Whose Sword is it, Anyway?

By Ralph Benedetto, Jr.

Part One of Five

The College of Ru'aath

"I would like to welcome all of you to the college and to assure you that it is our privilege to have you here as our students. It is also your privilege to be here. This school is only for the best of the best of the best, and we will not hesitate to eliminate from our student body those individuals who prove slow to learn, slow to pay or otherwise unable to live up to the high standards we here at the school set for ourselves and our alumnae. We have no objections to dismissing students when the need arises. There will always be others to take their places. Those of you who aren't serious about your educations would do well to remember that."

--from an orientation lecture given to new students

Dr. Eliashar Thornberry, Ph.D., Ed.D. Dean of Students College of Ru'aath

ONE

Malledagarithon was perched in the limbs of a massive oak like some huge ungainly bird. The thick branch he rested on creaked ominously beneath his weight as he shifted, trying to get comfortable while keeping himself hidden behind the foliage. A short distance away, the dean of the School of Fighting and Martial Arts approached the tree, whistling casually.

Just before reaching Mal's hiding place, however, forewarned by some sixth sense, the dean

stopped and looked around carefully. Afraid that he was about to be discovered, and well aware

that he desperately needed every ounce of surprise that he could manage to get, Mal leaped to

the ground.

Or, rather, he started to leap to the ground. The sudden shift in weight as he braced himself for the leap was just that little bit too much for the branch that he was perched on to bear. It snapped with a bright cracking sound, and Mal plunged ten feet to the ground, where he landed with a solid thump. Unfortunately, his tunic had become snagged on another branch and didn't make the drop with him. It had parted with a loud ripping sound and remained hanging in the branches, where Mal, lying on his back on the ground, could see it fluttering gaily in the breeze like a flag. He could also see the brilliant blue of the sky through the leafy canopy of the tree. Twas actually rather pleasant, watching the clouds. They looked they like were dancing among the branches. Or maybe his head had hit the ground a little harder than he'd thought. It would have been nice to lie there, watching the clouds, but he did, after all, have a job to do.

The dean smiled slightly as Mal, barechested, struggled upright and climbed to his feet. Then, remembering the task at hand, Mal drew his sword with a flourish. Too much of a flourish, as it turned out. The hilt slipped out of his hand, and the sunlight glinted merrily off the blade as it flew, spinning, through the air, slammed into a distant tree trunk point first, and hung there quivering. Mal sighed audibly, and the dean's smile broadened.

With a shake of his head, Mal drew his dagger and started forward, only to catch his foot on a tree root and sprawl headlong. Twisting as he fell, Mal only just managed to avoid disemboweling himself with his own dagger. As he hit the ground, he could feel the shock in his arm as the dagger blade struck a rock and snapped off cleanly at the hilt. The dean did not quite manage to hold in his laughter.

His pride stung, Mal climbed grimly to his feet once more and started toward the dean again, this time with his fists clenched. Though the dean was a large man, Mal was a head taller, with broader shoulders and more weight. Mal was larger than most people he knew, and years spent working on his father's farm had long since hardened most of his body into solid muscle.

The dean, still laughing, waved a hand at the angry young man advancing toward him and said,"I'm sorry, boy, I appreciate the effort, but after that display you just put on, there's nothing you could do to me now that would induce me to keep you in the program. You'll have to released." He patted Mal on the shoulder and then, still chuckling quietly to himself, he walked away.

Disconsolate, Mal simply stood there and watched him go. What else could he do? He was simply no good at fighting and never had been. Slowly, his fists opened, and he shook his head. He stared at his sword for a moment, moved toward it and reached up a hand as if to wrench it out of the tree it had impaled, and then decided to leave it behind. If he took it, he'd probably only kill someone, most likely himself.

With a little effort, he managed to get the remains of his tunic out of the tree. He wrapped it around his chest and, sighing again, he began to walk aimlessly across the campus green.

The main campus of the College of Ru'aath was crowded with people. Humans of all shapes and sizes; elves with their delicate ears, upswept eyebrows and willowy frames; stocky, bearded dwarves; and one or two puddlians, shorter even than dwarves, with quick hands and nimble fingers, wandered between the buildings. Today, Change Day, failing students were trying to impress their teachers, to prove that their poor grades didn't reflect their abilities. A very few would succeed and be allowed to remain in school, training for a life of adventure. Most, like Mal, would have to leave. Still, living on a farm wasn't such a bad way to spend your life, was it?

Immersed in his thoughts, Mal was startled to hear a female voice calling him. "Mal! Over here!"

He looked up to see a slim, dark-haired girl waving at him. She was standing on a shaded bench. As soon as he began making his way over toward her, she sat down. Her long hair was twisted into a single braid which fell across one shoulder and into her lap. Her clothes were as black as her hair, the color scheme softened by her pale skin, grey eyes, and a sapphire blue sash around her waist.

"Caitlin!" Mal cried in greeting. The sight of her was enough to cheer him up a little. He sat down beside her. The bench creaked in protest but held. "How did you do?" Mal's voice, though full of enthusiasm, was surprisingly quiet. "Do you get to stay?"

Caitlin smiled wryly and twisted her head to look up at Mal. "Knowing how fond Dean Quarterleaf is of desserts, I tried to conjure him up an ice cream cone. Chocolate." She paused. "It didn't quite work."

"No cone?"

Caitlin shook her head. "And what I conjured up wasn't ice cream, either, though it did look a little like chocolate."

Mal's eyes widened a little, and Caitlin laughed quietly. "Right into his hand." She paused again before adding, "He was wearing new gloves."

Mal winced in sympathy and shook his head. He looked at Caitlin carefully. She was only about a foot shorter than he was, but he always had the idea that, if he touched her too hard, he might break her. He was used to being by far the biggest person around, but, somehow, he minded it when he was around her. It made him feel awkward and clumsy. Closing his eyes, he sighed wistfully. "I'd love to be able to do magic."

Caitlin frowned. "So would I," she said tiredly. "Then, maybe, I could stay in school." Suddenly, she grinned up at Mal. "You're just like a little kid sometimes, you know that?"

Mal opened one eye. Hearing the word "little" applied to him in any context was strange. "What do you mean?"

Her face softening, Caitlin explained, "You're always wishing for something. You know what I'd like? I'd--"

"Hello, hello, hello, hello!" A cheerful shout cut Caitlin off.

Opening his other eye, Mal spotted a dark, thin fellow, a little taller than Caitlin, dressed in brightly colored clothes that he was convinced were the height of fashion and grinning like a maniac. He was trying, with great diligence and very little success, to grow a moustache.

"Rivenbark!" Mal called, grinning. It was almost impossible not to be cheerful around Rivenbark. He greeted life with boundless enthusiasm, and some of it always rubbed off on the people around him.

Caitlin nodded as Rivenbark walked up, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Hello and more hellos!" Rivenbark said. Then he frowned at Mal. "What happened to your tunic?" he asked.

"It's kind of a long story."

"Well, I like it! It's a bold and intriguing fashion statement!"

"How did you do?" Caitlin asked. "Can you stay?"

Rivenbark's cheerful smile faded. "Well, no. Things didn't go precisely according to plan, I'm afraid."

"It's the same with us," Mal told him.

Rivenbark's smile blossomed again. "Together, still!" he cried. "And I have a great idea!"

"What is it?" Caitlin asked, wondering even as the words left her mouth if it was a wise question.

"I feel that we should lubricate our thinking processes by indulging in the byproducts of grain fermentation."

Caitlin frowned. "Come again?"

"Let's go have a couple of pints!"

TWO

"I don't know," Mal said shrugging. "I'll probably go back and work on my father's farm. It's a nice place."

Caitlin took a large swallow of beer and then shook her head. "You've got to be kidding, Mal. A farm?! There can't be any place duller to--"

"Have you ever been on a farm?" Mal's voice was quiet, as always, but it held a gently chiding note.

"No, but what does that have to do with anything?" Caitlin wanted to know. "You've got to stay in the city! There isn't any place else worth being! Things happen in the city!"

The three friends were seated at a corner table in one of the many taverns near the college campus. A small wooden sign on the wall announced that you could have anything you wanted to drink, as long as it was beer. A constant stream of students and former students flowed in and out, the crowd constantly changing but never diminishing.

"I know things happen in the city," Mal said drily. "That's one of the better reasons for heading back to the farm."

Caitlin shook her head. "Sometimes I think you're hopeless," she said.

Mal smiled gently. "I never give up hope," he said, his eyes on her face.

Caitlin shook her head and turned her attention to her other companion.

"What are you going to do, Rivenbark? I suppose that you could still make a decent living as a thief?"

"Thief?!" Rivenbark repeated, outraged. "I was never a thief!"

"No, you just picked pockets and stole things. And you went to school to learn to be a better thief."

"No, no, no, no! A thief is a socially maladjusted individual and an unacceptable addition to any group! I was training to be a scout. It's an honorable military tradition."

"Oh, right," Caitlin said. "You were learning how to pick locks and pockets, break into buildings, steal things..."

Rivenbark shook his head, a slightly condescending smile on his face. He'd encountered this particular misunderstanding before and was always prepared to set the ignorant straight. "No, no, no, no," he said again. "I didn't study any of those things. I studied lock manipulation, search and seizure (subject unknowing), infiltration, and acquisition of exogenous materials. These are all things that a fronting scout needs to know in order to survive and to help the cause in which the army he is a part of is serving."

"So, the college produces scouts."

"Yes."

"Who go to work for armies."

"Yes."

"And you were planning to go to work for an army?"

"Well..." Rivenbark paused to take a swallow of beer. "Actually, it had been my intention to stay in Farfell Down for a while. I find that city life agrees with me."

"And make a living by stealing things."

"Well, what's the point of going to college if you don't use your degree?"

"And I suppose you're going to tell me that there isn't an organized group of thieves out there, all of them graduates of the college, who make their living by stealing from people and who send a healthy donation to the college every year to keep new members coming and to produce a veneer of respectability for themselves?"

"Well..."

"And, anyway, you never answered my question. What are you going to do now?"

"I'm going to be a scout. Or, I might seek out some like-minded companions to work with."

Caitlin shook her head. "They kicked you out, Rivenbark. Without credentials, no good army will take you. And, if the rumors are right, the union of thieves--"

"There is no such group, and, even if there were, they wouldn't be thieves but honest scouts maintaining their skills through diligent use until needed in a higher cause."

"--won't take you either." Caitlin finished, ignoring the interruption. "How can you be a scout?"

Rivenbark shrugged. "I'm not sure." He didn't look too worried, but, then, he never did. He raised his mug. "I'll figure something out."

"What about you, Caitlin?" Mal broke in. "What are you going to do?"

Caitlin shrugged and gestured to the barmaid for more beer. "I'm not sure. I didn't really want to learn magic, anyway. Too much work, and too much of it boring." She frowned down at the table. But, I just hate failing!"

Mal nodded. "I know what you mean," he said dejectedly.

Rivenbark held out his mug for the barmaid to refill it. "Wouldn't you like to demonstrate to the faculty the error of their ways?"

Caitlin transferred her frown to him. "What do you mean?"

Rivenbark took a healthy swallow of beer. "I mean," he said carefully, "That I'm going to get back in."

"Oh, sure," Caitlin agreed with a scornful laugh. "You'll just walk up to the dean and say,'Please, sir, I know I flunked out, but couldn't I just have one more chance?'" She assumed a look of childish innocence and fluttered her eyelashes. "And the dean will say," here her voice deepened, "'Why, certainly, lad, I live to cater to students' whims against school policy.'"

"Well," Rivenbark said slowly, "That's a lot easier than the way I had in mind. Do you think it would work?"

Caitlin closed her eyes, shook her head, and sighed. "No, I don't think it would work."

"What have you got in mind, Rivenbark?" Mal asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table.

"All I have to do," Rivenbark explained, enthusiasm building in his face, "All we have to do, is do something so spectacular and original that they'll realize they made a mistake in kicking us out in the first place. It happens all the time!"

"Oh?" Caitlin challenged. "All the time? I never heard of any--"

"Sure!" Rivenbark broke in, cutting her off. "All the time! Don't worry about it. It'll be easy!"

Caitlin looked from Rivenbark to Mal, who shrugged, and back again, sighing. "All right," she said, "So what spectacularly original thing did you have in mind?"

"Oh, we'll think of something," Rivenbark said, waving her question aside. "You worry too much about unimportant details, sometimes, Kate."

"Unimportant?!" Caitlin cried. "You call that unimportant?!"

Rivenbark opened his mouth to answer and then stopped, his jaw hanging open while a look of happy astonishment spread across his face. "I've got it!" he suddenly yelled, leaping up from his seat and waving his arms in delight. Unfortunately, he hadn't set his mug down first, and beer splashed around him.

"What have you got?" Caitlin asked, wincing and ducking the flying beverage.

"I, U.K.--" Rivenbark's voice was cut off as a large meaty hand closed around his throat.

A burly man, with a dark stain soaking into his tunic, loomed behind Rivenbark. "What you got is beer," he said in a gravelly voice, "And where you got it is all over me!"

Mal set his own mug down and placed his palms flat against the table top. "Would you let go of my friend, please?"

"This is between him and me!" the man yelled, shaking Rivenbark to punctuate his statement. Rivenbark's face was beginning to turn red as he struggled to breathe.

Mal's chair scraped the floor as he slowly stood up. He was several inches taller than the man. "I would take it very kindly if you would let go of him," he said firmly.

A muscle in the man's cheek twitched as he looked up at Mal, and then he suddenly released Rivenbark and walked away grumbling.

"Thanks," Rivenbark whispered roughly, rubbing his throat. "Some people just--"

"Are you going to just let him walk away?" Caitlin interrupted indignantly, pointing at the retreating man's back and glaring at Mal.

Mal looked her, puzzled. "Well, yes," he said. "Of course. What do you want me to do?"

Caitlin looked puzzled in turn. "Well..." she said slowly, "Uh...well, something, anyway! I mean, after what he did to Rivenbark, you can't just let him walk off!"

"Of course I can," Mal told her. "I don't have any reason to go after him. He's leaving, Rivenbark's fine, so let's just forget about it."

"That's right," Rivenbark broke in, his voice still rough. "Forget that. We've got more important things to focus on, such as my grand idea!"

"All right," Caitlin said, reluctantly turning her attention back to Rivenbark. "So what's your grand idea?"

Rivenbark picked up his mug, saw that it was empty, put it back down and picked up Caitlin's instead. He took a healthy swallow and said, "All, right, now, what's the most mystery shrouded item in the entire school?" His eyes sparkled as he looked at his friends.

"How Dr. Corian comes up with the grades he hands out?" Caitlin suggested.

"No!" Rivenbark cried. "I mean, really!"

Mal shrugged. "The sword," he said.

"Right!" Rivenbark shouted. Several people looked around at him, and Rivenbark lowered his voice slightly. "The blade of Githon," he said quietly. "They think it might have been used to fight some of the greatest monsters that ever existed, but nobody really knows for sure. They don't know who wielded it, and no one has ever been able to get it reforged, despite a hundred years of trying. One of the greatest weapons of all time, and it just sits in a display case in the school library while scholars poke at the pieces."

Caitlin shook her head. "So, what?" she asked. "What has that got to do with us?"

"Simple," Rivenbark said. "We're going to steal the sword and get it reforged."

THREE

Caitlin leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Her first impression was that Rivenbark had gone insane, but, on second thought, maybe his idea actually had some merits. She wanted to look at the thing from every angle and make sure.. On the down side was the fact that stealing the sword wouldn't be easy, and the greatest experts in the world had been unable to find out who had originally forged the centuries old weapon. Could she, Rivenbark and Mal seriously expect to succeed where everyone else had failed?

There were some good points, however. She was still angry about being kicked out of school. Granted, she was no good at magic, but she'd never wanted to study magic, anyway. The school had forced into that major and then kicked her out when she hadn't excelled at it. Getting back at them would be very satisfying. Even if they didn't get the sword reforged, the school would look bad simply for having allowed it to be stolen. And, if by some miracle they did succeed, even if she didn't go back to school, she'd have something to show prospective employers. Besides, she had to do something, and she didn't have any other ideas. She opened her eyes and nodded. "All right," she said. "I'll go along with it."

Rivenbark looked hopefully at Mal. While Caitlin could always be counted on to make her mind up quickly, Mal liked to think things through, and he had been known to mull over a problem for days or weeks before deciding what to do about it.

"I don't know..." Mal said slowly. "I'll need some time to think about it."

"Oh, Mal!" Caitlin cried in frustration. She leaned over and punched him in the shoulder as hard as he could. "Don't go and spoil things, all right?"

He looked at her imperturbably, glanced at Rivenbark, and then shrugged. "All right," he said. "I'm not sure how we'll do it, but all right."

Rivenbark jumped to his feet laughing and clapped his hands together. "Fantastic!" he cried enthusiastically. "We'll just--"

Caitlin grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back down into a sitting position. "Let's not tell everyone in the tavern, all right?"

"Oh," Rivenbark whispered, nodding vigorously. "Right!"

After dropping a few coins on the table, the three friends headed outside. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was just beginning to fade. Rivenbark danced around his two friends as they walked back toward the campus.

"This is going to be one of the two greatest crimes in the history of the school!" he said happily, still whispering.

"Oh?" Caitlin's curiosity was aroused. "What was the other one?"

Rivenbark's smile twisted mischievously. "Do you known how the dean of the School of Dirty Tricks tests failing students on Change Day?" he asked.

Caitlin and Mal both shook their heads.

"Well, he wears a suit literally covered with all sorts of pockets. Some of them have coins in them. All you have to do is acquire a coin without him detecting you."

"What's in the other pockets?" Mal asked. "Nothing?"

Rivenbark's forehead creased in thought. "Oh, all sorts of things," he said. "Stinging insects, pudding, itching powder. The idea is that, if you reach into the wrong pocket, you'll probably yell or jump or something. Instant failure."

Caitlin laughed. "What happened to you when you tried?" she wanted to know.

"Uh..." Rivenbark said hesitantly.

"Come on," Caitlin prodded. "Give."

With a sigh, Rivenbark said, "Apparently with a little help from the School of Magic, Dean Karrendorf made one of his pockets bottomless. My arm went in all the way up to the shoulder, and then something in the pocket grabbed me and tried to pull me the rest of the way in." He winced at the memory. "It almost made it, too."

Ignoring Caitlin, who began to snort with laughter, Mal asked, "So what about this other crime you were telling us about?"

Rivenbark brightened. "Oh, right," he said. "Well, about ten or fifteen years ago, one of the scouting students here, a half-elf, was failing. On Change Day, she reached into one of Karrendorf's pockets and pulled out a stinging spider. Well, she screamed, and they kicked her out." Rivenbark began to chuckle. "So, anyway, the next day, Dean Karrendorf goes into his office, and it's been cleaned out. Desk, chair, books, everything's gone, and, sitting in the middle of the floor, is this half-elf, looking all innocent."

Mal laughed and shook his head. "Did they take her back?" he asked.

Rivenbark nodded. "Oh, sure." He turned to Caitlin and added, "So there's a precedent, see?"

He turned back to Mal. "Maybe you don't know this, but anything you steal during a test is yours

to keep. She submitted to the board that she had stolen all of Karrendorf's stuff to stay in school

so that made it a test. The board agreed with her." He smiled broadly. "Old Karrendorf had to

buy all new furniture for his office! I think she even sold him back his diploma!"

"Well, why don't we just do that, then?" Caitlin asked. "Since it was so effective?"

"Rivenbark shook his head quickly. "No, no, no! Originality! That's the key! Besides, that might get me back in, but it wouldn't do anything for the two of you."

Caitlin sighed. "All right, then," she said, "Back to your great idea: the sword. How do you do plan to get it out of the library?"

Rivenbark clapped his hands together sharply. "Simplicity itself!" he said. "Nothing could be easier. The library will be closed in a few hours, and it'll be totally dark by then. All I have to do is get a few things together first."

"You want to do it right now?" Mal asked. "Tonight?"

"Of course!" Rivenbark said. "Hit them when they're least expecting it. Surprise is the key!" He grinned. "See, I did learn something in class after all!"

FOUR

The library was in a long low building of white brick. The side on which the main entrance was located had three large windows, none of which were shuttered. The white walls reflected and intensified what little moonlight there was, making the area around the building seem unnaturally bright. There was a large shadow near the door, cast by Mal's body. Crouching in the illusory shelter of this shadow were Caitlin and Rivenbark.

Remembering his lessons, and in deference to the seriousness of the undertaking, Rivenbark wasn't dressed, as he usually was, in vivid and colorful clothing. Caitlin was simply wearing her normal black, though without the splash of color provided by a sash or scarf. Mal, as always, was wearing plain drab homespun, a neutral brown in color.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Caitlin whispered. Her chin was practically resting on Rivenbark's shoulder as she watched him work.

"Yes," Rivenbark whispered back. "I'll have this door unlocked in no time!"

"Uh...Rivenbark?" Mal asked softly.

"Yes?"

"When did they start locking this door?"

"When...?" Rivenbark repeated. He paused and looked back at his friends. "Oh," he said. "Have they?" He pushed on the door, and it swung open easily. "Apparently not." He stood up and walked in. "Well," he said cheerfully, "That was simple enough. We're off to a good start!"

Caitlin mumbled something softly to herself, but the others couldn't quite catch what it was, and Mal felt it was wiser not to ask.

They were standing at one end of a long narrow corridor. Doors lined the both walls, leading to offices and study rooms. The rooms were all closed and dark, though this part of the building was left open so that students in search of a quiet place to study would have access to them.

At the far end of the hallway was the door leading to the library itself. Together, the three companions started toward it.

When he reached the library door, Rivenbark knelt down in front of it and got out his equipment. First was a small lantern. It would hold only enough oil for perhaps half an hour, and what light it produced was just bright enough to be useful, but faint enough that it was unlikely to be noticed from too far away. Next came a small, flat, black case filled with lockpicks of various sizes.

Carefully, Rivenbark used flint and tinder to strike a spark and light a small piece of cloth. Then he used the cloth to light the lantern.

Caitlin, wincing as each of Rivenbark's attempts to generate a spark sent echoes wandering around the darkened building, cast a nervous glance down the hall toward the main entrance and whispered, "Couldn't you have done that before we started?"

Rivenbark looked at her. "Yes," he said solemnly. Then he turned back to the door. "But I didn't think of it."

Caitlin watched him studying the lock for a moment and then knelt down behind him and peered over his shoulder at it. It looked sturdy and complicated. "Are you sure you can open this?" she asked in a whisper.

"Are you kidding? This is a breeze! They could use this lock as a test in the first semester course. It's is only a second grade slip sheath!"

Mal hunched down behind his two friends and looked over their heads at the door.

"All you have to do," Rivenbark continued, "Is use a number two pick," he got out a small tool as he spoke and held it in front of him, motionless, "Insert it, move like so, adjust like this..." he performed the moves on an imaginary lock with the fluidity and grace of a painter with a brush, tracing intricate arabesques in the air in front of him.

Mal scratched his head. "But, if you know all this, why couldn't you pass your courses?"

Rivenbark tried to insert the pick into the lock and missed as his hand started to shake.

"Oh..." Caitlin moaned in disgust, covering her eyes.

Rivenbark smiled weakly and tried again, this time managing to insert the pick into the keyhole. Beads of sweat began to appear on his forehead. "I know all the theory..." he said firmly. "I just...have a little difficulty with the application, that's all." He glanced back at Caitlin. "Don't worry. I could open this lock in my sleep."

"Too bad you're awake," Caitlin murmured.

Turning his eyes back to his work, Rivenbark started to mumble quietly to himself. "Let's see, now...feel it...feel it...ow!" The lockpick dropped to the floor, the sound of metal hitting stone disconcertingly loud in the narrow corridor.

"What is it?" Caitlin asked, anxiety making her voice sharp. "What happened? Is something wrong?!"

Rivenbark, sucking at the tip of one finger, picked up the fallen tool with his other hand. "Ouch," he said, his voice muffled by the finger in his mouth. "I just stuck myself with the end of the lockpick."

Caitlin ran one hand through her hair, pulling on several locks hard enough to hurt herself.

"You're upset, aren't you?" Rivenbark asked mildly.

"Just open the lock, Rivenbark," Caitlin replied through clenched teeth, pointedly not adding "If

you can."

Taking a deep breath, Rivenbark reinserted the pick and started to move it around. "Feel it...feel it..." he directed himself in a firm voice, but his hand continued to shake, and sweat was starting to roll into his eyes. "Up...twist!" There was a loud click, and Caitlin jumped in surprise, bumping her head into the bottom of Mal's chin.

"Did you do it?" she yelped. "Is it open?"

"I think so..." Rivenbark said uncertainly. "Either that, or I broke my lockpick." He was having some trouble getting the pick out of the lock. "I think I twisted too hard..." The pick came free suddenly, with a loud snap, and Rivenbark fell heavily back, his elbow catching Caitlin firmly in the stomach and knocking the wind out of her. Both of them rolled back and tumbled to a stop against Mal's ankles, with Rivenbark on top. He looked up at Mal.

"Is there something wrong with your mouth?" he asked.

Mal, who was rubbing his chin gingerly, shook his head.

Rivenbark realized that he was still on top of Caitlin, rolled off of her, and bent over her in concern.

"Caitlin!" he whispered loudly. "Are you all right?"

Mal reached down and helped Caitlin up as she struggled to catch her breath. Bent over, one hand on her stomach and one hand hanging on to Mal's arm, she asked between clenched teeth and gasping for air, "Did you...get it...open?"

Rivenbark turned and pushed on the door. It swung open easily. He turned back to Caitlin. "Yes!" he said, elated. "I told you it was easy! All you have to do is--"

Caitlin pushed roughly past him. "Yeah, right," she said, still straining for air. "Let's just get the sword and get out of here before somebody catches us, all right?"

The library, well-lit and friendly during the day, was a place of shadows at night. There was enough light coming in through the windows to make Rivenbark's lantern unnecessary, so he extinguished it, shuttered it and set it down on a nearby table.

Mal had never been bothered by shadows. Nights spent guarding his father's flocks against predators had cured him of that particular fear, and Rivenbark was too elated to be worried. Caitlin, however, seldom totally calm even at the best of times, was so keyed-up that she was seeing hidden guards in the darkened corners of the room.

Shelves and cabinets lined the walls and took up much of the floor space as well. The light filtering in through the windows cast shadows that seemed to flicker and dance down the aisles. All in all, the whole thing was making her very nervous.

"There it is!" Rivenbark yelped, pointing.

Caitlin jumped at the sound of his voice and whirled furiously toward him. "Will you be quiet!" she hissed sharply.

Rivenbark's eyes sparkled in the dim and shifting light. "Ah, Caitlin!" he said softly, dancing a quick jug around her while she glared at him. "This is the life! This is what I was born to do!"

"Will you stop playing games and get the sword?!" Caitlin snapped.

"Yes, ma'am!" Rivenbark said happily. "One sword, coming up!" He looked around the room, set his lantern down on a nearby table and doused the flame. "No sense wasting oil when the room is this well lit! How convenient!"

He half-walked, half-danced over a to a display case in the center of the room. It was, in essence, a small table with a glass cover on it. Inside the cover, on a cushion of red velvet, was the sword, broken into three pieces: the hilt, with a shard of blade, and the blade itself, snapped in two. The metal was streaked, worn, and pitted.

With a flourish, Rivenbark reached out and tried to lift the glass cover. It didn't move. He glanced around at Caitlin, laughed self-consciously, and tried again. The cover refused to budge.

"What's wrong?" Caitlin asked, her voice edgy.

"Well..." Rivenbark said slowly, "I think it's locked."

"What?!" Caitlin stepped up and peered over Rivenbark's shoulder at the offending case.

"It's locked," Rivenbark repeated.

"All right, then open it!"

Rivenbark looked around until he located the lock at the back of the case and eyed it carefully. Just as he bent over to start working on it, however, a dull thump startled him. He leapt up in surprise, cracking his head against the case. Caitlin whirled around, reaching in fear for the dagger suspended at her waist. She found herself staring at Mal, a short distance away, holding three scrolls and a book.

"Sorry about that," he whispered. "I dropped one."

"What do you think you're doing?" Caitlin snapped. "You scared me half to death!"

Mal shrugged. "Sorry," he said again. "I was looking for some books on magic."

Caitlin closed her eyes for a moment. "We're in the middle of a major robbery here, Mal," she said slowly. "Don't you think there might be a better time to browse the stacks?!"

"Well," Mal replied, "I just thought, as long as we were here..."

"Put the books down and come over here," Caitlin ordered firmly. "Right now."

Mal shrugged and did as she wished. He leaned over and looked at the case curiously. "Is it protected magically?" he asked.

Rivenbark, with two small tools inserted into the lock, froze and rolled his eyes in Mal's direction. "Uh..." he said. Carefully, he withdrew his tools from the lock. Then, as casually as he was able, he stood up. "Say, Caitlin," he asked in a conversational tone. "Can you...uh...you know..." He waved his fingers in what he considered to be a significant manner over the case.

"Check for a magical aura?" Caitlin asked.

"Yes."

Caitlin looked affronted. "Of course I can," she said. "I could work that spell with my eyes closed."

To prove it, she closed her eyes and waved her hands in a complicated gesture. After a moment, she stopped and opened her eyes again. "There," she said disdainfully. "It's clean."

"Good," Rivenbark said, satisfied, and bent to his task again.

After a moment, Caitlin began to fidget. Mal stood behind her, motionless, patient, watching.

After a few more uneventful minutes passed, Caitlin tapped Rivenbark on the shoulder. "Well?" she asked.

Without stopping his work, Rivenbark said, "This one's a little trickier than the one on the door, but I ought to have it any minute now."

Caitlin continued to stare at Rivenbark. Slowly, she began to frown. She had the vague idea that there was something she ought to remember, but it wouldn't quite come to her.

Several more minutes passed while Caitlin worried at the errant thought, and Rivenbark continued his struggle with the lock. Mal patiently continued to watch his friends.

Suddenly, Caitlin's eyes opened wide. "Wait!" she cried.

"Ahh!" said Rivenbark in satisfaction.

"I just remembered--" Caitlin continued.

Click. The lock sprang open, and the library was suddenly filled with a pulsing green light and a high pitched wailing noise.

"--that you can't see a magical aura with your eyes closed!" Caitlin finished mournfully.

Rivenbark pushed on the case. It remained shut fast. "Hmm..." he said, puzzled. "Something appears to be wrong here." He stared at the case and then snapped his fingers. "It must be a double lock! Give me another minute."

Caitlin opened her mouth to say something, but Mal cut her off by reaching past her and smashing a hole in the glass case. There was a flash of bright blue light, and Mal flew ten feet backwards, bounced off of a table and then slammed into a book case. The bookcase fell backward, slamming into another book case, which fell backward and through a large window, its contents spilling onto the walkway outside the library.

Caitlin screamed and ran toward Mal, who was already climbing to his feet, shaking his head groggily.

The pulsing green light made the shadows dance in an even more frenzied manner, and Caitlin was beginning to feel a little dizzy. She grabbed Mal by the shoulders and stared up into his face. "Are you all right?" she yelled. She could barely hear her own voice over the wailing of the alarm.

Continuing to shake his head in a vain attempt to clear his muddled thoughts, Mal staggered past

her, scooped up the pieces of the broken sword and headed toward the door.

Caitlin stared after him and then noticed that Rivenbark was still trying to get the case open.

"Come on!" she yelled at him.

"Hang on!" he shouted back, his voice barely audible over the din. "I've almost got it!"

"Mal!" Caitlin screamed in frustration.

At the door, Mal paused, blinked at her for a moment, and then made his way back into the room. He still held the pieces of the sword clutched in one hand. He used his free hand to pick Rivenbark up and then headed for the door again.

Behind them, the lid of the case suddenly sprang open. "There!" Rivenbark yelled, pointing at the open lid. "I told you I'd get it!"

FIVE

"You know," Mal said, looking around, "Maybe stealing from the school wasn't the best possible way to get them to take us back, after all. It seems to have upset them."

Along with Rivenbark and Caitlin, Mal was standing in a long line of restless people. Everyone leaving the campus was being searched to see if they were carrying the blade of Githon. Since Change Day was also the last day before summer vacation, the lines were extremely long.

"I don't want to think about what they'll do to us if they find it," Caitlin said anxiously.

"Oh, don't worry," Rivenbark told her in what he thought was a reassuring tone. "It's well hidden." He turned to Mal. "It is well hidden, isn't it, Mal?"

Mal shook his head. No," he said calmly. "Actually, it isn't."

Caitlin's eyes widened. "What did you do with it?"

Mal lifted the sack he was holding in his left hand and shook it. From inside it, the sound of metal bouncing against metal could be clearly heard.

"Are you crazy?!" Caitlin yelled. People around them turned to see what the noise was all about, and Caitlin lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. "The point is to prevent them from finding it, Mal!"

"Don't worry," Mal told her calmly. "I have it all figured out. That's why we're in this particular line. You'd better be quiet now. We're getting close to the front."

Caitlin stared at him helplessly for a moment and then turned to Rivenbark. "Why did you give it to him to hide?" she asked.

"He asked," Rivenbark told her. "He said he had a plan."

Caitlin shook her head. "If there is anything that Mal is not, it is subtle. You know that! You--"

"Hush," Mal said. "We're next."

The three friends suddenly found themselves standing before the dean of the School of Fighting and Martial Arts. He looked at them carefully. Mal looked imperturbable and unconcerned. Caitlin appeared tense and angry. Rivenbark had a manic grin on his face and a glassy expression in his eyes. They were each carrying their belongings in packs and bundles.

"You'll have to open those," the dean said firmly. "Unpack everything."

Mal set the sack with the sword in it at his feet and began to unpack his bundles. Rivenbark and Caitlin followed suit. The dean watched them closely.

Finally, after everything but the sack had been opened, its contents examined and then repacked, the dean asked, "Mal, why don't you show me what's in that sack?" He looked suspiciously at his former student.

Rivenbark and Caitlin tensed, but Mal, curiously, only looked embarrassed. "Uh...I'd rather not, sir."

The dean raised one eyebrow. "You'd rather not?" He picked up the sack and shook it. Metal rattled upon metal, drowning out Caitlin's despairing groan. "What is this, Mal?"

"My sword, sir."

"Your sword?" The dean looked up, looked around and made eye contact with two armed guards. They began to move through the crowd toward him. Meanwhile, the dean shook the bag again. "Whatever's in here seems to be in several pieces, Mal."

Mal cleared his throat self-consciously and leaned closer to the dean. "I had a little trouble, sir," he said very quietly. "Getting it...well...out of the tree, sir." He looked pained and glanced around, as if to make sure that no one else had heard what he had said.

"The tree...?" the dean began, puzzled, and then his face cleared. "Oh, yes," he said, smiling. "The tree!" He waved off the approaching guards and handed Mal the sack, unopened, with a chuckle. "You three can go on," he said. He leaned toward Mal and said kindly, "Don't worry. You can get that sword reforged good as new, son." He clapped Mal on the back and chuckled again.

"Thank you, sir," Mal said. "I hope you're right."

As they walked away, Mal remained calm, but Caitlin and Rivenbark were torn between the desire to shout and the need to collapse quietly into a corner with relief. As soon as his back was to the dean, Rivenbark began to grin like an idiot.

"Don't make a sound," Caitlin said tightly. "You'll spoil it."

Rivenbark just nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

"Well," said Mal, carefully not looking back over his shoulder, "We've got it. What do we do now?"

"We go to the fair," Caitlin said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The fair," Caitlin repeated. "It's only going to be there for a few more days, and I want to go before we leave the area."

Mal frowned slightly. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I'm not sure that would be--"

"No!" Rivenbark said, turning to Mal, his eyes sparkling. "That's a great idea! I mean, there'll be a crowd for us to hide in when they come looking for us!"

Caitlin looked suspiciously at Rivenbark. "What makes you think they'll come looking for us?"

Rivenbark smiled weakly. "Well, once they settle down, they'll certainly clean the library up and take a good look around."

"So?"

"So, underneath that table and pile of shelves Mal knocked over, they'll find my lantern."

Caitlin shrugged. "Is that all?" she asked. "Why worry about that? The school store sells hundreds of those lanterns, and they all look alike."

Rivenbark nodded. "Well, I suppose you're right," he said. "They probably won't even check the inside of the shutter."

"The inside of the shutter?" Caitlin could feel her stomach tightening.

Rivenbark nodded. "That's where I scratched my name."

Caitlin closed her eyes and shook her head. "Let me see if I understand this. You took a lantern designed for use during robberies--"

"Covert operations," Rivenbark corrected.

"Robberies," Caitlin continued. "And you scratched your name in it?!"

"Well...I didn't want to lose it."

"All right," Mal said. "Let's go to the fair." He looked around. It had taken them several hours to gather their belongings and several hours more to make it off of the campus, so it was well into the afternoon. "We won't be able to make it tonight."

"We'll have to camp out!" Rivenbark cried enthusiastically.

Caitlin sighed and nodded. "I suppose so. Does either one of you know a good place?"

Mal nodded. "I do."

"Somehow," Caitlin said, "I thought you might."

SIX

Caitlin closed her eyes and leaned back against a tree, her stomach pleasantly full. "That was good," she said, opening one eye and looking at Mal. "I never knew you could cook."

Mal shrugged and continued to clean the dirty dishes in the small stream that ran beside their campsite. "I've spent a lot of time sleeping out on my own," he explained. "It was either learn to cook or eat the food raw."

Rivenbark, who had been staring into the fire, yawned loudly and stretched. "Well," he said tiredly, "I think I'll get some sleep."

"Wait a minute," Caitlin ordered. "This whole sword thing was your idea. What are we supposed to do with this museum piece now that we've got it?"

Rivenbark shrugged, unconcerned. "Get it reforged."

"And, just how are we supposed to do that?" Caitlin wanted to know. "Nobody even knows who made the thing in the first place!" She looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "If only we knew a little more about the sword, maybe we could figure out where to start."

Mal smiled and pulled a small book out of his tunic. "Why don't we start here?" he suggested.

Caitlin sat up and looked at the book curiously. "What's that?"

"A book about the sword."

Leaning over to get a better look, Caitlin asked, "Where did you get it?"

"I found it in the library," Mal answered. "While you two were trying to get the case open." He shrugged. "I figured, as long as we were stealing the sword, we might as well have this book as well."

He set his back against a tree and opened the small book. "It says in here," he told the others, "That the sword was first discovered by Magin of Thistle nearly thirty years ago."

Rivenbark got the sword out of its sack and set it on the ground in front of them. The light from the stars and moon, as well as the small fire Mal had built, illuminated the broken weapon clearly.

"How did it get all these marks on it?" Rivenbark asked, fingering a spot where the metal had apparently melted and then resolidified.

Mal flipped through the book. "Well, according to scholars, the hottest forge can't melt the metal. They think it would have taken the flame of one of the greater dragons to do it."

Rivenbark whistled in amazement and stared at the blade with new respect. "This thing must be a thousand years old!"

"Wait a minute," Caitlin said. "If the hottest forge can't melt it, how was it made in the first place?"

Mal shrugged. "If they knew that," he pointed out, "They could have reforged it by now."

Rivenbark ran his fingers through three parallel grooves at the base of the blade. "Where did these marks come from?" he asked.

Mal continued to leaf through the book. "It says here that they were probably made by Gristok the Troll."

Rivenbark look up. "Gristok?" he cried. "They say he was fifteen feet tall and could tear through solid stone with his bare hands!"

"And that he killed two hundred people!" Caitlin added.

Mal nodded, continuing to study the book. "They think that most of the other marks on the blade were made by other creatures just as powerful."

Rivenbark was entranced by the blade. The flickering and shifting nature of the available light gave it a mystical appearance, and his mind conjured up fantastic images of the battles the sword must have seen and the mighty warrior that it would have taken to wield it.

Caitlin looked over at Mal and said, "Are you seriously saying," she asked, "That this sword really was used to fight most of the strongest monsters of the last age?"

"That's what it says here," Mal replied, holding up the book.

"And they have no idea who wielded it?" Rivenbark asked.

"No."

"Whoever it was must have been..." He waved his hands in the air, at a loss for the right words.

"Most of this is just theory, though," Mal said. "All they know for sure is that the word 'Githon' is inscribed on the hilt."

Rivenbark picked the hilt up and held it closer to the fire. "Here it is!" he cried. "I found it! It says 'Githon!'"

"Thank you, Rivenbark," Caitlin said drily. "What does it mean?"

"Well," Mal said, "there seems to be a difference of opinion on that point. Most scholars, though," he paused to turn a page, "Seem to agree that it's a corruption of the elven word 'gidh- jaan.'"

Caitlin frowned. "Funny sounding for an elven word," she commented.

"It's an old dialect no longer in use," Mal explained.

"What does it mean?" Rivenbark asked.

"Um...it says here, 'ever sharp.'"

"Oh, well, that's a great help," Caitlin said. "How do we--"

"Ouch!" Rivenbark interrupted. The others looked over to find him staring at a bright line of blood on his thumb. "It's still sharp," he confirmed. "I wonder how it got broken? It must have taken some incredible power to do it!"

"Never mind how it got broken!" Caitlin said. "How are we going to get it fixed?"

"Oh, that's obvious!" Rivenbark told her. "We just take it to the elves!"

Caitlin shook her head. "Could you cast a spell of wraith weaving?"

Rivenbark looked confused. "No."

"Why not?" Caitlin asked. "A human invented it."

There was a moment of silence, and then Rivenbark said, "Oh. You mean that, even if an elf did create it, it doesn't mean that elves in general can reforge it."

Caitlin nodded. "Brilliant."

"All right then," Rivenbark said happily, "We'll just go find the specific elf that made it!"

Shaking her head, Caitlin groaned, "No, no, no..."

"What's wrong now?" Rivenbark asked.

Mal cleared his throat. "If the sword was around when the greater dragons were still alive, then whoever created it must have been dead a long time by now."

"Or else he's very old," Rivenbark corrected.

"Nobody's that old," Caitlin said.

"Oh." There was a moment of silence. "This may not be quite as easy as we thought, guys." He frowned in thought, and then his face brightened. "I know!" he cried. "Why don't we go to the elven library at Riveredge? It's supposed to be the biggest library around."

"Which is why scholars have been combing it for a decade looking for references to the sword," Mal said.

Rivenbark's face fell. "Oh."

"Look," Mal said, "I have an idea. We're going to go to the fair, anyway, right?"

Caitlin nodded, and Rivenbark said, "Right."

"All right," Mal continued. "While we're there, why don't we ask around among the dwarves."

Rivenbark looked confused. "Why dwarves?" he asked. "I mean, since this was an elven blade?"

Mal frowned. "Maybe it wasn't," he said. "Maybe they're wrong about that."

Caitlin stared at him. "What makes you thinks that?"

Shrugging, Mal said, "Well, two reasons. First, nobody's gotten anywhere acting on the elf theory, and, second, 'Githon' sounds like a dwarven word to me."

Caitlin shook her head. "That's it?" she asked. "That's you're entire argument?"

"They didn't really have any better reason for deciding it was made by an elf," Mal said. "It was found by an elf in first place, and he came up with the derivation of 'Githon' and no one ever disagreed with him. Besides, what good will it do us to till ground that someone else has already furrowed?"

"Excuse me?"

"The experts have been following up the elvish theory for a long time with no results. What good will it do us to simply follow in their footsteps? And, since we're going to the fair anyway, where we're bound to run into a lot of dwarves, we might as well ask."

"But," Caitlin protested, "Surely someone has already done that."

Mal frowned. "I don't know," he said. "Scholars have a tendency to talk to scholars. Blacksmiths don't tend to rank high on that list. Besides, what else are we going to go?"

Caitlin shook her head again. "Alright, whatever you say. Anyway, let's worry about it tomorrow. I think I'll get some sleep now." Yawning, she pulled a blanket out of her pack. Following her example, the other two got out blankets and settled down for the night.

Caitlin dropped off quickly, but Rivenbark was too excited to sleep. Finally, he was getting things done! This was what life was supposed to be like!

Mal, after dousing the fire, found a spot where he could watch Caitlin as she slept. He had no idea how long he spent looking at her face before he finally drifted off to sleep himself. His dreams were very pleasant.

SEVEN

They reached the village of Larchfield the next day. Tents and temporary buildings ringed the village like a wreath of brightly colored wildflowers Pennants flapped in the breeze, and crowds of people flowed around and between everything. Music and laughter filled the air.

In an attempt to bring some sense of order to the confusion, as well as to make a little money, the village council had ordered the area enclosed by a rope strung between stakes, with a temporary gate across the road.

Two burly men stood watch at the gate, neither one in a very good mood. They were well aware that anyone who wanted to avoid the gate could do so by simply slipping under the rope at some other point, and that made standing at the gate in the sun all day long seem rather pointless, somehow.

The two men glared at Caitlin and Rivenbark as they approached. They avoided glaring at Mal, who was substantially bigger than either of them.

"Halt!" one of the men ordered as soon as the trio was close enough. "State your names and business."

"My name's Rivenbark!" Rivenbark said immediately. "This is Caitlin, and this is Malledagarithon." He rolled Mal's name around his mouth and finally presented it to them with a flourish. "We're here to go to the fair!" He nodded once to emphasize his statement.

The guard stared at them for a moment and then said, "That'll be two silver bits." He paused for effect. "Each."

Caitlin smiled politely at the men and took a small piece of parchment out of one of her pouches. "We're students at the College of Ru'aath," she said, waving the parchment in front of the man's face. "Doesn't that mean we get in free?"

"But," Rivenbark began, "We--"

Caitlin elbowed him in the stomach, and he yelped and shut up.

The guard's eyes narrowed. "You were going to say..."

"That we're students," Rivenbark said, his voice a bit hoarse. "Doesn't that mean we get in free?"

The guard glared suspiciously at them for a moment, and then his gaze wandered toward Mal, who was smiling politely. Abruptly, the man made up his mind. He didn't want any trouble with this group. "Go ahead in," he said, while his partner opened the gate.

They walked in and almost immediately found themselves lost in a crowd of people. Most of them were dressed in gaudy summer clothes, so even Rivenbark's bright costume didn't stand out too badly. The strains of a harp drifted above the crowd, and Mal looked in the direction the sound was coming from.

"Let's go see the music contest," he suggested. "The best musicians in the world are supposed to compete here."

Caitlin shook her head. "Don't they have a martial arts exhibition here?" she asked. "I'd like to see that!"

Rivenbark was looking around, his eyes wide, taking everything in as people rushed around him. Caitlin turned to him and opened her mouth to say something but was pushed roughly from behind before she could make a sound. If Mal hadn't caught her, she'd have fallen.

The dwarf that had pushed her rushed past without a word, running as fast as he could.

"I didn't know dwarves could move that fast!" Rivenbark said in awe. "That's impressive!"

"He's lucky he's that fast," Caitlin said angrily. "I don't have a chance of catching him!" She watched the dwarf vanish into the crowd. With all of her thoughts on the dwarf, she had forgotten that Mal had caught her, and he simply continued to hold her without a word, never even seeing the dwarf as he passed. After a moment, Caitlin realized that Mal was still holding her up. "Oh, sorry," she said with a laugh, regaining her balance.

Mal opened his mouth, not knowing what he was about to say but dreadfully afraid that he was about to make a fool of himself, when a shout cut the air.

"Stop! Thief!"

The three friends froze for an instant and then turned slowly to look behind them. Two guards were running at them, shouting. "Thief! Stop!" Slowly, Rivenbark started to raise his hands, and then the guards were upon them and past them. They watched the guards vanish into the crowd, too stunned to move or speak. It was Mal who finally broke the silence.

"They're after the dwarf," he said. "That's why he was in such a hurry."

Rivenbark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think," he said, "That I saw an ale tent just over there." He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. "How about a drink?"

"Good idea," Caitlin said with a nod, gasping slightly and wondering if her heart would ever

slow back down. "Just lead the way."

Rivenbark forced his way through the crowd, wriggling through gaps and using his elbows where he had to, and headed into a brightly colored tent with a signboard depicting a foaming mug. There were no empty seats, so the three friends made their way to the bar and ordered their drinks.

A few moments later, Rivenbark lifted his mug, stared at it for a moment, and then said, "Well, if we made if this far, I'm sure we'll make it all of the way." He tilted the mug back to drink and then choked in midswallow, spraying beer in a wide stream as a large meaty hand slapped him on the back, and a loud voice said, "How are you, boy?"

Coughing, Rivenbark looked around. A red-faced overweight man was standing next to him, a lopsided grin on his face. He was a complete stranger to Rivenbark. He tried to tell the man that he didn't know who he was, but his air passages were still filled with beer, so he just waved his arms around in a manner that didn't actually communicate anything at all.

Gradually, the man's smile dimmed, and his eyes narrowed. "You can't return a civil greeting, boy?" he asked dangerously, setting his drink down on the bar to free his hands.

In desperation, Rivenbark found his voice. "No, no, it isn't that!" he cried. "I just--"

"What is that?" the man broke in, weaving slightly and leaning forward to peer intently at Rivenbark's face.

"What..." Rivenbark started to say, but the man didn't give him a chance to finish his thought.

"You've got something growing under you nose!" the man bellowed, attempting to point at the spot he was staring at and nearly putting out Rivenbark's left eye. "Somebody get me a towel," the man cried, turning and knocking over his drink, "so I can clean this boy's face!"

"Now, wait just a minute!" Rivenbark yelled, flushing slightly and fingering his moustache. He knew it wasn't coming in well, and he was a little sensitive about it. "I'll have you know--"

"Hold still!" the man yelled, turning back to Rivenbark. He'd gotten a rag from somewhere, and, in his haste to clean Rivenbark's face, he was jamming the dirty piece of cloth into his hapless victim's mouth.

Struggling, unable to speak, and barely able to breathe, Rivenbark was forced to resort to nonverbal communication. He lashed out with his foot, catching the man on the ankle.

With a cry of pain and rage, the man leapt back, giving Rivenbark time to spit out the rag.

"Say," the man said ominously, limping slightly as he advanced unsteadily toward Rivenbark again. I'm gonna have to rearrange your teeth for that. Nothing personal, you understand. It's just that a man's gotta have principles, you know."

As the man cocked his fist back, Rivenbark screwed his eyes shut and winced in anticipated pain. He heard the sound of the impact, but he was astonished to discover that he hadn't felt anything at all. He opened one eye cautiously, as if not exactly certainly that he actually wanted to see whatever it would show him.

The man had swung, but he hadn't connected. Mal's hand had appeared out of nowhere, interposing itself between Rivenbark's face and disfigurement. The man's fist had slammed into Mal's open palm with absolutely no visible effect. Mal's hand gently closed around the man's fist, locking it in place.

"This is a friend of mine," Mal said quietly. "I would appreciate it if you'd leave him alone."

The man tried to pull his hand back, but Mal's hand didn't budge. The man's eyes narrowed. Mal wasn't hurting him, but he was holding him fast.

"Let me go," the man said, "So I can push this boy's face in."

Sighing, Mal looked around. "Would you get me a rock, please, Caitlin?"

As the man continued his ineffectual attempts to free his hand, Caitlin ran outside, found a medium sized stone and ran back in.

"Here you go, Mal," she said, handing it to him. Her eyes sparkled slightly as she tried to figure out what he was going to do with the stone.

"Thank you." Mal took the stone in his free hand and held it up for the man to see. It was about the size of the man's fist. Mal closed his free hand around the rock and squeezed. Muscles

swelled and stood out on his arms, visible even beneath the normally loose sleeves of his tunic. The stone popped and cracked as Mal continued to tighten his grip and then finally shattered, sending small chunks flying in every direction. Mal opened his hand and dropped the remaining pile of dust and gravel onto the floor. His eyes wide, and his mind suddenly very sober, the man looked at his fist still wrapped in Mal's other hand and swallowed audibly.

"Now, " Mal asked, "Will you kindly go away and leave my friend alone?"

Eyes still fixed on Mal's hand, the man nodded frantically.

Mal smiled and opened his hand. "Good," he said, satisfied. "Thank you."

Backing away, the man kept his eyes on Mal. He tripped several times on his way to the tent's opening, but he finally made it and then turned and ran out at top speed.

"You're letting him get away!" Caitlin cried, pointing toward the tent flap. "Just like you did that other guy!"

Mal shrugged and turned back to the bar. "So?" he asked. "Why shouldn't I? He won't bother us any more."

"But..." Caitlin said, "But...you can't just let him go! He ought to be punished! He can't go around picking on people like that!"

Mal looked at her, frowning. "I'm not going to beat him unconscious just because you feel outraged," he said mildly. "Nobody got hurt, so let's just leave it at that."

"How can you say nobody got hurt?" Caitlin cried. "Just look at poor Rivenbark!"

Mal turned and looked. "Poor Rivenbark" was engaged in an animated conversation with the man next to him. He was gesturing wildly and making his points by moving mugs and pitchers around on the bar. As nearly as Mal could tell, Rivenbark was relating a complicated story involving two elves, three dwarves who looked exactly alike and a sick pig.

"He doesn't look hurt to me," Mal said.

Caitlin glowered, first at Mal, and then at Rivenbark. "Let's get of here and look around the rest of the fair," she said finally, "All right?"

"All right," Mal agreed.

EIGHT

They stepped out of the ale tent and back into the swirling crowd.

"So, what should we see first?" Mal asked.

"The martial arts exhibition!" Caitlin said.

Mal nodded. "Then the music competition?" He asked.

Caitlin nodded, already looking around for a sign pointing the way to the fighting ring.

"What do you want to see, Rivenbark?" Mal asked.

"A better drawing!" Rivenbark cried angrily and with apparently irrelevance.

That was enough to attract Caitlin's attention. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"My moustache looks a lot better than that!" Rivenbark continued. "They do seem to have gotten you down perfectly, though, Kate."

Caitlin and Mal followed Rivenbark's gaze and found themselves staring at a wanted poster pinned to a board a short distance away. Two guards lounged beneath the board.

"I could pick you right out of a crowd with that picture," Rivenbark continued. "Even if I'd never seen you before."

Caitlin's eyes bugged out, and she stared at the posters, her face growing even paler than usual. "What do we do now?" she asked in a choked voice.

"I think we'd better find the dwarves and get out of here as soon as possible," Mal said.

"Good plan!" Rivenbark told him. He turned and led his friends away from the guards. "And the easiest way to find dwarves," he explained cheerfully, "Is to find a Growler restaurant."

"I know," Caitlin told him, looking anxiously back over her shoulder at the guards, trying to see if they were paying any attention to the trio.

One of the guards saw her glancing repeatedly back toward him, nudged his companion, and waved at her. Caitlin immediately looked away and didn't look back again.

"And the easiest way to find a Growler restaurant," Rivenbark continued, "Is to listen for the loudest noise."

"I know," Caitlin said with a little more force, definitely not looking back.

"And the easiest way to--"

"I know!!" Caitlin yelled, cutting him off.

"Is to be quiet and listen," Rivenbark finished. Caitlin opened her mouth to say something but then changed her mind and closed it again.

A myriad of sounds drifted past the three friends as they made their way across the fairgrounds. The music competition was being held a short distance away, and the sound of a horn rose above the noises of the crowd. A forge was in operation not far from the ale tent, and the ringing of hammers provided a counterpoint to the horn's song. The loudest noise, however, was clearly a bass rumble from straight ahead.

They followed the sound for several hundred yards, until they found themselves outside a small

brown tent. Both the noise and an enticing aroma rose from the tent, which was surrounded by a

ring of empty ground. There were no other tents within fifty yards of this one. Space was at a

premium at the fair, but no one want to be located next to the Growlers and their patrons if they

could help it.

Caitlin, with both hands over her ears, yelled, "What do you think that racket is?!!"

Rivenbark shrugged and cocked his head. "I think it's..."

"Singing!" Mal finished for him.

"Singing," Rivenbark agreed.

With a smile and with no hesitation, Mal walked into the tent, closely followed by Rivenbark and Caitlin. At the same instant, the noise cut off abruptly.

The interior of the tent was filled with tables and dwarves and very little empty space. In the center of the enclosure, several tables had been pushed together. On top of the tables was a group of dwarves. In front of the group was a single dwarf waving a small axe.

"No, no, no!" the armed dwarf bellowed. "Is an A sharp!"

"No, is a B flat!" argued one of the choir members.

"A sharp and B flat are same note!" the conductor yelled.

"Not when Kanda sings!" commented a different choir member.

A third choir member, presumably Kanda, outraged at the insult, smacked the second choir member in the head.

"Not fight!" bellowed the conductor. "Sing!"

Several members of the group began to sing, and the conductor waved his axe furiously. "No! It is to wait for Teged to give signal!"

The sporadic singing stopped, and the small group of dwarves mumbled among themselves for a moment and then nodded as if reaching a consensus.

"Hokay?" the conducting dwarf asked. The group rumbled its agreement. The conductor nodded, raised his axe and then began to gesture expansively with it. At the same time, the group of dwarves burst into song again. Somewhere behind them, horns and drums rang out.

"What do you suppose it is that they're singing?" Caitlin asked, putting her head next to Mal's and shouting into his ear while covering her own ears with both hands. The noise was phenomenal.

Mal listened carefully. The noise of the horns and drums, coupled with the fact that the dwarves were bellowing at maximum volume, made distinguishing the lyrics rather difficult. "It's either..." he said slowly, "A call to battle..." he paused again, "Or a lullaby."

"Whatever it is," Rivenbark yelled, "They certainly do sing it with a lot of feeling!"

Around the room, tables began to shake with the force of the song, and several pieces of crockery shattered simultaneously.

A small, chubby, ursine golden-furred creature in a pastel robe stepped out of the crowd. It opened its mouth, and, though, neither Mal, Caitlin nor Rivenbark could hear its voice, the music stopped instantly.

The creature bowed politely and, in a gentle voice, said, "This one regrets to say that seven plates have been broken."

The members of the choir all pulled out money pouches and began tossing coins to the Growler. The creature deftly caught the money, bowed again, and disappeared into the crowd.

Caitlin took her hands away form her ears and shook her head to clear it. "Whew! That was some noise!"

She looked around. Dwarves and more dwarves were eating, drinking and talking. The noise level in the tent was still horrendous by human standards, but, compared to the volume the choir had generated, it seemed almost silent. "How are we going to find out what we need to know?"

Gently pushing Caitlin aside, Rivenbark stepped to the front of the group and said dramatically, "Let me handle this."

The chorus chose that moment to burst into song again.

Taking a deep breath, Rivenbark yelled, "Can anybody tell me..." then, realizing that no once could hear him, he cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed, "EXCUSE ME!!!"

Unfortunately, the chorus had chosen that moment to stop singing again, and, in the sudden silence, Rivenbark's scream was both piercing and painful.

The chorus conductor turned, frowning, and said, "Not need to screech like newly neutered troll. Dwarfs not are deaf!"

Rivenbark cleared his throat in an apologetic manner. "Excuse me," he said, "But I would like to ask a question."

"What is?"

"Can you tell me who knows the most about forging weapons?"

There are three subjects on which every dwarf has an opinion: ale, mining and forging. Of these, ale is the most popular, but forging and mining are very close seconds.

The instant Rivenbark finished his question, every dwarf in the tent tried to answer him, and, since each dwarf considered himself an expert and knew that all the other dwarves would be shouting out the wrong answer, each dwarf tried to outshout his neighbor.

What dwarves consider to be a normal conversational tone, every other civilized race considers to be almost painfully loud. A tent full of dwarves trying to outshout each other created a virtual explosion of sound that caused Caitlin and Rivenbark to drop to the floor with their hands clamped over their ears. Mal winced under the barrage of noise, covered his ears with his hands and lowered his head like a man walking into a strong wind, but he remained on his feet.

Eventually, the dwarves sorted themselves out into various groups, each supporting a particular family or individual.

"What about Forgehammer?!" a basso voice suggested loudly after the initial chaos had settled down somewhat.

"No, no, no!" several other voices protested. "Is not as good as Trollcrusher family!"

A third group of dwarves disagreed with this statement, and it looked like a major brawl was about to start. Several minor brawls were already in progress around the tent. Suddenly, a voice stopped everyone in mid-fracas by asking, "What about Anvilbreaker family?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then, with the exception of the individual who had asked the question, all the dwarves found themselves in total agreement.

"NO!!!!"

That point settled, the minor brawls resumed, accompanied by the sounds of crockery being smashed and tables collapsing.

Since many of the dwarves were now too busy fighting to yell, the general noise level actually dropped, and Caitlin and Rivenbark climbed unsteadily back to their feet.

"What do we do now?" Caitlin asked, looking around in dismay.

"Well..." Mal said carefully, "I think, if we wait a few minutes, we'll be able to get an answer."

"What make you say that?" Caitlin wanted to know. "It looks like they could keep this up for hours."

Mal shook his head. "No, most of the combatants should be unconscious pretty soon, and that'll calm things down a little."

Eventually, the dwarves sorted it out among themselves, and one particularly battered individual emerged from the wreckage to announce, "Answer is Forgehammer family."

"But, that's the first one you mentioned!" Caitlin said in exasperation.

The dwarf shrugged. "So?" he asked. "Others not agree with Dokaa before." He looked around the wreckage with satisfaction. "Dokaa is persuasive debater."

"They don't all agree with you now!" Caitlin argued. "Most of them are just unconscious."

Dokaa shrugged. "Close enough," he said.

"Where can we find the Forgehammers?" Mal asked, before Caitlin could comment again.

The dwarf frowned in thought. "Go to see Gadek Forgehammer at Fang Mountain," he said. "Is oldest Forgehammer alive."

"Thanks a lot!" Rivenbark said, a big grin on his face. "No problem! This is going to be as easy as picking a--"

He stopped as, turning to walk out, he almost tripped over a Growler who was standing behind him.

"Pardon," the Growler said, bowing.

"Oh, no, it was my fault." Rivenbark was at his breeziest. "I didn't see you there. Sorry."

The Growler bowed again. "Before our honored guests depart, there is a small matter to be taken care of." He handed Rivenbark a piece of parchment.

"What's this?" Rivenbark asked, looking at the long list of numbers.

"The tally," the Growler told him apologetically.

"Wait a minute!" Caitlin protested, stepping forward and taking the parchment out of Rivenbark's hand. "Tally for what?! We didn't eat anything."

"This one humbly begs pardon for the lack of clarity. The tally is not for food but for the damages." The Growler gestured at the eating area. The three friends turned and looked.

What had once been a group of neatly arranged tables covered with fine crockery was now a mass of splintered wood and shattered dishes. Food was splattered across the sides of the tent, and puddles of ale darkened the ground. The destruction was nearly complete.

"Broken furniture," the Growler said softly, "Shattered bowls and platters, wasted food and drink, and our new rear exit."

"Rear exit?" Rivenbark asked, looking around. Then he spotted a hole in the rear of the tent. Apparently one of the dwarves had thrown his dining companion a little harder than he'd intended to.

"Well," Caitlin said incredulously, "surely you don't expect us to pay for this! We didn't wreck anything!"

"Apologies," said the growler. "This one is often prone to error."

"That's all right," Caitlin said graciously.

"But," continued the growler, gesturing at Rivenbark, "Did that one not ask the question that began to discussion among our other honored guests?"

"Well, yes," Caitlin admitted.

"So," the Growler said with a polite smile. "Then that one is at fault and must make reparations."

"Oh, all right," Rivenbark said, taking the bill back from Caitlin, looked at it and then reached into one of his pouches. Turning to his friends, he asked, "Can you guys lend me a little money to help pay this?"

"Sure," Mal said.

"Yes, of course," Caitlin said. "How much do you need?"

Rivenbark looked at the bill again. "Well," he said cheerfully, "this comes to sixteen hundred gold pieces and three silver bits. I can cover the three silver bits."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the rising sound of dwarves beginning to regain consciousness. It is rarely totally silent within the confines of a Growler restaurant, even when most of the patrons are out cold.

Caitlin gaped at Rivenbark for a moment then turned on the Growler and snapped, "Now, listen,

you larcenous little furball! If you think that we're going to pay--"

The Growler softly cleared his throat. It was a gentle sound, and Caitlin would have bet that it couldn't have carried more than three feet, but every dwarf in the tent was instantly silent and staring at the three friends.

"--then you're absolutely right," Caitlin finished without missing a beat.

"We're just a little short right now," Rivenbark added.

There was an ominous rumbling among the dwarves, and Rivenbark added, "I mean, we don't have quite enough money."

Mal bowed to the Growler and said, "Kalaad domi tu? Hegek cha koom?" His voice had become deep and guttural. Caitlin and Rivenbark looked at him in surprise.

The Growler smiled and bowed again. "This one apologizes for not having seen," he said gently. "You may work the debt off by making a delivery."

This was enough to divert Caitlin's attention from Mal. "A delivery?" she asked. "Where to?"

"Fang Mountain."

"Fang Mountain?!" Rivenbark yelped joyously, dancing a quick two-step. "That just where we want to go! We'll do it!"

"May the wind bow before you," the Growler said. "Horses are already packed and waiting outside of the tent." The Growler inclined its head toward Caitlin and Rivenbark. "Go and be well." He then bowed deeply to Mal. "Go and be well, kaalami."

They watched the small creature disappear into the depths of the tent, and then Mal said, "It does seem to have worked out pretty well."

"Pretty well?!" Rivenbark cried. "It's great! Wonderful! Like it was preordained! We were meant to get the sword fixed!"

"Shh!!" Caitlin hissed, waving her hands. "Are you crazy?! Be quiet about the you-know- what!"

Mal ushered them outside, and they found three horses waiting for them: obese animals covered with soft golden hair. They were laden with boxes and packages, all with the names of various dwarven families written on them.

"At least they could have given us some to ride," Caitlin sighed. "Or directions. How do we get to this Fang Mountain, anyway?"

"It's north of here," Mal told her while he checked the horses, making certain the bundles were tight.

"And why Fang Mountain?" Caitlin continued. "Why couldn't they have sent us to some place with a nice welcoming name?" She turned to Mal. "How far away did you say this place was?"

"I didn't. And you don't want to know."

At that moment, Caitlin spotted the guard who had waved to her previously. He was standing near the edge of the crowd about fifty yards away looking at every person intently, and he was holding a piece of parchment in his hand.

"Uh-oh," Rivenbark said.

Mal looked up from the packs of food. "What is it?" he asked.

Caitlin nodded her head toward the distant guard. "If he takes it into his head to look this way, we're dead. What do we do?"

Rivenbark gestured disdainfully. "Act naturally," he said.

"Leave," Mal suggested. "Come on."

Leading the horses, they walked carefully away from the distant guard and toward the edge of the fairgrounds.

"We better not go out one of the gates," Rivenbark said. "Let's go under the rope somewhere."

Caitlin nodded, absolutely definitely not checking constantly over her shoulder for guards.

"Maybe," she said in a shaky voice, "This sword thing wasn't such a good idea after all."

To Be Continued . . .