He grabbed one of them, yelling, and was shrugged off. He ended up on his ass in the dirt, and five drunken men rushed this girl.

I'll give her credit. She held her own. I had already started sprinting down the lane before the knight was eating dust, but she danced away from the toughs, clubbing one man aside, before spinning out of the grasp of another.

The guy on the ground had had enough. When he came up, he had his own weapon out, and it was a blade.

This form of reenactment we didn't need.

He lunged at her and she moved, but not quick enough. His blade sliced through her skirt and apparently caught her on the leg, because she cried out and staggered back.

About that time I dropped the knife guy with a flying kick. Seven years of tae kwon do and a first-degree black belt were not wasted. My sa bum nim would be proud.

Knife boy crashed back against another fellow and they tumbled to the ground. Before they could rise, I kicked the knife out of the guy's hand, my Doc Martens doing very bad things to all those tiny little bones.

The rest wilted when faced with two of us, and by this time Sir Knight joined us, pulling one guy aside and flinging him against the beer garden fence.

The thugs staggered off muttering and this woman pulled a whistle from her top and blew three sharp blasts. Within a minute two others, a Mutt and Jeff team carrying quarterstaffs, appeared from the market.

"Stuart," she said. "We have a situation."

I stood gaping as she directed Stuart and Gunther, the first time I'd met them as well, to go and give chase to the drunks.

Here was one of the constables. She wasn't flirting with Mr. Knight or me. She was watching for bad guys.

Impressive.

Later I would wonder how good a job she was doing if my gear disappeared.

After blowing off Sir Knight and getting someone to replace her on her beat, she asked me to follow her to the infirmary.

The cut wasn't too deep, but she got a nice bandage. The medic was a young intern named Melanie. The young woman who had caught my attention was Katie, of course.

The Black Briar clan were working security for the weekend. They ended up finding my pack, dumped behind one of the booths. My wallet was rifled, all the money taken, but I had my license. No cell, no keys, no baguette.

After the ren faire closed for the night, Katie gave me a ride back to the city to get spare keys. She hadn't graduated from college yet, was down from Western. I didn't know that right away. I just knew she was beautiful and could hold her own in a fight.

I was smitten beyond belief.

Seven.

BY THE TIME I HAD THE FIRE BANKED, KATIE HAD HER GUITAR out and was drinking mead from a tall green bottle. A guy we knew from the Society for Creative Anachronism brewed it. She had three more bottles in a cooler by the door.

I started out with a raw iron bar. I wanted to get into the rhythm of swinging the hammer on something new before tackling Gram.

Between swings of the hammer, I could hear Katie's sweet voice and the quiet strumming of her guitar.

I took my time, shaping the new sword. It would only be eighteen inches long, so I'd add some cuts and stamps on the blade and sell it as an Elvish short sword. The con crowd would love it.

Every fifteen minutes I adjusted the coal, keeping the burning coke piled high, sorted out the clinkers, and banked with good, green coal. It took me the better part of three hours to get the blade tamped out like I wanted. I would temper the edge of the blade by dousing it in water. Oil would make a better edge, but I wanted the metal softer, prevent it from keeping a good edge. We sold these things to frat boys and genre wannabes. Didn't need anyone killing themselves on one of my swords.

By the time I'd quenched the blade in the trough of water, I was soaked with sweat. My muscles vibrated in anticipation. It felt good.

After midnight, with the second blade-a dagger-resting on the finishing table for me to grind down, I stepped over to lean against Katie. She put her guitar to the side and stroked my sweaty hair. I closed my eyes for a moment as she leaned forward and kissed me on my forehead.

"You do good work, my little northwest Ilmarinen."

"Who?"

She chuckled. "You'd love him. Finnish blacksmith. Quite good with his hands." She took mine in hers and kissed each of them on the knuckles. "He's not so lucky with women, however."

"Great," I said, smelling the mead on her breath, and the soft sandalwood soap she used. "How am I doing?"

"So far, no complaints."

I smiled. "Good to know." I squeezed her hands and opened my eyes. "Ready for the show?"

"I think so," she said. "More ready to go home and take a long, hot bath."

"Want company?"

She smiled. "Fix your sword. Then we'll drink more mead." A giggle slipped past her lips. "Okay, I'll drink more mead, you can drink what's left."

I patted her on the thigh. "Play me something rousing, my skald."

Raucous chords echoed across the smithy as I opened the safe and brought out the two halves of Gram. This sword made me nervous.

I've only repaired simple tools. Nothing as complicated as a sword. Theory was the same, but I broke out in chills. "Man, hope I don't screw this up."

A deep voice came from the doorway. "You had better not."

Katie squeaked, sliding off the desk and holding her guitar in front of her.

The Swedish guy, the dwarf, stood in the doorway, his skin glowing in the dim light of the forge. "You offered for me to visit you here."

"Who are you?" I asked, laying the broken sword on the workbench.

"My name is Rolph Brokkrson." He stood just outside, not crossing the threshold. I had left the big front bay doors open to keep a cross breeze going.

"I didn't hear a car," I said, nervous. Definitely did not like him sneaking up on me like this.

"I arrived while you were working on the dagger," he said with a shrug. "My truck is right out front, if you'd care to look."

Okay, possible. I made a lot of noise when I hammered. "You could've called."

"My apologies," he said with a nod of his head. "Mr. Tuttle mentioned you were going to work on the blade this evening, and I hoped to watch you work."

Carl sent him over? I had invited him, given him my business card. Still . . .

"Just caught me off guard."

"Again, my humblest apologies," he said. "You were quite engrossed in your work. I am impressed by your skill."

I watched him, looking for mockery. When he didn't laugh, or offer more, I shrugged.

"If you attempt to reforge that sword, you must not fail."

I watched his eyes. "Are there some consequences I should be aware of?"

"This is no normal blade, as you well know." He held my gaze. "This is a test of your skill. If you fail, you will be cursed until the end of your days."

Katie made a quick hand signal and spat on the floor. She took curses very seriously.

I didn't find her reaction quaint. Not this time. Energy filled the room beyond anything I'd experienced before. "As long as there's no pressure," I said, feeling awkward.

Katie stepped around the workbench, away from the door. "Are you a dwarf?"

He stared at me, but gave a slight bow. "I am of Durin's people."

"Holy moly," Katie whispered. "Like from The Hobbit?"

I barked out a laugh.

"I have read this book," he said, holding his hands palm up. "But it does not tell the true tale of my people."

"Why shouldn't I reforge this blade?" I asked. This guy was an escaped lunatic, I figured. I dearly loved Katie, but elves and dwarves were make-believe.

"If you accept this task, you will risk the wrath of Odin."

I felt my eyebrows crawling up my scalp. Real lunatic. "Odin, like the All-Father? Thor's dad?"

"One and the same." His eyes shone for a moment. "But if you insist upon the course of action I would suggest you accept my assistance."

"How do we know you won't kill us and take the sword?" Katie asked.

Great, give the crazy guy ideas. I stepped to the workbench by the wall and took down my three-pound hammer. More heft in case I needed to brain the guy.

"I will swear on my honor."

"Honor, right." I lowered the hammer back to the table. "And why would you do this, exactly?"

"You must use Gram to slay a dragon."

"Dragon?" Katie chirped. "Like, scales and fire and wings?"

"Yes, that is one form they may take," he said. "In this case, he is an investment banker in Portland."

Katie and I exchanged bemused glances.

"Dragons accumulate wealth," Rolph assured us. "They are ingenious in their methods."

We both started laughing.

Rolph waited patiently, and when we'd calmed down asked politely, "May I come in?"

I glanced over at Katie, who shrugged. She walked over to me, placing her head next to mine. "He's likely harmless," she said.

"He's been fine out at Carl's," I said. "But his obsession with the sword is a bit creepy."

"What do you expect?" she asked, getting excited. "He's a dwarf, and a smith. Think of it as professional curiosity."

Of course she was excited. A real dwarf, and a dragon. I half expected flying monkeys next.

I waved him in. "Welcome to my inner sanctum."

Katie smirked.

"Not like I own the place and can keep you from crossing the threshold or anything," I said.

"That's vampires," Katie offered.

"Quite," Rolph said, walking into the shop. "You have a lovely forge."

"It's not mine," I said automatically. "But the Centaur is a real beauty."

"In what do you plan to quench the blade?"

"If I can reconnect the two halves, and if I don't completely wreck the blade's integrity, I thought I'd use a light, sweet oil. Something to really put a hard edge on her."

Rolph shook his head. "That will work, but if you want the best edge, the optimum choice would be to plunge the glowing blade into the heart of your enemy."

For a moment I considered JJ and his stupid hair, but dismissed the thought, weighing it against the twenty-five to life I'd get in the Washington Corrections Center for Women in Purdy. "Well, I think the oil is going to suffice. I just don't have any enemies I'm ready to murder."

"Suit yourself." He leaned against the workbench. "I can advise you in other ways, if you want."

His knowledge of the forge eased much of my trepidation. Over the next few hours, we discussed shaping techniques, the proper color the metal should glow before aligning the pieces, and the right type of flux to use while heating. I opted for powdered borax, since that's what we had in the shop. Despite his disbelief, I had no real source for crushed unicorn horn or minotaur horn this late at night. I don't know which was more surreal, him expecting we'd have bits of fantasy creatures lying around or the fact that Katie didn't consider the request to be too unreasonable.

I cleaned the ends of the break with a wire brush and dipped the ends in the borax. Then I buried them in the heart of the burning coke.

"You are a competent smith," Rolph declared as I was drawing and upsetting the face of the break.

Of course, his constant chatter made me want to hit him with my hammer. Katie sensed my stress and offered Rolph some mead. Apparently dwarves love mead. By the time I had the two halves of the blade connected and the dressed metal back into the fire, he'd drunk two bottles. Katie had no trouble convincing him to accompany her in several rousing choruses of carousal and debauchery. He even taught her a verse to "The Dwarf from Dover" that she'd never heard.

By three in the morning, I had set the weld and was dressing the blade into shape. Katie had her head down on the desk. The fact that she slept through my hammering astounded me.