"Stop this!" Screeched Tira. "What're you doing?"

The three witches flying around made Jemmy feel dizzy and it was like he was seeing them through a heat haze as they seemed to blur in and out of focus. Was he still unwell from the plague, or was this their magic affecting him in a way it couldn't affect Tira or Gloom?

One of the airborne witches leered down. "We're the Bedlam Hags. We call the shots. We've a mind to take your servant with us, girl. You're a witch like us, but you're not very impressive. He’ll have a lot more fun with us."

"You'd fight over me, eh?" said Gloom smugly.

"Not you, imp," said another Bedlam Hag, her blackish lips twitching to form a smirk. "The handsome servant. The one who looks like a pleasure to have around." She puckered her lips and blew kisses at Jemmy. Jemmy thought dizzily that this was getting even more like a disturbing dream.

"Jemmy is not my servant," said Tira glaring up at them. "And you are taking him nowhere!"

"Pfft. These witch-gangs are so shallow," grumbled Gloom. "Jemmy's handsome to human eyes. So what? I'm the fun one."

The third Hag leaned down and even though she was still in the air twenty feet above them, it suddenly seemed to Jemmy that her bright green face magically loomed very close to his, filling most of his vision. She was a woman with a very long nose, so she looked almost like one of those exaggerated story book illustrations of witches.

Her piercing voice echoed in his ears: "Come with me cutie. Come with Milly. I'll warm you up."

Then she seemed to lurch away again.

"That one definitely fancies you, boy, know what I mean?" sniggered Gloom. "Might have to give her what she wants."

This didn't exactly make Jemmy feel very comfortable.

Tira's grip around Jemmy tightened. "Don't worry. There's no way I'd ever let them carry you off." She turned her green face up to the other three witches. "You hear me? Go away, and don't you dare harass my friend! Don't make me angry!"

"I'm sure they're terrified, Mistress," said Gloom drily. "You outnumber them one to three."

"Someone got off on the wrong side of her broomstick this evening," said the first Bedlam Hag. "Tell you what. Answer our chant and we'll scram."

"For Shekka's sake!" Milly pouted. "Vi, who cares about the chant? I just want an act of darkness, that's all. He's everything I want. The chanting rules don't matter."

"I'm the leader. I get to decide if they matter," said Vi loftily.

"The chant was like a riddle," said Gloom. "And three is a magical number. Thrice around three sisters fly… If Cynric were here, he'd know the answer."

"Ooh!" Tira rubbed her temples. "The chant… Thrice around three sisters fly… Thrice around the stormy sky."

Tira gazed steadily up at the Bedlam Hags, her blue eyes wide in her green face. "Three times three times three. Twenty-seven. I'm a witch too, and I invoke your chant thingy. Just go, alright?"

Vi clapped her hands and flew up to the sky, like a missile. The second Bedlam Hag followed her.

Milly glared down at Tira. "You won't keep us apart forever, you pathetic excuse for a witch." With that, she tossed her dirty-blond hair and followed her sisters.

"Witches and their rituals," said Gloom, shaking his head theatrically.

Tira nuzzled Jemmy's cheek with her cold nose and hugged him to her. "There, you see? I'll take care of you."

"Clearly you were in control in entire time, Mistress," tittered Gloom.

Tira assisted Jemmy to a copse nearby where they found a hollow beneath the roots of a gnarled oak tree. The kids huddled together for warmth. After the alternately horrific and weird adventures of the day, Jemmy wondered if he'd be able to sleep, but Tira's arms around him felt good. The witch girl had already fallen asleep in his arms. Her sweet, musty scent seemed familiar and comforting now, after their horrific adventure under Arunn's Hill. He wasn't alone against the world, or the Beast. He wasn't alone on his quest… He soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

"Wake up, it's a beautiful morning!"

Thus screeched Gloom, waking Jemmy up at dawn the next day.

"What's beautiful about it?" grumbled Jemmy. The sky was iron grey and the wind was cold. It was cramped in the hollow. No room to move. Tira's arms were around him and her green face was next to his. Her eyes were tight shut. She mumbled in her sleep, but did not wake at the sound of her familiar's grating voice.

"Look at that," said Gloom pointing at the witch, "she can sleep through anything." He raised his voice to an ear-splitting pitch. "Mistress! Mistress!"

"Oh shuttup," said Jemmy.

"I only answer to my Mistress," said Gloom unctuously.

Tira's eyelids fluttered. "Whatsa'matter?" she mumbled. She peered blearily at Jemmy and smiled. "G'morning." She kissed him on the cheek, then giggled. "Your cheek feels whiskery."

It was true. Jemmy hadn't been shaving lately.

"Best not sleep all day!" screeched Gloom.

"I'm right here, Gloom. There's no need to shout," said Tira.

The witch and the warrior washed themselves and their clothes as best they could in a stream, Jemmy waving off Tira's offer to help him.

The witch splashed herself and chattered to him. "Soo glad you're better today, and looking so well. It – It really scared me when you got sick." Her voice quivered a little.

"I was in capable hands," he said, inclining his head to her.

She bit her blackish-blue bottom lip. "I didn't think being a witch would mean all this fighting. I wanna to save lives. And I want – I want it so my mother would be proud of me …" Her bottom lip quivered.

Poor Tira. She definitely had unresolved issues. Jemmy cupped her cold, green face in his hands. "Your mother would be proud. Look what you've done. You're already a heroine."

She gazed at him with wide blue eyes.

"You think so?"

Gloom wondered up to the stream. "Stop me if I'm wrong, but you've only known the warrior as long as I have, is that right Mistress?"

Jemmy felt a stab of annoyance at the imp, and compressed his lips. "I've trained all my life to be a hero. I think I ought to know a real heroine. And a really great girl."

Tira grinned, crinkling her shiny green nose.

The three of them continued their trek through barren hills. Grey clouds scudded across the overcast sky.

Gloom hopped about uneasily. "The earth is stiff with enchantment."

"I can feel it too," said Tira, her blue eyes wide. "The earth… it feels ancient."

Jemmy couldn't feel anything of the kind. "If you are frightened, I'll scout ahead. Maybe I can find the sword on my own."

"Don't be silly," said Tira sharply. "If it's important to you, I'm coming as well."

Gloom rolled his eyes and grumbled.

Then they saw it. Rising up ahead on the horizon was the mound of earth that was Gawain's barrow. There was a slab of granite with the legend in an ancient tongue that indicated it.

Before they could reach the barrow, they had to pass through a circle of tall stones. As soon as they entered the circle, they were surrounded by a group of people in white robes. Druids! The druids took hold of the three of them and dragged them before their High Priest, who was wearing a ceremonial horse skull mask.

It looked a bit morbid. Tira stared at it rather tactlessly, the whites of her eyes a weird contrast with her green face.

"You are trespassing on sacred ground,” said the High Priest in a grinding voice. “Ground sacred to the Earth Mother. And whom do you both follow?"

"Seraton," said Jemmy steadily.

"Shekka," said Tira, still staring at the horse skull mask.

"And what is your business here?" demanded the High Priest.

"We are on a quest for the sword of Gawain," said Jemmy. "We have already defeated the Canker in Arunn's Hill. We are worthy."

"Only the worthy may enter the burial place of the guardian of the land," declared the High Priest. "Try entering now. Only those of pure heart can. The way is barred to the impure."

The druids released them and they approached the stones which marked the way into the barrow. Filled with foreboding, Jemmy and Tira passed between the stones, meeting with no resistance.

Jemmy lit his lantern. The tunnel was dark. Tira turned round, the flickering lantern light playing oddly over her green face.

"Gloom. Come on." Tira beckoned to the imp.

Gloom was standing on the threshold of the barrow, between the two stones. "I'm trying." He bared his teeth and stood straining, as though he were pressing against and invisible barrier. He gave a little cry and staggered over the threshold. "That was difficult. Almost didn't pass."

They went down the Earth tunnel and then down a flight of steps, finding themselves in a chapel of rest. Standing in the centre of the sanctuary was a marble sarcophagus, bearing the carved relief image of a noble paladin reclined in prayer, his stone sword clasped in his hands upon its lid. Jemmy could tell the carving depicted a Knight of Seraton.

"Something's here," muttered Gloom.

Tira and Jemmy were holding hands. They were aware of a presence to… then an ethereal blue light glowed in front of them and solidified, forming the ghostly impression of the Knight. There was a warm aura of goodness around him. It was reassuring. It felt as though there was someone strong looking out for them. Tira grinned. The ghostly light in the chapel shone off her green nose and cheeks.

"Who summons me from the battle against the forces of darkness?" demanded the Paladin, fixing his glowing eyes on them.

"S-sorry, Sir Gawain," said Tira, sounding a little breathless, "um… we are on a… quest… Jemmy needs a new sword and it's important, even though I don't get why… um…"

"Let the warrior do the talking, Mistress," said Gloom. "Two followers of Seraton might understand one another better."

"My apologies for the intrusion, Noble Knight," said Jemmy, but then he realised the knight was looking beyond him, as though sensing something Jemmy could not.

"Ah, I understand," said the Knight, "the Infernal Beast would manifest in the upper realms. Then he must be stopped. But my powers are limited here. I cannot leave this shrine."

"Then let me be your arm in this world," pleaded Jemmy. "Lend me your mighty blade, so that I can fight the evil of the Beast… and the villain, Nazek."

"The blade of mine, the blessed blade, Deliverer, is not here, my boy," said Gawain. "You are not the first warrior of pure heart to come here looking for it. Though you are the first visitor here to find a witch of pure heart to fight alongside you. But others have come looking for my blade, hoping to become truly great warriors."

"But this warrior obviously has the ego of a worthy warrior, to suppose he was the only one," interjected Gloom.

"Gloom!" Tira glared at the imp.

"I gave instructions to the last warrior to wield my blade," Gawain continued as though there had been no interruption. "It was to be kept in the chapel in the village of Tallow. You must look there first, although I sense many difficulties on that path."

Tira gave a wry smile and squeezed Jemmy's hand in sympathy.

"Great," grumbled Gloom. "Warriors and their obsession with swords… I ask you… Where does it lead?"

00O00

The village of Tallow was only a short trek through the hills and fields. A farm labourer was picking his teeth with a stalk.

"Where is the chapel?" said Jemmy. "Let's ask this man."

"Ask him what?" demanded Gloom. The imp reared up to his full height. "Oi! Slack jawed yokel! Why chew on wheat when there are perfectly good worms in the ground?"

Tira gathered the imp in her arms and put a green hand over his mouth. "So sorry about that," she said, smiling awkwardly.

"Chapel's over thar," said the labourer pointing to the only stone building in the settlement. "You don' want to come 'ere, kids."

"I think we can decide for ourselves, my good man," said Jemmy. "I bid you good day."

The three of them went over to the stone chapel to Seraton. Tira released Gloom who bounded along after them.

The village parson, a tall, thin man, was hanging around outside the chapel, chewing his lip and wringing his hands.

Tira ran up to him and touched his arm. "Oh Sir, what's wrong?"

"What's it to you, witch?" said the parson, snatching his arm away.

Tira blinked, looking hurt. Gloom sniggered.

Jemmy put an arm around her shoulder. "Do not speak to my friend that way, Sir! We have been directed by Gawain himself to make a pilgrimage to this shrine. The shrine of the Deliverer – the mighty sword of Gawain the warrior."

"It was stolen," said the parson tersely. "Bandits."

Jemmy pushed past him into the chapel and his heart sank when he saw that it was empty. There was a sword holder on the wall, but no sword.

Tira followed Jemmy in.

"Defile my shrine will you witch?" said the parson from outside. "Well there's nothing there for you to steal."

Jemmy was grateful when Tira slipped her green hand in his.

"My pilgrimage was in vain," said Jemmy.

Tira hugged him, her blond hair getting in his eyes. "You don't need the sword," she said, gazing into his eyes. "You're already the greatest warrior I know. What could be so wonderful about the sword anyway?"

From outside the chapel, the parson scoffed at them. "Told you the bandits had been here. They're ruthless. They steal what they like and woe betide whoever gets in their way."

Not knowing what else to do, Tira and Jemmy made for the market place looking for supplies, and went over to the fruit vendor. At that moment, there were yells of "Bandit! Bandit!" A figure swathed in black cloth and clutching a rusty sword appeared, smashing the fruit stall to pieces so apples and peaches flew everywhere, then turning to them, holding the rusty blade high.