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Jon-Tom

and Alma scouted for a place to set up a foundry. There was an abandoned and

ruined castle sitting on a hill a few miles from the village. It was mostly

walls, but it would give them a protected workspace in which to attempt the

near impossible. As a bonus it had a well filled with water. Pike had a wagon

loaded with the items requested and sent them under heavy guard. It would have

been better not to attract attention with such a display, but he was unable to

sway the Lord Pike to do it any other way. The blacksmith, a big man who was

nonetheless shorter than Jon-Tom, asked what he could do. Jon-Tom told him to

hold still. A moment later he had all of the man's information transferred to

his own mind. He had never realized that making a blade took so much effort.

Those shark teeth back at Hobarrow would have sufficed most wonderfully for

this project. Jon-Tom

allowed the boy to come with them. He warned him explicitly that what he was

going to see was going to be difficult for his young mind to grasp. The boy was all eagerness and interest. He

told them there was nothing that could surprise him any more than they already

had. He maintained that creed until Alma slowly transformed into a dragon. Of

course, there were no such things here, but the boy wasn't aware of that. He

managed to run behind a wall before his bowels cut loose. He came

back looking sheepish. "Sorry about that. I've never seen the like o'that. I

didn't know that yer horse be magical." "That's

alright Arf. I just hope your bowels are empty." Without another word he

transformed into the biggest, blackest horse the boy had ever seen. The boy stared wide-eyed. Then he too passed

out. It was an old standby for the brain; when confronted by the indescribable,

shut down and reboot. When the boy awoke, he was greeted by the smell of smoke

and brimstone. The

dragon was releasing a steady stream of fire at the dark chunk of rock. The

edges were beginning to glow. Every once

in a while the dragon paused to inhale, and then it was back to blowing fire. Arf

was simply amazed. No such creatures were within his knowledge, nor were humans

that changed into other animals. Those were tales told of the gods, such as Tuatatis.

The thought made him shiver. But he had

more to fear from his fellow humans than from these...these; whatever they were. He

stayed and asked questions, which the big black horse answered as best he

could. All through the night the flames

continued, causing the overhead clouds to glow eerily. Come morning, he awoke

again to the abrupt sound of clanging. The black horse was propped up over the

chunk of rock, pounding the glowing mass with his fore hoof. Sparks flew with

each hit. After a while, the horse stepped down and the dragon heated the rock

again. Then on with the banging. Again with the sparks. Then an application of

flame again. For hours

and hours they worked. The metal glowed with a life of its own after the first

day. And all this while, from time to time, the big black would place his

coiled horn onto the mass. He would hold his head still until the tip of the

horn began to glow. He would then pull it away and the dragon, with a similar

motion, did the same sort of thing. And then back to the pounding. When the

metal was flattened out, it was folded by strong dragon hands. And then back to

pounding. And sparks. And more flame. This went

on for days. The boy tried to get them to eat, but neither would relent. After

four days of comings and goings he was feeling that magical or not, these creatures were

never going to finish their work. As he approached the old castle, he was

struck by the silence. He took off at a run. Once inside he found it abandoned.

But sitting there, gleaming in the sun was an enormous blade. It had no handle

or hilt. It was just a bare blade. Well, not "just" a blade. It had figures

inscribed up one side and down the other. He couldn't read, so they meant

nothing to him. The morning sun reflected off the blade like it was a mirror. The creators were nowhere around. Arf climbed

up a ruined stairwell leading to an equally decrepit tower. From this vantage

he could just make out two figures on a neighboring hilltop. Since one was

black and the other was white, the logical conclusion was easy to make. He

climbed down and ran towards where they were. When he arrived, the first thing

he noticed was that the grass all around them was gone, cropped to the ground.

Both of them smelled like a wet fire pit. The black horse was blacker, and the

white horse was gray tinged. The

black horse nodded a greeting. "Hello boy! Did you stop and see our work?" He

nodded eagerly. "Yea, I did! Tis a masterpiece of the hammer, even if no hammer

be used. I await the final creation!" Jon-Tom

chuckled. "That will be the easy part. The guard is finished, sans the fine

gold and silver work. The pommel is also partially done. But those metals are fairly easy to work

with. Then it's a scabbard and the sword is done. After that I hand it over to

Pike and our work is done. If he wishes to rally everyone behind this

impossible weapon, then so be it. I

don't think it will work." The

three of them walked back to the site of their work and gathered up the gold

cup and silver bracelets. Jon-Tom changed back to a human, though it took him a

few minutes to complete the change. It looked painful. He then stretched and

went to work prying the gems out of their sockets. When he was done, he had a

little pile. He held them in his hands for a while, eyes closed, lips mumbling.

When he was done, he dropped them in a depression in the rock. Alma was

stamping the metal items as flat as she could with her hooves, just like he had

done with the sword. The boy noticed how rough his hands looked. He had failed

to notice his hooves. As they

worked with the precious metals, the boy played with the gems. They were

pretty, colored as they were in green, red, blue and clear. He eventually grew

bored with them and curled up in a corner to fall asleep. He woke later when

the sun was setting. The tall human,

fully hooded, was holding the weapon

gingerly by the blade. The setting sun showed through the large gem on the

pommel. It cast a colored shadow against the stone wall. The amazing thing was

the way the man held the weapon, like it was nothing more than a wooden stick. Apparently

the man knew he was awake. "Come here boy. What do you think?" "It be

the most lovely thing in the whole land, tis that I'm sure!" The big

man laughed. "Oh, it's more than lovely to look upon. It has more to it than

meets the eye. Now, whether it works like I expect it to is another story." The

man sounded weary. The boy looked up at him and got a shock. He had aged

decades! The horse didn't look much better. "Sire and, um, lady! What has

happened to ye?" The man

pulled on his beard. "I've used up what was left of my magic. Now time is

catching up with me. It hardly matters that I'm not even born yet, by your

reckoning. I'm dying because my body ages regardless of what time I'm in. Youth

water and other magic will eventually run out. I have hastened it by putting my

magic into this sword. So has Alma. It was the most logical thing I could do.

Since I can't leave, I must die. That way I can avoid doing any harm here. One

sword will hardly influence the timeline." The boy

was gazing at them. A tear formed in his eye. "It ain't right. Ye can't go

dying on us now! A sword ain't gonna make things better for us nohow, if ye

ain't the one to wield it. Swords only kill!" Jon-Tom

smiled. "That is true. A sword is designed to cause death. But death is

sometimes deserved. The question is how to determine that. Many an innocent man has died, and many a bad

man has lived. The only way to tell the difference is to look deep inside. That

is a talent none of you have. So I did the best I could." The boy

was watching the flecks of gold and silver that clung to his robe. They were

picking up the fading light like so many little stars. Even his beard was

coated in the dust, giving him a sparkling appearance. "But Mare-Aiden sir,

won't ye please stay with us? We cannot think to fight on our own. Pike be a

good man but no one has heard of 'im outside of this land. Yer fame has spread.

People have traveled to the village looking for ye. They have been turned away

since ye wished to be left alone." Jon-Tom

leaned over and kissed the boy's cheek. "I have nowhere to go, Arf. I will die here. So will Alma. I have no

strength left in me to transform again. I might perhaps change to something

smaller, but I don't even want to try. It's too bad, because there is so much I

have yet to accomplish. It seems to me that I've done more than most wizards.

The spellsinger who traveled the cosmos;

the human who bedded tigers, lions, leopards, horses, and bears." The boy

looked sidelong at his new mentor. "Bears and horses? Be ye serious? Ye be hung

like a horse, no doubt, but a bear? That is an amazing feat. The best one does

hereabouts is the sheep. They ain't too particular as long as ye finish quick-like.

And be you really a wizard? Methought they were myth." His

question drew a heavy sigh from the tall man. "Boy, I couldn't even begin to

tell you about my life." But that gave him an idea. Perhaps he could live on a

little longer as a memory. "Come here boy." He did as he was told. Jon-Tom

gently pressed his wrinkled forehead to the boy's. It took a while, since he selectively guided

the information into his head. There was no point in overloading him. When he

was done, the boy looked up at him in admiration. "Ye

will not die sire. We need ye even more now than before. The sword will mean

nothing without news of its creation. If ye must die, do so fighting for the

cause ye so valiantly worked for. Can it hurt in any way?" Alma

spoke up. "The boy is right. We have nothing to lose. It's too bad I will never

enjoy raising a child, but what will be will be. I don't have much life left in

me, but I have plenty of fight left in me. I'd rather go down swinging than

sitting here waiting for the end to come to me. Jon-Tom

sighed. "Oh, what the hell! Screw the timeline.

Let's go see what we can do to royally mess up history!" He went

to get up, but tottered and fell back down. "Boy, I think we'll stay here one

more night. I've got no strength, and I will need a limb as a crutch. So let's

settle down for the night." They lay

together for warmth, falling into a weary, but uneasy sleep. The

next morning the boy found a branch and dragged it to the ruins. The now-old

man hefted the sword and with swift blows severed the ends. The boy was amazed,

for the sword was massive. Leastwise, he

thought it was. He had never seen anything more than the old, hand-me-down

Roman short swords everyone used. The man strapped the sword around his waist,

took up his new staff, and the three of them walked to the village. The

villagers ran out to meet them and were immediately on guard. It took all of

the coaxing that Arf could muster to convince them that these were the same two

that had left on an errand of great importance.

Since the horse still sported a horn, and the old man was in the young

man's robes, they reluctantly believed it. Magic wasn't something in their

forte. Word was sent to Pike to come and collect the weapon. Jon-Tom rested and

ate. He also thought about how he would die. If he was to do so in battle, he

would be of little use. If he could just drift away while he slept... Pike

came the next day. Jon-Tom had placed the sword on a boulder in the middle of

the village. He wasn't worried about it being stolen. Pike found out why

immediately. He went to pick it up. It wouldn't budge. He might as well have tried

picking up the stone as well. Jon-Tom tottered out and grasped the handle,

holding it aloft. He set it back down. "This sword will not kill an innocent

man. By the same token, only a man pure of heart can wield it. Therefore, only

such a man may carry it into battle. Only a man who can lift it high can be

king. Until you find such a man, your quest for peace will be fruitless. Now

leave me be." Pike

was crestfallen. He knew he wasn't the best man in the land, but he felt

betrayed. "Why craft such a thing that no man will ever carry? Tis now nothing

more than a bauble to attract every crackpot and fool in the land. Any man who

might carry it would be too smart to try. All that effort and now I'll be devoid

of your abilities as well." He stormed off, but not without a look back at

Alma.. He was

correct. As the news spread, many came to try lifting the sword. They all

failed. It did have the side effect of making the village prosperous as a

"tourist" destination. Everyone was happy, except for the old healer and his

curious horse. They stayed together, rarely coming out into the light. His

beard continued to grow. He ate less and less, yet he never seemed to

completely falter. Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months. The parade of

the brave and the foolish and the curious continued. Men dressed in fancy robes

and men dressed in dirty sheepskin comingled in the lines that formed. But nary

did the sword budge. When someone made too much of a fuss, the old healer would

come out and with a single hand heft it high. Once it was one the boulder

again, it couldn't be budged. More

time passed. There was snow on the ground. The boy had grown a few inches

during that time, and gained a few more point in intellect. He was constantly

pestering Jon-Tom for information. It

was the one thing that brightened Jon-Ton's days. He answered them as best he

could. He also asked questions back. One day, just to test his memory, he

asked, "How many gems are there on the sword?" It was

a simple question, and easily answered. The boy ran outside, dusted off the

snow, and began counting. The top was just out of his line of vision. He

grabbed the pommel to pull himself up to finish counting. Instead, the sword slipped off the rock. He

let go of it out of surprise and fear. It clattered to the ground. He looked

around. No one had heard. He carefully grabbed a hold of it, hoping to put it

back. It was lighter than he thought it should be. That stone; what had he

called it?; a meteorite, had taken several men to handle it. Now he, a boy

heading into his teens, was holding it up high. He

looked around again. There, in the doorway, was the healer. His bushy eyebrows

were arched above his bright eyes. "It's about time you figured it out boy. I

was never certain, but I came to believe it would be you. I haven't been

prepping you for nothing. You now have the unenvious task of leading your

people into a battle to unify your lands. It is up to you alone." Arf quailed.

"Me?! There be no way I'm going to lead an army! I must be rid of this sword!"

He ran off into a building snowstorm. He made his way back hours later. The

sword was nowhere on his person. He refused to tell anyone what he had done

with it. Jon-Tom

was disappointed. "I don't blame you boy, but those most suited to rule are

those who despise it. Whatever you did

with that sword, you'll need to retrieve it someday. I've done what I can for

you. I can't make you take it up and rule. You have to decide that on your

own." News of

the disappearance of the sword ran like wildfire throughout the hundred

kingdoms. Pike came a month later, his face set like stone. Only the sight of

Alma fractured his stiff countenance. But he expressed his dismay in no

uncertain terms. "I planned on backing who ever could wield that sword. Now ye

tell me that someone has made off with it? So who do I support? Some lousy thief with a

good heart?" Arf

spoke up hotly. "I be not a thief! I only wished to look at it. I had no idea

it would come to me hand uncalled for!" Pike

knelt beside him. "You be telling me that you grasped that sword? For the love

of the gods what have ye done with it?" The boy

dropped to the ground. "I threw it into the marsh. It sank into the darkness of

the peat." Alma

stood up. She had been silent for a long time, not wishing to alarm the locals.

"Come. If this sword is so damn important, then let us go and get it out of the

marsh." Pike

nodded in the negative. "The waters will eat any metal given enough time, be it

bronze or iron. That sword will be of no use to anyone now. All our hopes were

put into one jar, and it has now fractured and spilled its contents. Alma

stamped her hoof. "Oh do shut the hell up you dolt! I say we go find it. If, as

you say, it will be ruined, then fine, it's ruined. If not, then the boy here

will have a second chance to do the right thing. But I will not die without

giving it one last try." They

marched off, leaving a trail through the snow. Their conversation was gloomy.

Eventually they came to a marsh. Snow clung to the banks. Patches of ice sat

like water lilies on the surface. "Where is it?" Jon-Tom growled. The boy

pointed out towards the center. "Of course you flung it way out there." No one

remarked that it should have been too heavy for him to have thrown it out

there, much less to have dragged it this far. Alma

was tired of listening to them. They were either going to walk away with the

sword, or they weren't. She took in a deep breath and ran forward. Pushing off

strongly with her rear hooves, she sailed in the air for a moment before

hitting the water. She sank like a stone. Ripples radiating outward broke up

the patches of ice. Then the surface calmed down to stillness. The men on the

shore stood in shock. No one said a word. Alma had wanted to die, but no one

figured she would end it this way. Jon-Tom thought about it a moment. The cold

would numb him quickly. Drowning wouldn't be so bad... Arf let

out a cry. He pointed to the marsh. The sword was rising from the surface, its

blade still sharp and shiny. As it rose, the gold and bejeweled handle became

visible. Within the handle was a thin, delicate hand. The sword and hand moved

towards shore. As it moved, more and more of it was visible. Soon a head broke

the surface. It had long white hair streaming down past bare shoulders. Her

eyes were mesmerizing. Her breasts were small, taut, and perfectly formed.

Every exposed inch proved to be more perfect than the last. With a final push

she stepped onto the bank. She smiled wanly and collapsed. Jon-Tom

knew it was Alma. It had to be Alma. But Alma couldn't change into a human. The

dragon was her alternate form. And she, like him, had lost her power. He pulled

off his robe and wrapped her up. Despite his best effort, he was unable to pick

her up. Pike pushed him aside and picked up the nude lady. His eyes were full

of wonder...and something else. Jon-Tom patted the boy on his head. "Pick up the

sword. I believe the time has come to strap it on and do some good. You'll not

allow Alma's sacrifice to go to waste now will you?" The boy

did as he was told. They returned to the village. Pike carried the unconscious

female the whole distance, never once setting her down until they reached the

hut. Inside, the fire was stirred up and a few logs thrown upon it. She was set

upon a pile of rags. Her pure white skin and hair played a stark contrast to

her dirty bed. As the fire grew, orange light played across her form. She

shuddered a few times, absorbing the heat like a black hole. She coughed weakly

and sat up. Jon-Tom

sat down beside her. "You intended to die without me? That's just rude!" He had

a slight smile. She returned it. "No, not die. I was tired of foolish males

playing foolish games." She turned to Arf . "Listen to me boy. If you can lift

the sword, then so be it. You don't have to like your destiny; you merely have

to embrace it." She turned to Pike. "And you, you stupid fool. Do you love me

or not? I have seen your heart; do you know how it feels towards me?" Pike

was taken aback. "Milady, are you truly Alma?" She

shivered a little, drawing closer to the fire. "I am. I didn't think I could

transform again, until something Jon, err, Mare-Aiden said. He said he couldn't

change, unless it was to a smaller form. I had nothing to lose. He was so

certain that I should be able to change to human. I guess he was right. Being a

dragon was more imbued in my magical ability than in my inherent form. But he

is correct in thinking that this is it. I can no longer change. Unless by some

wondrous miracle, I will remain like this until I die." Pike

was quite downhearted. "Milday, ye don't intend to do that anytime soon, do

ye?" She

reached out and grasped his hand. "Do you love me?" "Yes

milady, I do. I loved you when ye were a horse, or whatever ye were. I deemed

it improper to say anything. A man may lay with a sheep, but marrying a horse

would not be tolerated. But now, a man and a woman might do so without

attracting too much discussion." "Good,

you silly man. You have a lot to learn, but at least you learn quickly.!" She

turned to her original companion. "I hope you don't think me fickle. I had no

future with you, either there nor here. I hate to see you die in a land and a time

that is foreign to you. I simply don't know what to do to help." Then she got a

look on her face. "Or maybe I do!" Thus it was that Eve and Sybeele finally

found him. They had searched for a long time before they could locate the

barest thread of his presence. Stones that had long lay there, pushed and

pulled in place by hand, flew away like leaves in a breeze. Inside the barrow

lay an old man. His robe was covered in dust and mold, his beard tangled and

gray. His fingernails and toenails curled out like corkscrews. But he still had

a spark of life left in him. It was like a tiny ember in a tinderbox, glowing

with persistent determination. Sybeele

placed her hand over his body and willed power into him. It was like trying to

push a pinecone backwards into a knothole. But ever so slowly, life returned to

him. When they were satisfied that he would survive the trip back, Eve powered

up and in a flash, they were gone. Years later, the curious came to look at the

blown out barrow. Since the actual incident was unwitnessed, fantastic fables

sprung up surrounding the occurrence. They were far more tame then the facts. Still,

over the years, the barrow became a thing of great fear. The horror barrow, or,

as it was oft abbreviated, the Hobarrow. Back in the other Hobarrow, for the sake of

argument, the real one, sat three beings of great power. Two were female, the

other male. The male was in a pretty pissy mood, for lack of a better term. "I'm

not shaving, nor am I cutting my nails, nor am I going to do anything until I

damn well feel like it. In the meantime you can tell what happened after that

idiot Alma locked my life-force to my body. I have never been so angry with

someone in my entire existence!" Eve

looked at Sybeele. "Should we tell him?" The girl nodded. "Yes, for if we

don't, he'll simply rant and pout until we do." Eve

drew in a breath, more for effect than the necessity of breathing. "I think you

knew what you were doing. You were right in thinking that you had no way back.

Alma used her power recklessly. She should never have tried that trick. I

admire her spunk, despite the ill effects it caused. Following my tether was a stroke of genius.

The problem was she left none for herself to follow back. What I don't

understand is why both of you chose to dump your power into a sword." He was

still pretty irritable. "Because we had nothing else to do with our power

except allow it to slip away over time. I found going out with a flash to be

far better. I'm old, dammit! I can put on a smile and say I'm fine, but I'm

not. I always do my best, but sometimes it's not enough. I'm spread out thin - like

gold leaf. I may look flashy, but it's only a thin layer anymore. I need a rest

for real. But to hell with me. What happened to Alma? Why didn't you bring her

back?" Sybeele

stepped up. "We would have, had she not already been dead. We didn't find you

for hundreds of years after you were buried. By then, we could hardly go back

again and retrieve you before you were buried. Besides, we did a little

digging. It seems that what you did had no harmful effects on the timeline." He

grunted and spit. "Bullshit! I did my best to interfere this time. I wasn't

going to, but then it came to me; if I made a mess of it, maybe the backlash

would kill me. I have the worst luck in the world!" Eve

smacked him. "Happily, you don't. That sword was a bit of brilliance, though I

think you know that already. As for Alma, she seems to have married a local man.

Someone named Spear." He

grunted again. "His name was Pike. Not a bad fellow. Apparently they fell in

love with each other." Sybeele

correct him. "The bard's tales claimed his name was something else. Lance, of

the region of Lott. He took up the banner of the holder of the sword, a child

prodigy named Arthur." "Arf,"

he started to correct. Then he stopped. Arf. Arfur. Arthur. King Arthur. But

there was no such king. He was a fabrication. The sword in the stone. But it

wasn't in a stone, merely upon it. But then, in his head, he remembered the

blacksmith's memories. There was something in there about pulling a sword from

the metal. He, Jon-Tom, had done just that. He had pulled that sword out of a

meteorite. And a meteorite was essentially just a stone. And

then there was Alma. She had dived into the freezing waters to retrieve it

after the boy had discarded it. She came back with it in human form. From then

on who knows how things had progressed. Apparently enough to include the rest

of the Knights of the Round Table and the building of Camelot. Enough to creat

a mythos that had lasted for centuries. And he, Jon-Tom, the originator of it

all, had slept through most of it." But

what of the wizard in the story? He nearly had an answer for that. Eve had a

definite one. "When you left here, you had the sense to use the name the locals

gave you over that incident with the dragon's brew. Apparently some language

from your world called the sea - mare. The word works better for a horse, but

that hardly matters. You were called Mare Aiden. Over the years that got

bastardized and misquoted until it finally became Mer-Lin. Does that name ring

a bell?" He

swatted her behind. "You know it does. So, did Alma go on to have a good life?

Did she have the children she so desperately wanted?" Then his eyes hardened.

"And what the hell happened to that sword? You know that the spells laid on it,

even though they were hardly my best work, were still more powerful than anyone

in my world could handle. And it will never rust or corrode. It'll last

forever!" Sybeele

nodded approvingly. "Nor can it be used against someone who is innocent. You

did a fine job crafting it. Thankfully, Arthur had it buried with you after he

merged the many conflicting kingdoms. It's safe and sound. It's not like anyone

was going to run off with it, now was it? As for Alma, there is no reference

made to her. We think she changed her name so as to not disturb the fabric of

time, though she hardly could have done that. Any idea on that?" His

eyes hardened even more. "How did you get it? Not that I'm doubting you

exactly, but that sword was gauged to respond to only three people, Arthur,

Alma and myself. I don't care how much power you have, countering those spells

would have been difficult. As for Alma, I don't know. She did mention liking

one little girl's name." Eve

smiled. "Like she said, you did well. I simply put your hands around it,

clamped them shut and had you carry it. There

was no problem." Sybeele

asked, "What was the little girl's name?" He had

to think a moment. His brain was cloudy on some of the details. "The tailor's

daughter was Marion. The other little girl was...Gwen." The two

females arched the brows. "Just Gwen?" "Yes,

just Gwen. She lived in that little village called Vere." Then it hit him like

a thousand darts. Gwen...of Vere. Guinevere. She was, in legend, the wife of King Arthur.

But Arthur was much too young. Pike was a bit more mature, and to her liking. The

girls watched the realization cross over his face. "So now, for the love of me and all that is

good, will you please get cleaned up? You look like hell and you smell like

rotted meat!" He

sighed. "I suppose I will. But once I am done doing that, I believe I'll stroll

over to Huntchy's and see how his adventure turned out. I'm way behind on

officiating at his nuptials."Eve looked a Sybeele. They both

looked at him. "Uh, I guess we didn't make this clear. Despite the fact that

you were gone for several hundred years your time, we brought you back ten

minutes after you left. As far as anyone knows, you and Alma just wandered off.

We'll leave you to explain the fine details to everyone." He ran his nails through his beard. They

caught and grabbed on the way down. He scratched his backside with much the

same result. He winced just a little. Time travel, he thought to himself, is

much the same. A big pain in my ass!