HIS COMPLAINING STOPPEDwhen the day came to strap on the first finished piece, a delicately curving metal plate that slid over his arms and covered his chest and his sides up to his armpits. Until that moment, Aydrian had been convinced that the armor being crafted for him would cost him more than it would be worth, that it would slow his movements and his speed, and would get him hit by opponents who otherwise would never get their blades near him.

Aydrian had to look down several times, to comprehend that he was actually wearing the metal armor, for he felt no more weight than if he was wearing a heavy shirt.

"The fit is all," said Garech Callowag, the smith Olin had imported from a small village to craft Aydrian's armor. A former outfitter of the Allheart Brigade, Garech would likely prove to be an invaluable asset, not only because of his extraordinary work on Aydrian's armor, but also because he understood the potential enemy's armor and had practical suggestions to strengthen the uniforms of the mercenary army that was being assembled covertly across the land. "Distributed properly, and fit to form, he will hardly know that he is wearing it."

"I cannot feel it," said Aydrian, obviously surprised and impressed, and he moved as if thrusting and retracting a blade.

"To form?" Sadye asked. Aydrian was well aware of her eyes roaming up and down his nearly naked form as she spoke - something she seemed to be doing often of late. "And if that form changes?"

"I explained from the beginning that such a task as Master De'Unnero asked of me would require lengthy employ," Garech explained. "We will adjust weekly, more than that if a battle wound changes his physique."

"Unlikely," Aydrian remarked, and Sadye laughed. The young man looked at the bard carefully, noted her grin and the sparkle in her eyes, wondering, certainly not for the first time, if there was an attraction there. Sadye was much closer to Aydrian's age than to De'Unnero's, after all.

How would he react to any advances she might make? The thought unnerved Aydrian more than a little. He could not deny his own feelings toward Sadye - everything positive ranging from lust to respect - but there remained the reality of De'Unnero's importance to him and his destiny. Without De'Unnero, Aydrian would find a much more difficult path to ascension. Without De'Unnero, he could hardly understand the inner workings of the military, let alone the more complicated, more human, interactions within the Abellican Church.

"It will be another three months to complete the outfit," Garech said, his words bringing Aydrian from his perplexing, yet amusing, private thoughts.

"And its weight when finished?" Sadye asked.

"Considerable, no doubt," Garech admitted. "But it will be perfectly distributed, I assure you, and our young warrior here will hardly feel it."

"Will feel it not at all," Aydrian corrected, "or will not wear it."

"Master De'Unnero was not ambiguous when he commanded that you be protected, boy," Garech replied. "I have outfitted Allheart knights, and their armor is nothing short of legendary; and yet, even the shining plate of the Allhearts will pale beside this suit I will construct for you. Because I will be with you, every journey, ready to alter as needed, I can make it so much finer, so much less bulky. There will be no armor in all the world to match this.

Aydrian didn't doubt him, and, indeed, he was pleased by Garech's confidence. Hire the best craftsmen and let them do their work, was Marcalo De'Unnero's formula for gaining true power, one that Aydrian was following. Another thought concerning the armor did occur to Aydrian, though. Garech was the best armorer available - else he never would have served the King in outfitting Allhearts - but there was another type of armor of which the man had little understanding.

"If I gave you gemstones to set in the metal, could you do so without harming the integrity of the stones?" Aydrian asked.

"Oh, a pretty one, are you?" Garech asked with a chuckle, apparently seeing Aydrian's request as nothing more than a measure of vanity.

Aydrian looked at Sadye, at the glowing fires in her eyes, and knew that she understood the true hopes behind his suggestion. How could she not, considering the gemstone-enhanced instrument she carried?

"Yes, a pretty one," he answered Garech.

"It will be shiny enough," the armorer replied, still not catching onto the truth of Aydrian's intentions. "Master De'Unnero has demanded only the finest metals, and with exquisite polish, all silver and gold trimmed. You will blind the enemy when the sun gleams off your suit, boy!"

"Gemstones," Aydrian said quietly, deliberately. "I will instruct you as to where to put them."

Garech stepped back, obviously unused to taking orders about the design of his work. He looked over at Sadye, though, and saw her nodding her head; and then he glanced back the other way, to where he had put the small bag of gems that he had been paid for his services - more wealth than Garech had ever known, than he had dared believe he would ever see.

Aydrian saw the armorer's looks and knew that he would get his way without further discussion.

He was back at the shop Olin had constructed for Garech in the lower level of St. Bondabruce again the next day, and the day after that, and so on for the next two weeks. Every day, Aydrian awoke hoping that De'Unnero would return with some more pressing business to get him out of the tedious duty; he didn't see the point of the exacting fittings anyway, since he figured that the inclusion of the gemstones on the armor was all the advantage he would ever need. But every time he wavered, Sadye was there, scolding him and reminding him pointedly that everything rested upon keeping him safe.

"Be honored that we go to such expense and trouble for you," she always said, to which Aydrian always merely shrugged.

The only excitement for the young ranger came near the very end of the fittings, when Abbot Olin unexpectedly entered, along with another man whom Aydrian did not know, a hugely muscled man with the woolly hair and dark skin of a southern Behrenese. On his back was strapped a huge sword, the blade slightly curving and with no crosspiece separating hilt from blade.

"At last, I have found a weapon befitting a king," Olin announced, and he nodded to the large man, who pulled the sword from his back, presenting it reverently before him.

Aydrian didn't come down from the pedestal where Garech had been fitting him, but he did stare intently at the obviously fabulous sword, its blade shining, and its edge, he noted when the large man turned it, incredibly fine.

Aydrian glanced at Sadye, who was already looking his way, her expression prompting patience, though both knew that the sword Aydrian now beheld would find few, if any, equals.

"Forged by Ramous Sou-dabayda," Abbot Olin said solemnly, as if that name should carry great weight.

Aydrian's expression showed that he did not understand its significance.

"He was the master weaponsmith of all of Behren," Abbot Olin explained; and it was Garech Callowag, and not Aydrian, who snorted derisively.

The big man narrowed his eyes threateningly at the armorer.

"Behrenese never outdid us in weapons and armor," Garech remarked.

"Not in quantity, no," said Abbot Olin, "for they have far fewer materials with which to work. To find fuel for the forge is enough of a task in Behren, where there grow few trees.

"But in quality," the old abbot went on, his eyes gleaming, "there can be little doubt concerning the brilliance of the old Behrenese techniques, such as the wrapping of the metal - as in this sword - a thousand times."

Aydrian studied the sword more closely.

"Yes!" Olin declared. "It is a wrapped, and not a solid blade, so that each cut, each wear does not dull the edge but sharpens it!" He looked at the huge man and motioned him toward Aydrian. "Take it!" Olin instructed the young ranger eagerly. "Take it and feel the balance, the power."

Aydrian lifted the blade up in one hand and swung it easily, then caught it with both hands and snapped it back, a powerful, chopping motion. It was indeed a magnificent weapon, graceful with its delicate curve. Yet it was just that curve, and that edge that would keep it forever sharp, that made Aydrian certain that this weapon could not even serve him as backup for the magnificent Tempest. This sword was a slashing weapon, like its heavier cousins carried by the men of Honce-the-Bear. But Aydrian's style was one of thrust and stab, back and forth rather than circular motions, and for that style, for bi'nelle dasada, only the lighter silverel weapons forged by the Touel'alfar would suffice.

"A fine weapon," he said, tossing the sword back to the huge man, whose expression immediately became crestfallen. "My compliments to Ramous Sou- dabayda."

"It is yours!" Abbot Olin insisted.

"It is not mine, nor would I ever deign to carry it," Aydrian corrected. "It does not suit me."

"A weapon befitting a king!" Olin cried. "Any king, of any kingdom! Do you deny it because it was made in Behren and not Honce-the-Bear?"

Aydrian smiled wryly and studied the old abbot, who was practically trembling at Aydrian's refusal. Olin was showing himself clearly, the young ranger knew, in light of what De'Unnero had told him about Olin. This was a perfect example of why Abbot Olin did not win the position of father abbot, why the others of the Abellican Church, the Church of Honce-the-Bear, feared putting him in any position of power. For Olin's heart was tied to the southern kingdom. All things Behrenese appealed to him in a very basic way, an emotional level that likely he didn't even understand. Wouldn't Olin be thrilled to see the King of Honce-the-Bear carrying a Behrenese weapon to the celebrations of state?

"I refuse it because it does not fit my fighting style," Aydrian calmly explained. "With such a sword, even one as beautifully crafted as that blade, I would be ineffective in battle. I refuse it because I will not placate your desires at the potential cost of my own life."

Abbot Olin's eyes widened so much that it seemed to Aydrian that they might fall out of his head, and Sadye's hissing intake of breath reminded the young ranger that he might now be pushing things a bit too far.

"There are no greater warriors in all the world than the Behrenese Chezhou-Lei," Abbot Olin stated.

"Trained in a specific style," Aydrian tried to explain.

"A style you would do well to learn!" Olin insisted and he looked at the huge man and clapped his hands sharply.

The Behrenese held the sword vertically before him, finding his center and his balance. Then he started a routine, very different from Aydrian's morning sword dance and yet, very similar in purpose: building a flowing memory into his muscles so that he could execute complicated movements with hardly a thought and with extreme speed. The dance moved along, gaining momentum, ending with the huge man moving side to side and diagonally forward and back with blinding speed and precision.

And then it ended, abruptly, the warrior back in his centered pose, sword presented before him. Olin wore a wide grin; Sadye even clapped.

"A Chezhou-Lei?" Aydrian asked.

"Indeed," said Olin. "You would do well to learn."

Aydrian didn't deny that - learning different techniques would likely allow him to incorporate some of the movements to complement his own style, but neither did he believe these lessons to be any pressing matter. For in watching the display, he had noted many openings in the man's defense that bi'nelle dasada could exploit.

"I think not," Aydrian remarked casually, and he nodded for Garech to continue with his fitting.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aydrian saw that Abbot Olin was fuming. "There are no finer warriors in all the world - " the old abbot started to protest.

"There are!" Aydrian interrupted, and it was not just Olin but also the Chezhou warrior whose eyes went wide with shock and outrage. "And they are called rangers." He thought to add that Marcalo De'Unnero, too, could likely defeat any of the Chezhou-Lei, but he held silent, knowing that elevating even a warrior trained in the Abellican Church above Olin's beloved Behrenese would provoke the old abbot more.

"I appreciate your attempt, Abbot Olin," Aydrian said calmly a moment later, the tension still thick in the air, "but I respectfully refuse your offer. When I find the time, perhaps I will take some training in this impressive battle style, but never would it replace that which I already know."

"You speak the foolishness of youthful pride," Olin insisted.

Aydrian chuckled. "I have seen your style, thus I can measure it against my own," he replied with confidence. "You have not seen me fight."

Abbot Olin's face went very grim. "Then show me," he said in a low and threatening voice, and he nodded again to his warrior companion, who stepped back, eyeing Aydrian intently, his sword extended in salute.

"This is not the time . . ." Sadye started to complain, her voice and expression full of concern for Aydrian. "You would have them fight without armor, with real weapons?"

"That is the way Behrenese Chezhou-Lei hone their skills," Abbot Olin coldly replied. "Some are wounded, some even killed, but that is the price of perfection."

Aydrian hopped down from the pedestal, smiling widely, eager for the challenge. He started to the side of the room, where he had set Tempest, but Sadye caught him by the arm and, with a look full of concern, shook her head. "There is too much to be lost," she said to Aydrian and to Abbot Olin. "Our plans cannot be undone because of your desire to prove superiority of the ways of the Behrenese, Abbot Olin, nor by Aydrian's youthful pride in not refusing the challenge."

A long and uncomfortable moment slipped by.

"No, of course not," Abbot Olin remarked, eyeing Aydrian intently, with the young ranger returning the look tenfold.

"I'll not take the Chezhou sword," Aydrian remarked. "There is no equal for Tempest in the world, unless it is another of the ranger swords, whose whereabouts are not known."

"The choice, of course, is yours, Master Aydrian," said Abbot Olin, and he bowed and started out of the room, motioning for his companion to follow.

"You have little confidence in me," Aydrian said to Sadye.

"Are you so certain?" the woman replied.

"You have seen my swordplay," Aydrian remarked, ignoring her. "Do you not believe that I could have beaten him?"

"It is irrelevant, for in any case, the greater cause would have suffered," Sadye explained. "Abbot Olin does not want to learn the truth of the strengths or weaknesses of the Behrenese ways. He is grounded in the traditions of the southern kingdom, and showing him the folly of his ways would do little to strengthen his devotion to our cause. Can you not understand that?

Aydrian gave her a smile - one that intentionally conveyed admiration and agreement - then he moved back to the pedestal where Garech was waiting.

"You should have skewered the thug," Garech remarked under his breath, and Aydrian, glancing back at Sadye, nearly laughed aloud.

"I did not believe that you would join us," Abbot Olin said to Aydrian later that same day. The old abbot and his Chezhou-Lei companion stood in the private courtyard, the place where Olin meditated after vespers, behind St. Bondabruce. He had mentioned to Aydrian that he would be here, and that the young man was welcome to join him. Though he had said nothing more than that, both Olin and Aydrian had understood the truth of the invitation.

"Did Sadye not warn you of the danger?" Olin asked.

"The danger to me or to you?" Aydrian replied, and Olin's chuckle sounded more like a wheeze.

"I knew that you could not ignore the challenge," the old man said with a superior air. "I understand the ways of the warrior, I assure you, young Aydrian. I know that you would risk all the grand schemes, all our hopes, would risk your very life, to prove your prowess. And now I have brought you an unexpected challenge, because you, like so many of the people of Honce-the-Bear, who fancy that the world ends at their borders, think to measure yourself only against the known, never considering the unknown. You think yourself as great a warrior as exists in all the world, yet you have no understanding of the Chezhou-Lei."

More than you understand,Aydrian thought, recalling the warrior's sword display, but he kept silent and tried hard not to grin.

"Or of the ways of the Alpinadorans," Abbot Olin went on, "or of the powries - have you ever even seen a powrie, young warrior?"

Aydrian didn't bother to answer, was hardly listening to Olin at that point, having turned his attention to his challenger, the muscled Chezhou-Lei warrior. He recognized the intensity on the man's face and knew, from some books he had looked through in the library that same day, that the Chezhou-Lei took this type of contest as seriously as they took real battle. Every fight was a contest of pride and a test of one's limits.

Aydrian felt exactly the same way.

Abbot Olin rambled on, speaking of the various philosophical differences between the cultures concerning war and training, concerning the role of the warrior and of the Church in society. Had he been paying closer attention, Aydrian might have garnered some valuable understanding of the old abbot's frustrations with the Abellican Church, some better hint of the vision that Olin wanted to see brought to reality. For in Behren, unlike Honce-the-Bear, the yatol priests were the god-chosen leaders of every aspect of the lives of their subjects, the only shepherds of an obedient flock, while the Abellicans had to share their power with the King.

Aydrian wasn't considering any of that now, though, wasn't even hearing Olin's words, and neither, obviously, was the Chezhou-Lei warrior. The muscled man bowed his head in respect to his young opponent - and when he did, Aydrian noted a scar creasing his mat of woolly black hair.

Battle hardened, no doubt.

Aydrian assumed a similar pose and nodded deferentially. He was waiting for some signal - from Olin, he figured - that the fight should begin, but his nod, apparently, was all that his opponent needed to see.

On charged the Chezhou-Lei fiercely, his magnificent sword whipping in circular cuts and going from hand to hand so quickly that it seemed to be drawing a figure eight in the air before him.

The viciousness of that initial assault, a sudden and brutal attempt to end the fight before it ever truly began, did catch Aydrian off his guard and nearly cost him his pride and a sizeable chunk of his flesh! He had expected some sort of introductory dance, a measured attack followed by a measured response, so that each could better understand the abilities of the other.

Chezhou-Lei doctrine, foreign to Aydrian, demanded that a fight be finished in seconds, not minutes.

And so it almost was, and only the young warrior's quick reflexes -ducking and dodging side to side ahead of the blade's progress, then suddenly under it, combined with two wild parries of Tempest that somehow connected enough to slow the assault - kept Aydrian fighting.

He came out of his next ducking maneuver with his feet finally positioned in a proper bi'nelle dasada stance, and he wasted no time but skittered back, his upper body not moving at all, but set in a perfectly balanced defensive position.

The Chezhou-Lei's sword continued its dazzling work, then he passed it behind his back, flipping it to his other hand. He came out of the move with a straightforward, stabbing charge, that could have worked only if Aydrian had remained mesmerized by the behind-the-back movement.

He was not. The elves had taught Aydrian to dismiss the distractions, to focus on only the movements that counted; and so as the burly warrior rushed forward, sword extended, Tempest stabbed out and slapped the side of the blade.

Again, only Aydrian's superior reflexes saved him, for then he learned the value of a curving blade, a blade that could, with a subtle twist, defeat a parry by sliding along it.

Aydrian brought Tempest across his body immediately, then slapped it out much harder than normal, forcing the curved blade far away from his vulnerable flesh.

The Chezhou-Lei seemed to anticipate the movement, and he immediately began a down-and-around twirl that neatly disengaged his blade, executing it with such speed that his sword came around in time to block Aydrian's sudden thrust.

Hardly discouraged, and thinking that he had stolen the advantage, Aydrian retracted and stabbed high, retracted and stabbed low, then skittered forward while delivering a series of three thrusts aimed at the Chezhou-Lei's chest.

None of the five hit home, but he had the southerner furiously backing, his curved sword furiously spinning.

Recognizing that he had played out his momentum, and recognizing the outrage and surprise on the Chezhou-Lei's face, Aydrian didn't pursue further, but shifted backward, preparing a retreat, or at least something that would look like a retreat.

On came the fierce warrior, his blade again a blurring spin; and back went Aydrian, measuring and adjusting for the charge stride for stride. The pursuit continued, as did Aydrian's retreat, the young ranger deftly sliding close to one pole supporting a trellis in the courtyard, thinking that the pole would prevent the Chezhou-Lei from working his curved sword out too far to his right.

The warrior reacted perfectly, though, sidestepping quickly to the left.

Exactly as Aydrian had hoped. For now the muscled man was not directly before him; now the man's whirling sword would not force him to flash Tempest very far side to side should he need to parry. Not far to his left, anyway, and so Aydrian quickly flipped his blade to that hand, reversing his footing, and as the Chezhou-Lei's blade spun down, leaving his chest exposed, Aydrian struck.

The beauty of the Chezhou-Lei fighting style was its speed, movements too quick to counter even when they forced the warrior into vulnerable positions.

The beauty of bi'nelle dasada was that it was faster.

Tempest stabbed through the loose sleeve and through the Chezhou-Lei's right arm, halfway between the elbow and the armpit, the sudden move stopping the whirling blade. Aydrian drove on, pinning the arm to the pole.

The young ranger shrugged, almost apologetically, for what he considered a victory.

To the side, Olin gasped, apparently agreeing.

The Chezhou-Lei had another interpretation. He flipped his sword to his left hand and started a swing, and Aydrian had to quickly pull Tempest from the now-bleeding arm and quickly retreat several steps.

On came the outraged Chezhou-Lei, but Aydrian had the man's full measure now. And Aydrian had measured the speed of bi'nelle dasada against the Chezhou-Lei technique. While the Chezhou-Lei technique appeared flashier and more impressive, the actual speed of attack surely favored bi'nelle dasada.

Aydrian's knowing smile seemed only to spur on the angry Chezhou-Lei even more ferociously, and Aydrian wondered what he would have to do to force a concession from this magnificent warrior.

He gave a slight shrug, a clear appeal to the man to desist, to admit defeat. The Chezhou-Lei saw it, too - Aydrian knew that he did from the grimace that was his reply. Was it honor that now drove him, some desperation against reality that demanded he not concede?

Aydrian continued to dodge and to parry, and to back away when necessary, but then he gave another shrug, this one resigned, and accepted that he had to prove his style beyond any doubts. Now he focused more clearly on the spinning blade.

Back it went, and Aydrian came forward with a long thrust.

Back again, and ahead came Tempest.

Back again - more from sheer momentum than any conscious desire, Aydrian figured - and, for a third time, the ranger lunged.

The Chezhou-Lei continued, but Aydrian now skittered far back, put up Tempest, and announced, "You are beaten."

To the side, Olin wore a puzzled expression, for Aydrian's attacks had moved too quickly for him to actually follow their conclusion. To him, they had seemed like futile attempts to move forward by a helplessly retreating fighter.

The Chezhou-Lei warrior wore a puzzled expression as well, though he understood the truth of Aydrian's attacks obviously, even before the blood began spurting from three neat holes that had been stabbed in his chest.

He looked over at Olin apologetically, and then he sank to his knees.

Olin shrieked and rushed over, calling for a soul stone, but Aydrian merely pushed him out of the way and moved to his defeated opponent.

"You are a most worthy foe," he said to the man, who stared at him with nothing but respect.

"That was foolishness," Sadye scolded when Aydrian left the courtyard to find her nearby, obviously well aware of all that had just occurred. He walked past her with a nod, but of course she fell into step beside him.

Aydrian grinned at her.

"Do you deny it?" she asked, moving around in front of him and stopping his progress. "You could have been killed, and then where would all our plans be?"

"If I was killed, then I would hardly care, I suppose," Aydrian answered, holding fast his grin.

Sadye shook her head and sighed. "The Chezhou-Lei . . ." she started.

"Is alive and wounded, but more in pride than in body," Aydrian assured her, holding up the soul stone he had just used on the man.

"Abbot Olin doubted me as much as he doubted Tempest," Aydrian went on.

"And you cannot bear criticism?" Sadye asked sarcastically.

"Do you doubt Olin's importance in all this?" Aydrian asked incredulously. "He, more than we three, will raise the army. He supplied the ships for Pimaninicuit and the fleet we will need to control the southern coast. His weight in the Church cannot be underestimated nor ignored - it is Olin's presence that gives us a foothold there, as much as my own gives us an opportunity for the Crown. Certainly the word of Marcalo De'Unnero would not be given any credence at all in the Abellican Church."

"He is back in Entel," Sadye remarked, and the way she said it, and her expression, told Aydrian that, perhaps, De'Unnero's unexpected return might not be welcome. Again, Aydrian was reminded of his suspicions that the sensuous and lustful young woman might be thinking of him in ways beyond the possible gains his bloodline afforded them.

"He was not to return for another month," Aydrian replied.

"The weretiger," said Sadye. "The beast demands to be released. He cannot be away from you for any length of time without the potential for disaster. It is yet another responsibility that you must shoulder and another reason why your accepting the challenge of Olin's Chezhou-Lei warrior was foolish."

"It was enjoyable," Aydrian corrected, and Sadye looked at him hard.

"You err in thinking that I care for De'Unnero, for anyone or anything, beyond what it brings to me," Aydrian said coldly. He studied Sadye closely as he spoke and did indeed note her slight, and revealing, grimace.

Aydrian broke the tension with one of his innocent chuckles. "Abbot Olin doubted me," he said again. "And we could not have that if we are to achieve that which we all desire. Now I have the man's confidence, and that is no small thing. And, yes, it was worth the risk, because, in truth, there was no risk."

"The Chezhou-Lei cannot be underestimated," Sadye said grimly.

"If he had beaten me with the sword - which he could not - I would have destroyed him with the gemstones before he ever completed the winning move," Aydrian assured her. "You think I underestimated the Chezhou-Lei, but it is Sadye, and not Aydrian, who is doing that. For you underestimate me, my desire to reach the heights that you and De'Unnero have been holding teasingly before me since soon after we met. And I assure you that your plans are nothing I did not aspire to before ever we met. I will get there."

"Where?"

"To the highest point you can imagine."

"And where does Sadye fit into your grand schemes?" she asked.

Aydrian smiled coyly, the only answer she was going to get now.