“My lady?”

I opened my eyes and immediately shut them again, blinded by sunlight through leaves.  I groaned and rubbed the back of my head, which seemed to be pillowed on something velvet.

“She lives!” the voice called.

Slowly, the realization of what I had seen and felt seeped through to my sleepy mind.  Leaves?  Velvet?  I suddenly noticed that I seemed to be wearing a corset.

“Where am I?” I muttered, slitting my eyes open.

The silhouette of a head came into view.  As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that it belonged to a man with curly brown hair.

“On the high road about half a day’s journey from the capital, my lady.  You seem to have taken a nasty fall from your horse.”

Horse? I tried to sit up, but the man gently pushed my shoulder back down.  I could feel a root digging into my ribs.

“You should probably not sit up just yet, my lady.”

“No, I’m ok.  Who are you?”

“Wystan, Lord Cerufin, at your service, my lady.  My men and I were journeying to the capital when we found you lying in the road.”

I grimaced.  What a lovely first impression to make.  I realized that Wystan, Lord Cerufin, was rather young, about my age, and rather handsome, with a smooth, unbearded face and a halo of light brown curly hair.  I pushed myself up to a sitting position, ignoring his Lordship’s concerned face, and slowly began to process this information.

The last thing that I remembered was sitting at my computer, working on a chapter of my book.  It had been quite late, and I assumed that I had fallen asleep again.  This must be just an amazingly realistic dream.  I hoped it lasted.  The one other time I had fallen asleep at the keyboard, I awoke to find that I had typed pages of one or two letters with my forehead, and had little red squares imprinted all over my face.  I rubbed my face, and then something clicked.

“Hang on. Wystan, right?”  He nodded.  “Did you say Lord Cerufin?”

“Yes, milady.”

I frowned.  “But Meluryn is Lord in Cerufin.”

A shadow of something crossed his face.  Pain?  Fear?  I couldn’t tell.

“He was, lady.  He has been gone these six months with no word.  Surely you have heard?”

“Ah, no, actually.  I’m, um, new here.”  That was technically true.  Although I had created Lindor, I had never been there.  Meluryn was the main character in a novel I was writing, but I had never heard of this Wystan.  I wondered, if he was the lord of one of the biggest fiefdoms in Lindor, why he was being so deferential to me.  It finally occurred to me to stand up, and I gasped.

“Are you well, my lady?” Wystan asked quickly, the picture of concern.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”  I was wearing a dress out of my wildest imaginings.  A golden brocade split skirt flowed smoothly over matching silk trousers, which tucked into knee-high riding boots of soft tan leather.  A bodice delicately embroidered with what appeared to be highly stylized greenery laced up over all, and my full sleeves were protected by expertly crafted gloves that matched the boots.  Looking up, I saw a blood bay horse grazing in the ditch, arrayed in trappings that matched my own ensemble.  Well, I reflected, that certainly explained the “my lady” part.  If this was a dream, at least I hadn’t made myself a peasant.

“Do you remember what happened?” Wystan asked.  “If ‘twas bandits, then the local beadles will need to know.”

“Um, no.  I mean, I don’t remember what did happen, but it wasn’t bandits.”  This was true, unless the local bandits had some sort of weird power to send hapless authors spinning through space and time.  “Hang on, I have a question.  If you’re not Meluryn, why are you using his title?  He won’t be happy about it when he gets back.”

“Nay, lady.  He is my elder brother, who left me in trust of his estate until he should return.”

Well, that was news to me.  “I didn’t write you in at all,” I muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing.”

“With your permission, then, lady, we will continue to the capital.  I offer you our company on your journey.”

“Um, thanks.”  I supposed that the capital was as good a place as any to go, and it was probably safer with company.

He bowed formally.  “As you wish, my lady.  I go to visit my mother.  You are welcome to lodge with us, if you like.”

I managed a shaky curtsey.  “My thanks to you.”  I was beginning to gather my thoughts again.  One of them was that I would need to remember to speak in the formal mode that I could write in so easily.

We mounted our horses and I discovered that I sat easier in this saddle than any back home.  I hoped that I could manage not to embarrass myself too badly at anything faster than a walk.  I reached up to push my glasses back up my nose, only to discover that I was not wearing them.  That was a nice change, at any rate.

“My lady, I beg your pardon but I have not yet had the pleasure of learning your name.”

“Oh.  Um.”  That was right.  I had been rather rude, but Wystan was too polite to mention it, and he had probably put it down to my recent knock on the head.  “I am Ellen.”

“Very well.  Lady Elen, would you do me the favor of riding beside me?”

I smiled.  His slight Lindorran accent, putting the emphasis on the second syllable, made my name sound exotic and somehow more fitting than just plain Ellen.  “The pleasure, Lord Wystan, would be mine.  I beg your pardon for my less-than-courteous behavior earlier.”

He nobly waved the apology aside.  “Think nothing of it.  Any slight on your part was doubtless occasioned by your injury.”  Just as I had thought.  Maybe I hadn’t made him up, but I could almost predict his every movement.



The countryside was as beautiful as I had imagined it.  Tall old trees, fertile fields, and the occasional picturesque cottage.  I sighed.  What better way to spend a warm spring day than riding through such scenery?

Wystan’s guardsmen rode behind us, talking and laughing.  There were about ten of them, all mounted on splendid horses.  I recalled that Cerufin was in the southern plains and bred everything in the royal stables.  Their stock was derived from the magnificent horses of the southern barbarians.  I was trying to remember just who Wystan and Meluryn’s mother was when Wystan broke the silence.

“My lady, we approach a village.  There is a passable inn there, should you be in need of refreshment.”

“Please, call me Ellen,” I replied.  “And yes, some refreshment would not go amiss.”  He looked surprised at the first request, but nodded in acquiescence.



The inn, under the sign of the Dancing Cat, was one of the nicer ones along the high road.  Wystan ordered a bottle of wine from the young barmaid, who brought it carefully to our corner table a few minutes later with a jug of water and two delicate fluted glasses, doubtless heirlooms.

I was slightly apprehensive about the wine, but it wasn’t bad.  Not better than a cold glass of root beer, but that would have been slightly ridiculous in this setting.  Sipping slowly at my heavily-watered wine, I began idly listening to scraps of conversation.  I paid little attention to what was actually being said until I heard Meluryn’s name.

“-went off after that dragon six months ago and hasn’ been heard of since.”

“Aye, well, I allus said somethin’ would happen to him, goin’ off on all them adventures.”

I felt a slight twinge of guilt.  I had always rather enjoyed writing Meluryn into dangerous situations and getting him out again, with much buckling of swashes along the way.  I emptied my glass and noticed Wystan’s face.  It was drawn with pain, and I was suddenly sorry for having questioned his use of Meluryn’s title.  He obviously loved his brother, and was worried for him.  He became aware of my gaze, and composed his face.  I blushed and looked down.  He cleared his throat.

“We should press on, so we may reach the city before dark.  It is not safe to travel at night any more.”

I frowned.  “It didn’t used to be.  Mel-”  I stopped suddenly at the dark expression on Wystan’s face.

“How do you know so much about my brother and so little about everything else?”

I sighed.  I had known this was coming, eventually.

“Look, Wystan.  I come from not just a different land, but a different world.  In my world, yours is just a tale, one that I write.”  Now that I had started, I couldn’t stop.  I spoke faster.  “I don’t know how I got here.  I just fell asleep at my computer and when I woke up, I was lying under the trees.  I know your brother because I made him up!”

Wystan’s face was a study in anger, surprise, and suspicion.  I myself was surprised to find that that was possible.

“So.”  His voice was cold.  “You are a sorceress and scry my brother, recording what you see and thinking it a dream-tale?”

“I’m not a sorceress!  I’m just- I’m like a bard, but I can’t sing.  I write down stories out of my head.  I can’t even do magic!  There is no magic in my world!  Watch, I’ll prove it.”  I pointed at the candle on our table.  “Burn.”

The wick burst into flame.

I blinked. “Did you see that?”

Wystan scowled.  “How did you do that?”

“Do what, light the candle?  I don’t kn-”

“No, ward against my truth spell.”

“I didn’t!  I’m telling the truth.  I never knew I could do magic, I never did it before- Hang on, you put truth spell on me?” I said in outrage.

“Well,” he said rather sulkily, “what was I supposed to do?  With a story like that, you could be anything.  A- a Scyrthian spy or something.”

“But I’m not!  I traveled here, apparently by magic, but not my magic.  I thought I made this world up, but apparently I didn’t.  I didn’t make you up, for example.”  He looked unimpressed.  “Fine.  Look, I bet it was a fluke.  The- the residual energy of your truth spell or something like that.  No way could I do it again.”  I pointed at the candle and said, “Stop.”

It went out.

I sighed.  “Look, Wystan. If I was an evil sorceress come to- take over the world or whatever, which, by the way, I am not, would I show you I could do magic?  Would I have been lying in the road with a knot on my skull?”

He still scowled.  “You could have just been trying to gain my trust.”

“But then would I be telling you all this?  I’ll let you escort me to the citadel and whatever, but I will not be treated like a Scyrthian prisoner of war.  I’ll go before King Aryl and we will both accept his judgment.”

“King Aryl is dead,” Wystan said tersely.  “Queen Kiarameldasylthrian rules as regent for their son Talyon.”

“Queen Ka-who?”  Aryl- dead?  I had liked him.  He hadn’t been married, either.  His heir was a nephew.

“Queen Kiarameldasylthrian is a princess from the western forests.  About seven years ago, he made an alliance with the Sian Du.  He fell in love with their king’s daughter, and they were wed.”

“Sian Du...  But that’s the Fay Folk!  They don’t have anything to do with Lindor.”

He raised an eyebrow at me.  “Maybe you are telling the truth.”
I heaved an exasperated sigh.  “Of course I am.  Cross my heart.  Pinkie promise.”

“I certainly believe that you are not from Lindor or the surrounding nations.  None that I know of speak as you do.”

“Oh, thanks.”  At least I hadn’t made them all speak in high Shakespearean style.  This was nervewracking enough as it was.  “So.  On to the citadel?”

“An thou wishest,” he said stiffly, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes belied his solemn expression.  I rolled my eyes behind his back.