Chapter 2

The Knight He Loves Most in the World

Sir Balin rode alone through the forest, reflecting glumly on his fate: a knight destined by an old prophecy to ride alone forever or bring disaster on his companions. If you said it right, it sounded very adventurous and romantic, but in practice it wasn't so exciting. It was just lonely.

He wasn't alone for long, though. Only half an hour from King Arthur's court, a knight rode out of the forest and pointed a lance at him. "There you are, you curst marplot!" exclaimed the knight.

"Curst what?" asked Sir Balin. "And who are you, anyway? Do I know you?" The knight's visor was down, hiding his face.

"I am Sir Lanceor of Ireland, and I called you a marplot! Someone who ruins everything!"

Sir Balin nodded. "That's me, I'm afraid. It's my fate."

"Well, you shall meet a worse fate now!" Sir Lanceor shouted. Spurring his horse forward, he aimed his lance at Sir Balin's breastplate.

Now, some might consider this a very unsporting action, inasmuch as Sir Balin wasn't carrying a lance himself, but it worked out all right. It actually isn't that difficult to dodge a lance aimed by a galloping knight. Sir Balin simply leaned to one side, making the point miss, which meant that Sir Lanceor couldn't do anything until he had stopped his horse and turned around, which took several seconds. (Really, people should have noticed early on how inefficient fighting with a lance actually is, but oddly enough, it never seemed to sink in. People kept on pointing lances at each other, and mostly missing, for years and years.)

Sir Balin drew both his swords and rode after Sir Lanceor. With one sword he knocked the lance from the knight's grasp and with the other bashed him from his horse. Sir Lanceor landed with a thump, then lay still. Sir Balin dismounted and stood over Sir Lanceor's inert figure. Still no movement. Cautiously, he checked the knight. Sir Lanceor was out cold. He must have fallen on his head. Sir Balin took Sir Lanceor's lance and broke it in pieces, then threw Sir Lanceor's sword up in the topmost branches of an oak, then mounted his horse to ride away. Only then did he notice that he was being watched by an old man in flowing black robes.

"Who are you?" asked Sir Balin.

"I ... I am ... the Old Man of the Meadow."

Sir Balin suppressed the impulse to ask which meadow. Instead he said, "Please don't tell me that you're an enchanter."

"I am! And I have been watching you! You defeated that knight easily!"

"It was just luck," Sir Balin said. "His bad luck, I mean. He fell badly."

"It was not luck!" declared the Old Man of Some Meadow. "It was fate! You bear the aura of prophecy about you! What is your name, O Knight of Destiny?"

"I'm ... uh ... just call me the Knight with Two Swords."

"O Knight with Two Swords, I see ... yes, I see a great destiny for you!"

"I know, I know," Sir Balin said wearily. "I shall be the noblest knight in England and shall never refuse an adventure and bring down two kingdoms in one day, but everything will go bad for me, and I'll bring misfortune on all my companions and strike the Something-that-starts-with-a-D Stroke and in the end shall destroy the knight I love most in the world. So you see, I'm already full to the brim with prophetic destiny and don't have room for even a little bit more. Good day." Sir Balin rode away, leaving the Old Man of the Meadow to do whatever enchanters did when they were alone.

Soon Sir Balin came upon another knight traveling through the forest. Both knights lowered their visors, gripped their swords, and slowed their horses. When they were twenty yards away, the two knights stopped. They looked at each other through their helmets for a long time.

"Are you going to attack me?" asked Sir Balin.

"Why would I want to do that?" the strange knight replied.

"I'm sure I don't know, but knights are always doing it anyway. There was Sir Bullevere and then Sir Lanceor, and I didn't want to fight either of them, but I killed the first and knocked the other one out."

"You sound like you're bragging," said the strange knight.

"Bragging!" exclaimed Sir Balin, annoyed. "Why would I brag about bringing misfortune on everyone I meet! It's a curse, not an achievement! I can't help it! When I was christened, I was laid under a horrible fate that I would be the noblest—"

"Oh, put a cork in it," said the strange knight. "Are you still obsessed with that silly prophecy nonsense? How many times do I have to tell you it's all rot?"

"Eh?" said Sir Balin. He raised his visor to reveal a growing smile.

The strange knight raised his to show a matching smile. "Having a bad day, little brother?" he asked.

The two knights rode together and embraced joyfully. "Lannie!" Sir Balin shouted, for of course the Old Woman of a Mountain had been right that the names Balin and Balan were too similar. The brothers had gotten confused from the beginning, so that soon they had become Lannie and Lin to everyone except their mother.

"Here now, none that 'Lannie' business," exclaimed Sir Balan. "I'm Sir Balan the Doughty now."

"The what?"

"Doughty. D-O-U-G-H-T-Y. They tell me it means courageous."

"I see," said Sir Balin politely. "Yes, of course. Very likely."

"Put a cork in it, Lin," Sir Balan chuckled. "I didn't choose the name. I just came through a couple of adventures, and people started calling me by it. And where the deuce have you been? You missed Mother's birthday last month."

"Cripes!" Sir Balin said, slapping his heavy metal gauntlet against his helmet with a clang. "I forgot all about it! But it's not my fault; I was in prison."

"Hmm," Sir Balan said. "Maybe you'd better come up with a different excuse to give her. Just a thought. What were you doing in prison?"

"It's a long story," Sir Balin sighed.

"Then hadn't we ought to make camp and hear it?" replied Sir Balan with a smile.

 

So the brothers made camp, and Sir Balin recounted all that had happened to him. When he got to the part about Lady Lyla and the enchanted sword, Sir Balan said, "I wondered why you were carrying a spare. May I see the enchanted sword?" Sir Balin handed the sword and scabbard to his brother. "Sure," he said, "but you won't be able to pull it out, because only the—"

Sir Balan pulled the sword easily from the scabbard.

"Eh?" said Sir Balin. "But only the noblest knight in England could do that, and everybody else tried and failed, but I knew I would succeed because of the prophecy from the Old Woman of—"

"Apparently I'm also the noblest knight in England," Sir Balan said. "Even without a prophecy." He peered closely at the scabbard. "I say, when everyone tried to pull it out and failed, was Lady Lyla holding it like this?" He held it firmly by the scabbard.

Sir Balin nodded. "Yes, just like that."

"Try it, little brother," Sir Balan said. Sir Balin grasped the hilt and pulled, but it didn't move. Sir Balan chuckled. "There's a secret catch in the scabbard here," he said, pointing. "If you hold it down, it fits into that little notch in the blade and locks it in place. If you let go, the sword comes out easily."

Sir Balin examined the secret lock in the scabbard for a minute. "So it was all a trick?" he said at last.

Sir Balan nodded. "I'd guess that Lady Lyla and your Sir Lanceor were working together. She would hold the sword locked while everyone else tried, then release it for him. He would draw the sword and be known right away as the noblest knight in England."

"That's why Lady Lyla was so angry when I drew it out," Sir Balin mused. "And why Sir Lanceor followed me and attacked me later. Because I had ruined their plan."

"Very good!" Sir Balan said, grinning. "You're not so dumb. I don't care what everyone says."

Sir Balin ignored him. "So it wasn't an enchantment; it was just a made-up story."

"They're all made-up stories," Sir Balan said. "I keep telling you that. So is the Old Mountain Wench's prophecy. It's all blather."

Sir Balin shook his head slowly. "No, she was right. According to Father, the prophecy was that I would be known as the noblest knight in England. Well, since I drew this sword, all the king's court knows me as the noblest knight in England. Lady Lyla might have been pitching a lie, but the Old Woman of a Mountain told the truth. Besides, the rest of her prophecy is also proving true."

"You mean you've overthrown two kingdoms in one day and struck the Dubious Stroke?"

"No, not those bits yet. And it's not Dubious; it's some other D word. But the rest of the prophecy is true: every great thing I do turns sour and goes badly. Ill fortune follows me everywhere." Sir Balan rolled his eyes, but he said nothing. Sir Balin continued, "That's why I left King Arthur's court. He's the rightful king of England, and I don't want any of my wretched fate to rub off on him. He has enough trouble."

"That much is true, anyway," agreed Sir Balan. "Why, just three miles from here, King Royns of Wales is setting up for an attack on Arthur. I almost ran into them a couple of hours ago. What is it, Lin?"

"That's it!" Sir Balin crowed. "That's what I can do to help King Arthur! I can't stay with him because of the ill fortune that follows me, but I can go bring my bad luck on King Royns!"

"I beg your pardon?" asked Sir Balan.

"I'll go join King Royns and let my curse do the rest. He'll be begging for mercy in a week!"

"You're daft, Lin," Sir Balan said. "I mean that. You've really gone off the edge this time. Listen to my words: There is no curse!"

But Sir Balin was already climbing back on his horse. "You'll see, when things start going wrong for King Royns." Sir Balan sighed, but he climbed on his horse as well. "Oh, are you coming with me?" asked Sir Balin.

"Mother would never forgive me if I let you wander alone in your feeble-minded state," retorted his brother.

A quarter of an hour later, the two brothers rode out of the forest onto a grassy plain, where a lone knight in gilded armor sat on a horse, watching them approach. "There you are at last!" the glittering knight said.

Sir Balin and Sir Balan looked at each other. Sir Balan said, "Yes, here we are." It was true, after all.

"Which one of you is Lanceor?" the gilded knight asked. The brothers looked at each other again, but before either could answer, the knight went on, "Never mind. I don't care. I don't need to know the names of my spies. You're late, you know. What news do you have from King Arthur's camp? Are they expecting us?"

"Um, before we give our report," Sir Balin said, "you need to identify yourself."

"King Royns of Wales, of course! Who else do you think would have armor like this? By my father's beard, if I had known you were idiots I would never have hired you as spies. But your letter said you had a foolproof way to get into Arthur's inner circle. Now give me your report. Are we going to have a surprise or not?"

The brothers looked at each other, then drew their swords—all three of them—and placed the points at King Royns's neck. "Surprise," said Sir Balan.

Two hours later, Sir Balin and Sir Balan dropped a securely bound King Royns of Wales at the feet of King Arthur. "We thought it would be best for you to take charge of this gentleman," Sir Balin said. "King Royns will do less harm in your hands, I think."

King Arthur and all his knights stared at the prisoner in astonishment. "King Royns?" the king repeated. "But I thought you were still in Gloucester."

"That's what you were supposed to think," King Royns growled. "My army's just a few miles away, and we would have taken you completely unaware if these two knights hadn't stumbled on me. I had a perfect battle plan, and it's all gone sour now, out of just pure bad luck."

"Bad luck's my specialty," Sir Balin said modestly.

"Sir Balin," King Arthur said, "we are in your debt. You may have saved the kingdom today. Will you introduce me to your companion?"

"Of course, sire," said Sir Balin. "This is my brother, Sir Balan the Doughy."

"Not doughy, you ninny," hissed Sir Balan. "Doughty."

Sir Balin grinned merrily. "My mistake. Doughty. Of course. Let me try again. King Arthur, this is Sir Balan, the knight I love most in the world."

Then Sir Balin's eyes widened, and his smile froze.