Val’ha rested her head on her pack, awaiting the world of sleep in anticipation of m’irth Chext’a’s presence, in a clearing off Magickal Road in the Bylikaegra Forest. The Baroness – all of the journeymates – had veered between stoicism, relief, desire for justice and profound sadness over the fate of Baron Val Tress, and for Lady Frippe, Arpon-Altraine and all of the other Moncrovians and peerage who had had their spirits ensnared and absorbed by Xorus, their corpses resurrected for his navy. "What becomes of their spirits?" Val’ha asked Tarl-Cabot late in the evening. "What happens to the spirits of those consumed by a god?"

"Just that – they are eaten, destroyed completely. There is no path to Convah, no freedom, no more existence, but we do not know for sure that the spirits of the Baron and the others were taken for Xorus’ fuel. At least we were able to give their bodies peace."

"O-oh." A flash of gold-light had struck Val’ha’s eyes at that moment, causing her to lose her balance. When Tarl-Cabot helped her sit, she told him of her premonition.

"Off to sleep then, lady Elf! Your mother would not come but for very good reason – sleep, and bring her message back to us."

For most of the night Val’ha’s dreams were a random jumble of images: floating in the green river with her father, the long purple kelp swaying in concert with the Song and occasionally parting to reveal the Baron flying on the back of a giant owl, his face joyous and youthful as he brushed the heavens; Lady Frippe and Arpon-Altraine sitting in King Joel’s meeting room, raising goblets in hail to a silhouetted figure, and dropping the cups as they staggered back in their chairs, clutching their throats in agony; Heemstress, leprous in her bed, writhing and scratching at her skin from Cagliostra’s punishment for failing her with the Sages; Tim and Hevoran flying through the sky on Osravulin, the winged horse; Prince Joel running his sword through King Percivale of Joh’oprinia.

Val’ha felt herself lifted from the water and, as her head broke the top of the river, saw the night suffused with Chext’a’s gold-light. It felt like feathers as it carried Val’ha toward the expanse of her now-limitless green lake, which spanned every horizon of the limbic skylight. She hung there, bathed in the Song of the oceanic lake, knowing that tonight her mother was not to speak when an image from their past began to play out across the emerald water.

She was in her birth-hut, seeing through the eyes of…It took Val’ha a moment to determine that it was indeed her, and when she offered her hand to the bedridden, peaceful and cold figure of her mother, she saw it was that of a very young child in a hut lit only by the Night Moon through the window over Chext’a’s sleep-mat. A noise made Val’ha turn; a baby gurgled on the floor in the middle of the room, though she could not see it (her, Ma’teus) for the swaddling. Ma’hadrin stepped out of the shadow and toward the infant Val’ha. Without a word, he kissed her on the forehead and she saw his face and tunic were soaked with tears.

Ma’hadrin scooped Ma’teus up with great delicacy in one arm and mouthed to his wish-ring’s purple glow the words that took him, back so far ago in time and Val’ha’s memory, away to Gregarcantz, for him to raise her half-sister. How can I remember these things and yet I am no more than a year old myself. Just before Ma’hadrin and Ma’teus faded, Val’ha noticed that under the crook of her father’s other arm he held a clanking, golden object only partly visible, a saucer tied by three ropes to a blue-stone encrusted bar. Val’ha wept for her mother, let go of her hand and sat in vigilance of p’irth Ma’hadrin’s return home, alone. She fell asleep in the moonglow of an autumn a quarter century past.

Val’ha awoke with a full recollection of her night’s travels, recounting them to her companions as they readied to trek back through the dewy clearing to Magickal Road after camping for the night in the caves of a woodland ridge. "What was he holding?" asked Ma’teus.

"From Val’ha’s description, a gold balance like those used by miners and food merchants," said Porcie. "But what would he have had or used a balance for? His magic?" The companions agreed it was the only answer, but none could guess why he had he brought it along to Gregarcantz and they let the matter go as they packed up for the completion of their ride to the Holy Convent. Though it represented the Zeusan Church’s presence in Moncrovia, the Holy Convent was another day away and only hours from Bylikaegra, according to Porcie. The companions reached the north road to the Holy Convent several hours before noon. The long road was beautifully paved in long sheets of light brown slate trimmed in travertine and lined with satinwood, maple and pear trees behind goldleaf pedestals supporting eagles in flight, the symbol of Gelfar, Patron of Heated House and rival god-king of Zeus.

Morning Terr’Sol gleamed against the terraces of the Holy Convent, those carved into the lower, closer foothill connected by slate paths ribboning through gold woods and sparkling with dozens more of Gelfar’s golden eagles amid gardens of marigolds, poppies and gilt lilies. The smaller buildings – slate foundations and rooftops, satinwood timber – were in the rear and housed, according to the Baroness, the nuns, friars and priors. The nearest buildings were much, much larger: the High Matriarch’s gold-gabled abbey residence, the Moncrovian Church with eagles engraved into the wood and two particularly large carvings on its massive cherrywood doors, the rectangular dining hall, the orphanage and, far to one side, the stables. On a hill behind the commune was the Old Church of Moncrovia, a faded sentinel from the Age of Insipirility now surrendering to the crumble of time and growth of ivy bushes and bougainvillea.

There was noone about the grounds, but sounds – glass and metal chinking, a multitude of murmurs – radiated through the walls of the dining hall. The Baroness nodded toward the morningstar. "Always the rigid one with tightly run days." As they tied their mounts to the hitching posts outside the doors of the hall, she laughed with a merry, girlish lilt. "I have known Abbess Crulee-ana since my days as a knight under the second and third King Joel. She has always been an enforcer of routine, so it does not surprise me that every single body on these hallowed grounds was ordered to be at breakfast at this time." She threw open the doors to the dining hall and every one of the hundreds of adults and children within stopped what they were doing to stare at them.

"A Grey Troll!" said a little girl excitedly. "He is so big – I like him." Laughter sprinkled across the room, its walls tapestried with long-departed religious leaders and open, iron-barred amber windows. The food servers who had been hauling great tin pots of feast and drink from doors behind the head table returned to their chores, the diners to their meals. At the head table – like the others, about forty feet long and cut from satinwood, with benches and large golden eagle centerpieces – the Abbess and several of her priests arose and strode through the center of the breakfasters.

The Zeusan church leaders were all clad in white vestments and free of any jewelry, but Abbess Crulee-ana, a tall, handsome Woman with a white-grey bun of hair and long, blue-veined fingers, had a red sash. "Valerie!" she greeted Baroness Val Tress.

"Ana, how have you been?" The Baroness crackled with charm, her voice rising and her arms opening to catch the Abbess’ embrace. They pushed back and cocked their heads up and down at each other. "You look well, Sister Crulee-ana!"

"As do you, Siress Val Tress!" The Abbess lowered her voice. "You are all quite famous in Asch’endra…" She gestured to her associates. "This is Prioress A’gren, and Prior Lawrence, who is in charge of the orphanage."

"Good day to you, Sister A’gren, Brother Lawrence. Please meet Pivrax Vu…"

"F-f-fairrr m-morr-ninng-g-g t-to y-y-you."

"Forgive our little Fanita, Lord Vu," said the Abbess. "The children are fascinated by peoples they have heard only from stories, and, well – lately they have been enchanted by stories about trolls."

"T-t-tisssss no-no-no bb-b-both-ph-therr."

"These are the sisters, Ma’teus of Denlineil and Val’ha of Carias…"

The Abbess’ eyes widened considerably and she took Val’ha’s hand in hers. "Lady Val’ha! Your travels this year have become known to so many – the children have reveled in the retelling of your adventures. Is it true that your father was the great Elven Prince Ma’hadrin, son of King Ma’rhechu?" Val’ha nodded. "Oh!" Crulee-ana reached for Val’ha’s other hand and then kissed her on the cheek. "It was Crown Prince Ma’hadrin who brought religion back to the sylvan Elves." She stepped back and bowed, as did her black-haired consorts.

The Abbess waved toward the dining hall. "I am sorry almost every seat is filled! The exodus from Moncrovia – the gruesome stories we have heard in the past days – it has weighed heavily upon us. "Still, many of the displaced who fled this way have moved along toward the western coast, the Yogurt region, Taramas, Apocania and Zehdr City. There are quite a few families still here, as you see."

"We can make room for them at the head table, Matriarch," said Brother Lawrence, who resembled Trisahn when Val’ha had first met him – thin beard and cheeks, fidgety eyes and slender, long frame. "We can move closer together."

"One moment, Brother Lawrence – who are these others?"

The Baroness hesitated before answering, and when she did, it was so fast their names ran together: "Sirs Tarl-Cabot, Quigley of Reiglo and Porcie of Lords."

Matriarch Crulee-ana’s upper lip raised; Brother Lawrence and Sister A’gren’s eyes hardened. The Abbess glared at the three Men one by one before speaking again. "The troth of Princess Igri, her High Advisor, and a Blue Rose knight. All closely held to the prejudgements of the royal seat."

"Clerickals," muttered Sister A’gren.

The Abbess returned to politeness. "Let us dine separately in my offices, Baroness, and discover why you have come here today. Brother Lawrence, repair to your meal after you instruct the cook to have nine bounteous plates brought to me in the abbey. Please understand, Baroness, that while we live from day to day as best we can – without our gardens, we would suffer even more – the kingdom ignores our petitions for assistance, suffers the stain-glassed airs of the Clerickal Church with abandon. While our Zeusan Church takes care of the poor and dispossessed, they build monuments of ivory to their estimable High Cleric." Her words jolted the knights into protest, and Val’ha thought Tarl-Cabot might rise to further action, his face reddened and his fingers curled toward Crundin, but the Matriarch did not deign to notice them; instead, she took Val’ha and the Baroness by the arm and led them back out into the morning light, leaving the others to follow. "One of our wards came back earlier this year, almost on his knees was our small pride Timothy in his adulation of you, Lady Val’ha."

"Tim!"

"Yes! He left a poor, limp child and returned a hero done battle with the witches of Xorus, on a horse with wings no less! He came to us after you fought in the lair of the demon-messenger Aentfroghe, with a gift, gloried from the time of Pax Zehdr, for Sister Ulsruvula who had always coddled him."

"The Chest of Rainbows?"

"Sister A’gren, please fetch Sister Ulsruvula from her morning studies. Poor girl, she is her own martinet, as ascetic as Clerickals are insipirile." Abbess Crulee-ana laughed, drowning out the growls of Porcie, Quigley and Tarl-Cabot. The sitting-room at the back of the abbey was paneled in white wood, windows lining three of its walls overlooking the back hill and a vegetable garden. The chairs and day-tables were made of white branches wickered around each other, and several kneehigh white pedestals supported small eagle statues and burnt-orange vases filled with verbena shrubs. Kitchen maids brought forth heaping plates of toasted butterbread, meat that Val’ha scooped onto Pivrax’ dish, and salted pumpkinseeds, sliced green apples and pears, along with a glass of plum juice and saucer of jellies for each of them.

"Tell me, what brings you here to the Holy Convent of Zeus?" asked Crulee-ana when they had finished eating. Before the Baroness could answer, a pale, shy-looking Woman with bobbed brown-black hair carrying a black-leather book, entered the room and sat outside the breakfasters, her eyes on the floor. "Sister Ulsruvula!"

As introductions were made, Ulsruvula became animated. "Lady of Carias!" She embraced Val’ha several times. "Why do you not travel with Trisahn and Sir Thoryn?"

"We are bound for Trisahn in Apocania by way of here. Sir Thoryn was killed in the Fields of Claraudice." Ulsruvula’s face fell during Val’ha’s short reconstruction of the events leading to Thoryn’s death, her eyes back to the floor. "He resides with peace now, sister, do not be troubled."

Ulsruvula crossed her shoulders. "Long may he journey in Convah at the side of the god-kings."

"Well!" Matriarch Crulee-ana clapped her hands, stood for a moment and resumed her cushion. "I thought it important that you knew they were here, sister…" The Abbess gave every indication that she now wanted Ulsruvula to leave, but the nun did not move. Crulee-ana turned to the Baroness. "What brings you to the convent?"

"A Sword, Sister Ana," answered Baroness Val Tress without hesitation. "We seek one of the Swords of Ariadne, the most powerful of the Nine, Dop-splythe the Excited Sword."

The Abbess held her face rigid, as though fearful to betray some secret. She slumped back into her wickered chair, resting her elbows on its arms and stealing a glance at Ulsruvula, who had regained her downcast silence. "What you ask for, Siress Valerie, is not something we have." Her voice was cold. "You are the second party to come seeking it in as many days."

"We are privy that the conjurer Feukpi and Prince Joel’s High Advisor have probably been by here already."

"Indeed! Indeed they did – interrupted Morning Prayer, astonishing, before breakfast yesterday. They said they had left their guard on Magickal Road so that they would not frighten the children, but I think there are other reasons." Contempt held Crulee-ana’s words, and she stood and went to the windows.

"Well?" demanded Tarl-Cabot. "What happened? What became of their search?"

"I told them it was not here, foolish Man – what do you think?" The Abbess did not turn around. "I told them it was not here and that they could be on their way any time they so chose. And they left."

"Th-ph-theyy wu-wu-will-ll sssl-aught-terr the Ap-apoc-c-ch-caniansss!"

Matriarch Crulee-ana and Sister Ulsruvula jolted at Pivrax’ statement, and the Baroness quickly explained to them why Lord Joel had ordered Dop-splythe’s abduction. "Their alternative to using the Sword was, as Lord Pivrax has said, to wreak slaughter upon the Apocanians for harboring Trisahn and resisting the army tax."

"I have had no message from the Pope for months, I assure you, Valerie."

"I am astounded and find it hard to believe that they would not have torn up the Holy Convent board by board, as they have done to every single building and tree in Moncrovia!" protested the Baroness. "What – did you enchant them…"

"I did." Crulee-ana said. "I did! I used every prayer, utterance and even a scrap of seduction-spell from my girlhood, to get them to leave, so back away from me, old friend! There is no Sword, and I am bedamned if I shall have to defend this convent now against ghosthunters!"

Flummoxed to silence, the Baroness arose. "Then we have no more business here, old friend. Let us be on our way."

Val’ha and the others also arose, but so too did Ulsruvula, who accosted the Abbess. "While they are here, Matriarch…"

"Child, do not fuss so – let them go."

"What?" It was Baroness Val Tress’ turn to pinch the Abbess by her upper arm, pulling her so close that their eyes were only inches away. "What is your nun talking about? What does she mean?"

Crulee-ana broke away from the Baroness and sat back down, patting the air for the others to resume their seats. She pondered her next words before speaking. "The past few months, three children have disappeared. If it were not for the refugees who fill our beds to overflow and bring fresh tales to our midst, you would have come upon a much darker atmosphere. As it is, once they are gone and only orphans and staff left."

"Someone is taking the children," said Ulsruvula. "Every three weeks, on the twenty-fourth hour of the twenty-fourth day. Today is one of those days."

"The pattern is not so apparent, but if she is right," said the Abbess, "then yes, today is one such day – a child will vanish, if we are to predict correctly. Three children have vanished at times too set to be coincidence, or running away as Sister Ulsruvula here allowed Timothy to do."

"Mother Abbess, he was mature beyond his years…"

"Atop Holy Hill, each time one of our orphans has gone missing, a light appears in the Old Church. We have lost two boys and a girl, and each time we have searched everywhere for them without success. I pray to Zeus and Gelfar for an answer, but we are no closer to the truth of who is abducting the children than since the beginning of these terrible events."

"Help us," said Sister Ulsruvula. "Stay one night. Surely if there is anyone who can end these disappearances, it is you." So earnest was the sister’s plea that Val’ha felt her spirit grow heavy.

"We must follow Zini and Feukpi to Apocania – they have a guard of hundreds," said Tarl-Cabot. "I do not think it wise."

"Still," Ma’teus said softly. "I share, Sir Tarl-Cabot, your immediacy as much as everyone here – but children?"

Ulsruvula gestured eagerly toward the back windows. "To reach the Old Church, you shall need the Vampire’s Key. It is down in the crevasse that separates Holy Hill from the commune. I will show you the way this afternoon."

"Wait one moment, simple nun! Vampire’s Key? Crevasse? We agreed to nothing!" Tarl-Cabot was flushed and impatient, and it took ten minutes of negotiations before the companions decided to vote on the matter. Val’ha felt ripped in two – here was her best friend Trisahn, caught between a renegade mayor and the invasion of Black Dogs; even a half-day could make a difference to his safety. There was no shorter route to Apocania, and to attempt to cross through the Bylikaegran Forest would be foolish in the utmost, for there were as dozens of rifts in Terra that would either take them days to find a way around, or be completely impassable by their mounts. Val’ha balanced her deep desire for haste against her half-sister’s wish, fully aware that both she and Ma’teus were, in a way, orphans themselves…

Ma’teus, Pivrax, Val’ha and Porcie voted in the affirmative, to stay and try to help prevent another child from being taken, particularly after Sir Porcie made the point that with Feukpi’s extended investigation in Bylikaegra, the Prince’s Men would be less than a day ahead by his prediction. The Baroness and Tarl-Cabot voted no, Quigley joining them. "We have only then to wait until dusk," said Porcie after the count.

The companions broke into smaller groups: the Baroness stayed with Crulee-ana, sharing their youth; Tarl-Cabot took Porcie and Quigley along the road behind the communal hill for much of the early afternoon to, for all appearances, scout the crevasse and Holy Hill of the Old Church on the other side, though he confessed to Val’ha his distaste for the Zeusans and wont for escaping their company as much as possible. With late-morning church rituals completed, some of the displaced families took to wagon, horse and foot bound for their extended relations in other cities, while the orphans and others played, roamed the terraced gardens or read religious tracts and books from the abbey library. Val’ha and Ma’teus strolled the convent grounds, not saying too much to each other. Val’ha felt the bond between them ever stronger and her silence was understanding of this.

Later in the day Brother Lawrence gave some of the journeymates a tour of the orphanage and other buildings, while Sister Ulsruvula all but vanished from sight until Val’ha and Ma’teus, seeing Pivrax waving his long arms as he entertained several dozen enraptured Humans, went to hear his tale; as they did so they happened by one of the quaint homes built for the members of the convent, a burst of oxalis and prickly phlox on both sides of its front door. Sister Ulsruvula cracked the door and beckoned them inside with a quick scoop of her hand, looking around to ensure they were unwatched. The one-room hut was sparsely furnished with a praying stand, bed, dresser and a few other amenities. But at the foot of the bed, etched letters of a lost language and fantastic curlicues, vines and serpents, on its curved silver top and sides, there it was. "I thought you would want to see the Chest of Rainbows again, Lady Val’ha."

Val’ha grabbed Ma’teus’ arm, excitement rushing through her blood. "Dear sister…" Unable to complete her sentence in her desire to experience the chest’s magic again, Val’ha recalled its influence on her and the others when they had unleashed its beauty in the sky-palace of Aentfroghe, how its bedazzlement had so especially affected Tim’s mule Osravulin and the giant Dwarf-bull. "Could you open, could you open it?" Val’ha felt herself almost slavering to see the rainbows once more.

"It is rare that I have done so," said Ulsruvula, "mostly for the children. Even though it is quite tranquil here with the flowers, hills and blessed ground, there is much work to do to keep up the orphans’ spirits. Always we have new children arriving, seldom does the peerage come to foster them away." Val’ha found it difficult to concentrate on the sister’s lamentations, so electric was her blood that she found her body shuddering as though ants crawled on her skin.

"I can imagine it must have been particularly difficult of late, with those fleeing Moncrovia," said Ma’teus.

"Yes, every blanket and inch of floor space is in use, and some we set under the stars. So great was the demand on our stocks, we were eating food that was not even ripe at one point! It is fortunate, though, that the insipirility our monarchs inspired throughout Asch’endra has resulted in many of the refugees having close family ties. Almost everyone in time has been able to move onward, and there have been no new arrivals in the past week since you – and Prince Joel’s representatives."

"Did you see them?"

"Just. There were only a few of them, some guards and two who went into the abbey to speak with the Matriarch." Ulsruvula described the Black Dogs, Zini and the jittery strangeness of Feukpi. "They were not here very long – if they were not royal agents, Matriarch Crulee-ana may have sent them away forthwith!"

"I have sensed a touch of hostility from her toward the crown’s relationship with the Clerickals."

"A bit, when she focuses on it…"

Val’ha was biting her lip listening to her sister’s bantering with the nun. "Excu-u-use me," forced its way off her tongue. She composed her appetite to see the spectral lights and smiled too broadly. "Excuse me, ladies, it is fine, all that you say, but I should like to see the chest opened?"

Ulsruvula and Ma’teus’ eyebrows arched. "Of course." The moment the nun stooped to open the Chest of Rainbows, Val’ha’s jitteriness dissipated, replaced by a sense of thirst given water. Even in the daylight, the richness of the first rainbow pierced the air, then another and another, and another beamed from the bottom of the chest until Ulsruvula’s entire cottage was flooded, puzzles of color on the walls and the Women’s faces. Rainbows continued to shoot out from the silver trunk until Ulsruvula closed it.

The enchantments were gone for a half-minute before Ma’teus shook herself free from their effect. "I apologize for my aggression," said Val’ha. "I did not realize how much I had missed seeing the rainbows. I noticed that the keeping-sack is gone; did Tim take it to Rentville with him?"

"He did not, and at least in part," said Ulsruvula, reaching into her robe and unfurling the drawstring bag, "that is why I really asked you in here." She opened the keeping-sack and reached inside, letting it slide to the floor as she struggled with the weight of a diamond sword, far more dazzling than even the chest. Val’ha felt thrilled by and filled with its mere presence. It was not just inlaid with diamonds – the entire sword was diamond, its brilliance so star-kissed that Val’ha thought for a second that the room might catch fire. When her eyes adjusted to the jeweled radiance, Val’ha noticed that the Sword contained on its blade symbols of the same forgotten Elven she had seen only on the Swordkin – Dervish, Crundin and Not-nibab – the incantations particular to invoking each one’s magickal powers as the Swords of Ariadne. Ma’teus whistled and Ulsruvula confirmed, "It is Dop-splythe, the Diamond Sword of Steinman, God of Excitement, brought here weeks ago under cover of night by an agent of the Pope for me to sequester. Little did we know that its relocation here was betrayed to Prince Joel’s Men." Val’ha pulled up her lower jaw. "I show you this for many reasons, in trust and confidence, but also that you might be able to use Dop-splythe at the Old Church this evening."

"How did it come that Pope Andronicus…?"

"Why me, do you mean? Why did the Pope single me out from all of the bishops, abbeys and priories at his discretion?" Sister Ulsruvula bit her lip. "Let me just say that we are blood relation to one another…But can you read Dop-splythe’s charm? Do you recognize the language?" The sisters shook their heads. "Oh." Her shoulders slumped, Ulsruvula pulled the keeping-sack back over the Diamond Sword, leaving the cottage once more in regular daylight, and folded the cloth back into her vestment.

Val’ha suddenly heard at the back of the sister’s residence a small scratching sound – it could have been the skittering of a bird, or a small twig scraping in the autumn breeze but for her intuition. She raised her hand to quiet Ma’teus and Ulsruvula, dropped to the floorboards, her ear against Terra and, within the hum of the Song, heard the tap, tap of receding footsteps. When Val’ha shrugged, Sister Ulsruvula hurried to set herself down on the edge of her bed as if exhausted by the weight of her responsibility. "Woe," was all she said.

"Could it have been a gopher or some such?" suggested Ma’teus, but Val’ha shook her head.

"It would have been a big gopher, with boots, if it was."

"Gelfar’s mercy," said Ulsruvula. "I need to lay down." Val’ha and Ma’teus could not convince her to remain with them until she would show them the best way to the vampire’s lair, and she now insisted on keeping the Pope’s Sword to herself ("I have already betrayed him once and twice, it was foolish of me to even consider letting it go"), so they suggested she think of a better location than her own body to hide Dop-splythe and reluctantly left the nun’s cottage.

"You really could not read the inscription?" asked Ma’teus.

"No, sister, nor – if I had even dared to reveal that another of the Swords was in our midst – would Sir Tarl-Cabot necessarily, nor Sir Porcie. They were taught the incantations by others, and although they know that their Swords’ language is that of their invocations, both told me they have tried to translate the lettering for themselves without success."

"Do you think Feukpi knows the language of the ancient Elves, or even the particular words that would have activated Dop-splythe’s excitement, as he promised?"

"What does your intuition tell you?"

"By his blood that runs through my veins, I sense that he only hopedto be able to discern its charm."

Pivrax’ audience, squealing with gaiety as he gave rides on his knee to flaxen-haired Fanita, had grown to include nearly all of the children and even some head-bobbing clerics. Val’ha and Ma’teus joined him and told some of their earlier adventures, all of which the orphans wanted to hear again, including the sky-palace of Aentfroghe. Several hours later they were still captivating the children when Brother Lawrence approached. As each little face turned to see him coming, their eyes went to Terr’Sol’s position in the sky and their lower lips jutted out. "…annn-dd th-ph-thatt iss h-how Gr-g-greyy Trolls w-w-wonnn r-r-essssp-pecchcht f-frommm K-k-kingg P-p-perciv-vale."

When Lawrence raised his arms, some of the braver boys tried to stop him from speaking. "Brother Lawrence, no-o!" "Oh-h, one more story, Brother Lawrence!"

"I have not seen my fosterlings so considerably cheered in many fortnights," he told the companions, "but children, you know it is nearly time for us to give our evening prayers and thanks to Sigrid to take to Father Zeus. However…"

"Hail, Brother Lawrence!" The children quickly returned to Pivrax. "Please, Master Vu, one more story! One more story!"

"I have a little tale." Ma’teus whispered into Pivrax’ ear.

When she was finished, he nodded with delight. "I-I hhhad-d-d all b-b-buttt f-forrrg-gh-gottenn th-ph-thatt one. Y-y-you b-beginn-n."

"Listen closely, girls and boys, this is a fable about a family of Trolls…" Whatever Ma’teus said next was lost amid the orphans’ impassioned screams and handclaps. When it had died down somewhat, she continued: "There was once an old Grey Troll who made caskets for the Men and Women of Glaustenbury-on-the-Lake, near Bjursk-la. Now, the Troll led a happy life with his lady Troll and their two little Trolls. To make enough gold to feed his family, though, the Troll needed to make more than coffins, for people do not die everyday! So he therefore made and sold rum…"

"…t-to th-the pp-p-peop-ple of-ff G-g-gl-glaussttennn-b-b-burry-onn-th-thth-Lllaake, n-nearr B-b-b-bjurrssssk-la."

"At this time in history, the making and selling of rum was against the law in Glaustenbury-on-the-Lake, near Bjursk-la, but the sheriffs and the King’s men did not know about the Troll, for back then, who meddled with Trolls? One day, as fate would have it, a sheriff stopped by to get a casket for his son, who had died that day, but the Troll – kegs of rum in plain sight in his merchantry – saw him coming and quickly shoved all of his unlawful spirits into the biggest coffin and covered it."

"B-by ann-dd by, th-the sh-th-sherriff-p-f p-p-picked-t-d a c-c-cassket-t…"

"Yes he did, Master Vu! And, children, guess what?"

"IT WAS THE CASKET WITH THE RUM INSIDE, LADY MA’TEUS!"

Ma’teus clapped her hands. "Just the exact one that the Troll had put his kegs of rum into! The Troll, of course, had to hide his dismay and play along as the sheriff gave him his gold because, as we all know, it was against the law to sell rum in Glaustenbury-on-the-Lake…"

"NEAR BJURSK-LA!"

"The sheriff, too saddened by the loss of his son to notice the casket’s heaviness, brought it home, rum and all, but miracle of miracles! While he was away, his son – who had not really been dead, just very sick – was up and talking!"

"Th-the sh-sherriff-f r-r-real-lizz-zed-th-d h-h-hisss ss-onn w-w-wass pr-probb-aab-l-ly h-hunn-g-gh-gry…"

"…and seeing this, he started to cook dinner for the two of them. The flame under his kettle, however, leaped too high and their hut caught on fire! Eventually it burned down; the sheriff and his son escaped, but the coffin and the rum were sadly destroyed. The Troll, upon hearing the news, lamented the loss of his rum. Having no more gold (and who ever helped Trolls in those days?), the old Troll, his lady Troll and their two little Trolls died from hunger in Glaustenbury-on-the-Lake, near Bjursk-la."

"N-never p-p-putt your k-k-kegg-ss inn one-one c-k-cass-kett," concluded Pivrax with a flourish. The orphans went mad with joy and laughter, and took many minutes to be led away for Sigrid’s prayers.

By the time Terr’Sol’s fiery rays touched the tops of the western trees, the seven companions had enjoyed supper in the dining hall and checked on their mounts, safe in the stables for the night. Children and adults were streaming about the terraces bound to and from prayer or enjoying the night as trisahn led the first stars into the sky. "It looks we should begin the journey…" began Sir Quigley, but he stopped when Brother Lawrence ran wide-eyed toward them.

"Lady Val’ha! Lady Baroness! Come! Come quickly – Fanita is not here! Someone has taken Fanita!"