"Yer notice tae the museum is taken care o," said Alasdair's voice in Jaelle’s mind as they went to the tournament arena the long way, through the trees. Although it was dark, she didn’t stumble, and she had no choice but to attribute that to Alasdair’s magic somehow.

The old grey-haired druid continued to think aloud inside her head.

"Whether or na any o us survive this day, yer friend Lauren will inform Jan, Cinnead, Vivian, and yer family that ye willna be coming back."

"Thank you," she told him in their mixed mind.

In the distant broch meadow, she heard Drest being called over to the sword-fighting tournament arena and the sounds of hundreds of excited people heading that way as well, with general calls of ‘Trial by Combat!’ ‘Breth and Drest!’

"Shall I let Breth in on oor conversation?" was Alasdair’s next thought.

"I'm afraid that would distract him."

"I wull leave it up tae ye," he thought back instantly.

The two of them had reached the torchlit arena but were still hanging back a bit, hidden in the crowd of eight clans and Drest’s outcast army. As Jaelle watched Breth warm up for battle, she was overwhelmed by an urge to have him near her in some possible way before he faced death.

"You're right. Add him. Wait! Is he in yet?"

"Nay, ye caught me in time. What is it?"

"Will he be able to hear my thoughts like you, or just what I deliberately say to him?"

"Again, up tae ye."

"Maybe it's best if he hears my thoughts. They work faster than anything I could deliberately say, right?"

"Aye, but Jaelle…"

"Don’t worry, I have nothing but contempt for John anymore. Breth can hear anything I have to think."

"Good."

And then Breth’s voice was in her mind as well, but it wasn’t just his voice. His … essence swam about in her mind. It made her love him even more, with its purity, its nobility, its goodness.

"So,” said Breth, “Alasdair tells me you've been holding back some special moves, eh?"

Her essence tangled up with his so that in their minds, they were in each other’s arms. She put on a teasing air, trying to keep his spirits up.

"I know so many moves it would take a lifetime to teach you them all."

His essence caressed hers.

"Challenge accepted."

Meanwhile in the outside world, the lead druid — Morleo was the name Breth inserted in her mind — came into the center of the torchlit arena and raised his hands. Instantly, eight hundred clans people and another three hundred outcasts fell silent and crowded around to watch.

With Breth off to one side of the arena near Alasdair and John off to the other near Richard, Morleo spoke with absolute authority.

"Drest, your authority as chieftain over all these people has been challenged, and you are called to trial by combat.”

John approached Morleo with less than his late air of defiance, Jaelle noticed, and the two spoke to each other in low tones while ‘Drest’s men’ grumbled among themselves all around and Richard stood there with his arms folded over his chest, looking smug.

Meanwhile, Deoord left the nearby clump of two dozen druids and walked up to Breth, his pasty white face looking especially primitive in the firelight coming from the circle of torches on pikes all around the arena. He checked the woad designs all over Breth and then nodded his approval. Through Breth’s ears, Jaelle heard Deoord speak softly, soothingly.

“As the challenger, this fight is on you. Do you wish to proceed?"

Jaelle couldn't help the thoughts she was having.

"Can't you just call it off, Breth?"

"And let this Drest continue degrading the honor of the clans? No."

"But—"

Alasdair’s thoughts came in.

"Breth, with yer permission, I'm gaun'ae let Jaelle help ye move the way ye need tae.”

Like a mental newsreel on fast forward, Alasdair quickly played snippets of all Jaelle’s memories of beating John in battle, hundreds of them. To be sure, these were Society for Creative Anachronism battles with blunted wooden practice weapons and shields, but they were battles nonetheless: chaotic and full of real sword-fighting, not ‘one-two-three go!’ duels or fencing bouts. No.

More of Breth’s warm mental energy came over Jaelle as she watched him enter the torchlit arena to stand near Morleo, awaiting the end of the druid’s counseling session with Drest and the pronouncement that the trial by combat was on.

"I have no objection at all. Do your best, Jaelle. I yield to your superior range of training."

The odd feeling of being in Breth’s head intensified until Jaelle had the sensation that at the same time, she was standing right here and also walking toward John. How different it felt to be in Breth’s body! He was heavier, and his limbs longer. And strong. Such strength as she had never imagined wielding. He was not so agile as she, judging by the way he moved.

This wasn’t going to be easy at all.

Both of them glanced over at Drest/John in anticipation, but he was still urgently whispering with the lead druid.

“Breth, John could talk his way out of this—”

“No, Morleo won’t allow it. The fight is on. Let’s use this time to be as ready as we can.”

“Yes, we need practice, even if it’s just for an hour.”

Breth looked back over toward Drest and Morleo, and she could see through his eyes that their counseling session was winding down. At the same time, Breth’s thoughts asked her how long an hour was, and she pictured the sun moving across the sky with a measure in front of that, dividing the sun’s day/night path into 24 equal parts.

“We have perhaps the twelfth part of an hour,” he thought then.

“Better get to it. I’m going to just pretend I am you and test the balance of your sword, OK?”

“Yes, and do whatever else you want to quickly.”

By exerting suggestion in his thoughts, she had him swoosh his sword a few times, testing how it was weighted, and lunge a few times, testing his reach. Next, she had him lean back as if dodging a lunge, then pivot and thrust to the side. Then he ran across the area so she could measure his strides, pivoting and coming to attention once he got there so she could feel his stance and how he balanced on the balls of his feet.

And all the while, her mind was dancing with his, exchanging surprise at how easily he moved his heavier sword for how graceful were the movements she suggested he make, and so on went their exchange of knowledge and experience.

And she felt just how much he loved her. So much. As much as she loved him. With emotional thoughts that weren’t in words, he praised her, and she admired him. Their union was so beautiful, so intensely beautiful.

Alasdair put a hand on her shoulder, and she knew their practice time was up, much too soon. Breth felt it too, and he went back to his side of the arena near Morleo, watching for the druid’s signal, he informed her in thought.

"Morleo!” a man called out, “Drest can’t have the help of the druid Richard during the battle. Look! He’s wearing a torque!”

John was still for a moment, probably listening to Richard in his mind, and then he turned on the man and then pointed at Alasdair. He looked so smug and confident. And cruel. When did he get that cruel?

"Breth has the same sort of aid, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about. The sides are even, now let’s get this farce over with so I can get back to leading you all."

Sensing her cue, Jaelle took a few steps forward out of the crowd with Alasdair by her side and stared at John, waiting for him to see her.

He rolled his eyes and turned back to Breth, but of course Jaelle could see him through Breth’s eyes. He showed absolutely no signs of regret, nor sympathy, nor anything honorable at all. But for a fraction of a second, he had shown fear when he first saw her. But he quickly shrugged it off.

“So Breth’s famous Jaelle is you. Ha! Too bad for you, they won’t let you fight his battles for him, eh?”

She didn’t answer, just leaned into Alasdair as if for comfort, thinking “How could I have been with such a hard-hearted person and not known it?”

Alasdair cut into her thoughts.

"People dae change. Stick wuth the business at hand. Ye need all yer concentration for this."

He was right. She concentrated on Breth — on his larger muscles, longer reach, unfamiliar weapon, and woad armor.

John was all woaded up as well, which made sense. This way, it was less likely one of them would die.

Have to stick to the bludgeoning moves, if both of us are impervious to cuts.

Morleo still held up his hands. Once he had Breth and Drest’s attention as well as everyone’s silence, he lowered his arms to signal the beginning of the fight.