"I wish to speak with Queen Helen," said the cloaked knight.

"You'll have to wait, Sir Knight. She's in her bedchambers," replied the guard, eyeing him suspiciosly.

"She'll see me," said the knight, pulling back his hood and revealing a finely trimmed blackbeard, bushy black eyebrows and steely gray eyes.

"Lord Blackaxe," cowered the guard. "Terribly sorry, Sir- Milord, I didn't know it was you!"

"It happens."

"Here let me get the door," said the guard, hastily opening the doors.

Blackaxe entered the chamber and noted several changes to the room. The Queen of Stornium's chambers were extravagantly furnished, with soft velvet carpet, and white marble walls. The ceiling was painted black, which made the room look larger and more contrasting in colour. The canopy bed was raised off the floor with steps going up to it. A door on either side of the room branched out into the antechambers, one for the Queen's famous wardrobe, the other for an empty nursery.

"Helen?" called Blackaxe.

"In the nursery," called the Queen.

Blackaxe walked to the door to the nursery and looked inside. "Still wishing for a proper husband?" he asked, spying her sitting dreamily in a rockingchair.

Helen looked up. She seemed somewhat fragile, but perhaps that was a side effect of her incredible beauty. She had dark green eyes that flashed curiously and as was the trait of Storniums, long blond hair, only it was silky and darker than most. It cascaded over small shoulders, down a thin back and ended up about her waist. "Yes," she answered.

"There aren't that many romantic men out there and a romantic knight, that isn't married already is even more rare," he said, sitting down in a soft velvet chair beside her.

"I don't want to be swept off my feet like in a fairy tale! I just want to be held and truly loved," sighed Helen, leaning her cheek on her arm and looking out the window.

"And a child to keep you busy, would be a good idea too," said Blackaxe, glancing around at the empty nursery.

"So," she said, looking up. "What brings you here?" she asked cheerfully.

"King Willium asked me to carry a message to you," Blackaxe answered.

"Okay, what's old fuddy-duddy got to say?" the Queen asked.

Blackaxe explained the situation in Athex and Helen listened carefully. She shrugged. "So, I'll send half of my army there to assist. So what's new with you?" she asked, curious.

Blackaxe shook his head and looked up at her.

"What?" Helen asked, checking to see if her hair was falling out. She grinned mockingly at him.

"You could declare war on God without a second thought, as if you didn't care if you won or not," replied Blackaxe, looking away, trying not to laugh.

"So, what's wrong with that?" she asked with a crooked grin.

"Nothing I guess, except you'd lose a lot of men."

"Perhaps, in a sense I'm like Queen Elexenia, but the difference is that I saw no other alternative and accepted what must be and quit worrying about it. Elexenia wouldn't care, Willium would worry until he got an ulser and King Sear would find it a challenge. I'm probably the most sensible of the western Monarchs!" she explained, more to herself than to Blackaxe. "So what's new with you?" she repeated, lounging back in her chair.

"I'm still looking for the Swathick Axe if that's what you mean?" he said, a distant look coming over his face.

"Of course that's what I meant," sighed Helen. "Recite the poem to me, bad lyrics and all!"

"I've told it to you a hundred times, why tell it again?" he asked, glancing at her.

So?"

Blackaxe began to recite the poem, that had captured his heart the first time he heard it. His harsh baritone voice becoming softer as he recited the poem that had become an obsession,

From before the dawn,
It was forged
Of dragonbreath,
And Godsteel.

Strong and sharp,
But the forger was carefree!
Too strong, too sharp!
It was light and shiny.
Too light, too shiny!

So strong a god couldn't chip it!
So sharp it could cleave the world!

As light as feather.
As shiny as stars.
Valued it was,
Deadly it was.

The Axe was idolled,
thus,
Swathick it was,
Too deadly!

Lost it is now.
At the bottom of Bone Sea.
Waiting to emerge.
To kill!

Blackaxe finished off with a sigh of longing.

"It still doesn't rhyme," noted Helen.

That's what you always say!" Blackaxe replied, standing up.

"Why would you want it? It's probably rusted after being at the bottom of Bone Sea for over three thousand years," asked the Queen, standing up and stretching.

"I told you before, it's something I feel I am destined to add to my collection," sighed Blackaxe, looking back at her from the door.

"Am I destined to never find my companion?" Helen asked herself silently.

"No," said Blackaxe, looking at her, concerned. "You'll find him, I promise you!" he vowed, as he turned and left.

"Come again!" Helen called, but he was already gone. Silently she turned and looked out across her capitol city of Glist, to the deep blue waters of Bone Sea. She was looking for someone to love her.

"You're drunk," said Pothax, buttoning up his new shirt. Victoria had helped him buy to make him more presentable before Queen Elexenia.

"So?" giggled Redhawk, stumbling over to the door to the barracks. He belched loudly and giggled.

"We've got to sober him up before Elexenia and Jacog get here," noted Wynic, glancing at Pothax and Dillard.

"Let's dump him in the water barrel," suggested Pothax.

"That usually works," agreed Dillard. "Grab his feet, I'll take his arms," he said, walking up behind Redhawk and seized the knight by the wrists.

"Hey-hiccup-wha'cha doin'?"asked Redhawk in his drink slurred voice as Wynic and Pothax each grabbed a foot. He struggled weakly to free himself, giggling the entire time. "Tanks fer da ride guys, but my legs aren't broken, I can still walk, ye knowk?" he protested.

"Shut up Redhawk," muttered Dillard, lifting Redhawk over the water barrel. "Stuff his feet in the barrel," he ordered, straining under the huge knight's bulk.

Wynic and Pothax shoved Redhawk's feet in the barrel and ignored Redhawk's burst of insults, and his screaming of, "Dat's cold!"

After dunking his head under the freezing water a couple of times, Redhawk sobered up enough to try and apologise for his insults, but Dillard dunked his head under again for calling him a fat, ugly Arthian Knight who sleeps with even fatter, and twice as ugly women.

"What's going on?" asked Victoria, walking over to stand beside Wynic.

"Redhawk's drunk and we're having a contest to see who can sober him up the fastest," explained the assassin as Dillard dunked the knight's head under again for emphasis.

"Okay," she grinned. "Come on, let's go for a walk," she said, taking Wynic's hand.

Wynic waved to Pothax and Dillard, who were already arguing over who gets to dunk the knight, and followed the archeress.

Victoria and Wynic sat down on a bench near a couple knights playing cards. Ignoring the splinters, Wynic unsheathed Gith's sword and began sharpening it with a whetstone.

"Why did we have to wait two days for their army to assemble?" asked Victoria, leaning on Wynic's arm.

"You'd have to ask Gisoni or Dillard. I don't know nuch about armies, and how you move one. I imagine their having problems finding enough horses to carry a hundred thousand men," smiled Wynic, looking up at Victoria.

"I thought there was only thirty thousand knights," she said.

"You're forgetting the Colnic Army," replied Wynic, looking at the archeress.

"Oh."

"You wanted to talk to me. What is it you want to say?" asked Wynic, taking a cloth out of his pocket.

Victoria mumbled something.

"What?" asked Wynic.

"Nothing," she mumbled.

"Hey, you," Wynic yelled to one of the knights.

"Me?" asked a young knight, standing up.

"Can I borrow your waterskin? I need to polish my sword," explained Wynic, gesturing to Gith's sword.

"You don't deserve a sword like that," sneered the young Colnic to the cheers of his comrades.

"Why not?" asked Wynic, his chest rumbling silently.

"Wynic don't," whispered Victoria, cautiously.

"You probably stole it," sneered the knight. "You don't dress like you're rich enough to buy it." Wynic looked down at his roadworn tunic, pants, scuffed riding boots and placed a hand on his shortsword.

"Wynic don't!" said Victoria, louder this time.

"What's wrong, bitch?" said the knight, drawing his sword.

Wynic roared his battlecry and drew his shortsword.

Victoria spun on her heal and looked desperately for Redhawk, the only one who she knew could possibly control Wynic's fearsome temper. The three men were standing beside the waterbarrel so far away Victoria could barely see them. "Redhawk!" she shouted. "Come quick, it's Wynic!"

Redhawk turned on still wobbly legs and was running in a second. Pothax and Dillard right behind him, drew their swords.

She turned back to the fight, and realised she had forgotten to buckle on a sword earlier. Looking about frantically, she saw Gith's sword leaning against the bench. Grabbing the hilt, she tried to hamper the two combatants.

"Stay out of the way, Victoria," growled Wynic, parrying away the knight's sword. Redhawk arrived, reached around Wynic and grabbed Wynic's swordarm. Sweeping his leg under the assassin, he brought Wynic down and pinned him to the ground under an armoured knee. "Let me at em, I'll kill em!" growled Wynic, struggling under Redhawk's huge form. "Wynic, it's okay. The knight's not worth it," said Victoria, kneeling beside the struggling assassin. He glared at her and his anger slowly subsided. "If I let you up, do you promise not to rip my moustaches out," asked Redhawk. Wynic grinned. "I didn't mean it," he replied. "Then, I guess, I should get up and change my muddy clothes," muttered Redhawk, rolling over and standing up. Wynic sat up and glanced at Victoria strangely. "I need to be alone," he mumbled. "I'll be waiting," she whispered as she kissed him.