Chapter One - Ye Olde... Wherever!

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The gray-maned, white charger reared its armoured head, neighing softly as the young man in full armour of a knight hauled himself up onto its saddled back. Effortlessly he guided the massive beast through the scattered tents of the campsite. Ill news traveled swiftly through the air indeed. The king, in his prime just a mere three days ago, now lay in his deathbed and the entire kingdom was in upheaval and mourning. Sporadic riots and lynching in and around the villages had taxed him and his men more than any campaign defending the borders of his country ever had.

Acropolis. God's own country. Lush green meadows, tall snow capped peaks, roaring rivers and babbling brooks, well tended farmlands producing plenty, lavish stables breeding the finest steeds. And the borders under constant threat from war-mongering neihbours, Nordellan to the north and Monduloch to the south. The king, Dracsard the great, out on sortie defending the northern borders even as his first-born son, Prince Graven, valiantly defended the south, had fallen to a treacherous and cowardly act of assassination. Shot down by a poisoned arrow in the back, he lay in his bed for three days since, delirious and in agony as the vile concoction spread freely through his veins.

Sir Frangard, knight of first order of the realm, was tired. It showed on his young face. Unshaven now for the last three days, he was ruggedly handsome. Light brown hair fell to his shoulders and his grayish eyes, now red rimmed from lack of sleep, told of wisdom far exceeding his mortal years. He had risen fast in the ranks to command his own unit. Nine of his men now mounted up and rode beside him. Word of another lynching had come, not too far from their camp in the woods. The peaceful village of Gellif had so far not been of any concern, but he knew that it would soon join its fellow regions and offer no rest to his haggard men.

"My lord," Utherin cried, galloping up beside the captain, "the rumour that the villagers are lynching some hapless fools is true."

"Aye, I feared as much," Frangard growled, "Why should sleepy little Gellif be left out of the foul revelry these dark times call upon us."

"It is worse, my lord," Utherin said. The youngster had just been knighted, his services as a squire and a journeyman having pleased the now dying king. His young face also bore signs of fatigue, though his bright blue eyes shone in pride at his new earned promotion.

"Worse!" Frangard snarled, "How ever worse can it get, boy? Have the hounds of hell dug out from the earth and fallen upon the kingdom?"

"The villagers, my lord," Utherin replied, not looking Frangard in the eye, "The villagers are lynching women... there's word of a burning at the stake too."

Muttering vile curses under his breath, the knight kicked had at his mount's flanks, sending it into a faster gallop followed by his men.

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"I still can't believe it," Jennifer cried out for the umpteenth time. "We're in the bloody past and we're going to get burned at the stake... we'll be killed even before we are born."

"Shut your wailing, witch!" the squat man in firthy tunic and leggins standing guard over the three women spat, slapping the wooden club he brandished against his left palm to punctuate his command.

"If I really were a witch, you clod-hopper, I'd turn you..."

"Hush, Jennifer... don't aggravate them further." Amethyst whispered as she tested the tight bonds on her wrists for the tenth time.

"Are we really in medieval England?" Madeline whispered, her voice quavering.

"England or some other place, but we're definitely in the past." Amethyst replied.

"Middle Earth?" Madeline's sad eyes widened in awe.

"Not bloody likely." Jennifer grated.

"Please don't swear," Madeline whispered, tears in her eyes, "and where's the spell book? How do we get back?"

"The spell book didn't come here with us," Amethyst replied, "It sent us here, so that means it already exists in this time. All we need to do is find it."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Jennifer grunted, "All tied up and about to be barbequed here."

Amethyst looked away in silence. She blamed herself for this. She was so eager to show off her knowledge about arcane and spells; she didn't realize that it could actually land them in trouble. And were they in trouble, landing out of thin air in the middle of a group of superstitious villagers in clearly what seemed like in times of crisis. Their only hope lay in finding the sorceress Cheril. And that too seemed like an impossibility right then.

The three young women sat bound and tethered, awaiting their fate to be burned at the stake as witches. That was the only part about the past ages she didn't like. The burning and hanging or what ever else ways of dealing with women accused of witchcraft.

"Amy," Jennifer whispered harshly, "Snap out of it and have a look at these guys."

The small woman looked up and gasped. Before them, at the village square, was a sight out of a movie or a dream. Ten men in shining armour, knights of the realm, dismounted from horses of magnificent breeding. They had each removed their helms and now walked over to where the three women were being held.

"Do you think they'll save us?" Madeline asked.

"More like it they would take us away with them for their own needs. Men, whatever age they're in, are the same." Jennifer grated.

"I don't think so," Madeline replied, "These look like knights of the realm, men of honour... they're sworn to protect innocent maidens."

Jennifer groaned, "Haven't you read about evil knights... the black knight... the dread knight?"

"Shut up, Jenny," Amethyst hissed, "They're here."

"Lo!" cried a round-faced man, clearly the village chieftain, as he ambled up to the approaching knights. "My lord, Sir Frangard. Behold the three vile witches who seek to bring ruin upon fair Acropolis."

"What a load of crock..." Jennifer shouted.

"Silence, witch," the man wielding the club roared, raising it to strike.

"Stand down, man!" Frangard barked and the man froze. "Now be gone from here."

"My hero..." Jennifer squealed mockingly, Madeline and Amethyst glaring at her.

"These women, though strangely spirited, are no more witches than you or me, Gelvar." Frangard said turning to the chieftain. "You will release them to me and I will escort them, to the King's court. Clearly they are strangers here and must be lost. King Dracsard will know how to deal with them."

"But my lord," bellowed an elderly woman, "They be witches, I tells ye, they came out of nowhere... out of the air."

"Is that true?" Frangard asked the three bound women.

"No, my lord," Amethyst lied, "We were merely thrown from our carriage and fell through the air."

"Indeed, and how do you explain your strange garb?"

"We are from a distant land, this is our customary attire," Madeline smiled. This knight appeared to be everything she had expected a knight to be. Tall, gallant and inspiring. Besides he had the softest, kindest eyes she had seen in a man so far.

"I take your word for it, milady," Frangard bowed slightly, "Yet if ye are spies from Nordellan or Monduloch, I will flay ye alive myself."

"Rest your fears, Sir Galahad," Jennifer retorted, "we've never even heard of those places let alone be from there."

"I like ye, flame haired one," Frangard chuckled, "You have the spirit of a warrior in you. I am called Frangard, though Galahad is not too unsightly a name. What might your names be?"

'Well, as long as you're being friendly and nice," Jennifer smiled, feigning a curtsie, "This is Madeline, and this is Amethyst... I am Jennifer."

"You are not wise to take them so lightly, Sir Frangard," the old woman cried, "Why it may be that these witches had placed the curse on the king and then on our land."

"Nonsense," Utherin cried, "His majesty fell in battle to an assassin's arrow."

"It be an arrow bewitched by these three... " The chieftain, Gelvar, piped up. "And their vile presence does slowly poison our liege to a slow and painful death."

"Silence, I will hear no more talk on witchery." Frangard boomed.

"Wait a moment," Amethyst cried, "Has the king of your land been poisoned?"

"Aye, by an arrow, shot from hiding."

"If I examine... I mean, if I take a look at his wound, I may be able to save him."

"Amethyst... what?" Madeline whispered.

"Listen, poisons and antidotes in this age were all herbal and natural. I think I know how to get us out of this witch rap." Amethyst whispered.

"She seeks to slay the king with her own hands..." The old woman croaked

Ignoring her, Frangard asked Amethyst, "Is what you speak true?"

"Yes, I know I can."

"Beware, if you have evil intent..."

"Oh, get off your high horse, Sir Knighthood..." Jennifer cried, "What chance do the three of us weak, defenseless women have against you and your great warriors."

"Hm, you have a point, lady Jennifer," Frangard smiled, looking into her eyes, ''Indeed you do."

"I'm glad you noticed." Jennifer smiled back with a wink.

"Utherin, remove their bonds. Belden, saddle three steeds from the spares." Frangard barked, and then turning to the women he bowed. "Now, my ladies Madeline, Amethyst and Jennifer, may I please request thee accompany my knights and I to the royal castle. It may not be much to you from where you come from but to us it is worth defending with our very lives."

Then turning smartly on his heel, the tall knight strode off towards his gray stallion and in one smooth motion mounted him. Waving his knights on, he thundered out of the village.

Madeline, Jennifer and Amethyst gingerly mounted the rather large warhorses offered to them and rode along with the knights, five before and four behind.

The young knight, Utherin, smiled at Amethyst, "I do not believe that you are witches."

"Why, thank you, kind sir." Amethyst offered and her smile widened as she caught a hint of a blush on his cheek before he hastily slapped down his faceplate.

"Those fool knights," the old village woman cursed, "They escort doom to our kingdom. Can they not see..."

"They are bewitched, Old Cronea," Gelvar, the fat chief murmured, shaking his head, "they are in thrall by those witches."

"And they've robbed us of some fine sport," grunted the man with the club.

"Aye," Gelvar replied, "Curse them to the depths."

"That I already have." Cronea cackled, rubbing her bony hands together.