But none of that made any difference. Bubba won and won so decisively that he got both sisters and then to top it all off was loud and obnoxious about it and then rude and crude to the girls, and you know what? They didn’t even seem to mind. They let him get away with it. He was a jerk and clumsy and loud, but . . .

But he had won.

Dammit!

The party afterward wasn’t much fun. Lanny and I spent most of it gritting our teeth. Oh, we were nice and all—what choice did we have? But it wasn’t much fun. Maybe it was that awful mead stuff we were drinking that somebody had made in his garage. Or maybe it was watching Bubba feeling up both girls in public.

Anyway, we left. Supposedly to go back to our trailer and get the tequila, but mostly just to get away from the rest and talk.

Only we didn’t. We sat there across from each other, both covered with grass stains and humiliation, and didn’t say a word for several minutes.

Then Lanny spoke: “Mr. Felix?”

“Yes, Mr. Weaver?”

“Let’s get dressed.”

1 grinned, said: “Yeah!”

And we did. Put on our best tunics, not the junk we wore for tournaments. The realistic stuff. The chain mail and the rest.

And the real swords. And the real daggers.

And then we opened the bottle of tequila and took a swig apiece, toasting ourselves, and stepped outside.

It was the next part that I don’t understand. I mean, there was a lot of it I didn’t understand at the time and still don’t. But what happened next has always been a mystery to me. I mean, how could we be so stupid and naive not to . . .

Anyway, we stepped outside into the darkness and headed toward the campfire and the rest of the party. They were singing ovdr there and laughing and sparks were climbing up llickering above them and they all seemed to be having a great time, and suddenly we didn’t want any part of it. We turned without a word and stepped into the woods to get drunk on our own.

We sure did that—get drunk, I mean. Just Lanny and me and the branches up against the stars and the tequila bottle. And our voices, of course. Because we were having our same old conversation in no time at all. About the Horseclans world and how we wanted to be there. Hell, by now we were so drunk it was how we deserved to be there and ought to be there and other things so terrifyingly stupid that even now when I think about it I cringe.

But at the time it all made perfect sense. I mean that: perfect sense. There was something especially strident and clear about that night with Lanny and me all alone in those woods with our dreams and tequila. More than those things should’ve added up to. And we felt it.

We didn’t say we felt it. We never acknowledged it out loud. We didn’t have to. It was there. I could see it in his grin.

We ended up sacrificing the last third of the tequila to the Horseclans God, which is just as well, seeing as how we were already so drunk we couldn’t hardly move. But we made it a real solemn deal, praising His vision of glory and honor and combat. We ended it by making a formal request to be allowed to go there.

Then we sat down.

Then we passed out.

And when we woke up, we were there.

And, for the life of me, I still don’t understand why we weren’t scared! God knows we should have been.

Soon, very soon, we were. But not soon enough.

The man astride the horse was a very serious piece of work. It wasn’t so much what he was wearing as how he was wearing it. Everything from the broadsword to the piercing stare was real. Real!

“I said, ‘Stand aside!’ Must I assist you?” boomed out through his graying goatee, and only then did I realize he had spoken before. It had been his voice that had waked me up.

Us up, I mean. Lanny was there a few feet away, sprawled as I was on the dusty thing that passed for a road.

I looked at him. “I don’t believe this is happening!”

Lanny’s eyes were as fierce and blazing as his red hair in the sun. “Sure you do!” he replied. And grinned.

He was right, of course. I did believe it. And, God help all fools, loved it.

“Lads!” boomed out from the same place as the rider spurred his horse forward between us. We scrambled out of the way.

Lanny was a lot quicker than me, as usual.

“Beg pardon, m’lord. We did not mean to impede your journey. We were momentarily dazed by—”

“By drink, from the look of you,” snarled the rider. But he pulled his horse up and turned it about to face us. I noticed then how foamy it was. He must have had quite a trip himself.

“Nay, good sir. Bewitched!”

The rider’s gaze narrowed even further, if that were possible. Lanny chose to ignore it. He stepped forward and started to babble a tale about how we were both good men and true and fine swordsmen from good families, clans, he said, and had been waylaid by a wicked sorceress who had taken offense at our nobly attempting to rescue a fair damsel from her clutches—which we had managed to do despite a fearsome struggle and great personal loss to ourselves. But then the witch was so offended by our interference that she loosed upon us one demon after another, which we barely managed to escape each time, so then the Witch cast a spell which flung us from our homelands (after first robbing us of all our coins) to this very spot where he found us just now, alone, penniless, lost, but without a single regret at having done the right thing—nay, the only thing a true gentleman and swordsman could have done.

It was great shit.

Even better, it looked like it was going to be effective shit. The rider sat silently throughout the entire tirade, seeming to eat it up. And I figured it was going to work. “It” being whatever the hell it was Lanny was trying to scam.

Then the man started laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard tears flowed down his cheeks and his great belly rolled like a waterbed. He laughed so hard it wasn’t even embarrassing after a while. Well, not completely.

When he finally got control of himself, he spoke.

“What are your names, lads?”

“Lanny Weaver, m’lord.”

“Brad Felix, m’lord.”

“Odd names you have.”

Lanny just smiled. “Did I not just tel! you of our having been whisked away from our native lands? In our world, our names are— ”

The man held up a hand in a firm gesture. “Aye, lad. I did hear your tale. And enjoy it much.” He smiled. And then the smile went away in a flash. “But I do not wish to hear it anew.”

It was not a request. Lanny and I looked at each other, nodded, said: “Yes, m’lord,” in unison.

The man leaned back in his saddle and rested a hand lightly on the hilt of his broadsword. It was not necessarily a threatening gesture. It was just to get our attention.

“You lads are indeed far from home. Young men seeking your fortune. Seeking adventure and amusement. Lost and poor, no doubt, due to some foolish trusting of a clever wench. I know not how you came to be fast asleep on the road, and care not.” He paused, looked pained. Then he smiled rather paternally. “Indeed, 1 know not why I should care about you at all, such as you are. But I was young once. And foolish.” Then he peered right at us as he added: “And a liar.”

We knew better than to take offense. Lanny even knew enough to smile.

The man nodded, satisfied, and went on. “So I shall offer you employment. It so happens I am in temporary need of a few extra swords in my personal guard. Have you horses?” “Nay, m’lord,” Lanny replied.

The man sighed. “I thought not.” He paused for a moment. An idea seemed to occur to him. “It matters not. Several of my riders shall be along on this road. They have been lagging behind due to laziness and sloth. Tell them you are of my personal guard and are to take two of their freshest mounts. Then I shall expect you to catch up to me on this same road by sundown.” He leaned down toward us and his voice got hard. “By sundown, lads. I’ll be damned if I shall put two wastrels afoot just to horse two more. Is that clear?” “Aye, m’lord.”