"Excuse me, sir," Kern finally blurted out as a steaming bowl of stew and a newly carved wooden spoon were shoved into his hands. "But would you mind… er, that is, could I ask your name?"

"You can call me Trooper," he replied, handing Listle a wooden bowl. "I suppose it's as good a name as any I've been called and no doubt better than some!" Apparently he thought this some sort of joke, for he broke into a long fit of cackling laughter.

"No, thank you," Miltiades voice echoed inside his visor when Trooper offered him a bowl of stew. "I do not require food."

Trooper's bushy eyebrows knit together. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." He shrugged and began eating his stew, blithely ignoring his company.

Unsure what else to do, Kern swallowed a mouthful of stew, and for the next few minutes couldn't think of much else to say.

"Er, by the way," Kern said finally, "My name is Kern Desanea. And this is Listle Onopordum." He gestured awkwardly toward the elf, who was busily shoveling food into her delicate elven face. Trooper grunted noncommittally, apparently none too impressed with this information.

"And our companion is Miltiades," Kern added, gesturing to the paladin.

This name caused a flicker of interest in the old man's keen eyes. "Miltiades?" he said, setting down his bowl. "Now, I'm getting on in years, but I would be a spring chick a dozen times over compared to the paladin Miltiades. Tales tell he lived more than a thousand years ago." He shot a stern look in Kern's direction. "You wouldn't be pulling my leg, now would you, son?"

"He speaks the truth," Miltiades said, lifting his visor. The sight of the paladin's fleshless skull didn't raise so much as a shiver out of the old man.

"So he does," Trooper nodded. "Greetings, Miltiades, from one warrior of Tyr to another. I see that the old fellow doesn't have the decency to let you enjoy the rest you've earned."

"Tyr has given me a quest I have yet to complete," Miltiades intoned solemnly.

Trooper snorted, slapping his knee. "Is that so? Well, Tyr had better not try to raise these old bones once they're settled, that's all I can say! I'll look him flat in the eye and tell him to bother someone else's skeleton."

After they were through eating, Kern and Listle helped the old man clean the dishes.

"These are very nice," the elf remarked as she examined the spoons. Each was carved in a unique shape that followed the whorls and curves of the wood. "Did you make these yourself?"

"That I did," Trooper replied with more than a little pride in his voice. "Just this morning, in fact."

Suddenly a frown crossed Listle's face. "But how did you know to carve three of them?"

"It's always a good idea to be prepared for company," Trooper snapped cantankerously, taking the spoons and stowing them away. "As your presence here indicates, I might add."

Listle didn't pursue the matter, but her curiosity was definitely piqued.

"We've come to look for someone in the mountains," Kern explained. "She's a friend," he added.

"I should hope so, if you've come all this way just to look for her!" Trooper replied. He pulled out his rune sword and began polishing its edge with a bit of oilstone, carefully smoothing away small nicks and spots of rust. It was a beautiful weapon, with an intricately wrought hand-guard and strange carving all the way down the flat of the blade. Kern noticed at least one symbol that he recognized well-the scales of Tyr engraved on the sword's hilt

"You're a paladin, aren't you?"

Listle rolled her silvery eyes. "You mean you've only just now figured that out, Kern?" She leaned toward Trooper, shielding her lips with a hand. "It's only a theory," she whispered conspiratorially, "but I think his skull's as dense as that hammer of his."

Trooper winked at her. "I'll keep that in mind," he whispered in a voice that was quite audible all around.

Kern flushed in embarrassment, treating Listle to a withering look. She made a lame attempt to stifle her giggles.

"You fought well against that ogre today, Kern," Trooper said then. This compliment alleviated Kern's embarrassment a bit. "Not that I needed your help, mind you," the old paladin was quick to add.

"Of course not!" Kern hastily agreed.

Trooper looked up at Miltiades. "The lad has good command of that hammer, doesn't he?"

The undead paladin nodded in agreement. "His father taught him well."

Trooper grunted. "Too bad he doesn't have such a good command of his heart."

"What?" Kern asked.

Trooper turned on him. "Your heart boy! Heart! You know, that thing that squeezes blood around inside your rib cage." He thumped his chest for emphasis.

"I know what a heart is," Kern said in exasperation.

"Well, I suppose that's something," Trooper said with a fierce grin. "But do you know how to use it? Do you know how to make it your strongest weapon in battle?" His grin faded. "Ah, but I suppose you're not interested in anything an old man like me could teach you."

Kern leaped to his feet, gripping his hammer. "Show me," he said intently.

Trooper laughed. "That's more like it, lad." He stood, his broadsword gleaming in the firelight. "Now, swing that hammer at me. Go on! Don't be shy about it."

Kern hesitated for a heartbeat, then swung. Trooper easily parried the blow with a swipe of his rune sword. Both weapons glowed with blue light as they met.

"No, lad," Trooper growled. "You're swinging with your hands, not your heart. You can bash in a few orc skulls that way, but your arms may fail you when you're facing a foe that's stronger than you. Your heart is the only weapon you can count on in a crisis." He circled around the campfire, sword ready. "Now, have a go at me again, only this time let your heart guide your hammer."

Kern grunted as he brought the warhammer around. He tried to do as Trooper had instructed, but he wasn't quite sure what the old man meant. How could he guide the hammer with his heart?

Blue fire flashed as the hammer bounced off Trooper's rune sword.

"No, lad, try again! Don't hit me with your weapon. Hit me with your courage, your spirit."

Kern nodded, gritting his teeth. He tried to concentrate. Another swing, another flash of blue light. Gods, but he wanted to show Trooper what he was truly made of!

"Feel Tyr's power flowing through you, lad." Swing, flash. Kern grunted with effort. "Fighting's more than having a good eye and a good arm." Swing, flash. Kern was sweating in rivulets. "It's having faith, lad. Faith that justice will overcome!"

For all his life, Kern would never forget that moment.

It was like a dam breaking inside him. Sudden calm washed over him; warmth flooded his chest. Instantly he forgot about trying to impress Trooper with his skill, or trying to prove his worth. None of that mattered anymore. He felt strangely buoyant. He could hardly feel the weight of the hammer. All that mattered was that he have faith in Tyr and, more importantly, himself.

Kern's hammer moved through the air. Trooper tried to parry, but proved a fraction of a second too slow. Hammer struck sword, and the blade flew out of Trooper's hands, whirling through the air.

Kern lowered his hammer, breathing hard. A grin spread across his face. Trooper nodded in approval as he retrieved his sword. "Not bad, son. Not bad at all." A sly smile curled inside his beard. "But then, next time I won't play so nicely."

Kern's grin slowly faded. Something told him he still had a great deal to learn.

"Well, it's time for an old man to get some sleep," Trooper grumbled, putting away his rune sword and pulling out his bedroll. He spread it close to the fire. "I hope you all know that you've made a complete and utter mess of my day."

"We know," Listle replied sweetly. "But you're glad that we did."