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!