I am an old man, now.

My eyesight is dim, and my feet falter.

But they have managed to carry my tales throughout the Known World, even unto the Barony of Riven Oak.

I know, mind you, that the Barony of Riven Oak is spelled with one word, as far as the locals are concerned; therefore, Rivenoak.

But the name flows so quickly off the tongue.

The tavern I heard the story of the Shire of Great Oak was known as the Oaken Bucket Tavern. It was built from the wood provided by the Great Oak when ...

Ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Long, long ago, so long ago, in fact, that the Known World was but the Known Kingdom of the West, there lived a tree in that very Kingdom. It shaded acres under its leaves. Seven thousand people could stand together under it (yes, this was back before the Great Plague drove us apart) with room to move. Truly, it was magnificent. It was so large, and stood on its own, in the middle of a massive field, that people simply called it - what else?- the Great Oak.

This tree had been there in its place since before the dawn of recorded time, and everyone assumed that it would stand until the end of time. Visitors to the tree said, in fact, that it seemed to exist merely to drive home the fact that time was a human concept, not a concept of the world humanity lived in. The tree had no goal, no end; it simply *was*.

It drew the attention of the famed Robin Hood, who used it as a base of operations for some time. Nay, I see you shaking your head in disbelief, for surely Robin Hood was based in Sherwood Forest in England, not the Kingdom of the West; but I tell you truly, he was here. Robin Hood, as far as I can tell, is akin to King Arthur, in that he is one of those timeless heroes that shows up when he is needed most, and leaves when he is no longer needed. And such was the case with this incarnation of the famed outlaw.

But of course, heroes always show up to solve problems created by...

Villains.

And our villain of this piece was, of course, the one you would expect.

...the Sheriff.

the town nearest the tree was named...Chico. I know, not a grand name or a name that sticks in the mind, like...Sherwood, or Yorktown, or Nottingham. Just Chico. But there it was.

The Sheriff (we will call him simply The Sheriff, because The Sheriff of Chico just doesn't sound imposing) sought to shut down the lifeblood of Chico, which, frankly, was entertainment. Indeed, it was known as a rock-the-clock, no-holds-barred, party town, and that simply couldn't be borne by The Sheriff. Robin Hood showed up several months after The Sheriff had ground the town under his heel, and promptly began his well-known, anti-establishment, anti-authoritarian tactics. Within weeks, The Sheriff had been reduced to a laughingstock, along with his few remaining followers.

The Sheriff, it seems, didn't give up easily. He took a few hostages and let the public know that he was taking them to, of all places, The Great Oak. Needless to say, Robin couldn't let this pass.

The confrontation was its usual epic self, my eager listeners. Witty verbal interplay mixed with dazzling displays of swordsmanship. I'm told there's even a movie about it. (wink wink)

Robin had defeated The Sheriff; his men had been driven off, and Robin was in the midst of freeing the hostages when The Sheriff played his final card. Unbeknownst to anyone, he had secreted several barrels of gunpowder around the Great Oak, and, upon his defeat, stumbled off into the darkness. Everyone assumed he was running away from his proper denouement, including Robin. But no, he was running to light the fuse.

The explosion was epic. The Great Oak was blasted completely out of the ground and into several pieces. The Sheriff was raving mad when they found him; all he could say was "I won, I won" over and over.

And truly, it seemed he had won. The Great Oak was no more. In sorrow, the Shire of Great Oak changed its name to the Shire of Riven Oak, which was inevitably shortened to Rivenoak, as it is now known by the locals.

And time passed, as time does. The town of Chico dwindled to a hamlet, and the previous party atmosphere just sort of...drifted away. Not with a bang, as you would say, but with a whimper.

Then one day, Robin returned. The populace begged him not to stay, because they knew he would simply bring more strife with him. Robin smiled and begged the people's indulgence for three days. "At the end of three days," he said, "I will leave, rather than bring misery to you once again. But your town will once again know its atmosphere return; for it is my fault that your camaraderie left, and I shall return it."

And he turned to the woods nearest where the shattered remains of the Great Oak lay, and whistled, and from those very woods came a host clad in Lincoln green; and they set to work on the ruins of the Great Oak.

And, true to his word, three days later a tavern rose from the wreckage of the Great Oak, and the sign overhead read Riven Oak Tavern.

And upon the bar inside the tavern sat a squat jug, that poured whatever liquid it was asked to pour, at whatever temperature it was asked. People came from entire countries away just to see the wonderment of The Jug In The Tavern, as it became known.

And Chico's atmosphere, and fun loving attitude, and rock-the-clock party, returned almost overnight.

And you would think that would be enough. But Robin was not done. No one has figured out how he did it; but if you have not heard of Chico, or the Riven Oak Tavern, or The Jug, it is simply because you either do not need it, or are not worthy of it.

I myself have seen The Riven Oak Tavern. I have puzzled over its magic for years, until one day I gave up and asked the proprietor, a gentleman by the name of Jacob. He smiled, and said "go read the sign."

And I said "I HAVE read the sign."

He said "go look at it ...closely."

So I wandered outside and stared at the sign for what seemed like forever. Finally, at the bottom, in the smallest print, I saw the words that explained it all. I don't mind telling you what they are, because even knowing will do you no good. You either find The Riven Oak Tavern, or you don't.

The words were

Jacob Stonebender, Prop.

for

Michael Callahan, Esq.

Believe me or not, as you will.

Salud.

Baron Jonathan Blackbow

12/13/2020

Mercedes Lackey has written a crap ton of books in the Valdemar series as well as a bunch of others. I've read most of them. Tonight I started in on one called Bardic Voices (vol. 1), The Lark and The Wren. The protagonist's name is Rune and early in the book she makes the mistake (?) of getting mad and swearing that she can play fiddle well enough to please the Ghost of Skull Hill. Ironically enough, later in the book somebody suggests that she write a song about it.

I looked around on the internet and it didn't look like anybody had.

So I did.

The Ghost of Skull Hill

(to the tune of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”, extended version, more or less, you can figure it out fairly easily I think.)

So there’s a girl in this village, see, not much as villages go

Her name is Rune, she plays a few tunes, just not much else, y’know

Her mom and she don’t get along, and half the village knows

They don’t get along, don’t like her songs, nor that she comes and goes

So her mom is single, don’t y’know, and lookin’ for a man

Cause her mom looks out for number one, any which way she can

So Rune spends most days workin’ hard, just tryin’ to stay ahead

Of her mom, and her boss, and the village jerks while they try to take her down a peg

Rune, girl, get outa town, there’s no life for you here

You’ll end up married with a bunch of kids and wrinkled with gray hair

You can play that fiddle, yes it’s true, so get yourself right out

Cause if you don’t, you’re stuck there, there’s no doubt

(interlude)

So Rune, she works the inn that day, an’ a pack of boys come in

They set to buggin’ her right there, cause she oughta be marryin’

They tell her that she ought be nice, cause her fiddle-playin’s bad

An’ she stands up, gets in their face, an’ she’s got plenty mad

She screams “I’LL SHOW YOU BOYS, JUST WAIT!” and they say “really, how?”

She goes and comes back with her fiddle, looks at ‘em and says “now

I know you’ve all heard of the Ghost atop Skull Hill, you see?

I’ll go and play a tune for him, he’ll like it, wait and see!”

Rune, girl, get outa town, there’s no life for you here

You’ll end up married with a bunch of kids and wrinkled with gray hair

You can play that fiddle, yes it’s true, so get yourself right out

Cause if you don’t, you’re stuck there, there’s no doubt

(interlude)

They laugh at her, and tell her she ain’t got the guts to go

She stomps on out, heads up the hill, and they all watch her, so

They shake their heads, and laugh a bit, and call her names some more

And night falls, and she don’t come back, and so they shut the door

She’s on that hill, it’s gettin’ dark, and she’s a good bit scared

Cause this ghost’s got a nasty rep, no one’s come back from there

And plenty’s tried to spend the night, but no one’s ever done

Except a few who’s made it cross the stream ‘fore morning sun

Rune, girl, get outa town, there’s no life for you here

You’ll end up married with a bunch of kids and wrinkled with gray hair

You can play that fiddle, yes it’s true, so get yourself right out

Cause if you don’t, you’re stuck there, there’s no doubt

(interlude)

Come midnight, friend, that hill came alive! This ghost appears on time

He looks at Rune, says “stupid girl, I’ll eat you up alive!

I’m not just some old story that you tell your kids at night-

I’m REAL, girl, so WHAT PRAY TELL brings you into my sight?”

(slower)

Rune looks at him, says “please, good sir, I’ve brought my fiddle, see?

I’ve made a bet I might regret to play a song for thee

I need a judge, and you’re the only one that I do know

With power and wit, enough of it, to tell if I do so.”

Now the Ghost was taken aback, you hear, no idea what to say

And slowed his rant, and stopped complete, looked at this girl, said “Hey,

Now you sound pretty desperate, girl, what’s goin’ on in your world?

For only desperate souls would try this crap, let alone a teenage girl.”

(normal)

And strange as it may sound, he seemed a sympathetic ear

And slow at first, she told him all about her life ‘round here.

That she had learned to play a tune or three while growing up

But the village didn’t want her, nor her mom. And just then he said, “STOP.

Now you might play pretty good fiddle, girl, so here’s what I will do

And if you’d care to take a dare I’ll make a bet with you

You play that fiddle all night long and keep me entertained

And if you don’t, well, you figure it out – you’ll wish you’d never stayed.”

And Rune said “my name’s Rune, sir, and it might be a sin

But I’ll take that bet, you won’t regret, I’ll play the best I’ve ever been.”

Rune, girl, ya shouldn’t have come, there’s an angry Ghost up here

‘cause hell’s broke loose on top of that hill, it’s your life that’s wagered here

You can play that fiddle, yes it’s true, so whip that bow right out

Cause if you don’t, you’ll die there, there’s no doubt

(interlude)

So Rune, she rosined up her bow, and played that fiddle hard

Played every song she’d ever heard like from a deck of cards

And when she’d run through all that started makin’ up her own

Her fingers bleeding, muscles cramped, didn’t stop until the dawn

(slowest)

And as she raised her weary head she saw the Ghost stand still

With tears of fire down both cheeks, up there atop his hill

He finally spoke, said “all these years and no one’s ever cared

About Skull Hill, about its ghost, or why he’s stuck up there.

A simple pleasure, music, true, but one that I’ve not heard

In far too long. I thank you, lass, and now, it is my turn

To pay you fair, my silver there, you’ve earned it all, your fee

I’d pay in gold, but that would earn you naught but trouble, see?”

She curtseyed thanks, and turned to go, but the Ghost, he cried out “wait!

What will you do? Where will you go? Back to that village? Think!

Dear girl, Rune, take my advice, there’s no life for you there

You’ll end up married with a bunch of kids and wrinkled with gray hair

You can play that fiddle, yes it’s true, so get yourself right out

Cause if you don’t, you’ll die there, there’s no doubt

(slow interlude)

So Rune, she ducked out on the spot, and started her own show

In a bigger town, and far away, with room for her to grow

And the Ghost on Skull Hill’s legend grew, as if it needed more

That he and Rune had danced and played till she was at death’s door

(interlude)

(normal)

A lifetime later, she came back, a master minstrel now

She blew through town, she didn’t stop, went up that hill, and how

She played for that Ghost all night long, and as the sun arose

They found her dead, with a grin on her face, but no more Ghost, you know

(slower)

The Lady Rune, she played and sang her way through all her days

And at the end, she paid her debt to the Ghost who paid her way

She’d gotten so damn good at what she did, she paid her fee

Came back and played so well for him that his soul was set free.

[the ending is my own devising.]

Ken tried one more time to get the car out of the ditch, but the snow was almost up to the hubs, and he didn't have chains on, and it wasn't going to happen.

Great, he thought. Try to do something nice for somebody and get stuck in a snowdrift in a blizzard. The kids wanted to see Santa the nightbefore Christmas, got all the stuff on, got in the car, headed for the hospital, and spun out and stuck.

In the middle of nowhere. And the snow's getting deeper all the time.

No cell service in the middle of nowhere.

So not only are the kids not going to get to see Santa, they're probably going to find him frozen in the car in a day or two. What a way to go.

A couple of hours later, the car's out of gas now, the heater's off, and it's getting really, really cold. The Santa suit doesn't hold quite enough heat. Funny how that is, because every time he'd put it on before, he'd been sweating like a pig under it.

He started to nod off. Bad idea but it's getting comfortable, and dying in your sleep isn't the worst way to-

and a POW from overhead out of the snowstorm slammed him back awake. Funny, he thought, they don't fly jets in this weather, and certainly not that low to the ground at Mach 1-

When beside him through the snow covered windows a shape settled to the ground. A big shape. From his near-comatose state it looked to him like a sleigh. With eight reindeer.

And from behind it walked a human shape up to the window, which leaned over, knocked, and said "Hey, Ken, sorry we're late. You okay?"

And Ken, smiling because clearly he was having a near-death hallucination, rolled down the window and stuck his hand out, saying, "hi, Kris, thanks for rescuing-"

And he stopped and stared.

It wasn't Santa.

Tall guy, dark hair, steel jaw, red...

cape?

Blue outfit?

Yellow and red ....S? on the front???

"It's okay," he said. "You're not dying or hallucinating." He was busily uncapping a five gallon gas can, popping the lid, and pouring the contents in his tank.

"Are you sure?" said Ken. This was just a little confusing. "You're... not...."

He smiled.

"Real?"

And from the sleigh came a loud, bass ho-ho-ho ...

"I'm just as real as he is."

The man in the cape pointed to the sleigh. "How do you think he could possibly get all those gifts delivered otherwise?" And laughing, he said "everybody knows reindeer can't fly."

And then the man stopped and pointed at him and said "well, actually, it's mostly you guys.

All of you.

We're all part of the same team."

And with a smile, a wave, and a "Merry Christmas", the sleigh, the reindeer, and the man in the cape,

were gone. His car had somehow moved itself back onto the road, with four brand new snow tires, and a gas tank that would never, ever read anything but F, ever again.

An hour later he was at the hospital, walking in with a big bag over his shoulder. The kids were already entranced, standing outside in the snow, talking to a...

...man in a blue outfit with a yellow and red S on the chest, in a red cape.

And as he walked up, the man looked up, smiled, said "see? I told you he'd be here."

And waved at Ken, and then at the kids,

And rose into the sky.

Like a bird. Or a plane.

Ken looked at the kids, and with a wink of his eye, put his finger to his lips, and said, "Shhh."

"It's a secret."

Tha Git Wha came in Fourth

Twas a tourney, just a tourney, not a real tourney even

But a practice one for sharpenin' ya skills

Just a tourney, little tourney, only eight people all in it

So the MoLs could figger up their kills.

An tha tourney, that wee tourney, there was swingin' and was hackin'

just a tourney, not even really swingin' blows

But there's always one, ya know it, that has got to win at enna

that he puts his mind to, fer real or for shows.

An the tourney it progresses, as progressin' tourneys do

An it gets on down to quarters of the mob

An in ain corner 'tis a Ruslan, just a-mindin' his own bizzy

An' the aither corner, naw, we's got's a slob.

An I'm shure we'll nevair know for what was goin through his head

An the facts of all the fightin' ain't in doubt (no sir)

But the slob, he starts ta whine at whar he thinks nae one can hear him

how he didn't, really, truly, lose that bout.

"nae, 'twas me thumb that got the livin' smacked out of it

'an after that could hardly hold me sword

an' when i went me pub could barely pop the safety cap off

all the brews i used to drown me sorrows more

Ah, that Ruslan, he's a terror, an' he ain't got nae permission

for to hold that sword he smacked me with atall

'an if I had more chubbies I'd sure race me off ta marshall

an' tell 'im so, and stir up trouble withal.

Now, don't you worrie, dearie, here's yer prize, ya worthless snowflake

For finishin' the tournament, near mort

But just remember, dearie, if yer gonna pitch a whinin'

Might as well, at least, whine higher than finish fourth.

a new day dawns in sacred stone

a phoenix as of old

and with it comes the morning sun

a shining sphere of gold.

be strong, be brave, be flaming bright

be fair above us all

Lead us to help push back the night

and knock down these old walls.

I wrote this before Kingdom of Heaven ever came out, but the "Battle" of Hattin (I called it "Slaughter" because that's what it was) in the movie actually draws from actual events. Here's a video that lays it out fairly well.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ndXuRoJd6hQ

The sun shone brightly on one thousand score foot

And a thousand of England’s grand horse

And they marched to their doom, though in truth they knew not

Towards a Saracen army in wait.

On day one, our advance scouts came galloping back

And reported with unseemly haste

That an enemy force many thousands strong

Could be seen marching o’er the waste.

A royal cartographer in days long gone by

Had probably given the name

To the Horns of Hattin as they rose to the sky

On an otherwise featureless plain.

On day two, we arrived with our baggage in tow

With our horses, and armor, and men

And we gave praise to Allah that he had seen fit

To deliver the English heathen.

And the English, in forced march with little supply

Arrived on site the evening before

To their horror, the Moors led by Saladin encamped

Waiting there, clearly arrayed for war.

On day three, our enemies delivered themselves

To our ready and eager warbands.

Outnumbered they came, with supplies all but gone

To retake their precious Holy Land.

And the English, unready and thirsting, encamped

To a night full of worry and dread.

They’d outrun their supply line, and so had no water

To face the grim odds yet ahead.

On the morn of the fourth day the desperate ones came

To the stream, that they might quench their thirst.

Not a one made it back to his lines; nay, instead

We fell on them, and they came off worst.

And the cunning Saracens, with stratagem wise

Lit the countryside all round on fire

Thereby making the English affairs that much worse

Driving heat and their tempers much higher.

On noon of the fourth day the heathens sallied forth

Having already gambled, and lost

And the only thing left to take stock at day’s end

Was the bloody and horrific cost.

So the English, defeated, were sold off as slaves

Or worse yet, were put to the sword

Save the King of Jerusalem, one Guy by name

Ransomed for the price of a king’s hoard.

Documentation / Explanation (Razo):

“Slaughter at the Horns of Hattin” was written for an event and competition I can’t remember. If I remember correctly the poem had to be about an actual historical event from the Crusades. I found the Battle of Hattin (Editor's note - Jonathan refers to a website that seems to currently be down but whose information is mirrored at http://www.templarhistory.com/hattin.html) and wrote the subsequent poem in a back-and-forth style I came up with on my own, although I wouldn’t be surprised to find documentation for it somewhere.

Tourney at Elchenburg Castle

The Minnesanger Invasion

"Ah, my friends! Spring returns, and with it thoughts of love, and warm weather, and..."

Everybody watched Gerhard as he struggled with the next words.

Finally he looked around, and said the last thing we ever thought he'd say.

"I have hit a creative wall, my friends. I am completely stuck."

We waited for the punchline, but there wasn't one. Then again, it wasn't necessarily his fault; we were in the middle of nowhere on a dusty road from one tiny little town to another tiny little town. There just wasn't much to inspire anybody.

"Where are we, anyway?" he said.

"Well, you're the one that said last night that we should follow the caravan, " said Wat. "But they, unlike us, are motivated, industrious, and they have horses. "

"SO? We have a horse as well!" Gerhard swung round to point at the horse following behind the hand-pulled cart Wat was currently lugging.

"Yes, but he's a warhorse, and we need him. He's going to bring a fine price at Elchenburg." William plodded in the dust at the side of the cart, hand shading his eyes from the sun. "He's no use to us, and he eats like a..." he shut up as he realized he was going for the easy simile.

"If only Sir Ector hadn't died right before he was supposed to joust that final pass! We'd be living in hog heaven about now." Roland was a bit heavier than your normal human, but he'd proven his worth over and over; he was worth the cost of the food he ate, if only because he could be relied on to pull the cart about as well as a mule would have.

"wait...just...a...second..." Gerhard had stopped in the middle of the road. The rest of us looked at him, hoping his inspiration had struck. Finally he said "what do they need at Elchenburg, at the tournament, that they don't have?"

We all waited. When it became obvious that none of us were going to feed him the straight line, he said, in a falsetto voice, "I don't know, Gerhard, what do they need?" Then normally, "Why, thank you for asking. They need....

minnesangers!!"

War of the Wings XIV

Part Three

"They live for war, Mistress. And they are unstoppable."

A crossbow hummed a bolt on its way. A soldier screamed and fell.

"Not any more, they aren't."

The battlefield at Crecy once again groaned under the weight of horses, and soldiers, and spears. Crows and vultures circled far above, safely out of crossbow range, waiting for their turn at the wreckage.

"But he said it, Mistress. He practically *sang* it. He wants it all, and he wants it now. Surely killing a few of his soldiers will not slow him in the slightest."

A crossbow loosed again. Another soldier dropped.

"No," she said. "No, it won't. " Her face was sad, just as it had been since the beginning of the conflict.

"But *those* soldiers were standing in the way of *that* squire."

Another crossbow bolt winged across the field. A squire dressed in red and black tried to scream, clutching uselessly at the bolt protruding from his chest, and sank to the ground.

Tears were running down her face. "He used to babysit my children. Taylor, and Brandon, and Erika, and Kaleigh, and my grandchildren Shepard and Lorelei... and I tried to tell him that living only for war was foolish. But he would not listen. And he followed Baron Marc."

More French troops died, crossbow bolts protruding. It was as if one mind was directing the withering fire of the archers.

"And now," she said, "now I must kill my lord. 'Tis the only way to end this, this... slaughter. My loyal citizens die to slow their advance, and I scarcely know which side should win the day. God knows I have no love for the English, but if they back my cause, then I must support them."

"But Mistress, surely the Baron need not die! There must be another-"

A crossbow bolt flew again across the field.

Methinks 'twas naught but Providence that caused the bolt to miss, for certainly she was aiming for the eye. As cruel as it sounded, she sought to spare him pain, and end his fight quickly.

But the bolt missed. Just as it arrived he turned slightly, and the bolt transfixed his arm. Whoever he was engaged in killing at the time did not realize how close they came to death, but the bolt spoiled his aim.

He did not scream in agony. He was too fixated on the battle for the pain to intrude on his consciousness.

His head jerked up and saw her watching him. He grinned, and tried to go back to the fight, but his arm refused to work.

Their eyes met, and in that look was exchanged all that needed to be said. He had lost the battle between them, but his soldiers were winning the day. Gathering his household troops around him, he retired from the field.

The battle continued.

A crossbow hummed.

The Shrine of Saint Martin

by

Jonathan Blackbow

I am an old man, now.

My hair is white, my steps falter.

Many of my friends of old have passed.

But these eyes have seen what others have not.

And I will tell you a tale of long ago, when the Knowne World heard the name Atlantia, and trembled.

A time when the names of Anton, Michael, Cuan, Logan, Kane, Oldcastle, and others struck fear in the hearts of their enemies.

When Dukes bestrode the earth.

And into all of this plunged a boy named Martin.

He was young and impetuous, but brave and gallant. And he quickly became friends with several of the aforementioned Dukes of Terror. And they took him, and taught him to be a force on the field.

And one day he did start to call them by their first names, instead of their titles, as one ought. And the Dukes did look askance at him, and say to him, and others, Lo, this boy thinks he can call us by our names, all of us. What Power is in him? For surely none would have the temerity otherwise.

And they took counsel of themselves, and of the Church, and realized that Here was a Power, given form on Earth, such as they had never seen. And that Power was given Martin, and that only a Bishop of the Church could command such. And they named him on the spot, His Eminence, Bishop Martin.

And this was long a name to yell at him on the Battlefield, and immediately was shortened to Eminence.

And time passed, as time does. And Eminence Martin became known throughout the Knowne World, both for his Powers, and his skill on the field.

And lo, it came to pass that His Eminence Bishop Martin did choose to move to the kingdom of Trimaris, for reasons still unknown to Mortal Men.

And His Eminence Martin became beloved of that Kingdom, and did join the ranks of the Chivalry of Trimaris, and win Crown twice, and was by rights named a Duke. And his name was changed to His Eminence Duke Sir Martin, to reflect all of this. And Martin was humble, and still fun to be around, and still called the Dukes of Terror by their first names.

And time passed.

And lo, a day came, both wonderful and terrible to behold, for Martin did journey to Gleann Abahn, and fight for Trimaris in the Gulf. And in his camp he did toil, for remember, he was humble, and not above working and sweating for the good of the camp.

And Martin took up a pickaxe, and did begin to hew at the earth, to dig a trench, or a hole for a stake; the story is unclear on this point.

And Martin struck the earth, and lo, did the first miracle occur; the earth gushed forth water, at precisely a spot wherein the people had cried "give us water to drink".

And the populace came, and saw this miracle, and cried out mightily, saying, upon our word, a miracle has occurred.

And a well was built around the spot, and it was called Martin's Well, and the people drank from it, and were glad.

And lo, a second miracle occurred, and the pickaxe turned to Gold in the night, and was found near Martin's Well, and the people were amazed, and were enrichened by the gold, sold off in bits to enlarge their coffers. And the people cried out mightily, saying, a second miracle has occurred.

And lo, in the next night, the third miracle ocurred. Strange bits of material were found around Martin's Well, and they were mighty tasty, and at this point the people began to cry, look, the third miracle has occurred, and Martin shall be Sainted, e'en though he still lives on Earth.

And the Dukes of Terror did come by the spot, and consulted with themselves, and the Church, and lo, it was agreed that His Eminence Duke Sir Martin was assimilated bodily into Heaven, and taking his place was His Eminence Duke Sir Saint Martin of the Well, although there was some discussion of whether Saint should come first ahead of His Eminence. But the name was so familiar and well-loved that "Saint Martin" did become the short form, and only in those rare moments when his entire title was used was "His Eminence Duke Sir Saint Martin of the Well" heard.

I am an old man, now. My hair is white and my feet falter.

But I swear that this entire tale is true, for I have seen Saint Martin's Well with my own eyes. I have seen the Golden Pickaxe. I have drunk from its depths.

And I have met His Eminence Saint Martin, and dared call him by his given name, Martin, for as he began, so has he continued, and calls those around them by their given name, and if you dare approach, you can also walk up to him and call him Saint Martin, the first time, and Martin, after that, and he will smile, and laugh. Rare it is for a Saint to be made while still alive, and Martin is both rare, and still alive.

And thus ends my tale.

Selah.

Five more minutes,honey, please

But I've got stuff I have to do.

We've both got stuff we have to do

But I want to spend five minutes with you.

Three more minutes, darling, please

Hand me my coat, we've got to go.

We both have stuff, we've got to go

But just three minutes won't make us slow.

Two more minutes, baby, please

We're in a hurry, we've got no time.

We're always hurrying, we've got no time

But would one more minute be such a crime?

... one more minute, doctor, please.

I'm sorry, ma'am, the machines are off.

Born on a Longboat

One fine day a young Norseman

Took her sword, shield and spear

Went a-viking out with all the other men

Ran around, killed some English, took their stuff, sailed home

When she asked them why, they told her once again

You were born on a longboat, washed ashore by a wave

Go a-Viking, come and go on the tide

Tho some men’s bad luck is to die in their beds

You will sleep with your sword till you die

This young lass grew older, tall and strong, handsome too

Blessed in battle by the gods, so it seemed

But her rivals plotted ‘gainst her, left her on a distant shore

And she shouted as she watched them from the beach

I was born on a longboat, washed ashore by a wave

Went a-viking, came and went on the tide

Tho some men’s bad luck is to die in their beds

Rest assured you’ll see my sword before you die

This Norseman went ashore, to a small local town

Hid her weapons, found a dark-haired English lad

Fell in love, got her married, raised a crop of blond-haired kids

And she found had not a care in the world

(and she sang)

I was born on a longboat, washed ashore by a wave

Went a-Viking, came and went on the tide

Tho some men’s bad luck is to die in their beds

I’ll do that, with my lord at my side

The years passed so swiftly as they do when you’re in love

And her husband learned to be a blacksmith too

But she made sure her children learned the sword and shield and spear

When they asked why she told them what I’m telling you

You weren’t born on a longboat, you were raised on a farm

And you’ve had yourselves a pretty good life

But the Norsemen will come as they always do

That’s the day your sword will save your life

They thanked her quite nicely and went back to their play

And she sighed as she watched and shook her head

“they don’t know what they’re in for,” as she went back to her work

But her lord heard her worry, and he said

They weren’t born on a longboat, washed ashore by a wave

They’re just kids who’ve never taken a life

You know darn good and well they’ll do fine when it counts

I'm just glad I found you for my wife

Then many years later sure enough here they came

Vikings raided deeper than they’d ever been

And our Norseman left her house, took her weapons and she stood

At the end of the town’s only bridge

(and she sang)

I was born on a longboat, washed ashore by a wave

And I told you that you’d see my sword again

Though there’s forty of you and just one left of me

You’ll not harm this town while I can draw breath

The Vikings laughed and charged her, took some losses, forced her back

To the far end of the town’s only bridge

When behind her came a yelling, running, Viking berserk charge

Of a horde of screaming yellow-headed kids

(and they sang)

We weren’t born on a longboat, we were raised on a farm

But you taught us all how to fight

We’ve been playing at war for the last forty years

And we’ve got them outnumbered tonight

They killed some, chased the rest off, brought their great-grandma back home

Had a party for their victory that day

And the story, it went out “leave that damn town alone!”

And our Norseman’s now an English, come what may

She was born on a longboat, washed ashore by a wave

Came and went, to and fro with the tide

Lived a good long life, saved her town from the Norse

Died years later, with her family at her side.

Squire's Paradise

(tune of "Gangsta's Paradise" by Coolio)

As I crawl off the field with my armor in tatters

I take a look at my stuff and wonder why it all matters

‘cause I’ve been hangin’ and bangin’ so long that

Even my knight thinks that my mind is gone

But I ain’t neva hit a fighter that wasn’t a-lookin

‘cause if I did then I’m a cheata and shoulda been sent bookin’ home

If you ain’t been a squire you don’t know what I’m talkin’

But if you ain’t been a squire you ain’t walked what I’m walkin’

I try not to be proud ‘cause that’s one seventh deadly sin

But I’m a memba of a club you gotta work ta get in

I’m the kinda guy the ones who ain’t in wanna gotta get to be, yo

Cause the kinda guy I am is how you start to get to be

On your knees in front the king

As you listen to them singin’

Been tryin’ to be a knight living in the Squire’s Paradise

We all know there’s no such sight but we’re in the Squire’s Paradise

Keep workin’ all our lives tryin’a exit Squire’s Paradise

Got belted red by a knight so I’m livin’ Squire’s Paradise

So here’s the situation they got me facin’

I can’t live a normal life, I was born on the list field

So I gotta be down with the 14th century

Too much fight watchin’ analyzin’ got me chasin’ dreams

I’m an educated fool with winnin’ clean on my mind

Got my sword an’ board in my hand and a gleam in my eye

I’ma Ibuprofen’d out squire, swore an oath to my sire

An’ I’m gonna make it one day, so don’t arouse my ire, y’all

Death ain’t nuthin I can’t recover from y’know

But dishonor that’s another kind a crash landin’ yo

I’m twenty-three now and I know I’ll see twenty-four

But damn I wish my joints weren’t so f****n sore

There are none so blind as those who won’t see

That the ones workin’ hard are you and me

Been tryin’ to be a knight living in the Squire’s Paradise

We all know there’s no such sight but we’re in the Squire’s Paradise

Keep workin’ all our lives tryin’a exit Squire’s Paradise

Got belted red by a knight so I’m livin’ Squire’s Paradise

Power goes with politics, politics with power

Minute after minute, hour after hour

Everybody jockeying, and all of them are lookin’

Fightin’ hard then I’m in kitchen ‘cause a squire’s multitalented

(did you really think I was going to write “’cause a squire’s good at cookin’”??? PLEASE)

They say I gotta learn and I watch at what they doin’

And I gotta say they get it, all the shakin’ and the movin’

I used to say, that wasn’t me

But then I see, their thoughts in me

And the circle is complete, Obi-wan

Been tryin’ to be a knight living in the Squire’s Paradise

We all know there’s no such sight but we’re in the Squire’s Paradise

Keep workin’ all our lives tryin’a exit Squire’s Paradise

Got belted red by a knight so I’m livin’ Squire’s Paradise

There are none so blind as those who won’t see

That the ones workin’ hard are you and me

There are none so blind as those who won’t see

That the ones workin’ hard are you and me