by Rebecca J. Bush

And I think my home is just Heaven's reflection
As long as my home's here with you
-Michael Card, "Home," Poiema (1994)

Dramatis Personae and background information

When Wedge awoke, the first thing he remembered was the battle.

It had been nearly over. Losses were heavy on both sides, but the Rogues had lived up to their reputation for doing the impossible. As yet, their squadron had not lost a single pilot, and it was only a matter of minutes before they would finish off the last of the TIE fighters.

Or, it should have been.

Wedge realized suddenly that he couldn’t recall the battle actually ending. Thinking back, trying harder, he remembered something else instead. It had been nearly over, the Rogues would soon finish off the enemy pilots, and then—then the Imps had brought in—

What was that thing, anyway?

He recalled comm chatter: "Emperor’s black bones, what is it?" "Did anybody see where that thing came from?" "Lead, I’m going in for a closer look." That, he remembered, had been Tycho. And then Wes’s voice, "Uh, Wedge, this is going to sound bizarre, but—" (Hobbie had interrupted then with "When do you ever say anything that doesn’t sound bizarre, Janson?" but Wes had ignored him) "—but I think it’s a cup. Like a drinking cup. The fancy kind, long-stemmed—see? There’s that bowl-shaped part, and something like a long stem or handle attached, and below that there’s a sort of flat base."

Wedge had sighed and answered, "Janson, what would the Imperials be doing with a flying cup the size of a small freighter?"

"I mean, it looks like a drinking cup, Wedge," Wes persisted.

Wedge had to admit that Janson had a point. Whatever the ship—it had to be a ship of some sort, he felt sure—whatever the ship was, it did resemble some sort of fancy goblet, glowing golden in the void of space. But that observation wasn’t going to do them much good at present. They needed to know what the purpose of the thing was, and if it was hostile, they needed to know how to fight it.

"Sensors aren’t having much luck with it," Tycho’s voice came over the comm as his X-wing drew ever closer to the goblet-ship. "It’s not registering as anything familiar."

"Not much of a surprise there," Wedge answered. "Can you try hailing it? If they’ve got standard communications gear—"

And that was the end of it. The end of the memory—he could recall nothing beyond those words. He wasn’t even sure if he’d had a chance to finish his sentence, or how the battle had gone beyond that point. Between that moment and his awaking just now, he knew nothing.

Perplexed, he looked around at his surroundings. What he saw only increased his bewilderment. He was definitely not in his X-wing anymore; in fact, he was fairly sure that this was no place he had ever seen before.

He was in a small room, dark, damp, and musty-smelling, lit only by a narrow window high above him. I wonder if they’ve even heard of transparisteel around here, he mused, noting that the window seemed to be nothing more than a hole gouged into the thick stone wall. And they seemed to be real stones, too—maybe they hadn’t heard of ferrocrete here, either. Wherever "here" was. And whoever "they" were.

The room was sparsely furnished. Aside from whatever was growing on the wall, he saw only the tattered pallet on which he was lying when he awoke, a wooden table that seemed ill-at-ease with the moistness of the room, and some sort of vegetation strewn sparsely about the dirt floor. Directly across from the tiny slit of a window was a heavy wooden door. He tried it and found it locked.

A prison of some sort? He needed to consider his options. The window—no, too high, and much too narrow. The door wouldn’t budge on his second try any more than it had on the first. He was wondering if he might find some way to dig himself out—who ever heard of a prison with a dirt floor, anyway?—when, with the grating sound of metal on metal, the door slowly opened.

He blinked in surprise. A young girl stood there, dressed in a bright red, flowing gown lined with some sort of fur, carrying what seemed to be a burning candle of foul-smelling wax. Candles, Wedge thought, candles, and no transparisteel, and stone walls. Where in the galaxy am I?

"Good morrow, Sir Knight," said the girl—in Basic, to Wedge’s great relief, heavily accented but understandable. "You are free to go now. Sir Launcelot has conquered the master of this castle and has freed its prisoners. He awaits in the courtyard."

"Uh—thanks," Wedge murmured as the girl, having finished her speech, moved away. For a brief moment he wondered why she had called him "Knight"—did she think he was some sort of Jedi? And who was this Sir Launcelot?

He started to turn back to his room to gather his things, then remembered that he had no "things" here, at least none he had seen in his earlier survey of the room. So, gladly turning his back on the dark cell one last time, he stepped out onto a hallway that was hardly better lit than the room he had just left. There were no windows here, only torches burning in their places at intervals along the walls. It was drier here, at least, and the stone walls were hung with elaborate tapestries in between the torches. The hall was lined with doors similar to his own; glancing to his right, he saw the girl who had freed him, making her way from door to door. From each one, a man emerged—the prisoners Sir Launcelot had just freed, no doubt. Wedge saw no prisoners to his left; his must have been the first cell in the hall, then. Looking back to his right, he started in surprise as he recognized one of the other prisoners. Janson! So they got him too—whoever "they" are. The prisoners were starting to move away, following the girl toward the other end of the hall. Wedge hurried and caught up to Wes Janson.

"Wes!" he called, grabbing the other man’s arm.

Janson turned and looked at Wedge with confusion in his eyes; then after a moment, the confusion gave way to recognition. "Oh—Wedge!" he said, sounding as if it were a great effort to get the name out. "I…I almost forgot…But how did you get here?"

"I wish I knew," Wedge answered. "The last thing I remember is the battle."

"Battle?" Wes frowned. "You mean the joust?"

"Joust?" The word was unfamiliar to Wedge. "What are you talking about, Wes?"

"Don’t you remember? There was a joust and we…he…you almost had him, Wedge. But he came at you too fast and unhorsed you. The Black Knight, remember? He beat us all and put us in this dungeon of his."

Wedge could make no sense of this. "What in the hells of the Sith are you talking about, Janson?"

"I—" There was a long pause, then finally Janson shook his head, hard, as if to clear it. "I’m not sure…It doesn’t make any sense. I think it must have been a dream." He stared at Wedge intently, as if trying to see through him. "You’re Wedge, Wedge Antilles."

"Of course I am. What’s gotten into you?"

"And I’m Wes Janson? You’re sure?"

"I thought you were. If I didn’t know you better I’d say you were going crazy. But knowing you as well as I do, I know you were crazy already. So there has to be some other explanation."

Janson grinned at that. Moment by moment, the recognition in his eyes grew stronger. "Yeah, you’re Wedge all right. Boy, Wedge, you wouldn’t believe the dream I had—"

"You already told me. You’re right. I don’t believe it."

"It seemed so real, though. You were there, and I was, and Hobbie and Tycho. I don’t know who the Black Knight was, but he was good. Really good."

Wedge frowned. "The Black Knight? Do you mean a Jedi Knight?"

Wes was frowning now too. "No, not a Jedi. I don’t know…I can’t remember the dream as well now. I just know he was called the Black Knight."

"Wait a minute," Wedge said. "You said Tycho and Hobbie were in this dream too. I wonder…" He walked faster to catch up to the other prisoners; Janson hurried along behind him. He soon found what he was looking for. "Tycho!" he called, hurrying toward one of the prisoners. The man turned to regard Wedge with a look only a little less perplexed than Janson’s had been at first, and Wedge saw that it was indeed Tycho.

Tycho frowned a moment, then his blue eyes widened in understanding. "Wedge!" he called back. "Is it you?"

"I’m almost starting to wonder," Wedge laughed. "You haven’t been dreaming too, have you, Tycho?"

"I don’t think so…" Tycho’s voice trailed off as Janson caught up to the two of them. He frowned as if trying to remember something, but before he could speak, another voice interrupted.

"Wedge! Tycho! Wes!" They all three turned at the sound to see another of the prisoners hurrying toward them.

"Hobbie!" Tycho cried out suddenly. "That’s it! And it’s Janson, of course it’s Janson. Sithspawn, why couldn’t I remember? I don’t see how I could forget any of you so easily—"

"Something strange is going on," Wedge interrupted, his voice grim. "Do any of you remember the battle?" He described for them what he himself could remember of it, up to the point where his memory gave out in mid-sentence.

"So that’s the battle you meant," Janson said unhappily. "I don’t remember it at all. Wedge, until you said that, I didn’t even remember being a pilot. I mean, that’s my whole life, all the way back to the Tierfon Aces, and I didn’t remember a bit of it." He looked utterly crestfallen. "I remember it all now, except for that last battle, but only just barely."

"I remember part of that battle now, Wedge," Tycho said, "but it’s not very clear. I don’t remember that strange new ship at all."

"I remember it," Hobbie said glumly. "Janson was right. It was shaped like a drinking cup. We were all flying toward it—at least," he glanced at each of the others in turn, "we were. I don’t know about the other Rogues; I think the four of us were closest to it. Then the ship shaped like a cup did something—it was almost like an ion shot, fired from the hollow part of the cup, but different. And then we were here."

"You remember all that?" Wedge was surprised. "And nothing in between the cup—ah, the ship—firing, and us being here?"

"Nothing. I remember it all very clearly, though."

"It sounds like however we got here, the cup had something to do with it," Janson said.

"But that’s absurd," Tycho frowned. "How could a cup—or ship, whatever—how could that thing have transported us here, wherever we are, just like that? And why can’t we all remember it?"

"Maybe we’re actually inside the cup," Janson suggested.

"If so," Wedge smiled, "this is strange décor for an Imperial ship."

"Maybe for an Imperial ship, but who knows how the Imps decorate their cups?" Janson grinned. "Or maybe it wasn’t a ship at all. Maybe it’s some new Imp superweapon. I bet they call it the Death Cup."

Wedge shook his head in disbelief—mixed with a fair measure of relief at seeing Janson acting more like his normal, immature self. They reached the end of the hall then. The girl with the candle led the prisoners up a short flight of stairs and through more dark passageways until they came at last to a small courtyard.

"Good sirs, pray ye be so kind as to remain here a moment," said the damsel. "Sir Launcelot wishes to see you and to know whom it is he has freed this day." There was some murmuring among the prisoners as they began to arrange themselves in a line, facing a gateway of some sort across the courtyard. Wedge and the other Rogues found themselves at one end of the line, farthest away from the girl.

Then they heard a sound coming from beyond the gateway, a loud noise, but rhythmic. It reminded Wedge of Ewok drums, in a way. The sound grew louder, until suddenly its source burst through the gate in a blaze of white glory.

Without thinking, Wedge reached for his blaster. By the time he realized it wasn’t there and remembered why it wasn’t there, he had also realized that the newcomer was not the stormtrooper he had first thought it to be. The man—if man it was—was dressed in bright white body armor, certainly—that was what had caught the sunlight and reflected it to make the wearer seem to shine like the sun as he rode into the courtyard. But it was clearly not stormtrooper armor, as Wedge saw now: this was more segmented, more metallic-looking, and much more intricately decorated, with folds of metal and etched designs that were barely visible at this distance. And the armored man was riding some kind of four-legged beast, with dazzling white fur to match its rider’s armor. Wedge could see nothing of the rider’s face; his white, high-crested helmet had no opening except a narrow slit to allow him to see out.

After dismounting in one graceful motion, the rider came to stand before the girl. He removed his helmet as he greeted her, but his back was to the Rogues and Wedge could only see that he had dark hair and held his head high.

"My lady," the rider spoke, "I am grateful to you for your assistance. If ever you are in need of a champion, you have my word that I shall ride to your defense."

"I thank you, Sir Launcelot," answered the girl. "Would you learn now the names of these good knights you have freed?"

"With pleasure, my lady," answered Launcelot. The damsel then turned to the first man in the line, announcing him to be a Sir Petras. Launcelot exchanged a nod of greeting with Petras and they moved on to the next prisoner.

At last they came to the Rogues. Wedge was startled to hear the damsel announce him to the white rider as "Sir Ouège d’Antille, lately come to Britain from the north of France." He recognized his name, but she pronounced it oddly—as if the "d" were missing from his first name and the "les" from his last. She continued: "A fine knight, Sir Launcelot; Sir Ouège nearly defeated the Black Knight, whom you have vanquished this day."

"I commend you, Sir Ouège," answered Launcelot. "And I greet you as a compatriot—France was once my home as well. Welcome to Britain." Then he moved on, leaving Wedge even more perplexed than he had been all day.

The damsel next introduced Tycho as "Sir Teichen of Selwich," Janson as "Sir Wesley MacJanne, of Orkney," and Hobbie as "Sir Derrick l’Haubit, for many years a vassal of the Earl of Klive, now come to Camelot to seek a place in Arthur’s court." Launcelot greeted each in turn and then walked away with the damsel, discussing some matter or another concerning the legalities of freeing the prisoners.

For a long moment the Rogues just looked at each other. Their faces mirrored one another’s expressions: every one of them bore a look combining surprise, confusion, and a good measure of alarm and embarrassment. Janson was first to speak. "I can’t believe she called me Wesley."

"I can’t believe she called me Derrick," Hobbie echoed.

"Yeah, but everyone knows your real name is Derek," Wes shook his head. "I haven’t been called Wesley since I was a kid. It’s not even my name. My name is Wes, just Wes, but when I was about six years old, there was this primer school teacher who thought that had to be short for Wesley. She started calling me Wesley, and once the other kids caught on that I hated that name, they never stopped using it."

"At least it’s not your real name that you hate. I can’t stand being called Derek," Hobbie mourned.

"So go by your last name here," Tycho suggested. "L’Haubit sounds something like Hobbie."

Wedge shook his head and grinned at Tycho. "What about you? You don’t hate your name too, do you?"

"I don’t see any reason to. Teichen sounds fairly close to Tycho. All of us—the names she used for us aren’t that different from our real names. It’s like someone whose native language isn’t Basic heard our names and remembered them as something just a bit different from what they really are. How about you, ‘Sir Ouège’?" he grinned.

"I’ve been called worse," Wedge answered. "What I’m wondering is how she knew our names in the first place. Something’s just not right here."

"Worry about that later," Janson advised, "here comes Sir Tin-Can again." Launcelot was indeed heading in their direction. The Rogues turned to meet him.

"Good knights," Launcelot began, "there is a thing I must ask of you. It is needful that the King be told of my deeds today, the conquest of the Black Knight and the freeing of the prisoners. I, however, am unable to return to Camelot at this time."

"Busy, huh?" Janson interrupted, but the knight did not seem to hear.

"The quest for the Grail detains me. Therefore," Launcelot continued, "I must ask you to ride to Camelot and bring this news to King Arthur. The maiden tells me that you four are but recently come to this region and that you seek a place in Arthur’s court, as knights of the Round Table. Bring him news of me, and then tell him that Launcelot sends you to be knights of his Table, and it is likely he will give you what you seek."

The Rogues glanced at one another, wondering what to make of this. Finally Wedge addressed the knight. "Sir—ah—Launcelot, thank you for your offer, but I’m afraid what we seek is not—" he stopped suddenly as a thought hit him. Yes, what we seek is not this Round Table or Arthur’s court or whatever Sir Tin-Can here is talking about. But if this Arthur is King, and assumedly a pretty important person, maybe he’s our best chance to get what we really do seek—a way back to the New Republic. He hardly even noticed that in these thoughts he had made the assumption that they were no longer in the New Republic. There was no time to think more thoroughly of such things. Wedge spoke again to Sir Launcelot. "On second thought, maybe we would like to meet this King and see his court. Sure, we’ll take the message for you."

Launcelot looked nearly as confused by Wedge’s speech as the Rogues had been by his, but after a moment he seemed to make some sense of it. "You will go then. Upon my word, fair sir, I do most heartily thank thee." Launcelot clasped Wedge’s wrist briefly in both his gauntleted hands, startling the pilot until he realized it was meant as some sort of greeting, like a handshake. Then the white knight turned away, remounted the animal that had borne him into the courtyard, and rode off at top speed.

"Rogues, on me," Wedge said in a low voice. The other three quickly gathered around him. He continued, "Obviously we’re not on Coruscant anymore."

"Unless we’re really deep down," Janson grinned.

"I’m not sure we’re even in the New Republic anymore," Wedge ignored the remark. "And this place is clearly very different from what we know. So we’re going to have to be alert, and we’re going to have to learn all we can about the culture here. Starting with what we’ve seen so far: for instance, why do they all keep talking about knights when they obviously don’t mean Jedi?"

"I think," Tycho answered, "they mean us. Us and all these others Launcelot just freed—you heard the girl call us all ‘knights.’ Launcelot himself, too. As far as I can tell, a knight is what he is—some sort of warrior. Did you see the scabbard at his side? He was carrying some sort of sword, a very elaborately decorated one. I haven’t seen any blasters, though, so my guess is that all that heavy armor is for hand-to-hand combat."

Janson’s face brightened. "Swords and close combat? Oh good, it’ll be just like back on Adumar."

"Except maybe the swords here don’t shoot you if you jam them into the scabbard too hard," Hobbie said.

"Do you think we’ve got swords of our own somewhere around here?" Janson asked. "We ought to, if we’re knights."

Wedge sighed and turned away to look for the girl, whom he hadn’t seen since she went off talking to Launcelot. He finally spotted her, opening the door to a shed of some sort across the courtyard. He hurried over to her with the Rogues following, Janson and Hobbie still arguing over weaponry.

"Miss—ah, I don’t think I know your name," Wedge called as he reached her.

She turned and smiled. "I am the Lady Nyneve," she said.

"Nyneve," Wedge echoed, "I wonder if you could help us. We’re supposed to go to Camelot to deliver a message for Sir Launcelot, and we have no idea where that is. Could you point us in the right direction?"

"With a good will, fair sirs. It is not difficult to reach Camelot from here. This is the Castle of the Black Knight, who was its master until vanquished by Sir Launcelot, in the midst of the Forest Sauvage. When you leave here, you will see a narrow path lined with oak trees. Follow this path, and soon the oaks will give way to beeches, and then the beeches will give way to apple trees. When the apple trees give way to cherries, you will know you are near your destination. The path ends at Camelot."

"Thank you," Wedge said uncertainly, wondering what the trees were she had mentioned. He didn’t think he had ever seen any trees of those kinds on any of the planets he had visited.

"But as for Camelot, good knights," Lady Nyneve continued, "I myself am going there after all these knights whom Launcelot has freed have set out for their own destinations. If you wish it, Sir Ouège, I shall accompany you and your comrades to Arthur’s court."

Wedge, trying to ignore the bright-eyed looks with which Janson and Hobbie were silently pleading him to say yes, answered her, "That’s more than we hoped for—but a guide would be a great help. Thank you, Lady Nyneve, we would be happy to have you accompany us."

"Then so be it," the lady answered. "Will you arm yourselves now? The Black Knight kept the arms of all those he took prisoner here in this cabinet, and I am now opening it so that his former prisoners may regain their belongings before they set out."

"I didn’t know we had armor," Wedge mumbled, trying again—with even less success—to ignore Janson, who was becoming most animated at the suggestion of new weaponry to try out. Lady Nyneve didn’t seem to have heard him. She opened the door of the shed and the Rogues followed her inside. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, they saw that the walls were lined with hooks, and on these hooks hung suits of armor more or less like that Sir Launcelot had worn. Many different styles of armor were represented, many kinds of metal, many colors, some with pictorial devices painted on them in bright colors, others stark in their plainness. Triangular shields were propped beside most of the suits, and from other hooks hung scabbards with their swords resting in them.

Nyneve led each of the Rogues in turn to one of the suits of armor, indicating that these were their own. She left then to fetch the other knights whose armor was stored there. The Rogues got to work on the armor, trying to figure out how it was meant to be worn.

Nearly an hour later, four tired Rogues emerged from the storehouse, having finally conquered their armor. Some of the other knights, as they came in to retrieve their own arms, had been kind enough to offer a word of advice or a helpful hand as the less experienced Rogue knights had struggled with their arming. Finally it was done; the four were sheathed head to toe in bright metal. Janson, at least, seemed cheerful, hefting his new blade in the air. "You have to get a feel for it," he had explained to Wedge. "Wave it around for a while. They’re unwieldy things unless they’re handled properly." Wedge had not dared ask him how he knew such things.

Suddenly Nyneve was with them again, though they had not seen her approaching. She spoke: "Ah, good knights, you are armed at last. Will ye ride for Camelot now?"

"Whenever you’re ready," Wedge said.

"Come, then. Your horses have been readied. We may leave at once."

They followed her out of the courtyard, Hobbie whispering, "What’s a horse?" to Tycho. Before the other could respond, the answer became visible near the gate of the castle: they saw five four-footed creatures waiting there, decked out with elaborate saddles and even a bit of metal armor in patterns and colors to match the Rogues’ arms. The beasts looked familiar; Wedge finally realized that Sir Launcelot had ridden an animal of the same sort. "One of these, I’d guess," Tycho whispered back to Hobbie.

Though new to horses, the Rogues were not inexperienced at riding other such beasts; they were, however, inexperienced at mounting them while wearing full suits of armor. It took a few tries for the new-made knights to gain and maintain their seats. Lady Nyneve, meanwhile, sat sidesaddle on her palfrey, regarding them with a curious expression on her face, almost of disbelief.

Mounted at last, the Rogues set out, with Nyneve leading them along the oak-lined path. The Forest Sauvage turned out to be dark, darker than most of the forests Wedge had seen, seeming almost oppressive in the parts where the trees were densest. The weight of the trees overhead seemed to press upon the companions’ spirits; at first they spoke of various matters, but soon all conversation ceased and they rode in a watchful silence.

Wedge, thinking over their situation, gradually became oblivious to his surroundings. His horse followed Nyneve’s without any prompting, and he fell deeper into thought, until suddenly Tycho’s voice roused him from his musings.

"Huh?—Oh, what was that, Tycho?" Wedge asked as he looked up. Janson and Hobbie, he noticed, were riding ahead now, one on either side of Lady Nyneve, chatting merrily and apparently doing their best to impress the damsel. Nyneve seemed to take little notice of the flirting. They were riding amidst trees of a different sort now—The beeches she mentioned? Wedge wondered.

"I asked what you were thinking about," Tycho replied.

"Oh. This place, mostly. Trying to figure out how we got here. And why Nyneve knew our names. And where these horses and this armor came from. Generally, what in the galaxy is going on here."

"Come to any conclusions about that?"

"No, only more questions."

"This place raises a lot of questions," Tycho frowned. "I suppose it’s not likely we’re still in New Republic space."

"If this planet is in the Republic, I for one don’t recall any mention of it in any of the databases. Somehow I don’t think we’ve got a good chance at finding a Holonet connection to do any research on it while we’re here, either. Not much in the way of technology here, is there?"

"I don’t know," Tycho answered. "I heard some of the other prisoners talking about this Camelot. They were saying that it never rains before sundown, the morning fog disappears soon after sunrise, the snow never slushes...they must have some pretty sophisticated form of climate control, at least."

"Sounds pleasant," said Wedge drily. "You’ll excuse me if the nice weather there isn’t quite enough to make me want to stick around any longer than we have to."

Tycho grinned. "I can’t blame you. I’ll be glad to get home, too. So what’s our plan so far?"

"The only thing I can see to do right now is to talk to this King and see what we can learn from him."

The sun was setting as they arrived at Camelot. Its dying light lent a cheerful pinkish glow to the place, which turned out to be a small fortified city, with a castle, far larger and grander than the one they had just left, in the center of it. They rode through the narrow streets to Camelot castle, passed through its two curtain walls, and dismounted in the inner courtyard. Lady Nyneve then led them into the main hall, where the king and his court now sat at their evening meal.

Nyneve curtsied to the king; the Rogues caught on and followed with bows of their own, somewhat rusty from infrequent use. The damsel spoke: "Your Majesty, these four knights you see here are valiant men of arms who come seeking a place at your Round Table. They bear tidings also of one of your barons." She stepped back, clearly meaning for the Rogues to speak for themselves beyond that introduction.

King Arthur nodded expectantly, so Wedge stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, I am—ah—Sir Ouège d’Antille," he announced, deciding that it would be best to stick with the names Nyneve had attributed to them earlier. He remembered what else she had said and added, "From France."

"Greetings to you, Sir Ouège," the king said. "And who might these your companions be?"

"I am Sir Teichen of Selwich," Tycho spoke, as naturally as if he had borne that name all his life.

"Sir Wesley," said Janson, blushing with discomfort at the unwelcome name. "Of Orkney."

"Indeed?" said Arthur. "I have…family in Orkney. Perhaps you know my nephew Sir Gawain, or his brothers, Gaheris, Agravaine, Gareth, and Mordred."

"Ah, well, um, actually," Janson stammered, "our paths haven’t really crossed much. Fine knights, though."

"Yes," the king replied. "Gawain is away seeking the Grail now, but his brothers are here. I am sure they would welcome news from their home." He turned to Hobbie then, much to Janson’s relief. "And pray tell, good sir, who are you?"

"Sir Derrick of Klive," Hobbie admitted reluctantly, "but most folks call me l’Haubit."

"Your Majesty," Wedge spoke up, "we were sent here by Sir Launcelot to bring you news of him."

"Sir Launcelot?" The king’s surprise was evident and was mirrored on the faces of the others in the court. "It is long since we heard tidings of him, since he rode away in quest of the Holy Grail. What would you tell us of him?"

"Well, we—the four of us here as well as a number of other knights—were being held prisoner by someone called the Black Knight. Sir Launcelot defeated him and freed us all. He wanted us to let you know about it since he can’t return to Camelot yet."

"He still seeks the Grail?"

"Yes, he did say something about that." Wedge was beginning to be curious about this Grail; perhaps Nyneve could fill him in on the matter later. But at present—there was something about this king: he wasn’t sure what it was, but he was inclined to like the fellow already. Something in his bearing, perhaps, or the way he spoke, or the graciousness with which he welcomed them; somewhere in there, Wedge got a sense of a deep nobility of spirit and strength of character. He had on several occasions encountered individuals he considered to be great leaders: Princess Leia, Mon Mothma, Admiral Ackbar, even many of his own pilots who had shown leadership potential. He recognized in this king something that he had known in those others. On a sudden impulse, he spoke up again: "He…also wanted us to tell you that he sends us to become knights of your…um…Table. It’s for this purpose that we have come to Camelot." Why did I say that? he thought, even as he heard himself speak the words. That isn’t why we came here. We came so we could leave this place once and for all. But yet there was something about this king…perhaps it would be a good idea to join his knights, after all. There would surely be time later to bring up that other reason for their coming to Camelot.

"Ordinarily," Arthur answered, his expression grim, "I might be hard pressed to find a place for four knights, as yet unproved, at the Round Table. But this is a grievous time for chivalry. Most of my knights have vowed to achieve the Grail or die in the attempt; few as yet have achieved it, but many have died in their quest. The order of the Round Table now numbers only half the knights that sat there in the days of its greatest glory. The need for new knights to take the places of those who have fallen is greater than ever. Lady Nyneve, do you vouch for these knights?"

"With a good will, lord King," the lady answered. "They are valiant warriors; it is no disgrace that they were defeated and imprisoned by the Black Knight, for such was the fate of many a fine knight, and none but Sir Launcelot himself could defeat him. Yet these four did not fight poorly against the Black Knight; indeed, Sir Ouège, who is their leader, very nearly had the victory of that battle, but at the last was unhorsed."

"Very well," the king addressed the Rogues again. "As the Lady Nyneve speaks for you, and Sir Launcelot speaks for you also, I gladly will make you knights of the Table. And truly I am most pleased that you have come—never was need greater."

Thus they became Knights of the Round Table, four knights newly-made who had, far from Camelot, seen much of battle but little of joust, much of honor but little of chivalry, much of prowess but little of the chevalier’s art of war. Truly, as Rogues fighting for the survival of their New Republic, they had long possessed the hearts and souls of true knights. They had known loyalty, honor, valor, and generosity; they had even known loves not unlike that amour courtoise, courtly love, which the knights and ladies of Arthur’s court prized above all. Only the outward trappings were lacking—the skills of swordsmanship and horsemanship—and these would be soon learned.

The days passed into weeks, weeks into months, as they remained at Arthur’s court. Gradually, they did learn the chivalric arts that knights ought to know, the mastery of the horse and sword and spear. The swordfighting they found less difficult than they had expected; this, Wedge guessed, was due to their experiences on Adumar and what they had seen and learned from Cheriss there. Horsemanship was more challenging, but they were Rogues and they took to it quickly enough, though often after a hard fall they had cause to wish they might fight once more from the cockpit of an X-wing and not from the back of such a contrary animal.

Their training in these arts was not an official training, for Arthur’s court would assume that, being knights already, they should already know these things. So they learned chivalry slowly and gradually, by observing other knights when they fought and then attempting to copy their tactics in jousts. At first the four newest knights of the Table were the objects of much laughter, for they seemed never to take part in a joust but that they were the first to fall. But in time, each fall came a little less readily than the one before, and finally there came a day when Sir Teichen, riding yet another joust against one other of the knights of Arthur, fell not at all. For three passes he held his seat, breaking spear after spear on the shield of his opponent, who happened to be Sir Agravaine of Orkney, Gawain’s brother. And at last, in the third pass, Sir Agravaine was unhorsed and Tycho had the victory.

The Rogues made much joy of that battle, though Agravaine was ill pleased to fall to one who had before been held in such low esteem. Soon after that, Sir Ouège, Sir Wesley, and Sir Derrick l’Haubit also won their first jousts. From that time forward they only grew stronger in battle, until the day came when they were counted among the greatest chevaliers of the Table, equal to such as Yvain and Percival and Gawain and Gareth, though perhaps not to Launcelot or Galahad, against whom none could stand.

Then they began to take part in quests. With the Round Table’s numbers so diminished by the quest for the Grail, those who remained were hard pressed to keep up with all of the supplicants who came to Arthur’s court seeking the aid of a strong knight to right some wrong. Often, therefore, Arthur called upon his Rogue knights to answer such a call, since, with the mightiest knights of the Table away seeking the Grail, these four were among the best available to the king. They slew many monsters and rescued many damsels in those days. They became much loved of all the court, and many damsels would fain have had one or another of them as paramour, so that they became knowledgeable also in the art of courtly love.

There came one day to Arthur’s court a damsel in need of a knight’s assistance. She was a fair woman of a haughty bearing, dressed in a rich gown and fur-lined overgown, with all her hair hidden beneath a close-fitting cap, richly embroidered, of a style currently quite fashionable in Camelot. She came before the king at the feast of Pentecost to present her case. Her name, she said, was Dame Iverna and she was lady-in-waiting to a woman of noble birth and great piety, called Lady Hélène. This lady, recently widowed, was presently beset by four villainous knights, who would force her to marry one of them, that they might gain her lands. The knights had laid siege to Lady Hélène’s castle, and she should soon fall to them unless some strong knight came to her aid. So the lady had sent Iverna out through the castle’s sally port, charging her to reach Arthur by whatever means she might and beseech him to send help.

"Truly, these wicked knights do your lady a grave injustice," judged the king. "Here are four of the most valiant knights of my Table, called Sir Ouège, Sir Teichen, Sir Wesley, and Sir Derrick who is l’Haubit. Let them accompany you back to your lady, and by my sword Excalibur, I am sure they will be able to right this wrong."

Iverna thanked the king graciously, and as soon as the Rogues had armed themselves, they rode away with her on this new quest. When they reached Hélène’s castle, they saw the four enemy knights keeping watch outside its gate, unable as yet to enter the castle because of the lady’s defenders who still held the gate. The knights saw them as well.

"What knights be ye, that ride so arrogantly as if ye were lords of all this land?" one of the villains challenged them.

Wedge answered, "We are knights of Arthur’s Table, and we have come to correct the injustice that you do to the lady of this castle."

"Right," Wes called out merrily. "If you can’t take ‘No’ for an answer, then you’re going to have to answer to us."

"Say you so?" the villain responded angrily. "Verily, we are the sworn enemies of all Arthur’s knights; the more gladly, then, will we do battle with you. Look ye to your arms!"

And without further words, the four wicked knights set their spears and charged at the Rogues. Wedge and his knights did likewise, and like thunder was the clash of those eight knights as they met in battle. In the first clash Sir Ouège bore the knight who had challenged them to the ground, where he lay unconscious from the hard fall he had taken. Sir Teichen, Sir Wesley, and Sir Derrick each chose one of the other knights for an opponent and turned their spears upon the enemies. The Rogues found that their opponents were hardy knights indeed, well trained in the arts of battle, but their many hard falls and long struggle to learn knighthood had made excellent warriors of the Rogues as well. When their spears broke, they turned to their swords and fought on. In the end the Rogues had the victory. Two of the villainous knights had been killed in the battle; Wedge bound the other two to their horses and gave the reins to Iverna to do as she would with the prisoners.

The defenders of the castle then called out to the victors that Lady Hélène bid them enter, so that she might thank them for their intervention. Gladly they did so, and when they had dismounted in the courtyard, they went into the great hall, where the lady would meet them.

Wedge stopped short when he saw the lady they had just delivered from the knights. Lady Hélène was speaking: "Good knights, I am in your debt. You have my deepest gratitude for your valor against those four knights who had besieged me here. I pray you, if it seems good to you, that you should remain here today and join us in a feast to celebrate our freedom…"

But Wedge hardly heard. He was too surprised by what he saw. He heard the sudden gasps from the other Rogues as they entered the hall behind him, and he knew that they saw it too.

It was Iella. Not quite as he had seen her last, only months after their wedding, the day he left to fight yet another battle, kissing her goodbye as if it were merely days after their wedding. That battle, as it had turned out, was the one that had brought him here to Camelot. Now he had been at Camelot for months without yet finding a way to return to Coruscant, and he had begun to wonder if he would ever see his wife again.

And now here she was before him, though not as he had seen her last. It was Iella; he knew the eyes, the smile, the hair, the voice; how well indeed he knew these. But it was also Lady Hélène, the woman of noble birth and great piety, with the lovely hair all wound up beneath a headdress such as ladies of Camelot were wont to wear and Iella’s sweet voice speaking in an accent and style he had never heard from it before. And she seemed to recognize him not at all.

He was too astonished to say much. Tycho came to his rescue, thanking the lady for her hospitality but saying that they would be needed back in Camelot, what with the current shortage of good knights there, and could stay no longer. She graciously accepted this and bid them farewell, thanking them once more and saying that if ever they found themselves journeying near her lands and in need of rest or refreshment, they must consider themselves welcome as guests at her castle. Lady Iverna led them out again and to their horses.

"Sir Ouège," said Iverna as they prepared to mount, "the spoils of the battle are rightfully yours. Here are the armor and horses of the knights you defeated; will you not take these with you as your prize?"

"It’s prize enough for us to see your lady free and happy once more," Wedge said quietly. "Let her keep the spoils. Hang ’em from the castle wall if you like, as a warning to anyone else who would try to trouble her. And if anyone else does think to trouble her after this, don’t you hesitate to send for us."

"You are most gracious, good sirs," answered Iverna, seeming surprised by Wedge’s answer. "I will bear your message to Lady Hélène. And I hope, sir knights," she added, "that you will take to heart her parting words to you as well. If ever you are passing this way, do avail yourselves of our hospitality. It would…gladden my lady greatly."

"We will do so, Lady Iverna," Wedge answered, and then they rode away.

Several minutes later, Tycho spoke suddenly. "Something’s odd about that Lady Iverna," he said. "I can’t tell what but…there’s something not quite right. It gives me the creeps."

"A telltale sign of amour, Sir Teichen," Wes put in with a gleeful grin, "this uncertainty, this sense of odd fascination. The damsel hath smitten your heart and…"

"Wes!" Wedge said warningly.

"No, really, Wedge," Janson persisted, "he’s got it bad…"

Wedge, becoming annoyed with Janson’s banter, said more forcefully, "Sir Wesley!"

"Ouch," said Janson at Wedge’s use of that name, clutching at an imaginary wound in his chest. "Forsooth, Sir Ouège, thou dost strike true. I am done in by thy blow…"

"Oh, shut up, Wes," Hobbie said irritably. Ignoring Janson’s dramatics, he turned to the others. "Wedge, he’s right though. About Tycho and Iverna. And I know why."

"What?" both Wedge and Tycho cried out in surprise.

"She’s Winter."

This time surprise left them speechless. Janson, still undaunted, broke the silence. "Oh, that would explain it. I knew there was something weird about her. That would also explain why Tycho’s smitten."

"But why wouldn’t I recognize Winter?" Tycho argued. "Wedge recognized Iella. Sithspawn, we all recognized her. Why should Hobbie be the only one to recognize Winter?"

"I have a theory about that," Hobbie said. "We’ve been here now for months, playing at being knights, and we’re sort of getting used to this game. But I think the rest of you sometimes forget it’s really just a game for us, something we have to keep up until we find a way home. Janson gets all romantic about rescuing damsels in distress, Tycho’s always trying to be better in the jousts, and Wedge, you’re starting to get into that courtesy and ‘nobility of spirit’ thing that the other knights, the real knights, are so big on. Me, I could care less about chivalry unless it gets me back to the New Republic. So maybe I recognized Winter because I’m not too biased to see past the chivalry around here."

The others were silent for a few minutes, considering Hobbie’s sudden, unusually long-winded burst of insight. Finally Wedge spoke.

"Hobbie," said he, "I think you’re right. We have got caught up in this game. We’ve forgotten…" His voice trailed off as he realized suddenly just how much had been forgotten.

"You’re right about Winter, too," Tycho added miserably. "Now that I think about it, I’m sure it really was her. And I hardly spoke two words to her. But I suppose she didn’t recognize us, anyway."

"I wouldn’t put it past Winter," Wedge said, "even when she’s not exactly Winter. She always was sharp."

"What do we do now, Wedge?" Wes asked.

Wedge thought a moment. "We get back on track," he said finally. "We keep playing this chivalry game, but we remember from now on that a game is all it is. We start looking for a way back home, any way we can find. And to begin," he smiled, "I’m going to have a little talk with Nyneve. I want to know just how she did know our names, that first day. And anything else she might be able to tell us. Right now going home seems pretty well impossible, but you know how ‘impossible’ translates for Rogues."

King Arthur greeted his knights warmly upon their return. He also conveyed to them a most interesting piece of news. "Others of my good knights have returned to us but lately," said the king. "Sir Launcelot is at Camelot again, with many a strange tale to tell of his quest for the Holy Grail. It seems that he achieved the quest, but only in part. And there is also Launcelot’s cousin, Sir Bors. Marvelous indeed is his account of the quest that he undertook with his companions, Sir Galahad and Sir Percival. These three truly did find the Grail, but at the end of the quest Sir Galahad perished, and Percival likewise not long after. Bors alone returns to us. I am having the clerks make a record of their adventures, for these are most holy matters. I only wish this quest could have been accomplished without such grave losses among my knights."

Something clicked in Wedge’s memory as the king spoke of the Grail quests, and so he asked, "Your Majesty, when the four of us came to your court, this Grail quest was already in progress. We weren’t here for the start of it and so we’ve never really known what it’s all about. Just what is this Grail they’ve been seeking?"

"Know ye not?" The king seemed startled. "Why, ’tis the cup of our Lord Jesu, of course, from which he drank at his Last Supper. Joseph of Arimathea bore it, with the lance that pierced our Lord’s side, to Britain and—"

"Wait a minute," Wedge interrupted suddenly, "did you say a cup?"

"Of course, a cup," answered the king. "What else should a grail be but a cup?"

Wedge and the Rogues exchanged one very meaningful glance. Wedge spoke to the king again, "So this cup is a holy relic? Is that why everyone was seeking it?"

"Truly, ’tis so, Sir Ouège," answered Arthur. "Stories of the Grail tell of the marvels it could work; in particular, a man who was grievous ill might be fully healed by one draught of the drink borne in the cup. Always it is attended by the most beautiful virgins, dressed all in white; likely they are indeed angels. Holiness surrounds it, and only a knight who is worthy may attain it."

"Why did your knights go out seeking this cup?"

Arthur seemed to grow sadder as he recalled the beginning of the quest. "We were at the vigil of Pentecost several years ago. All the knights of the Table were met at Camelot to keep the feast. As we sat at our meal that evening, there came the sound of thunder and a sudden bright light. When we could see again, suddenly each one seemed to the other fairer than ever before, and there were sweet odors in the hall, and such meat and drink as we might hardly imagine on the table. Then came the Grail itself, passing through the hall, covered with white samite so that we might not see the holy relic. Some say they saw with it also the virgin in white who is known to attend to it, but others saw only the Grail. Then it disappeared, and once I could speak again, I said that we ought to thank the Lord greatly for vouchsafing us this wonder. But then Sir Gawain spoke, vowing that he would seek this Grail himself for twelve months and a day, not returning till he had seen it. Gawain is held in high esteem among the other knights, for his valor and his great courtesy and sagacity, and so the greater part of my knights made quick to utter the same vow. So on that one day, by my nephew’s courtesy, I lost the half of my knights, this fair fellowship, for I knew at that time that most who set out on this quest should nevermore return to Camelot. And now this quest finally is ended, and only Launcelot and Bors have returned successful, and you four know well what sorrow this has wrought on the order of the Table. But all the same, it was a holy quest and could not be refused. I thank our Lord for showing us the wonder of the Grail; yet almost I could wish he had not, for I know that now the Round Table will not long remain in this world."

And speaking of not remaining long in this world…Thanking the king for this information, Wedge withdrew with the Rogues to a quiet corner of the castle.

"That’s some cup they’ve got there," Tycho said drily.

"Think there’s a connection between the Grail and our cup-ship?" Wes asked.

"I don’t know, but I think it’s time we found out. Wes, Hobbie," Wedge said, "go find Nyneve and bring her here. We need to have a little talk with her."

The two returned only a few minutes later with the illustrious lady in tow. The somewhat disorderly state of Nyneve’s hair suggested that she had been in the process of arranging it when Wes and Hobbie found her and that this process had at that point been interrupted. Nevertheless, the lady seemed not at all ruffled in demeanor, as if it were an everyday occurrence for knights to carry her off in the midst of her coifing. Perhaps, Wedge reflected, it was; with Nyneve there was no telling.

"Your companions can be most persuasive, Sir Ouège," said the lady calmly. "They have undertaken to convince me that the matter you wish to discuss is one which cannot wait for a more opportune hour. I am not yet fully convinced, but here I am, all the same. They have aroused my curiosity. What is it that you wish to say, then?"

"Lady Nyneve," answered Wedge forthrightly, "when we first met you, on the day Sir Launcelot freed the prisoners, you announced all our names to Launcelot. For some time now I have wondered how it was that you knew our names. I can’t recall ever meeting you before that day, nor had we told you who we were when you released us."

The lady became very still for a moment. At last she spoke: "There is no good cause for which I ought to keep this from you. Therefore, my knights, with a good will I shall tell you all. You did not tell me your names, nor had you need to; by my arts I divined this, as by my arts I have gained many sorts of knowledge. I am Nyneve, Lady of the Lake; I am an enchantress."

Wedge looked confused. "Enchantress?"

Wes cleared his throat and whispered, "Something like a Jedi, Wedge. A lot of the damsels around here are minor enchantresses of one sort or another. It’s kind of a part-time job for them, or maybe just a hobby. They have little things they can do by what they call magic, but it seems to be connected to the Force, sort of like the Dathomiri witches."

"Great," Wedge whispered back unenthusiastically. "If we ever get away from here, we’ll send Luke back and he can collect a half-dozen of these damsels for his Academy."

Nyneve was watching this exchange with arched eyebrow and an expression of great forbearance. "Yes, an enchantress," she continued as if Janson had not spoken. "I learned my art from the great magician Merlin. Dear old Merlin…always such an idealistic meddler. He was in love with me, you see, and so he taught me his art in hopes of winning my heart. But in the end…he was just such a meddler, and such a nuisance, and would not let me be though I welcomed not his love. So at last I used his own magic against him; I set him in a cave in Cornwall, sealed him there by strong enchantments, and since then Camelot has had some peace."

"You…locked him away? In a cave?" Wedge exclaimed.

"Wouldn’t he die?" asked Wes.

"Not he," Nyneve shook her head. "Merlin is a great enchanter. You and your children and grandchildren will be dust long before he joins his ancestors. Truly, it was no disservice I did him; he is content in his cave, secure from the tempestuous world without, meditating night and day on the future and the past, for they are as one to him, and he sees both as clearly as you see the present. And at times I myself go to him there and cheer him; and this is more cheer than he ever had of me when he was loose in the world. So he is content."

An idea was beginning to occur to Wedge. "Nyneve," he spoke suddenly, "take us there."

"What say ye?" answered the lady.

"Take us to Merlin," Wedge repeated. "If you can go to him, I assume we could, too. And perhaps speak with him?"

Nyneve frowned. "It is possible to do so. Others have spoken with him—if one stands at the stone that marks the place where the cave was sealed, one sometimes hears his voice and may converse with the enchanter. Gawain has done so at times. Merlin is a meddler still and likes to make the most confounding prophecies whenever someone comes near to hear him. I do not know if you would do well to go to him."

"We would do very well to go to him, thank you," Wedge insisted. "There are things we must know. If this fellow Merlin taught you the arts by which you learned our names, then he’s our best bet to solve this puzzle."

"Of what puzzle speak ye, Sir Ouège?"

"It’s a long story. I suppose it’s a long trip to Cornwall, too? Well, then, take us to Merlin, and on the way we’ll tell you all about the puzzle we want him to solve."

Nyneve’s curiosity, apparently, once aroused was not easily sated. She at last consented to take the Rogues to see Merlin, if that was truly the only way she could get them to explain to her this mystery. Early the next morning, they set out for Cornwall.

It turned out to be a long trip indeed. Along the way, as promised, Wedge explained the situation to Nyneve. She seemed, for once, genuinely surprised to learn that the four knights were no knights at all but warriors of a different sort, from faraway worlds, stranded in Camelot by a means they did not know and without any ideas how they could get home.

"’Tis passing strange," said the lady when he had finished the tale, "that the names I divined for you are not your true names, though like them. ’Tis strange too that what knowledge I divined of you concerned a life you seem never to have lived—your deeds here, in Britain or France, before the time that the Black Knight took you prisoner. If indeed the powers that brought you here, whatever they be, brought you here only after that imprisonment, then whence come these lives of yours before that time? If you did not do those deeds, who did? If you are not Sir Ouège and Sir Teichen and Sir Wesley and Sir Derrick, who are those knights?"

"That," said Wedge, "is what we hope Merlin will know."

At last they reached the stone that marked the place where Nyneve had sealed Merlin in the cave. The lady first went and stood there to speak to the enchanter.

"Merlin," called she, "do you hear? It is Nyneve."

Moments passed, and then a voice answered from the cave, "Nynie? Nyneve, what are you doing here? By my reckoning, damsel, you are not due to cheer me for another six weeks at least. I haven’t seen anything in the future about a visit from you at this time of year."

"Of course I am glad to see you too, dear Merlin," Nyneve answered, casting a look of dry amusement to the Rogues, who waited eagerly nearby.

"Nyneve, you do not intend to make your visits more frequent on a regular basis, now, do you? You know it’s so hard to get any rest here as it is…"

"Oh, Merlin, by my troth, am I going to have to enchant you into cooperating?"

"Ah, Nynie, indeed it is good that you have come, my dear. I have missed you. Of course it is a matter of great importance that brings you now."

"You ought to know."

"Of course I ought to know. That is why you have come. You hope that I will know something more than you do."

"I suppose you also know what it is we hope you know?"

"On that subject, my dear, I profess to know nothing, save only this: by your use of the word ‘we’ I conjecture that you have not come alone; therefore, the matter must be one that concerns not you but your companion, or companions, such as they may be."

"Brilliant, Merlin. If you are going to be so tiresome as to guess everything I wish to say before I have the chance to say it, I daresay I will speak no longer with you today," said the lady petulantly.

"Now, my dear…"

"Hold your tongue, Merlin. If the need were not so great I would gladly stay here all day and all week to speak with you. As it is, time grows short. I will let my companions speak now."

Stepping back, she nodded at Wedge, and he stepped up to the stone. He cleared his throat and began: "Merlin? If you can hear me…"

"Well, of course I can hear you, young fool; it’s my cave that’s sealed, not my ears."

"Ah…" Wedge decided it would be best to ignore Merlin’s sharp tongue, and he continued: "We have come seeking your help, or at least any information you can give us. I am Wedge Antilles—"

"Certainly you are. I suppose Nyneve has been calling you ‘Sir Ouège,’ hasn’t she? And is Tycho Celchu with you? Of course he would be. Yes, and if I’m remembering this right, Wes Janson should be there and Derek—no, no, we must call you Hobbie—Klivian. Yes? And she’ll have been calling them something peculiar as well. Let me see, let me think now—ah, I have it. I remember: it’s Sir Teichen, and Sir Wesley—good heavens, what was she thinking?—and Sir Derrick, but I imagine he’s latched onto the l’Haubit part rather fiercely by now. Well, well, gentlemen, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. Aren’t you rather late getting here, though? I ought to have been speaking with you weeks ago, by my reckoning."

"I—ah—we got a little off track, you might say," Wedge stammered, as all the Rogues stood stunned at Merlin’s strange speech. Nyneve did not seem greatly surprised at his knowledge of them by both sets of their names; rather, she seemed to be faintly annoyed by his apparent disapproval of her names for them.

"So you might, so you might," the enchanter’s voice answered. "Well, you’re here at last. And I suppose you’re here to ask why you’re here. Here in Arthur’s world, that is."

"Yes," said Wedge. "When Nyneve told us that you were her teacher, we hoped you would know something about all this."

"Smart man. Wise is he who knows when—and, heh, where—to seek advice. Not that you should ever take it once you get it, you know. But in your case, it’s a good thing you’ve come. And just in time; if you’d waited much longer, the opportunity might be gone for good."

"Opportunity?" asked Wedge.

"To go back to your own world, of course," Merlin sighed.

Wedge’s eyes widened. "You know how to get us back home?"

"Are you complaining? I thought that was what you came for…"

"Not complaining," Wedge said quickly. "At this point, I guess I’m not really surprised, either."

Deep, booming laughter came from behind the sealed entrance of the cave. "You learn quickly, Wedge Antilles, I see. Perhaps that is why you continue to survive in that most dangerous profession of yours. You know, it’s a curious question, whether knighthood or starfighter piloting should be the more dangerous profession…This is a thing I had not considered before. I suppose you four might be able to enlighten me on the matter, having now experienced both."

"Knighthood is much more dangerous," Wedge said quickly. "It occasionally puts you in contact with cantankerous enchanters—far more dangerous than enemy TIE pilots."

Merlin’s laughter came again, louder than before. "Wedge Antilles, I believe I do like you. Yes, I’m quite sure. Were I in your world and not this world, I might like to make you a king as I made Arthur king. You have his quick mind and his wonderful idealism. But then of course there are no kings in your world, are there? A pity."

Wedge shook his head. "Merlin, I’m sure I’m very glad you think so highly of me, but could we get back to our question?"

"I don’t recall you asking me any questions, young man."

"No, because you guessed it before I could ask."

"Indeed I did. Clever of you to notice. Well, then, Wedge Antilles, and Tycho Celchu and Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian, I shall tell you what you seek. I shall tell you how you came to be in Arthur’s world, and I shall tell you how you may return to Wedge’s world. Will that satisfy you?"

"Very much so, Merlin."

"I am sorry to hear it. I had hoped you would wish to hear more of what I might tell. You know that it is not often I have opportunity to speak with anyone outside my cave, and inside my cave, there’s only me. I find that conversation with myself becomes most boring after only the first three sentences."

"If we had time, Merlin…"

"Time is all we do have, Wedge Antilles. You are in a place of enchantment. But I know that your hearts sense time differently, and they will be longing for home. So I will not tarry. But one day, Wedge Antilles, you will sense time as I sense it, and then perhaps you will return to me, for there is much I would yet say to you. No, don’t bother asking me how you should return here again; if the opportunity presents itself, you will know it and you will take it. And don’t bother saying yea, you will, or nay, you won’t come to me again. There’s no knowing that, today. Even I do not see it. So. You wish to know how you came to be in Arthur’s world. This I shall tell you.

"In your world, there are Jedi, yes? Of course there are. You know that Jedi do things beyond the powers of ordinary folk by their contact with the Force. Well, in our world there are enchanters and enchantresses who do the same thing. And in your world, there are the good Jedi, and then there are the bad ones, the Dark Jedi, yes? You have perhaps some experience with these? Perhaps. Well, here there are good enchanters and there are bad enchanters.

"Now then. In your world, the distances between the stars are of little consequence to living souls, for you have learned to travel these distances, the Quarantine of Deep Space, as if they were no obstacle at all. So your world is actually many worlds, and you call your galaxy a Republic. Well, here, men look out at the stars and say that they are jewels fixed in a sphere of crystal, and that the planets that fly with ours about our own Sun are immortal beings also fixed in crystal spheres of their own, lower than the stars. Of course, they do also say that the planets and the Sun herself actually fly about this little Earth, not the earths about our Sun. In other words, Wedge Antilles, in this world men have not yet learned to travel the distances between stars, and the Quarantine of Deep Space leaves the structure of the universe to their imaginations. Indeed, they have not yet learned even to calculate from their observations of the stars what the true positions and natures of the heavenly bodies are; thus they do not yet know about the earth going ’round her Sun. Ah, but they will learn this, Wedge Antilles. But enough of this matter.

"From what I have said you may understand that there is no way for you to fly away from this planet in one of your starships and go back home to your world that way. There simply are no starships here. Even if there were, however, they would do you no good, for the schism between your world and this world is not a matter of distance. It is a schism in the Force itself. Only through the Force may you travel from one to the other. And thus it was through the Force that you came to Arthur’s world in the first place."

"Through the Force?" Wedge interrupted the magician’s monologue. "But how?"

"Patience, Wedge Antilles, I am telling that story, and you must allow an old enchanter to come to his subject in his own way. Now, as I was saying, it was the Force that brought you here and it will be the Force that shall carry you home again. And this is achieved through the magic of the Grail."

"The Grail!" exclaimed the Rogues together.

"I knew that cup was somehow responsible…" Wes whispered.

"But what does it have to do with the ship in the battle in our own world?" Hobbie whispered back.

"The ship is the cup, my friend," Merlin said, almost in a singsong voice, "and the cup is the ship. Oh, it’s no ship, I should say. What you saw in that battle was only the Grail. You see, there is a certain enchanter in this world, a particularly evil one, known as Vandryan of the North March. He lives also in your world as a Dark Jedi."

"Both worlds at the same time?" Wedge frowned. "Is that possible?"

"For one who knows the proper magic, it is not impossible, though rather tricky. I myself have attempted it on occasion—with your own world, and also with others; there are far more than two worlds bounded by these schisms in the Force, you know. It is not a particularly pleasant way to live—very confusing when you are trying to be in two places at once. This particular enchanter, however, does not spend the majority of his time simultaneously in both worlds. Mostly he lives in one or the other, travelling between them like you travel between planets in your ships. Now, in your world he is a Dark Jedi. Lately, as the time of your world runs, he has been enlisted by your Empire to assist them in battle. He has attempted to do so by using the power of the Grail against starships fighting in space. I am afraid he is not a very scientific enchanter, and he failed to test this hypothesis before actually using it in battle. So the Grail did not act quite as he expected; instead of killing his enemies outright, it simply brought you here. The Grail in your battle was a shadow of the real Grail, which resides here in Britain, and it drew you toward the real thing. That is how you ended up in Camelot."

Wedge let out a low whistle. After years of being friends with Luke Skywalker, he was usually not too uncomfortable around Jedi and other mystical sorts of people, nor did manifestations of the Force such as he occasionally saw from Luke trouble him as much as they might others. But this—a magical Grail drawing them from one universe to the next, an evil sorcerer living and acting in both worlds—was more than he could fathom. Perhaps Merlin sensed this, for the magician remained quiet a few minutes, allowing the Rogues to consider all that he had said.

At last Wedge spoke again. "Merlin, there are some other things that have me confused. I saw—" For a moment his heart tightened around his voice and he could not speak. When he had regained control, he continued, "I saw Iella. I suppose you know who she is."

"Your wife. Lovely lady."

"Yes. I saw her here in—in Arthur’s world. It was her, and yet not her. She was a lady called Hélène; we rescued her from some knights that were attacking her and she was very kind to us, but she didn’t seem to recognize us. It was her, Merlin, but it was like she didn’t know who she was herself, anymore than who we were."

"We saw Winter, too, Merlin," Tycho added quietly.

"Ah, yes. Your lady, Tycho Celchu? Not your wife yet, I think. Can’t say for sure; it’s hard to be accurate about timing when I consider futures in other worlds."

"No, not my wife. I—I wish she had been, before we came here. Maybe then I would have recognized her when we first saw her, like Wedge did Iella." Tycho’s eyes narrowed as a thought hit him. "Ah—Merlin? You said, ‘not your wife yet,’ didn’t you? Do you mean—"

Merlin chuckled, "Don’t fret, Tycho Celchu. As I said, it is difficult to be sure about the timing. But I have certainly seen her as your wife. You’ll get home, and you’ll marry her, I do believe."

"Um, Merlin," said Wes suddenly, "you wouldn’t by any chance know of any ladies in my future, would you?"

"Me, too," put in Hobbie hopefully.

"What’s this?" Merlin laughed. "Am I a magician or a matchmaker? Good skies, Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian, but you do try the patience even of Venus’s son."

"Who’s—" Wes began.

"Never mind," answered the enchanter. "Little can I tell you of this, my friends. But it seems to me that maybe—yes, it may just be—it is possible that you have seen ladies here in Arthur’s court whom you shall see again someday when you are in your own world. It is just possible. And I think—though it is difficult to see this clearly, for futures can change when folk live forward, rather than backward as I do—but I do think that your own loves in the end shall be happier than Nyneve’s and mine has been."

"Merlin!" snapped Nyneve suddenly, looking once more annoyed by the magician’s reference to her.

"Now, now, my dear, did I say we had not been happy? No, I did not. I said that our friends here would be even happier. This is good news I am telling them. That’s what they were fishing for, you know. Don’t mind me, Nyneve."

"Merlin," Wedge said, "all this fortune-telling is very nice, and we really do appreciate your assurances about our love lives, but if you don’t mind, that’s not why I asked about Iella. What I want to know is, why is she here? How can she be? You said that a person could live in both worlds at once if they know the magic for it. Well, I think I can safely say Iella would not be the one to know that magic. She’s no Jedi, and Lady Hélène here doesn’t seem to be an enchantress."

"You never know, Wedge," Wes interrupted. "A lot of the damsels at court—"

"Let him be, Sir Wesley," Merlin admonished with a cackle of amusement. "No, indeed, Wedge Antilles, it is not by magic that you find your lady here. It is a rather complicated matter. Suffice it to say that there is an Iella in your world and a Hélène in Sir Ouège’s world. They are the same, but not as the Dark Jedi is the same in both worlds. Not even as you are the same in both worlds at the present moment, for your being here as you are is a special case. And the Iverna here is the same as the Winter in your world, but also not the same. There are parallels, you see, between the worlds, and sometimes people are parallels. More than this I cannot tell you."

"What should we do then?" Wedge asked.

"This I do know, Wedge Antilles. If in your world Wedge loved Iella, in Arthur’s world Sir Ouège will not be able to help loving Lady Hélène."

"I’d already noticed that," said Wedge, arching an eyebrow. "Does it work the other way, too?"

"I believe so. If Iella loved Wedge, Lady Hélène will love Sir Ouège d’Antille. And so with Iverna, and with those damsels of Sir Wesley’s and l’Haubit’s, if they ever have a chance to find out who those ladies are."

"Thanks, Merlin," Wedge smiled. "Now, there’s just one more thing…"

"You want to go home."

"More than anything."

"Well, it is simple. The Grail brought you here and the Grail will send you back. Find the Grail, and you will find your world again."

"That’s it? Just find this Grail? Don’t we need to know how to work it or anything?"

"That is why I am sending Nyneve along with you. She will know the necessary magic."

"But Merlin," said that lady, "I don’t—"

"Not yet you don’t. But in the future I am seeing, you do, and I am seeing you sending them home. I suppose you will learn it along the way. Maybe the sorcerer will tell you."

"Willingly?" Tycho asked in disbelief. "Or at swordpoint?"

"Why do you think you have been learning to fight as knights?" Merlin answered wryly.

"Now you see what I meant about his spouting silly prophecies," said Nyneve as they rode away from the cave.

"They didn’t seem so silly to me," Tycho grinned boyishly.

"They are not always happy prophecies," she glared at him. "Lately his prophecies concerning Camelot have been most dire. One soon tires of hearing them. What is the good of living if we are always to fear what Merlin knows must happen? Let it come when it comes, I say, and if we are unprepared at least we are not too early burdened with it."

"All the same," Wedge said, "he was a big help. At least now we know what happened to us and what we have to do about it. And," he mirrored Tycho’s grin, "we do know some interesting things about our own futures too."

Now it was Wedge’s turn to meet Nyneve’s glare.

They had asked Merlin how to go about the quest for the Grail that they must undertake, but he could tell them little. Different knights found it by different paths, he had said. Let them speak with those at Arthur’s court who had already achieved it, if they wanted hints. Or let them just go adventuring about the countryside until they happened across it. Sooner or later, though, they ought probably to pay a visit to a fellow known as Le Roi Pecheur—the Fisher King.

"So where will we find this Fisher King?" Wedge asked Nyneve.

"When Sir Bors returned to court," she answered, "and told the tales of his adventures with Sir Percival and Sir Galahad, he mentioned a king in whose castle Percival had seen a glimpse of the Grail. Perhaps this is the Fisher King of whom Merlin spoke. He lives in Glastonbury."

"Far from here?"

"No, we are near it now. Perhaps we ought to shelter there for the night, as we cannot reach Camelot before nightfall."

Wedge smiled. "Nyneve, I can’t help but admire your practicality. Here we’re almost to the doorstep of the king who’s been known to keep a Grail around, the very thing we’re seeking, and she says that perhaps we ought to spend the night because it’ll get dark in a few hours. Not that this might just solve our problem about getting home, oh no: but at least we won’t have to sleep on the ground. My lady, with you around, I feel most confident for the success of this quest. As a side effect, perhaps, but success all the same."

She frowned at his teasing. "Say what you like. If Merlin had not insisted that I come with you—"

"You’d have come anyway. You’re still curious to see how this will end."

She could not deny that, nor would she attempt to, but sighed as one greatly vexed and rode her horse ahead a few paces so that she might show them the way to the Fisher King’s castle. They reached it after a few more hours, just as the sun was setting. It was an alien-looking castle in an alien-looking landscape, seeming subtly out of place amidst everything else that they had seen in Arthur’s world. The castle—ethereally tall and delicate-looking, compared to the sturdy, dense fortresses elsewhere—was mirrored in a deep blue lake situated directly in front of it. A narrow, high-arching bridge, with needlelike spires set at intervals, crossed the center of the lake and ended at the drawbridge of the palace. And on the lake sat a tiny boat; in the boat sat an old man, with a long white beard falling down over rich apparel, and he was fishing.

As the Rogues crossed the bridge, the fisherman looked up. His face brightened as he saw them, and he called out, "Hail, strangers! Well met! Come, come; let me bring my boat in and meet you. Yes, yes, just go along the bridge to the gate, and I shall be there shortly." They did as he asked, waiting by the drawbridge until the man had docked his boat and made his way, slowly and stiffly, toward them.

"Welcome to you," said he as he reached them. "Welcome to Glastonbury. I am Pellam; or you may have heard me called the Fisher King. No doubt you can guess why," he chuckled. "My little fishing boat out there is my only recreation, ever since I was wounded many years ago. It is a most troublesome wound—but you have not come to hear an old man’s complaints. Come, come, into the castle with you, and we shall show you the hospitality of the Fisher King." So saying, he turned and led them in.

Inside the gate, young pages dressed in tunics of green and yellow came to help them out of their armor and to lead away their horses to be fed. Then they went into the castle’s great hall, and damsels in white robes came with ivory basins and pitchers of fresh water, so that they might wash away the dust of the road. Next, a table of ivory and ebony was brought in and set up in the center of the hall, with long benches at which they might sit, and servants brought in food for the table. Even in the court of Camelot, they had seldom seen such food. There were rich dishes from all over the country, and several other countries as well, many that they could not even begin to identify. The Fisher King sat at the head of the table and signaled that they might begin, and so they did, eating heartily, as knights will do after hours of hard riding.

As servants took away one course of peppered venison and brought in another of some sugary candied fruit they did not recognize, Nyneve leaned over to Wedge and whispered, "You ought to see the Grail brought in soon. Sir Bors said that while Percival was at table here, a maiden brought the Grail in procession through this room." He nodded in acknowledgement and waited to see this procession.

And waited. Finally servants came to clear away the last of the dinner, and still no Grail had appeared. Even Nyneve, with her cool demeanor, was beginning to look concerned. At last Wedge felt he could wait no longer, and so he addressed the Fisher King.

"Sire," said he, "I hope you won’t take this as rudeness, but I’ve got to ask. We had heard of you before we came here. We heard that the Grail has been seen here, at a dinner very much like this one. But as yet we’ve seen no Grail. Do you mind if I ask whether it’s still here?"

"Sir Knight," sighed the king, "indeed I am sorry that you did not come to my table a year ago. For I see that you are one who would not hesitate to ask a question that must be asked. Perhaps if you had been here instead of my cousin Percival, you would have known what to ask…and then this wound of mine might have finally been healed. But alas, it is too late. You cannot ask the Questions of the Grail, for the Grail is no longer here."

"What?" exclaimed all the Rogues.

"It has been stolen," King Pellam explained. "It was spirited away by a vile sorcerer named—"

"Let me guess. Vandryan?" said Wedge.

"Indeed, the very one!" the king answered. "How did you know?"

"We’re looking for him. And for the Grail, but we didn’t know for sure that it was with him. I don’t suppose you know where we can find him?"

"No. I wish I could help you. The Grail had been kept in Sarras for a time, while Sir Galahad ruled there, but after he had gone out of this world, it was to be brought back here. Before it reached us, however, the sorcerer intercepted it and carried it away, and since then there has been no news of him."

"So he’s lying low? That’s going to make it harder."

"Truly; but, Sir Knights, from what I have seen of your noble spirits and ready questions, I am certain that you are the knights to achieve this quest."

"Thanks, King Pellam. Let’s hope you’re right."

So, feeling disheartened and unsure how to continue in the quest, they set out the next morning for Camelot. After a while, the land began to look familiar to Wedge.

"Nyneve," he asked, "isn’t this part of Lady Hélène’s holdings?"

She confirmed that it was.

"In that case," said Wedge, "I believe it’s time we had some rest and refreshment, don’t you think, Nyneve? I’m sure we can’t reach Camelot today, anyway." He reined in his horse, keeping it to the slowest possible pace; the other Rogues quickly followed suit. "Not traveling at our current speed, that is."

Nyneve shook her head at him. "Indeed, Wedge, at times you are worse than Merlin. Very well, then, we would not wish to tire your steeds. Let us stop at your lady’s castle and seek her hospitality."

"An excellent idea, Lady Nyneve," Wedge grinned.

The lady led them to Hélène’s castle. They arrived to find it nearly deserted. The defenders of the gate were no longer there; in fact, the gate itself was no longer there. It seemed to have been burned away. Fearing the worst, Wedge rode ahead into the courtyard and found it abandoned. He called out for Hélène, for Iverna, for any living soul to answer him, but there was no reply.

Grim with worry, at last they turned again and rode toward Camelot. They had not gone far, however, when there came the sound of hoofbeats, someone riding at top speed, heading toward them, away from Camelot. Soon the rider appeared on the path, and as she drew nearer, they saw that it was Lady Iverna. Her gown was disheveled, and her rich cap was missing; now they could see her long white hair streaming back in the wind, making it easier to recognize her as Winter.

"Winter!" Tycho called out, causing the lady to come to a sudden stop as she looked up and saw them. Realizing then that he had unthinkingly called her by a name she wouldn’t know, he called again, "Lady Iverna! What’s happened?"

"Oh sweet heavens! Is it truly you?" the lady called back, riding forward again to meet them. "I thought I should never find you. I sought you at court, but no one knew where you had gone."

"Guess we did leave in kind of a hurry," Wes shrugged.

Iverna continued, "So I told the king, and he has set his knights looking, but Lady Hélène wanted you four especially to come to her aid. I could only think to ride until I found you—and thank Heaven, I have found you so quickly! But of course you do not know yet why you were sought, do you?"

"We saw the castle," Wedge said heavily.

"Then perhaps you have guessed at it. Oh, good sirs, Lady Hélène is taken—her castle fell to the enemy only yesterday. A sorcerer has carried her away—"

"Vandryan, right?" said Wes.

"Yes," answered Iverna. "How do you know? But, oh—I see Lady Nyneve with you. I think I understand."

"Do you know where he took her?" asked Wedge grimly.

"I saw the direction they went. I cannot be sure, but I think I know where they were going. Vandryan has troubled my lady before, you see—though not to this extent—and has often tried to persuade her to come to him at his stronghold. So we knew where his stronghold lies."

"Can you take us there?" Wedge asked.

"Can and will, Sir Ouège!" Iverna’s face lit with relief. "I know if anyone can save my lady, it will be you."

"I just hope we’re not too late," Wedge said, pressing his eyes shut against the worry that was boiling up inside him.

They set out immediately to rescue Hélène. Lady Iverna rode ahead to lead the way. Wedge rode at her left and Tycho at her right, the former quiet, his thoughts turned inward with fear for his lady, and the latter talking quietly with Iverna, keeping a protective eye on the Winter who was not Winter. Behind came Nyneve, flanked by Hobbie and Wes, who had temporarily set aside their usual light manner out of respect for Wedge’s worries.

The sun was setting as they reached Vandryan’s stronghold, a castle that seemed as much a fortress as King Pellam’s was a palace. Its walls were steep slopes of thick stone, and it was built on a little island in the midst of a deep, dark lake. Only a narrow footbridge provided access to the castle’s gate.

"This doesn’t look good," Wedge whispered to the others as they surveyed the place from their hiding places within a stand of trees on the shore of the lake. "He’ll surely have that bridge defended—not to mention the gatehouse. Direct frontal assault just may not be the best plan of attack for this mission."

"Can’t get across that lake without a boat," Tycho whispered from beside him. "And even if we had one, look at the foundations of those walls—it’d take a Jedi to climb something that steep and smooth."

"I wish we had our X-wings," Janson muttered. "It would be handy if we could just fly in there."

"It would really be handy if we could just drop a few proton torpedoes on that gate while we’re at it," Hobbie added.

"Pity the Grail didn’t zap our fighters here along with us," Wedge answered drily. "As it is, I guess we’re going to have to go in by the bridge."

"No, Wedge," Nyneve spoke up suddenly. "I shall handle this, my knights."

"Wedge?" At the unfamiliar name, Lady Iverna turned to stare suspiciously first at Nyneve, then at Wedge. "Pray tell, what mean ye? And what is this X-wing and this proton torpedo?"

"Never mind," Wedge dismissed her. "It’s a long story. Nyneve, what do you mean, you’ll handle this?"

"By my art—Sir Ouège—I believe I am able to bring you to the castle unharmed."

"But how?" Wedge frowned.

"I am the Lady of the Lake," she reminded him. "And although this is not my own lake, I think it will work here just as well. Will you follow me?"

Wedge narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you going to do?"

"Will you follow me?" she persisted, her face devoid of expression.

Wedge hesitated, unsure of the right decision. "Are you sure it’s safe?" he asked finally.

"Wedge, is it ever safe to go after a Dark Jedi in his own stronghold?" Tycho grinned.

"And you know, Wedge," Wes added, "she’s an enchantress, and that is something like a Jedi."

"Well, then," Wedge shook his head, "so be it. Lead on, Nyneve."

The lady turned without a word and walked out toward the shore of the lake. Stopping at the water’s edge, she raised her hands in front of her for a moment, then, slowly lowering them, stepped into the lake. She walked steadily on out, deeper and deeper. The Rogues looked at one another, looked at Iverna, looked back at Nyneve, then, as the water reached up to her shoulders, Wedge shrugged, put on his helmet, and went after her. He mimicked her pace and her rigid stance as he entered the lake. He heard the sounds of gentle waves lapping against the metal of armor as the others followed after him, but he kept his eyes on Nyneve.

And then she was gone, the top of her cap slipping beneath the water. Moments later, they were all completely underwater, still following the enchantress. She was walking steadily along on the lake’s floor, toward its center, where the island stood with its castle. It was a bizarre experience; Wedge had not done a great deal of swimming in his life, but he had swum enough to know that one does not ordinarily walk along the bottom of a lake. The water seemed to have no effect on them at all, and they moved through it as they would through empty air. After a while, Wedge realized with surprise that he could not even feel the water on his skin. Surely the armor wasn’t waterproof? Even if it were, surely the water should be able to flow in through the eye slit in his helmet? Yet his face was as dry as Tatooine, here at the bottom of this lake. And then he realized that he was no longer holding his breath—he had, quite naturally, done so when they first went underwater, but at some point he’d unknowingly started breathing again. It certainly seemed to be ordinary air he was breathing, though perhaps there was a bit of moistness to it, like in a humid Mon Calamari ship. Amazed, he held up his gauntleted hand and waved it tentatively through the water in front of him. The movement set the water swirling in little whirlpools, just as might be expected—but it wasn’t quite right. He waved his hand again, and then he realized that the whirlpools and waves of the water never seemed to quite reach the hand itself. The water itself, in fact, did not seem to quite reach the hand. It was as if there were a layer of air, a sort of cushion, between his body and the lake that surrounded him. Almost like an X-wing’s shields, he realized. So this is the "art" Nyneve had in mind. Nice trick.

They continued in silence; if Nyneve’s magic allowed air for breathing, it did not make any provision for conversation, since the bubbles of air surrounding each person were isolated by the vastness of water between them. They walked on; it seemed to Wedge a very long time, but there was no way of telling how much time was actually passing. At last the ground began to slope sharply upwards and they started to ascend.

Wedge expected they would climb the island until they emerged from the lake, and then find a way into the castle from there. However, while they were still underwater, Nyneve suddenly turned to her right and began walking along the curve of the hill they had been climbing. The others followed her, exchanging worried glances that could not be seen behind the faceplates of their helms. Lady Iverna, however, smiled at the knights confidently and followed Nyneve without hesitation, for she knew well the magical abilities of Merlin’s pupil.

After a while, they came upon a small, dark cave in the side of the hill. Into this went Nyneve, and they all followed. The cave became a tunnel; soon the tunnel became so steep that they could no longer walk but had to swim up through it. At last Wedge thought he could see a pale green light filtering down through the water; soon he became sure of it, and soon after that, he was above the surface of the water once again, out in the open air.

Or not so open. It was lighter here than at the lake’s floor, certainly, but this was no noonday meadow. It seemed to be another cave, much larger than the one at the other end of the tunnel. They had emerged in a wide, shallow pool at one end of the cave. Nyneve now led them out of the pool onto dry land. The enchantress turned to face them then and smiled for the first time since before she had offered to lead them to the castle.

"Here you are, my knights," said she. "I have brought you unharmed to the sorcerer’s castle, just as I said."

"Unharmed, and even dry," Hobbie said in amazement.

"It would not do for your weapons to rust," Nyneve answered lightly.

"Good work, Nyneve," Wedge said, deciding against asking any of the thousand questions that came to mind about how she had managed such a trick. "Ah—just where are we now?"

"Below the castle," answered the lady. "That tunnel was its sally port. Every castle has one, you know—a way out for when the main gate falls."

"A bolt-hole, huh?" Wedge grinned. "So where do we go from here?"

She gestured to a stairway built into the far wall. "Those steps lead into the castle."

"But we can’t just go storming into the castle," Tycho pointed out. "We need a plan."

"Right," Wedge frowned as he thought. "Lady Iverna, do you have any idea where Vandryan would have put Iel—I mean, Lady Hélène?"

Iverna shook her head sadly. "I know not how his castle is structured within. Perhaps he has her in his dungeon, perhaps in a tower, perhaps he keeps her with him in the great hall or chains her to an old cook in his kitchens. I am not certain what to expect from him."

"Sithspit," Wedge sighed. "All right, then. Anyone want to guess where he would be keeping the Grail?"

"The Grail?" exclaimed Lady Iverna.

"Oh, right, you don’t know about that…" Wedge groaned.

"Vandryan stole it," Tycho explained to Iverna. "When it was being shipped back to the Fisher King. He’s trying to exploit its power to—" He stopped at a cautioning glance from Wedge: now was not the time to tell Iverna who the four of them really were. "Well, let’s just say he’s got some pretty nasty plans for it."

"And you seek to win it back?" Iverna regarded him curiously.

"Someone’s got to."

She shook her head slowly. "I do not believe, Sir Teichen, I have ever met such knights as you four seem to be. Every other knight of Arthur’s court went in quest of the Grail for his own glory, or from the yearning of his spirit, or from simple devotion. But you say you go because you must."

"Actually, for us," Wedge put in, "we really must. But that’s a long story. The important part, right now, is that we need to find the Grail and we need to find Hélène."

"And Vandryan," Nyneve glowered at him.

"Oh, right," said Wedge, "we need to find the sorcerer and get him to tell us how to work the Grail."

"Work the Grail?" Iverna asked. "Do you mean you seek it for its power, not simply to return it to its keeper?"

Wedge grinned at her. "No time to talk now. Once we find the Grail, if we find it—it’ll all make sense to you then. And if it doesn’t, I’m sure Nyneve will be happy to explain it all later. Right now, we’ve got a Grail, a sorcerer, and a lady to find."

They argued over how to proceed, but in the end it was Nyneve’s suggestion that made the most sense. "Vandryan," said she, "is the sort of vain sorcerer who will keep all his treasures under his own nose. Where he is, likely the Grail is with him, and likely he keeps Hélène with him too. If we find him, we find them as well."

Finding the sorcerer was the main difficulty. Some thought he would likely be in the great hall; others suggested that the castle’s tallest turret might hold a workroom of sorts for his magic, and that he would likely keep the Grail in such a place. They finally decided to divide into two groups. Tycho and Hobbie would go with Iverna to the turret, while Wedge, Wes, and Nyneve would search in the hall.

"Wish we had comlinks," Hobbie said, "so we could call you back to the hall if we find him there."

"We’ll have to work around that," Wedge answered. "If you don’t find him, then meet us in the hall, and if we don’t find him, we’ll head for the tower. Whoever does find him will just have to hold him however they can until the other group can get there. Remember, don’t kill him—we need him to tell Nyneve how to work the Grail."

They agreed and quickly set out. It was not difficult to find their destinations. They climbed the stair out of the cave as quietly as they could; it emerged in the courtyard of the castle, halfway between the gatehouse and the keep. They knew that the hall would be on the ground floor of the keep, if the castle was constructed in the usual manner. The turret was not a part of the keep; it was attached to the curtain wall, across the courtyard from the gatehouse. Wedge’s group hurried silently toward the keep, while Tycho’s group made its way along the wall, keeping to the shadows, until they reached the tower.

As Wedge and Wes reached the entrance of the keep, they heard a shout, and four strong knights came running out to meet them, swords in hand. The Rogues drew their own swords and stood their ground. A moment later, the knights were upon them, and the two were hard pressed to defend against the four.

"This’d be so much easier if not for the armor," Wes grimaced as he parried one knight’s blow, then ducked to avoid a second knight’s charge.

"Easier for us, or easier for them?" Wedge asked, slashing at an enemy’s underarm, unprotected where one armored plate met the other, and managing to draw a little blood—but only a very little. "The armor’s protecting us, too, you know."

"Yeah, but we’re probably better than them. If all this hacking and slashing were doing anything more than denting these tin coats, we could end this in no time."

Odd, thought Wedge, how silent the enemy knights were. They didn’t even respond to Wes’s assurance of the Rogues’ superiority. "Nyneve," he called as he dropped to one knee; the knight who had been charging at him apparently was not expecting such a move, and with a loud clatter of armor, he tripped over Wedge’s shoulder and fell to the ground. "Can you do anything about these guys? Magically, or otherwise?"

"I’m trying, Wedge," the lady called back. But try as she would, there seemed to be no effect. The knights—only three now; the one Wedge had tripped was staying where he had fallen—kept coming at them. They fought on, both with the swords and with every trick they could think of. Vandryan’s knights apparently knew only the sword. One by one, they fell to the Rogues’ tricks.

When they were finally free from attack, Wedge and Wes headed again for the door of the keep. They tried it and found it locked. Wes knelt by the door, attempting to pick the lock. "Blast these helmets," he grumbled after a few moments. "How am I supposed to see what I’m doing?"

He started to remove the helm, but Nyneve stopped him. "Never mind," said she. "The door is sealed magically. You will not be able to do anything with it."

"Can you—" Wedge began to ask if she could counter the magic, but suddenly the door swung open of its own accord. He looked at Nyneve questioningly; she looked back, wide-eyed.

"That was not my doing," she whispered.

Then they heard a voice, sinister and mocking, from within the keep. "Come in, come in," it said. "Come, o mighty knights, and seek the end of your quest."

"Uh-oh," Wedge whispered. "I’m starting to agree with Hobbie about the comlinks." But there seemed to be no choice; they obeyed and walked into the hall.

A man stood waiting for them there; apparently it was he who had spoken. He was dressed in rich robes; his beard and eyes were dark. He stood arrogantly on a little dais at the center of the hall and spoke again.

"So," said he, "you come at last. I thought you would. Vengeance is such a powerful motivator, after all."

"You would be Vandryan, I take it?" Wedge said, standing tensely, unsure what to expect from the sorcerer.

"I would, and I am," answered he. "It is Wedge Antilles, is it not? My colleagues within the Empire have often spoken of you. There is not a one of them who would not welcome the chance to kill you. They will envy me this victory."

"Better not declare the victory until after the fight," Wedge answered grimly, holding his sword ready for the attack he was sure would come. He only wished he had a better idea when it would come, and from where, and what form it would take. With a sorcerer, there was no telling. Especially one who had been moonlighting as a Dark Jedi.

When it came, it came from above. A whole flock of some sort of winged creatures dived at them from the rafters of the room. They attacked the knights with razor-sharp talons; Wedge and Wes fought them off as well as they could, but there were so many that they could hardly see past them. They could hear Vandryan’s laughter across the room.

Then the creatures suddenly flew away. In their place, seven knights in a row were charging from a door on the far side of the hall. Wedge groaned, remembering their last battle against only four knights and how that had exhausted them. But there was no avoiding these warriors, and soon the battle commenced.

They held their ground, fighting more fiercely than they had yet in all their time at Camelot. They dealt blows and took blows, and they grew more and more tired. Wedge called out above the noise of battle, "Why don’t you fight us yourself, Vandryan? Your Imp masters surely won’t think it honorable if you let your flunkies kill us for you."

"They will simply be glad at the elimination of a dangerous enemy," laughed the enchanter. "Surely, Antilles, you do not tire of this game? From what I have heard, you should be able to take on an entire legion of my knights single-handed."

"Maybe in an X-wing," Wedge grumbled, then cried out as an unexpected blow from one of the enemy swords took him by surprise. Reacting in a heartbeat, he struck back at the knight, a powerful blow to the helmet that left his opponent stunned and Wedge with one fewer enemy to worry about. But the unanticipated blow, a hard stroke at his chest, had nearly winded him. His movements grew more sluggish as he fought on. Wes also was having trouble, backing away from a particularly fierce knight. His opponent was raining blows upon him—or would have been, except that Wes kept ducking away from each blow. But in avoiding the blows against him, he was unable to get a stroke in at his enemy.

Suddenly, the knight Wedge was attacking gave a loud gasp and fell to the ground. Startled, Wedge looked around and saw that the one chasing Wes had just done likewise. Now only four enemy knights remained. Wedge’s confusion vanished when he noticed Nyneve, lurking in a dark corner of the hall, one hand extended toward the battle and an expression of concentration on her face, not unlike expressions Wedge had occasionally seen on Luke Skywalker’s face when he was doing his Jedi things. So Nyneve had finally got her magic to work against the enemy.

Wedge fought his way over to Wes and whispered, "New strategy. You keep these guys busy, and don’t be surprised if Nyneve takes out a few more of them. I’m going after the wizard."

"Right," Wes nodded. He let out a yell then, charging at one of the remaining enemy knights. Wedge took advantage of the distraction that Janson’s attack provided and dashed over to the dais, where Vandryan still stood, observing the battle with rapidly diminishing glee as his knights began to fall. He did not see Wedge approaching.

Just then Vandryan noticed Nyneve, who was slowly moving away from her shadows as she focused on her task. "What!" bellowed the sorcerer. "Where do you come from, woman?" Nyneve did not hear him. He raised his hands as if to direct some attack at her with his magic—

And then Wedge was upon him. It would have been easy for him to kill the enchanter right then, but he remembered the need to keep Vandryan alive so he could tell them what to do with the Grail. Instead, Wedge lowered his head, still encased in the heavy helm, and rammed himself into the wizard’s side. Vandryan fell with a loud huff. Quicker than Wedge could have expected, he was on his feet again, turning to face this new annoyance. Wedge held his sword before him, wondering how he was going to gain control of the sorcerer without actually killing him.

He didn’t have to wonder long. It became a moot question, after Vandryan stretched his gnarled fingers out toward Wedge, and blue lightning leapt from his hands. Wedge’s metal armor proved to be an excellent conductor for the energy; he screamed as he fell to the floor in pain. Vandryan raised his hands again, prepared to finish him off—

And then Vandryan himself fell to the ground. When Wedge could move again without pain, he looked up to see Tycho standing there, his helmet in one hand and his sword, red with the sorcerer’s blood, in the other. Vandryan, now quite dead, lay sprawled with half his body on the dais and half slipping off the edge.

Wedge groaned as Tycho helped him to sit up. "Thanks, Tych," he gasped, pulling off his helmet. "When did you get here? And—why did you kill him? We need to know—"

"Because he was going to kill you," Tycho reminded him. "And actually, we don’t need to know what he could have told us anymore. We know about the Grail ourselves now. Look who we found." He nodded in the direction of the door.

Wedge saw Lady Hélène standing in the doorway, framed by the light filtering through it. Beside her were Hobbie and Lady Iverna; Nyneve stood nearby with Wes, weary from the fight, leaning on her. All around them lay the enemy knights, some apparently dead, some who seemed only unconscious.

"Hélène!" Wedge cried happily, trying to stand. It proved to be harder than he had expected; Tycho had to help him as he limped over to the door. He moved to embrace her, but remembering all of a sudden which world he was in and which lady this was, he opted instead to take her hand and kneel before her like a proper knight courting his lady.

"Are you well, my lady?" he asked.

"I would ask you the same, good sir," said she with concern, pulling him back to his feet. "You have seen more trouble this day than I have."

"Trouble?" Wedge grinned. "You call this trouble? Just a minor annoyance." She frowned knowingly at him. "Well, honestly, it was worth it. You don’t know how glad I am to see you safe."

"Again, Sir Ouège, you come to my rescue. You have my most sincere thanks. And…I too am pleased to see you again, and to see that you have come through this battle safely."

Tycho cleared his throat. "We found her in the tower, Wedge. Vandryan had some sort of workroom there, all right. He had her imprisoned in a cell at the back of it, but Lady Iverna was able to pick the lock. We didn’t find the Grail there, though."

"We almost didn’t make it back to you," Hobbie added. "Vandryan’s knights attacked us on our way out of the turret. One of them knocked Tycho’s sword away and would have finished him off, but then Lady Iverna grabbed a cauldron from the fireplace—I think there was soup cooking in it—and dumped the contents all over the knight. After that the others got a little more cautious and we were able to fight our way through."

Lady Iverna seemed discomfited at Hobbie’s recounting of the tale. "I could not let Vandryan’s knights have the victory," she insisted, lowering her face to hide a sudden blush. "And it was not soup, Sir Derrick. It was some magical potion of the sorcerer’s. I imagine the knights were more cautious after it simply for fear of what it would do to them. Their master was known to follow strange practices in magic."

"Well, our lady is free, so that’s half the mission accomplished," said Wedge. "Now, what about the other part? Tycho, you said you didn’t find the Grail, but that you know how to work it now?"

"In a way," Tycho shrugged. He inclined his head toward Hélène. "Better ask her about it."

Wedge looked questioningly at Hélène. She spoke: "It is not a matter, as you say, of working it. It is not necessary to know any magic to use the Grail; its own power is enough. Vandryan explained all this to me when he first carried me off to this fortress, you see. The Grail is most often attended by a fair maiden, perhaps an angel, who appears mysteriously wherever it is. She it is who controls the power of the Grail. She will appear if one whose heart is pure comes to see the Grail, but Vandryan’s heart was far from pure. When he went to use the Grail, she would not cooperate. He wanted to make me command the Grail Maiden for him. I am a pious woman," she shrugged modestly, "as is known widely in these parts, and so he believed the Maiden would obey me. But I would not do the thing he asked of me."

Wedge took her hand again. "Would you do this for us?" he asked quietly.

"For you? But why?"

"There is a thing we need the Grail to do…" he could not bring himself to explain the rest. He realized then that if the plan worked, if the Grail sent them home, he would—assuming Merlin had foreseen rightly—find himself back in his own world with Iella. But for Lady Hélène, her Sir Ouège would simply disappear from her world. Perhaps when the four Rogues were gone, there would be another Sir Ouège, Sir Teichen, Sir Wesley and Sir Derrick living in Camelot, knights who truly belonged in this world, and perhaps Hélène would not even know Wedge had gone. But what if it did not happen that way? He hated to think of leaving the lady forlorn in Camelot while he was happy on Coruscant, but there seemed to be no other way. He simply did not belong in Arthur’s world, and had stayed too long already.

"For you, Sir Ouège," Hélène answered, "I will do this. But I do not know where the Grail is kept."

"It has to be somewhere," Wes spoke up. "We’ll find it."

"There is no need," came a voice from the dais: a woman’s voice, as fair and sweet as Vandryan’s had been grating and mocking. They turned to see a maiden of ethereal beauty, so pale that light seemed to shine from her and about her and through her. She was robed in a gown of pure white, and in her hands she bore a golden goblet. They had seen it before. That time, it had been much larger, and they had seen it flying through the void of space. It was the Grail.

A hush fell over the company. The holiness and power of the golden Grail seemed almost tangible, and no one dared speak in its presence.

The Grail Maiden spoke again. "Honorable knights, you have defeated the wickedness of the sorcerer. Fair lady, you have resisted his evil intentions. For this you are to be rewarded. The Grail, which you have sought, you have now achieved."

Wedge started to take a step toward her, hesitated, then stopped and spoke. "My lady…thank you. Is it true? What Merlin said—can the Grail send us home now?"

"If you wish it," she nodded slowly.

"We do."

"Then come, you four, and kneel before the Grail."

Wedge started toward the Grail, then looked back to Lady Hélène and paused. He turned, took her hand and kissed it. "I’m sorry, Hélène," he whispered. "I know you don’t understand this. But I have to go."

Hélène looked perplexed, looked worried, looked as if she might cry. But she maintained her composure and answered, "Then you must go. Farewell, Sir Ouège."

"Farewell," he said, then on an impulse, kissed her quickly. "I’m sorry. After we’re gone—Nyneve can explain it to you. Nyneve," he addressed himself to the enchantress, "take good care of her. Or I’ll have a word with Merlin about you next time I talk with him," he grinned.

"You would anyway," Nyneve smiled back; a roguish smile, Wedge realized. Apparently her time with them had had some effect on the lady. "You’d better not forget about coming back to see him, you know, as he said. He’d have a fit if you didn’t show up at the appointed time."

"I’ll remember," Wedge said, "if I ever have the chance. But now we’ve got to go."

Tycho and Iverna were concluding their own farewells with a kiss just then; Wes and Hobbie exchanged less ardent goodbyes with the ladies, and then the four knights approached the Grail and its Maiden.

"We’re ready," said Wedge as they knelt before the cup.

"Drink, then," said the Maiden, "and leave this world behind."

They each accepted the cup in turn and sipped from the liquid in it. For a moment the light seemed to be growing greater, and then they knew no more.

Nyneve, Hélène, and Iverna watched as a bright light enveloped the four knights and they vanished. The Grail and Maiden disappeared along with them. They remained for several minutes, staring in silence at the place where the knights had been. Then Nyneve took Hélène with her right hand and Iverna with her left and led them out of the hall.

"Come, ladies," said she, "it is time we were going home."

Hélène looked at her sadly. "But Sir Ouège…"

Nyneve held out her hand, touching two fingers first to Hélène’s forehead and then to Iverna’s. When she had done, the ladies blinked twice and looked around in wonderment.

"What happened?" asked Iverna.

"Lady Hélène was captured," Nyneve said, "but Arthur’s knights have rescued her. The evil enchanter is dead and the Grail returns to its right keeper. Come, ladies. It is time we were going home."

They nodded and followed her out of the castle, across the footbridge, to where the Rogues’ horses still waited. They took three of them to ride home; Nyneve had to explain that the others belonged to some of Arthur’s knights who would be collecting them later. Hélène and Iverna seemed to accept this.

They rode away toward Camelot and Hélène’s lands. Nyneve glanced back to Vandryan’s stronghold only once, thinking of all that had befallen her lately. She would have to make another visit to Merlin before the scheduled time. He would wish to hear how his knights’ quest had ended. He would be pleased with them.

When Wedge awoke, the first thing he remembered was the battle. The knights, the armor, the sorcerer—

Knights? Armor? Sorcerer? What in the galaxy was that all about?

Then it all came back. He remembered everything, from the space battle where they’d first seen the Grail to the final knightly battle in which they’d won it. He remembered Merlin, Nyneve, Hélène. Hélène—

His eyes blinked open to see her face beaming above him. No, wait—not Hélène. "Iella!" he exclaimed, trying to sit up.

Iella smiled and pushed him back down on the bed, and he noticed for the first time that he was in a medical ward of some sort—thank the Force, it’s a real, honest, New Republic medical ward, and there’s not a sword nor a horse nor a suit of armor in sight.

"Welcome back," said his wife, her voice bright with relief.

"It’s good to be back," he sighed. "What happened?"

"You were pronounced missing in action after your last battle," she said. "You and Tycho, Wes, and Hobbie. The Empire had some sort of new superweapon there and Command guessed you four had flown too close to it and—well, anyway, they finally found you, nearly a week after the battle, still floating around with the debris. Noone knows how you survived that long EV," she frowned.

"So we’ve been out of it for a week?"

"Plus the three days they’ve had you in the ward here. At first we weren’t sure if you would make it. And may I be the first to tell you, Wedge Antilles," she leaned closer over him, "that I’m very glad you did. And that I would have had to personally kill you, if you hadn’t."

"Wouldn’t that be a little redundant?" he arched an eyebrow at her.

"No, darling. Thorough. Now, how do you feel?"

"Never better," he grinned. He made another attempt to sit up; this time, Iella didn’t try to stop him. He noticed with relief that the pain that he had known during his last moments in Arthur’s world was gone. Vaguely, he remembered Arthur telling them that the Grail was known for its healing power. Perhaps that drink from it had been enough not only to send him home but to heal him as well.

"I think," he told his wife, "you won’t need to worry about that new Imp superweapon any more."

"Why not?" she asked.

"It’s a long story. Let’s just say that its…operator…is no longer in business for the Empire."

She cast a suspicious glance at him but did not press the matter. Wedge looked around the ward; in nearby beds he saw Wes, Hobbie, and Tycho sleeping peacefully. Winter—how clearly he saw Lady Iverna in her face and her worried air—sat by Tycho’s bed, waiting for him to awaken. Wedge closed his eyes with a sigh as a sudden flood of memories engulfed him: Launcelot, Nyneve, Arthur, Merlin, the jousts, the quests, the Grail. They had lost ten days in this world, but in return Arthur’s world had given them months. He had a feeling that those months would leave an indelible mark on their lives. They had gained much during their adventures in Camelot; those had been good months. But how much better to be home again!

He wondered if, as Merlin had predicted, he would really return one day to speak with the old enchanter again. He wondered if Merlin would really have made him a king here in his own world, had the Republic had any kings. He wondered how Hélène and Iverna would get along without Sir Ouège and Sir Teichen. He wondered how long it would be now before Tycho and Winter would tie the knot. He wondered if, the next time Wes or Hobbie started dating a girl, he would look at her and recognize someone he had met in Arthur’s court. He wondered what would become of the Grail now. He wondered if Merlin’s dire prophecies about Camelot were going to come true.

He opened his eyes and saw Iella, and he wondered why he was so blessed. And he hoped to never leave what Merlin had called "Wedge’s world" again, not unless she came with him. He had been away far too long, whether ten days or ten months. Home, he realized suddenly, didn’t mean Coruscant or Corellia or even "Wedge’s world," this whole universe that only the Force could draw him out of. Home meant anywhere she was.

She smiled at him and kissed him. "The too-onebees say you’re fully recovered now. Whenever you feel up to it, you can leave."

"In that case," he smiled back, "let’s go home."

10/27/2000 Rebecca J. Bush sycamore@roguemail.net

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