Cadril smiled at his reflection in his shield. Good, nothing between his teeth. This was going to be most amusing. That woman with Ano had been quite lovely. Where had she come from? If he could determine where she was staying, he could set out to “accidentally” encounter her later and take her to the Mithrest. He was sure the impoverished Delryn boy couldn’t afford such luxuries, unless he’d been unbelievably lucky lately. He hoped not too many other knights had seen her yet. The great summer tourney was near, and the Order building was already swarming with strangers. Perhaps he might even dare to visit the Bridge District later. It was a good thing that he’d been out of the City when Anarg got kicked out. They’d been good friends, and even though he deplored the other’s current activities, it was hard to just abandon him.

Well, it was time to go show Ano who was still his better with a weapon. Maybe he’d even offer to use a mace himself… no, he’d suggest shieldless combat. That ought to make Lady Patricia sit up and take notice! It was much riskier, and old Ano was chump enough to fall right in with it, regardless of the fact that he’d been fighting with that hand-me-down since before he’d been squired, and probably felt naked without it. It couldn’t be taking unfair advantage as long as Anomen agreed to it, could it? Not even if he was trying to cut himself a better deal. He’d have to settle for an ordinary weapon, though; it would be wrong to pit Ano’s plain mace up against his own specially-blessed blade. It might make him look bad, and that would never do.

Cadril wandered down the hall until he came to Room Four. Irlana and Lady Patricia were standing together just inside the doorway, watching Ano and--- hey, who was that? Oh, that geezer Sir Keldorn. Tyr’s eye, hadn’t he resigned his field post yet? No, guess not, he hadn’t seen him here much. They’d be burying the Tormtar in some dungeon one day if he didn’t bow to the inevitable soon. ‘Course, he hadn’t been too impressed with Keldorn when he’d spent those weeks with him before he’d wangled the giant-killing assignment in the Ommlur Hills. Absolutely antiquated moves--- and so cautious! Cadril found himself grateful once again that he’d not pursued an Inquisitorship. The Cavalier style was much more to his liking. You see the monster, you kill the monster. Simple. No constant double-checking for illusions and stuff. Magic was inherently unreliable--- look at Amnish history--- and he didn’t want to deal with any more of it than absolutely necessary. Let Keldorn and his ilk take on the wizards; he’d stick to ogres and such. What he really wanted, of course, was a shot at a dragon.

He eyed Patricia again as he greeted the women. Well worth the study, he concluded. She was in pants, a bit odd for a gentlewoman, but she didn’t move anything like Irlana or any other female fighter he’d seen. Minimal jewelry, except for about a zillion silver hairpins. What was the deal with those braids, anyhow? She must be from someplace far away. That kind of hairstyle had been dead on the vine for five years or more in Athkatla. Those who didn’t wear a wimple or cut their hair short, like Irlana, went for long hanging masses of small ponytails and braids, with jewels, beads, feathers, and other charms woven in. Hair was pretty much all the same to him, anyway, so long as it was shiny. He was more of a derriere man himself, and hers was just right…. Well, time enough to think about that later. He had to prove himself against that overgrown adolescent first.

“Ah, Lady Patricia, do our practice rooms meet with your approval?”

“Well, my personal preference would be for more tumbling mats and fewer whetstones, but they seem to be perfectly adequate for your purposes,” she replied.

“Ah, tumbling mats?” he inquired. “You pursue the terpsichorean arts then, milady?”

She smiled in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up for no good reason… as well as other things. “My profession requires somewhat similar skills and flexibility, though I am no dancer.”

His curiosity was indeed piqued! Ah, but Ano was stumping over in his usual graceless fashion. He didn’t wonder that Irlana looked a shade amused.

“Well, Cadril, let us begin the demonstration you promised Lady Patricia. Sir Keldorn has also decided to observe,” said the Watcher.

“Aye,” came the deep voice Cadril remembered with some distaste, since it had so often pointed out his own impatience. “I rarely have such an opportunity to observe the latest weapons techniques on display.”

Those words left Cadril a bit uneasy, but he made a low bow anyway. “Then I suggest that we allow you the honor of deciding how we shall be armed and armored, sir Keldorn.”

“Hmmm,” the older knight mused. “To be truly representative, I think you should be armed with the weapons you are each most accustomed to, Sir Cadril. Yet to increase the challenge somewhat, perhaps it would be best if you both discarded your shields. I believe you will find a suitable practice weapon on the wall; Anomen has already chosen one.”

Cadril was thrilled. Ano couldn’t very well blame him now. It was going to be good to get a little revenge for all the harassment the stupid Helmite had brought down on his head! It had taken him a lot of talking to get himself back into Lady Kanisa’s good graces, and then all his efforts had been ruined by the fever. He was sure the whole thing had made the Prelate set his Test back by at least six months.

He selected a weapon and entered the square. The bounds were painted on the floor; this was to be a bear-pit fight, where stepping outside the lines constituted a loss. “Shall we go one bout, or best-of-three, Squire?” he inquired. Always a good idea to play up the chivalry in front of the ladies… they liked the appearance of good sportsmanship, and it was invaluable in the remote event of a loss.

“Two of three, Cadril,” grunted Ano, in that baboon-like way of his. Cadril frowned. He’d have to get Keldorn to remind the boy about his manners later. He was still Ano’s superior in rank, and by the last he’d heard, the man’s trial period hadn’t produced much. Caravan guard? Pfeh! How demeaning! It lowered the whole Order. With luck, Ano would fail and be drubbed out of the Radiant Heart. Just as he was about to get drubbed now….

“Well, since you choose multiple bouts, take your shields back on the middle round,” Keldorn ordered. “Lay on!” The circling began.

Being a bit cautious, Cadril noted. Wise, since he’s lost his precious shield. Good thing I’ve been practicing this way with ol’ Reynauld lately. Using that slow mace isn’t going to help him any against my blade, either. I can stab him… right there! Quickly his long sword flashed forward, only to be intercepted at the last moment by the sudden interposition of the mace handle. Well, so he has picked up a new trick or two, Cadril thought, even as he sharply withdrew his own weapon in order to protect himself from any follow-through stroke of Ano’s. He backed away and resumed circling, as did his opponent. The problem is that he’s taller, so he’s got the reach on me. I’ve got to be faster to pull this off. He saw another opening, and seized his chance. A good, clean strike, and Ano acknowledged the “kill”.

One up on him already! This was going to be a piece of cake. Cadril risked a glance at the bench where Patricia and Irlana were sitting. He saw that they had been joined by a short, stocky man with steel-grey hair and eyes. Now who was that? A visiting knight, perhaps? He hoped he wasn’t Patricia’s husband. That was a line he wouldn’t cross. He noticed Ano eyeing the stranger as well, with a puzzled look that suddenly cleared in evident recognition. Interesting.

Cadril signaled to Keldorn that he was ready for the second round. He was more at risk here, since Ano was used to fighting with a shield, and the squire could turtle up behind it to negate his own advantage in speed. This round began much more swiftly, with both men setting off in a flurry of thrown and blocked blows. Eventually Cadril found himself facing Ano on his knees, the other courteously having dropped to his own after landing a blow that had “broken” Cadril’s right leg. How in Tyr’s name did he manage that one? He used to be slower, and more easily rattled. All I used to have to do was short-sheet his bed to break his concentration for the whole day…ah! There’s my opening! Cadril swept his sword around from behind his head, feeling the stroke land true against Ano’s helm, only to realize that his own helm had been knocked askew by a simultaneous blow from the squire’s mace.

“A draw,” announced Sir Keldorn. “Double death.”

Curses! In spite of the draw, Ano had come off looking much better in that fight. The squire had taken his leg out first, and then had the gratification of being able to do the chivalrous thing to impress the ladies. He had to make a clean kill next round to maintain his reputation. To be defeated by such an upstart squire would be humiliating! He would go into the summer tourney under a cloud, and he’d sworn to reach at least the quarterfinals this year! He must relax. He was one of the best tourney knights in this Chapter, and he would make mistakes if he allowed himself to become rattled. Ano had always been a stumblebum; always would be.

Patricia and the grey-haired man were saying something to Ano. He didn’t think the lady looked any too pleased, and that buoyed his spirits. The squire turned and entered the square for the third time.

“Gentlemen, lay on!”

Cadril watched as Ano shuffled towards him, then made a clumsy feint that he easily avoided. Heartened by this display of seeming exhaustion, Cadril pushed his opponent backwards, edging him ever closer to the corner. One wrong step and it would be over for Ano….

Cadril woke up to see Irlana and Patricia bending over him. Irlana turned. “He’ll be all right, Anomen, just a slight concussion from the way he fell, not from your blow. You must teach me that one, though! I know you didn’t learn it from Sir Ryan; he never taught it to me.”

“Congratulations, Sir Cadril,” Patricia said. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who survived a Delryn Special, even though he pulled almost all the force out of it.”

He knew better than to try to move when his head pounded so dreadfully. Where was a cleric when you needed one… he heard a murmuring and felt fingers being placed on his head. A few seconds later, the pain was gone and he could sit up. As the physical pain left, shame and fury rushed in to take its place. “What happened?” he demanded.

Patricia looked wide-eyed at him. “Well, when Lord Anomen hit you on the head with his mace, you were knocked off-balance and fell and hit your head on the floor. I was terribly worried about you there for a few moments, Sir Cadril. I never dreamed such a thing would happen when I so foolishly requested a demonstration, and I’m dreadfully sorry.”

He thought that the situation might just be salvageable anyway. He could always aim for pitiful. “Why, there is no grave harm done, milady. Will you not consent to dine with me this evening to prove that I bear you no rancor?”

“I apologize, but I am afraid that will not be possible. Master Boo---Beauregard has requested my presence immediately, and we must leave. A pearl to you; perhaps we shall meet again during my stay here.” She turned to the grey-haired man. “I am ready.”

The pair left together. Irlana and Anomen were chatting in the corner, and Sir Keldorn came up to him. “Headache gone, Cadril?”

“Yes,” he muttered sulkily.

The older knight chuckled in a way that made Cadril hate him. “Lady Patricia is right. Few things can stand against young Anomen’s pile-driver. She said that she has watched him dispatch several monsters that way, and they all died with very confused looks. I understand his hesitation in using it; ‘tis not an ordinary blow, but she insisted that he try to demonstrate it for Lady Irlana’s benefit. And as I think you yourself can testify, ‘tis hard to refuse Lady Patricia when she asks so sweetly.”

Cadril left in no pleased state of mind. He decided he would definitely go to see Reynauld this evening, and have a glass of liquid consolation or two at Delosar’s before they began their own practice session. Perhaps he could even ask Reynauld to keep an eye out for the woman as he traveled around the city. He still had hopes of winning her favor, and it would be a grand coup indeed if he could wear her sleeve into the coming tourney. Her beauty would make him the envy of all the other bachelors. A few dinners, maybe a few bouquets or minstrel serenades ought to do the trick….

Keldorn sat down and laughed until the tears ran down his face once Cadril had departed. Oh, it was good to see that young rip taken down a peg or two! He heartily forgave him for every bit of past insolence, now that Patricia had seen to it that Anomen fixed Cadril’s little red wagon properly. The lad always put on such airs about the perfection of his own technique, yet he rarely saw Cadril’s name appear on any field posting, nor had he been assigned any squires of his own yet, which didn’t speak well for his teaching ability. Keldorn sobered as the implications of that sank in. Perhaps he should ask Sir Ryan to keep a bit of an eye on Cadril. Anarg’s taint might not yet have been completely eradicated from the Order….

Patricia kept pace with Boo down the hall. “Beauregard, child?” he asked with amusement. “Where did that come from?”

“Well, Master, I could scarcely call you Boo when you have been seen on these premises in your previous guise. As for the name--- if you recall, there’s a perfectly hideous statue of a horseman in the foyer, some ancient hero named Beauregard. It could have been worse; I could have said Bocephus, which was the horse.”

Boo laughed. “Well, ‘tis as good a name as any, I trow, and I think I shall adopt it. Some new alias is indicated. As for why I wanted to see you--- the Prelate has a letter waiting for you in his office.”

They heard hurried clanking steps closing in on them. “Hello, Anomen,” they chorused, even before they turned around.

Anomen looked a bit startled, then smiled. He suddenly seemed almost light-hearted. “Forgive me, Boo, but I wanted to thank Patricia for her suggestion.”

“Patricia has decided to rename me Beauregard,” the man observed drily. “She seems to feel that ‘Boo’ is somewhat lacking in distinction. What think you, Squire Delryn?”

Patricia could have groaned. She guessed what was about to happen. Sure enough, Anomen brightened. “Beauregard? As in the hero of Tilver’s Gap? ‘Tis a name of renown indeed, though perhaps it does not roll easily off the tongue.”

“And as Patricia has so kindly reminded me,” Boo added, “it is at least better than being the namesake of a horse.”

She was relieved to note that Anomen had the sense not to reply to this. She hurriedly changed the subject. “Milord, the Prelate seems to have requested my presence in his office. Do you care to wait on me, or do you wish to return to the Coronet at once?”

“I will be glad to wait, Patricia, so long as it will not be too long. I have put in enough exercise that I find myself growing hungry again.”

“I doubt it. Boo--- sorry, Beauregard--- says that I am supposed to pick up a letter.” She carefully avoided mentioning Ajantis, though she was sure he had sent it. Even so, she saw that Anomen stiffened as if he’d been stung by a jellyfish. Good grief, there was such a thing as being too sensitive! “Come on, if it contains what I think, we’ll want to catch Keldorn before he goes home.”

Anomen had rarely obeyed an order with more reluctance. Just now he had finally found himself freed of one set of evil memories by Patricia’s aid, and he had thought for some few moments that perhaps there was hope for him to succeed in achieving his dream yet. He realized bitterly just how much her presence had come to mean to him in these horrible recent days. It seemed that she was now the single source of light in his darkened existence, the watchfire that guided his steps--- and he was about to lose her.

He walked in a daze, his thoughts caught like flies in molasses, feebly waving in protest. He could not have told when Boo left them, or how long it took to reach the Prelate’s suite of rooms. He sat like a man waiting for the executioner, dreading and yet longing to have the business over and done with. Somehow he finally found the strength for one small prayer--- Helm, don’t let me show her my misery. My duty is clear, though I did not know until now how close my heart is to breaking. Just help me stay the course.

It might have been an eternity later, or it might have been two minutes--- he would never know--- when Patricia exited the office, her face wreathed in smiles that felt like poisoned needles probing into every joint of his body. Mechanically the Watcher stood. “Are we to seek Sir Keldorn?” he asked, his voice sounding rusty in his own ears.

“Yes, at once!” she said, then paused, as a completely different expression crossed her face, a faint echo of his own misery. “Anomen, what is the matter? Anomen? What’s come over you? I can feel your agony from here. Is it Moira?”

He clutched at the straw. “Yes… of course I still mourn for her.” Must hide the real cause until I can go off and lick my wounds later.

Patricia seemed to hesitate. “Anomen… I want to help, but I simply must catch Sir Keldorn. Can you manage that long?” That long? Oh, yes, I can manage that, but how am I to manage a lifetime without even the hope of winning you?

He trudged along more halls after her. He waited outside the open door of Keldorn’s own small room while Patricia bounded in. “Keldorn! He’s done it! Ajantis has won Sir Blethyn’s permission! They’re to be wed in the autumn.”

WHAT!?!?! It couldn’t be!

“I thought Sir Blethyn would eventually be persuaded. I met his daughter Graillie while in Waterdeep, and she seemed a thoroughly pleasant lass,” rumbled Keldorn. “She and Ajantis appeared to be good friends even then.”

The shock of relief was so great that Anomen found himself bracing against the wall. Ajantis wasn’t in love with Patricia? What was wrong with him?

“Yes, he told me they’d been attached to each other since they were both sixteen, and I’m pleased their feelings survived the lengthy separation. Ajantis was wise to travel so far away before his Test.”

“Indeed,” agreed Keldorn. “Not every infatuation grows roots deep enough to survive such a drought.”

Anomen found that he had his eyes closed and a suspicious wetness was forming at the corners. This would never do! He was free! Patricia was free! His desire to succeed was redoubled, for now there was more hope attached to the prospect of being knighted than ever before. He found himself pouring out gratitude in silent prayer to the Great Guard, who in his mercy had not demanded he sacrifice all hope at the altar of duty. A few moments later he had mastered himself sufficiently to enter the room. There hadn’t been nearly enough time to reflect on everything he had learned, but that could come later. For this moment it was enough to know that he had a chance!

“So, you too have heard of our colleague’s joy?” asked Keldorn.

“Aye, and pleased I am for your sakes that his future is so well set,” he assented cheerfully. “I suppose this means that we cannot expect his attendance at this year’s summer tournament, then, milady?”

“No,” smiled Patricia, “I rather believe that he will have other concerns on his mind. Such a pity.” She lowered her voice. “I confess to having a horrible desire to see Cadril draw him in the first round!”

They all chuckled.

“I was about to go home,” said Keldorn, “and as you will be passing through that part of town anyway, why don’t you stop in with me for a few moments? I should be pleased to introduce you to my wife and daughters.”

Patricia gave Anomen a glance. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she replied, “Why, I would enjoy that very much. I hope she will excuse our informal attire, and of course we shan’t impose on her for dinner at such short notice. I need to return to check on Nalia, anyway.”

They left the building together a few minutes later.