Sir Balin and Sir Balan walked on the highway towards the castle Terrabil beside a long, lazy river. Dozens of damselflies buzzed about in the cool air.

They passed by two peasants busy chatting by a river.

The one downstream was doing a poor job of washing himself in the water. The one upstream was removing his pants.

“Do you suppose there are frogs here?” the one upstream asked as he started to urinate into the river.

“Why of course there are frogs here!” the one downstream replied, squeegeeing a thin coat of water off his body. “Look at all these lily pads! That’s how frogs get across!”

“Oh… so the frogs… they made a bridge of lily pads?”

“No, silly they didn’t make them! But they use them!”

“To get across.”

“That’s right.”

“Frogs are pretty smart animals,” the one upstream said as he shook off the last few drops and pulled up his pants. “To avoid getting all wet by travelling on lily pads.”

“Ah!” the one downstream cried out as he swatted at a harmless damselfly.

“What’s the matter?” the other asked.

“A horse-stinger landed on me arm!”

“Did it get you?”

“No, I managed to chase it away.”

“Well done! Those things are the Devil’s own darning needles, they are. I heard one of them had sewn the eyes of old man Merrion shut!”

“You lie!”

“It’s true! Tighter than your mum’s arsehole!”

The brothers continued on by until they were out of earshot of the peasants. The sun had set and they were now travelling along the highway in total darkness.

“Hey, Lin,” Sir Balan said. “We should really talk about mother—”

“Shhh!” Sir Balin hushed him. “You hear that?”

They arrived at the top of a hill, revealing a grisly scene lit by many small torches held by armoured knights and soldiers, and the many raging fires that beset the grand castle before them. The brothers had arrived at the siege of the castle Terrabil.

The castle walls were struck by great, flaming boulders launched at long distance by impressive siege machines. The screams of many men filled the air, but especially loud were from the ones at the receiving end of potfuls of hot oil thrown down through the machicolations of the castle walls. The sounds of a heavy battering ram assaulting an iron portcullis could be heard from miles away. It looked as if many unarmoured rogues had swum across the moats and begun to scale the tall castle walls, hoping to infiltrate the castle and open the gates from the inside. They were shot at by archers, who rained down volley after volley of arrows upon the climbing rogues with deadly accuracy.

“Looks pretty nasty out there,” Sir Balin noted.

“Yes,” Sir Balan said. “But look over there.”

He pointed at a crowned man coming their way on an incredibly well-adorned horse, guarded by two cavalrymen armed with large lances. The king wore a very hairy cloak, replete with the beards of his defeated enemies.

The two brothers hid in the tall grasses and watched them as they passed.

“King Rience,” Sir Balan said. “That’s the guy we’re supposed to bring to King Arthur.”

They followed the king and his escort party to a small clearing in the forest where a giant sequoia stood.

“I don’t get it,” King Rience said aloud. “The Lady of Vance was supposed to meet me here for our routine romp. Where on God’s green earth could she be?”

Sir Balin charged one of the guards’ horse out of the bushes, surprising it and sending reeling back into the other horse and both toppling over. They collapsed hard, and the riders fell off. Before one of them could get to his feet, Sir Balan had run his blade through the soldier’s helmet by way of the narrow eye-slit. The other guard drew his sword, and slashed at Sir Balin. With his lead sword, Excalibur, Sir Balin parried the strike and sliced down with Tyrfing, severing through the chainmail and thick plated armour, and through the flesh and bone. The knight was wiping the blade of Tyrfing on his pant leg as the guard—nearly cleft in twain—fell apart.

“Yuck,” Sir Balin said as he kept on wiping. “I don’t want any blood getting on my handle. Then it gets all slippery and gross.”

“What the devil?!” the king cried out behind the brothers. “Identify yourselves.”

“We are knights of King Arthur’s court,” Sir Balan declared. “I am Sir Balan. And this is…”

Sir Balan kicked Sir Balin.

“I am the Knight with Two Swords,” Sir Balin said proudly.

“No!” Sir Balan said. “Say the other one now.”

“What other one?”

“Your real one!” Sir Balan said, seething slightly. “Come on, man.”

“Oh,” Sir Balin said. “Okay.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Do it!” Sir Balan shouted.

“Now?!” his brother asked.

“Yes!”

“Balin.”

Sir Balan slapped his own helmeted forehead with his armoured gloves, causing quite a clash.

“Sir Balin,” Sir Balan said. “Arthur knighted you, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Sir Balin said, then remembered what his mother had said about the importance of using proper titles.

“Hey,” Sir Balin said. “Balan?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m kind of sad mother is dead,” Sir Balin said. “You know… she always used to say. Don’t call him Arthur, call him King Arthur—”

Sir Balan looked at Sir Balin in astonishment, then turned his attention to King Rience who was chuckling to himself.

“Now?!” Sir Balan hissed at Sir Balin. “You want to talk about the murder of our mother for the first time together… right now?”

Sir Balin looked at his brother, then at the king who was laughing at him, then back his back.

“Right, sorry,” Sir Balin said. “Well, it’s just that like we haven’t brought it up at all.”

“The both of you are taking me too lightly,” King Rience said suddenly with a mile-wide smile.

The king chuckled as he drew a large sword from the scabbard at his hip. It was called Marmyadose. The large sword was replete with rubies and diamonds in its hilt. Its blade gleamed in the moonlight like wet ebony, shimmering like the glint of water down a very, very deep well. King Rience gave the girth of his horse a rough kick with his metal boots. The horse whinnied and galloped forth as he swung the magnificent sword about over his head and laughed.

“Much too lightly,” King Rience cried out. “For a son of Hercules!”

He laughed aloud as he charged at Sir Balan. The mounted king missed Sir Balan with his blade, but his mount’s charge sent him flying.

“Balan!” Sir Balin cried out as he brother skidded and rolled a great distance across the dirt.