Will there be more? I guess that depends on what people think. Let me know what you think of this particular chapter, but also let me know what you think of the series in general. I appreciate it.

On the whole, even if I never pick this back up — and it’s worth noting my father likes The Old Ways, so there’s every chance I will — I’m glad to have written at least this much. This has been a different kind of story for me.

It is worth noting that the ultimate idea would have been less fantasy adventure and more ‘breakdown of civility into the bush a la Heart of Darkness, which is hinted at in this chapter, just slightly.

Have fun.

*** *** *** ***

Sir Roderick’s look was slightly mocking, with an expression between indulgence and superiority. “You look rather like a girl of ten, found splashing in puddles an hour before the Service on a Sunday,” he said, and Lady Jessica’s face flushed hot.

Jack was distressed at Sir Roderick’s words. It was fair to say that the wind had swept Lady Jessica’s hair and clothing about, sporting with her as they rode, and some moisture had penetrated the blankets he had given her for the journey, but to call her sopping would be to call a summer’s sprinkle a cloudburst. “I believe you might overstate, sir, which is to say that while the lady has taken a bit of the damp, she’s not–”

“And you,” Sir Roderick said, turning on Jack. “You I did charge most specifically with keeping the Lady Jessica, my betrothed and the author of our adventure, both warm and dry as she perched up there, and as far as I can see you have done neither.” His tone was reproachful, yes, though that same mocking amusement clung to it. Jack had seen Sir Roderick turn his humor’s edge on others before — always cutting, but with a sly glance to his fellows that said ‘I do not mean what I say, but watch him, pinioned on my words like a butterfly caught.’

Before, however, Jack had been one of the fellows. He had never spent much time as one of the skewered, and the point was sharper than he expected. “Sir,” he said, “there was not much rain to be seen, and what there was–”

And Sir Roderick glanced at Lady Jessica, that very glance that Jack had seen so many times when Sir Roderick had been confronting a fool or lackwit, and Jack felt his flush grow, and his need to explain rise. “And, that is, sir, she did not speak of the wet, and it did not seem overly much. That is–”

“Jack,” Sir Roderick said gently, “did I not tell you that if it should rain, you should stop so the Lady could join me once again?”

Jack’s flush grew, and he looked down.

“Nay,” Lady Jessica said. “You did not.” Her voice sounded aggrieved. “You, in fact, rather completely dismissed me. Your half-hearted protest of rain–”

“Indeed, of rain,” Sir Roderick said, turning back to her and releasing the spike from Jack’s pride for the moment. “I did tell you the weather would not hold. I said to mark me if it did not rain and behold, my lady,” he spread his arms before her. “I stand unmarked, do I not.”

“You do, and you are* most* proud of that,” she snapped. “But if you can let me complete one thought without turning the conversation to the magnificences of Roderick Owles for just a moment’s span, you’ll hear that you most certainly did not direct Jack to stop the carriage and return me within should rain come. I met your protests of rain with the suggestion that if the rain were too much for me — and by the by I hardly think the sprinkles we felt counted as rain so much as a late dew that fell instead of appearing — then I would elect to return. First, the wet would have to be worse than your company, which I see now is more poison than even when you first arose upon this morrow.”

Sir Roderick took the broadside in stride, and glanced back at Jack, and there Jack saw the familiar quirk of Sir Roderick’s mouth — the very one he had directed to the lady not five minutes gone. “Jess — dear Jess… it matters little who said you should return from the rain. The simple fact is that you should have, and you did not. And now I am dry and you are wet, and you see the folly of avoiding my counsel, yes?”

Lady Jessica’s face set rather into a pout. “I see the folly of conversation with you in any way,” she said. “We ride to glorious adventure and no doubt great peril. If a tiny bit of wet discourages you, we should strike the wheels from Beacon this moment, and make it a house. The Northeastern Wall will have dampness aplenty.”

Sir Roderick chuckled. “I would and have stood on deck in a gale, smoking with the man on watch — Jack, mark me if I did not, yes?” And Jack nodded, having been there. “You see? Jack has seen my disregard for the damp up close. But it is not my discomfort I worry about, my dear. Not one jot. If you wish me to hurl myself into a pond to prove myself I shall. But you, my dear Jess, my bright Jess… to see you made uncomfortable in the slightest is to inflict torment upon myself greater than any storm.”

“And you believe me uncomfortable? Not so — the air has freshened me. Indeed, Master Jack — who has taken to his studies most well, I should add, and shows himself of some small potential — did mention how the air and breeze did make my color better and my face lovely to be seen. Did you not, Jack?” And Jack was a bit shocked, for indeed he had said no such thing to her, though he did mention at one point that she looked rather well for one who had not ever ridden in the overcrop of a carriage before. He could not imagine how such fine and flattering words could be inflated from so mild a comment, but then he could not imagine the thoughts and logic of the Lady Jessica. And yet, though he knew he had said no such thing, he nodded agreement with her. He would not disagree with her, certainly, and in a way he wished it was the sort of thing he could have said to her, that would have flowed off his tongue as easily as a sonnet or love scene flowed off Master Palintier’s pen.

“Ah, I see I am caught on both sides,” Sir Roderick said with his customary amusement, now expanded to include both Jack and Lady Jessica. Whether he meant for them to share in the joke or to be pierced by it, Jack wasn’t entirely sure. “Very well then. If riding in the wind and wet makes you happy, please accept my permission to ride in any gale you wish. Indeed, having one of us above with Jack will make riding easier for the other two, for the carriage isn’t quite as large as I’d like.”

“I did not say I would always ride with Jack,” Lady Jessica snapped. “Though I do find his society a pleasant one on the ride.”

Sir Roderick arched an eyebrow. “Society,” he asked quietly.

Lady Jessica opened her mouth, then closed it. “I meant his presence and conversation, of course,” she said. And Jack understood — that they had shared a good amount of time together did not mean they associated. And he flushed yet again, and did not say a word.

“Well, that’s settled,” Sir Roderick said. “Come, let’s find this Micah. We’ve given the stableman enough of a laugh already. And then perhaps some lunch before we set out again.”

Lady Jessica nodded, and began to stride through Tosunberry. There was not much to the village, certainly. There was a church on one end, unpainted with a spire that had some drooping, so that rather than reach up to God it rather slouched, as though inviting God to go on ahead, and it would be along. A few other mean buildings — a tanner’s, an inn, a cooper’s and the like — lined the streets, which she ignored. But she, and her companions, were not ignored. No, the townsfolk had fairly pushed out, lining the streets to watch as they passed and speak of them quietly. Such a small place so out of the way got few visitors, and fewer still courtiers and ladies-in-waiting of the Court down south in the city of Baden.

Still, Lady Jessica pressed on, not turning to speak or be acknowledged. Indeed, her stride lengthened and grew more purposeful, as she approached what to Jack looked to be the meanest hut along the edge of the village. Timbers haphazardly hammered into place gave it an unsound look, made more so by the roof — a good roof and frame, it seemed, but built perhaps for some other house. This roof did not lie square on the hut but instead hung over the left side rather more than the right, and it looked to be at an odd angle as well. A sign hung from it, with the cut symbol of the Runemark. More Elvish was burned into the top of the door frame — a rather common invocation against evil things.

“That is a sorcerer’s house?” Jack asked, aghast at the tumbledown cottage. “One should think Elf’s Magic could at least secure the same living as a mason or carpenter, and see a decent house for it.”

“A mason can build his own walls,” Sir Roderick replied as quietly, “and a carpenter can cut even bad wood into good lines. Sorcerers have only words to work with, that sometimes have power and sometimes don’t, so those words are ill-suited to construction.” For that was how it was in the days before the Eclipse of Progress. Elf-Magic had been slowly fading, as the Elvish blood in men thinned with the passing of generations, and longer and longer distance was placed between that modern world and the ancient world of the Elves and the Six Swords.

“That’s so,” Jack said. He stood and waited, for that was what Sir Roderick did. Lady Jessica, alternately, approached. “Hello,” she cried out. “Hello?”

A heap, parked on a chair perched in front of the hovel, which Jack had taken for nothing less than a pile of clothes and rags left to rot in the rain, stirred itself and rose up into an old man with a shock of white hair that rose from his dirty head like a bird’s nest perched on a weathered old log. “Aye,” he called back. “Who be there and why?”

“Micah,” Lady Jessica called back. “We’re here for Micah!”

“Micah?” the old man said,pulling at his ear slightly, and showing a round face.

“Is that Micah,” Jack asked, suddenly afraid, envisioning trying to cart the man in Beacon hither and yon, depending on him for directions.

“Mm? No no — that’s old Hesh,” Sir Roderick said. “Or so I assume. He tutors Micah. Gives him his devoirs.”

“I feel less secure in his sorcery then,” Jack murmured.

Old Hesh had indeed roused himself by then, and shaking his head slightly and pressing into the cottage, he seemed to be having a conversation with himself. “Aye,” he said. “Fetch Micah forth for the lady. Indeed I will. Should I then? Oh, aye. Micah said, did he not. Adventure, he said. And Baden. Micah said Baden and the college, and that’s no lie…” Hesh disappeared then, his words unabated.

“Baden?” Jack asked. “Isn’t that entirely the wrong direction to get to the Northeastern Wall?”

“The last time I looked on a map, aye,” Sir Roderick said quietly.

Lady Jessica returned. “It’s unfair,” she said. “That so learned a man should be reduced to such poverty.”

“What, that sack of cloth and flesh?” Jack asked, stunned. Knowing the Lady’s dislike of even his own attire and state as a Gamekeeper, Jack couldn’t imagine she would be charitable of the flabby old spellsmith.

“Oh, no no,” she said, half-laughing. “Not old Hesh, though Micah tells me he was once a skilled man of the Craft. I mean Micah, of course. He tells me that once the talented were brought from around the entire world — savages from Bhent or Kier, Drakish chevaliers and wizards of Reardon alike — to the Towers of Knowledge, where the Arts were taught and the old ways kept. But the Towers have fallen with age and decay….”

“If they ever existed,” Sir Roderick said.

“They did, I am certain,” Lady Jessica said, her chin high. “Why, their scholarship has been proven conclusively, in journal and letter. John Night, the Queen’s Astrologer and Royal Sorcerer, has shown me in his books and tomes–”

“Enough,” Sir Roderick said. “Lady Jessica Berwick’s sorcerer approaches.”

They turned and looked. Micah of Tosunberry was moderately tall, with black hair that was a bit overlong, and no beard on his chin. His eyes reminded Jack somewhat of ravens’ eyes, and his cloak was a deep red, held with a good pin. A gift, he learned later, of Lady Jessica.

Most distinctive, however, were Micah’s hands. The Elf’s Blood generally manifested itself in its children by a trait or two — beyond their ability to use some fragments of the Elvish Magic, of course. A point to the ears, or silvery eyebrows, or perhaps a cat’s eye. In Micah’s case, his Elvish heritage reflected themselves completely in his hands, which he had folded in front of himself almost as though he wore them like badges of honor. They were much thinner of palm than most mens’ hands, and their fingers were slightly wrinkled, and much longer than would be expected. One half thought that if Micah placed his hands on the trim waist of Lady Jessica on either side, his fingertips might touch. The nails on his hands were lightly golden in color, and the nails on his index fingers looked almost hooked.

“Micah,” Lady Jessica said, smiling. “Well met. Well met indeed!”

“Well?” Micah asked, in a voice used to being mysterious. “What is well and ill within this world, that could not be said to be its opposite elsewhere?”

“Oh, of course,” Lady Jessica said, digesting this phrase for its wisdom and nodding with a slightly knit brow, affecting a serious demeanor though she could not keep back her enthusiastic smile. “Still, I say it’s well, and indeed, you should as well. We are prepared, Micah, and within our carriage Beacon we ride to destiny.”

“Beacon?” Sir Roderick asked, then broke into a knowing smile. “Ah, of course, the great Carriage Christening.”

“My things are gathered,” Micah said. “Send your man to stow them, and we shall discuss our journey at some length in the Grey Pony before we set forth. I must say, you are swifter than I anticipated.” Micah did not make it clear if he thought their speed was a good or bad thing.

“Yes, yes of course,” Lady Jessica said excitedly. “We will of course. Quickly, Jack — gather Master Micah’s things and bring them to the carriage. We will secure lunch within and you may join us, and then you shall hear of the Prophecy and of the great task we undertake. Yes, that is the way of it.”

Jack glanced at Sir Roderick, who nodded slightly. He turned and looked at Micah, who was regarding him silently, his dark raven’s eyes flickering from Jack’s hat to his boots in practiced strokes, like a boatman’s quiet sculling to pull himself along a lake.

“Master,” Jack nodded, and stepped around the sorcerer. He had met more than a few in his time, and for the most part he had a low opinion of them. Sorcerers had the Elf’s Magic, it was sure, but that meant little. Tricks and flares and stories of the days when Sorcery fueled the very turning of the world. But it was rather like wishing for one of the Six Swords, it seemed to Jack. Of course, it would be nice to call down a storm or raise a mountain with a word. But it was long in the past when such things were done, and many believed they were never done at all. Micah seemed typical of that breed. Jack walked away from the group, who themselves were heading for the Inn.

He approached the hut rather quickly, wanting to get there and get Micah’s things swiftly. In part this was his dislike of the ramshackle building and the ramshackle old man who lived there. In part this was his desire to hear this Prophecy once and for all. And in largest part of them all it was the desire to eat a healthy lunch and get some hot ale or mulled wine into himself.

Micah’s baggage seemed to be contained in a single sack,tied with a bit of rope that itself had a flat stone affixed to it, and painted Elvish characters upon it. A ward against snooping, Jack supposed, though it seemed silly to him. Why one couldn’t just cut the rope or bag to get in was beyond him. And more, who would want to rob a sorcerer? Even a beggar would likely have a good bowl and a few half-groats to his name. A sorcerer had no such assurance.

He scooped it up and turned to leave, when the old Hesh’s voice rasped out. “You,” he said, an accusatory sound.

Jack turned, a bit startled. Had the old man gotten so fuddled he thought Jack was stealing the sack? “Aye,” he asked of the man, whose round, pitted face seemed to hang out the doorway, with his body behind.

“You. You’re with that woman, be you not?”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “You’ll not be referring to the Lady Jessica such,” he said.

The old Hesh rasped a laugh. “Answer enough, answer enough,” he said. “So it is you, and you think old Hesh as worthless as the others believe. Aye? Aye, that you do.” He laughed again, a rough thing. “But old Hesh is not mad, is he? Nay, not a bit, I should say. Should old Hesh tell him then? Ask — ask and you’ll know what you must, eh, Hesh?”

Jack took a deep breath. “I’ve no time for this. My lunch awaits. God ye good den, master.”

Hesh fixed a stare suddenly that seemed for a moment to freeze Jack in place, startled at the old man’s sudden intensity. “Tell me,” he half-whispered. “Do ye know the manner of doing great deeds?”

Jack blinked. “What,” he asked.

“Ye heard me. Know ye the manner one goes about to do great deeds?”

Jack tried to look away from that terrible stare, that old fat man’s stare that seemed to pierce more surely than Sir Roderick’s mockery or even an arrow’s shot. “I… it… it is not for me to know such things. The Lady, perhaps, or Sir Roderick, but I do not know these things. Do not ask, for I have no answer,” he stammered out, trying to force his hand to the sword he wore at his side, but even that would not obey him now.

The old Hesh weighed this answer for a long moment, and laughed again. A quiet laugh, this time. “You do not know the way,” he said, “and so you know the way. The woman and her man, and even my pupil — they think they know. Oh yes, old Hesh, they do indeed think they know the way of great deeds. But in their surety they lose their path. So while Micah will be called guide and one other — the Hawk, or the Black — will be called upon to lead… it is the Hewer’s movements that will guide them to what they think they seek. Oh yes, the Hewer, called Jack.”

Jack shivered at the old man’s words, not knowing what they meant but suspecting the man was truly mad. And so, feeling a flush of fear, he did not quite run as he left. And as he ran, the old Hesh’s voice followed him, crying out and cackling. “The Hewer should remember old Hesh when he comes into his own! Yes indeed, the Hewer should remember old Hesh, and accord him courtesy, for the Hewer did name him first, did he not? Aye, he did indeed! He did indeed!”

Old Jack used to pause here, drinking a mug of beer and thinking as he did so. “That was what always strikes my memory,” he would say. “We had all the signs before us. I have to admit that. I don’t shy away from it.” And then he would look at me, and point at me with his mug. “Remember that,” he would say. “We were warned. Before we had ever even left Leincastershire, we were warned. So whatever came after was ours at fault, in the end. Remember that.”

And I do remember it, and as I am telling old Jack’s story, and not my own, I now tell it to you as well.

For the record, as of yesterday we’d broken 200,000 words on this site, not counting comments. Which is a good amount of content for 70 days of blog existence, any way you look at it.

It kind of scares me that we’ve been doing this for seventy days already.

Anyhow. Here’s Jack and the merry band.

*** *** *** ***

The morning after the first day’s travel was bright and somewhat clear. The sun was not hidden today, but instead sported with long clouds of white and grey. Clouds heavy with the deep blue of rain sailed through as well, spilling water here and there as they go, to remind them all that this was September, and if the rains were pausing now, they would certainly return later to make up for their lack.

And Lady Jessica wandered around where Jack was reloading the carriage, near to the Boar’s Inn in Haldane’s Corners where they’d spent the night. Her arms stretched back as she breathed in the crisp, cool morning air. “It is a truly beautiful day, don’t you think, Jack?”

“Eh? Aye, that it is, Lady,” Jack said, pressing the steamer trunk into the undercompartment. “A good day for the travel, I should think. If the weather holds, that is. Yes, the weather’s the key, it seems to me. If she stays clear, we might make Tosunberry by one or even half noon, and from there be on the road again, perhaps. And that would be better than we expected.”

“Yes,” Lady Jessica said, half-spinning in place, causing her red and yellow dress to billow out and looking like a girl of twelve for a half moment. “Yes, much better, and I should say augurs well. Oh, Jack — I feel so alive! This is more than a journey, this is a great deed we do, and it feels so wondrous. I feel as though… as though we should have a scribe to record our progress. Yes indeed. Do you not feel it so?”

“I… a scribe, Mistress? T’would be hard to keep pen and ink in a carriage, and while I believe you’re no doubt right, I can’t say that I know what this adventure is about, beyond some mention of a Chalice of some importance to your family and your past, which is enough for me, but as for what a scribe might write–”

“Some–” Lady Jessica laughed then — a laugh of condensation, perhaps, but lightened with her legitimate pleasure of the morning. “It is indeed of some importance, Jack. Some great importance. Tis the key to the entire future of the Berwicks. The reclaiming of our legacy. The restoration of the old ways, and the old values. Everything shall follow our quest — you shall see. You shall see. But I shall let Micah tell you that, when we reach him. He knows the fullness of the Prophecy, and I should not wish to leave off something of some importance.”

“Ah, there you two are,” Sir Roderick said as he approached, smiling slightly and still smelling of his morning pipe. “Are we ready then?”

“More than ready, dear Rod,” Lady Jessica said. “You are the one so fond of his bed this morrow. Why, you slept longer than I, and when I descended, there was Jack arranging breakfast. I do see why you spoke so of his quality. I think perhaps one sees quality better just before breakfast — the pang of the stomach reminds you of when gentility is at its most important.”

“Ah, and a good thing too — you see? I do spend my coin wisely. And I too have had an excellent breakfast, and feel twice the man I was when we pulled in last eve — close to midnight it must have been, yes Jack?”

“Half ten, sir,” Jack said quietly. “And ready to head north. Tis well rode yesterday — we’ll take the north path from here — I saw the ruts as we came in, and they look passing well. I should think the trip a hair more bumpy today, how ‘ere.”

“Bumpy bothers me not,” Lady Jessica laughed. “So long as we arrive and swiftly, that will be well.”

“That I expect,” Sir Roderick said. “Are we packed then, Jack?”

“Aye sir. And I’ve my things above, and should like to get riding, in the hopes that the weather holds, which means leaving early enough to give it half a chance to do so.”

Lady Jessica peered up at the coachman’s seat. “Does the carriage have a name?” she asked.

“A name?” Jack said, turning towards her, eyes wide.

“A name,” she repeated. “This is our ship to the Wall. Our bold craft. Should it not be named?”

Sir Roderick laughed. “Oh, Jess,” he said, “you continue to amaze me with every word or gesture. A name for a carriage indeed?”

Lady Jessica frowned. “I do not see why you must forever make light of doing things properly,” she said. “After all, our Jack no doubt has not heard a carriage named before, but he does not laugh at the thought — do you, Jack?”

Jack blinked, and felt suddenly pinioned between the two. “I, well… I do not believe anything that you believe is worthy of laughter, nay,” he said haltingly. “I do not pretend to know what is the right and what is the wrong of such things — they are out of my place, after all.”

“And that is so,” Sir Roderick laughed. “Indeed, that is why you have declared yourself my Jack’s teacher, yes? That he can learn what comes naturally to you and I. Why, within two weeks, you might have him laughing at the thought of a named carriage as naturally and easily as a gentleman.”

Jack flushed, and looked away — half-realizing that Lady Jessica too had a flush on her face. But she did not look away. “Perhaps. And perhaps I shall teach him an openness that you seem to lack, Sir Roderick. After all, he at least admits that he does not know the right and the wrong of this, where you know such things as though truth sprung from your head whole and adult.”

“Ah, and now I see you are distraught, my dear Jess.” Sir Roderick smiled, and placed his hands on her shoulder mollifyingly. “Please, if it makes the sunshine return to your eyes, give the carriage name and pedigree to go with it, and ask the pedigree of all carts we come across, at hopes to have our carriage stand at stud. I’ll not chuckle or titter.”

“I mislike your tone of voice,” she said. “I do believe I shall ride above, with Jack, and the company of the fresh, open air, and not your stale ideas.”

“Lady?” Jack said, stunned.

“Ride above?” Sir Roderick said, eyebrows arched. “Our good footman’s hopes aside, the weather will not hold and you’ll be drenched by noon — you mark me if you’re not. No, Jess — come and ride with me and we’ll loot Palintier for good names for a four wheeled ship.”

“No and no,” she said. “I think it will do you good to be deprived of my company for a while. You will learn to treasure me again, and not laugh at me like an indulgent parent.” She smiled. “Besides, this shall give me an opportunity to begin Jack’s education. And if the rain comes then I shall join you.”

Sir Roderick turned and looked at Jack, with an expression of incredulity. And then he shrugged slightly — the well worn shrug of man confronted with impossible, incomprehensible woman. “If you feel I have slighted you, I crave your pardon of course. And if you wish to ride in the wind and wet with our footman, then by all means do so. I shall not hinder you in the least. Indeed, I shall use the solitude to meditate upon our mission.”

“Nap, you mean,” she accused, and Sir Roderick did not dispute. Instead, he quirked his eyebrow, sketched a proper bow, and clapped Jack on his shoulder. “I look to you to see her safe and dry,” he said.

“Sir — do you think it wise? I mean, even in good weather the wind and–”

“I think her mind is made up, whatever I think, Jack. Anon to you both. And listen well, Jack. Listen well.” And Sir Roderick ascended into the carriage and drew the door shut, clapping its latch tight.

Jack stared a long moment at the door, and then turned to regard Lady Jessica. He was somewhat conflicted. On the one side of it, the chance to be in Lady Jessica’s company — her exclusive company — thrilled him. On the other side of it, however, was the simple, irrefutable fact that Jack had no idea how to entertain the Lady during a drive.

Lady Jessica herself was staring a long moment at the door. “Well,” she finally half-snapped. “Let us climb up. We have wasted entirely too much time on this as it is.”

“Aye. Aye indeed. Have you climbed up onto one of these afore?”

“The front? No, I can’t say that I have. There’s no trick to it, is there?”

“That there is. The rungs are recessed on the side, and not easy to navigate in a dress such as that I should think. Mm — I shall climb up and give you my hand, and then if you slip, you’ll keep up and not fall.”

“You’re strong enough for that?”

“After my fashion, aye.”

“All right then.” She waited while Jack pulled himself up, watching how he did it, and then offered him her hand. His hand was slightly rough, but not scratchy, and he had a firm grip that almost surprised her. She found the rungs with her feet, and made her way up. She was surprised to find the rungs were slippery from the last night’s wet. And she remembered how sure footed Jack was climbing.

Now, to be sure Lady Jessica still believed Jack was somehow a savage child-man. But it began, perhaps about now, to occur to her that he was indeed of high quality. Dependable and faithful. And it occurred to her that this was a very valuable thing indeed when one pursued a vision, a dream. For while the knights and elves of old might have been higher born, they did have with them their support. The faithful ones who stood with them, or died for them. And she might have begun to realize as she made her way to the roost that if Sir Roderick and herself were the gallant heroes of this tale, Jack was their faithful one.

“The seat is wet,” she said, without reproach.

“Aye — I’ll put a blanket down… there. That should make it softer too. And this wool blanket will help keep the wind and any drizzle off you. I think perhaps you might keep a parasol handy as well.”

“Indeed, indeed. And then we can begin to discuss your education.”

Jack nodded, and waved for the stableboy to let the horses go. He maneuvered the carriage around, and headed for the south of the town.

Lady Jessica half-jolted as they wheeled about, grabbing the overhang to keep her place. She laughed as they moved out, the wind filling her hair. “This is wonderful,” she said. “Like riding but without a balky horse.”

“Aye, indeed,” Jack called back, grinning. “There’s something pleasant about driving a carriage. It’s peaceful, to be sure.”

“Indeed,” she said, looking around at the buildings as they headed for the road.

Jack road down the Willow Road for half a mile — it was a smooth road of cobblestones beaten into place, well used and well worn. The road to Tosunberry, by contrast, was a road through fields by convention. Two long wide ruts without grass, dirt and rocks only, with a tuft of grass in between them. He angled the carriage onto the road with a few bumps, and then they were rumbling off, the horses moving smoothly on the uneven terrain. It wasn’t too unlike the roads around Owl’s Head that they were used to. Perhaps a little rougher.

“Oh, that’s a jolt,” Lady Jessica laughed. “Will it be like this all the way?”

“So I suspect. This road’s not the thoroughfare the Willow Road is, after all.”

“Well enough. There’s no reason it shouldn’t be. No reason at all. After all, we aren’t simply riding in the country, are we?”

“Apparently not, Lady.” There was a long pause as they rode. “The horses are Blossom and Gertie,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you said you wanted to name the carriage, and if so it seemed right to me that you should know the names of the horses, since they’re the ones connected to the carriage, what have names and all.”

“Oh? Oh! Yes… yes that is well thought, Jack. Well thought indeed.” She paused a long time. “You don’t feel naming the carriage is silly, then?”

“Silly?” Jack drove for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. “I think it might possibly be silly, yes. But I think sometimes everyone must be a little silly, or else you lose the ability. And if you lose the ability to be silly when needed — well, the world’s a harder place to live it. So it seems to me.”

Lady Jessica nodded. “Well spoken,” she said. “There is hope for you yet. Yes. Mayhap it is silly and so am I, but it feels right so I say we name the carriage.”

“As my Lady wishes.”

“And perhaps it can help me educate you. After all, it is more my place to name things than yours, and so if you can see how I do it, why, you should have good insight in the method itself, yes?”

“Oh, aye,” Jack said, slightly dizzy at the lady’s logic but unlikely to hold that against her. “I can see that, if I think on it.”

“Good. Now — we’re on a noble quest, so it has to be a noble name.”

“You mean named for the Queen?”

“Oh, no no,” she laughed. “Nothing like that. I mean we can’t name it after the barn cat or the like. It wouldn’t do. It should probably be an Elvish name, as the old swords and ships and staves of power all had Elvish names.”

“Well aye… and were named by the Elves for the most part, now that I think on it.”

“That as may be. I have some middle Elvish.”

“Middle?”

“Oh yes. There are three Elvish tongues — don’t you know that?”

“Not as much as all that. I guess it shows my lack of knowledge.”

“Perhaps. Well, there is High Elvish, the words and language of power that make the world and shape destiny. There is Low Elvish, which the Elves taught to other people that were too dull to learn how to well communicate with them. The Bhents still use Low Elvish today, as do the Kiers. And there is Middle Elvish, which the Elves wrote in and spoke to one another for knowledge and communication. It’s held today like Latin for the church.”

“Ah, I do see. Then you know some of the middle? And that is good for naming?”

“Mm… perhaps. It should be high for a name, but I have no high. We could wait for Micah to join us.”

“Aye, we could.” Jack thought a long time as they rode. “It seems to me we should name it now, though, and that way we can tell your Sorcerer what you have decided, and he can find the High Elvish to match it later.”

Lady Jessica laughed, clapping her hands. “Reasonable good,” she said. “Excellent, Jack. I can see we’re going to go far, quickly.”

“So what meets our noble quest?”

“Mm… Endeavor would seem fitting, but perhaps a little grandiose. Sojourn feels right, but does not rhyme with much….”

Jack nodded. “I don’t have good thoughts for it — some kind of path, perhaps. That’s what we’re traveling on.”

“Oh, no no, Jack. We’re not travelling in the path.”

“No… no we aren’t, and that’s true.” Jack flushed. “I should leave the naming to you, I would say.”

“Oh, be not sad, Jack. It was a good try. Hm… it is our vehicle, and in a way guides and informs our path…. Beacon, perhaps?”

“Beacon,” Jack said. “Well, it rhymes with deacon, and that’s a Godly thing.”

“Yes… yes it is. All right then, I christen this good carriage Beacon.”

Jack grinned. “A fine name indeed. Light our path well, Beacon,” he said to the carriage then, and Lady Jessica blinked. Jack saw the blink and blushed. “I… that is…”

“No no. Be not embarrassed. It just… surprised me. You speaking to Beacon, I mean.”

“Well… names are strong. When you name something, it’s like you’re saying its alive, and if it’s alive, you should treat it well.”

Lady Jessica nodded slightly. “That too is wise,” she said. “In the old stories, the ships of the heroes seemed to ride better for their names, and their captains spoke of them as being alive. I… think that is well for you, Jack.”

“I thank you, Lady,” Jack said, flushing with the praise.

Some rain began to fall then. Lady Jessica bundled better in the blankets. “We should continue your education then,” she said. “If you’re of a mind to.”

“Aye, as you will.”

And so it happened, as the rain fell — but not too harshly — that Lady Jessica and Jack talked. She told Jack of poetry, and those poets whose work were in favor, and she told him of manners of the table, and what hose was right for gentle company. She was pleased to learn Jack could read the vernacular, and could quote some of the Bible from memory, and was not unfamiliar with the works of Master Palintier the playwright, though he had not heard any of Babbage’s poems, nor any of the classical works of the ancient Fortisians or the Reirdans who had ruled the known world a millennium before, when the Elves still walked the Earth. But he did know some of the stories of the Elves, and of the Six Swords of Destiny’s Edge, and of their ancient foes the Golden Elves of the Island of White Hope, off the coast of Fairhaven and Bhentlund, in between them and Kierland.

And Jack was dazzled, as the two spoke. This glorious woman, speaking so familiarly to him. And Lady Jessica was heartened, encouraging him and enjoying his rapt attention. And if she liked that he accepted her word and treated her as an authority, not as the child her betrothed seemed to, well, where was the harm in that.

Of course, she was aware of his passion and devotion to her. The Lady Jessica was flighty, but she had eyes and ears. And she saw no reason why she should dislike this devotion. So long as she could impart the principles of courtly love and closeness, why should she not impart those principles to him?

And as for Sir Roderick? For some hours, he returned to sleep, thankful for the quiet. Though he had been fully amused by his passion’s antics, that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad to step away from her a bit. And he was certain she would return to the carriage, and rather soon. So he slept, and relaxed, and enjoyed some of the dried apples, and pondered.

And so, with the Lady Jessica getting somewhat wet beneath the blanket, sometime not long after lunch should have been the party pulled into Tosunberry, where the Elvish Sorcerer Micah lived, in their carriage Beacon, on a slightly rainy day.

And so our company is almost assembled for the first truly long portion of their journey to the Northeastern Wall. And if their characters are not who they would become, and who you expect them to be, at least now you should know who they were at that time, and from there watch as they become. For as Old Jack Hewer says, the oak comes from the acorn, and so to understand the oak, you’d better have a good idea of what the acorn looks like.

On the other hand, I think this chapter begins to move more towards narrative and less towards storytelling devices (though not all of the way, of course), and people might think it’s finding its place now. Or not. We’ll see. Regardless, enjoy!

*** *** *** ***

There are times of the year that are not good for travel in Fairhaven, and which few people would recommend a serious expedition. The early autumn is one of those, and this was about when Lady Jessica Berwick had decided to travel to the Northeastern Wall in pursuit of a Prophecy. To be fair to Lady Jessica, one could call mid-September a late summer as easily as an early autumn, but either way, it was well into the rainy season when they had set forth on their trip.

This might seem unwise, but ask yourself — do you delay travel or business because of the rains? Do you even fear the winter when it comes to your travels and business. It is fair to say you do not — we would never get anything done otherwise, after all. And in the days before the Three Wars of the Sundering, and the Eclipse of Progress, mankind had gone as far to conquer his environment as we have today. The carriage that the Lady and Sir Roderick rode in itself is a fine example — it was warm and dry within, well padded though not truly opulent. Opulence would be wrong for a journey such as this. They could ride and comport themselves in relative comfort even through the gales and storms.

And Jack? Jack was not distressed with rain and wind. He had his clothing, and what protection there was in his perch, as he drove the horses on. His gloves and cloak kept the wet off, as did his hat and hood. While it might not be a pleasant day to travel, it was in its own way endurable.

Part of that endurance, of course, were regular stops, and along the Willow Road there were many — inns and taverns and small villages that had cropped up specifically to draw business from the travelers that passed through. And if Lady Jessica grumbled a bit when they would stop so Jack could get some warmth into himself, she did not do so loudly. She might have found Jack somewhat crude, but she had resigned herself to Sir Roderick’s whim. Besides, Jack’s presence meant she could have her fiancee with her, keeping her company as they rode. Their conversation was gentle. At first, Lady Jessica’s words were full of the Quest, and of the Prophecy, and of excitement and the supposed restoration of her due….

Ah, but you have not yet heard the Prophecy, or know the reasons behind it. That is not much spoken of late. So sad, really. One should understand the whys behind the great stories. One should understand what began everything that came after. Well, you shall hear the prophecy in turn, as they travel. And you may see the flaw that Lady Jessica did not, but Ed the Hawk did, too late, even as Sir Roderick and Jack did not believe in and Micah did not care about the consequences.

But that is neither here nor there. The conversation ranged after a time. It is nearly impossible to be enthusiastic for very long without having to shift topics. They discussed gossip and the Court — though the Berwicks were no longer the Lords of Leincastershire, Sir Arlen was himself quite in fashion as one of Queen Catherine’s courtiers. He had acquitted himself most well in the Drakish War, and as a result he and his family were welcome in Baden. Lady Jessica herself had attended the Queen as a Lady-in-Waiting more than once. Of course, she was considered somewhat flighty in Baden, but well spoken nonetheless. And Sir Roderick himself was a rakish man and a canny courtier. Possessed of Owl’s Head and a considerable savings and salary — which you ought to have inferred by the princely sum he could pay even a friend to be footman and chauffeur, regardless of the length of time the trip would take — Sir Roderick had access to Baden through the city of Alberta which in those days was at the end of the Capital Bay on one side and the Willow Road on the other, and which even today Albertashire in Fairhaven is named. Though Sir Roderick was of good breeding, he was wise in business and fortunate in investment, which made him a rarity — an aristocrat with a merchant’s pocketbook. And, as Bets was wont to say back at Owl’s Head, made him perhaps too good a match for Lady Jessica, whose family no longer had Leincastershire four generations gone, and whose father had the Queen’s favor, but little in the way of money or land of any sort. But Sir Roderick was in love, and having beheld the woman herself, Jack could hardly have blamed him.

But while Lady Jessica’s station and savings were of no consequence to Sir Roderick, they were something the Lady herself was aware of. Oh yes, they were.

But again I am ahead of my story — rambling on the players rather than setting them in motion. Forgive me.

The party stopped three times that Wednesday they set forth: the first after they reached the Willow Road from the roads and paths they had followed from Owl’s Head — three hours and the most bumpy of the day. They stopped at the West Wind Tavern and refreshed themselves. Lady Jessica was somewhat impatient, but Sir Roderick went in with Jack and bought him mulled wine to help warm him. They took enough time to visit with the locals and smoke a pipe or so, while Lady Jessica concentrated mostly on taking a small glass of wine herself — it was too soon since breakfast for her to consider a luncheon just yet. But she did get Sir Roderick to purchase a small packet of dried apples for the journey.

The second stop they made at the Albert’s Tip Inn — a stop of necessity as it was quite past lunch and towards dinner at that point. The storm had been rather vicious that day, as well, and while Jack was quite secure in his wraps, water had begun to creep in. First up his arms as the wind blew, dampening his shirt and the underside of the oiled leathers and then back down in drops as he set his hands down on the bench or reached for his flask or his food. And then along the insides of his legs in his trousers and into his boots. Not a wet that would freeze him to the bone or even chill him during the day, but enough of a wet that he would begin to dream of dryness, like it were a place one could go. Thirteen miles to dryness, he would think to himself. Now ten, now five….

He tied off at the Albert’s Tip, and tossed a threepence piece to the boy set to watch the post, and then opened the door of the carriage for Lady Jessica and Sir Roderick.

Lady Jessica stepped out first, accepting Jack’s hand and looking him up and down as she descended. “You look an utter fright,” she said, frowning slightly. “Is there nothing you can do against that?”

“Nothing in this wind and rain, Ma’am,” Jack replied, not offended by her words. They were true enough, he reasoned, but at the same time no source of shame.

“Perhaps not, but still — get yourself in and try to comport yourself. This will simply not do.”

“Come, Jess,” Sir Roderick said, exciting behind the Lady, “do be charitable. Jack’s seen us here in good time. Why, we’re practically in Leincastershire, and it’s early, yet. We might perhaps see Tosunberry by midday on the morrow, not evening as we’d thought.”

Lady Jessica’s mouth opened, and then she nodded curtly. “That’s so,” she said, “and I do not mean to be cross with you, Jack. I know you’ve the brunt of the journey. Still though, let us get you inside and somewhere closer to clean and dry — you smell all the more like a drowned dog than even before, and that I did not think possible.”

Jack nodded, and walked the pair, parasol in hand, to the door of the inn, then returned to button up the carriage.

“She’s quite the one, eh,” the stable boy said. “Expecting you to be in hose and garters after a ride on the Willow in a storm, eh?”

Jack looked at the boy coldly. “The Lady expects those about her to comport themselves accordingly, I’d say, and who am I or you to deny that, eh? I’ll tell you once to keep your tongue civil, and not a second time.” He pulled the meal bag and the long cover that held the wheellock down and headed for the door.

“I’ve seen Ladies afore,” the boy muttered, setting to the task of attending to the horses. “But they knew the difference between the clouds and the rain, at the least.”

Jack did not answer. In a way, Jack could not hear. Nothing the boy could have said would have penetrated his oiled clothing to his ears. Far more than his clothes, the sight of the Lady, seared in from that first moment in Owl’s Head, remained in mind and on eye, like the spotty scar a candle flame leaves on your eye when you stare at it too long. Perhaps that image would fade, but for that moment his vision was fully obscured with her.

The Lady herself sat within, near the fire. Sir Roderick was arranging for food and hot drink over by the bar, so for that moment, though fine enough to attract a certain attention of the passers-by, Lady Jessica was alone. She watched as Jack walked in, and unwrapped his cloak and set it on a peg. He removed his wet hat, and threw his head from side to side, almost like a large, shag covered dog fresh from a lake, with water spiraling in the firelight to either side, and began almost a curious dance of clothing, as he shook the water off himself and pulled off outer layers, revealing the damp man beneath them.

Lady Jessica stared, transfixed almost in horror, as she watched the process of Jack’s drying. It was as though a savage from the Midsouth Seacoast had taken the place of her driver, and was letting his wild ways infect the room of the tavern around him. And she turned away, shuddering.

“A chill, my love?” Sir Roderick asked, sitting next to her. “That carriage has a draft, I swear it. I’ll have Jack look at it, after he’s had a chance to eat and warm himself.”

“I would he were not so course,” she said, turning to Sir Roderick. “It’s unseemly.”

“Unseemly? He is no more course than half the farmers or artisans in this room. Come, my dear — you must truly leave off of Jack. He has served us well, has he not?”

“Oh yes, and I would lie to say otherwise. I would not dream of dismissing your Jack,” she said. “But it is simple truth that he is base, and we are on a mission that will exalt us, are we not?”

“As you say, my dear, I shall swear to it. But Jack–”

“I am not quite finished. It would be seemly for Jack to be exalted as well, would it not?”

“Jack? What do you mean?”

“Well, come Rod. Surely you would not deny your friend is of good quality — though I have not yet seen it, you are the one who told me of his quality and I did believe you. A most excellent quality, as you said.”

“Of course — and he is, and more. But will you remake him? Cast him in the light of a squire from your stories and books?”

Lady Jessica laughed. “No no, do be reasonable, Rod. Jack would no more make a Knight than I would make a nightingale. But he can be a truly fine man nonetheless. Let me take and mold him, remake him in the light of our Quest. Let me teach him gentility. Do let me recast him, as you say, and make the metal gleam, not lie black from the cooking fire.”

And Sir Roderick laughed. “You make it sound so simple, my dear. Do as you will — I think he will not argue.”

“Perhaps he will not at that. You got us food?”

“It will come. Jack will no doubt bring it to us.”

“No doubt.”

And Jack himself would certainly agree. He had by now made his way to the barkeep, and put a penny down on its old pine wood. “Something a bit hot,” he said. “It’s the Ragman’s rain out there and no doubt.”

“Aye,” the barkeep said. “And keep your bit — the gentleman saw to your need. To where do you ride on a day such as this? Leincaster?”

“Tosunberry.”

“Hah — you might be the first I’ve ever heard gone up there, and no lie that.”

“Aye.” Jack picked up the steaming cider mug even as it was set down, and drank deep. “I hadn’t thought the apples right for hard cider. Not yet.”

“First of the Applejack. Mmm — Tosunberry’s yet a day and a half or more. You’ll be wanting to leave the Willow Road come Haldane’s Corners, I think.”

“That soon? I thought perhaps to come to the outlie of Leincaster, then divert?”

“Eh? No no, not that way — the road off that way’s horrid — just a span where tree’sve been cleared. No, go up the Haldane’s Corners route. Faster, too, and the ruts are deep enough you barely need to drive.”

“As though that were a point. Wish the Willow Road came closer to Tosunberry?”

“Aye? Well, I wish the rain would cause my well to overflow with gold, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

“That’s so. Did Sir Roderick order food?”

“Eh? He did — there, on the end of the bar. Wilma must have left it there while we debated roads.”

“Ah — well enough, well enough. Mmm — stay the night at Haldane’s Corners, then. Get up fresh and we’ll be ready for the trip. Thank you and kindly, sir.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

And so Jack lifted the food and carried it over to Sir Roderick and Lady Jessica. The Lady was half-asleep by the time he had arrived — the peculiar fatigue of travel taking her. Sir Roderick nodded amiably, drawing another puff on his pipe — a fine pipe it was. Its clay bowl was broad, with a plate of silver not unlike Jack’s to protect the ash, and a long curved stem of jet with gold inlay. A good amount of money, that pipe represented. Sir Roderick had owned it as long as Jack could remember.

“Well met, sir. I’m going to get some food in me and perhaps doze as the Lady seems to be.”

“Excellent plan. You’ve had a day of it, for certain. How fare the horses?”

“Well enough. They’re strong, and I expect after a rest they’ll be ready for another bout. I’ve spoken to the innkeep, and he suggests we divert for Tosunberry in Haldane’s Corners. If we go somewhat into the evening, we might make Haldane’s Corners tonight, and make a good run for Tosunberry on the morrow, then.”

“Mm — well, I expect he knows the roads better than we. I certainly have never gone to Tosunberry. I wasn’t aware anyone actually lived there. It was just a mark on the map, required by the Queen’s Census and attested to by Leincastershire’s Sheriff in the name of his budget.”

Jack chuckled and took out his red ash pipe. He opened the packet of tobacco given him by Sir Roderick as partial payment for the journey, and filled. He noticed Lady Jessica’s eyes were open, watching his hands as he prepared the pipe, and then reached down carefully for the fire with his wire, to light the pipe.

“Aye, m’lady?” he asked her, and closed the silver stack, drawing the sweet, mellow smoke. A pleasant aroma began to surround him like a halo as he puffed.

“I was watching you prepare your pipe,” she said, and glanced at Sir Roderick. “You have a delicate hand with delicate tasks, I believe.”

“Do I then? I thank m’lady full well. I was taught to use the right hand for the right task.”

Lady Jessica nodded, ever so slightly. In approval or agreement, Jack couldn’t swear. “That shows great wisdom, Jack. Too many learn only one path, and trod it in any weather. A wise man knows there are many routes available.” She looked at Sir Roderick. “You could learn from your Gameskeeper,” she said. “You have only your gentility — a route that limits you, perhaps. But Jack seems to have more than one route he could take, and that could make all the difference, yes?”

“Oh, of course,” Sir Roderick said, knowing where she was leading with her comments. “Jack is versatile, certainly.”

Lady Jessica began eating her stew, watching Jack smoke and drink. “Jack,” she said, finally, “it occurs to me that a man such as you could learn a great deal — and would be open… well, perhaps to trying new things.”

“Ma’am?” Jack asked. It seemed going on this ludicrous mission — whose purpose Jack still had no clear vision of — was proof enough of his willingness to try new things. He sipped his hot ale and listened.

“Well,” Lady Jessica said, spooning up a bit more stew delicately, “You recall my first impression of you, of course. And that it perhaps did not do you justice. Certainly Rod feels that is so, and I can see you are a man of great dedication and service. And I feel that is most commendable of you.”

“I… thank you, Lady,” Jack said, wondering at the compliments from so fine a woman.

“And this is of great concern to me,” she continued.

“My dedication?” Jack asked, mystified.

Lady Jessica laughed, as though she were talking to a boy of eight, and not a veteran of war. “No no no. The first impression I got of you. After all, I do consider myself more than uncommonly perceptive, and therefore if I could look at you and think you a clod and menial, it stands to reason this is what many people would see you as. We simply cannot have that, Jack. It is not fair to you, after all.”

“I… can see what you say,” Jack said, frowning slightly. “Do I truly seem so course and plain? Not that I should ever wish to doubt the word of one such as you, but it does seem frightening to consider, and I have never encountered such reactions afore.”

“It does indeed,” Lady Jessica said. “And I simply will not have it. After all, it is so dreadfully unfair to you. And I have no doubt but most people have kept their tongues around you — after all, does one stop to every beggar on the side of Edding’s Street in Baden and mention their beggarliness? Does one pause to tell the fool that he is a fool, or simply regard him a fool and stay silent, avoiding him after? No, it is certain that you are neither fool nor beggar, nor anything bad. But if one must pull away the rustic caul to find this of you, why, most shall not — they shall see the caul, the very crust of it, and call it the substance, not the surface.”

“Then… what shall we do?” For Jack was sorely concerned now — he had always regarded himself as being pleasant company, and had never considered his baseness or deformity of character before this. Indeed, he had always sought solitude when so many around him would have crowded closer.

But he believed what he heard, from this bright woman. What was the opinion of Miss Diggit compared to the daughter of Sir Arlen Berwick? And more than this, Lady Jessica could have called him a Drakish woman of the night and Jack would have accepted her word over his own experience.

“Do? Well, if you are truly concerned, and I can see that you are, then I would be happy to help, of course. To teach you a new route, of gentility of character and the impression of worth. And the art of conveying that impression. Impression is so important, is it not, Sir Roderick?”

Sir Roderick roused himself from where he had half-slumbered over his stew. “I would never think to debate you, dear Jess,” he said.

“So then,” Lady Jessica said with a bright smile of triumph that left Jack giddy, “it is settled. I shall be your teacher, Jack. And I shall be a stern Headmistress, I warn you.”

“I… I am warned,” Jack said in wonder. “And I thank you, Lady. Thank you full well and total. I — excuse me a moment, I must spend tuppance.” He made his way up and out back towards the rear of the building.

Lady Jessica looked as pleased as if she had been given a danby pup. “Thank you, Rod,” she said. “This is truly kind of you. I do believe I shall enjoy the molding of our Jack.”

“And if you enjoy it, then I shall enjoy it as well,” Sir Roderick said. “Now come, you must eat — we are to reach Haldane’s Corners tonight.”

“Of course, of course.” And Lady Jessica ate and drank, her mind diverted from her Purpose by the prospect of the exalting of Jack. Their journey, but a few hours old, looked already to be truly excellent. Surely, that augured well for the recovery of the Chalice of Alderesth. Surely it must.

Anyway, remember this series goes to chapter five, and then goes to the back of my brain to ferment. In the meantime, enjoy!

*** *** *** ***

Chapter Two

There are many names and looks you think of when I mention the name of Jessica Berwick, daughter of Sir Arlen Berwick, whose great-great-grandfather had been the Earl of Leincaster and who himself showed distinction in the War of the Succession and two forays against Drake. Certainly, she is remembered vividly. It’s still not uncommon to see a man pay for meal and drink with a sovereign that bears her likeness even today.

But cast your thoughts back with me, to the girl of seventeen that Jack Shrewsbury first saw on that wet morning on Owl’s Head, at the very beginning of the journey. Was there any sign of the woman and more she would become in that girl’s form and voice? Any outward sign?

I rather think not. The journey — the foolish quest she pushed onto the five through the willing agency of Sir Roderick — heralded many things for the world we live in today. But for those who rode from Owl’s Head that day, and the one they found along the way, it was nothing less than a kiln. A crucible, separating out the baseness of their youth.

Certainly, of course, Jack knew none of this the day he rode to the estate of Sir Roderick Owles, Lord of the Manor of Owl’s Head, who he served as groundskeeper and gamekeeper, and followed to war when needed. The night before, Jack had asked payment to go on this silly quest that took him far from his content life. Eight guineas and four packets of South Islands tobacco — rare in Fairhaven and sweet. Mellow on the breath and sweet smelling all about. More than once Jack would believe he did not get paid nearly enough.

But as Jack crossed the threshold, and hung his wet cloak and hood and hung his hat on the oak peg, as he joked lightly with Miss Diggit, who met him with tea and who — to be fair to the dead — was rather smote with Jack, or at least the idea of “Mrs. Shrewsbury,” and as he stepped into Sir Roderick’s study, he truly wouldn’t have argued the price. Indeed, in that instant, he would happily have agreed to the mad fool’s errand without obligation at all — or paid for the privilege. For in that moment, Jack Shrewsbury came face to face for the first time with Lady Jessica Berwick.

She was standing near the fire, obviously warming herself after her own journey from Badenton, where she had been keeping with Lord Dale and his wife, friends of the Berwicks going back before Queen Catherine’s accession. She wore a dress of reds and golden yellows, looking almost like the fires of autumn’s leaves as she moved her delicate, white hands before the fire back and forth. Her hair, tied behind her in elaborate braids and knots, was deep brunette close to black, reminding one of opal and obsidian. And as she turned and looked at the newcomer, her eyes were blue flecked with gold, as though the absent sun had found its way into the sky of her eyes.

“Yes?” she asked — snapped, really.

Jack almost shivered and managed, somewhat, to find his voice. “I… that is to say, milady, your… I was asked to come here by Sir Roderick, what as there’s a trip to come and he wished me along — that is to say your journey, as it were. If you are… that is–”

Lady Jessica sighed. “And you are?”

Jack flushed like a child of ten, then, and scrambled to correct his oversight with the lady. “Ah! Jack, Lady, or John would have been my Christian name but those who might want to know me would generally call me Jack. Jack Shrewsbury.”

“And a finer man I’ve rarely known,” Sir Roderick said, pressing in and wearing a deep red travel cloak. “Handy in all ways, true to a fault, and bloodied in war. A good fellow to have along and see to things, don’t you think, my dear?”

“No,” she said, turning with clear distaste. “I do not see, and I am wholly uncertain I am your dear.” Setting her face, she turned back to the fire.

Jack himself flushed again, and half-stammered “ah… if Milady should want me to go, I’ll go now and no mistake. I don’t mean to cause troubles and that’s truth–”

“No no, Jack,” Sir Roderick said, interceding. “No, stay. I won’t hear of it. Now, what’s this, Lady Jessica? Aren’t I allowed my friend on this adventure you’re so keen to take?”

“Your friend?” Lady Jessica flared, whirling on Sir Roderick with a flush and with passion. “That jack-nape who smells of cattle and looks like a tree with hair you name friend and want to bring along on so important a mission, so crucial an undertaking? I knew you were humoring me and nothing more! Go then — go with your cow-man and enjoy yourself! I will seek more pleasant company!”

And Jack flushed again, and looked down at his feet. The girl’s words stung true — he had no business with so excellent a lady, and that was as true as any truth he had heard before.

“Jessica Jessica Jessica,” Sir Roderick said soothingly, and Jack thought the manor lord had mollified the lady before, from his tone and practice. “I do name Jack friend because he is my friend, and an excellent servant. He has followed me twice to Drake and been injured in my service. He is wise to the trail and canny in the woods. And if he smells of game — for game it is, and not cattle as you have said — why that is appropriate, for he is my gamekeeper, and groundskeeper aside. So right there you should see how seriously I take our endeavor.” He slipped behind the simmering woman and laid his hands on her shoulders, rubbing to calm her like a dog whose hackles were up. “For while we are gone to the Northwestern Wall, my fields and grounds and game shall suffer his absence, and the losses I incur could be monumental. Do speak kindly of Jack, my Lady.”

“Your lady. Your companion to keepers of grouse, you mean.”

“My Lady indeed, sweet Jess, and you know that’s so. Besides, I did not complain when you spoke of bringing your friend — Micah of Tosunberry–”

“Micah is needed,” the woman snapped back. “Both because he discovered the prophecies and because elvish magics are necessary to open the Black Lock. He comes because he will be of good use–”

“And so will Jack, my dearest. Great good use, and of a more practical nature than your sorcerer would be. He will drive us and factor for us, protect us and see our nights are warm and dry. Take your wizard — take two dozen Micahs if you wish. But give me my one Jack, and do not speak harshly of it.”

Lady Jessica stared into the fire, and Jack watched as her shoulders drooped slightly, as though Sir Roderick’s hands and the flames in the hearth were melting her. “Well,” she said, “I can see the wisdom of your words, dear Rick. I shall believe you when you say he is of good quality, and give him what benefit of my doubt I can.”

“There. Excellent. Jack, do step forward and let the Lady see you.”

Jack slowly stepped closer into the light, strongly aware of his worn clothing and leathers, and the smell of birds that clung to him in the dampness, and knew he likely looked like a drowned hen himself, if he were lucky.

Lady Jessica looked him over, her lips slightly pursed, and considered the man. “Well,” she said, “I suppose we could use a footman at that, and in that way I can’t help but think you’ll do, sirrah. I apologize if my reaction stung.”

“Stung?” Jack asked. “Oh, no, Lady — not in the least. Simple truth is all you said and all I heard from you, and I could certainly understand how you would feel thus, and apologize most heartily for startling you and for making you cross.”

Lady Jessica nodded slightly, turning back to Sir Roderick. “When shall we leave,” she asked.

“Whenever my lady wishes. I had Corman bring the carriage around front — assuming good Jack’s eaten, as you and I have.”

“Oh, aye. With Mark Kiln and his wife — I’ve asked him to see to the problems with coyotes while we’re away–”

“Yes yes, of course,” Lady Jessica said. “No doubt you and he have cooked up whatever you needed to cook up. I shall gather my things and prepare to leave. I trust you both will need to discuss route?”

“Of course,” Sir Roderick said, settling into a chair and nodding for Jack to take another. “We should be ready whenever you’re done.”

“Very well. Sir Roderick. Goodman.” Jack bowed slightly to Lady Jessica and the girl swirled in her skirts and took the arched doorway out, heading for the staircase.

Sir Roderick settled back in his chair — an older one, and plush, fitting in the bright receiving room. “Well, Jack — that was the Lady Jessica.”

“That… aye, she was at that,” Jack said, taking the chair proffered earlier. “I….”

“I understand, Jack, I understand. I told you there was something tremendous about her, didn’t I?”

“You did at that.” Jack stared into the fire. “I simply didn’t realize….”

Sir Roderick nodded slightly, and reached down to where he had a traveling sack, opening it. “I believe you wanted a packet of the tobacco before we left, yes?”

Jack blinked, shook his head slightly as though to clear it, and turned to Sir Roderick. “I did indeed. It might just barely see me through on such a mad errand as this.”

“It still seems mad to you then?” Sir Roderick asked, handing a leather pouch with a small wrapped brick of the weed in it. “And will you take some of my blond now, and have half a pipe before we start?”

Jack nodded, slipping the pouch of tobacco away and getting out his red wood and blackened clay pipe. It was a good one, with a silver cover to protect the smoldering ash from the wind and elements, letting the smoke out through riveted holes. Handing it to Sir Roderick, he continued to stare into the fire. “We go by way of Leincaster, then?”

“Indeed,” Sir Roderick said absently as he filled their pipes. “We collect this Micah there, and then north through Etonshire until we reach the foothills of the Wall.”

“To seek what?”

“Some keep behind some door — you’ll hear it all as we go, I’m sure. It’s all very romantic, like something Master Palintier would write a play about, or the country folk would sing about in taverns. That sort of thing.”

“But why are we going? Why is it so important to the Lady — if I might ask, and not cause offense, sir?”

Sir Roderick didn’t quite roll his eyes, as he handed the pipe back to Jack and took a wire from the fire to light his own. He drew two fast puffs, and handed the wire to Jack. “Ridiculousness, really,” he said. “This sorcerer found an old snatchet of prophecy or history or the like about the Chalice of Alderesth — you know Alderesth?”

And you might not know of Alderesth the Elf-Lord, wielder of the Sword of Light and consort of Minasata the Dark. Their stories are often skipped in these days, when the Eclipse has so freshly erased the legends of old. Alderesth, who held Ardyrillsa, the Cleaver of Night, and who with Minasata acted as the Stewards of the Elves in those days, but Jack did. Jack who had been raised on tales of the days of the Elves, and of the Six who held the Swords of Destiny’s Edge. And so he said “why yes, yes of course. But I’ve not heard of any Chalice, and I’d think I might have, perhaps, if there were much to it.”

“Well, there are stories about it, but only around Leincastershire. It’s a local legend. Supposedly the Elf’s Host rode through a thousand years before. The local king — or chief or what have you — supposedly saved the life of one of the party’s handmaids, so they gave him a child by that handmaid, and anointed his head with oil from Alderesth’s drinking cup, naming him the Ruler of those environs evermore. The cup was apparently left there, and used in ceremonies of accession and the like. Apparently, Jessica’s forebears were anointed with oil from that cup when they were the Earls of Leincastershire.”

“Oh I see, I see… and so this is something of a family relic for her — ages of glory and all of that? I suppose I can understand wanting to find it and all, but still sir, it seems like rather a lot of trouble for a cup, even a legend’s cup.”

“Well, apparently there’s more to it than that. But… well, I expect you’ll hear about it.” Sir Roderick took another contemplative puff.

“I… rather expect so, yes sir. Well then. Leincaster is about two days ride, along the Willow Road, and from there… it’s not a short trip. Three… four weeks, perhaps, and that would merely get us to those foothills. From there who can tell how long we’ll be?”

“Oh, I am aware of it. Still — while I’m not as dizzy as my dear Lady Jessica about such things… it is exciting in a way, isn’t it? Riding off for lost treasure, in the name of a hopeless cause… the sort of thing a gentleman can write a sonnet or four about. That is worth it in and of itself, don’t you imagine?”

“Well sir, I can’t see making a trip that long for verse, but then I don’t claim to know these things.”

Sir Roderick laughed. “You spend all your time claiming not to know things, Jack — do you know that? Come one — let’s see if the Lady’s ready.”

“As you wish, sir.” Jack stood. “Still — funny, those elves, eh? I mean, letting that King sire a baby with one of them for that, and I suppose leaving the baby with him, I mean, that’s what it sounds like, doesn’t it?”

“It does indeed — but the Elves sired or begot children with mortals all the time. Ask any sorcerer.” Sir Roderick smiled, knowing that only those with Elvish blood could summon and control Elf Magic. “What always startles me is the locals make more of the gift of the chalice, and less of the gift of the child. But then there is little of mystery in children. They’re all around us and sometimes I swear they’re all half-boggart anyhow.”

“As you say sir.” At that, Jack grew silent, for they were walking into the hall, and Lady Jessica, wrapped in a deep blue travel cloak with hood, was descending the stair. She walked with grace and care, her movements careful and controlled. She nodded to Miss Diggit as she reached the landing, and turned to Sir Roderick. “My things are being put onto the carriage, Sir Roderick — I believe I am ready.”

“Right. Let’s us be off then. Get your wraps on, Jack — we should like to reach Leincaster by tomorrow evening if we can.”

“Yes sir, of course, of course.” Jack made his way to the door, where Miss Diggit had his things ready, and helped him to put them on. “I’ll be ready in moments, sir.”

“Good enough,” Sir Roderick said. “Come, let us board, my dear Jess.”

Lady Jessica nodded, smiling and bouncing impatiently. “It’s so exciting, isn’t it? Getting going — starting our adventure?”

“Indeed it is, indeed it is.” Sir Roderick offered his arm to Lady Jessica, and the two walked out together, Corman meeting them with a parasol to keep the wet off them.

“Now you listen, you,” Miss Diggit said to Jack as he put his cloak about himself again, and set his hat on his head. “You keep yourself dry and warm up on that carriage. I’ll not have you catching your death in the name of swift travel, do you hear me?”

“I do and so does half the house, you’re shouting it so loud, Miss Diggit. I’ve kept the wet off before.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true enough. Here. A sack of food that should keep, and two flasks of Kierish red whiskey — if that doesn’t keep you warm I really don’t know what could.”

Jack nodded. “It should — and thank you. Have they been provided for or shall I expect to feed them out of this?”

“Oh — they’ve been provided for — though no doubt you’ll have to heat it, you mark my words.”

“That’s why I’m going, it seems. It will be well, honestly.”

“Well then. Just keep yourself.”

Jack nodded, and made his way out to the carriage. The rain was harder now, almost driving. He tightened his hat and made sure the cloak’s hood was in place, and climbed up into place on the carriage.

I think often of Miss Diggit myself. I think Old Jack did as well. He certainly would talk about her late into the evening, when he’d had a bit too much bitters. A sweet girl — heavy and content with her lot in life. I think perhaps Jack would have been happy if he’d married her and lived with her in the Keeper’s cottage on Owl’s Head, raising children and arguments for the rest of their lives. I think perhaps that might have been worth more to him than eight guineas and four packets of tobacco.

But whether or not he would have been happier with Miss Diggit and Owl’s Head, he took the reins up in his gloved hands. He crouched under the overcrop as best he could to keep the rain off, and with a pull the carriage began to pull forward along the roundabout, turning towards the trail to the Willow Road. Inside the carriage, he could hear the two of them laughing about something, and he held that laughter, from those sweet lips. Laughter like the sound of doves in the morning. He held that close, and considered himself a lucky man.

I guess it depends on how it’s received.

There are five completed chapters of The Old Ways right now. Maybe in five weeks — assuming I post all five — I’ll decide if I want to finish writing chapter six or not. In the meantime, I’m trying to figure out how to explain this one. It’s got some Tolkien in it, and some C.S. Lewis, but it also has some Jane Austin and the Brontë sisters in it too. A tragedy of manners, perhaps.

I dunno. Regardless, here it is. Let me know what you think.

*** *** *** ***

Chapter One

Of course it was raining. That was how ill fated journeys should begin. In the years to come, after the Three Wars of the Sundering had passed and the Eclipse of Progress had settled in for its full course, Old Jack Hewer would stare out at rain from the safety of a glass pane, and remark that it was rain that had opened the journey. Rain that had set the stage. Rain that drove down hard for a morning, soaking the walkways and settling in for a long stay.

He didn’t mention how good the rain had made him feel, all those years before, when his name wasn’t Hewer at all, but Shrewsbury. The Manor had been without water for a long time, and the rain was none too soon to keep the grasses green and the crops growing. Albert, the hedge wizard, had managed to keep things more or less going but elf’s magic was none too predictable. It couldn’t replace a few days of healthy downpour.

And perhaps that’s the way to start the tale, if you want to understand it. It’s not a pretty one, for the most part, but perhaps none of the old stories are pretty. Perhaps if you strip away the rhymes and songs and legends, you find people of limited vision thrust onto the world’s stage without script. Perhaps. But those stories aren’t for us. Not right now. We have another tale to tell. The one we know, about Young Jack Shrewsbury, the Gameskeeper of Owl’s Head.

Jack sipped tea as he watched the rain, and thought about the work he couldn’t very well do in a downpour. If he’d had a plump wife to call his own, as Miss Diggit who did for Sir Roderick would have liked to be, she’d be fussing at him right about now, demanding he take off his wet things and gather more wood for the fire, but he didn’t so there was just him, and he didn’t see much reason to take off wet and put on dry to simply be made wet again.

There was a knock at the door. A firm one. Jack was a hair startled — the Keeper’s House didn’t receive many visitors in good weather, much less rain. He gulped another sip of tea and set the mug on the oak table, then made his way to the door, throwing it open.

“Well, hello Jack,” his visitor said with a slight grin, looking rather bedraggled despite his blue cloak. “Might I share your fire for a few moments?”

“Not at all, Sir Roderick,” Jack said, stepping back and motioning the Manor lord in. “Not at all. You’re out on a damp day, if I might say so. Damp and no denying it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of arguing with you,” Sir Roderick said, and this was indeed the Rod of the later story, and yes it is fair to say that at this time he was Jack’s friend, as well as his lord. I know this might surprise you. That’s the way of things — people always leap later in a story when they hear it. But Old Jack Hewer always spoke well of Sir Roderick Owles, and I think it best we do so when telling their tale.

In those days, of course, the Hewer and the Rod didn’t look like the statues or the paintings. No, Jack was a shorter man — five and nine, perhaps, with blond hair and a thick blond beard, wearing leathers for the hunt. And Sir Roderick was tall and fine of face, with a trimmed beard along his jaw and curls in his reddish black hair, wearing the thin long sword that was popular in that day at his side.

“So what brings you to this corner of Owl’s Head, eh? Out for a ride and the rain caught you, I warrant, and no doubt. You’ll want some tea to warm yourself, and I think I’ve some wine here somewhere.”

“Tea would be fine, and wine I can get back up at the estate I’m sure. No, the rain didn’t drive me here, Jack. I came looking for you.”

“Mm? The trouble with coyotes, no doubt? Well, they’ve taken a few deer and old Younger Will’s been making noise about his sheep, not that coyotes are much for sheep when there’s a dog nearby, and that hound of his–”

“No, Jack, not coyotes either. I find myself… in the position of asking an odd favor. May I sit?”

Jack looked startled. “A favor? I’m not sure what I can do for you but I’m usually up for anything, and you should know that by now, Sir Roderick.”

“I do, I do. It’s been too long since you’ve been along with me, you know it, Jack? Mm — the Drakish War was four years ago. It seems like four weeks, doesn’t it?”

“You didn’t get a knock on the head, Sir. The time’s not been bad, from my mind.” Jack smiled. He and many of the able bodied men of the Manor had gone with Sir Roderick to fight in Drake across the White Bay. It had been moderately profitable, though they hadn’t kept much property. They seemed to only rarely keep much of Drake or Pandor when they went in, and the Pandorans and Drakes didn’t keep much of Fairhaven when they invaded. It all balanced out, somehow. Perhaps that’s the thing to remember about the beginning of the story. Everything was balanced, and even.

“Well, there is that. I learned to duck before you, I think. Still, it’s been too long.”

“And do I take this to mean there’s another war a-coming, and I should be finding a boy or wife to keep the grounds while we’re off?” Jack half-smiled. He knew the drill by now. To be healthy was to be a soldier, when soldiering came.

“Oh, no no. Nothing of the sort. That Drakish Prince has been courting the Queen for eight months, and Drake and Pandor are the ones currently fighting. The Pandoran ambassador and that bloody Bishop have been rather conciliatory of late, as well. So there isn’t a good fight in the offing if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah. Well then — what sort of favor are we looking at then?”

Sir Roderick sat back, and took out his pipe, filling it with tobacco. “Have you some fire?” he asked, and Jack saw to his needs quietly, setting the kettle back on as he did so. “It’s… almost embarrassing, really.”

“Oh really? Must have to do with a woman, then. A woman who’s not Lady Jessica and you need some assistance.” Jack half-smirked.

Sir Roderick flushed slightly as he puffed. “No, actually. Well, yes and no. It is a woman, but it’s also Lady Jessica.”

“Well then, this gets more interesting all the while. I don’t see what favor you can ask of me. I’ve never even met the woman, Sir, and that’s truth.”

“Oh? You’re well informed about her.”

“Just what Miss Diggit and Bets and Corman up at the Estate tell me, Sir, and they tell a lot — probably most of which isn’t my place to repeat.”

Sir Roderick laughed. “As though Bets weren’t willing to tell it to my face, Jack. No, I’ve heard all of it. And it’s mostly true, I suppose — Lady Jessica is vain, and learned without being particularly bright, which isn’t the best combination. But you’ll see — there’s something about her that invigorates and inspires, as well as infuriates.”

“If I’ve the chance to meet her, I suppose, Sir. And here, your water’s hot. Tell me this favor while I brew the tea up.”

“Well… would you be willing to… go on something of a journey with me?”

“A journey? Of what sort?”

Sir Roderick looked down. “Well… sort of a Quest, I guess you’d call it.”

The way Old Jack told me the story, he says he practically dropped the mug of tea at that, managing to slop half of it all over the table. But I don’t see Jack doing that — he was always too careful and precise, it seemed, and the change couldn’t have made that big a difference. But when I protested, he always looked me in the eye, his eye squinted, and said “you just don’t know, son. You just don’t know. Nothing at all stayed the same. Nothing. I could have been four feet tall with gorilla’s hands before and ended up this way. You just don’t know.” So, since this is Jack’s story and not mine, I’ll tell it Jack’s way, which left him sopping up the tea with a cloth and staring at Sir Roderick. “A Quest? Virgin’s Blood and Tears, Sir — should we wear silver armor and ride white horses and look for dragons while we’re at it? Are we back six hundred years before the Elves left and the Six Swords were in the land? Can you hand me that dry cloth — this one’s soaked.”

Sir Roderick handed the dirty kitchen cloth over. “I know, I know,” he said. “It doesn’t seem particularly sound an idea, but Lady Jessica’s always lived more in the Age of Chivalry and great deeds than the age the rest of us reached. It seems she wants a Quest.”

“There is much to be said for denying women, Sir. Especially when they’re being ridiculous.”

“You’ve never loved, Jack. She is such a rare creature.”

“So it sounds. Tell me of this deed of derring do you must do to win her favor. Pardon my laughter as you say it.”

“It’s not just me — she wants to come too.”

Jack started again, and shook his head. “So she wants to go back to the old ways and days but she wants to come along and slay dragons too? She can’t seem to get it right. Anyone else? A handmaid, perhaps?”

“A Wizard, actually. An Elf-Mage in her shire, called Micah.”

“Oh, wondrous good. How’d we end up with a sorcerer, and more importantly, why?”

“He’s the one who gave her the idea, actually. He found an old prophecy regarding Leincastershire that’s got her in a flurry.”

Jack rolled his eyes and sipped tea. “So what is this favor you want of me — to come along? Where?”

“The Northwestern Wall.”

Jack didn’t drop his tea this time. He just stared. “You want to run off to the mountains — the bloody well tall mountains — because of a prophecy a hedge wizard from Leincaster managed to talk this Lady Jessica into, while toting the two of them along with?”

“He’s from Leincastershire, but not the village. He’s actually from Tosunberry.”

“Oh, even better. The Elf’s blood is strong in the middle of nowhere, I’m told.”

“Oh, come now, Jack. It would be good fun to get out and away for a bit, wouldn’t it? Besides, there’s lots to see up there, and do — that would be worth it, don’t you think?”

“That’s a leading question, and I don’t mind admitting it. What would I be then? A footman?”

“Of a sort, and we’d have you drive the carriage–”

“Carriage? On a quest? Oh, the Knights of Old and the Warriors of the Six Swords were well known for riding in carriages and carts. Absolutely. This only gets better. Shall we pack picnic lunch while we’re at it?”

Sir Roderick laughed. “Perhaps we should. Anyhow, you’d drive the carriage… and to be frank, if there are problems with brigands in the woods, I should like a good man with a sword and a good shot with a wheellock along with, you know? And that you are, both.”

“Wheellock? Hm — takes all the sport out of dragonhunting, doesn’t it? I mean, if you’re going to simply put shot between the eyes of the lizard, you might as well stay at home and slaughter pigs. They at least you can eat.”

“Dragons I promise we’ll kill the old fashioned way. Brigands we’ll shoot. Come — say you’ll come along. It will be fun.”

“Perhaps. I’ll assume she has her reasons to want to go — what exactly are my reasons? And please don’t say anything about the spirit of adventure. The spirit of adventure keeps to her own home in the rain, and she and I aren’t on more than causal speaking terms anyhow.”

Sir Roderick sighed a put upon sigh. “I don’t suppose you’d accept that I’m the Manor Lord and do it out of sheer loyalty?”

“My loyalty to you is complete, Sir, and no denying. And it and tuppance will buy a mug of the small at the West Wind Tavern.”

“All right. Eight guineas and four packets of that South Islands Tobacco you like so much.”

“One packet before we go, and one guinea too. I’ll want to smoke it as we tramp up those dreary mountains, and dream of warmth and civilized, modern company.”

“Done and done. The tobacco will wait — we’ll leave on the morrow, I think.”

“That storm won’t have let up then. Three days, or not an hour by me, I should think.”

“Just so — we want to get underway. Rain doesn’t bother us.”

“You, you mean. One of us will be outside driving the carriage. I should have asked for more tobacco.”

“Of course.” He pulled a guinea out of his pouch and tossed it onto the table, where it rolled and landed, the Swords up. “That will keep you until tomorrow?”

“It would have to, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Sir Roderick smiled. “Come now — this won’t be bad, Jack. You’ll see.”

“Perhaps I will, Sir, perhaps I will.” And Jack saw Sir Roderick out, and watching him go from the dry warmth of his doorway, he thought a long while about what Sir Roderick had proposed.

Here and now, today, you don’t seem to understand how strange all of this sounded to Jack. Knights and quests and legends and dragons belonged to earlier eras, when true Elves walked the land and magic fell from the heavens and men strove to change the world with blade and will. An earlier time, one even then falling into disrepute. Elf’s magic was at best faltering in those modern days, and the magic of man is quiet. A rational man did not believe more than a quarter of what he heard of the days of the Six Swords of Elvish Lore, and even that quarter he assumed had its troubles with accuracy.

I know it sounds strange to you. It did to me as well, when Old Jack told me. He bought me a pint of bitters and tried to explain his rational world in terms I could understand. But then I live in the world after the Eclipse, and all of this was so long ago.

In any case, Jack spent most of that night packing for a journey. He didn’t have much to prepare, but one always wants to be sure he avoids wanting something he could have easily had. So he collected rope and tinder and a few sticks of dry wood and pots and pans and the like. The late hours he spent sharpening his knife and his sword.

The sword was serviceable — exceptional only because his upkeep of it had made it so. He was not a professional warrior or mercenary of course. Those who spend their lives moving from Drake’s armies to Pandor’s armies to the Bhentish army if they’d pay enough — those for whom war is simply an occupation. Jack Shrewsbury was a soldier of convenience — he followed Sir Roderick when needed. But he was also a groundskeeper and gamekeeper. One who follows such duties gets rather good at ensuring his tools are well kept. And to Jack, the sword was a tool, and nothing more. He sharpened it and polished it, adding the right oils to ‘ware rust and soaking its sheath well. A serviceable blade — that was all Jack wanted.

The same time he spent on his wheellock rifle, and he made sure the powder and shot were in their right packets and pouches, and checked the wax and oil as well. The powder was worth Jack’s life wet, and his enemy’s life dry. He polished the brass of the weapon, and cleaned the barrel and stock, and wrapped it well in oilcloth.

And he took his token of Saint Christopher, and put it about his neck, and his broad Kierish Cross — the Kiers were Catholic, of course, and Jack belonged to the Church of Fairhaven, but the cross was a prize of war taken, with the ancient circle behind the cross, and Kierish scrolling and what old Albert said were Elvish runes cut into it, and placed it with his good dry travel cloak and wrap. He oiled his hat and the cloak’s hood as well, the better to keep his hair dry.

And early in the morning, Jack took his mare across Owl’s Head to Mark Kiln’s, and spoke to Mark about the coming trip, and told him about the coyotes, and about the sheepherders, and also told him what trees would be wanting work where, and mentioned the gardens in passing. Mrs. Kiln — for she was always called such, and never Betsy, to keep herself distinct from Bets at the Estate — gave the two men breakfast as they spoke. Finally, Jack took the mare back along the path and then up to the Estate, to meet the others.

Have you ever heard Owl’s Head described? I’ve seen it, and even today, it’s very nice indeed. And the Estate is marvelous. Broad lawns on the inside of a gate of brownish marble, with the image of an owl staring out from the top gates. The main house itself is long, and two stories well painted, with windows on both floors. Jack gave the reins of the mare to Corman, who told him Sir Roderick was waiting for him in the study. Jack went up to join him, and there met Lady Jessica Berwick, and Micah of Tosunberry for the first time.

It was, on the whole, a happier life he led before that moment.