Continue The Story: It Was a Dark and Stormy night.

THE DIARY OF PERCILLA ST. CYR

Paris, France
May 20th, 1935

At this point, as was explained to me, Eason and I were now formally Knights of the Outer Court. And, after a celebratory toast, it appeared that our instruction and training almost immediately began. It was here, that we were formally introduced to our three distinguished members.

The Judge is Stavros Geotopolous, a Greek of Maltese extraction, whose bloodline can be followed back before the founding of Rome, to the Phoenicians of old. His knowledge is encyclopedic, spanning libraries and would make curators of the British Museum mad with envy. Stavros is not an Elder of the Order, but apparently enjoys the confidence of the Elders nonetheless; a trusted advisor, certainly of the Inner Court.

Gregor Ilyich Tretiak is really a Cardinal in the Roman Catholic Church, with access, I am given to think, inside the walls of the Vatican itself. As such, his demense in the Church is vast, and his traveling is thought out of place,except for the places of the Church, so his arrival at Notre Dame is not thought over. Cardinal Gregor is not one of the Elders of the Order, either, but enjoys access to them, as well.

But the Elder, herself! She is no less a person, than Katerina Ivanova Romanov, the last surviving Duchess of Imperial Russia! A distant cousin to the Czar, she escaped the collapsing empire after the Bolsheviks seized power in that vast, forbidding land. And here she is, ruling over a nation beyond borders, with reach far greater than any empire on Earth.

These three, it seems, were in charge of the Order's complement in France and England. The other Elders had their own domains, in far lands and places, and the Elders communicated their activities in methods known only to them. The Inner Court carried out their orders, and they in turn marshalled the Knights of the Outer Court to their missions.

And the things they instructed us upon! History, legends, things too fantastic to believe, except all these things are quite possible, given these enigmatic people. The triumphs, the horrors, the adventures they've seen.

"We began as the Order just five hundred years ago," the Elder said, "and we have seen empires rise and fall, though we and the Enemy continue our fight. We have seen the Mother Church torn asunder. We have seen the remnants of Rome rent into a patchwork of tribal fiefdoms. And the Order carries on, down through the years, through defeats and victories. This, my young Knights, is the legacy to which you now join yourselves."

But it was Cardinal Gregor, who gave us our first task -

"As Knight-Apprentices of the Outer Court," he began in a toneful voice, "it is up to you to complete a task, which is well within your abilities, and your responsibility. You, Miss St. Cyr, are the heir to Baron Szilagy. It is there that you must go, to reclaim that which is your family's, and now yours. To further the Order's work, the barony must be reclaimed. Your task, both of you, will be to make your way to Romania, to the town of Sibiu', where your next task shall begin."

Eason and Percilla, the day after their investiture in the Order, found themselves part of a conference to decide and plan the next phase of their quest. They, along with Marcelle and Pettibone, sat with the leaders in the room where they dined the other day. The windows looked out on the scenery of Paris that presented itself, the citizens utterly unknowing of the urgency of the people high among the spires of Notre Dame.

There was no preamble to the meeting; just a nod of acknowledgement from the Lady Elder, and she began to lay out the Order's agenda.

"The task at hand," she began, "is simple, actually: our newest Knights must arrive safely in Sibiu', undetected by agents of The Enemy. Once there, young Dame St. Cyr shall assume her position as Baroness, and the real work shall begin. All care must be taken, to ensure the party's departure is unobservable. The guides are arranged, Your Eminence?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Gregor said. "We have arranged for Marcelle and Master Pettibone to accompany them, as guides and guardians, for the journey and in Romania."

Marcelle clapped his hands. "Excellent! Once again, I shall be honored with the task of staying in the company of our brave new friends! Wonderful news, eh, mon frere?"

"I quite agree, absolutely," Pettibone replied, "and the joy is mine as well."

"I'm pleased, as well, "Percilla said, "to have you along!"

"Familiar faces make for a better trip, "Eason added, "And the two of you will be most welcome."

A cough from the Lady Elder stopped the conversation. "It is good to see there is a unanimous vote, whether or not there was to be any discussion about the party," she said with the ghost of a smile creasing her mouth. "Be that as it may. The four of you will be depending on each others' strengths, and it was the wise decision for the members of the expedition to be at least aquainted with each other. This journey may be frought with peril, or proceed without incident. I would err on the former, especially from what Lord Stavros has told us."

Stavros, his face serious, joined in, "Intelligence has reached us from London. It appears that agents of The Enemy have tracked you, at least part of the way. The attempt on Dame St. Cyr at the wharf was not the last effort. They met the ship when it docked in Cherbourg, and the people who occupied the ship for passage were interrogated - harshly. However, that trail was cold."

"The London enclave is confident that Dame Percilla and Sir Eason have vanished from their sight, for now. Once they depart Paris, They would have to re-discover their trail from here. They cannot trace them from England. We further have the advantage of now being able to start them out at a time of our choosing, rather than extracting them from England at speed."

"I choose not to delay, Stavros", the Elder said. "Events are moving with haste. For the rest of the Order to act, it is imperative this stage be completed soon. I have communicated with Elder Melchior, last night, and he expresses his concern for the timetable."

Gregor asked, "You have heard from Elder Melchior? So soon after his injuries? How does he fare?"

"His convalescence is steady, and I am assured he will recover fully from his... encounter," the Elder said. "But the nature of his condition prevented any further details forthcoming. Not only is this an issue of his exploits, but it is also a by-product of our Current operation. One which will be greatly solved, once Dame Percilla assumes her rightful place."

Percilla was boiling over with curiosity, and trying, as Eason saw, to keep her temper in check, at being left out of the conversation about herself. Eason hoped she would succeed. He hoped in vain.

"Madame," she said, her voice tighter than respectful, "in fairness to me, am I not permitted to know the nature of what is to become of Eason and I? I think this is knowledge that I require, as a weapon against this Enemy of ours."

The Elder looked at Percilla, silently, gauging her for a beat. After a glance at Stavros, a pregnanat pause which seemed to communicate something, she turned her gaze back to Percilla. "Very well, Percilla Raymondeva. Perhaps this small knowledge will not violate the trust I have placed in others, and others have placed in me. But this might aid you."

"Your task, upon arriving in Sibiu', will be to occupy the old baronial estate of Mircea Szilagy. Information states it is in disrepair, but sufficient for the Order's needs. The Order shall permit you discretion as to whether to effect repairs on the estate, to make it comfortable. In fact, I suggest you do so, to maintain the image that you have taken up permanent residency, and are serious about the title."

"Once there, and the claim is satisfied, you shall be contacted by the Order's enclave in Budapest. They will have members there present, to assist you in the next stage of this expedition. I can safely say that, there will be a significant presence of the Order's members in that region, for some time to come."

"More than this, I shall not reveal now." the Elder said as if pronouncing a sentence. "You and your party have sufficient for your needs. Your paramount task, reaching Sibiu' undetected, should take up all your efforts, from this moment on."

The meeting went on for some time after the exchange. Plans were not so much discussed, as they were dictated to the party by the Elder, who seemed to have had everything arranged and memorized. The four were to set off the morning after next, boarding a train from Paris bound for Marseilles. From there, transport was arranged to Zurich, and then, across the Alps and the Tyrols and into still-free Austria. It seemed that the Order was determined to avoid setting foot on German soil at any cost.

"The borders are watched," Pettibone explained later to Eason, as the men took their ease in a study near the residences of the cathedral. "The trains are manned by soldiers, and worse, by agents. The days of the friendly burgomeisters at the border crossing are gone, friend. Now, the townsfolk answer to the Gauleiters, those wretched watchdogs of the Nazis. Nothing escapes them, their informant network is deep in the people. But, there are ways around them, and the best way, though not the easiest, is to avoid Germany entirely."

"We've heard in England of the state that Germany is in," Eason said, "but what indeed, of the people? I've come to learn that the German people are industrious, and very caring for their neighbors -"

"Yes, they are, especially caring of their neighbor's lands," Pettibone replied bitterly. "They've tried to take them now for, oh, how many lifetimes? But enough of that. It's enough to know for us, that the lands beyond the Rhine are to be avoided. And so they shall be. Think of it, Sir Eason - the Alps, and beyond, Vienna! The work for the Order has rarely taken me this far afield!"

Just where have your travels taken you, Master Pe - excuse me, might I know you as Sir John, now?" Eason said with a smile, extending his hand, which Pettibone pumped grandly, smiling broadly.

"Ah, I have been quite closely working with the London enclave, until recently, but this? What an opportunity!" Pettibone exclaimed. "Mostly, the London chiefs are concerned with the defense of England, as well as extending the Order's influence out into the lands beyond. I have been hiter and yon, over the heath and the downs of England these last years, contacting remote members in far-off rustic locations. But now, thanks to circumstance, I have fallen in with good people, and good work, REAL work for the Order."

The sun moved in its course, in the skies over Paris, bathing everything in warm light, clouds racing overhead in the May warmth as spring raced on to summer. Slowly, the light painted the spires of Notre Dame with golden light, then rose, then warm orange as the day wore to late afternoon, the bells of the great lady sounding out the passing hours of the liturgical day.

And inside the cloistered halls, plans and plots continued, by the leaders and members of Christendom's most secret of orders. For the latest expedition of the Order of the Dragon was about to set out for another mission against The Dark Enemy, which was never spoken of in name of person, power or nation.

The Knights of the Order dined as they began to become accustomed, in company with each other, the conversation ranging from the weather to the things they had seen on the voyages here and yonder, and then, as if by unspoken agreement, the agenda changed to the upcoming adventure.

The plan was set. Percilla and Eason would leave early the morning after next, boarding the train bound for Marseilles, then changing trains for the journey to Zurich. It would be a roundabout way into the Alps, and nothing direct at all, but it was judged to be safe.

Percilla was as curious as a cat, wanting to devour all she could about the Order. Always with questions, she tried to ferret out anything she could. But she was stymied time and again, by the clever steering of the talk away from certain subjects. Judge Stavros was quite expert at it, his verbal skills honed to near-perfection after years on the bench. Cardinal Gregor, he would simply use an imperious tone that brooked no further discussion. Percilla knew better than to cross swords and match wits with The Elder.

But what Percilla did take notice, first in passing, then more as the conversation wore on, was the way in which the Elder would accomodate Eason on talk of certain things. She seemed to warm up to Eason quite well, even as she was cool towards Percilla's questions. She couldn't - no she COULDN'T be jealous of this woman, far older than the two of them combined, placing attention on Eason.

Could she be - no, it's preposterous, Percilla thought, I am NOT jealous of this woman, and I am NOT jealous for Eason!

=====================================

Eason, for his part, had spent the afternoon in convseration with any member of the Order who would trade words with him. He felt his obligation keenly, as if something in his own blood had awakened, just like the words so many had associated with Percilla. And his questions were not bent upon finding out more of the Order; rather, he was engrossed in planning each stage of the adventure. Eason wondered at this, earlier. What was it that suddenly drove him so? Was it the thrill of the adventure about to begin, the unknown rush into danger? Or something more personal, something deeper? Something - like Percilla?

Nonsense.

The day drew on to the evening meal, and the conversation flowed once more. Present at table were the three leaders, Percilla and Eason side by side, the brothers Marcelle and Pettibone, and a newcomer, who was introduced to the party by Judge Stavros. Or so they thought, because Eason guessed the man at once - hulking, huge, and a booming voice when he spoke. Here was the Sentinel from the ceremony.

"Here, young Knights," Stavros said, "is Sir Gunther von Valkenhurn, Knight-Commander of the Inner Court, and Sentinel of the Elders. He is elite among the Order's trusted agents, and he has asked to accompany you on your journey, at least to Budapest. Form there, his duties may take him elsewhere, but his company, I think, shall be welcome."

"Greetings, Sir Eason, Dame Percilla," Gunther said, his voice dropping in volume to something cordial. His voice was thick with a Bavarian accent, his gaze intent beneath a furrowed brow and shaved pate. Eason noticed Percilla's gaze, taking him in, and seeming to find something not quite right with this Knight. Eason filed the note away for later. The meal then flowed into the talk, and Eason listened, and asked, and listened intently to the replies.

"It is our intention to have you stay in Zurich for at least a day," the Elder said, "until the Zurich enclave arranges secure transport. The stage following that will take you to Vienna, perhaps as far as Salzburg, before moving east. The way there must be made secure, before moving on."

"Madam, "Eason asked, "if Austria is considered secure, and meant to avoid Germany, why not travel further south, through Italy? The mountains might be avoided, and the travel easier -"

"This is all true," the Elder said, "said. "Except that the Italian route is also closed to us. The Fascists in Rome are the allies of Germany, or at the very least, will stand with them. Only by our own methods could we even reach the Rome enclave, and those we use only in great need. Your passage east does not necessitate such security. Yet.."

"But Madam," Eason asked, "what nature of mission is this, that is important, but does not require so much care?"

"A mission not beyond your resource and skill, Sir Knight," came the reply. "Not only is this task needful for the Order, it is also to train you, to introduce you to the methods and policies - and perhaps, the weapons - which the Order must employ."

Percilla leaned toward Pettibone, "Mister Pettibone, can you tell-"

"Please, Dame Percilla, since we shall be travelling, surely you will remember my name is Alfred?" He was smiling grandly at her, friendly.

Percilla smiled back. "Sir Alfred, I believe. And, what do they mean, by 'enclaves'? Are they the local places, lodges, or some such thing?"

"The enclaves are the regional bases for the Order," Pettibone explained. "Each major city has one, and the Knights in that area all report back to the enclave as their headquarters. Members of the Inner Court rule each enclave, and in some cases, a Knight-Commander is in charge there. Sir Gunther, here, was the commander of the Knights in the Munich enclave, prior to coming here."

"Sir Gunther, might I ask your position now?" Percilla said.

Gunther rumbled, "I am a Knight-Commander. I go where it is needful to be. Where there is discord, I bring order. I shall accompany you to Budapest, where there is need of order." Percilla was taken aback at the curt, factual words. In order to avoid her expression being seen, she turned her head to Eason - but what was Eason looking at?

He seemed to be absorbed in conversation with Her Grace, both of them leaning toward each other, the Elder with that ghost of beauty in her smile, and Eason - was he smiling, too?

"When we travel to Romania, Madam," Eason said, "how long would the Order plan to have us there?"

"For as long as is required, young man," she said back, "and all things can change. I daresay, we shall cross paths once again - if not in Paris, then elsewhere."

"That would be - agreeable..." Eason said, a smile appearing on his face as well.

Percilla was looking agape at the scene. What was happening???

The meal and the conversation wound down, and as the sun set gloriously on the Parisian scene, and as the fabled City of Light began to put forth her splendour, the cathderal was dark, save for the soft light through the great stained glass mosaics that were her eyes and windows. The bells tolled the passing of the hours, and the music of the priests, monks and nuns of the great palace was a counterpoint to the city's pulse and thrum, a sound of peace and comfort in the bustle of a metropolitan night.

Eason and Percilla were expressly cautioned not to show themselves where passersby could see them. The chance of their being identified, and their passage imperiled, must be reduced as much as could be managed. However, Marcelle could not resist the romantic temptation of showing off to his new charges, the glamour of Paris on a spring evening. As a compromise, the travelers were permitted to stroll the upper galleries and walkways and balconies of the cathedral's residences, which were airy and open to the evening sky, and allowed for a pleasant promenade after a meal.

Marcelle was both elated and disappointed at the compromise - he could show sights and places of Paris, but only from afar, from the safety of the cathedral. Nonetheless, he made the best of the situation.

"Ah, my new friends, would that you might at least taste the great city! The shops, the bistro, the aromas of the food and the wine! Oh, it is to weep that we cannot walk the boulevard, the riverbanks, and the cinema'!!"

"Oh, Marcelle, you don't describe Paris, you sing about it!" Percilla praised as she walked along, her arm folded onto Marcelle's . "When you describe Paris, it's as if I am flying over the city at night, and can see it all!"

"It must be a grand sight to see", Eason agreed. "I can actually smell bread and cheeses on the evening airs. How much the French believe in the pleasures of dining!"

"Mais oui, my friend Eason, if there is one subject in which these grand people are truly the experts, it is the culinary and fine arts," Marcelle said. As he walked and talked, Marcelle would alternately gently squeeze Percilla's hand resting on his arm, or gesture with flair at the city scenes beneath them. "If there is a city in all the wide world, with more intimacy and knowledge of such things, I have yet to hear its' name. And of course, Paris is the city of romance, as well, need I remind you, eh?"

"Why, Marcelle, I have no idea of what you talking about", Percilla said, with a twitch of her head to swing her hair about her shoulders, and a little grin. Eason saw it, and heard the byplay. He realized, that had this been Thurgood, he would have been consumed with envy and jealous rage at the flirtatious conversation. But two things were different, here. Marcelle, who was both of their friends, had no real desires on Percilla that he could see. And Percilla herself; she didn't play emotions any longer. It was as if, after the Thurgood experience, she recognized insincerity at once, and saw that Marcelle was quite sincere in his love affair with romance. Besides, Eason really did like Marcelle, in a way that Thurgood could never come close. He trusted Percilla with Marcelle.

The promenade continued for some time, until abruptly, as they rounded a corner headed back inside the residences, they were confronted by The Elder, who stood silently off the entrance back into the corridor.

"Good evening, Eason Eduardovich, and Percilla Raymondeva," she said. "Ah, I see Marcelle has attempted to work his magic upon you, weaving a spell of the city lights," she said smiling, Marcelle returning the simle without shame.

"Dame Percilla, Marcelle, might you permit me? I would speak with Sir Eason. Walk with me, young man," she said. Eason saw the eyes, and realized this was not an invitation.

"Certainly, Madam. Percilla, Marcelle, I shall join you later, perhaps?"

"Of course, Eason," Percilla said. But Eason caught an unspoken glint in Percilla's eye, as if she tried to communicate something, which he thought was: Tell me all that happens later!

"Until later, then, Eason, and Good Evening, Your Grace", Marcelle said, and guided Percilla away from the presence of the woman. Eason's last glimpse was of Percilla, looking back over her shoulder, a look on her face of puzzlement, and - he thought - worry?

===================================================

"Walk with me, Eason Eduardovich," came the Elder's voice, shocking him back to the present. Eason took in the look of the woman. Duchess Romanov was even more formidable in the twilight of the Parisian evening, more than in the lit chambers of the cathedral. And he could also marvel at, even though her age was greater, the ravages of time had not erased her former beauty. The Duchess was still a grand lady, even in the form of a dowager empress.

Eason offered his arm to the Elder in reflex and in politeness. The Elder placed her hand around Eason's arm, and Eason noticed her touch, not a spindly old woman's hand, but gentle, soft on his arm, more like a young lover than a haughty old woman. They began to walk together, she guiding him along the gallery, quietly, without speaking for some time, until they rounded another bend in a corridor, then she spoke at length.

"Young Eason Eduardovich. I would know your thoughts. You ask many questions about your upcoming mission, which is sensible and commendable. But, some things you do not ask. Such as, what dangers might be involved. Does this not concern you? Or, have you neglected to ask?"

"In truth, Your Grace," Eason said, "I wondered about what kind of threat there might be to Percilla and myself. Since the main idea is to get there in secret, then the threat might not be avoided altogether."

"And how would you recognize the threat?" she asked. "Were it to come upon you in the gloom of night, might you not be aware? No, young man, I do not scold, I simply educate. It is a flaw in your thinking, one that is quickly changed for the better."

"Then, Madam, what is the nature of the threat to Percilla - and myself?" Eason asked.

The Elder smiled, "Ah, so you admit it once again. Your concern is more for your beautiful charge, than your own safety. Good. You shall protect her, because she needs you."

That phrase again. Eason had heard it how many times, before tonight, and without thought further, asked. "Your Grace, what does that mean? I have heard that several times already: 'Stay with her, protect her, she needs you.' Is that something I must know, as a Knight of the Outer Court?"

The Elder fell silent for a beat, staring off in the distance, as if searching for words in the ether. After a moment more, Eason, on impulse, touched her hand with his, gently squeezing it on his bicep. He felt the hand beneath his, grip a little tighter on his arm. He imagined more than felt, the pressing of her breast on his arm. A younger, firmer breast, not the flesh of an old woman, but almost - Would Percilla feel this way, to my touch?

The intimate touch seemed to draw the Duchess out of her reverie. She looked at Eason, eyes meeting eyes, and Eason saw for a fleeting moment, a torrent of emotions. Fear? Shock? Even... regret? But then, she was speaking again, the contact not lessening.

"Young Knight, "she said", the nature of the Enemy is to be unnoticable, until it is too late, and They are upon you. Persons of skill, and of perception, can detect them. But as it is said in Scripture, 'By their deeds shall thee know them.' The works of the Enemy always have their particular feel, or a presence, about them. Think about this: at the quay in London, and the driver drew his weapon, what did you sense?"

Eason thought back to that moment, that swift moment of decision without thought. "I was acting on instinct, I didn't think about it, I simply recognized him as a foe -"

"And how did you recognize him? The coin?"

"Yes, but there was something else, a feeling, an intuition..."

"And it served you well, that hour. Isha," she said, halting in their walk, and placing her other hand over his, "understand this. You are part of the Order of the Dragon, for a reason. Not simply because you are Dame Percilla's friend and guardian, although those are admirable enough roles. You were meant to be with us. That is why you hear that phrase, time and again. It is your primary mission, to see that she arrives safely. Protect her, for she needs you. Not only for this journey, but for a journey she will not even allow herself to expect."

Eason looked into the Duchess's eyes again. They had turned fathomless, unreadable, but intent on communicating something. But what had she said? Percilla didn't know her own mind yet? About... herself? Him?

Was the Elder giving him hope for... Percilla's heart?!?

After they had left Eason and the Elder behind them, Percilla and Marcelle walked along for some time, together and alone, in the Parisian twilight, drinking in the sensations of the French spring. Marcelle was such an excellent companion, Percilla thought to herself, the continental flair he used with every step and gesture, the sincere enthusiasm with which he described each new thing. This Romany man was nothing at all like the over-attentive Thurgood, who was so wretchedly obvious in his obejectives. Marcelle was a glass of wine that never emptied, but left a woman thirsting for more.

But he was also.... not Eason. Eason, that wonderful friend who never presses his relationship, never takes advantage, and... drew a weapon to save me.

Eason...

Devlesa avilan...

"Ah, dear Percilla, it was not God who brought ME, but rather He brought You."

Percilla shook her head; she must have said some of this out loud.

"Ah, I see that you are wearing of Marcelle's company? No small wonder, Mam'selle, considering the enormous meal and wine that you have enjoyed. Your chambers are close by, so perhaps I shall escort you to your door, and say our goodnights?"

"Very well, Marcelle, of course. but understand, it's not the present company that tires me - I could walk with you for hours," Percilla said sincerely. Marcelle beamed at the compliment.

"Ah, dear madam Percilla, this evening's pleasure was entirely mine. And I think that I shall take my leave here - see, your door is just down there, at the end of this gallery corridor. You shall not be lost. Until tomorrow at breakfast, I bid you sleep well and safely, ma cher..." and Marcelle gallantly kissed Percilla's hand, causing a slight flush and flutter in Percilla's heart, such flash and flair!

Marcelle sauntered happily down the corridor, moving easliy out of sight. But Percilla didn't leave that spot just yet, for she was still captivated by the sights and sounds and smells of a Paris evening. Until she heard the voices...

Soft and furtive nearby they were, just at the edge of hearing, fading in and out. Percilla cocked her head to listen - definitely more than one voice. Whispers around the stones, more than wind, more than dreams. She moved in the direction she thought they came from. Back the way she and Marcelle had come, when they had parted company with the Elder and Eason. She walked softly, her shoes hardly making a noise on the stones, following the voices which grew steadily louder, more recognizable. They were coming from a corridor she had not been down before, and the two male voices were urgently speaking, and she heard parts of one voice, and only snatches of the other...

"...they're acolytes, green, greener than grass, and you expect me..."
"...expect YOU, Commander..."
"I follow orders, as all of us, even me ... they must follow mine!"
"Until Budapest, they shall, but even YOU shall follow... will of the Elders..."
"As if I'd ever disobey the Elders, how dare you..."
"You have in the past, Gunther. And the cost... Four acolytes dead... mission in jepoardy... Ah, silence, I hear. Good, then you're listening... have your attention."
"I need no reminding of error, Lord. What purpose...?"
"Why do you think you are here, Gunther? Anyone can serve as Sentinel, why put a Knight-Commander there? Because the Elder said he wanted you here, while he recovered his strength. The loss of the acolytes hurt the Order as much as ... Elder Melchior! You must learn that, you can't keep operating all alone like a rogue wolf!"
"...I've killed for less, Stavros, how long will you hide behind Her skirts, you filthy coward..."

BOOOM!

The sudden explosion made Percilla jump, almost forgetting to stifle the shriek that nearly escaped her lips. The bang echoed on the stones, fading to silence. Almost timidly, but needing to see the outcome, Percilla slowly peeked around the cornice of the corridor.

There lay Sir Gunther, on his side in the middle of the corridor, his eyes strangely glittering in the light of the passage. Over him, like a great bat, stood Lord Stavros, his judge's cloak billowed about his shoulders, mantling him like dark wings. The source of the bang was not in evidence, no rifle or pistol, and no smell of sulphur was anywhere. What happened? Percilla's eyes were wide as she listened to the rest.

"You have forgotten yourself, Sir Knight," came Stavros' commanding tone, which Percilla had not heard before. "I, too, am a Sentinel of the Inner Court. And I do not brag about my abilities without being able to demonstrate them. Your overconfidence has weakened you, and your task here is almost complete. The Elder has determined you are ready to return to active service to the Order, much above my own objections, but I too obey Her. Why do you suppose that is, Gunther?" Stavros asked, his voice malicious as he knelt beside the dazed Gunther. "It's because She has performed more feats and deeds than you, I, and half the enclaves of Europe together. Katerina Romanov is the ONLY Knight of the Order who can operate on her own - and you will never be Her!"

"Indeed, Stavros, I see only one face in the mirror, so what you say is true," the Elder said from over Percilla's shoulder. Percilla did this time, let out a gasp of surprise - she didn't even notice the Elder walk behind her. At her side was Eason, looking at Percilla, checking ot see if she was safe.

"Eason, help Sir Gunther to his feet. Stavros, stand clear." As Eason helped Gunther to stand, and Stavros moved back a pace, the Elder began gliding toward him, seeming to float across the corridor. Menace now issued from her, more than her irritated tone in the tribunal. Percilla imagined she saw lightning outside, a gathering storm, centered on the Duchess.

"I do not permit infighting among my Knights, Stavros. The Enemy lives for discord, and here it is inside these very walls. I told you that Gunther shall accompany the party to Budapest, and that is sufficient for you. You enjoy my confidence, but not the wisdom of the Elders. Never forget that!" Stavros visibly shrank during the tirade, in which the Elder's voice never rose above normal volume, but lowered the temperature of the corridor to ice.

She then rounded on Gunther, who was still swaying from the effects of Stavros's attack."You, Knight-Commander, have only just earned your privileges back from the horror of your last expedition. You too, were convalescing. You have been healed physically. Now, your soul must heal, and the balm shall be this next task of which you have been assigned. I do not place my trust lightly, Gunther, and certainly do not withhold it from someone who has demonstrated such prowess in the past. I need you. We all do. I charged you with the mission of protecting these two acolytes, and you shall succeed."

She glided toward Gunther in the same manner, not as menacing, but no less formidable. "Use your knowledge, Sir Knight, to teach the acolytes as they need to be taught. You can do this, you have done this."

Gunther nodded, drunkedly. Stavros was still as stone. And Percilla watched, still seeing the tiny bolts of power in the Elder's hair, and the flash of lightning outside the cathedral walls. The air seemed to calm and clear, as the Elder mastered herself once more.

"Leave me, all of you," she said. Not a command, but a plea. All bowed their heads, Eason and Percilla doing likewise, and all left the area and the presence of the Elder of the Order. Percilla sneaked a look back over her shoudler before rounding the corner, and saw the Elder - a streak of shine on her cheek. Weeping.

The new day dawned overcast, the great cathedral shrouded in gloom. Or perhaps, some higher power saw fit to cloak the Order of the Dragon in shadow, hiding their activities from prying eyes. For today was devoted to preparation and readiness for the mission of the two newest Knights of the Order, and the task that lay before them.

Eason and Percilla were busy after breakfast, readying all things as to present the outward appearence of holiday-makers on tour of the continent. For the southward leg of the journey, loose summer clothing was appropriate. But once the trek turned east, into the high places, warmer attire was needed. And sturdy outfits also, for the trip to Romania would take them over forbidding lands.

Eason's work this day, harkened his memory back to his father, Colonel Nordstrom, and his great collection of weapons, trophies from campaigns gone by. The arsenal the Order maintained in the catacombs was most impressive. Firearms, rifles, and weapons of many kinds were racked against the wall, and in cabinets, or inside folding tables.

Sir Gunther was with Eason this morning, explaining the function and type of the weapons present. He examined Eason's own revolver, nodding with approval at its condition. One of Eason's first lessons, was to keep a weapon clean, as one would maintain tools.

"This revolver is a Webley, British made, pre-war", Gunther said, "and it's useful as a combat weapon. But, it is not easily concealed. It's meant for killing power, not for stealth, and this mission will require stealth. I should recommend a smaller weapon, that can be worn concealed, as well. This might work", he said, extracting a small pistol from a drawer, and offering it to Eason for examination. "This is an American weapon, a Smith & Wesson .32 caliber. Easily concealed in a pocket or jacket liner. Ammunition is also small, which means you can carry more."

Eason hefted the pistol, but Gunther quickly placed his hand over Eason's and the pistol. "Take care; handle any weapon as if it is loaded. Safety might depend on it."

The pistol was tiny in Eason's hands, much smaller than the Webley of his father's. He could appreciate the need for secrecy, and this weapon seemed designed for such. "Sir Gunther", he asked, "What of Percilla? Might she not find some situation, where she even might need to defend herself?"

"If you do your job correctly, she will never find herself in such a situation, young man," Gunther said without emotion. "But, you are at least thinking about it, and that is an improvment over many I have trained. See here," he said, as he pulled open a cabinet to reveal even more pistols, each smaller than the others. "Some weapons of this type are more suited for a lady's hand, as well. This is a copy of an American piece, not as large as the S&W, but will suffice. A British-made Derringer, two shots only, with a rim-fire cartridge - see, where there is no primer centered on the round. It is a weapon designed for self-defense, and not meant for combat. It fits her need, perfectly." Eason took the tiny pistol, and examined it.

"Small enough for even a handbag - it's ideal! And Percilla has no experience with firearms of any kind. This will not frighten or intimidate her."

"Now, this makes your primary weapon, but have you given thought to another," Gunther asked. Have you any experience with blades, Sir Eason?"

"Father taught me fencing, and the uses of a sabre in combat, such as when he served in uniform," Eason said. "I am handier with a sabre than, say, a foil.."

"You will not be brandishing a sword for this expedition," Gunther said. "Again, stealth is your watchword, and a sword is antiquated and obvious. I am thinking of daggers, or fighting knives. Such as these," said as he pulled open another cabinet, revealing a startling collection of vicious blades, assembled from many lands; straight, curved, serrated, evil looking knives.

"I favor the Gurkha's blade," Gunther stated, his hand resting on a hilt at his belt, "for it is a dependable weapon. But it, too, would not suit you. The American Bowie knife, or the Indian Kuhkri, perhaps, but both are over-large for concealment. I shall find something later, more useful, perhaps. But for now, we must continue..."

=========================================================

Percilla was also busy with preparations for the expedition, but her focus was not on combat or defense. For Percilla was closeted with Pettibone, pouring over maps and charts of the planned route, and the geography of the wild places of the Carpathian Mountains and the Austrian Alps.

"Here, Percilla, you can see the route plainly across the mountains," Pettibone said, his fingers tracing a line across the borders. "Our original plans were to make for Marseilles, and possibly board a steamer to the east. But now, we shall be turning here, to Grenoble, and boarding several train connections to end up at Zurich, here. Now, once at Zurich, the enclave based at Geneva shall contact us, and house us in a safe place, already arranged."

"Why Zurich, I wonder? I thought the immediate goal was Budapest," Percilla asked.

"According to intelligence reports from Geneva," Pettibone said, "they are not confident they can assure secure passage beyond their border. They have arranged for us to stay put, until they can make such arrangements. It shouldn't be more than an overnight stay in Zurich."

Percilla looked at the map again. "How long shall it take for us to get there?"

"No more than two days' travel," Pettibone said, "then a day there, then a day to get to Budapest. After that, the journey grows slower. See, here..." as he leaned further eastward on the map.

"There are two options, but neither are secure, "Pettibone went on. "The river traffic on the Danube will take us close, but the trains will get us straight and direct to Sibiu'."

"I would prefer trains," Percilla said, "but whatever is needful, I suppose, must be done. Are there such things as motorcars, or lorries, or is everything on horseback?"

Pettibone looked at her, and smiled slightly. "Dame Percilla, your upbringing is showing again. Not every nation in Europe, especially in these burdened times, is advanced along the lines of France or England. Trains are not on time, coaches aren't always available, and the cable and telegraph - it's to wince at."

Percilla thought of something. "You know, Sir Alfred, the members of the Order have better communications, so they've told us. Shall we assume that their methods will be employed, perhaps even made available to us?"

Pettibone's face went blank. "You might assume that. You might also be wrong. You are asking things, Dame Percilla, that are closely held by the Inner Court. And only in great need, are those secrets confided, if even at all. Part of being included in the Order, Madam, is the binding honor involved. Your word must be without question, and your integrity beyond reproach. That is one reason why Sir Gunther has been here, regaining his honor and re-proving his trust."

"Alfred, please, can't you tell me more of him?" Percilla asked, laying one hand on his arm in confidence. "If this man is to accompany us, for all this way, I should think I'd be allowed to know of his misdeeds! Our lives might depend upon knowing how he has failed in the past, can you not see this?"

Pettibone took a deep breath, then another, as if steeling himself for the tale he was about to relate to Percilla. He resigned himself to the task, then began.

"It was two years ago, now, when Sir Gunther, as leader of the Munich enclave, was tasked to find information for the Order, deep inside the political workings of the German government. Horrid rumors had reached us, horrid plans for the future of the German nation. And we had to deny or confirm those rumors. Gunther was, and still is, a Knight-Commander of the Order. There are only three of them, of that rank, and they have distinguished themselves in personal combat with The Enemy. Gunther assembled the Munich enclave, and demanded and got help from other enclaves as well.

"When he felt his force was ready, Gunther began infiltrating the German governemnt at every level - the military, the civil strata, even the German secret police. In a few short months, he had informants and a network of agents throughout southern Germany, and not a single Nazi element could leave its' garrison without Gunther learning of it in a day.

"As time went on, the Order began learning the Nazi plans, and we were shocked at what was to come for that nation, and for every nation on earth. Gunther pleaded, then demanded, to take active action against the Nazi regime, for at this time, they planned to export their movement to other nations close by. The treaties of the Great War were already scraps of paper, in their eyes. National conscription, blacklisting of persons against them, and rumors of internment camps - these and more reached the Order's ears. But the Elders kept their hands off the German problem, needing more data and more proof of what was to come. So, Gunther decided, against the Elders' will, to do something.

"He ordered his network in deeper still, prying in every dark corner, finding out the complete plans of the Nazi movement. And he was rewarded. The full tale of horror that they intend to invoke upon the world was discovered. And it showed that The Enemy was hard at work, in Germany, sowing the seeds for which They would build a power that could conquer all.

"It was then, that the Elders decided to take action at last. But it was not to Gunther's liking. Instead of working to stop the Nazi plans, they worked only to slow them, stall their momentum, and delay the fruition for some other grand plan. Gunther would have none of it. So, in violation of the Elders, he led his people against the Germans in covert combat. They sabotaged their bureaucracy, they diverted funds and materials, they did everything possible to stymie the rebuilding of the German war machine. And one night, one terrible night, the Elders responded.

"Elder Melchior, of whom you heard, confronted Sir Gunther in Munich. Gunther's plea for action was impassioned and rational, but the Elder was adamant. The Order's plans could not be derailed by even one well-intentioned commander, he said. To act in this way, was to ruin plans the Order had in place for years. but Gunther, in his zeal, heard none of this.

"It was at that hour, in a twisted quirk of fate, that the Gestapo raided Gunther's safehouse in Munich. The knights in residence fought their way out of the place, even Gunther and the Elder lending hand, until they were almost safe, but at the last moment..."

"What, Alfred?" Percilla asked, after a heavy pause. "What happened then?"

Pettibone stated flatly and cold, "The Enemy arrived."

He paused for breath. "The Munich enclave had escaped the Nazis, some of them wounded but all present, when they came face to face with an agent of The Enemy. Childlike she seemed, almost angelic and innocent, but that's how they appear. And the battle that began was all-consuming. Elder Melchior put forth his power, and the Enemy was driven back, but at a terrible cost. The Enemy, seeing that Melchior could not be defeated, attacked the knights nearby, breaking the Elder's defense. Knowing that Melchior would protect the defenseless acolytes, it gave the Enemy the opening needed. Gunther used every weapon at his disposal, but the acolytes died, and Melchior was gravely spent and injured.

"The Munich enclave almost ceased to exist, that night. The network had been compromised, the agents that survived had to be relocated, and Gunther was barely able to extricate himself from Germany, with the Elder in his charge. And since that night, Elder Melchior has been recovering, and Gunther literally on house arrest in Paris. But Elder Katerina has placed great trust in him. She has been soley the architect of his rehabilitation and now, as you see, she trusts him with accompanying us to Budapest."

Pettibone looked at Percilla, who had fallen silent, her face a mask of doubt and indecision, which he read correctly. "You are uncertain, I know, Percilla. But the Elder trust Sir Gunther, and that trust is not given lightly. For all that has happened, he is still as was said, elite among the Inner Court. His weapons prowess, and his dedication, are second to few. We shall be safer with Gunther von Valkenhurn at our side, than without."

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