Chapter One

Trice couldn’t have been more furious with herself. She had done what could easily classify as the stupidest thing in her life. She had been captured.

Helpless she thrashed against the ropes that held her bound securely to a tree and watched her brother risk his life fighting for her. Even if she were free she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. She looked down and sighed. Maybe getting captured wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d ever done; maybe it was only the next stupidest. Surely the stupidest thing to do had been… she sighed again, louder this time. Arnold glanced over his shoulder at her woe-begone face.

“Trice!” he shouted, “Are you all right?”

“No.” she said sadly, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong?” she could tell he was worried but she didn’t answer. It would just make him fight harder if he was afraid she was hurt.

ArGold had been her best friend. They had gone through a lot together. Hand in hand they had defeated monsters, villains and craven knights like the one who had her captive now. But at the last ArGold had failed; shattered, and left her defenseless. She sighed a third time, shifted her feet and looked down at her empty scabbard. She would never have a better sword.

Her thoughts were diverted by a strange youth who rode from the forest. His hair was as golden as the sun and so was his tunic. The sword he swung caught the sunlight and flashed as though on fire. He looked like a Sun-god; even his eyes were golden. Trice felt strangely drawn to him. Arnold stared in such astonishment he stopped fighting all together. It didn’t matter though because Sir Garis stopped fighting too.

The stranger had a strange mocking laugh on his face as he rode at Sir Garis swinging his sword. The knight was too frightened to move. At the last possible minute before the stranger would chop off his head he swerved and thrust his sword into his opponents leg. The stranger kicked, knocking it out of his hand. He leaned over and pulled it out, and Trice looked away sick at the sight of the rush of blood that followed. The stranger laughed and swung at Sir Garis with both swords. Sir Garis turned to flee. Arnold caught him.

“Yield!” he thundered; and the craven knight did so without hesitation. Trice took one more look at her rescuers leg and started fighting to get loose again. Arnold and Sir Garis were busy parleying and the stranger was watching them, seemingly unaware of the blood running down his leg and staining his tunic red.

“Excuse me.” she said rather too loudly, “But would one of you free me?”

“Of course.” With a gallant bow her rescuer rode over and with a few deft slashes cut the ropes that had held her for the past two hours. Looking at his sword made her sigh again with regret for ArGold. He held two swords, one bright with blood, and she remembered.

“Your leg.” She said cautiously, she didn’t want to say anything he might take as an insult but she was surprised he hadn’t swooned yet.

He looked down at his leg and the blood still running down his horses flank. “Oh yes,” he said carelessly, “I suppose I should do something about that. I’ve been told I can bleed to death.”

Trice bit her tongue. Looking at the wound made her wince. This man must be made of steel! How could he sit there so calmly, almost detachedly? Well, she had no interest in seeing how much of his blood he could water the grass with before collapsing in his death-swoon. Desperately she looked around for something to bind the wound with.

“Dismount.” She said. She glanced around franticly. Most maidens used their petticoat or the hem of their dress. Trice wore neither. She couldn’t use her shirt or the young man’s tunic. She was her brother’s blue cloak flapping in the wind and ran over to him.

“Arnold, give me your cloak.”

“Why?” he looked at her in surprise. “Oh, mother gave me this Trice. Take Sir Garis’.”

“This is no time to argue.” She muttered. Sir Garis’ hands were tied. She put her right foot in the stirrup on top of his left and hoisted herself onto the great war horse. Arnold continued to talk about ransoms and prisons and recompense as Trice sat in the knight’s lap and untied his cloak. He looked down at her with that snidely amused smile she had come to hate so much.

“He’s conquered now.” She told herself, her teeth clenched, “Don’t pay him any mind.”

She got his cloak undone and actually managed to mutter a thank you as she jumped down. She ran back to her tree tearing the cloak into strips as she ran.

The stranger had dismounted and was sitting beneath the tree with both hands holding back the blood flow.

“Are you commonly in the practice of taking your enemy’s cloak to bind the wounds of your rescuer?” he asked; Trice gritted her teeth and wondered how he could jest.

“Most maidens were a petticoat for that purpose.” He added.

Trice muttered something under her breath; something no lady should say. She had learned long ago that she could never, never, insult, make fun of, or answer back to anyone older, wiser, stronger, or richer then herself. That encompassed everyone, for to pick on someone less fortunate then you was just plain mean. It wasn’t fair, Trice thought, that she could say what she thought to monsters and thieves. She didn’t mind telling the truth to evil knight such as Sir Garis but it didn’t pay to insult them. You just ended up getting into situations like now. So mostly Trice bit her tongue and scowled. Like now. The stranger glanced at her in surprise. She took the strips that had been sir Garis’ cloak and wound them as tightly as she could. She half expected to hear a sigh of pain like she usually did. She wasn’t surprised when she didn’t. The golden stranger could probably endure anything. Vaguely she wondered if he was permitted to die. If nothing could kill him wounds would be arbitrary. No, he said he could bleed to death. Grimly she wondered how.

Arnold finally finished his dealings with Sir Garis and rode over.

“My sister and I are deeply indebted to you.” He said sweeping off his hat in a grand gesture. The hat was blue with a yellow feather. Trice wondered how he managed not to lose it in battle.

“She’s your sister?” The stranger asked; Trice understood his surprise. She and Arnold didn’t look anything alike. Her hair was black and thick, her skin dark, her eyes deep blue; her eyelashes long. She had been told she was beautiful more times then she could count. Arnold on the other hand had pale brown hair; his eyes were green, his face thin and pale, and his nose a bit upturned. Arnold was gallant, but no one called him beautiful.

The stranger looked between them. “At least I shan’t have any trouble telling you apart.”

Arnold laughed heartily. Trice scowled.

“You truly are fearless.” Her brother said recovering himself, “that is a bold thing to say. Bolder still was the way you came to our rescue. I bow to your bravery. I pray you, what might your name be?”

“Trice.” He said, and she lost control and shouted.

“What’s the matter lady?” he asked, Trice shut her mouth.

“That’s my name.” she said sullenly.

She didn’t like the way he looked at her then, it reminded her of the way Sir Garis had looked at her when she had been captured. She wished again for her sword. She felt so much braver with ArGold at her side. The stranger Trice finished his inspection and turned back to Arnold leaving the Maiden Trice with the frustrated feeling of being a piece of merchandise that ‘might suffice but I’ll have to take a sample back with me to see.’

She heard her name and looked up; her brother was talking to the newcomer. Then she got mad, something Trice never did. And thing she did something she shouldn’t do; she insulted, made fun of and talked back to two men who were older, stronger; more powerful, not to mention better armed then she was.

“I’m tired.” She said sharply, “and hungry and thirsty. I’ve been tied for a tree for two hours. I was in a dungeon for two days before that. Before that I lost a battle and broke my sword. I really don’t feel like sitting here listening to two would-be demi-gods gossip. If you’re not interested in coming home to eat and sleep then I’ll take Sir Garis and go by myself. Quite frankly, I prefer his company to yours at the moment. At least he’s my enemy.”

The new Trice laughed. The old Trice glared. Arnold looked at them in surprise.

“You really are fearless,” he said, “If you can laugh at my sharp tongued sister like that.”

“I have no need of fear.” He said, “I’m under a fairy curse. I can’t feel pain.”

Trice, the lady Trice’s, mind reeled. No wonder! She felt like shouting. She said nothing.

“A curse?” Arnold frowned. “That sounds like a good thing.”

“It’s not.” The warrior Trice shook his head. “It’s not what it seems.”

“Look.” Trice sighed, “Can we discuss this in front of a hot fire over spiced wine, tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, a big meal and a warm bath?”

Arnold gave her a look that spoke volumes. “Mind your tongue Trice.” He said, and if she’d been closer he probably would have slapped her.

“What did I say?” the new Trice said in surprise,

“Not you, my sister.”

Trice, the old Trice, stood up and started walking to Sir Garis.

“Where are you going?” Arnold called,

“Home.” She retorted.

“You can’t ride with him.”

“Why not?”

Her rescuer stood up and swept her a bow. “I pray you, ride with me.” he said, “after all, we share a name.”

So the two Trices rode back on the same magnificent white horse. Arnold led Sir Garis.

As Trice ate her dinner and went to bed that night she hoped that she wouldn’t ever have to see the young man who shared her name again. Her hopes were dashed however, when she came down to dinner the next day both Trice and Sir Garis joined Arnold and herself.

She stood abruptly at their entrance, her glare fixed on Sir Garis.

“Why is he here?” she demanded,

“It’s the terms.” Her brother answered patiently, “He’s to be treated as a guest.”

Father entered.

“Hello Trice.”

“You’re already on a first name basis with him?” she said, trying in vain to sound casual.

“No dear, I was talking to you.”

Mother entered with Adeil. 

“Oh Trice.” She said, “I’m so glad to see you safely home again.”

“You shouldn’t allow yourself to be put in such danger.” Adeil said superiorly and yet perfectly courteous. “You should never ride out alone.”

Trice gritted her teeth and seated herself with as much dignity as she could muster. She and her sister didn’t always get along.

Sir Righlord entered and sat next to Sir Garis, instantly recognizing a fellow knight. The fact that Sir Garis had assaulted and kidnapped his lord’s daughter didn’t make the slighted bit of difference to Sir Righlord. Count Domsky said nothing as he took his place at the foot of the table, wrapping his black robes around him. Trice wouldn’t meet his eyes. Reelie, the Lord’s nephew, Merver, the strange grey prophet, and Mia, the Lord’s mother; Trice’s grandmother, were the last to enter. At last the meal began. Trice tuned out the conversation and focused on eating and escaping as soon as possible. Maybe that was how she managed to miss all the important details of the visit to Sir Garis’ castle to negotiate his ransom. It was undoubtedly why she had no idea that she was to go on the visit and that it was leaving the very next morning.

 

 

Chapter Two

“Trice, hurry up.” Adeil wailed, watching her sister tediously comb her hair, “why must you be so slow?”

Trice ignored her. She reached for her leather vest and buttoned it over her long green dress. She hated wearing a dress, but she found she didn’t have a choice when they had guest in the house or were going on a state visit.

“I wish you would dress more respectably.” Adeil pouted, “more like a lady and less like a- a warrior queen.”

Trice belted on her sword belt and empty scabbard, sighing again for her lost ArGold.

“Trice, are you ready?” Arnold shouted from down the hall.

“Almost.” Adeil said, with another glance at her sister. Trice picked up her cocked hat and very deliberately set it on her head, carefully arranging her hair about her face.

Adeil sighed. “How do you manage to keep your hands so perfect?” She asked, Trice half turned in surprise.

“I wear gloves.” She said pointedly.

“Trice! We’ve got to go.”

Trice snatched up her boots in an unexpected burst of speed at her father’s call. She ran down the hall in her stocking feet, gloves in one hand and boots in the other. This actually wasn’t an unusual entrance for the ever-stalling Trice; she always waited until the last possible moment to put on her shoes.

The assembled company of the previous night awaited her. It seemed they were all going to visit Sir Garis cold empty castle, and his cold, bitter heir. They even looked like they were going to enjoy it. The knights rode horse back, Sir Garis among them. The count, Reelie, Merver, Mia, Father, Mother, and Adeil, rode in the coach. Trice looked around for a horse.

“Ride with us Trice.” Mother called. She didn’t want to. It would be crowded as it was. Why did the whole court have to come? She turned stubborn.

“I want a horse.”

The other Trice appeared at her side. “Ride with me.”

The other horses whinnied, eager to be off. Father was frowning. Trice had to choose. She didn’t like either offer but she turned to the young man.

“I’ll ride with you.”

Adeil gasped at the breach of propriety. Arnold looked away embarrassed. Mother nudged father and smiled knowingly. Mia folded her hands with a contented sigh. Trice, the Lady Trice, scowled as she swung up into the saddle behind her rescuer. Then they set off.

The road wound on interminably. Arnold chattered endlessly to Sir Garis and Sir Righlord about keeping the endless Code of Chivalry and where to find the best lances and what to do when you’re defeated in a grand tournament. Arnold was to be knighted in the spring.

As they came around a dark corner in the road Trice had the uneasy feeling of someone watching her. She reached for her sword but came up empty handed. She sighed.

“What’s the matter?” Trice, the other Trice, said,

“My sword broke in battle with Sir Garis.” She said, no more tragically then was warranted.

“Was it a good sword?” he asked; Trice sighed with impatience. Knights were all alike. They could tell you who made a lance just by holding it but they didn’t understand the value of a good sword. That was, she reasoned, because they rarely used them.

Before he could repeat his question a war band came suddenly out of the trees ahead of them. They were Sir Garis’ men and, because no one had taken any precautions to secure the treacherous knight he was soon in their midst shouting encouragement and direction. Their primary aim of course was Trice, both of them this time because the golden haired youth sat in front of the dark haired lady. The Trice who had a sword drew it and the one who didn’t tried to keep behind him.

Somehow or another the Lady ended up on foot and weaponless as usual. She ran to her brother who was shouting dreadful things at the knight with whom he had so recently held fair conversation. Among the things he said she heard, ‘low down dog,’ ‘unworthy of knighthood,’ ‘treacherous skunk,’ and some other, less pretty adjectives.

“Arnold!” she shouted, “Arnold! Give me your sword! You’re not using it.”

“Get in the carriage.” He said angrily, “This is no place for a woman.”

For once Trice argued. “I’m not helpless.” She snapped, “and I won’t be taken without a fight.”

“Not so fast miss.” Sir Garis leered down at her. Arnold swiftly attacked but it was too late. Sir Garis caught Trice around the waist and lifted her into the saddle in front of him. Arnold drew back horror-stricken, unable to charge. The fighting ceased as everyone saw what Sir Garis had done.

“Come men.” He said, purring with self-satisfaction, “We’re done here.”

“Not exactly.”

Trice, the warrior Trice, moved forward. In one smooth move he drew Arnold’s sword from his scabbard as he rode by and handed it to Trice. As soon as she was armed she escaped from Sir Garis and Trice pulled her up behind him. Before the treacherous knight knew exactly what was happening, his captive had escaped and two swords threatened him from the back of the same horse. He and his knights chose that moment to run.

“After him!” Sir Righlord called, but Father stepped out of his carriage and forbid it.

“We’ll go home now.” He said, “Trice, come with us.” His voice warned against refusal.

“Please sir.” The other Trice said as she began to dismount. “I risked my life for her; can’t I have the pleasure of her company on the return?”

It was a request that could not be denied.

  “That was a brave stroke of genius.” Father said by way of compliment, “And an unusual one. No one dared attack Sir Garis with my daughter but no one thought of wresting her away from him.”

“Your daughter is an unusual girl.” He answered; and no one quite knew what to make of that except for the girl herself who almost smiled but caught herself and scowled instead.

On the way back to the castle Trice deliberately lagged behind the rest of the party. The Lady behind him felt something warm and sticky under her hand.

“Trice.” She said. It was the first time she had said his name; her name. He didn’t hear her over the rattle of the carriage. She tapped his shoulder but he didn’t notice. So she shoved him hard.

“Hey,” he said, and slowed down even more. “Why did you shove me?”

“To get your attention.” She said grumpily; and held her hand in front of his face.

“Blood.” He commented.

“Your blood.” She pointed out.

“So?” he shrugged. “Is it serious?”

“No. But it must hurt quite a bit.”

“I can’t feel it.”

She had forgotten.

“It’s a strange curse,” she said after a while, “Why was it made?”

“I don’t know.” He said, “Why does any fairy curse a child? Something my parents did no doubt. They won’t tell me. it makes no sense to me.”

“Is there no way to break the curse?” she asked,

“Oh there is.” He said, “But it’s so difficult as to be ridiculous.”

“That intrigues me.” she said, “Usually the more elaborate the curse the easier it is in reality to obtain.”

“Not this one.” He sighed, “It’s quite ordinary.”

“Well, tell me.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I will not!”

“You will too. Everyone else does.”

“Trice.” She said severely, “I never laugh.”

“You know,” he said, “I think there’s some truth to that. Are you under a curse too?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. Still…” and being somewhat of an observant fellow he wondered.

“I’ll tell you,” he said at last, “But you must promise me an answer likewise.”

“An answer to what?”

“An answer, to any question I may ask of you at whatever time I shall claim it of you.”

Trice frowned. “That’s a strange request. Is there a trick in it?”

“No. I won’t ask anything you cannot answer.”

“All right.” She said at last, “I promise to answer your question, whatever it may be, whenever it may be.”

“Thank you Trice.” He said softly, and the name sounded strange to him.

“Now tell me.”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I’ve already promised you something!”

“Please?”

“All right, I won’t laugh. I promise. Anything else?”

“Yes. I want to tell you on the moon so that no one else will hear.

She slapped him. He didn’t notice.

“There is a way to break the curse,” he said, “IF a maiden loves me so truly that she is willing to bear my pain for me and wed me so that our souls will be joined and we will share each others joys and sorrows both in body and mind.”

“No one is wed that way anymore.” She said.

“I know.” He threw up his hands in despair, “I told you it was pointless. It’s so simple and yet so impossible. There is no one, not now at any rate, no woman who would be willing to enter into such a tract and even if she was willing she couldn’t bear it. Believe me Trice; I’ve seen enough of maidens to know. They’re all the same; frail as a springtime flower; fickle as the wind. Except you,” he added, “You’re different. Don’t say anything,” as she started to protest, “I don’t mean anything. But if you weren’t different you wouldn’t be riding with me. And I wouldn’t tell you about the curse.

“And about your sword, I’m very sorry about what happened. Would you like me to help you find or forge another? I know about swords.”

“You’re different too.” She said, “I may be the only Lady who wields a sword but you’re probably the only knight.”

“I’m not a knight.”

“You’re not?” she didn’t seem surprised.

“No. I’m not even of noble birth. I learned swordplay for the fun of it and picked up Sun-Gold by accident. Then when I started dressing to match him I was hailed as a great warrior.”

“I won’t tell.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does. You’ve sent the way they act. They already avoid you because you’re different.”

“I’ll be leaving anyway. It doesn’t make any difference.”

Trice shut her mouth and didn’t open it again for the rest of the day. She was afraid that if she did she would let it slip that she wanted him to stay.

 

         Chapter Three

Two days later he left and she threw all her energies into finding a new sword. Adeil rolled her eyes and threw up her hand in despair. Her mother said that if she put half the effort into finding a husband that she put into finding a sword she could easily become the richest countess in the land. Trice didn’t speak her thoughts, which were that finding a husband was the last thing she wanted and that becoming a rich countess was the second to last.

Arnold said that he was tired of rescuing such an ungrateful creature and that she shouldn’t be allowed to ride alone any more. As a result of this Father gave out a strict schedule to be followed under which much time was allotted for reading and sewing and none at all for swordplay. He also said that someone must know where she was at all times. The end of it was that Trice gave up her sword hunting and stayed in room sulking. She wouldn’t even come down to meals if she wasn’t forced too.

Adeil wept and said she was taking it too hard; Arnold said that girls in general were stupid and Trice in particular nothing but trouble. Mother got angry at that and said that it was being around such calloused men as Arnold and Sir Righlord and being traumatized by that awful Sir Garis that made her hate men so and that if she could be persuaded to take company with some other gentle woman she would be less lonely. Sir Righlord took instant offense at that. Count Domsky said ominously that Trice was a cloud over their heads and must be sent away. Reelie, her cousin, took that as an insult. Father ordered apologies all around.

Then Merver, that strange grey prophet spoke.

“Three times Trice will fall and then help will come unlooked for.”

And, like most of his prophecies, no one knew what he meant.

Then Trice herself arrived and announced that she wanted a sword and could never be happy without one. Arnold said she could have his sword if it would make her shut up and behave. Father told him to watch his language. Trice simply said that his sword was inferior. Count Domsky said to let her go and hope she never came back. Reelie, her cousin, who had a horrible enmity with Count Domsky, took it as a fresh insult. Adeil wept and said her poor sister was demented and Merver came out with another of his mystifying prophecies.

“Trice’s sword will never shed blood except her own, will never take life except where there is none; will never cause pain except in the painless.”

The hall fell into puzzled silence.

“It’s name will be called Drexle,” he added suddenly, “Which in the common tongue means ‘unrequited’ but in the Sica* tongue means ‘soulbound’.”

And soulbinding, thought Trice, is never done any more.  A strange thrill of anticipation rose in her and she shuddered in fear.

“I don’t want my sister owning such a sword.” Arnold said, and the argument broke out anew. In the midst of it Trice left the hall and went riding. The end of it was that she was kidnapped.

 

The outlaws seemed as ordinary as anyone else to Trice, but then you never could tell a curse by looking at a man. She didn’t resist when the surrounded her. She reached for her sword but the scabbard was still empty. So she didn’t scream or try to run. She dismounted and surrendered her horse. She let them tie her hands and lead her blindfolded to their secret camp. When their captain put his knife to her throat and asked her name she gave it. She said nothing else and they tied her to a tree and left her alone. She knew it would be just a matter of time before her father got the ransom note, paid it, and they released her. No one refused to pay a ransom any more.

The only unexpected turn was the arrival of the other Trice. He was riding back to see her, he confessed, and was captured.

“They must like our name.” He joked. His hands were tied too tightly. She could see the ropes cutting into them but didn’t say anything. It didn’t bother him and there was no point calling attention to themselves. The rest of the night passed uneventfully.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable sleeping sitting up with your back against a tree but she didn’t complain. Morning came, grey and chill. Trice was hungry and cramped. Needless to say, she hadn’t slept very well. No one else had that problem obviously; the whole camp was still asleep, including her fellow prisoner who had his head on her shoulder. An hour went by and Trice became conscious of another problem; boredom. Finally she jabbed the other Trice awake with her elbow.

“Why’d you wake me up?” he said crossly,

“How can you sleep like that?” she asked,

“I always sleep when I’m kidnapped.” He said. Trice sighed. Everybody, everywhere, had their own methods of how to deal with kidnapping. Of course, everyone thought his idea was the best. Practically everyone she knew had been kidnapped at some point in time, some over and over. Her other for instance had been kidnapped five times. Once when she was a child, twice as a maiden, once while she was betrothed and lastly when she was pregnant. After Trice was born she mostly stayed at home so it had never happened again.

“It’s boring,” she had said when Trice asked her about it, “The first time I was scared to death, but after that it got boring. Father put off paying the ransom for as long as he could. Once I tried screaming and putting up a fuss until they were half sick of me. The result was that they tied me and left me alone for a day and a night. After that I cooperated. Then when I betrothed your father came and rescued me.”

Of course, some girls had a dozen champions to rush to their rescue. Trice knew that her father would just pay the ransom. Arnold wasn’t skilled in such things and if he let Sir Righlord go she would have to marry him. The other Trice had begun to doze off again. She interrupted her thoughts to ask him a question.

“Have you been kidnapped before?”

He scowled. “Yes, unfortunately. There’s no one to ask ransom of so I always have to put up with a lot of abuse. Word clearly hasn’t gotten around yet about me.”

“How can you sleep like this?” she demanded,

“I can’t tell the difference between a feather bed and one filled with nails.” He muttered sleepily. Trice had to think about that one. By the time she had another question ready he had fallen back asleep. She sighed and gave up.

It was late in the morning when the outlaws got up. They obviously had no intention of riding out for more captives. They must have had a hard time capturing the other Trice the night before because they were very quiet and subdued as they went about their business starting a fire and preparing a meal. One of them crouched down in front of Lady Trice and started untying her.

“Been kidnapped before?” he asked curiously, she shook her head.

“Thirsty?” she nodded. He held his canteen to let her drink and then went to work on the knots at her wrists.

“Are you scared?” she shook her head. She couldn’t really remember being scared of anything.

“It will be all right Lady.” He said gently, “As soon as e get the ransom you’ll be off again. It’s not a comfortable life out here in the forest but you won’t be harmed.

“There.” He rubbed her wrists to get the blood flowing again. “Breakfast will be ready soon. You’re allowed to roam free during the day, just don’t go far. We’ll tie you up again after supper. Don’t cause any trouble and we’ll pretty much let you alone. All right?”

She nodded and struggled to her feet.

“You’re a quiet one.” He laughed. He wasn’t bad she decided, some outlaws she had heard were quite nice. This one was certainly going out of his way to make sure she felt at ease.

“Do you have anything in your saddle bags you want to entertain you of anything?”

She shook her head.

“You’re Lord Calloway’s daughter, right?”

She nodded.

“You won’t be here long then. He’s a good man, Calloway. He takes care of his people. Give him my respects will you?”

She nodded and he walked back to the others. The other Trice he left there. She knew that they dealt differently with ladies and knights. Vaguely she wondered if he’d been wounded and decided to find out. She walked among the outlaws as they prepared their meal and listened to them grumble and talk. They talked about the evil, tightfisted nobles who squabbled over ransom and the condition that the hostage was returned in and what would happen if they didn’t pay. They grumbled about their captain who always led them to attack large traveling groups they couldn’t defeat and demand tolls. They talked about the knights, who was up and coming, who had good strategy; who was foolish. They grumbled about the way knights acted when they were prisoner and the way they got treated when they were captured. They glared at the other Trice who was still sleeping blissfully as they said this and Lady Trice seized her opportunity.

“Did you have a hard battle last night?” She asked, they all groaned.

“More of a battle of words.” One answered, “Is he a friend of yours Lady?”

“We met once.” She grimaced, “We have the same name.”

“We never even drew our swords lady.”  Another said, “We convinced him to put his up.”

A universal groan went up.

“It took four hours.” Her informer added.

After they ate one of the guards went over and kicked Trice awake.

“Hey,” he said, “If you want to eat, do it fast.”

Trice looked enviously at Trice.

“Why do the girls get freedom during the day and I don’t?” he complained, as the guard loosed his hands. He did not, Trice noticed, loose him from the tree.

“Because,” the guard answered severely, “Girls don’t fight.”

Lady Trice refrained from laughing.

Then an outlaw messenger came riding up on a horse, her horse, and they all swarmed to meet him. Lady Trice remained where she was until they beckoned her over.

“Seems there’s been a bit of trouble with the ransom.” She was told, “Mitchell met your brother I guess and he tore p the note and said that was al the answer we’d get. Do you think he’ll actually ride out against us?”

“No.” she shook her head furiously. “Father would never let him. He said so. He said it’s better just to pay. He says outlaws tend to respect a lord who pays and leave his people alone.”

“Then you think if we can get a note through to him he’ll take care of his son?”

“Yes.”

“Can you help us? Who can we trust?”

“Everyone…” she started, but Mitchell cut her off.

“Just have the Lady write the letter herself.” He said, “and give me a token whereby she can be known. If I come bearing a letter from Lady Trice they’ll let me through. And I can insist on giving it to Lord Calloway in person.”

This idea was agreed on whole-heartedly.

“What about him?” someone pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the other Trice.

“Seems his story checks out.” Mitchell said, “He knows Calloway, helped him in a matter of Sir Garis.”

Muttered curses arose at the name.

“Maybe Calloway will ransom him.” Someone suggested,

“I doubt it. Sir Arnold, that’s Calloway’s son, he didn’t hit it off so well with him. Sir Righlord, who’s some kind of cousin or military personal or something, didn’t either. If Lord Calloway ransoms him he’ll have to make him part of his household and eh can’t do that without the knights approval. Besides, he won’t pay ransom for a commoner.”

Mitchell it seemed, knew a lot about noble households in general and Trice’s in particular.

“What’ll we do with him? Make him part of the band?”

Cries of horror and protest arose. “Don’t even mention it!”

The Warrior Trice was not popular.

“Maybe if you lower my ransom Father will let you send him with me.” Lady Trice offered. When they only stared at her blankly she hastened to continue. “If you can’t take him into your service than maybe father will take him into his. He won’t pay for him of course but if it’s to his advantage in some way…”

Mitchell snapped his fingers. “That’s it! That’s wonderful!”

The one who seemed to be in charge shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask the captain.” Trice looked at him in surprise.

“You’re not the captain?”

“No.” he said sadly, “Only in the real captains absence. Once I was…” he started, then a look of fear crossed his face and he shut his mouth. Trice didn’t press it. She wrote a letter to her father, ate her supper and let them tie her to the tree to spend another uncomfortable night.

The next day passed uneventfully. Mitchell didn’t bother to go find the captain because, he said, the captain was supposed to be coming that day anyway. Trice, Lady Trice, spent the day playing word games with an outlaw named Chris. He liked to think, he told her, and had been a wordsmith and a bit of riddler before his outlawry. Trice didn’t need to ask why he’d been outlawed.

She found the outlaws to be open and friendly. They were quite willing to tell their stories and didn’t press for hers. The other Trice ate and slept. At dusk the captain arrived. He rode a great black horse and sported a large curling mustache. His dress was old fashioned and he wore his sword in the old way so that it knocked against his leg as he walked. Trice wondered how he could stand it. He bowed gallantly to her as she sat eating.

“Good day Miss,” he said, “You are Lord Calloway’s daughter?”

She nodded and a part of her wondered that word traveled so fast. But her eyes were riveted on his sword. The hilt was made out of silver and fashioned in the manner of a lion’s head. The mouth of the lion was open and in it sparkled a large gem the colour of new leaves in spring. It was old, older than anything she had ever seen. He followed her gaze and drew it. The blade caught the dying sunlight and seemed to burn red and orange.

“A pretty thing is it not Lady?” he sad, the food caught in her throat and she could not answer.

“Does it please you?” he asked, “Then you shall have it. In your death.” He added, pressing the point to her throat. She gasped as it touched her.

“It burns.” He said in satisfaction. “Do you feel it?”

She made no answer but she looked past him and saw the outlaws draw back in terror. Seeing no reaction from her the captain drew the sword back.

“Wilkins!” he called, and the outlaw lieutenant saluted and they walked off together talking. The captain was nodding and agreeing and seemed altogether an agreeable fellow.

“Well.” The captain said, “It’s all agreed. If your father will take this fellow with you we’ll cut your ransom. It looks like you’ll be going home in a few days.”

As he went to remount his horse one of the outlaws suddenly drew his sword and leapt on him screaming incomprehensible things. The only words Trice could clearly make out where, “I’ve had it! I can’t take this any more!” the rest was mere babbling.

The captain killed him instantly but three others jumped on him too. It seemed the outlaws had all lost their minds and were bent on killing this strange captain they all feared and hated. He could easily have killed them all; and no one could explain what happened next. His sword suddenly twisted out of his hand and went sailing through the air. Trice, reaching out instinctively, caught it. The battle instantly ceased. In a brief moment Trice realized three things.

One: she realized the sword in her hand was the one Merver had spoken of, Drexle. She knew because of the way it came to her and the way it felt in her hand; the belonging of it.

Two: the outlaw captain was none other than Greysen, the sceptrecal ghost who had haunted this forest for so long.

The third thing she realized was what Merver meant about taking life when there was none.

These three things she realized and then Greysen started to run. Trice ran after him and killed her first man; if it could be considered killing a man. The sword passed through his body and came out shining; bloodless. Greysen clutched at his heart gasping and evaporated. At least, that was the only way Trice could explain it. It seemed he became more thin and transparent until she could see through him, until he was gone. She stood dumbfounded, the sword in her hand and thought how clever he had been. He’d known of the only thing that could destroy him and so kept it with him so that no one else would ever find it.

The outlaws behind her erupted in a loud cheer, one of them ran forward and picked up the ghost’s sword belt and scabbard, holding it out to her. In a flurry of attention and rapid explanations she came to know that Greysen held most of the kidnapping outlaws under him. They all feared him but none could over throw him. Twice a band had gone crazy under him and been destroyed. They had almost made a third.

A great feast was held and the other Trice freed and allowed to take part. Both of them were to go free of ransom. They were made honorary member of the outlaw band and taught the secret signs whereby they might make themselves known. He outlaw lieutenant, now a captain again, penned two letters of high recommendation.

“These,” he said, “Have great credit among commoners and noble men alike.”

The other Trice shared the glory because without him, ‘none of this might have happened.’ He smiled sheepishly and shook his head, but he took the scabbard and belted it onto Trice.

“Some lads have their swords girded on by their sweethearts,” he said, “I don’t see why for once it shouldn’t be the other way around.”

Trice stared at him, trying to fathom his words. He didn’t give her a chance to answer.

“What will you call your new friend?” he asked, “I’m sure it has an old name but we’ll never know…”

“Drexle.” She interrupted, “it’s called Drexle.”

“How do you know?” he asked in surprise,

“Merver.”

She didn’t tell him what Merver said it meant.

 

 

Chapter Four

The next morning the two Trices returned to the castle. Lady Trice wore Greysen’s sword and rode Greysen's horse. The outlaws had given her the powerful stallion and in return she had left her plain brown mare for Mitchell to use. He had become attached to her.

The washed in the courtyard and came into the great hall just behind Count Domsky. Grandmother fluttered her hands in excitement.

“It’s Trice!” she cried, “Donald look. Trice has come back to us.” She was the only one who called father by his first name. No one was quite sure which Trice she was talking about. All the same everyone stopped talking and looked. The Lady Trice led the way to the table and the Warrior Trice sat beside her. The rest of the household took their seats in silent amazement.

“Well.” Father managed to say, as the food was served, “and where have you been?”

“I was kidnapped.” She answered calmly.

Arnold turned blue in the face and hastily asked to be excused. Mother said he could stay and eat and bid his sister a proper hello. Count Domsky sneered and said that if she had been kidnapped there would have been a ransom note. Trice said there was one only Arnold tore it up and the other Trice said that as a result they had decided to deliver it themselves. With that they handed over their letters of recommendation, which told the whole story.

Father read both letters and handed them to Mother. Mother read them and Adeil read over her shoulder. Grandmother put on her spectacles to read and said ‘oh my’ over and over. Merver did not read them. Count Domsky wouldn’t let Reelie read over his should and reached passed him to hand them to Sir Righlord. Sir Righlord muttered something about pesky kids as Reelie read over his shoulder. Trice, both of them, did not offer the letters to Arnold who sat fuming on the other side of them.

“Well,” Father said, “I guess you’ve found your sword.”

“Yes.” Said Lady Trice, “Drexle.”

‘“From heroes’ hands Drexle fell into a maiden’s.’” Merver said solemnly, and everyone quoted with him, “‘and so the realm will be saved; by her and a cursed champion.”

It was an old prophecy, from well before Merver’s time. What realm would be saved and from what no on knew. But Trice looked at Trice and he looked back. The cursed champion was quite the coincidence.

“But,” Lady Trice said, “You’re not a champion.”

“Yet.” He said, and turned back to his dinner. No one else understood them.

“I hope you’re willing to stay at home now Trice.” Father said. The Warrior Trice lifted his head and said, “Who, me?”

“No. I was talking to my daughter.”

A moment passed.

“What do you plan to do now Trice?” Grandmother asked; Lady Trice looked up in surprise.

“Who, me?”

“No dear. You’re friend.”

“I’m changing my name.” She muttered.

“He could just leave.” Arnold ventured.

“You can call me Chansen.” He said, “That was my father’s name.”

Even Count Domsky stopped chewing to pay attention to this.

“You’re Trice Chansen?” Sir Righlord said in disbelief,

“I’d wondered why you hadn’t been knighted.” Arnold said scornfully.

Father cut off another piece of meat and chewed it thoughtfully before saying, “Well Chansen, you had us fooled.” Father always thought better when he was eating. He went on with his dinner with no further comment and everyone else decided to follow his example.

Trice sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Chansen said, “I guess I didn’t realize they’d take it like that.”

“You heard what the outlaws said.” She answered, “These knights know their family names too well. They can tell the difference between a common name and a noble one even if it’s an Arrilite who’s in question.”

Then they both laughed. Arrilites were the merchants who came from across the sea. No one could understand their language or pronounce their names. Nobody else seemed to catch the joke. The rest of the meal passed in silence.

 

Life went on, and Trice Chansen rode off again. Lady Trice Calloway stayed and tried to act more like a lady. Somehow she wondered if she would ever see him again. Father said no, she wouldn’t. Winter came and went peacefully. Drexle hung over her bed unused. It was just as well, Trice mused, if Merver was right it wouldn’t even hurt anyone. Arnold was knighted in the Spring. Adeil turned sixteen and they had a grand ball in her honor. Trice left the ball early and went up to her room, wondering why she couldn’t forget about Chansen. She knew she would never see him again.

She was wrong however. It seemed their fates where inextricably linked. Because that very night as she stood in her window thinking of him, he came flying through the gates, shouting at the tope of his voice something that sounded desperate and angry. Trice ran down the stairs taking a round-a-bout way to avoid the ballroom where the guests still lingered and raced into the courtyard.

“Trice!” she cried, forgetting his other name, “Whatever are you doing?”

“I- can’t explain…” he gasped, and fainted. Trice caught him as he fell, wondering what was wrong. Two or three palace guards came and helped her carry him inside. She quickly sent one of them to her father.

In the great entry hall a fire always burned, day and night. Anyone was welcome to come and sit beside it but this night the hall was nearly empty. She had Chansen laid beside the fire and beckoned to a peasant woman who crouched in a corner. Together they stripped off his tunic and found the arrow wound.

“He’s lost too much blood.” Trice muttered under her breath; and a pain tore through her at the thought. He couldn’t take care of himself and he would die. The peasant woman produced clean bandages and they stopped the blood flow. Trice sat next to him, his head in her lap and realized she was sobbing brokenly. She looked up at the woman through her tears. “Thank you.” She said, “Thank you. I didn’t realize he meant so much to me.”

Then her father was there, and Arnold, and Sir Righlord, and Count Eusky, one of her suitors, and half a dozen other guests, all discussing the strange occurrence and asking questions and making demands. Father silenced them all when he saw Trice weeping. Trice never cried.

Father took the peasant woman aside and asked her who Trice was crying over and what had happened. She told him all she knew, which wasn’t much.

“Don’t you know who he is?” Arnold, Sir Arnold, demanded,

“No sir.”

“Didn’t she say?”

“No, she’s just been talking to herself sir.”

“Trice.” He muttered angrily. Father shushed him. Somehow they got Trice to her room and Chansen in bed. Then they returned to the dance as if nothing had happened.

Morning came.

Trice woke up and remembered. She scowled in the mirror at her reflection. She cursed herself for her lack of self-control.  She washed and changed her clothes. Then she went in search of the other Trice, Chansen. He was sitting up in bed eating, an anxious physician hovering over him. She sat next to him on the bed and just watched him, amazed to see him alive.

“They tell me I was wounded.” He said finally, “How?”

“Last time I saw you, you had an arrow in your side.”

He frowned. “Why did I pass out?”

She shrugged. “Loss of blood I guess.”

“Trice.” He caught her gaze and held it. “Trice, is it true- I mean I thought- they told me that- but why- ” He stopped. She waited.

“Well?”

“Why were you crying?”

Trice got up so fast she almost upset his tray. She heard him shouting at her but she only ran faster. She didn’t stop until she was in her room and the door fastened behind her. Then she slumped to the floor and pressed her face against her knees, willing not to cry. Once, one she had let her heart get out of hand and she had sworn never to do so again. One, once she had loved a man, and had paid the full price for her folly. No one knew, no one would ever know. Why did she fee so vulnerable around that self-centered, carefree, thoughtless, heartless, Trice? Chansen! Once she had sworn never to open her heart to love again. Once she had renounced men. She didn’t care for Chansen, she never had, and she never would! Besides, he believed in soulbinding. And yet- yet- last night it had seemed…

Then the tears came. She heard her father knocking on the door pleading to talk to her, but she didn’t answer. Then Adeil who wept and pleaded. She didn’t move. Not until the sun rose the next morning.

 

She hoped Chansen was gone. She hoped she wouldn’t have to see him again. But after breakfast, when she went for her horse, there he was, leaning on the paddock gate; waiting.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” she snapped.

“Trice.” Against her will she looked at him.

“Once you promised me- ”

She let him get no father. She turned and ran into the barn, trying to get away, to hide, anything. He made chase and cornered her.

“Trice. You promised. I want to know. I have to know.”

“Why?” she said bitterly, “You want to know if I’m a suitable girl to pursue for you savior? Go away Trice Chansen. I don’t ever want to see you again. I don’ care if you die. Do you hear me? I don’t care!”

he stepped back astonished. She led out her stallion, the one that had been Greysen's and rode off bareback. Chansen watched her and tried to think. Tried to fathom her meaning and her sorrow. And wondered. And wished. And blamed himself for wishing. And yet, couldn’t help but hope that maybe, one day, somewhere…

Trice rode back to the stables after noon and arrived at one definite conclusion. Chansen had enemies.

Together they went before Lord Calloway and formally requested his protection. He of course asked who the enemies were. Chansen replied that he didn’t know, but that he thought they might be the fairies. Father thought about that one and finally said he didn’t have any means of defense against the fairies.

“I don’t know what to do.” Chansen later told Trice, “I just don’t. if I stay here I’ll be a danger to you and your family. If I leave, I’ll die.”

“Sometimes I’m tempted to break your curse.” Trice said, “Just so that I don’t have to keep telling you when you’re wounded.”

Chansen smiled sheepishly. Secretly he hoped, and hoped… Trice had found him senseless in the barn, seemingly hit by a large, heavy object.

“Does your head hurt terribly?” she said by means of conversation; his answer was short.

“No.”

she’d forgotten. Again.

“Trice.” He said it softly. So softly she wondered if she’d imagined him saying it at all. It was a long time before he spoke again.

“Trice.” He said, “Forget about me. Forget about the curse, the soulbinding. I want to be your friend, that’s all. I never once thought I would ever be rid of this curse. I will not hide from you that when I met you I wished. I have hope, but can you begrudge me that? I have no expectations of you or any other maiden. I just want your friendship. I am not the only one here who suffers. I want to help you. I want to know who hurt you.”

Her breath hissed in but she didn’t look up. He plunged on ahead.

“Who hurt you Trice? And what can I do to help you heal? Will you tell me that Trice? Please?”

“Is this the answer you wanted?” she snapped.

He hesitated. “Don’t tell me because of a promise.” He said at last, “Don’t tell me because you have to but because you want to. I want to hear you laugh Trice.” There was a strange wistfulness in his voice and she drew a deep breath and started talking, telling him what she had never told anyone before.

“It’s been two years since he came. He stayed a year. He taught me to fight. He told me his brother was imprisoned by an ogre and he wanted me to help him rescue him. The ogre, he said, could only be defeated by a woman. He tricked me. He worked for a year to trick me. At last he said I was ready. We rode off together. I didn’t tell father where I was going. It didn’t matter because everyone trusted him implicitly.. he said he loved me. He said he would marry me. Father gave his approval. We had to free his brother, he said, and then we would be married. I believed him.

“As we neared the ogre’s den a war band emerged screaming and waving their swords. When I fought back he stopped me. ‘these are my men.’ He said. ‘if these are your men,’ I countered, ‘then why are they fighting us?’ he laughed then, and I’d never heard him laugh that way before. He took my sword and told me the real reason he had come. His brother had dared him to lead the most beautiful woman in the realm away to some dangerous spot of her own will and then to capture her and carry her off. His brother, he said, was looking for a woman of great beauty and daring who was also of a trusting and gullible spirit. I, he told me, exactly met those specifics.

“I will never meet them again!” she cried angrily, “never, the ogre chose that moment to come out of her lair and she chose him to carry off to his dungeon. And he said, as he was carried off,” her voice sank lower, “‘save me.’ He begged me to save him. He told me what I already knew, that the ogre could only be killed by a woman. He said he was sorry, he promised never to lie again. He said he truly did love me and that I was no more gullible than anyone, he was just a skilled trickster. And he begged me to rescue him.”

Trice fell silent, staring across the gently sloping valley. Chansen clenched his teeth as something he had never felt before sent pangs though his breast; something akin to pain.

“What are you going to do?” he asked finally,

“I’m going to kill the ogre.” She said simply, “And then I’m going to kill him.”

Chansen stood and crossed his arms across his chest, staring out into the distance.

“But I don’t see why you care!” Trice shouted, jumping to her feet, “you’re just like the rest of them. You don’t care. And I don’t ever want to see you again!” in a whirl of red skirts and black hair she left. This time he let her go. He sat on the bench where she had sat and looked where she had looked and wondered what punishment was good enough for such a man.

 

It was the next day. Trice sat by herself in the great hall and Chansen came and sat next to her. No one spoke at first.

“What do you want?” Trice said angrily,

“I want to kill him.”

“No. that’s what I want.”

“Then let me help.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you.”

“Trice, I won’t betray you. I’m not like that.”

“You’re a man.” She snapped, “That’s enough.”

“There is a vow that cannot be broken.” Chansen said suddenly, “There is an oath that cannot be destroyed. There is a love that cannot be abandoned…” He trailed off and Trice finished impatiently.

“‘There is a desire that cannot be voiced.’ I know the riddle too Chansen.”

He stood abruptly. She called him back.

“Trice,” she said, using his real name, “what is bothering you?”

“I can’t tell you.” He said bitterly.

“Why?”

“Because of this curse.”

She watched him leave in frustration, somehow knowing what he meant and yet she still did not understand.

Father found Chansen pacing the garden restlessly.

“What are you planning to do?” he asked, gently but pointedly.

“I don’t know.” Chansen folded his arms and sighed. After a moment he decided to confess. “I love your daughter.”

“Ah.” The lord said knowingly. “That explains why you’re hanging around. It does not explain what you’re planning to do.”

“I don’t know what to do sir.”

“For me or her?”

“Both of you.”

“Well, I can’t answer for Trice but you’ll have to do a lot to please me.”

Chansen was silent.

“There are ways for a commoner to become a knight but the way is long and tedious. Only a knight can ask me to court my daughter.”

The Lord paused and then added more softly, “Being a knight will not impress my daughter.”

Chansen sighed. “I’ll just go sir.” He said, “I- won’t come back.”

“That’s a good lad.” Calloway said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Six Months Later

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                              

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                    

                    

                    

                    

                   Chapter Five

“When the dark clouds close over the realm, the terror of the earth shall reign and help will come from those least known.”

Merver was beginning to talk more and more prophecy and less and less sense. Even father was beginning to be out of patience with him as times grew troubled. War was threatening on the east. Massive drought had plagued them all summer. The ogres and monster were restless and on the move for the first time in years. A blight had struck what was left of the crops and everyone was facing starvation. The winter promised to be cold and hard, but it still hadn’t rained. Even the major water sources began to run low. Mighty complaining was heard. Many departed on impossible quests, choosing to die that way then the long lingering death that awaited them. The game left the forest. The merchants sought harbor else where. Even the outlaws drifted away in search of higher pay. Taxes went up. Lord Calloway was torn between helping his people and helping himself. Trice had run away.

Count Domsky said let her go; they had more important things at hand. Arnold, Sir Arnold, said he wasn’t going to ride to her rescue again. Sir Righlord agreed with him. Reelie took offense. Mother, Adeil and Grandmother insisted she be found without delay. Merver came out with another ancient riddle.

        “The maiden who this realm shall save

        shall arise out of her grave.

           And her cursed champion shall be

           The one who will set her free.”

For three hundred years great men had wondered what the riddle meant. Lord Calloway had no interest in joining their numbers. He stayed at home, struggled to pay the taxes, struggled to find food, struggled to comfort his family, and wished he had never laid eyes on Trice Chansen.

Just when it seemed things couldn’t get worse he had word that his daughter was dead. They asked him if he wanted to claim her body. When he found out where it was he declined. They asked him to sign all sorts of papers promising not to hold them responsible. Numbly he did so. He sat in his study, with his head in his hands. He knew he should tell the others but he didn’t know how to break the news. Life suddenly seemed dull and empty. Trice was gone.

Trice, his eldest. His dear daughter. He missed her. He should have sent out a party for her. He shouldn’t have let her die like that, alone, in such an awful manner. Finally he forced himself to get up. Life must go on. Mother must be told. And Adeil. Vaguely he wondered what Merver would say on the matter. Angry he wondered why he allowed Merver to stay around when he only talked nonsense.

Days went by. Weeks. Life drug on like an unending river. Father tried not to think about rivers.

Things can always get worse. No matter how bad things are, they always get worse. It was two months after Trice’s death that Chansen showed up again.

“I know I said I wouldn’t come back.” He said, “and I tried. I really did. But I just can’t live without her sir. I wanted you to know I went to the King and he said- ”

Lord Calloway laid his hand on the young man’s arm, stopping his enthusiastic chatter.

“I’m sorry Chansen.’

His face fell. “She’s married.”

“No, no. she’s dead.”

“The ogre.” Chansen lept up, reaching for his sword. “She went against the Ogre and…”

“No Chansen.”

“Then, she’s been kidnapped and carried away. She has enemies; she told me.”

“Chansen, sit down.”

“Why?”

“This is news better heard sitting down.”

“Wherever she is I’ll save her. Do you hear me? I’ll save her!”

“Sit down.”

He sat.

“Trice is dead. Of that I am sure. She….”

“What?”

“She’s in the Caves of Waheer.”

“No.” Chansen’s face went white. “No. it can’t be. You’re lying. You just want me to leave again, to make sure I don’t see. But I will see her! Where is she? I don’t care if she went to Waheer, I still love her. Do you understand?”

He was standing and talking rapidly, thoughtlessly. The Lord’s cold voice brought him back to reality.

“Sit down!”

Reluctantly he sat.

“One thing you don’t seem to understand young man, and that is that your love is dead. If you want to see her you’ll have to journey to Waheer yourself. She died there.”

“How?” Chansen whispered,

“I don’t know.” Lord Calloway stood abruptly. “I have work to do young man, but I think I’d better warn you that if you enter that cursed place I don’t want to ever see you again. Do you understand? I’ll have you stoned out of my gates.”

“I understand sir.”

Chansen was left alone thinking about Waheer, the haunt of the Devil, men said, when no one came out of alive. The souls of anyone who entered were cursed by men and God. As night fell he finally made up his mind. He mounted his horse, Sun-Gold, and rode like a madman to the south. For three days he rode across Lord Calloway’s realm, stopping only to rest Sun-Gold, himself never sleeping. During the next three days he rode across the realm of Lord Haloc. On the seventh day he reached the desert. Great clouds of dust enveloped him as he crossed the dry waste lands. Ever nearer rose the Dark Mountains. Under those mountains was the Caves of Waheer. At sunset he reached them.

They came out and asked whom he was seeking. They brought him a great book and asked to sign his name and the name of his family. He refused.

“I have no name without her.” He said, “There is no one else to care. And I wish to be counted yet among the living.”

They told him he had thirty days before he would be considered dead. They gave him a torch and directed him down the path that Trice had taken.

Twenty-eight days went by. Then Twenty-nine. They sighed and gave up watching. No one ever came out. On the morning of thirtieth day he returned thin and pale, staggering under the weight of the girl he carried. He came out of the Caverns of the Dead and stood blinking at the sunlight coughing on the dust and suddenly fell.

One of them stepped forward and wrote on his forehead. He looked up. “Why did you do that?”

“So that everyone knows where you’ve been.” They answered. They brought him his horse and he rode off. They watched him leave.

“If she was gone,” One said, “She would have turned to dust and he would have never found her.”

There was a long pause. Then One said again, “Why did you not put the mark on her?”

“He did not sign his name in our book.” Another mused, “And he came out before his thirtieth day was over. He is not dead.”

“Then, why did you mark him?” Another One said,

“And not her?” One Other continued,

“He bears Her mark.” Came the answer.

 

Chansen rode up to Lord Calloway’s gate and pulled down the hood on his cloak so it covered the Mark. Only when he stood before the Lord did he let it show.

“I told you not to come back.” He hissed, “Leave now, accursed one.”

“I have always been cursed.” He answered, “Only now I wear it on my face. Don’t send me away Lord, No one leaves Waheer, yet I did so. I have brought you your daughter.”

 

They took Trice’s body from him and washed and dressed her for burial. The Lord laid her sword by her himself, not trying to conceal his grief. Chansen hung back not wanting to see her. The Mark burned like fire on his forehead but he couldn’t feel it. Lady Calloway took his hand and led him to her daughter’s side.

“I know you loved her.” She said, “You loved more than we did to bring her back from such a place.”

Then he wept. Merver took pity on him and laying a hand on his shoulder said,

         “Doubly cursed and marked by death,

         A Hero rode unto his death.

         Before he left these words he said,

            ‘Love has not died and is not dead.’”

“This is no time for riddles.” Count Domsky snapped.

But Chansen looked up and Merver, who smiled mysteriously, and drying his eyes went and stood looking down on his love. He touched her forehead and her eyes opened.

“Don’t touch me.” She snapped, “You have no right to touch me. That hurt Trice. It burns. Why does it burn like this?”

She glared around the room.

“Why is everyone in my room? Why are you all string at me? What happened?” She paused and said softly, “How did I get here?”

Chansen’s hands trembled as he held them both out to her. “Trice…”

“Don’t look at me like that.” She snapped, “You must be shadows all of you. This isn’t real. You’re not fooling me.”

“Trice.”

“Why does my head hurt?”

“Trice.”

She reached out and touched the Mark on his forehead.

“Did you- Am I- Can we- Why?”

“I can’t speak of it Trice.”

She touched her forehead in the same place. Chansen collapsed. Trice frowned. Pandemonium broke loose.

Trice finally got the story as everyone else thought they knew it. Finally she escaped them saying she was very glad to be back and she understood their concern but she needed to be alone and think about what happened. Then she ordered the servants out of Chansen’s room and sat next to him until he woke up. He looked around blankly.

“Why’d you faint?” Trice asked, “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“You wouldn’t know would you. How’d you get that Mark on your forehead?”

“They gave it to me.”

She didn’t ask who they were.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Of course not. Mine does.”

“Trice, you haven’t got one.”

She frowned. “I can feel it. It burns Trice, like living fire.” She touched her forehead.

Chansen frowned. “Why did you go to Waheer?” he asked,

“Why did you come to me?” She countered, he looked away.

“Trice.” She suddenly realized that she had been calling him by his first name. “Chansen.”

“If I tell you,” he said, “You’ll laugh at me. And you’ll take it wrong.”

“I will not.”

“You will.” He whispered, “because of the curse.”

“Come with me.” She took his hand and led him downstairs and outside into her garden. The flowers were withered and everything was brown. A chill wind blew down on them.

“Now tell me,” Trice said, “What drove you to come after me into Waheer, and what drove you out of it to win this Mark which you bear and I feel?”

“I love you.” Once he had said it, it seemed a load lifted off his heart. “I love you. That’s what I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want you to know because of the curse. You’d think I want your love in return. I’m not going to ask anything of you. Trice, I love you.”

“That’s why you followed me?”

“To save you. I keep promising your father I’ll leave and I keep ending up here. You’re my whole world.”

“And in the Caverns of the Dead?”

“I wanted to die at your side.”

“Then why did you return?”

Chansen smiled slightly. “Merver.”

Trice understood.

“And you?” Chansen said, “What drove you to Waheer?”

Trice sighed. “Don’t ask. Please, not now.’

Chansen sighed. This time he didn’t press it. “What are you going to do?” he asked, “Kill an Ogre?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. Why don’t you just leave me alone? All you ever do is confuse me. How do you know what love is? Love is pain, and sorrow. You can’t feel pain. I don’t think you feel sorrow. Besides, I can’t marry you anyway. I can only marry someone who’s a knight and I will never marry anyone who’s been knighted.”

Chansen left.

 

“I don’t think you can forbid marriage between Trice and Chansen any longer.” Lady Calloway was saying; when Chansen came and told them he was leaving- again. Father and Mother were alone when he came so no one else heard the arguments given and refuted, but when Chansen crossed the courtyard to the stables Merver appeared out of the shadows.

“Two hearts bound in love, Two minds that know each others thoughts. Two souls that blend and feel each others joys and pains.”

Chansen nodded. “Will you tell Trice?”

Merver smiled. Trice understood. “Soulbound,” she whispered; and touched her forehead.

 

Chapter Six

She took Chansen’s leaving calmly. All she seemed to care for anymore was practice with her sword. No longer was she forbidden. Yet sometimes she would complain of a bitter pin in her head and once she took to her bed in misery. She alone understood that the pain was from curses laid on Chansen for the Mark; pain he could not feel. In that way they were bound and she found herself wanting more; more of Chansen, and for him to have more of herself. She wanted to see him again. She wanted to love him.

One day she slipped away before dawn and rode two days to the Ogre’s lair. The time had come. She told no one she left. She came to the Ogre’s stronghold and knocked.

“What do you want?” the Ogre growled,

“I’ve come to kill you.” She answered fearlessly.

The Ogre regarded her without interest. “Oh. Are you a girl?”

“Yes.”

“Well, go away. I don’t like girls.”

Trice rode between him and the door.

“You have someone in your dungeon who I want to see very badly.”

The Ogre pushed past her into his stronghold. “I don’t keep girls in my dungeon.”

Trice dismounted, followed him in and shut the door. “This isn’t a girl. It’s a young man.”

The Ogre regarded her doubtfully as she leaned against his door, blocking his way out. He was about three feet taller than her and the door could easily have been forced. Still, he hesitated.

“What’s his name?”

“Prince Taris.”

“He’s gone. I ate him for supper last night.” The ogre jerked the door open. Trice grabbed him by his dirty coat.

“No, you didn’t eat him. You wouldn’t because you know he’s the king’s brother. You can smell royal blood a mile away. You’re very talented. And you know it gives you indigestion. The King will never ransom him, so you might as well give him up to me.”

She let go of him and drew her sword, turning it to catch the faint light. “I’ll take care of him.” She said with a smile.

The sight of the sword deeply unsettled the Ogre. “Suppose we have supper,” he said, “and talk about it.”

Trice agreed. By the time dinner was over, a dinner Trice insisted on cooking herself, the Ogre was snoring happily. She took his keys and opened the dungeons, leading the prisoners out into the sunshine. One of them, who she scarcely recognized, fell at her feet.

“I’m Prince Taris.” He said, “The long lost brother of the King. You will be richly rewarded, I promise you. Come with me at once and you will be as my brother.”

“Thank you,” Trice said in a muffled voice, “But I have other pressing matters to attend to first.”

“What?”

She put her sword point at his throat. “Do you remember the dare your brother made? Do you remember the girl you deceived?”

“Sir? He said in confusion,

“I’m not a Sir!” she cried, “I am Trice of Calloway. Do you remember? Do you?”

The young man’s face blanched.

“Do you? Answer!”

“I do.” He choked out.

“I swore to kill you.” She hissed, “I can kill you and throw you back to the Ogre. I can do that, or I can give you a choice.”

“What choice?”

“Find a young man named Trice Chansen and tell him who you are and what you did.”

“Who- who is he?” the Prince stammered,

“My lover.” She snarled.

“That’s my only choice?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do so then.”

“Swear.”

He choked. “S-swear?”

“Swear.”

He swore then, and begged her pardon. She turned her back on his pleas and reentered the Ogre’s lair.

She made friends with the Ogre when he awoke. She cleaned his stronghold and cooked him meals and told him stories. She didn’t ever want to go home. She sent a letter to her family telling them what she was doing. They laughed and joked about it except for Merver, who never joked, and Count Domsky who father only kept around because, “it sometimes is useful to weigh good advice against the bad and to hear evil suggestions so that we can evaluate the right.”

The Ogre became fat and jolly, his lair a bright happy place. But Trice grew more listless as the weeks drug on. She sometimes cried out with pain and once was ill for a week. Yet there seemed to be nothing visibly wrong with her. During this time the Ogre, (who was really no Ogre at all any more,) took care of her, fretting and worrying and wringing his great hands. Trice smiled and told him not to worry and promised that when she was better she would take him to her father’s castle where there would be plenty to do. And so the Winter passed.

In the Spring the rains came. But before the new plants were more than an inch high War struck. A cold, terrible war, with the men who had once been their friends, the Arrilites. Chansen heard much about the Stupidity of the king’s actions and which of his advisors were the most evil minded. Over and over he heard the name of the King’s long lost brother, Prince Taris. The name caused vague uneasiness in him and vaguely he realized that this was the man who had hurt Trice. As soon as he realized that a new world, unbidden, broke into his consciousness. “Oathbreaker.” He had nothing tying him to the village where he was at and he instantly took off for the capitol. It was a long hard journey for the Royal City lay far the North and then East a little ways. It took him three weeks, evading battles and skirmishes and the camps of enemy and friendly soldiers alike. In fair weather and peaceful times it would have taken ten days.

Filled with a rage kindled that day in the stables he finally reached the palace. He hid his horse and sword in the woods and asked at the gates for work. The gatekeeper laughed.

“There’s work a-plenty if you’ve a stomach for killing.” He said.

Chansen seemed to hesitate. “They won’t take me in the army.” He said.

“And why not? You’re not lame.”

“No, I’m…”

“What?”

“I’m cursed.”

“So is every soldier.”

“No, it’s not like that. They say I’ll bring bad luck and death. I…”

“What?”

“I’ve been to Waheer.”

He brushed aside the hair that fell over his forehead and showed him the Mark.

“We don’t want you here.” The Gate-Keeper gasped, “leave us alone.”

“No one will take me.” Chansen cried desperately, “I won’t talk to anyone. I can work alone. I won’t tell them about it. Please, I only went there to bring back the sister of my friend. It was for a good cause. I don’t deserve to be cursed but I’ll take the curses if you feed me.”

So at last the Gate-Keeper relented and that’s how Chansen found himself mucking out stables and weeding gardens, not allowed to talk to anyone; with no way even to gather news. That was fine with him however, because he could learn his way around the palace and learn the habits of the King’s brother and have a right to do so.

One day, as he was hauling water down one of the larger passages in the castle, he met Prince Taris coming the other way. He was standing in His Royal Highness pathway but he didn’t move. He just stood boldly, staring into the Prince’s face. When he did finally move he managed to trip and dump water all over the floor drenching Prince Taris. 

“You Oaf!” he shouted in rage, “You blundering fool, lazy clot.”

Chansen looked up calmly from where he was moping up the mess and said in a low voice, “Oathbreaker.”

Prince Taris was swept with cold fear. He rushed to his rooms desperately wishing he knew what this Trice Chansen looked like. It seemed impossible that in running way from his unknown enemy he would find him in his own kitchen but what else had that servant meant? He shuddered again.

As for Chansen, there was no doubt in his mind as to who had deceived and betrayed Trice. He had never heard the name spoken, had never had the slightest description but he unerringly knew and he knew that this man had broken an oath. He wondered what Trice was doing and if she knew the one she hated was free. Like an answer to prayer Chansen happily realized that she had sent the Prince to him.

A week went by. The Prince rode off to battle. Chansen snuck out of the castle and into the camp where he hung around washing dishes and shining boots, always careful not to let the Mark show. One night an officer came grumbling that His Highness wanted a glass of wine. Chansen volunteered to get it. As he crossed the threshold he managed to trip and spill half of the wine all over the indignant Prince in front of three or four High Officers.

“You imbecile!” he spluttered, “Look what you’ve done.”

Chansen handed him the half empty glass and said, “Oathbreaker.”

The Prince saw his eyes flash under his humble demeanor and trembled again.

“Arrest that man!” he shouted, pointing a shaking finger at the doorway through which Chansen had disappeared. The Officers laughed.

“He’s just a lad.” One said, “a servant. We’ll teach him a lesson, no fear.”

Prince Taris cast about in his brain for some excuse.

“He’s a spy.”

“My Lord, all the Arrilites are dark-skinned.” He was answer patiently, “This is just what I mean. You’re a diplomat, not a strategist. You have no place on the battle front. You had best stay at home.”

Chansen returned to the castle.

Two days later Prince Taris came home. He had picked a bodyguard to serve him day and night. The King himself went to lead his troops. Chansen walked in on a council one day.

“When I freed you from the Ogre you promised to adopt me.” He said, “As a brother. And you said that the King would richly reward me. I had other business then but I’m here now.”

The King Regent stared at him in amazement. “I never promised you any such thing.” 

“Yes, you did. When I freed you from the Ogre. You wanted me to come with you then and there but I had other things to do first.”

“But that wasn’t you. You’re not the one who freed me from the Ogre.  It was Trice!”

“But sir, that’s who I am.”

“What?”

“I am Trice.”

“No you’re not. Trice is  girl.”

“You don’t promise to adopt a girl as your brother.”

“If this young man isn’t who he claims to be,” someone interjected, “Then who is he?”

“I’ve never seen him before.” Prince Taris declared.

“I am Trice.” He said softly, “Trice Chansen.”

The Prince knocked over a chair in his haste to leave the room. The others shrugged and told Trice to come back some other time as the Prince could act a little strange on occasion. Chansen smiled and bowed out of the room. He followed the Prince who hastened to his private  rooms. The Prince had sent away his guard wanting to be alone. He was fumbling with the key to lock his door when Chansen appeared at his side and took it from him.

“Allow me Your Highness.” He said and locked them in. He closed the shutters over the windows and barred them. He locked the inner door that connected the study to the bedroom. Then he pocketed the key.

“Now we are alone.” He said.

The Prince only stared in horror.

Chansen poured a glass of wine from the side table and sat down on the long couch. He stretched his legs out in front of him and waited.

“When did you last see Lord Calloway’s daughter?” the Prince said nervously, Chansen sipped the wine thoughtfully.

“It’s been about six months I think.”

“You’re lying.” Taris had a desperate look in his eyes as he edged in closer. “You can’t know all the details about the Ogre if it’s been six months. You can’t. because it’s only been two.”

“It has hasn't it.” Chansen said, “That's queer.”

“She's written you.” Taris realized triumphantly.

“No.” Chansen answered calmly, “She doesn't know where I am.”

“Then how...” Taris broke off. “What magic do you possess?”

Chansen brushed his hair off of his forehead and showed him the Mark. “I went to Waheer to bring her back to the land of the living.” he said, “Maybe that's why I can know her thoughts and see her heart.”

And Taris fell silent.

Chansen set down his glass and stood up.

“I love her.” he whispered ominously, “And as much as I love her, I hate you. I've waited nearly a year for this day.”

“Why?” Taris said, “Why do you hate me?”

“It's because of you that she does not love me.” Chansen cried, “Because you hurt her. She won't love me, or anyone. You broke her spirit. You took her laughter. I have never seen her smile Taris, because of what you did.”

“Why do you love her?” Taris cried, whirling on him, “Can you tell me that?”

“She's real.” Chansen answered, “She makes me feel alive. She proved to me that life is not an illusion.”

Taris was no idiot. He caught on quickly. “And why Trice Chansen,” he sneered, “Did you not feel alive?”

“Because of the curse.” he said calmly, “Because I can't feel pain.”

that took the Prince off-guard. “Can't what?” he shouted,

Chansen shrugged. He borrowed the Prince's knife and stabbed it through his hand so that the point showed on the other side. Then he pulled it back out and his blood ran off of his fingers onto the floor. The Prince was not squeamish but he could scarcely look at him. Chansen put the knife back and bound his hand.

“I have to be careful,” he said, “I've been told I can bleed to death.”

“Why did you do that?” Taris asked,

“To show you.” Chansen said, his voice calm and even, “To make you see. I cannot feel pain.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm cursed.”

“And why are you cursed?”

“That seems to be your favorite question Prince.” Chansen said, resuming his seat, “I haven't even told Trice. But, since I won't deny a man a request when he's doomed to die, I'll tell you. You'll be the first to hear it mind you. This is not a story I tell lightly. Have a seat Prince and get something to drink. It's a long tale, and not a pretty one.”

the prince did as he was told and sat facing Chansen and wondering what he had asked for.

“Many years ago, before you and I even thinking about being born, when our father's were but boys themselves there was another race that walked the earth. Men called them Fairies. As I gather they were light winged creatures who made their clothes from flower petals and lived in trees. They can't have been as small as all that because one of them was my father.

“Now that we know about him I’ll tell you about my mother. There isn't much to tell. All I know about her is that she lived somewhere in this area and a little after I was born she was looking at me, laying there so small and helpless and she had the misfortune to say, “poor little creature, to be born at a time like this, into a world so full of pain.' Her husband, my father, heard this and -being a dim-witted fairy- said, 'never worry dear. Our son will not suffer no matter what the world my do to him. I'll give him a gift so that he may not feel pain.' Of course, the unwitting recipient of the gift was me. No one asked me if I wanted to go through life different then everyone else. Of course I didn't ask to have a fairy father either. First they hated me, then they feared me. Then -”

“Hold it, hold it.” Prince Taris interrupted, “Who hated you?”

“The other fairies.” Chansen said, a little irritated, “Who else?”

“Was your mother a fairy too?”

“No, of course not. If she was I wouldn't be here. But she lived with them of course. I was given the usual choice of worlds but by then I didn't have a choice.”

The Prince sipped his wine and said, “Why?”

“Because of the old queen. She came to me one day and said, 'this curse I lay on you. From this day forward you shall fell no pain either in body or spirit until a maiden shall love you so well that she will bear your pain and teach you love and then you will be wed and your souls joined and you will bear each others joys and sorrows.'”

“Soulbinding.” Said Prince Taris.

“It was no real curse,” Chansen continued, “But it impressed me and then no one would have anything to do with me. It was after that that they wanted me to go through an ordeal to prove I was one of them. Either that or leave.”

“What ordeal?”

Chansen shuddered. “It would have killed me.” he said simply, “The only one who could give me what I needed to endure that test, I was mortal, the only one who could give me the strength, was the old queen, the one who had cursed me. I was left with no choice. The test was not required to stay.

“Before I left my home for the last time my mother kissed me. She was very sorry to see me go. 'be careful.' she said, 'you can bleed to death.' I rode out of her world and into my first battle.

“I did pretty well for my first battle. I rescued a lady and defeated a great knight. They mistook me for a knight too. Why wouldn't they with my fairy robes and the finest horse ever seen? The lady seemed considerably worried about my leg. 'I guess I should take care of that.' is what I said, 'I've been told I can bleed to death.' I learned fast. It was not the first time I had been in the mortal world.”

Chansen smiled strangely and fell silent. The Prince drew a deep breath.

“And that is why you know of things that happen that you have not seen?”

Chansen shrugged and emptied his glass. “Maybe. Who knows?”

He stood and reached for his sword. “Well,” he said, “I guess it's time to get this thing over with.”

“No. NO!” The Prince's wild terror returned. “Don't kill me. I beg of you. I'll make you a prince, a brother to the King. I'll give you riches and gold. I'll beg pardon of your lady. I'll woo her on your behalf. But don't kill me please.”

“You deceived Trice.” Chansen said coldly, “you robbed her of her joy. You intended to kidnap and ravish her. You taught her that men are liars. And to save your miserable life you promised to reveal yourself to me and you broke that oath. Had you come to me and said that Trice sent you I might have been merciful.”

“I was going to come.” Taris cried, “But with the war I had to be there for my brother. As soon as it was over I was going to come, I swear!”

“Liar.” Chansen yawned.

“Listen. I'll give you everything. I'll be your slave. I'll reform. Just spare my life.”

“No good. I want your life, not your property. I hate you for what you did, not who you are.”

The Prince threw himself to the floor, groveling and Chansen's feet. He turned away to the wine table again.

“Death is too good for you.” he said disgustedly, and held out a glass. “Drink this.”

The Prince, thinking it was a sign of forgiveness took it from his hand and drank, babbling his thanks. Chansen unlocked the doors, threw the key to the floor and left.

The Prince died that night.

Some say that Chansen poisoned the wine. Some say that it was an assassin. Some say it was suicide and yet other say he died of guilt. It is irrelevant. What is important is that the next day the Chancellor came to Chansen and asked him, as the King's adopted brother, to take the place of Regent. He accepted. A month later word came that the King had fallen in battle and Chansen signed a generous peace treaty.

They came to him then and asked him to be king. He sat back and thought about that. “It depends,” he said, “On if Lord Calloway's daughter will be Queen.”

the answer came back. Yes, of course.

“Ah,” he said, “but which daughter?”

“Adeil.” they said, “The elder daughter was missing.”

“Then I must find her.” he answered. He changed half the laws in the kingdom and left a new council in charge and regent and then set off alone to find Trice.

                                                                                                                                            

Chapter Seven

Lord Calloway thought that things couldn't get better than when the new king asked for his daughter in marriage. He thought things couldn't get worse when he found out that he wanted Trice. He'd had her letter from the Ogre's lair and at last the tow of them had returned home. By then the King had lost interest. Trice seemed sad and quiet and yet sharper than ever. The Ogre, whom she called Oggy, ate a tremendous amount but did a tremendous amount of work to make up for it. He was also the best storyteller for miles although his stories tended to be a little gory and gruesome. Yet, in all, Father welcomed him whole-heartedly. Count Domsky grumbled, Sir Arnold laughed, Adeil was horrified, but they all got along all right.

Father decided one day to see if he couldn't convince his elder daughter to accept the King's suite. He hoped that if he offered enough incentive, provided the king didn't marry in the meantime, he could still effect an alliance with the royal family.

“Trice,” he said gently, when he had her alone, “What do you think of marriage?”

“Do you mean getting married or the institution of marriage?”

“Well, getting married.”

“I don't  want to marry.”

“Well.” he tried to change his tactics. “You know King Balizen the fourteenth died, and his broth is King Balizen Fifteen now.”

“I hadn't heard.”

“No, you pay attention to nothing but Ogres and Ghosts. Have you ever met the King's brother?”

Trice tensed. “No.”

“Well, you know the new King is looking for a bride.”

“Is he really?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact he wrote me and...”

“I'm sure Adeil would love to be queen.” she interrupted. Abruptly she stood and went to the window turning her back to the room.

“Trice, are you sure you've never met the King's brother?”

“Why do you ask?” she said irritably,

“Because, well it's really strange, he asked for you by name.”

Trice lost control. “Do you remember Tar?” she said, “The young man, Tar? Do you? Well, he is Prince Taris, the king's brother.”

“But daughter,” Lord Calloway said confused, “that's all the better. You were quite fond of him I think.”

“I hate him!” she cried hysterically, “you don't understand. You just don't understand!”

“But daughter...” he broke of helplessly, then said more softly, “you're right. I don't understand.”

He put his arm around her where she stood sobbing and tried to comfort her.

“What did he do?” he asked quietly, “if he hurt you I'll make him pay, king or no king.”

“He deceived me.” she said brokenly, “He stole my heart and my trust. He tried to kidnap me. The Ogre's attack saved me. That's why he disappeared. That's why I made friend with Oggy. But he disappeared and now he's king. I'll never be his queen, ever. I don't know why he asked.”

“Trice, why did you tell me?”

Lord Calloway was finally beginning to understand his daughter. He finally understood her anger, and her obsession with sword play. He understood her distrust and hatred of men in general and knights in particular. He understood her frustration and cold manner. He blamed himself for not seeing her hurt. It had been three years she had been alone believing him to be uncaring, distant...

“Why didn't you tell me?” he repeated,

from the flood that followed he gathered that in her innocence she had trusted the first man who wooed her and in her betrayal had deemed all men alike.

It was two hours until Lord Calloway at last returned to his own rooms. He was a happy man. He had regained the love and confidence of a daughter he thought he had lost. He sat down to pen an answer to the King. Then he went into his council chamber to discuss some of the king's new laws and how to reflect them in his own administration.

 And then Chansen showed up again. As he strode into the great hall he met Oggy coming to meet him.

“Well, hello!” he cried, “and what are you?”

Oggy held out his hand and smiled. “Oggy.” he said in a voice that seemed to come up from the depths of the earth.

“Oggy?” Chansen said incredulously, “I'm Trice. Trice Chansen. Where are you from?”

“I liver here.” he said slowly, “Trice brought me. You share her name.”

“We always did have that in common. Is Trice here?”

“I- I would. Very much. But I think, I have to see Lord Calloway first. Will you excuse me?”

Without waiting for an answer he bowed and walked past him into the castle. Chansen always had the knack of showing up at the most inopportune times.

“Sir, I have to ask you a question.”

“Well, ask it then.”

Count Domsky muttered something about flies in general, and pesky flies in particular.

“May I marry your daughter?”

Lord Calloway was in no mood for his daughter to marry anyone. He wanted to keep her for a while. So, he grabbed at the nearest excuse.

“Actually,” he said, “Someone else had already asked.”

Chansen's mouth dropped open in dismay. “Who?”

“The King.”

He laughed then, a happy, gleeful, boyish laugh.

“There's no problem then.” he said, “I am the King.”

Lord Calloway concluded that he had gone completely mad.

“What do you mean, you're the King?” he said, “King Balizen only had one brother.”

“I know.” Chansen answered, “His heir, Prince Taris. See, he died, but first he had adopted me as his brother. So, I became his heir and subsequently King Balizen Fifteen.”

“But your name is Chansen.”

“So? The other prince was Taris. And his brother was Nomman. It doesn't matter. When you're king your name is Balizen. It's part of accepting the throne. There never has been and never will be a king named anything other than Balizen.”

“But why would the King adopt you as his brother?”

“It wasn't the King. It was the Prince. Because I freed him from the Ogre.”

“But you didn't. Trice did.”

Chansen shrugged. “Well, he couldn't adopt Trice so he gave me the honour instead.”

“But...” Lord Calloway struggled to understand. “Did he tell you all this?”

“Oh no. I told him.”

“But, how would you know? You haven't been her and, well, we haven't known where you are.”

Chansen sighed. “That's a little difficult to explain.”

“I'd say so.”

“Have you heard of Soulbinding?”

“Yes.” Lord Calloway frowned disapprovingly.

“Have you ever thought of it as possible; outside of witchcraft?”

The Lord raised his eyebrows. “No.”

“Well,” Chansen spread his hands helplessly. “that's the only way I can think of to explain it. You know I'm cursed and...”

“Listen young man.” Lord Calloway interrupted. He had no intentions of giving away his daughter. She needed him to protect her. But he was tired of putting up with this persistent suitor. “you go talk to Trice. I'm not giving anyone permission to marry her just now. You can make your own suite. Now go leave me alone.”

Chansen left. He went up to her room but she wasn't there. He looked in the garden but she wasn't there either. He wandered through the rest of the castle asking after her. Finally he learned that she and Oggy had left some two hours earlier. No one knew when they would return. Chansen took his horse and followed them. He found Trice picking wild flowers. Oggy was no where around. When she saw him she screamed and ran into his arms.

“I've missed you!” she cried, “I've missed you so much. Oh Trice...”

Chansen thought he must have died and gone to heaven.

She brushed her hand across the Mark. “you've let your hair grow.”

“I've found it saves trouble if people just don't know I'm cursed. Trice I- I have a lot to tell you.”

“Well, you've been gone for six months. Why did you leave?”

“Because, well, you told me to.”

“I didn't mean forever. Just a little while. To let me think.” she was laughing. Chansen thought how he had never seen her laugh. Or smile. He found himself tongue-tied.

“Have you met Oggy?” she asked suddenly,

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“He's the Ogre. Or was. He's nice enough now that he eats beef instead of men.”

“That's comforting.”

“So, what have you been doing?”

he was suddenly serious. “Prince Taris...”

“I know.” she interrupted, and her laughter vanished. So easily he noticed.

“Are you angry?” he said bewildered, he shouldn't have brought it up. He shouldn't have broken the happy spell she was under.

“Well, where have you been?” Trice said sharply,

“I've been working in the castle.” he said hesitantly.

“That figures.” she said angrily, “I don't know why you came back.”

“Trice, you know why I came back. I told you.”

“How do you expect me to believe that?”

“What did I say?” he cried in confusion, “You've never been like this to me. What did I do wrong?”

“Taris.” She said.

Chansen spread his hands helplessly. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

She looked at him queerly. “Why would you think I wanted that?”

Chansen put his head in his hands. “I don't know.” he said miserably, “I just don't know.”

Trice touched his forehead. “Why did you go to Waheer?”

“To save you.”

“I don't believe that.” she said irritably.

“Why?” he countered; Trice fell silent. “Why did you go to Waheer?” he pressed.

“I can't tell you that.” she said, shifting uneasily.

“Why?”

“Because, you'll laugh at me.”

“Then you have to tell me!” he cried, “I've thrown myself at the mercy of you scorn. Most men won't even tell a girl he loves her if he doesn't know she loves him back. I love you so much that I had to tell you. You owe it to me to tell you why you went to Waheer. I deserve that. I didn't ask for any reward. I didn't demand your hand in marriage, but I want to hear this. I saved you life Trice. Cut me some slack on that account.”

Trice drew a deep breath. “I wanted to do something no one had ever done before.” she said, “I wanted to do something forbidden. And I wanted to be cursed. Because I had thought... but you don't want to hear that.”

“Yes I do.”

“there is no law that decrees you must hear my thoughts.”

“I want to know your thoughts Trice. I want to know if my suspicions are right.” She stood up and started to edge away from him. He followed her. “I want to know if there's any chance...”

Trice started running. Chansen caught her easily and in a sudden fit of teasing started tickling her mercilessly.

“Do you love me?” he asked laughing, Trice shook her head and wouldn't answer. “Do you love me?” he repeated, “Come on now, I want an answer!”

She begged him to stop and he relented. She put her arms around his neck and regarded him seriously. Chansen waited.

She never had the chance to speak. She suddenly looked at something over Chansen's shoulder and started to cry out a warning.

“Not a word from you missy.” rough hands grabbed Chansen from behind and a voice he recognized as belonging to Sir Garis sneered at Trice.

“No sudden movements from you either or I'll kill your lover. I'm inclined to kill him out of jealousy. Faithless girl.”

He drug Chansen to a tree and bound his behind it. Trice could only stare in open mouthed horror. For a brief second doubt flicked through Chansen's mind at the knight's brazen comment but he dismissed it without further thought.

“Now then,” Sir Garis dusted off his hands and confronted Trice. “He's interfered long enough dear. Give the word and I'll end his life.”

“No.” Trice shook her head, wild eyed with fear. “Leave us alone.”

“Not so fast sweetheart.” he caught her chin in his hand forcing her to look up at him.

“I'm not your sweetheart!” she cried furiously wresting away. Chansen tried to break free without success. Trice suddenly jumped back and drew her sword. With an equally fast motion Sir Garis whipped out his. Chansen watched with his heart in his mouth as they sparred and parried with lightning speed. Sir Garis was taller and stronger but not necessarily more skilled. Yet he pressed Trice hard, forcing her farther and farther back. Then all at once she tripped. Chansen screamed inwardly as he watched her fall on her own sword and saw her blood on the ground. At the same time he felt a stabbing pain in his side. Through the blur of pain he had never felt before and the sudden realization of what he felt he saw Trice stand to her feet with a puzzled expression. Sir Garis dropped his own sword in amazement and she picked it up and ran toward him. Sir Garis fell, never again to rise. Then Chansen fainted.

 

Chapter Eight

Oggy saved them. He was the Hero of the party that night. Trice was pale and weak but insisted on coming down to dinner. Between Oggy and Chansen she said she was as happy as she could ever be. Chansen smiled and kept his mouth shut. Then he left again.

For three days Trice kept saying, “He’ll be back soon. I know he’ll be back.” On the fourth day she got angry. On the fifth she wept. For the next week she went about sullen and snappy. Then, unexpectedly as usual, Chansen returned.

“Where have you been?” Trice said angrily,

Chansen was silent a minute. “I went to see my mother.” He said, “And  to thank my father for his ‘gift.’ And I told the old queen she might as well get used to the idea that I was going to be living in her domain unless she gave me the answer to a riddle. She laughed at me and told me to ask you. It confused me, so I came.”

Trice looked at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?” she said, so Chansen told her the whole story. She listened in open mouthed amazement.

“How much of that are you making up?” she asked when he had finished,

Chansen pressed his hands over his eyes. “Why do you hurt me like this?” he whispered,

“I can’t hurt you.” She said tauntingly, “You can’t feel pain.”

“Couldn’t.” he corrected.

“What?”

“Trice, Trice, what do I have to do to prove that I love you, that I won’t deceive you, use you or betray you? I went into Waheer and came out again. Why is that not enough? You are cursed Trice, how can I break that curse? Prince Taris is dead, Sir Garis is dead, you tamed Oggy, what more do you want? You promised me once, a very long time ago, this is the question I want you to answer. This one you must. What do I have to do to prove to you that I love you? Answer that riddle Trice, keep your promise. And when I do it, question me no more.”

Trice stared at him, trying to take in everything at once. “Taris is dead?” she said at last,

“Yes. I didn’t kill him. I’m sorry. But he died anyway. I don’t know why you sent him to me but…”

“then, who is the new King?” She interrupted,

“I am. Or will be. I told them I would only be crowned after I won you. You gave me a puzzle once, as meaningless as one of Merver’s. I answered it.”

“What did I say?”

“You said you could only marry a knight but you would never marry anyone who’d been knighted. I haven’t been knighted Trice, you now that I can’t be. But as a Prince the title ‘Sir’ was handed to me. I am, by rank, a knight.”

“I didn’t know.” She whispered, “I thought you let Taris live and was working for him.”

“No, sweetheart.”

“But how did you even know?”

“I love you!” he cried passionately, “and I just knew. When I saw him, I knew. The rest just came to me, like a message from heaven. Like I have only heard of in Soulbinding.”

“And your curse?” She said shakily,

“It was broken that day in the forest. I couldn’t feel it when I was hurt but you… that’s the riddle Trice. I love you. If you cannot love me in return then I’m going to live with my father and forget; if I can. I love you Trice. How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?”

“What are you offering me?” she asked,

“My heart, my hand, the throne of this kingdom and anything else money, power and determination can accomplish. Trice.” He pulled a ring out of his pocket tat sparkled in the sunlight. “Will you accept this?” he asked, “As proof of my faithfulness? I worked for this for three months for you. I didn’t just take it out of the treasury that was handed me. I earned it with my own hands. For you.”

She did not take it right away. “What about the curse?”

“It’s broken Trice. And even if is wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter.”

“But the Soulbinding?”

“I don’t believe in Soulbinding. I never have. I tried to tell you that but you didn’t listen. The curse didn’t matter to me until you broke it.”

“When did I break it?”

“The day you told me what that prince did to you. The day I realized I was in love with you. I felt your pain then. I didn’t understand but I knew you were hurt. I still don’t understand. I don’t’ know why you scorn m like this. That day you fell, on your sword, I felt it Trice.”

She frowned in puzzlement. “I didn’t.” she said, “That’s what was so queer. That’s what made Sir Garis drop his sword in surprise. No one should have been able to get up after a wound like that. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I spent a whole winter in Oggy’s lair before I came home. One day I woke up and wondered where you were. I saw you Trice, you were building a fire and you burned your finger. You didn’t notice of course but I did. It burned there, on my finger as though I was the one carelessly sticking it in the flame and not you. It was like this Mark. Then I wondered.”

He looked at her wonderingly. “Trice?”

She smiled at him and he could see tears glistening in her eyes she held out her left hand, palm down. “Put it on.” She said.

He knelt almost reverently and put his ring on her fourth finger. She pulled him to his feet and kissed him.

“I owed you that. She said laughing at the surprise on his face, “You needn’t tell father. I have been acting horribly toward you but how could I know? How could I know you weren’t lying, that you didn’t just want to use me, that you weren’t just interested in something I could offer? How could I know that even if you did marry me it would be for my sake? There were so many things Chansen, my money, connections with an aristocrat…” she laughed again. “I love you Trice.” She said, “How could I not when we even share a name?”