim to answer.

“Yes, I’m afraid we’ve got matters that’ll have to take us away from here,” said Jim with almost equal quickness.

“Sir Boy would be so glad to learn what knights like yourself could tell him of the finer uses of weapons, and no doubt as well of the many adventures you both have had.”

“Sir Boy-,” began Brian harshly-then checked himself, coughed, and buried his nose in his wine cup.

“It’s too bad; but as we say, we have to move on,” added Jim, for he could feel Brian’s temperature beginning to rise once more. To Brian the situation here must be intolerable: Sir Boy, if truly twelve years old, in Brian’s eyes could in no real sense be called a knight-a member of a highly trained profession. He could never have been dubbed-unless he was someone like a king’s son, in which case knighting could come ridiculously early. No way could he be both knight and boy at once.

The danger of an explosion of outrage was still fizzing under Brian’s barely polite surface; and a word could set him off.

“You speak most knowingly of a matter no one has ever mentioned to me. What makes you think I have served the great Queen?”

“A man in a tree told me about it”-and Jim, this time without question, saw her face pale-“but is she alarmed by the Dark Powers?”

“The-“ Annis stared at him for a second, then laughed ringingly. “You must forgive me, my Lord. I have never heard of those Powers you speak of. What did you call them-the Dark...”

“Dark Powers,” said Jim. “So, you never heard anything of them from her?”

“Oh, but my Lord! I was only one of her demoiselles, by your admittance. It is not likely she would speak to me except to give me orders.”

“Still, even if you don’t know, she must have. Are you sure you never heard her speaking of them, perhaps to others? Particularly when all Lyonesse is in great danger from them?”

Annis laughed merrily once more.

“Now, I ask you, my Lord,” she said. “Who could a simple demoiselle like myself overhear her speaking to?”

Jim’s memory of the Arthurian legends had been coming back steadily as his time stretched out in Lyonesse.

“Oh, perhaps one of the other three great Witch Queens,” he said. “The Queen of Northgales, the Queen of Eastland, or the Queen of the Out Isles. I understand they’re often in her company; and you’d think all three would be equally concerned with her. You must have seen her with them, many times.”

Annis’s eyes had been fixed on him; but then their focus shifted, looking upward toward the cloth roof-and Jim also looked up, to see the white fabric over the heads of Annis and Sir Boy now also darkened by the shadows of heavy tree limbs; and the sides as well as the front of the tent darkened likewise.

More than that, the broad, rough, black bark of an enormous tree trunk could now be seen blocking the space between the two flaps of the tent that gave entrance and exit.

“It would be well if you answered the good knight about the Dark Powers,” said the QB unexpectedly, “and answered truthfully. The Old Magic in the forests of Lyonesse is concerned; and the time of battle is coming, not to be avoided.”

Annis turned to stare at him-then suddenly, and so swiftly that none of them could have stopped her even if they had not had a table in the way, she tore the great pearllike globe from its chain around her neck and threw it down onto the tabletop. It burst, sending up a momentary waft of white smoke or vapor.

“My Queen!” she cried to the ceiling of the tent, “They seek to use me against you! Help me! Help me!”

Her words rang in the tent, were gone; and silence flowed back. She lowered her eyes to glare at them.

“It was to no avail,” said the QB. “The forest is all around you now. The leaves will drink up the magic in the ball you broke. The trees will carry your words back and forth across all Lyonesse, until they are so worn and tattered that they will be less than a whisper and bring no sense to any ears that can finally hear them- even if those are the ears of Morgan le Fay. Are you desperate enough to think that she will challenge the Old Magic of this land-for you and yours?”

Sir Boy shot up from his chair, drawing his sword. He advanced on Jim and Brian; who both also jumped up and drew theirs.

“You leave her alone!” Boy shouted. But he checked, looking around at Annis. “I’m not Bright!” he said.

“Of course not,” said the QB. “There is no sun inside this tent to make your magic work.”

Boy turned back.

“I don’t need to be Bright!” he growled, advancing toward Jim, who still held his sword and was closer to him than Brian. Brian was already putting his sword back into its scabbard. He was being courteous, giving Jim first chance at the single foe-a hell of a time for politeness, thought Jim!

This was an instance in which Boy’s inexpertness might be compensated for by other factors. They had all left their shields outside the tent with the horses, so it would be sword against sword only; and Boy, though probably as poor a swordsman as he was a jouster, was slightly taller and a good deal heavier and thicker-boned than Jim. In sheer muscle strength he had the advantage-and he certainly was willing to fight. He bulked large in this confined space...

“My great thanks to you, Brian” said Jim, putting the best face he could on his situation.

“Boy, you fool!” cut in the sharp voice of Annis. “Come back here! These men have each been trained for more than your lifetime-“ If she only knew the truth about me, thought Jim. “-Either one can kill you easily. Come back, I say!”

She literally stamped her foot on the carpeting that had been laid down around the table.

Reluctantly, scowling, still holding his sword, Boy backed to his chair and sat down in it. He did not resheathe his sword, but laid it before him on the table. Annis sat down and looked at Jim and Brian, still on their feet, with a suddenly pitiful face.

“What can I do? Oh, what can I do?” she said. “Ask what you will; and I will tell.”

“All right then,” said Jim. “You can start by telling me about Morgan’s meetings with the other three Witch Queens I mentioned.”

“Perhaps! I do not. I know only what concerns me, such as my duties, attendance on the Queen-“

“And on her guests of rank, when there are such,” said Jim. “Northgales, Eastland, and the Out Isles would hardly bring their complete retinues on so frequent visits. Those who served at the Castle would be called upon to do duty for the visitors. Tell me that never happened to you!”

She twisted in her chair. She was a powerfully persuasive actor. Jim forced himself to remember that her appearance of helplessness could change just as quickly as had her earlier one of gracious hospitality.

“No. Yes, I suppose I could have. But I would never know who they were. Only I took orders and obeyed them.”

“There was a reason, of course, for such frequent getting-together,” said Jim. what did the servants in the castle think it was?”

“I do not talk to common servants!”

“Of course you do. Everyone talks to servants. Even I,” said Jim, seeing an opportunity to hint at a higher importance than she probably thought he had, “have talked to servants. I’ve talked to blacksmiths, to cooks; I’ve even talked to common soldiers and serfs. Why, I’ve even talked to apprentices.”

Her eyes grew round and dark. For the first time, Jim thought he might be seeing an honest reaction. Then he remembered that there had been no apprentices mentioned-that he could remember, anyway-in the Arthurian legends.

“Apprentices?”

“Certainly. Apprentices, the scum of the earth, lower even than pirates, which I’ve also talked to, to say nothing of kings and-but we aren’t talking about me. Answer me now, what did the people think brought the other three so often to meet your Queen?”

“Well, of course...” She looked down at the table. Her fingertips were trembling, ever so slightly. “My Queen must lead among them. For of all four, she is by far the most powerful, and they dare not offend or cross her.”

“So, most of the time she was calling them to her to hear what she wanted them to do?”

“I do not know that! I do not know it at all!”

“No, no, my Lord!” It was literally a cry of fear this time. “I’ll speak. I’ll tell you what you want to know. It is indeed of the Dark Powers that my Queen and the others talk now. My Queen feels that Lyonesse would be better off under those Powers-she does not deign to tell the others why. None but she knows. She has told them their only choice is to join the Powers now, while they can; for the Powers will be stronger than the Old Magic, which has always been a threat to the four of them!”

There was a moment of utter silence in the pavilion.

“It is false,” said the QB. “No power is greater than that of the Old Magic. We have Merlin’s word on that.”

Annis laughed unhappily.

“Merlin is tree-bound,” she said, in a bitter voice. “Shut up and made helpless by a demoiselle little more than a child. Men are ever more persuaded by the child in women.”

“You know nothing of it,” said the QB. “Merlin is wiser than us all; and it was not because he was in his dotage and bemused by a woman-child alone that he ended in the tree.”

“Hah!” said Annis. She tossed back her long hair, which had fallen forward when she looked down at the table. She looked squarely at the three of them. “Well, Messires? You have what you came for. Go.”

“We were planning to,” said Jim.

“There is no reason not to,” said Annis. “Sir Brian is returned. You have your answer and there is nothing more I can tell you, though you question me for a twelvemonth. Leave us in peace.”

“Lady, it was you who chose to trouble them,” said the QB. “But yes,” he went on, “I believe you have told all you know. Sir James, Sir Brian?”

Jim nodded. This was awkward. He felt he should say something; but there was nothing more to be said.

“Good-bye,” he said, anyway. She looked at him, but did not answer.

“Get that lad to someone who can teach him lance and sword,” said Brian unexpectedly as they turned to go, “if you hope to keep him. Magick is a chancy staff to lean on for those of us not magickians. Some skill may save his life someday.”

Her eyes moved to Brian; but she still did not answer. The tree trunk blocking the pavilion entrance was gone, now, and the canvas flap of the entrance fell shut behind them, cutting off sight of her and Sir Boy. It was only then that Jim realized the limb shadows he had seen cast on the pavilion roof had been gone for some unknown time.

“Hah!” said Brian, mounting Blanchard. “It is a great relief to be free and have weapons to hand once more. Again, we must thank you... er... Sir QB.”

“I am one of the Lords of Lyonesse,” the QB answered. “But it pleases me that all just call me QB. It is a pleasure to me to see you free.”

“Nonetheless,” said Brian, “if my help can ever be of use to you, you have earned it most certainly. You will remember?”

“I shall, and thank you, Sir Brian.”

“Good. Hark ye, James; I believe yon Sir Boy was no lad at all-or at least no lad as the word is meant to mean. I think he was silly.”

“Silly?” Jim made the connection quickly, but not quickly enough to stop himself before he got that question out. Of course, silly, as Brian knew and used the word, meant Boy was not as mentally adult as someone his size normally would be.

“Yes,” Brian was saying, “and while I cannot say I have much love for Lady Annis after a night in her dungeon, I do believe her to be not lacking in courage. Only her love for her son-and it could be he is her son, though she seems passing young for such a large lad. Only that, methinks, made her tell you what you wanted to hear. Courage is to be admired in whoso has it.”

“Yes,” said Jim. “And I think the way you do about Sir Boy. It occurred to me, too. He may not be a very large child at all-more like twenty-four; but with the mind of not even a fourteen-year-old. What do you think, QB?”

“I do not know,” said the QB. “Repute all has it that the Bright Knight is her leman. Merlin would know, but I cannot ask him.”

“Either way, it is a shameful mock of knighthood to put such a one in armor and set him to carrying a lance-yet he, too, did not seem to lack courage, when he thought her threatened. It will be a blessing if she takes my advice and gives him some training, setting aside this unfair magick he uses.”

“Even with training, he’s probably just going to get himself killed, if he doesn’t have what it takes to think quickly in a fight, Brian.”

“But he would die honorably-by the by, James, where are we headed now?” Jim reined Gorp to a sudden stop. Brian halted Blanchard beside him, and QB, running a little ahead of them, stopped and turned back, inquiringly. “Hell!” Jim said. “I don’t know!”