The Daughters of Krull Chapter 1, a krull fanfic

DISCLAIMER: Krull and all associated characters, places, names, and likenesses are copyright 1983, 2006 Columbia Pictures Corporation. This is a work of unlicensed fan fiction and is not supported in any way by Columbia Pictures Corporation or any of its associated entities.

This story is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real events or persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.

Once, long ago, the world of Krull was filled with dragons.

These were not the simple marsh lizards of the deep swamps; these dragons were nearly human. They were strong, intelligent, beautiful, and cunning. They ruled the cloudless skies of the Overland; the churning blue seas of the Great Expanse; the fierce, fiery depths of the volcanoes of Bel'Halur; the snow-capped mountaintops of the Cyrnwyn Heights; these and all in-between.

But rules end.

The dragons could be noble, but they could also be weak and petty. They waged war against the other races, spreading ruin across all the lands of Krull with their fury.

Until they were challenged by a boy.

The boy woke from a shiver. Very slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of his dream with his long lashes.

His name was Titch, and of late, he often dreamt of dragons.

His Master had told him once that his dreams were keys to another plane, another way of thought. Titch hadn't really known then what his Master had meant by that, and he wasn't sure he had any better inkling of the idea now. At any rate, his Master was gone now.

Titch shivered again.

He thought briefly about snuggling beneath his blankets again, but the sudden urge to relieve himself took precedence. So he got up out of the bed, being careful not to make noise even though there was no one else in the room to hear him. He left his feet bare - he liked to feel the cold stone beneath his toes, even on a morning as chilled as this one - and padded over to the pot in the far corner.

While his body busied itself with this morning ritual, his mind took the opportunity to wander. He thought about the circumstances that had brought him to this place, this great white castle in the South.

Little more than a year ago, he had been a simple orphan, an apprentice to the blind Emerald Seer, who was the last of his kind. Then the young King of Turold had come, asking the Seer's help, and Titch had followed the King - Colwyn by name - because he could think of no other life than with his Master. Then his Master had died (murdered, really, but Titch didn't like thinking about that, especially when he was alone), and he had followed Colwyn, because he could think of no other life than following someone else. Now, he was not so certain.

Oh, he liked Colwyn. In the deeper parts of his heart - the ones that he had never known how to examine overmuch but that his Master had said were the most important ones of all - he knew that he loved Colwyn. Colwyn had accepted him then as an aide and a companion, and that had never changed; more than that, though, Colwyn had welcomed him into his family. Titch could not remember the last time that he had felt part of a family. His Master, nurturing as he was, was more like what he imagined a kindly old uncle to be. Colwyn was like a father. And while he was enormously grateful to Colwyn, Titch often wondered (especially lately) if perhaps his own path did not lie somewhere other than the White Castle of Erig-ken.

Titch tightened his britches around his waist, stooped to pick up the large pot, and opened the heavy door to the hall. The sewer feed was at the end of the hallway, so it was not much of a chore to dispose of his own waste. His Master had been fond of telling him that the cycle of feed and use was common to every creature. Titch had never been quite sure what his Master had been trying to teach him there, but Torquil, the King's Lord-Marshall, had told him that "a man who cleans his own shit stays humble," and Titch had understood that sentiment well enough.

He dumped the pot into the waste sluice and started back to his rooms, when he bumped into a young woman about half again as old as he was.

She gasped and giggled, and Titch recognized her as Pfara, one of the maids from the castle's kitchens.

"I'm sorry," she said, and Titch smiled at her. She was pretty; not overly so (certainly nothing like beautiful Queen Lyssa, who could make the clouds part with her radiant smile), but enough to get his attention. She had been in the middle of a struggle getting her hair into a bun and she hadn't noticed him coming her way.

Titch was wondering how she couldn't have noticed him (he wasn't that short; he had grown nearly five fingers' worth in the time he had lived in the castle) when a voice called from behind her:

"Pfara..."

She turned, and her shoulders relaxed as she walked back down the hall. Titch didn't follow her, but he looked around her rustling skirts to see Oswyn leaning against an open doorframe. The young outrider was dressed only in a pair of low-slung britches and naked otherwise. He was dangling a knotted kerchief of some sort from one finger and beckoning to the girl.

Titch watched the young lovers talk and tease for a moment, and then he dropped his eyes to the floor and walked back to his room. Just as he made it to his door, Pfara walked past him again, offering him a parting if cursory salutation.

Titch looked up and followed her with his eyes. He gave a little wave at her back as she rounded the corner of the hall. When he turned back around, Oswyn was looking at him.

"You were staring," the older youth said with a grin.

Titch shook his head. "I was not," he said emphatically. He stuck out his chin. "But I am curious if Pfara knows that she isn't the only one to leave things in your room."

Oswyn chuckled at the younger boy, preferring to ignore the jibe at his brazen infidelity. "Go ahead. Hide your jealousy." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I can wait."

Titch squinted at him. Ordinarily, he and Oswyn stayed out of each other's way, but on occasion interaction was unavoidable.

On the whole, Titch preferred the castle's keeps with their tomes and scrolls. He had a great propensity for reading, and his keen mind devoured new texts of all kinds. He had even found a secret studying companion in a most unlikely peer; Queen Lyssa herself was an interested student in arcane lore. She had said once that she found the lyrics of history as important as the events themselves, but Titch fancied that she simply shared the same interests as he did.

Oswyn, on the other hand, could only barely stand being confined in the castle. After the first week of habitation, he had begged both the King and the Lord-Marshall for some duty - any duty - that would allow him to come and go as he pleased, at least within reason. Torquil had eventually given in to the youth's badgering and given him the charge of a royal Outrider, responsible for guarding the kingdom's boundaries, a task at which Oswyn actually excelled. The job called for long stretches of riding from one boundary point to the next, with little companionship except for a steed.

For himself, Titch had not been surprised that the older youth was so good at that particular assignment. Oswyn's level of mental sophistication seemed to be about that of a horse. Although, it did make his skill with the fairer sex all the more puzzling.

He was about to say as much when who else but Torquil himself came from around the corner, making an impressive amount of commotion for a single man.

"Get dressed," Torquil ordered, looking at Oswyn. "We are expected in the High Council Chamber."

"When?" The addressed youth asked, as he straightened into a posture more fitting for the Lord-Marshall's presence.

"Now," Torquil replied curtly. He shot a glance at Titch, as well. "You, too."

Titch, struck suddenly dumb, blinked. "Why?"

Torquil jerked his head at Oswyn. "Because you're smarter than he is." He stopped, glanced between the two of them, then barked, "Well? Get to it!" As Oswyn ducked inside his door, Torquil added, "And bring your swords."

Titch was standing in his own doorway, still holding his pot. He had never been summoned like this before, and definitely not with Oswyn at the same time. All of a sudden, he felt very small and frightened. "I-I have no swords," he stammered in a tiny voice.

Torquil turned to face him fully. He took a deep breath, and his muscles seemed to relax. He rested a calloused hand on the boy's shoulder. "Just bring what you'll need for a journey. And be quick."

Titch nodded dutifully. He didn't have much in the way of personal belongings, but there were a few choice items that, without which, he knew he couldn't leave the castle. He turned in to his rooms without saying another word, trusting that he would see Torquil again soon enough.

Upon entering his main room, he set down the pot and walked over to his bed and sat down upon its rumpled surface. He knew that he should hurry (already, he heard Oswyn in his boots clattering down the hall in a rush), but he needed a moment. What journey could demand his skills? What skills, exactly, did he have that weren't covered by someone more experienced? Or, at least, someone bigger?

In a kind of anxious, urgent daze, he started collecting his things. He put on his clothes - a set of grey-green jerkin and pants, and a pair of walking boots that were still a little big on him - and unconsciously set about fixing his bed, when he remembered that he probably shouldn't be wasting his time with such mundane chores. Still, it calmed his nerves to engage in something so familiar in the face of the unpredictable.

He picked up a few choice books from beside the bed (one was his Master's old bestiary, the other was a book of maps with the binding coming apart in several places), stuffed them into his satchel, and was about to leave when he spotted his Master's staff in the corner. He contemplated leaving it (it was the only remnant of his Master that he still had, and he suffered under the thought that he might lose it), then reconsidered.

When he had joined Colwyn on his quest, he had done it as much for his belief in the ways of the Seers as for his Master. The staff was a symbol of that ancient order, still respected and revered by some if mostly-forgotten in most circles. He grabbed it and held it against his side, secretly amazed at how much smaller it seemed now. At one time, the top of his head had barely reached the middle band of the staff; now, he could almost see above the top of the thing without rising on his toes.

He got to the door, and glanced back into the room. Just four plain walls, with a simple bed and a slightly cluttered floor. He shouldn't miss it. But he knew that he probably would.

Titch arrived in the High Council Chamber only a few moments behind Torquil and Oswyn, but it looked as though everyone there had been waiting for him for quite some time. While having the Seer staff with him had given him some confidence, he found that he lost most of it upon entering the high-domed chamber.

Both King Colwyn and Queen Lyssa were in attendance, a rarity these days given the Queen's delicate nature; she was almost seven months pregnant, her audience gowns having been let out to accommodate her growing belly. Even so (or perhaps because of this), her radiance was unsurpassed. She smiled in greeting to Titch, bowing her red-tressed head ever-so-slightly.

Sitting beside his lovely Queen, Colwyn nodded to him, as well. He extended one arm to a seat at the round Council table, and Titch found that he had to actively will his feet to move toward the table. He had not been invited to the table before, and he wasn't sure what to do.

"You can sit down," Colwyn said in a quiet voice. He smiled in assurance, that gentle, compassionate smile that Titch had come to love so dearly.

With a shallow bow that Titch hoped would be suitably formal given the circumstances, he took one of the empty seats that faced the Queen.

To the King's left sat Ergo, who was one of Colwyn's closest advisers. Though a simple hedge wizard he may have been at one time, Ergo had proven himself as one of the royal family's most valued advocates. He had acted as an emissary to his native Hill People and persuaded them to become the King's allies, and together the two nations controlled passage through the Eastern Tribelands to the Masa'a River.

Ergo grinned widely at the boy. It had been too long since they had spoken. At one time, Titch had considered becoming an apprentice to Ergo and perhaps training in the transmutative magic of the Hill People, but Ergo's duties had taken him away for long stretches of time and in the meanwhile Titch had discovered the allure of the tomes in the Southern Keep.

Titch nodded back at Ergo and offered a cautious smile. Then he turned to the last seated attendee.

Torquil sat beside the Queen, on the side opposite Colwyn, in the semi-ornate chair designated for the Lord-Marshall, the kingdom's highest-ranking official after the King and Queen. His axe was laid before him on the table, holding down one end of a large, detailed map. He offered Titch a cursory nod. Behind him, Oswyn stood with his arms folded, looking distinctly more imposing in his coal-colored battle livery than he had a few moments ago in the upstairs hall. The youth only blinked, then looked back at the King.

Titch followed his gaze and looked at Colwyn, too.

The King half-stood from his seat. He laid his palm on the map, his fingers stretched across the representation of the Andmortis Sea. Still looking at the map's calligraphic writing, he said, "Emissaries from the city of Bellan say that they have found some sort of...artifact." He paused, and Titch wondered if perhaps the young King was recalling another of the ancient Relics scattered across Krull.

Colwyn continued: "The Bellan emissaries didn't seem to know much about it, but they believe that it is magical in nature."

At the mention of magic, Ergo leaned forward over the map and Torquil snorted audibly. Titch looked from one to the other, then back at Colwyn.

"Is it?" Titch ventured in the long silence that followed. "Magic, I mean."

Colwyn exchanged anxious glances with both his adviser and Lord-Marshall before turning back to the boy. He lowered his head and looked up from beneath his furrowed brow. "That is what we need to determine."

Titch nodded in agreement. He waited for someone to say something more, but everyone simply continued to stare at him. Finally, it dawned on him. "You want me to investigate this artifact?"

Colwyn offered a comforting smile. "You won't be alone. Torquil will be going, to act as my voice. And Oswyn's swords will protect you." Both former thieves nodded, Torquil solemnly and Oswyn a bit more haltingly.

"Why not send Ergo?" Titch asked. As soon as he said it, he immediately regretted how cowardly that may have sounded to those in the room. So he explained: "Ergo's much better at magic than I am."

Torquil snorted again, no doubt recalling some of Ergo's earlier botched attempts at transmutation.

Colwyn ignored the little outburst; he usually found Torquil's playful antagonism of the magician to be mildly amusing, but there was no time for it, now. He shook his head. "Should our emissaries from the Hill People or Valdraenei arrive regarding the artifact, they may not be likely to trust us without Ergo here. Sadly, he's been our only contact with them. If it is indeed true that the artifact is one of the ancient Relics, both of those tribes are bound to be interested in finding it. We need to keep our tenuous treaties intact if we are to rebuild this as a single, unified kingdom."

The political argument was lost on Titch; he had lost both count of and interest in all of the visiting emissaries, tithe bearers, and nobles over the last several months since news of Colwyn's marriage to Lyssa and the merger of the Turold and Erig kingdoms had spread across Krull. There was always some stranger or other extolling the virtues of having a unified kingdom under one monarch.

But he knew that Colwyn was right about the significance of the Relics. The magic in just one Relic would be enough to tilt the balance of power in any one fiefdom's favor. If war broke out among the lesser territories, Colwyn and Lyssa's joint kingdom could be shattered.

Colwyn lowered his voice. "You know that I would not ask of you," and here he paused and looked meaningfully at each of them, "any task that I myself am not willing to perform. But with Lyssa in her condition-"

"Do not use me as an excuse, Colwyn." Lyssa said firmly. She laid a pale hand over her husband's, and she looked at Titch. "A kingdom cannot function without its King, especially an infant one. I believe you understand."

Titch nodded, neither able nor willing to question the simple logic in the Queen's soft-spoken words. "Yes. Yes, I do understand."

Lyssa smiled in approval, and Colwyn nodded at him. "Thank you," the young King said, with genuine gratitude.

Torquil put both hands on the table and prepared to stand. "Are we settled, then?" He glanced around at the others for confirmation.

Colwyn nodded again. "If you are prepared, we will meet you and Oswyn at the East Gate. I would like a moment with Titch."

Torquil stood, and both he and Oswyn bowed quickly before exiting the chamber.

Ergo stood, as well, and approached Titch. "It is good to see you again, lad. You've grown!" He made a generous show of looking the boy up and down. He put a comradely arm around Titch's shoulders. "I have already spoken with Colwyn, and he has agreed to let me accompany you as far as the Eastern border. We can catch up while we ride." He glanced up and saw that Colwyn was waiting, and he stepped away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must gather my own trappings." He bade them farewell with a silent wave and left the chamber behind the two former thieves.

Both Colwyn and Lyssa approached Titch with easy, confident strides. The King laid a hand on the boy's back and led him toward the hall, but slowly, so that they could talk in confidence.

"I see that you are anxious," Colwyn murmured. "You needn't be. This is a serious mission we entrust to you, but I don't think that you should be in much peril outside of the lack of scintillating conversation."

Titch forced a smile to his lips. "I hope that I can live up to your trust in me."

Colwyn smiled at him. "I am certain you will. This quest requires someone with your specific knowledge, Titch. Torquil is a great warrior, and Oswyn is as fine a rider as I have ever known, but only you have enough knowledge of magic to be able to identify the artifact as a Relic."

Though he didn't want to contradict him, Titch had to disagree. He didn't want his King and Queen under the mistaken impression that he had any sort of special talents. "I have no exceptional knowledge, Colwyn. I want to fulfill my duties to you to the very best of my ability, but I'm not certain how much help I'll be."

Colwyn spared a brief glance at Lyssa, who nodded at him, and then leaned down to Titch. "If what they say is true, you will recognize the artifact. The Bellan seem to believe that it is a channeling orb."

Titch could hardly believe what he was hearing. "A -!" He found that he couldn't even articulate his own excitement.

Colwyn nodded. "Yes. A Seer's ruby."

The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow over the courtyard despite the morning dampness. It bode well for the little questing party.

Ibren, the stable master, was speaking with Torquil in low tones near the wall. Ibren's daughter, a slight if sturdy girl named Zalinde, was guiding two horses to the arching gates: one a dappled gelding and the other a grey mare. Both horses were saddled and shod, and both of them wore the Turold-Erig-ken royal crest of the Glaive in their harnesses.

Titch crossed to Zalinde and murmured a hello; he didn't know the girl except as another face that he had seen occasionally around the castle. He reached up to pat the gelding along his flank, a bit mesmerized by the animal. He had ridden horses before, but never on his own. This beast, while seemingly gentle, was nonetheless huge.

"That's Arno," Zalinde told him, and Titch realized with a little embarrassment that she was addressing him. She must have taken his silence as apprehension, because she added, "Don't worry; he's a little lamb."

"He's very handsome," Titch said agreeably. He moved one hand down the side of the horse's neck.

Zalinde handed Titch the reins to the mare so that she could start loading the loose supplies into Arno's saddle bags. She shrugged. "Well, he's no Isthmene, but he's a fine horse."

Titch looked up at the mare standing placidly beside him. "Is this Isthmene?"

The girl smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with what was either amusement or mischief. She shook her head. "No, that's Damma." She looked past the gelding and pointed to the far end of the courtyard. "That's Isthmene."

Titch followed the line of her gaze, to where Oswyn was guiding a proud-looking chestnut mare across the grounds. He had very little personal experience with horses, but even so he could tell that Isthmene was an exceptional animal. She was tall, sleek and powerful; her steps, while firm and confident, were nearly noiseless on the ground. Oswyn seemed not so much to be leading Isthmene but to be walking beside her. Her head bobbed close to his, as if they were in some private conversation without words. He turned toward the gates, and she followed his step, without even being prodded or told.

Zalinde came to stand beside Titch and folded her arms over her small chest. "Beautiful, isn't she," she murmured, not as a question but as a statement.

Titch nodded silently. He suddenly understood - if only a little - why Oswyn loved riding so much.

Zalinde took Damma's reins from Titch and handed over Arno's. "He's all yours," she told him with a grin.

Titch looked up into Arno's eyes, which seemed almost stolid in comparison to Isthmene's. "He'll be all right?"

The girl nodded dismissively. "He's just a little sleepy this morning." She hefted Torquil's axe into one of the loops on Damma's saddle. She glanced back at Titch. "Do you need help getting up?"

"Perhaps we should find a pony," Oswyn suggested as he approached, cutting between the two of them.

Zalinde shook her head. "Don't pay any attention to him," she told Titch as she continued about her duties. "Having Isthmene has gotten to his head."

Oswyn stopped and looked over the horse's back at the girl. He sucked a short breath through his teeth in dismay. "Oh. You won't miss me?"

Zalinde packed the last of Torquil's supplies in the saddle bag and tightened the securing belt. She shrugged glibly. "What's to miss? You're never here, anyhow." She gave Damma a final pat and walked around to where Titch was standing.

Oswyn sniffed. "Fine," he said, loudly enough so that she would hear. "I won't miss you, either." He didn't actually sound very disappointed, though. He walked off, paying the girl no more attention, and led Isthmene toward the main gates, which were now open.

Titch put his foot up into one of Arno's stirrups and grabbed the pommel of the saddle. He pulled himself up, but he couldn't quite make it into the seat. He dropped his extended foot to the ground again and blew a breath.

Zalinde took his hand and guided it to the side of the harness. "Grab here," she murmured. "That should be easier. Now try it."

Titch followed her instruction and this time he was successful in seating himself in the saddle. His horse stomped once, then settled back into a still position. He found himself gripping the reins quite tightly, and his thighs already began to burn with the effort of keeping himself upright in the seat. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this," he muttered.

With a laugh that sounded genuinely amused, Zalinde patted the horse's flank. "You'll be fine. Just relax and let him do all the work."

"Words to live by," Torquil remarked beneath his breath as he approached. He pulled himself up into Damma's saddle with ease, making Titch feel all the more awkward on his own horse. He clicked his tongue and urged the mare forward at a slow canter.

Titch mimicked Torquil's actions as closely as he was able, and he was rewarded for his efforts when Arno trotted after the mare, briskly but still under control. He grinned at his accomplishment, then waved to Zalinde, who smiled and waved back at him.

Colwyn, Lyssa, and Ergo came out to the gates to meet them. While he knew that neither the King nor Queen would be accompanying them, Titch was surprised that there was not a horse waiting for Ergo.

So was Torquil, who pulled up on the reins to bring the mare to a stop. "I thought you were coming with us for a bit, Magnificence?" He leaned down to ask of Ergo.

The small man beamed. "I am, blunt-wit. But I hardly need a horse. You should know that."

Titch watched as Ergo proceeded to mouth a complicated incantation. The magician's already-compact body seemed to shrink on itself, and his features changed and realigned. His ears pulled back onto his head, and his mouth and jaw shifted forward. His spine lengthened, and he sprouted a noticeable tail. He dropped to all fours, the balls of his hands and feet moving up along his limbs. In the space of a few short seconds, he had changed himself into a mid-sized cat, similar to the ones that prowled the castle's kitchens.

Ergo the cat jumped up onto Titch's saddle and curled himself onto what there was of the boy's lap. "There," he said in a strange, high-pitched version of his normal voice. "You see?" He put one paw out onto the pommel of the saddle.

Titch laughed, amazed as always at Ergo's ability to transform himself. Torquil, meanwhile, could only shake his head.

Colwyn smiled. He reached up and took Torquil's hand, giving it a hearty shake. "Good speed, my friend."

Torquil nodded. "We shouldn't be more than a month's time."

Oswyn swung up onto Isthmene's back. "If you can keep up with me," he teased, pressing the mare into a trot.

Torquil raised his black brows in mock-surprise. "Oh, you think you've surpassed me already, eh?" He gave Colwyn a quick salute and then spurred Damma after his younger companion.

Lyssa passed a small, thin book into Titch's hands. "Remember everything," she muttered to him, and stepped away.

Titch glanced at the book. It was a journal, much like the one he used to keep when he studied with his Master. He tucked the tiny book into his belt and nodded to the Queen.

"Mind Torquil," Colwyn told him. Then he patted Arno's side and bade him farewell with a single wave.

Titch nodded again, this time to the King, and then clicked his heels against the horse's flank and followed Torquil and Oswyn past the kingdom gates.

Sitting with him, Ergo murmured, "Do be careful, now, lad. It's terribly bumpy up here."

Ergo, who seemed to take on the characteristics of whatever animal he changed into, had soon settled into an easy nap, and Titch was left to let his mind wander. Arno was smart enough to follow the other two horses (though it was easier to follow Damma's steady pace, since Isthmene had a tendency to want to break ahead at regular intervals, so accustomed she was to traveling the countryside alone), so Titch didn't have to control him nearly as much as he thought he would have to do.

His traveling companions were silent, for the most part, for which the boy was grateful. He had never been very good at making idle conversation. It gave him an opportunity to enjoy the scenery beyond the castle walls, as they went along at their leisure.

At one point, as they were passing through an orchard, Ergo raised his furry head and yawned. "I smell apples," the magician-cat said. He sat up at the front of the saddle and looked around, his feline eyes finally settling on the trees above his head. "Ah, yes. Up there."

Torquil gave Ergo a sidelong grin. "You're hardly of an ability to eat an apple in that state, fuzzy one."

Ergo the cat rose up on his hind legs and stretched one paw outward. "It's the principle, truncheon-nose."

At a nod from Torquil, Oswyn stood up in his stirrups and extended both hands into one of the nearby trees, and once again Titch was impressed by how effortlessly the young man's movements were, especially in the saddle. He pulled down one apple, tossed it to Torquil, then another, and a third. He tossed the last one to Titch, then pulled out one of the daggers fastened to his shoulder harness and started to carve at his own apple.

Torquil took a hearty bite and gave a satisfied little shrug. "A fine idea, whisker-face. I needed a snack."

Ergo made a tiny grunting noise, what was perhaps the feline equivalent of a harrumph. "I am good for much more than sensing food, you know."

Titch smiled at him and rubbed behind the cat's ears. He tore off a piece of meat from the apple with his teeth and held it out for the tiny animal to nibble on.

Torquil finished off his fruit and tossed the decimated core into the trees. He pulled back on Damma's reins and slowed his pace so that he could look Ergo more easily in the eyes. With bowed head, he admitted, "I am well aware of your finer virtues, your magnificence."

"I should hope so," the cat replied, lifting one front paw to lick at the claws.

Torquil spurred Damma on again, but not before adding: "Humility not being one of them."

The cat stopped in mid-lick and glared at Torquil's retreating back. With an audible sniff, he settled down into the saddle again. He craned his head around to look at Titch. "You've been awfully quiet today, dear boy."

"Just thinking," Titch replied.

"Thinking is best done by more than one brain," Ergo reasoned. "Now that I assume you have at least sated your hunger for a bit, perhaps we can think together. What troubles you of late?"

Titch shrugged his shoulders, being careful not to move too much, for fear that Arno might misconstrue some action on his part as a command to bolt or something equally as frightening. "Dreams, I suppose."

Ergo looked interested, or as interested as he could look behind the face of a cat. "Ah. Dreams are secret paths to the soul. What mysteries we cannot easily see in the light of day come clear while we sleep."

In the open air, it was easy for Torquil to eavesdrop, so he interrupted: "And about what kinds of mysteries do you dream, Ergo? The secret ingredient for the perfect pie? Perhaps how to transform yourself into something ridiculous, like a dragon?"

Titch started up at Torquil's mention of dragons, but Ergo merely crossed his front paws over each other and narrowed his eyes; though beneath his veneer of haughty annoyance there was genuine humor. "You will miss my company when it comes time to part ways, mark my words."

Torquil grinned. "I'm certain I will," he said.

Oswyn had hung back, as well, and now he leaned down against Isthmene's neck and offered her the last bite of his apple. "There are sweeter and softer things of which to dream than pies or dragons," he said with a faintly abstracted smile.

Torquil nodded wryly. "Aye, we all know where your interests lie, Oswyn."

Ergo ruffled the fur on his back and hunkered down again. "Pay those sword-wielding simpletons no heed, my boy. Tell me. What was your dream?"

Titch glanced around, feeling foolish. "Actually," he said in a quiet voice. "I did dream of dragons. Old ones. My Master used to tell me about the dragons who ruled Krull."

"Poppycock." Ergo sniffed. "Dragons are a thing of myth." At the hurt look on Titch's face, he added, "Though I do recall reading something about intelligent flying beasts. But those would not have been dragons in the traditional sense. More likely, wyvern familiars."

"What's a wyvern?" Titch asked, his interest piqued by this idea.

"A small dragon." Ergo responded in a matter-of-fact way. Somehow, being a cat made his know-it-all demeanor more striking.

"I thought that you just said -"

Ergo clarified: "Speaking of the essence of the thing. Even so, no one has seen a wyvern in generations."

Titch's eyes brightened at the thought of a majestic creature of lore. "I think that I should very much like to see one."

Ergo had begun to clean a spot on his shoulder when he stopped and looked the boy squarely in the eyes. "Be careful for what you wish, lad. Dreams are one thing; reality is quite something else again."

"Speaking of reality," Torquil said, dropping back in the procession again. "The reality of our situation is that the kingdom border is fast approaching." He looked pointedly at the cat sitting in Arno's saddle and brought Damma to a halt. "What will you do, o feline one?"

Ergo got up and stretched his little limbs. "You're right, of course. I should be heading back. Even flying, I should be lucky to return to the castle before dusk."

"Already?" Titch asked, unable to mask the disappointment evident in his voice. "We hardly had any time."

Ergo jumped from the front of the saddle to the grassy ground. He turned his head up to the three riders who had clustered around him. He looked very tiny among the horses, but only for a moment. With a subtle incantation, he was restored to his former bipedal self, complete with grin. He puffed his chest. "Well," he said with a measure of self-importance. "It has been a lovely journey, friends, but here is where I must bid you leave." He gave a theatrical bow at the waist.

"Good journey, Ergo," Oswyn offered, turning in his saddle as Isthmene stomped impatiently.

Titch forced a smile. "I'll miss your company."

Ergo gave the boy an exaggerated wink. "Oh, these two aren't so bad. You'll see. They can even come in quite handy in a spot of trouble."

The smile Titch wore became more genuine. "I know." Despite his apprehension about being on this quest, he knew that Torquil and Oswyn were the most effective protectors he could have after Colwyn himself.

Ergo gave a final wave, and then he made a shooing gesture with his arms. "Well, I hate long goodbyes. Off with you, now! You have the King's work to do!" With that, he said another spell, and his form changed again, this time into a large, crooked-beaked eagle. After a brief check to make sure everything was in its proper place, Ergo flapped his wings and rose into the air. He swiftly gained altitude, then squawked back at the travelers in a sharp, cawing cry: "Good speed! Good speed!"

Torquil followed the transformed mage with his eyes as the eagle ascended higher and higher into the sky, murmuring, "Fly safely, friend." His gaze lingered on the receding shadow of the eagle's wingspan against the cloudless sky for several long moments. Then he turned to his companions. "Steady on, lads. Daylight's burning." He clapped Damma's reins and headed onward at a trot. After a brief exchange of glances, the boys followed.

Where the afternoon had been balmy, dusk brought a chill to the air that made Titch's nose run. He was forced to pull the travel cloak from Arno's saddle bag, and now he huddled beneath it, the cloth bunching up around his neck and giving him a stooped appearance. He wished suddenly to be back at the castle, in the royal library where the fire was always warm, or in the kitchens with the smell of cooking food and washing water, or snuggled in his bed with the reading candles casting flickering shadows on the wall. Or, at least, someplace out of the open.

Torquil didn't seem to be much impressed with the progress of their journey so far, either. "I thought you said this was the short route to the Andelmar border tower," he barked to Oswyn.

"It is," the youth replied. "The trader path is an extra half-day's ride."

"Well, it's nearly dark now. How bloody close is it?" His year as Lord-Marshall had done nothing to pacify his quick temper.

Oswyn looked off into the distance, squinting against the encroaching black. "Not far. Maybe another hour's ride."

"An hour?" Torquil echoed. By his tone, he didn't like the sound of that.

Oswyn shrugged. "Or two."

"Well, make up your mind, man!"

"It's not my fault!" Oswyn said defensively. "We would be there by now if we didn't have to travel so slowly." At this, he looked pointedly at Titch, hunched over in his saddle.

Torquil looked back at the young boy, as well. He breathed a contemplative sigh through his nose.

Titch was about to apologize, but he thought it wiser simply to keep his mouth shut. Recriminations and regrets would do little to help their situation at this point.

Torquil maneuvered Damma to come beside Arno. "Right then," he muttered. He stopped both horses, Damma with his heels and Arno with a tug on the gelding's reins. He shifted back a bit in his saddle and told Titch: "Come on; up here with me."

Titch pushed his cloak back and sat up straight. "I can ride faster if we have to."

Torquil shook his head gently. "Not as fast as we'll need to get to the tower by moonrise. You'll learn much of riding on this journey, I'd wager, but now isn't the time. Come on," he said again, and reached across to take him beneath the arms. He lifted Titch onto Damma, and the mare snorted but didn't complain further.

Oswyn waited for them to catch up, then took Arno's reins from Torquil. "He's smart enough to follow us, I think," he said, speaking of the horse.

"Just keep an eye on him," Torquil told him. He adjusted his seating on Damma and told Titch: "Hold tight, now. This won't be very comfortable."

Oswyn fairly beamed at the prospect of a flat-out run with his thoroughbred beauty. "Try to keep up," he muttered, then clapped the mare into a gallop.

Titch leaned close to Damma's neck as Torquil followed suit, but it was admittedly difficult to keep pace with Isthmene. Even rider-less Arno, snorting and dashing behind Isthmene, was troubled with the effort.

Torquil probably meant only to murmur it, but it came out more as a shout in the racing wind and the sound of hooves pounding the ground: "What a waste is vigor on the young."

Titch smiled, suddenly enjoying himself for the first time this day, to spite the cold and the coming unknown.