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  The sword weighed nothing in her hands, and its vibrations filled her every movement. Her blood rushed through her body, and her mind rejoiced within the fight. When Miles had turned, reversing his ground to attack her from the side, she had moved as he'd taught her and caught his sword well away from her. Following both her instincts and her new training, she completed the short circle, her wrists flicking backwards to attack Miles before he had recovered.

  She swung at a spot in front of him, but found her blade deflected. Angered that he had read her movements so accurately, Gwendolyn summoned up her energy from deep within and began to attack Miles relentlessly. They were both rooted to the spot, staring into each other's eyes as they fought. And fight they did. Neither gave an inch. Their blades met time and time again, sweat pouring from their faces, burning their eyes, half blinding them, but still neither gave in.

  Then, in a blurring of motion which Gwendolyn could barely follow, Miles ducked beneath her blade, rolled on the ground, and regained his feet behind her, just as she turned to face him. But she was too late. The tip of his sword rested at her neck.

  She lowered her blade and gazed at him. "I yield, Sir Knight," she whispered.

  "Accepted," he replied as he lowered his blade. "Gwendolyn, you are my equal," he declared.

  "No!" she spat suddenly, unwanted tears welling in her eyes. "No! If I were, you would not have beaten me so easily."

  "I did not beat you easily, far from it. It was only my experience which aided me," he told her.

  "Again," she said suddenly.

  "Are you still so eager?"

  "I would have another chance," she replied.

  Miles nodded, and she saw his lopsided grin come fully into being. "Madame," he said formally.

  "My lord," she responded, dipping her head in a slight bow. When Miles raised his sword over his head, Gwendolyn did the same, but this time, unlike the time before, she freed her mind, clearing it of everything save the sword in Miles's hand. With her fingers vibrating, she whirled the silver sword before stepping forward.

  Their swords met in the air, and once again the sound of metal reverberated above them, and they began to fight in earnest. Slashing, parrying, attacking, and defending became the only things in Gwendolyn's mind. She followed every flicker of Miles's green eyes, expertly anticipating his every move. Until again, Miles turned from her in an unexpected move and was almost upon her.

  “No!" she screamed in denial as she spun quickly away.

  Anger filled her that he'd almost tricked her again, and that very anger lent power to her arms as she faced him across the space often feet.

  Miles lifted his sword, whirling it quickly over his head.

  Gwendolyn saw the flashing of sunlight from its length, but did not let that scare her. Suddenly she knew what she must do, and even as she thought it, it happened. She sensed the power flowing through her and felt herself become one with the silver blade she held. She lifted it, letting it circle over her head, controlling it with the barest of movements of her wrist. Her eyes locked on Miles's, and then they were together.

  “No!" she screamed again when she swung her sword at his. The blades met in the air above, just as they had twice before. But this time, instead of the clash of metal, a loud screeching resounded, and Gwendolyn knew the power of the sword had risen. The instant her blade touched his, she felt it tear through its tempered length. Miles's sword screamed in protest as it was severed.

  Then neither fighter moved, as both their eyes followed the arc of his blade until it hit the stone wall twenty feet behind. Slowly, her face filled with shock, she lowered the silver sword and stared at her husband.

  In the very moment their swords had met, Gwendolyn had become aware of her anger. She realized, also, that if she had lowered the blade, she would have killed Miles instantly. She saw, too, that the anger which had gripped her could have directed the blade. Suddenly she was afraid, and because of that, opened her hands to let the silver sword fall to the ground.

  She turned without a word and ran from the inner keep.

  When she reached the outer bailey, she did not pause, but instead continued running. She did not see the barbican when she passed through it, nor did she feel the wooden planks beneath her feet as she ran across the bridge. Her mind was filled with a horror she could barely contain, and all she wanted to do was run until she could not see, or think, or be.

  With self-loathing filling all her thoughts, Gwendolyn ran on, unmindful of the weight of the scale armor, caring not that the sun poured down upon her mailled head. All she craved was to escape, and she forced her legs to carry her until she disappeared into the thickness of the forest, leaving the castle far behind in her panic.

  Miles stood rooted to the spot, watching Gwendolyn run from him. He wanted to race after her, but forced himself to stay still. He had seen the recognition of her act spring onto her face. He had felt the full impact of her thoughts and knew she must be alone to come to her senses. Nothing he could tell her, nothing he might say, would ease the torment. It was a lesson she had to learn for herself, just as he had learned it.

  She was his equal; he had not lied to her. He was more experienced than she, but that would soon be a thing of the past. A moment before, she had grown angry at nearing another defeat and had summoned her reserve to fend him off. What he had seen was that she had also summoned the help of the silver sword.

  When their blades met, and his had been severed, he'd seen the barest of flashes, like a lightning bolt, spew from the blades. It was then that his steel had been cut. But Gwendolyn had not seen that. She'd seen only that she had defeated him, and the knowledge that she could have killed him had struck her deeply.

  Miles sighed, remembering when he had faced his father just before he had been knighted. They had fought for almost an hour, until, at last: Miles could not hold his anger in check, and had attacked and attacked and attacked his father until his blade had hit home, and he'd won the fight.

  At the instant his blade had touched his father's neck, Miles had realized he'd won, and his fingers had released the handle. The blade had hit the maille, but without his strength behind it was deflected harmlessly. Yet his father carried a bruise on the side of his neck for a fortnight.

  It had been then that Miles had realized he might have killed his father. He'd seen that he'd had the power to do so, and had in fact almost done that very thing.

  It had taken him the entire night to understand that he, not fate or anything else, had stopped his hand from the killing stroke. And he knew that Gwendolyn, too, must come to that very realization.

  "My lord?" called Arthur as he stepped before Miles. Miles shook his head and looked down at the young squire. "Yes?"

  "Your sword," he said, holding up the severed tip. "I have never seen anything like it."

  Miles took the two-foot section and held it up. The metal end was smoothly torn, there were none of the ragged edges that come from a normal sword break. The only mark was a darkened line, as if it had been held over fire.

  "A fault in the metal," Miles whispered before he handed the squire the sword. Then he bent and picked up Gwendolyn's sword. He turned and gazed at James. "Take your knight's sword, Squire. Clean it and sheath it properly." When James took the blade, Miles removed his coif-de- maille. When that was done, he left the bailey and went to his chamber.

  There, he extended his mailled forearm to Valkyrie, who gazed at him for a moment. When the eagle was safely perched on his arm, Miles returned to the courtyard and ascended to the high walkway.

  He stared out at the forests that surrounded the castle, wondering where Gwendolyn was. When he lifted his arm, he spoke to the eagle. "Find her," he ordered. "Go to her." He swung his arm upward, and when it reached the apex of the swing, Valkyrie released his talons, spread his wings, and rose from the maille perch.

  Miles watched the golden eagle circle the keep once and then fly outward. He watched until the bird was nothing more than a speck ag
ainst the crystal sky, and even when he saw Valkyrie dive into the dense forest, he stayed on the walkway, willing the eagle to find his mistress, and to tell her that he understood.

  Chapter Nine

  GWENDOLYN ran as she’d never run before. Nothing mattered save that she get away. For an hour, her strong and muscular legs pumped heavily, forcing her leather-bound feet to fly over the ground. She tried to close her mind to the images that haunted her, but that was impossible. Over and over she saw the silver sword flash, hitting Miles's blade and shearing it in half. Then she would see it again, but instead of hitting the sword, her shining blade dropped lower and severed her husband's head. She willed her legs to move faster, wanting the physical movement to banish her mental agony, but it did not.

  Gwendolyn was not conscious of the path she took, nor did she realize how deep she was running into the forest. Before her eyes were only the images of the old keep, and of her husband, whom, with a bare flick of her wrists, she could have killed moments ago.

  Finally, with her breath coming in harsh, tearing gasps, she could move no further and collapsed on the ground, her eyes closed, her hands balled into tight fists. Her bound breasts heaved against their restraints, and the weight of the scale armor grew heavy on her shoulders. She shook her head, but still the images would not depart.

  A long while later, with her breathing under control, she blinked away her tears and sat up. She gazed around and saw tall stately trees surrounding her, and she wondered how she'd gotten so far. Standing, her muscles protesting painfully, she began to walk, but froze when she heard a loud call.

  Looking up, she spied Valkyrie sitting on a large branch.

  She held out her arm and the golden eagle dropped from the tree, gliding in the narrow confines of the forest to alight on her mailled wrist.

  Gwendolyn held the eagle's eyes level- with hers and stared into them. "Hello, my friend;' she whispered in a husky voice.

  She put the eagle on her shoulder and together, the tall blonde woman and the golden eagle, they walked eastward to where she knew the River Wye flowed.

  A half hour later she stopped. Gwendolyn's breath escaped in a loud hiss as she stared at the sight before her. The sun had just dropped behind the hills, and a soft, gentle glow radiated across their ragged tops. But she did not see nature's beauty; she saw nothing before her eyes except the perfect circle of stones.

  Each stone was taller than twice her height. In the four directions of the earth, a stone rested crossways to connect the tops, forming four distinct passageways within the circle. All around her, Gwendolyn sensed a strong power emanating.

  These stones were similar to some she had seen in Devon, and similar, too, to other stone circles she had heard mentioned by travelers. Yet all the stone circles she had seen and heard about had been ruins. These were not. They had always been called Druid stones. The Romans, Gwendolyn had been told, had tried to change them and make them into their own temples, but had failed. The Christian church had banned people from going to them and had tried to destroy them; but, although they decreed them banned, they had not found all the hidden places, and many people of the land still went to them with their prayers.

  Yet Gwendolyn sensed this place was far different from the others. This place would only be found by luck, or by need. Although the coolness of the early night air was falling, Gwendolyn felt it not. She gazed at the Druid stones, drawn to them by some invisible lure, and could not stop her feet from taking her within.

  Passing through the western gate, Gwendolyn was cognizant of only one thing—Valkyrie's loud cry and the stab of his talons as they dug through the leather armor and reached her flesh.

  Then she stepped to the center of the perfect circle, stopping before the waist-high altar stone, and waited. Silence descended on the night. The calls of the night birds and insects stilled, and the last of day faded. But through the veil of darkness blanketing the countryside, Gwendolyn saw clearly where she was.

  Gwendolyn waited patiently. She knew something important was about to happen. She was unafraid for herself and was still in thrall to the terrible visages that had filled her mind after her sword practice with Miles. But she forced those images away as she waited, concentrating on the smooth stone before her.

  Even as she watched, she felt the power build. Closing her eyes, Gwendolyn instinctively cleared her mind. Her right hand clasped the hilt of the sword she'd left behind, but in her mind was with her now. The crackling of energy sounded loudly and images of lightning flashed across her closed lids. Carefully, she opened her eyes to gaze at the stone.

  It glowed with unearthly colors, rippling in uneven waves of white, red, and black, until it solidified to a dull orange cast. Then another streak of lightning shot from it, racing upward to the sky and disappearing within the dark blotter of newly formed clouds.

  Still, Gwendolyn waited patiently.

  "Have you so little faith in yourself?" came a soft, yet old voice.

  Gwendolyn turned from the altar stone to stare at the robed figure standing ten feet away. The Druid priestess had returned, and within Gwendolyn's mind a new channel opened. She stepped toward the old woman, but the priestess held up one knotted hand.

  "Have you so little faith in yourself that you run from who you are?"

  "I might have killed him," she whispered.

  "But you did not! You would not! You could not!" the old one intoned.

  "Yes I could!" Gwendolyn stated defiantly. "It was my hand wielding the sword. I was angered, mad. I did not know what I was doing!"

  "Today was but another lesson for you, child. It was a lesson you taught yourself. Think about it!" she commanded and, at the same time, waved her hand in the air.

  Gwendolyn's mind came alive with brilliant colors. Again she heard the priestess speak within her own head.

  "Watch, Gwendolyn the Chosen, watch carefully," the voice whispered. Gwendolyn felt herself floating, rising above the ground as Valkyrie was wont to do, and the night was gone, replaced by the brilliance of the afternoon sun. Beneath her she saw the old keep, and within the walled outer bailey, she saw a strange tableau.

  She saw herself, the silver sword glinting with sunlight as she battled Miles. She saw Miles deflect her blows and tumble across the ground to rise behind her. Floating high above the strange scene, she experienced again the anger which had gripped her at this defeat and watched as she began to fight him again.

  Her breath shot from her lips at the final moment, and she saw the spark of power leap from her sword to sever Miles's blade. But she saw also that her aim had been true, and she had been under full control of her every movement.

  "Yes!" cried the priestess as she confirmed Gwendolyn's thoughts. They hovered above the old keep and watched the action below. Gwendolyn saw James take the silver sword, cleanse it and sheath it, just as Miles returned to the high wall with Valkyrie on his wrist. When he released the eagle, the images beneath them wavered.

  A moment later Gwendolyn was again standing at the altar stone. She realized she had not left, but had been granted a vision by the priestess.

  "Now you understand more. Gwendolyn, this lesson to- day was important. Important for two reasons: First, you must know that you, and only you, can control your mind; the second is before you run from something, wait and look upon it again with a clear head. Do not run from fear, do not hide from anger. Face them both and conquer them you shall. You are strong, Daughter of Thunder, and your mind makes you so!" she declared. Then, the old priestess stepped forward, and Gwendolyn saw her ancient, lined face. But this sight did not stop her heart from welling with the love she felt for her mentor.

  "Again, I thank you," Gwendolyn said.

  "Thank me not, for it is a greater power which controls us all," the old one cried. "And hate me not for setting you on the path you must follow."

  "Never," Gwendolyn cried quickly.

  "There will be a time you will come to doubt all those things around you. You will doubt
yourself and that which you believe in. Remember my words, for when that time comes, you must face it bravely," she said. As she uttered the words, her form began to shimmer.

  "I will remember," Gwendolyn promised.

  "Rest, my child," whispered the priestess as her form departed, leaving Gwendolyn alone within the darkness.

  She turned to look at the altar, and saw it was but plain stone again. Silently, Gwendolyn sank to the ground and laid her head against the cool stone.

  She fell into a deep, resting sleep, and was not aware of Valkyrie leaving her shoulder to ascend to the top of the altar, where he perched, wide-eyed and awake, watching over his mistress with a sharp, piercing gaze.

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  Miles watched the sun's ascent from darkness, and when its warming rays washed over him, he breathed deeply. He stood high upon the battlement of the old keep, his eyes moving rapidly while he searched the land around them. From his vantage point, he could see for miles in every direction.

  He had come up here an hour before dawn to wait patiently for the light of day; as patiently as he had sat throughout the night, waiting for Gwendolyn's return.

  The long night had fled quickly while his thoughts had tunneled deeply within. He had reviewed his life, from the moment he'd met Gwendolyn, until yesterday's practice and its harsh conclusion. The only thing he'd been able to understand was that his life and Gwendolyn's were entwined in such a way that made anything or anyone else immaterial.

  He had known from the instant their swords had met the previous day that Gwendolyn was his equal. The only thing she lacked was experience, and that would come with patience.

  She still had much training before her, and because of the shortness of time, Miles knew he must work even harder when she returned. Whether she came back to him today, the next, or a week hence, he did not doubt for a moment that she would return.

  Valkyrie's cry drew his eyes toward the northeast, and he saw the golden eagle soaring upward toward the keep. Miles looked to the ground beneath the majestic bird and saw the distant figure of his wife walking toward him.