"You should have kept your mouth shut, boy," said a harsh voice. "You might have made it."

Elijah nodded, outwardly calm, though his heart was galloping in his chest. "You're quite right, sir," he said. "It's always my mouth that gets me in trouble."

Before he turned, Elijah knew exactly what he would see: a soldier of the Archbishop's Guard waiting to take him back into custody. The hours of crawling through a slimy, noisome sewer to escape the dungeons of Aquila were wasted. The young cutpurse's bid for freedom was about to come to a halt because he couldn't keep from bragging.

Still, when the heavy gauntleted hand fell on his shoulder, Elijah couldn't give up easily. Twisting with the suppleness of a weasel, the boy came out of his tunic leaving the soldier with a handful of fraying fabric. With a curse, the Guard grabbed for the thief. Elijah ducked and then sprang up on one of the outdoor tavern's trestle tables. Crawling across the overhead trellis, the boy prayed that the rickety structure would hold together long enough for him to make it to the roof.

The glittering point of a sword appeared before Elijah's eyes and the young thief scooted backward. Another sword was thrust up between the grapevines and woven slats narrowly missing Elijah's belly. The boy rolled, hoping he wasn't about to fall through the lattice, and came up on his knees. The flat roof of the tiny inn looked miles away and now the patrons of the tavern had joined the squad of soldiers trying to capture the escapee.

Feeling betrayed, Elijah looked desperately around for a way out. He could see no hope and now the soldiers were climbing up on the tables. Soon they would pull the trellis down and Elijah with it. He would be dragged back to Aquila and locked in a cell until he was hanged.

Elijah heard hoof beats, but in his despair, supposed it was another soldier, perhaps even the captain of the Guard. It was a moment before he realized that the shouts coming from below were not greetings, but yells of dismay. Peering through the grape leaves, Elijah saw an astonishing sight.

A knight in black armor riding a huge black destrier laid about him with a massive broadsword. None could stand before the man's flashing steel or the lashing hooves of his warhorse. The citizens and soldiers alike had been driven into the stone building, save for the man who had accosted Elijah.

"Navarre," the Guard said in a tone of accusation.

The knight faltered in his attack and pushed up the visor of his helmet. A pair of brilliant blue eyes fixed the Guard with a piercing stare.

"I know you, Viggo Navarre," the soldier said. "You were Captain of the Guard."

The knight hesitated and the Guard struck at him. The blow would have knocked Viggo from his steed, but for a timely intervention. To Elijah's amazement, a beautiful hawk swooped down from the heavens and knocked the sword from the Guard's hand. The soldier screamed and clutched his torn flesh to his chest. The hawk circled to land on the knight's mantled shoulder and glared at the wounded man.

Realizing abruptly that he should have slipped away in the commotion, Elijah moved stealthily to the edge of the lattice. He lowered himself to the ground and took to his heels. His heart was hammering so loudly that he didn't hear the hoof beats behind him until it was too late. Elijah looked back over his shoulder just as the knight leaned in the saddle. A mailed fist grasped the back of Elijah's breeches and hauled him up. The boy was deposited belly-down in front of the horseman as the steed broke into a gallop.

They were some distance away when the man drew rein. They stopped beside a stream that meandered from under the eaves of a thick forest. Elijah slid to the ground from his undignified position and stared at his rescuer. The armored man doffed his helmet and gauntlets, running his fingers through sweat damp fair hair before turning to the boy.

"Who are you, sir?" Elijah asked. "That soldier called you Navarre, but everyone knows that Captain Navarre was banished years ago."

The blonde man cocked his head at the young thief. "Would banishment keep you from what you loved?"

Elijah frowned. "I'm not sure what . . ."

"Never mind," the knight interrupted. "So you are the one who accomplished the impossible, eh? The only person ever to escape the dungeons of the Archbishop."

"It's true," Elijah said defensively.

"I believe you," the man said. "I have to. Now let me introduce myself. I am Viggo of Navarre, late of the Archbishop's Guard. And you are?"

"Elijah Gastone, late of the Archbishop's jail, and very glad of it. I've no wish to hang."

"What was your crime?"

"I'm a pickpocket, sir," Elijah said candidly.

"For that you were to be hanged? Things have gotten worse in Aquila then."

"It's a hard town, sir," Elijah agreed.

"Because of the Archbishop's new laws," the knight said.

"Aye, sir," Elijah said. "He's even locked up the poor girls who've nothing to sell but their bodies. What crime is there in paying a woman for her company?"

A bittersweet smile curved the knight's lips for a moment. "Was your mother perhaps one of these women?"

"And if she was?"

"Softly, boy. I mean no insult. I need your help."

"My help!" Elijah exclaimed in astonishment. "How can I help you?"

"Show me how you got out of Aquila unseen that I may enter the same way."

Elijah began backing away from the man. "You're crazy, aren't you?" he said.

"It's possible," Viggo answered. "If I have been driven mad it would not surprise me, but I still need your help."

"I make it a policy never to dabble in the affairs of my betters," Elijah said, preparing to run. "Find another way into Aquila."

The pickpocket had gone three steps when the knight's sword thudded into a tree trunk by his head. Elijah swallowed and turned around. Viggo came forward to pull the blade from the wood and met the boy's apprehensive gaze.

"I'll not harm you," the knight said, "but I must have your help."

"Why didn't you say so, sir?" Elijah said with faux heartiness. "Of course, I'll do what I can for you. All you have to do is ask."

Viggo looked askance at the cutpurse. "Are you mad as well?" he asked.

"Probably," Elijah said, "but prison will do that to a man."

Viggo hid his smile at this worldly pronouncement from the ragamuffin lad. "Come," he said. "We will find a place to camp for the night. In the morning, you can show me the way into Aquila."

The knight took the reins of the charger and began to walk into the trees. Before he entered the dusk-bound forest, the hawk swooped in to perch on his shoulder. Eyes wide with wonder, Elijah followed.

^+^ | ^+^ |^+^ | ^+^ | ^+^

Deep in the forest, the knight and the thief came across an abandoned hut. The roof was riddled with holes, but the sky showed no sign of rain clouds.

"We will stop here," Viggo said. "Do you know how to unsaddle a horse?"

Elijah nodded. He'd had a brief stint of respectable work as a stable boy.

"Unsaddle Goliath, and take him inside," the knight said, casting a glance at the setting sun. "I amm going to barricade the door. You are not to come out until dawn, understand?"

Elijah frowned and opened his mouth to protest when the hawk let out a piercing shriek as if issuing a warning.

"Just do as I say," Viggo ordered brusquely. "There's food and drink in Goliath's saddlebags. You should be well enough until morning."

With that, the knight walked swiftly away. The thief stared after him for a moment and then the stallion nudged him with a velvety muzzle.

"All right," Elijah sighed. "Come on, big fellow; let's go inside.

After tending to the giant steed, Elijah made himself a nest of old straw and Goliath's saddle blanket. He despaired of being able to sleep in this wilderness, but knew he must've dozed off when a strange sound woke him. Unsure if he were awake or not, Elijah watched a shadowy figure push aside the barricade at the door and step outside. The young thief rubbed his eyes and rose to follow.

The mysterious figure was wearing Navarre's cloak, but it was obvious that this was not the knight. The stranger was slender and moved with elegant grace. Suspecting that he might be dreaming this, Elijah called out.

"Who are you?"

The cloaked figure turned and Elijah's heart began to beat faster. Now he knew that this was a dream for such beauty did not exist in the daylight world. Never had Elijah seen skin of such alabaster purity or such remarkable eyes. The lovely stranger raised a finger to lips carved of some rosy marble by a master sculptor.

"Am I dreaming?" Elijah asked.

"Yes," came the answer in a voice as vibrant as a lute.

"Wait!" Elijah called as the figure moved away between the mist-wreathed tree trunks. "It's dangerous out there."

"Not for me," the answer floated back.

Elijah stared after the apparition, hugging himself in the cold. A rustling in the thick undergrowth drew his attention and a pair of glowing blue eyes appeared in the darkness. A wolf stalked into the clearing, looked once at the boy, and then followed the ghost. Elijah leaped back into the hut and pushed everything he could find into the doorway. Lying down again, he shut his eyes tightly and prayed he would live through this strange night.

^+^ | ^+^ | ^+^ | ^+^ | ^+^

"Wake up, boy!"

Elijah groaned and sat up in the straw. The blanket was yanked from his shoulders as he blinked up at the knight.

"The sun is well up," Viggo prompted. "We must go."

Elijah waited until they were walking away from the campsite to mention the previous night's strange occurrence. He stole a sideways glance at the knight in his black armor with the hawk once again on his shoulder. The magnificent bird turned its head and fixed its bright stare on the boy. The hawk's eyes reminded the thief of the apparition.

"I had the strangest dream last night," Elijah said.

The pickpocket paused and waited for the man to ask him about his dream. When Viggo said nothing, Elijah continued as though the knight had expressed interest.

"Yes, it was very strange. I saw a vision, or ghost perhaps, wearing your cloak."

"Really?" Viggo said with studied casualness. "And how did this person get into the hut?"

"That's how I know it was a dream or a spirit. There was no one there but the horse and hawk when I went to sleep."

"A spirit," the knight mused. "Yes, that's probably what it was. What did this ghost look like?"

"Oh sir," Elijah said. "I don't have words to describe the beauty I saw."

"It was a woman then?"

Elijah frowned. "No sir, I don't think so. This vision was tall and . . . well, sir, I just didn't feel that it was a woman."

"Then please stop saying it and start saying he."

"He," Elijah emphasized the pronoun, "went outside, still wearing your cloak and I went after him."

"Did you? You're braver than I thought."

"I'm not brave at all," Elijah said. "I was dreaming, remember?"

"How is it you are so sure that it was a dream?"

"He told me it was," Elijah answered.

"He spoke to you!" Viggo stopped and stared at the thief. "Tell me what he said."

"He said that I was dreaming. I told him not to go into the woods, that it was dangerous and he said that it was not dangerous for him."

Viggo's lips twitched in a brief smile. "Is that all?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, only . . . after the ghost had gone, a wolf came into the clearing and took the same path. Isn't that strange?"

"Only if the wolf spoke to you as well," Viggo said.

Emboldened by the man's humor, Elijah indulged his curiosity. "Your hawk, sir, does it have a name?"

"He's called Orlihawke," the knight said curtly, making it plain that further questions would not be well received.

"He's very beautiful," Elijah said sincerely. "He fought for you when the Guards attacked."

Viggo reached up to smooth the raptor's feathers in a tender gesture. "He has been a loyal companion in my exile," the knight said softly.

"Why were you banished?" Elijah asked. "Of course, the official story says you conspired to kill the Archbishop, but I don't believe it."

"Why not?"

"He would never have let you live," Elijah said confidently.

"Clever, boy," Viggo said. "As it happens, you're right. The Archbishop banished me because I was in love."

Elijah's brows drew together. "I do not understand."

"Nor do you need to. I've had enough of your chatter for now."

Elijah heeded the stern tone in the man's voice and kept quiet as they left the forest behind. Before them, green slopes fell away in rhythmic folds to a broad plain. Small as a child's toy in the distance, the fortress town of Aquila perched on a bluff above a well-traveled road. Viggo swung into the saddle and reached down a hand to Elijah. The boy settled behind the knight and the big horse broke into a trot.

The knight set a course to bring them to the side of Aquila opposite the gate. They were riding along the floor of a small valley when horsemen appeared on the ridge to their left.

"Curse the unlucky stars I was born under," Viggo muttered. "Since when do the Guards patrol these hills?"

"What do we do, sir?" Elijah asked.

"We run," Viggo said, clapping heels to the stallion's flanks. "Hold on."

Atop the ridge, the soldiers paced them, unable to aim their crossbows at this speed. The ground rose under Goliath's hooves until they were out of the gully and level with the Guards. The charger thundered forward and Elijah held fast to Viggo's waist, making extravagant promises to God. He heard the hawk's piercing whistle overhead and opened his eyes. In front of them waited a squad of Aquilan Guards.

The knight turned the warhorse's head away from the fortress. They plunged down the side of another gully and Viggo reined in at the bottom.

"Get down," the knight ordered. "I will lead them away. This is not your fight."

Elijah slid to the ground and Viggo clucked to the horse. The hawk dove toward the knight claws extended for landing when a crossbow bolt went through an outspread wing. The fierce bird plummeted to the ground a few feet away from Elijah. Without thinking, the boy darted forward and scooped the wounded hawk up in his arms.

Viggo wheeled the stallions on its haunches and leaped from the saddle. "No," he said under his breath. "Please, no."

"He's alive, sir," Elijah said.

The knight closed his eyes for a brief moment of thanksgiving and then he lifted Elijah to the destrier's saddle. "Go," Viggo commanded. "Head toward the setting sun. You will come to a monastery where you will find help. Go!"

"But sir!"

"Go, damn you!" Viggo shouted, slapping Goliath's rump.

The big horse bolted and Elijah hung on for his life. To his amazement, the hawk was still in the crook of his arm; as if the bird knew Elijah was trying to help. Not once did the raptor strike out with talons or beak, no matter how rough the ride became. The boy glanced back once and saw the knight crouched behind a boulder, firing his crossbow at the approaching soldiers. Elijah faced forward again, unwilling to watch what happened next.

|^+^|^+^|^+^|^+^|^+^|

At sundown, Elijah came upon a decrepit group of buildings that he could only suppose was the monastery Viggo had spoken of. It was obvious that it had been abandoned for some time. Cradling the wounded bird to his breast, Elijah fought back the tears that scalded his eyelids. If he didn't find help soon, the hawk would surely die.

"Someone please help me," he cried out as a last resort.

"What are you doing here, boy?" asked a rich voice from the shadows.

Elijah started. "I need help, sir," he said.

"There's no help for you here. All the Brothers are gone. This monastery is closed."

"Please. If you don't help me, he'll die."

"Who will die?"

"The hawk, sir," Elijah said, pulling back a fold of cloth to reveal the bird.

A tall man in grey monk's robes stepped from the shadow of the wall. His silvery hair was knotted and his clothing was stained, but the hand he held out was clean.

"Merciful God, what has happened?" the man cried in dismay. "Bring him inside, boy. I will see what may be done."

Elijah got carefully down from the saddle. "Wait for me, Goliath," he said softly to the horse as he followed the old man.

"I'm Brother Ian," the man introduced himself. "Or I was, anyway. Put him on the table there, boy. Yes, just there. Let me see what . . . Ah, no! This is terrible. Who shot him?"

"One of the Aquilan Guards, Brother," Elijah said politely.

"Curse them! And call me Ian, not Brother. How did you find this place?" Ian asked as he moved about the room collecting items.

"The knight told me," Elijah answered.

"Viggo of Navarre? So they still travel together," the man said.

Elijah wondered at the note of deep sorrow in the monk's voice, as he watched the man remove the crossbow bolt. The hawk cried out once, but remained tame until the bolt was removed. Ian applied a bandage and settled the bird in a nest of blankets. Arming sweat from his brow, the monk walked outside. Elijah made sure the hawk was all right and then followed Ian. The sun had slipped behind the hills and the last of the light was dying.

"Sir?" Elijah said. "Will he be well?"

"That's as pleases God," Ian said heavily. "I have done what I can. Come and share my dinner, such as it is."

The monk's dinner seemed to consist mainly of long pulls at a jug of wine. Elijah declined the drink but eagerly devoured the offered bread and cheese. Feeling much better with something in his belly, Elijah's thoughts returned to the patient.

"I can watch through the night if it's needed," the boy offered.

"Nay," Ian said quickly. "Do not enter that room until dawn."

Elijah flinched at the vehemence with which the warning was delivered. When the monk raised a jug to his lips again, the boy realized it was no more use talking to the old man tonight. Elijah went to check on the hawk. The words of a drunken, disgraced monk could not stop him from keeping his unspoken promise to the knight.

The boy entered the candlelit room and froze in his tracks. Upon the table where they had left the hawk lay a young man, naked except for the bandage on his arm. As Elijah watched, the stranger sat slowly up, tentatively feeling the wrappings. The young man's head turned and he looked right at Elijah. Elijah could hardly breathe under the regard of those fathomless eyes, the eyes of a bird of prey in a lovely human face.

"Your name is Elijah, isn't it?" the stranger asked.

Elijah could only stare at the vision.

"I know you can speak. Are you waiting for me to introduce myself?" The young man slid down from the table to his feet, wincing as he jarred his shoulder. "I am called Orlando d'Anjou and I am very pleased to know you."

"E-Elijah," the boy stammered.

"I think I owe you a great debt of thanks, do I not, Elijah?"

"For what?"

"For saving my life. I don't know what it's worth these days, but I'm grateful."

"I don't understand," Elijah said, though he was afraid that he did.

"Poor Elijah," Orlando smiled faintly. "You have fallen into a tale full of treachery and magic. If you wish to leave, I'll not reproach you."

"No, I . . ." Elijah paused. "I just want to understand. You share the same wound as Orlihawke. How is that possible?"

"You know the answer already, Elijah, though you do not wish to believe it. I am Orlihawke. Would you hand me that robe?"

Elijah jumped to snatch up a length of grey wool. Averting his eyes, he handed it to Orlando. Elijah had never seen such perfection in human form and it made him feel strange if he looked at the young man for too long. When the boy looked up again, Orlando was covered, neck to knee in a ragged summer cassock.

"I beg your pardon, Elijah," Orlando said, "but there is something I must do now."

Elijah stood away from the door as Orlando moved past him.

"Where are you going?" Elijah called after the young man.

"To find a friend," the answer floated back, and Orlando was gone.

Elijah hurried back to the monk. "He's gone," the boy said fearfully.

"I thought he might be," Ian mumbled, staring into the fire. "Well, we have done all that we could for him. The rest is beyond my power or yours to mend."

"Tell me his story," Elijah implored. "Though I can scarcely believe it, it seems that Orlando and the hawk are one and the same."

"Cursed," Ian intoned. "Both of them."

"Are you speaking of the knight?"

"Aye, Viggo of Navarre and Orlando d'Anjou," the monk fetched a heavy sigh. "Hand me that jug and I'll tell you the story. None know it better. I was there, you see. I was there the day Orlando rode into Aquila to attend his sister's wedding."

Ian took a long swallow of wine and resumed his tale. "Samantha d'Anjou was the reigning beauty of this region and justly so. Her loveliness had no equal, until her brother arrived. Everyone fell in love as soon as they saw him, not just for his beauty, but for his winsome ways as well. He was kind to all and had a smile for everyone from his sister's lord to the lowest scullery maid. The Archbishop presided at the nuptials and even that cold man conceived a passion for Orlando. However, Orlando had already fallen in love."

"Viggo of Navarre," Elijah said without doubt.

"Aye, our brave, handsome Captain of the Guard had won fair Orlando's heart. Knowing of the powerful Archbishop's obsession, the captain cautioned Orlando that they must keep their union secret, but Orlando could not. He was in love; he was happy. His generous spirit wished to share this feeling with everyone."

"What happened when the Archbishop found out? Besides Viggo's banishment?"

"Ah," the monk sighed again. "Now I must admit my part in this tragedy. The lovers came to me and asked me to bind them in holy matrimony. I could no more refuse Orlando than any other who came within his sphere. However, I soon regretted my actions. Archbishop Christopher was my superior to whom I owed obedience and after much agonizing, I confessed to him what I had done."

Elijah gave the man a look of rank disbelief. "How could you?"

"I didn't know of the Archbishop's madness then, but I soon learned of it. His need to possess Orlando had so overwhelmed his reason that he made a pact with the Devil."

Elijah's eyes got even bigger at this pronouncement.

"Aye, lad, the Devil himself. As often happens with such men, the Archbishop vowed that if he could not have Orlando then none would. He called down a curse upon the lovers that would forever part them. Have you guessed what it was?"

"He turned Orlando into a hawk."

"Aye. By day Orlando d'Anjou is the magnificent bird you know as Orlihawke, but at night he reverts to his true form."

"And Viggo?"

"Here is where the curse turns particularly cruel," Ian said heavily. "As Orlando is a hawk by day, so is Viggo a wolf by night. For one brief moment, at dawn and again at dusk, they may see each other as they truly are. One fleeting moment in which they may touch before the spell takes them. So they wander, always and never together."

Elijah's eyes were bright with tears as he stared into the flames. "So that is where he was going, to seek the wolf."

"Aye, they will walk the night waiting for that moment when light first breaks."

Elijah wrapped himself in the robe the monk had given him and lay down beside the fire. He said not another word and neither did Ian. Both were lost in their thoughts until sleep finally claimed their weary souls.

|^+^|^+^|^+^|^+^|^+^|

Elijah woke abruptly and looked up. A shadow loomed over him, boot drawn back for another kick. The young thief scrambled to his feet and looked reproachfully at Viggo. Impassively, the knight kicked at the still-sleeping monk. With a curse, Ian sat up. When he saw who had woken him, his wrinkled face fell in on itself and he would not meet the knight's eyes.

"Sir!" Elijah exclaimed. "Where is Orlihawke?"

Viggo looked to his left and Elijah saw the warhorse. Orlihawke was perched on the cantle of the high saddle, the bandaged wing drooping slightly.

"I owe you a debt," Viggo said. "Whether or not I can ever repay it, I do not know."

"You owe me nothing," Elijah said. "What I did, I did for Orlihawke."

"As you wish," the knight said and turned to Ian. "Get up, old man," he said harshly.

Ian stood and the empty jug rolled away with a clatter. Viggo's well-shaped lips curled in a sneer.

"You've not changed," Viggo said. "Give me a reason why I should not end your miserable life."

"I cannot," Ian said. "Indeed, it would be a mercy. All I do is drink and brood on my sins."

Viggo unsheathed his sword and raised it above his head. Elijah froze, unsure what he should do. Before anyone could move, the hawk shrieked piercingly. Viggo turned to look at the bird and the tension left his frame.

"It seems you have a stay of execution," the knight said. "Orlihawke doesn't want you dead."

"Maybe he knows that Ian has punished himself enough," Elijah said bravely.

"Enough?"

Elijah cringed away from the blue lightning of the knight's glare.

"What would be enough?" Viggo demanded.

"There must be a way to break this curse," Elijah said desperately.

"Only the one who cast it may break it," Ian said.

"Then we must go to the Archbishop," Elijah said, "and make him take it back."

Viggo gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Do you think I have not tried? The only way I shall ever be allowed back into Aquila is as a corpse."

"Or a wolf?" Elijah suggested.

"Explain," Viggo said curtly.

"Please hear me out before you lop my head off," Elijah said. "Would the Archbishop not welcome Orlando back? Wait! You promised to hear me out."

"I'll not hear of Orlando going anywhere near that evil man," Viggo said.

"Not even so you might be together as you were meant to be?" Ian spoke up.

Viggo ground his teeth for moment. "Perhaps," he said at last.

Ian brushed the ashes from his robe. "To break the spell, both of you must appear before the Archbishop, as you did when the curse fell."

"And how may we accomplish this?" Viggo asked.

"As the boy said, the Archbishop will welcome Orlando back, especially if Orlando professes to have seen the error of his conduct."

"And Orlando will offer the Archbishop a present," Elijah chimed in. "A caged wolf."

"The timing must be precise," Ian said. "You must all three be together at dawn for the change."

"And I will force him to remove the curse," Viggo said. "A risky plan, and I do not like the thought of Orlando alone with that monster, but I can see no other way."

The hawk made a soft chirping noise and Viggo turned to look at the bird. "It seems he trusts you two, but he was always a trusting sort. Very well, we cannot continue as we have been. Each day his soul becomes more a hawk's and each night I am closer to being a wolf in truth. This must end, one way or another."

"Come, boy," Ian said. "We have a cage to build and we must build it strong."

^+^|^+^|^+^|^+^|^+^

It liked but a few hours 'til dawn when a servant with electrifying news waked Archbishop Christopher. The Archbishop wasted no time throwing on a dressing gown and throwing the comely young peasant boy from his chambers. He hurried downstairs to the great hall of his palace to behold a wondrous sight.

A small cart had been pulled indoors. Upon it was a stout wooden cage just big enough to hold the huge beast that glared from between the bars. Beside the cart stood two robed figures with hoods casting their faces in deep shadow. As the Archbishop approached, one of the visitors removed his hood and the churchman stopped in mid-stride.

"Orlando," the Archbishop murmured.

"Hello, Christopher," Orlando said sweetly.

The Archbishop stroked his silvery beard absently as his eyes devoured his fondest desire. The young man's smooth face glowed like a pearl in the candlelight as he smiled gently at the prelate.

"I have returned," Orlando said.

"I can scarce believe my eyes," the Archbishop's mellow tones resonated in the high hall. "I thought never to see you again."

"Not in such form to be sure," Orlando replied in an undertone.

"Why have you come back?"

Orlando turned to look at the other cloaked figure. "Brother Ian found me and took me in. He convinced me that returning was the right thing to do."

"Did he?" the Archbishop said doubtfully.

"Yes, Christopher. He also helped me trap this wolf."

The Archbishop's black eyes darted toward the cage and then returned to Orlando's face. "Is it . . . him?" the prelate asked.

Orlando looked down at the floor as Brother Ian doffed his hood.

"Do you not recognize your own handiwork?" the monk asked.

"I find your tone lacking in respect," the Archbishop said sternly.

"If you would have my respect, break your shameful pact with Satan and free this innocent soul from your despicable curse."

"And what of the knight?" the Archbishop inquired.

"As for him," Brother Ian sighed. "I am sure that in his career as enforcer of your laws that he did enough to deserve his fate."

"How say you, Orlando?" the prelate asked.

Orlando refused to raise his eyes from the floor. "I shall do as my spiritual advisor deems fit. If he says Navarre deserves death, then it must be so."

"You are resigned to this?" the Archbishop persisted.

"What choice have I?" the boy asked, his voice throbbing with repressed emotion.

At last, the Archbishop relaxed. In an elegant gesture, the ecclesiastical held out a beringged hand to the young man. Brother Ian's nudge prompted Orlando to walk the few steps to where the Archbishop stood. As befitted a penitent, Orlando sank to his knees before the prelate and bowed his head. With a chill little smile of satisfaction, the prelate laid his hand on the young man's wealth of dark curls.

The Archbishop pulled a fine chain from his collar and threw the talisman to the floor. "Be you bird no longer," he said, and the token vanished without sound or show.

"Is the curse broken?" Brother Ian asked.

Archbishop Christopher nodded without looking at the man. He had eyes only for Orlando's beauty, beauty that he now owned. Greedily, his fingers tangled in the fine hair, dragging the boy's head up.

"Your Grace," the Archbishop's servant said tentatively. "What shall we do with the wolf?"

"Kill it," the Archbishop said.

"How, Your Grace?"

"Call a Guard, imbecile, and do it quickly. I wish to see the beast die before I take my pleasure and it is nearly dawn. At daybreak he will resume his natural shape."

"No!" Orlando cried out.

The Archbishop looked down in surprise.

"Please," Orlando implored. "I will do anything you desire, but do not make me watch him die. I beg you."

The Archbishop's eyes narrowed, and then he looked at Brother Ian. "You may go now," the prelate said. "You have my forgiveness. Return later today and you will be amply rewarded."

Brother Ian bowed his head and followed the servant from the hall. The Archbishop opened his robe, revealing that he was naked underneath. Orlando averted his eyes from the withered limbs and flaccid manhood, but the Archbishop took his jaw in an iron grip and forced his chin up.

"By Providence, you are the most beautiful thing under the sun," the prelate said. "Touch me, Orlando. Put your mouth on my flesh."

Orlando closed his eyes and took a heartening breath. Reaching out, he put a hand on the man's thigh. A tear rolled down the young man's cheek as he reluctantly stroked the sere skin. Far from dampening the Archbishop's ardor, Orlando's obvious disinclination only added fuel to the fire of the evil man's lust.

"Ah yes, that's it, my beauty. How you tremble before me. It pleases me greatly to see you so contrite. There will be a period of trial, of course, but after a time, when I feel I may trust you, perhaps you will be allowed out of the palace. Until then, you will have your own room with all the luxuries such a beauty deserves, and I shall visit you often."

"You are generous, Christopher," Orlando made himself say.

"And you are temptation made flesh. Were it not for your arrival in Aquila, I would never have fallen from grace."

Orlando made a small sound of protest as his hair was yanked and looked up. The unholy light that burned in the Archbishop's eyes frightened the young man and he shrank back.

"No Orlando," Archbishop Christopher said. "There will be no escape from your penance. I think I shall keep you on your knees for a while. I hope you will not make it necessary to bind you. I will put you in chains if I must, but that is not what I want."

"I will not give you cause to restrain me," Orlando said.

"Good. There are worse things than chains, my beauty. It would offend me to mark such skin as yours with stripes, but I know how to wield a scourge and I will not hesitate to whip you if you disobey me, or show me a rebellious demeanor."

A loud snarl drew the churchman's attention to the wolf cage. A look of utter hatred darkened the man's features as he stared at the wild animal.

"Where is that Guard?" the Archbishop muttered. "The sun is nearly risen."

"Wrong," said Brother Ian, as he walked back into the hall leaving the great doors open behind him. "It has risen, Christopher."

The Archbishop's frown deepened as golden light crept across the marble floor until it reached the cart. Elijah emerged from his cocoon of straw and bravely lifted the latch of the cage door. With a roar, the huge wolf burst from his prison.

"No!" the Archbishop shouted as the snarling wolf leapt to the floor and turned to glare at him. "Kill it! Someone kill it!"

The wolf lunged, transforming in mid-air to land on human feet. Viggo of Navarre reached out to wrap his hands around his enemy's throat, but the Archbishop fell backward in a welter of encumbering fabric. The knight was on him in a trice.

The Archbishop's face was nearly unrecognizable by the time Brother Ian made it across the floor. Ian grabbed at one of Viggo's arms and tried to pull him off the bloodied prelate.

"Let go of me," Viggo snarled. "He still breathes."

"Leave him to the justice of an ecclesiastical tribunal," Ian appealed. "The death you would give him would be too quick. I would see him suffer as you and Orlando have suffered."

Reluctantly, Viggo allowed the monk to haul him to his feet and put a cloak around his shoulders to cover his nakedness.

"Look," Brother Ian said softly.

Viggo turned. Orlando stood in the shaft of light from the door, his eyes glowing as he looked upon Viggo. Both stood in silence for long moments drinking in the sight of one another. Tears of happiness welled up and spilled over as they realized they were free of the curse at long last.

Ian nudged Viggo in the back. "Go to him," the old monk said.

Viggo took and step and Orlando did the same until they met in the center of the hall. Viggo swept the boy up in his arms and spun in a circle, laughing up at his beloved in sheer joy. Orlando smiled down into his lover's handsome face, spreading his arms wide as if he still had wings. Bending his neck, Orlando kissed his knight with all the passion that had been deferred through their separation. Viggo returned the kiss with equal fire, as he set Orlando back on the ground.

Elijah came to stand beside Brother Ian and the old man put an arm around the little thief's shoulders. They basked in the aura of love fulfilled and the satisfaction of having done the right thing. Elijah thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight than the two lovers reunited and vowed that he would live a good life from that day forward.

At last, Viggo raised his face from Orlando's and looked at Ian and Elijah. Putting an arm around Orlando's waist, Viggo walked with his love to where their benefactors stood.

"I owe you a debt I can never repay," the knight said. "You may name your reward of me."

Brother Ian smiled. "I have atoned for my sin. That is reward enough for me.

Elijah shyly met Orlando's gaze. "I am content," the boy said. "You are together as you were meant to be and your happiness makes me happy."

"That is not enough," Orlando said. "If you would please me, Elijah, you will take service in my household and brighten my days with your merry ways."

Elijah's cheeks turned red and he looked down at the floor. "If you wish it," he agreed.

"I wish it, too," Viggo said. "And I would be pleased if Brother Ian would consent to be our confessor and to preside at another wedding. For I shall ask Orlando to marry me again, this time in the open so all our friends may celebrate with us."

Orlando snuggled closer to the knight, kissing the man's cheek fondly. "As my lord wishes," he said softly.

Two Aquilan Guards entered the hall and stopped short at the strange sight that met their eyes. Brother Ian quickly informed them as to recent events and saw the Archbishop dragged away to be incarcerated in his own dungeon. Orlando refused to watch the prelate carried off, but Viggo appeared to enjoy the spectacle.

"What now?" Elijah asked when they were again alone.

Orlando looked up at Viggo with a secret smile and was answered by the kindling fire in the blue, blue eyes. "I think I need to rest," the young man said. "Sir Viggo, would you be good enough to accompany me to my chambers?"

Brother Ian took Elijah by the arm. "I think you and I should go and find the Archbishop's wine cellar and begin celebrating," he said.

Elijah looked at Viggo and Orlando who were engrossed in one another. "Ah, yes. I think you're right, Brother," he said. "It's clear we are no longer needed here."

"Is it not pleasant to have tactful friends?" Orlando smiled at Viggo.

"You are in my arms," Viggo said. "The whole world is a more pleasant place."

The look Orlando gave Viggo made Brother Ian blush as red as Elijah and both made a hasty retreat. Orlando took Viggo's hand and pulled him toward the stairs. The young man drew his lover into the first chamber they came to and flung himself on the man. Viggo eagerly took the brunt of Orlando's exuberant passion wrapping his arms tightly around the slender body. The despair both had felt through the lonely day and nights of their exile deepened the sweetness of their reunion.

"I did not know if I should ever hold you like this again," Viggo breathed as their lips parted.

"Nor I, but I never stopped hoping."

"Beloved," Viggo murmured against the silken skin of the boy's neck.

With a merry laugh, Orlando pulled the musty cassock over his head and stood naked to his lover's gaze. Viggo shed the monk's cloak, revealing the effect Orlando had on him. Readily, Orlando reached for the proud flesh that curved up from its pelt of golden curls. Wrapping slim fingers around the thick length, the young man stroked it gently. Viggo shivered in reaction as he took the boy's sweet mouth again, letting his tongue rediscover once familiar territory with unalloyed delight.

"I cannot wait to feel you inside me," Orlando whispered when the man relinquished his mouth once again.

Viggo's arousal pulsed in the young man's hand as he uttered these words. The knight swept Orlando up in his arms and deposited him on the sumptuous bed. Orlando laughed again for pure joy as he landed with a bounce and held out his arms to his lover.

As the sun peeked through the shutters, Viggo tenderly sheathed himself in the body of his beloved. Orlando whimpered at the sweet pain that was harbinger of the intense pleasure to come. Viggo paused, caressing the boy gently, reveling in the simple freedom to touch Orlando like this. When Orlando signaled his readiness, the knight thrust smoothly, tears of gratitude running down his cheeks.

Orlando pulled himself up and licked the salt water from the handsome face. "No weeping, my love," he said breathlessly. "We have cried enough tears for a lifetime. Only laughter for us from now until death parts us once more."

"Nay," Viggo panted. "You do not know me, beloved, if you think so small a thing as death can take me from your side. Nothing shall ever part us again. This I vow."

Orlando disobeyed his own order as fresh tears sprang to his eyes and he felt his release building in his center. "My love, my love," he cried out.

Viggo increased his stroke, striving to reach a mutual conclusion. "Art ready, my only one?" he gasped.

"Aye," Orlando answered. "Give me joy, my knight."

Viggo took hold of Orlando's yearning arousal and fondled him to release. Driving deep into the young man's velvet heat, the knight crested, spending his seed in the tight sheathe. Taking the boy's lovely face between his hands, Viggo pressed their lips together in a kiss that spoke of his undying passion. The knight's silent pledge was sweetly answered as Orlando wrapped arms and legs around his lover, welding their flesh into one.

They lay exhausted in one another's arms until sleep swaddled them in its silken folds. The lovers drifted off unafraid of what they would find when they woke. The curse was broken and they need fear neither daybreak nor sundown again.

The End.