The Stoneholding

marvellously wrought.

"But My Lady -- this sword?" he stammered. His eyes gazed upon the strange runic characters scored across the length of the blade.

"Don't ask questions, Master Guardsman. Here, take it quickly."

No sooner had they exchanged sword and baby between them than Baldrick burst into the bedchamber sided by a tall rangy soldier with a dour bony face. Both wore helmets and had entered with swords drawn. Baldrick's was a great double-edged broadsword that he held lightly before him, two hands on the grip.

"On my heart! Look what our limping young Guardsman found for himself while we were gone. Very naughty of him, wasn't it, Cuff? Good way for a fellow to get hurt. And his manners too! Imagine that? Strewing the floor with his draper's rags. And worst of all, lying to his sweet Uncle Baldrick, who's been the soul of kindness, who's done everything he can to make the lad's visit to the Palace such a pleasant one. Tsk, tsk, I am disappointed, nephew, gravely disappointed." Baldrick laughed without losing any of his steely aspect, for he stood ready, regarding Frysan with chill eyes.

"Oh, strange. Look at the sword he's got. Not your everyday blade, is it?" the sergeant ...