“But—”

“The danger is not what you think. Beware, Faldain. Pay heed to my warning.” The apparition vanished, leaving Dain shaken and disoriented. He lifted his hand to rub the sweat from his brow, and wondered if his own weakness had made him imagine the vision.

Yet its words still echoed in his mind. Frowning, Dain slowly turned the warning over and over in his thoughts. Some spirit from the third world had reached through to warn him of danger other than what he faced right now.  The hair suddenly prickled on the back of his neck. Were Nonkind here, concealed in the hold, perhaps in the Hall itself? He sensed nothing, yet his sense of unease grew rapidly.

Lord Odfrey was saying, “I will remind you of how this boy first came to us, starved and wretched, how he did risk his own life to save that of the huntsman Nocine, who stands now at the rear of the Hall.”

As he spoke, he pointed at the man. Many of the assembly twisted their heads to look. Others did not.

“Dain rode into battle unarmed at my back that day,” the chevard continued, his voice hard and measured. “He risked his life to guide us to the dwarf raiders who had done wrong to Thirst. He risked his life to save mine.” The chevard pointed to his scarred face. “Thanks to the boy’s quick actions, I survived my wound and lived. It was your wish, knights of Thirst, to make him a foster. I granted your petition and allowed him to stay as one of us, to be trained arms. It has been our united intention that he one day be knighted and serve Thirst in its defense. You know his good qualities, which are many. But, yes, he has had his moments of mischief. What boy does not?” A few of the knights chuckled, but others stayed silent frowning while they listened.

“He disobeyed me a few days past and went forth in the smith’s company to help him buy sword metal from a dwarf. Since Dain was raised by Jorb maker, it was not unreasonable of our smith to ask for his help in securing a good price.” Behind Lord Odfrey, Gavril was sighing impatiently and fidgeting. Dain stared hard at him, wondering where the Nonkind could be and how he could stop the proceedings to warn Lord Odfrey.

As though feeling Dain’s stare, the prince glared back until Dain shifted his gaze away.

“In leaving the hold without permission, Dain did wrong, Lord Odfrey continued, his speech apparently endless. “But who among you cannot remember your own boyhood escapades?”

There were more chuckles, but Dain hardly noticed that the chevard’s words were swaying the knights in his favor. He wondered if the chevard had yet answered the direct accusation Gavril had laid.

Lord Odfrey pointed at Dain. “Many of you have worked with Dain, and sought to assist him in his training. Others of you have supervised him in his chores.  Have you known this boy to lie? To ever strike someone else in anger? To treat any one cruelly or unjustly?”

The chevard paused, holding the assembly with his stern gaze. “The answer to each of those questions is no. For the months he has lived among us, has he not had ample opportunity to do harm against myself, against any of you, against even the prince, had he wished? Why has he chosen to attack his highness now?  Did he attack at all, or did our prince misunderstand boyish high spirits and—” The stench of something rotted and foul reached Dain’s nostrils. “Stop!” he shouted loudly.

His interruption silenced Lord Odfrey, who swung around to glare at him. Sir Bosquecel scowled. Others glared at Dain for daring to interrupt.  “You have not leave to speak, Dain,” Sir Bosquecel said in annoyance. “Await your turn.”

Dain paid them no heed. He looked in all directions, seeking the Nonkind that was among them. Released at last, as though the creature could no longer contain itself, a foul stench so overwhelmed Dain’s senses that he wanted to retch.  Swallowing, he looked but saw nothing wrong.

Everyone was staring at him, and Gavril said, “He is surely mad, or pretending to be so. It is a thin defense.”

Even now, Gavril refused to accept any beliefs or abilities save those that he valued. Despising him for a fool, Dain said, “There is a Nonkind here.” Sir Bosquecel and Lord Odfrey swung around in alarm. Sir Polquin swore aloud and reached for his sword hilt.

“Where, Dain?” Lord Odfrey asked. “In Thod’s name, what is it? Where is it?” Dain could not tell him, for as yet his eyes could not penetrate the creature’s spell of concealment. He shook his head in frustration. The stink intensified, worse than ever, causing the hair to stand up on the back of Dain’s neck. It had to be close now, must be coming closer, yet he saw no movement save that of a knight, striding forward from the back of the Hall. Dain eyed him narrowly, unsure. He was unwilling to make the wrong accusation.  “Dain!” Lord Odfrey said sharply.

He drew a sharp breath and glanced at the chevard. “I cannot see it, but it’s here in the Hall. It must be a shapeshifter.”

“Gods!” Sir Bosquecel said, half-drawing his sword.

Sir Los stepped in front of Gavril with his hand on his own weapon.  Gavril laughed scornfully. “Will you believe more of his nonsense? Will you let his spells and lies cloud your minds?” He held up his gold Circle and aimed it at Dain. “This pagan has no—” One of the wounded men jumped to his feet, knocking Sulein aside, and suddenly shimmered and changed shape, becoming a shadowy, snake-headed creature with black, leathery wings. It screamed, and the sound pierced Dain’s ears.  Several knights cried out, clapping their hands to their ears and sinking to their knees. The shapeshifter flew through the air so swiftly it was only a blur, and came straight for the front of the Hall. It aimed itself at Gavril, who was standing dumbstruck with horror. The prince raised his Circle, but Sir Los pushed Gavril back and swung his sword at the shapeshifter’s belly.  His sword glanced off the creature’s hide without effect, and the shapeshifter sank its poisonous fangs into Sir Los’s throat. Sir Los screamed, a high, keening sound of death, and his sword fell from his slack fingers as the creature pulled his body up into the air and drained the life from it.  With shouts, Sir Polquin and Sir Terent rushed at it, striking to no avail.  Through the Hall, there was shouting and pandemonium. Lord Odfrey and Lord Renald bellowed orders that went unheeded in the confusion.  The priest held up his brass Circle, but retreated, wailing a prayer aloud.  Someone rushed to grab one of the torches and whirled it about so that the flames popped and guttered. Gavril rushed foolishly at the shapeshifter, brandishing his Circle and his jeweled dagger, and Lord Odfrey flung himself at the prince to save him. One of the shapeshifter’s leathery wings struck Lord Odfrey and knocked him sprawling to the floor. He lay still, unconscious or perhaps dead, his forehead bloody.

Sir Bosquecel grabbed Lord Odfrey’s shoulders and dragged him out of the thing’s reach just as it struck viciously. Its fangs snapped on thin air, and it screamed in rage.

“Back, demon of the second world!” Gavril shouted.

The shapeshifter turned on the prince, who flung his dagger at it. The pretty little weapon bounced harmlessly off the creature and clattered on the floor.  Gavril brandished his Circle. “By my faith, I order you back!” The shapeshifter shimmered and suddenly took man-form again. It laughed, a horrible guttural sound that could never have been made by a mortal throat, then shifted back into its true form. It flapped its wings and snapped at Gavril, unfazed by his religious talisman.

Gavril’s face had turned white. His hand trembled as it held the Circle even higher. “This is a holy object. It must drive you back!” The shapeshifter lunged again, snapping its poisonous jaws right in Gavril’s face.

He dropped his Circle and cringed back, flinging up his hands to ward off the creature. “No! No!” he screamed in terror. Dain was the closest to the prince.  Without thinking, he whirled around and grabbed a handful of salt from the seasoning bowl on the table, then stooped and picked up Truthseeker. The embroidered cloth fell away from the carved blade as Dain swung it up and around.

The shapeshifter seized the prince in its talons and reared back its snakelike head to strike. Running to them, Dain flung his handful of salt at the monster and shouted, “By salt and holy steel do I banish you from this world!” The salt stung the hide of the shapeshifter, which shrieked in agony and began to flail like something crazed. One of its wing tips nearly knocked Dain off his feet. Ducking, he regained his balance, but the shapeshifter’s talons were tearing long gashes in Gavril’s legs. The prince screamed. Gripping Truthseeker with both hands, Dain lifted the heavy sword. In that instant, he felt its power come to life, channeling up his wrists and arms all the way to his heart. He heard himself say words that he did not understand, yet they made the very air thunder. His bard crystal pendant sang a note so piercing and pure that Dain’s ears rang. He swung with all his might.

Bursting into flames as it whistled through the air, the god-steel blade sliced through the shapeshifter’s thin neck and set it afire. In seconds, the creature’s entire body was ablaze. It screamed and shrieked, writhing in its death throes, then exploded into ashes that rained down upon Dain.  In the sudden silence, the air reeked of smoke and Nonkind stench. Truthseeker’s blade flashed fire a moment longer, its power shaking Dain’s teeth. He could feel his whole body glowing and his hair standing on end. Then the flames went out, the light in the sword dimmed, its power faded away, and it became once more just a weapon of surpassing beauty.

Dain stood there, feeling weightless and light-headed. He could hear a roaring sound, muted and far away. He saw individual faces that he recognized in flickers of clarity. Thum, his freckles standing out boldly in his white face.  Sir Bosquecel kneeling over Lord Odfrey, who was holding his head and trying to sit up. Sir Polquin, also on his knees, his lips moving but no sound coming forth. And Gavril, lying on the floor near Dain, torn and bloody. The prince was crying with pain and the aftermath of his fear, but he was alive.  Dain drew a deep breath, feeling neither relief nor regret, feeling nothing at all. He had saved the life of his enemy; that was all he knew.  Suddenly Truthseeker was too heavy to hold. He struggled with it, knowing he must not insult the blade by dropping it on the floor.

A hand gripped Dain’s wrist, then gently took the hilt from his bloody grasp. He realized dimly that his wound must have opened. He could feel blood running down his arm inside his sleeve.

The hand belonged to Sir Terent. His ruddy face entered the diminishing circle of Dain’s vision and knotted itself with concern. “Dain,” he said. “Release the sword.”

Dain thought he had, but when he looked down, his fingers were still gripped, knuckle-white, around the gold-wire hilt. Frowning, he forced his fingers to loosen.

Sir Terent reverently took the sword away and handed it to someone that Dain could not see. The absence of Truthseeker’s weight was a relief. Now Dain had nothing left to anchor him. He felt himself floating farther and farther away.  “Dain,” Sir Terent said. “Dain, lad!” But the mists closed around Dain, and he was gone.

When he next opened his eyes, the sun was shining through a narrow window straight onto his face. Squinting, Dain tried to lift his head, but it weighed too much.

The pungent smell of herbs wafted beneath his nostrils, making him sneeze.  Sulein bent over him, smiling through his dark, frizzy beard. “Ah, he is with us again. This is good.”

Dain glanced around, but he did not recognize the small, whitewashed room. Its shuttered windows were open to admit the fragrant summer air. He lay in a tall bed with heavy posts. Sulein retreated, and Lord Odfrey appeared at Dain’s bedside.

The chevard looked solemn and troubled. A bruise marred his brow, but otherwise he looked hale. He seated himself gently on the side of the bed and stared down at Dain.

“How are you, lad?” he asked. His voice was gruff, and he cleared it loudly.

Dain considered the question. “Hungry.” Amusement lit the chevard’s dark eyes.  His smiled warmed his face and took the sternness away. Turning his head, he asked Sulein to convey a message to the kitchen, then he swung his gaze back to Dain.

“What,” he asked mildly, “shall I do with you?” Memory was returning to Dain fast. He frowned, feeling his worries return. “The trial,” he said. “Will it finish today?”

“The trial is over,” Lord Odfrey said. “No fault was found in you.”

Dain grinned with relief. “No fault?”

“None. You saved Prince Gavril’s life in front of us all, or don’t you remember?”

Dain frowned, the memories bobbing and turning in his mind. “Has his wound been salted and cleansed in the proper way?”

“Aye. And after all Gavril has done against you, I marvel that you care.” Dain’s frown deepened to a scowl. Lord Odfrey mistook his concern. He cared nothing for the prince. But if darkness should possess Gavril through tainted wounds, everyone in the hold would be at risk.

“How the shapeshifter got in past our safeguards, the priest still has not explained to my satisfaction,” Lord Odfrey said. “These are troubled times we face, now that Nether no longer stands against them with us. Had you not been there, Dain, many would have surely died, the prince among them.” Dain looked away, and could not feel entirely glad. “Gavril is not wholly bad-hearted,” Lord Odfrey said softly as though reading Dain’s mind. “Just spoiled and ill-taught by ambitious men. He was mistaken in his belief that you meant him harm.” Dain sat bolt upright. “I never attacked him!” he said furiously. “There was no mistake about—” “Dain,” Lord Odfrey said, gripping his hand. “Hush. The matter is closed. You are cleared of all accusation.”