"Boniface, too, was merry enough as the banquet approached, and downright jubilant when it began, seated amid his regular faction of Crownguards and Jeoffreys, and this year with several highborn Jochanans to boot. The hall was brighter than any remembered, strung with new lanterns and abundant with torches, as though even the link-boys had caught the lightness of spirit. The music, Lord Gunthar said, was better than the year before-a kender trio from farthest Hylo, two penny whistles and a timbrel, frantic and bawdy and as loud as a nest of squirrels."

"I'd love to have heard that music!" Caramon exclaimed.

"Hush!" Raistlin snapped, swatting his brother weakly as Sturm smiled and poured the tea.

"Boniface was jubilant, they say, informally propping his booted feet against a long oaken table as if he was at hunt or in the field, not at some formal banquet. Holding court, he was, in the midst of the younger Knights, talking swordsmanship and armor and horses, toasting the hunt and the birth of someone's son… a Jochanan, if I recall."

"I am rapt for the particulars," Raistlin observed ironically. "Go on with the real story, Sturm."

Sturm sipped the tea. It tasted of apple and faint cinnamon-a winter tea, no doubt the last of Otik's stock.

"As the wine poured," he said, "the talk grew louder and louder, rising over the kender hornpipes until it distracted Lord Gunthar, and believe me, he is not iron when it comes to manners and protocol."

Caramon nodded dimly. Raistlin coughed and lifted the cup in front of him.

"Gunthar said that the young Knights ignored him," Sturm continued, "and that they were only louder and more fierce as the banquet went on. The bluster turned to shouting and jostling, and Lord Gunthar said that it was hard to imagine Boniface in the midst of such horseplay. He said that it was as if something had changed in him, that even his celebrations were… desperate. Boniface threatened the sword at the slightest disagreement and called all to task for their lapses in protocol, citing volume and paragraph of the Measure."

"In short, he was typically Solamnic," Raistlin commented, sipping again from his tea.

Sturm ignored his companion. "It was as though Boniface had… had clutched the Oath so tightly that he had lost it. Or so Lord Gunthar said. All of a sudden, he heard a flute amid the laughter and penny whistles."

"At last!" Raistlin breathed, setting down the cup. "You have a long way in getting to the point of the story, Sturm."

Sturm ignored him. "The farthest tables fell into silence as the sound of the flute joined with the penny whistles. The new sound delighted the kender musicians, and they began to improvise upon the melody until the sound of the whistles merged with the sound of the flute, and it was hard to tell who was playing what.

"Gunthar looked up, he said, and a thousand roses tumbled from the rafters. Pink and white and red and lavender, they showered the Knights and ladies with a hundred thousand petals. The kender musicians whooped with delight and tossed their instruments into the air, and the flute continued on its own, a solo in the midst of the raining roses."

"Go on," Raistlin urged intently.

Sturm smiled. It was the part of the story he liked the best. "There's not much further to go, my friend. It was then that the doors of the hall burst open. Lord Vertumnus had arrived, at the head of an army.

"Doves flew in front of him, and owls and larks and ravens, scattering to the rafters and singing as they scattered. Squirrels and hares followed them, and foxes stalked in behind them, strutting among the tables like sharp-eared hunting dogs.

"Well, the kender were ecstatic by now, their dances more brisk and disruptive, overflowing onto tables and onto the dais. Gunthar said it became too much for Adamant Jeoffrey, who grabbed two of the little folk by their topknots and held them still."

"There's one I'd like to do the same to," Caramon muttered ominously, looking over his shoulder at the door of the common room. "And I'd like to sling him around while I was at it."

"A dozen elk followed," Sturm said, "and two dozen deer after them. The creatures entered silently, and Derek Crownguard was startled out of ten years by an enormous dark-eyed buck, its long, serious face crowned with a wide rack of antlers, who crept up behind him and nuzzled him."

Sturm laughed at the image. The prospect of Derek Crownguard backing up into yet another surprise amused him no end. Lord Gunthar had told and retold that particular scene; to his young friend's continual delight.

"Then the music arrived," Sturm said when he recovered, "in the wake of the deer and the elk. Three centaurs cantered into the hall, capsizing table and chair and the family banners. Each of the huge creatures played the nillean pipes, and on the back of each rode a green-robed female. Gunthar says it was a human druidess and two dryads, all playing hand drums. I suppose you know who they are from the story I have told you.

"Last of all came the great bear, the grizzly, striding all confident and free right into the midst of the Order. And Lord Wilderness sat atop the broad shoulders and back of the bear, his flute raised and glittering, playing and playing at a new song…"

Caramon stood up, his impatience rising with him. "This is all well and good, Sturm, all this stuff about processionals and music. But what about the Knight? What about that villain Boniface? I can't stand a story where he doesn't get what's coming to him."

"That is next, Caramon," Sturm replied. "Boniface rose from the table, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Gunthar and Alfred stepped down from the dais.

"Vertumnus slid from the back of the bear, and again he pivoted in a full circle, his flute vanishing again somewhere in the leaves that covered him. Centaurs set aside their pipes, the druidess and dryads their hand drums, and the music drifted from the room."

" 'I am Vertumnus,' he announced, his voice as always mild and low. 'And again in the turning seasons, I wish to make a point near and dear to my heart. And to rehearse the legends of druids.' "

"I know of no druidic legends," Caramon declared.

Sturm shrugged. "Neither do I. And neither, it seemed, did Lord Gunthar. He looked around at his cohorts-at Alfred and Boniface and the squadron of Jeoffreys and Jochanans, and he saw the same blank look on each face.

" 'Very well,' Lord Gunthar said. 'Rehearse your legends, Vertumnus.' He laughed about it when he told me. He said that he strutted and blustered as if he could have stopped Vertumnus from saying or doing anything he wished, but I suppose that's all the Measure is sometimes-saying we can control something because we don't want to look at its depths, its prospects…"

"Enough philosophy," Raistlin declared. "It doesn't become you."

Sturm continued, his eyes on the fire. " 'It is a simple legend, Lord Gunthar Uth Wistan,' the Green Man announced, 'one brought to me by the Lady Hollis.'

"Then Hollis, or Ragnell, or whatever name she really goes by, dismounted from the centaur.

"They've a puzzle about the lady, you know," Sturm said, his gaze lost in the depths of the glowing coals. "Some saw a hideous hag descend from the centaur's back; others saw a young and beautiful woman, her dark hair crowned with ivy. Some-very few-saw no druidess at all."

He smiled and shook his head, and the twins glanced at one another curiously.

"But each of them heard Vertumnus, and his next words all remembered clearly.

" 'I have heard,' the Green Man claimed, 'that a druidess can cast a spell so powerful that a treasonous man-a rank betrayer of friend and Order and country-cannot draw his sword from sheath or scabbard. Or so the druids have told me.'

"The council hall was silent, Gunthar said. Not a word passed beneath the banners. Then all of them started at the sweeping noise of a blade drawn from its sheath. As one, they turned toward the source of the sound."