XI. The Mightiest Battle Ever

The next few days were busy for Luneta, Rhience, and Ywain. Having given Sir Carius's castle and lands to Sophia, Ywain couldn't simply ride away and leave her to get established on her own, so they all stayed and pitched in. To begin, they had to go through the whole castle and explain to its inhabitants the change in their circumstances. A few servants and guards left, but not many: nearly everyone was so pleased at the death of the cruel Brothers and the departure of the weak Sir Garius that they were inclined to accept any alternative without question. Once they had met Sophia, they accepted her for her own sake.

After that, the freed women were given the choice of returning to their old homes on the Isle of Wight or of staying in the castle with Sophia. Since the king of Wight had generally selected orphans and childless widows to send away, though, few had any reason to return to the king who had handed them into slavery, and all but a dozen or so decided to stay. Those who chose to return were given gifts out of Sir Carius's amassed wealth and sent home with an escort, and those who stayed were fed and clothed and given their own rooms. That was the next task: to open up all the closed and dusty bedchambers. There was a great housecleaning throughout the castle as servants and women aired and dusted the rooms and carpenters cut all the bars away from the doors. The day after this was done, though, a small delegation of the women brought a surprising request to Sophia, who was sitting with Luneta and Rhience in Sir Carius's old parlor. The women wanted to begin sewing again.

"Can you be serious?" Sophia asked with astonishment.

"Yes, my lady," said the leader of the delegation, a middle-aged woman named Anna. "It is what we're good at."

"But it's what you did as slaves! And, besides, not all the ladies were good at sewing. I know I wasn't."

"No, my lady," Anna replied. "But nearly all of us are. You see, the ones who weren't good at it were the ones who..." She hesitated.

"Who were beaten and died," Sophia said.

"That's right, my lady."

"Anna," Sophia said seriously, "I hope that you aren't offering this labor with some idea of paying for your keep. Because you don't have to pay for anything. Every farthing that I spend on your food and shelter has already come from your labor."

"I won't deny that that's a part of it," Anna said steadfastly. "We would like to do our bit to support the castle. But that's only part. You see, one of the sisters heard the Knight of the Lion say that he knew about our work, so we went to ask him about it. He says that the tapestries and embroideries of Diradvent are famous all over England. That's our work, that is. We're famous for what we can do, and it's a proud feeling." Sophia opened her mouth to argue, but Anna pressed on determinedly. "So we were wondering. There are two big sitting rooms on the second level here, connected by a big door, and those rooms have rich chairs to sit in and big fireplaces, and we wondered if you wouldn't mind giving us those rooms to sew in."

"Everything here is yours, Anna," Sophia said. "But are you sure?"

"My lady, when I think about spending the rest of my life sitting in a comfortable room by a fire, chatting freely with people I like, doing what I'm good at doing, and never having to worry about where my next meal comes from, it feels more like heaven than anything I've ever dreamed of."

Sophia seemed struck by this and was silent. Rhience said quietly, "A wise holy man I know says that the secret of life is to enjoy your food, enjoy your work, and give thanks to God."

Sophia smiled. "The salons are yours," she said. Anna and the other ladies in the delegation beamed at each other and hurried away to lay claim to their new workrooms. Sophia turned to Luneta. "I would never have imagined this—a life spent sewing doesn't sound like any sort of heaven to me—but this may help me to solve another problem. Luneta, could you come with me?"

Luneta willingly followed Sophia, who led her down the dark corridor to the door where Luneta had first heard the sound of crying women.

"Why is this door still barred?" Luneta asked. "I thought all the bars were cut off."

Sophia sighed. "We tried, but she wouldn't let us."

"Who?"

"Dorothea. Come inside. I'll show you."

Sophia removed the bar and pushed the door open. For a moment Luneta saw nothing in the gloomy, cavernous room, but as her eyes adjusted to the dark she discerned a single torch burning against a far wall and, beneath it, a woman diligently sewing. Sophia led Luneta down the stairs and across the empty room to the lone laborer. "Dorothea?" Sophia said gently.

"As you can see," Dorothea replied without looking up, "I'm very busy here."

"That's a magnificent dress," Sophia said. "No one can sew like you."

The compliment was calculated to please, Luneta knew, but for all that, it was no lie. The dress that Dorothea was embroidering would have been the envy of any lady at Camelot. Dorothea allowed herself to peek up at Sophia, then grunted noncommittally and returned to her work. "It's nearly done," she said. "So I hope you haven't come down here to waste my time again, trying to get me to leave my work."

"Not this time, Dorothea. In fact, I've come to ask if you would like to work with the other women."

Dorothea hesitated, then looked up at Sophia suspiciously. "Depends," she said. "Do they really want to work again? They seemed ready to drop everything the other day when that jester fellow opened the doors and said the Brothers were dead. Give laziness an inch, and it'll take an ell."

"Indeed, they want to work," Sophia said. "But not in this dark room."

"I've plenty of light," Dorothea said.

"They are setting up a new workroom in the castle above," Sophia continued. "It's a comfortable room with great windows and fireplaces, and they will sit there and talk while they work."

"Harumph!" Dorothea snorted.

"They would love for you to work with them, and if I might say so, they could all learn from watching your skill."

"And who will make them work when they get lazy?" Dorothea demanded.

"No one will make them work at all," Sophia replied. "They will work because they want to."

"Who will be in charge? Who will set the hours? Who will make them pay attention to their work when they start gabbling?"

"No one, Dorothea," Sophia said. Her voice was sad.

"Not one of them will get as much done as I will," Dorothea snapped irritably. "Go away and bar the door behind you!"

Luneta stared at the old woman with horror. She tried to think of something to say that would help Sophia persuade the poor woman to leave her prison, but nothing occurred to her. Sophia stepped back beside Luneta and sighed softly. "Can you help?"

Luneta shook her head. "I can think of nothing else to say."

"I mean, is there anything else you can do? Something magical? I know that you have powers that the rest of us don't have."

"Oh, that's why you asked me to come," Luneta said slowly. Then she shook her head again. "But I can't. Not even the most powerful sorceress could help. One thing that none of us can do is change a person's will."

Sophia closed her eyes sadly. "Then we must leave her here in the darkness."

Luneta set her lips and said suddenly, "I can at least do something about that. Here, bring me that dead torch over there." Sophia brought the torch to her, and Luneta explained, "I can dust this with a special powder and light it. It will give much more light than that torch Dorothea is working by, and it won't burn out, either."

They set the torch in a sconce on the wall opposite the old woman's other torch. Luneta performed her charm, and the new firebrand leaped into brilliant light, illuminating the gorgeous dress that Dorothea was creating and casting sharp shadows around the room. But without a word, Dorothea turned her back on the new light, continuing to work in her own shadow, sewing only by the dim light of her old, flickering torch.

Neither Luneta nor Sophia spoke as they returned to the castle.

It was three days after the battle with the Brothers before Luneta and Rhience had time to explain to Ywain why they had come looking for him. They told him about Philomela's inheritance and about her sister's attempt to steal it by deceit—perhaps even by murder—and they explained why Philomela needed a champion to defend her rights in a trial by combat.

"It sounds like exactly the sort of thing I'd rather have nothing to do with," Ywain said frankly when they were done. "Don't think that I don't feel for this Philomela. It does sound as if her sister's done her wrong—well, having her stabbed in the back is a good sign of that—but I don't like the whole trial-by-combat business."

"I agree with you there," Rhience said. "And so does King Arthur. I hear that he's tried once or twice to put an end to the practice, but it must be hard to change an old tradition. Some barons feel very strongly about the custom, and the king's always stopped short of issuing an outright ban that wouldn't be obeyed anyway. At least he's changed the rules so that it isn't a fight to the death anymore."

"Any time you fight with real swords, someone can die," Ywain said gravely. "Who is the sister's champion?"

Luneta and Rhience looked at each other, then shook their heads. "We forgot to ask," Luneta admitted. "But Philomela said that her sister had chosen a good knight."

"There, you see? I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to hurt a good knight. This should all be settled in some other way. Justice achieved by force is only partial justice."

"Isn't that a tad inconsistent of you, my friend?" Rhience asked. "After all, less than a week ago, you took a castle away from an old man by force."

"A castle he had used to enslave others," Ywain pointed out.

"No argument there," Rhience said. "What you did was right and just, but you still did it by force, and without force it wouldn't have happened."

Ywain thought about this, a heavy scowl on his face, but at last the scowl cleared, and he said simply, "Damn."

"Does that mean you'll help Philomela?" Luneta asked.

"When did you say this trial by combat is to be?" Ywain asked.

"The fourth of April," Luneta said. "What is today?"

"That's only five days away," Ywain said at once.

"So soon?" Rhience asked sharply. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Ywain replied. "Today's the thirtieth of March. I never forget the date anymore, though Heaven only knows what good it will do me now. And where is the trial to take place?"

"Camelot," Luneta said.

Ywain shook his head. "I don't fancy going back to court, either. That was where I let my head get turned by fashion and fame and ruined my life. What will they all think when crazy Ywain returns?"

"Does that matter?" asked Rhience. Ywain didn't reply, and Rhience continued. "If you like, you could fight incognito. Just camp nearby until the day of the trial, then come in wearing your visor down, fight the battle, and leave."

Ywain nodded slowly, but added in a glum voice, "If I'm still alive after the battle."

"If it'll make you happy, I'll drag your corpse away myself. No one will see your dead face."

Ywain gave Rhience a sour look. "Thank you. You've always been a comfort to me."

"Then you'll do it?" Luneta asked.

Ywain nodded. "Ay," he said. "I'll do it, more for the two of you than for this Philomela, but I'll do it."

"Wonderful!" Luneta said. "Philomela's staying with Laudine, which is on the way to Camelot, so we can go by there and get her before heading on to the trial."

Ywain shook his head. "I'm not going to Laudine's castle. I'll go on to Camelot, and you go tell your Philomela I'll be there on the right day."

The three friends and their lioness companion left Diradvent the next morning. Sophia and all the freed women gathered outside in the courtyard to see them off. Every lady had to express thanks to all three of them—a few even ventured a tentative pat for Lass—and so it was almost an hour from the time they mounted their horses to the time they actually rode out the gate. Rhience laughed and said, "Who would have thought that gratitude could be so tiring?"

"It was refreshing, though," Ywain commented. "Nobody offered to marry me."

But they weren't done. As soon as they went out the castle gates, they were surrounded by villagers, all wanting thank them and to apologize for their former rudeness. If it hadn't been for Lass, they might never have gotten away from the eager crowd, but since the townspeople gave the lioness a wide berth, the three riders were able at last to fall in behind Lass and ride out of town.

"Whew," Rhience said, wiping his brow as if exhausted. "If that's what comes of doing good, I've a mind to start doing evil instead."

"You?" Ywain asked scornfully.

"That's right," Rhience replied, brightening. "In my next career, I'll be a recreant knight."

"You'd be terrible at it," Ywain said bluntly.

Rhience looked affronted. "I don't see why you have to be insulting. If I tried very, very hard, I could—"

"He's right, you know," Luneta said. "You laugh too much."

"And, worst of all, you laugh at yourself," Ywain added. "I assure you that no self-respecting recreant knight would ever do that."

Rhience looked crestfallen. "First the church, now this!" he moaned. "Every promising future is blighted by my fatal habit of laughing. If only I weren't so ridiculous!"

Luneta smiled but reflected inwardly that she didn't think Rhience ridiculous at all.

Ywain parted from them late the next day, just over the hill from Laudine's castle, and Luneta and Rhience took their news to Philomela and Laudine. Philomela received it with delight, and when they told about Ywain's victory over the Brothers, she was ecstatic. "Then I'm saved!" she said with a sigh. "I will have a home to return to after all!"

Laudine said quietly, "No matter what happens, you have a home. Even if you lose your claim, you have a home here whenever you need it." Philomela, overwhelmed, thanked her hostess with great warmth. Watching the two of them, Luneta realized that in the brief time that Philomela had been with Laudine, the two women had formed a friendship much closer than the one Luneta and Laudine had formed in six months. Luneta saw now that there had always been a barrier between her and her hostess, and in honesty she had to admit that the wall had been largely of her own making. Luneta could not help thinking that Laudine was in many ways weak and silly, so even while they were doing magic together, she had always felt distant from her hostess. Luneta wasn't envious of Philomela's close friendship with Laudine, but seeing the depth of the two friends' affection did make Luneta realize something important: it was time for her to leave Laudine's castle.

Laudine looked up suddenly. "But where is the Knight of the Lion?"

"He says to tell the Lady Philomela that he will be at Camelot on the fourth, without fail," Rhience replied.

Laudine looked stern for a moment. "Do you trust him, Rhience? I have known knights who made such promises before."

"I do trust him, my lady," Rhience replied. "You are thinking of a young and thoughtless knight whom we both remember well, but I promise you that the Knight of the Lion is very different from that knight."

"Let us hope so," Laudine said. She turned to Philomela and said, "I wish I could go with you, my dear. It would be so good to be able to travel."

"But it would be beyond everything if you came!" Philomela exclaimed. "Why can you not?"

"It's this wretched Storm Stone. Even though I have guards posted around it, someone could still disturb it, and the magic says clearly that so long as the storms can be summoned, the ruler of this land must be here in the castle. It feels like a prison sometimes."

Philomela looked mournful for a moment, then lifted her chin and said firmly, "Then I shall have to visit you often. Indeed, with your permission, I will come back as soon as the Knight of the Lion has confirmed my claim. You'll want to hear all about it anyway, because it should be a grand contest, and I'm sure all the fashionable lords and ladies of England will come to see it. Think of it! The famous Knight of the Lion against the great Sir Gawain!"

"Sir Gawain!" Luneta exclaimed with a gasp.

"Didn't I tell you? That's who my sister's champion is."

"I am shocked, utterly shocked," Rhience said. "Aghast, no less. I would never have imagined that a gently born young lady like you would have even known such words, let alone utter them! And all strung together like that, too!"

"Shut up, Rhience," Luneta said, panting.

They were in Luneta's new bedchamber—Laudine having given Luneta's old room to Philomela when Luneta had left the week before—and were at last able to discuss privately Philomela's revelation. Indeed, Luneta had been pacing the room and discussing it animatedly for several minutes, but she had finally run out of vocabulary.

"As you wish, lass," Rhience said mildly.

"Oh, Rhience, what are we going to do?" Luneta wailed. "If only we'd asked ahead of time who the sister's champion was! But now we've practically forced Ywain into a promise to fight his own cousin! Isn't there any way for him to back out?"

"I can't think of one," Rhience admitted. "They've both given their word."

"Isn't the duty to your own family a prior commitment? Can't we argue that the ties of blood are more important than a promise?"

"You can try," Rhience said dryly, "but you won't get any support from me." Luneta glanced at him, surprised, and Rhience said, "Remember that you're speaking to a man who has worn a fool's costume and refrained from fighting all these many months because I gave my word."

Luneta nodded, then looked curiously at Rhience. "That's true, isn't it? In all the adventures you've been in, you've never taken up arms against any man, have you?"

Rhience shook his head, then grinned. "No, I haven't, but don't take me wrong: if I'd had no other choice, I'd have fought, all right. The truth is that there was always something I could be doing that was more useful than fighting—like when I set you free from the stake and gave you the ring. If I'd tried to fight then, I'd have been killed and you'd have been burned before Ywain got there. As it turned out, no matter what the situation, I could always find a way to be more helpful without a sword than I would have been with one."

Luneta considered this. "Maybe. But the reason that you looked for something to do besides fighting was because of your promise to a dead man, right?"

Serious again, Rhience nodded. "Yes. And Ywain and Sir Gawain will care about their promises, too. Ywain broke his word once; you can be sure he won't do it again."

Luneta sank into a chair. "What if one of them kills the other?"

"It shouldn't come to that, lass," Rhience said. "Remember that these trials are no longer to the death."

"How do they end, then?"

"When one of them yields to the other," Rhience said slowly. He sighed. "Oh, blast," he muttered. "That's not very likely either, is it?"

"We've got to do something," Luneta said. "Maybe King Arthur can stop it. We must talk to him as soon as we get to Camelot."

"Er, Luneta?" Rhience said suddenly. "I've been meaning to tell you this for the past few days, but it's never seemed the right time."

"Tell me what?"

"I'm not going with you to Camelot," Rhience said,

"You're not?" Luneta exclaimed, dismayed. "But why?"

"I have to go home to Sussex for something," Rhience said. "I'll be leaving in the morning, in fact."

"But I might need you to help me stop the fight!" Luneta said.

"I don't think it can be done, actually," Rhience said, "but if you manage, it will be with the king's help, not mine."

Luneta argued for another hour, but Rhience was adamant. He would not agree to go with her, nor would he tell her what his pressing errand at home was. All he would say was that if he made good time, he might be able to join her at Camelot by the day of the fight itself. And with that Luneta had to be content.

The journey to Camelot with Philomela and a few of Laudine's guards riding as escorts might have delighted Luneta only a year before. Philomela was a pleasant, good-natured, and fashionable companion—just the sort of friend that Luneta, confined to the family estates in Orkney, used to dream of having. But far from enjoying a friend of her own age, Luneta found herself irritated by everything that Philomela did or said. Either she rode too slowly or she talked too much or she had nothing interesting to say. Luneta kept comparing this journey to her travels with Ywain and Rhience, journeys that she remembered as times of free and easy wandering.

They arrived at Camelot shortly after noon the day before the trial, and Luneta was never so pleased to end a journey. Although she knew that neither Ywain nor Rhience would be there, just to be sure, she identified herself to the guard at the front gate and asked if either had arrived yet. No, the guard had heard nothing of either of them. Irrationally disappointed, Luneta turned her attention to the task before her and said, "Very well. Is Sir Gawain at court?"

This the guard was able to answer. "Yes, my lady. Sir Gawain is all set to fight in a trial by combat two days from now. He's at court, you can be sure."

Luneta found him in his rooms, drowsing lazily in an armchair while his squire, Terence, polished his armor. Luneta strode into the room without knocking and plunged directly into the matter. "Good afternoon, Uncle Gawain. Glad to see you're well, and all that. Is it true that you're promised to fight in a trial by combat next week for some property-crazy wench named Philomena?" Gawain sat up quickly, blinked a few times, then opened his mouth to answer, but Luneta pressed on. "Never mind answering that. I already know that you're pledged to the fight. Can you get out of it?"

Gawain blinked again and stared at her, and at last his squire came to his rescue. "Lady Luneta," Terence said, bowing gracefully. "How delightful to see you again. Have you been at court long?"

"Less than an hour. Don't waste time. Can you get out of the fight?"

"Do you always stroll into men's chambers without knocking? What if I hadn't been dressed?" Gawain demanded.

"I wouldn't care if you were wearing a pink ball gown if you'd only pay attention and answer my question," Luneta said, exasperated. "Can you get—?"

"Good Gog!" Gawain said. "You may look different, but when it comes to your tone of voice and attitude, you're the mirror image of—"

"My mother?" Luneta said. Gawain nodded. Luneta rolled her eyes. "A year ago I would have turned you into a frog for saying that—except, of course, that a year ago I couldn't have done so if I'd wanted—but today I just don't have the time."

His voice shaking with laughter, Terence said, "I gather that if you did have time today, you would be able to change my master into a frog?"

Luneta hesitated. "I think so," she said. "I mean, I know how, but I've never actually done it, so I'm not sure how it would turn out. Sometimes the first try goes amiss."

Terence nodded gravely. "Then it is probably best that you not try. I gather that you've been with your Aunt Morgan."

"Great-aunt, yes. Can we get back to the matter at hand? What about this stupid trial by combat? Can you get out of it?"

"I wish I could," Gawain said with a sigh.

"Oh?" Luneta asked. "What do you mean?"

With a guilty glance at his squire, Gawain said, "This Philomena sounded so pathetic, telling us all about how her wicked sister was trying to steal her lands. My heart went out to her. Then I heard that she'd also been around the court getting everyone else to promise not to be her sister's champion, which is hardly playing fair. Finally, I met the sister when she came to appeal to Arthur, and—whatever the rights of the case are—the sister's certainly not as wicked as she was painted."

"Hmm," Luneta said, shaking her head. "But you'd already promised to help Philomena."

"You see, I made this promise once to always help maidens in need," Gawain explained. "The only thing is, it's not always clear how best to do that. I have a strong suspicion that I've been used here."

Terence rolled his eyes and said softly, "Do you think?"

Gawain ignored his squire and said to Luneta, "I'm hoping that nothing will come of it, after all. The younger sister was sent out to find a champion nearly three weeks ago, and nothing's been heard of her since. Maybe she won't show up."

"She almost didn't," Luneta said. "About two weeks ago I found her lying in a ditch. She had been stabbed in the back."

Terence looked up sharply, and Gawain's face grew grim. "But she's alive?" Gawain demanded.

"She's fine," Luneta said.

Terence's face broke into a bright smile. "With your help, I gather?"

"That's right."

"Then you chose the third vial," Terence said.

"Yes," Luneta said. "Like my mother."

"What are you two talking about?" Gawain demanded.

"I'll explain it to you someday, maybe," Terence said, his eyes still resting approvingly on Luneta's face.

"Dash it, Terence! I hate being treated like a five-year-old! I gather that it has to do with some magical Seelie Court business that you seem to think I wouldn't understand, but I'll have you know that I—"

Terence broke in on his master, asking Luneta, "And I gather that you've brought the younger sister to Camelot with you?"

Luneta nodded.

"With a champion?" Terence continued.

Luneta nodded.

The three were silent for a moment, then Gawain said resignedly, "Blast. Who is it?"

"He's called the Knight of the Lion," Luneta said.

"That fellow who's been killing giants and saving whole towns off in the midlands?" Gawain asked.

"That's right, except that it wasn't really a giant."

"It hardly ever is," Gawain said. "But he still sounds formidable. They're already making up songs about him. Do you know him?"

Luneta nodded. "So do you," she said. "It's Ywain."

For a long minute no one spoke. Then Gawain lowered his chin to his chest and said, "Double blast."

"I don't understand," Terence said after another moment. "Why would Ywain agree to fight Gawain?"

"He didn't know who Philomena's champion was," Luneta said. "Still doesn't, in fact. None of us knew." Then Luneta swallowed and lifted her chin. "And because I didn't know, I talked him into it."

"You did?" Terence asked mildly.

"That's right," Luneta said bitterly. "You'd be astonished at how much misery I can cause by talking people into doing things. Is there anything we can do? Can you go to the king and say that the duty to family is more important than the vow you've taken?"

"No," Gawain said simply.

"Can Arthur outlaw all trials by combat?"

"He'd love to have an excuse to do that," Gawain replied. "But even if he did, it wouldn't change this one. He can't take back a trial he's already sanctioned."

"Can you ... can you not fight very hard?" Luneta asked helplessly. Gawain didn't even bother answering, and after a moment Luneta said, "No, you can't do that. For one thing, Ywain won't be holding back. You'll fight until one of you collapses."

"Which will take hours," Terence said.

For several minutes they sat in silence, pondering the problem. Luneta was thinking about what Terence had said, that the fight would take hours. At last, Gawain shrugged and sighed and said, "Maybe nothing very bad will come of this. After all, the trials by combat aren't to the death anymore."

"That's what Rhience said to Ywain," Luneta replied. "But Ywain said only that any time you fight with real swords, someone can die."

"What was that?" Terence asked suddenly.

Luneta repeated what Ywain had said, and Terence nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, "that's very true."

Luneta didn't give up. That evening Gawain was able to get her a private audience with King Arthur and his chief counselor, Sir Kai. A year before, she had been tongue-tied in the presence of her great relative and sovereign, but this time she was too concerned about Ywain and Gawain, and she poured out her story to the king. He listened gravely, but then only said, "I don't know of a thing I can do, my dear."

"The problem," Luneta said, "is that neither Ywain nor Gawain will do less than his best."

"That's why they are the men that they are," King Arthur said, nodding.

"But don't you see, if that's the case, then it hasn't done a bit of good for you to say that these trials should not be fights to the death, because neither one of them will yield to the other!" Luneta said, allowing frustration to creep into her voice.

"I am aware of the futility of my command," the king replied. "It was all I could think of at the time. Have you any further ideas?"

Luneta hesitated, feeling the king's gentle irony, then said, "Actually, there is one more thing you could do."

The king's brows rose, but he replied evenly, "I am open to any suggestion."

Luneta pressed on doggedly. "I was thinking about this last night after talking to Gawain and Terence. You can't stop them from fighting or from fighting their hardest, but do you think you could put a time limit on the combat?"

King Arthur blinked and looked sharply at Sir Kai, then back at Luneta. "A time limit?" he repeated.

Sir Kai began to laugh softly. "You did ask for suggestions, Arthur. Don't be too surprised when you get one—and a damned good one at that."

The king's face softened. He gave a boyish smile and began to speak slowly. "A time limit. The battle shall be limited to one hour. If neither knight has yielded by then, the matter shall be decided by the court. It's so obvious. Lady Luneta, I thank you. It shall be done just as you say."

Luneta was relieved, but only partially. "What happens if one of them accidentally kills the other before the first hour is up?" she asked.

The king's smile disappeared. "I can do nothing about that," he said sadly.

Pleased but not yet satisfied, Luneta walked back to the room that she had been assigned by Sir Kai. It wasn't very large, but word had gotten out to the nobility of England that there was to be a trial by combat, which was almost as good as a tournament, and rooms were scarce. As she made her way through the castle halls, Luneta passed several gatherings of courtiers and ladies, and they were all speculating excitedly on the forthcoming contest between Sir Gawain and the famous Knight of the Lion. No one seemed to know that the knight was Ywain, which was good, but it hardly mattered. The notion of a knight who had a lion had taken strong possession of the court's imagination, and all were agog to see this wonderful new thing. It was being spoken of throughout the court as "The Mightiest Battle Ever," and no one seemed to care a straw that one of these great knights might be killed. Luneta wondered if Rhience had arrived yet.

Luneta pushed open the door to her private bedchamber and noticed that a small fire was burning on the hearth. A man's voice said, "Hello, lass."

Her heart leaped, but the voice wasn't Rhience's. Blinking into the gloom, Luneta made out two figures seated by a small fire. Then she gasped.

"Father! Mother!" she said.

"Hope you don't mind us invading your room," her father said, rising to his feet. "But there weren't any other spots to be had."

"Of course not," Luneta said automatically. She was looking at her mother.

"Hello, Luneta," her mother said. "You look well."

"You too," Luneta said. "It's good to see you."

"And me too?" asked her father.

Luneta laughed softly. "Yes, of course, Father. It's good to see you, too."

"Good Lord!" Luneta's mother said suddenly. "Luneta, look at me!"

Luneta did, stepping forward into the light of the fire. She smiled, knowing exactly what her mother was looking at. She was looking at her mother the same way. Why had she never noticed it before? The deep and piercing eyes of an enchantress. "Why didn't you ever tell me, Mother?" Luneta asked.

"Will you tell your daughter, if you have one?" her mother replied simply.

Luneta considered this, then shook her head. "Of course not."

"Was it Morgan?"

"Yes."

Her mother said slowly, "Well, you aren't a radiant beauty."

"Why, thank you very much, Mother," Luneta said, dipping an ironic curtsy.

"You know very well what I'm talking about," her mother said tartly.

"I'm glad that she does, anyway," Luneta's father murmured.

"If you had chosen the second cordial, you'd be stunning right now, maybe more beautiful even than Morgan, since you're so pretty to start with. So you didn't pick that one."

"I chose the third vial, Mother. Like you."

Luneta's father sank slowly back into his chair. "Oh, no," he said simply, covering his eyes with his hand. "No, no, no. Please don't tell me that—"

Luneta's mother said briskly, "I told you two years ago that it was possible, Gary. I wasn't sure, but sometimes I thought I could see the look in her."

"Just what I need," Luneta's father said glumly. "Another witch in the house!"

"Enchantress," Luneta and her mother said in unison, Their eyes met, and then they began to laugh. Luneta held out her arms, and they embraced.

At last they drew apart, and Luneta said, "But what are you two doing here? Don't tell me you've come to see this dreadful trial by combat."

"You mean 'The Mightiest Battle Ever'?" Luneta's father asked. "No, we knew nothing about it until we heard a town crier announcing it yesterday some fifty miles up the road. Is it true? Did Gawain really consent to fight in this thing? Has he lost his mind?"

"He thought he was helping a damsel in distress," Luneta explained.

"Silly sod," her father remarked. "Nothing more dangerous than a damsel in distress—except perhaps a damsel who isn't in distress. I shall have to think about that."

"Don't wear yourself out, Gary," Luneta's mother said. "And this Knight of the Lion, do you know anything about him? Is he as powerful as they say?"

"Very nearly, I imagine," Luneta said. "It's Ywain."

"'Struth?" demanded Luneta's father. "Little Ywain?"

"How in Heaven did all this come about?" Luneta's mother asked, aghast.

Luneta felt tears come to her eyes, and she brushed them away angrily. "It was my fault," she said.

"Would you like to explain?" her mother asked.

"From the beginning, please," added her father. "I'll build up the fire."

Three hours and two armloads of wood later, Luneta finished her story, and she and her parents sat around her fire, staring at the coals.

At last Luneta's mother said, "So you used the maturity charm on apple blossoms and got them to produce apples?"

"Yes."

"But that's amazing. Even some of the most advanced enchantresses can't do that. I know that I certainly could never make the maturity charm work."

"Perhaps the two of you could talk shop some other time," Luneta's father said.

"If I could, I would have used it on your father long ago," Luneta's mother said.

Luneta's father chuckled. "Touché. But all I meant was that we need to think what we can do about this trial. Could we effect a reconciliation between the two sisters, do you think?"

"After the elder had a knife stuck in the younger's back?" Luneta's mother asked.

"Can't hurt to try," her father said. "Especially since I can't think what else to do."

At these words, a new voice said, "Ah, I've come just intime."

Luneta and her parents started and whirled around, to see Terence standing just inside Luneta's door. "Deuce it, Terence!" Luneta's father expostulated. "You'll kill someone that way someday! How did you get inside without any of us hearing you?"

"I came in the door, of course," Terence replied, stepping forward. He held two swords in scabbards, which he tossed onto Luneta's bed as he approached.

"For anyone else, the hinges would have squeaked," Luneta's father muttered.

Terence smiled but turned his eyes to Luneta. "I just wanted to let you know that I've taken a step of my own to help matters—at least, I hope it will serve."

"What's that?" Luneta demanded.

"You said the other night that any time people fight with real swords, someone can be killed. That set me to thinking. First of all, I realized that Gawain should not use his own sword in the battle." Terence glanced at Luneta and added, "His sword is faery-made, you see. Quite an advantage for him. Then I began to wonder if this could be used another way. So I've just been to visit a blacksmith friend, and he's worked pretty well nonstop for the past two days to put these together." Terence gestured at the swords.

"They aren't real swords?" Luneta said, light slowly dawning.

"Oh, they're real enough," Terence said. "I feel sure that there's a rule somewhere against using wooden swords. But these are different. The blades aren't made of steel, but of untreated iron."

"I see," Luneta's father said. "And iron will break more easily than steel."

"As you say," Terence said.

"I can't say I think much of this plan," Luneta's father pointed out. "What happens if one person's sword breaks and the other person's doesn't?"

"True," Terence said gravely. "But it was all I could think of." And with that, he turned and departed as silently as he had come.

"Well, of all the daft-headed notions!" Luneta's father said disgustedly. "I've never known Terence to be so absurd!"

"And he's gone off and left the swords here, too," Luneta's mother said. "Very unlike him."

"Mother!" Luneta said, joy suddenly leaping up in her breast. "Oh, Mother! It's perfect!"

"What are you talking about, Luneta? What's perfect?"

"They're iron! Don't you see? Untreated iron!"