Training the makeshift militia was easier than Henry had expected; in spite of their inexperience with weapons and fighting, the townspeople proved adept learners, especially considering the stakes. By two hours' end, they were already able to thrust, stab, and parry incoming attacks, as well as form a relatively solid spear line in decent time. Henry marveled at how quickly they grasped this subject; a little more uniformity in their movements and appearance, and he would have gladly named them professional soldiers.

  Arthur stood beside him, his plate armor dazzling in the noon sun. He was a veritable knight in shining armor, a beacon of inspiration that some of the townspeople looked to with awe as they trained.

  Henry suspected the knight-apprentice's choice was more than just simple vanity; Arthur had realized the importance of galvanizing the militia's fighting morale and spirit as well. Who better to train and lead them than someone suited in literal authority?

  "Well?" The squire looked at the armor-clad knight-apprentice, his arms folded over his chest. "What do you think? Are they ready?"

  Arthur shrugged. "They're rough around the edges. A little lacking in timing and appearance." He nodded. "They'll do."

  Lyla was helping someone with their spear technique, and thumbed her head at Arthur. "Arthur! A little help?"

  He grinned and winked at Henry. "Notice how she called me? Don't think you're the only one who'll end this quest with a kiss."

  "Actually, I think she just needs your armor to demonstrate," Henry countered. "Showing them the weak points, I believe."

  "Right. Whatever you say, old boy." The knight-apprentice loped off to meet Lyla. "A little friendly competition never hurt anyone!"

  Henry sighed, watching the militia train a little longer; he heard the sound of footsteps approach him from behind, and he turned.

  "Rebecca. I-" He paused, blushing as Diana stood before him. "Oh. Sorry Diana, I thought you were-"

  The cleric laughed and shook her head. "It's alright, Henry. I'm only here to observe as well. I'll be leading them, after all."

  They stood together and watched in silence for a few minutes, as the militia's spear drills continued. Henry noted with satisfaction as Lyla mock-stabbed Arthur's joints with a spear, knocking the knight-apprentice roughly to the ground; where normally the cacophonous sound of crashing armor would have accompanied the fall, the unsettling silence of his tumble still ruffled Henry's nerves. It was unnatural, hearing nothing but crunching dirt and rustling fabric as he watched over twenty-kilograms of steel shuffle about without a sound.

  "Rebecca's handiwork, I take it?" Diana asked.

  Henry nodded, still watching them train. "She enchanted my armor as well. Her work is splendid."

  "Very impressive." The cleric dipped her head in reverence. "She's learning fast."

  Lyla shouted something, and the others followed suit, shouting as they thrust their spears forth in unison; they all froze, as Lyla and Arthur walked amidst their ranks to inspect their technique. Henry stepped forth and corrected the posture of the spearman closest to him, before quickly stepping back.

  "You're all wonderful teachers and instructors," Diana said, her voice still as soft as silk. "The Lady was right to have guided you all here together."

  Henry looked at her, puzzled. "You believe we were brought together by Fate?"

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  "What else? You're all here, the right people at the right time, making a difference." She tilted her head at him. "You, most of all. I feel the Lady's touch upon you strongest."

  "You too?" The squire smiled faintly. "Rebecca's cards seem to think so as well."

  "And you? What do you think?" Diana turned to face him, her brilliant blue eyes gazing right into Henry's soul. "Has the Hand of Providence indeed turned for you? Or are you merely a leaf in the breeze, carried wherever Chance deems fit?"

  Henry shrugged. "I'm just a squire. I'm not sure I know much more beyond that."

  "Then perhaps, that's all you need to know." She smiled once more, a gentle expression that soothed Henry just by looking at her.

  The squire met her gaze for a second, before momentarily breaking it to rummage in his pocket. He produced Sir Gallant's heraldic coin, the heavy piece of gold still feeling as hefty as ever in his palm.

  "I want you to take this, Diana. For luck." He handed her the coin, as the cleric accepted it with a quizzical look on her face. "I feel I owe a lot of my luck to this piece. I figured you'll need it leading these people later."

  The cleric contemplated the gold piece in her hand, as if she were inspecting every rivulet and etching on it like a banker. Her stretched silence began to make Henry nervous, until she turned back to him, her brow raised.

  "Henry. I can't accept this." She placed the coin back in his hand.

  He started, taken aback; embarrassment burned at his face. Of course she can't. She's sworn to a religious order. It's an insult to offer her gold. "Oh. I'm-I'm so sorry."

  "Oh, no! It's not what you think!" Diana covered her mouth, her eyes creased in a barely-hidden smile. "I can't accept it, because I already have what it holds."

  "What do you mean?" Henry looked at her, confused.

  "I wasn't sure before, but I understand now." The cleric waved her hand over the coin in Henry's palm; as her hand passed over it, the coin glowed brightly, a faint golden light emanating from its surface, much to Henry's shock.

  "What-" He almost dropped the coin. "How...?"

  "Your coin is imbued with powerful magic. Holy magic." Diana smiled warmly. "Where did you say you got it from, again?"

  Henry felt his head spin, dazed as he struggled to speak. "My master, Sir Gallant. He... he gave it to me before he left."

  She nodded solemnly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Then his last act was a greater gift than you think. That coin holds a great deal of holy magic within it, enough to rival even the Chalice." She patted the relic still strapped to her belt. "That was how I found you and Rebecca in the tombs! I thought I was following the Chalice's magic signature, but it was your coin's instead!"

  Things clicked for Henry as he remembered another aspect of their trip that was too convenient: Nezwick's cottage.

  Rebecca had said so herself: the house had been hidden by the old wizard's powerful magic, and yet even more powerful magic had dispelled the illusion; Henry figured the coin played a large part in this. Sir Gallant had continued to look out for them, even from beyond the grave.

  Thank you, Sir Gallant. He gripped the coin tightly, maintaining his composure. As the piece glowed faintly in his hand, it felt... warmer.

  "I appreciate the gesture nonetheless, Henry," Diana said, bowing her head. "But the Lady is already with me. And I suspect that piece was what helped me save Arthur as well." She paused. "Praetorus too, now that I think about it."

  Lyla and Arthur walked over, their instruction completed. Arthur had a half-open armet in one arm, the hinged cheek flaps hanging open; the visor was bronze-plated, and a large three-feathered plume sprouted from the helmet.

  "They're as ready as they can get," Lyla remarked. "We're ready when you are."

  Arthur held out the helmet to Henry. "Help me fasten this on, old boy?"

  The squire obliged, holding the helmet while Arthur quickly donned an arming cap; once it was on, Henry slipped the helm onto his head, closing the flaps shut and locking them with the metal pin. For a moment, Arthur transformed into a faceless suit of armor, the metal and gambeson hiding every scrap of his humanity; his hand went to the visor and flipped it open, revealing his face and cheeky grin once more.

  "Well? How do I look?"

  Henry couldn't help but smile. "Like a true knight."

  "Ah, don't gush on me now." Arthur turned to the assembled townsfolk and waved at them, to several cheers and shouts of admiration. "I would've accepted 'handsome', 'dashing', or 'stunning.' From the ladies, of course. No offense, old boy."

  "You look ridiculous," Lyla grumbled, slapping his visor shut. "That hideous gambeson of yours does not match our colors at all."

  Arthur laughed, his voice ringing inside the closed helmet. "Lyla, you wound me! Surely, the red and gold of House Braddock mixes with the black and gold of House Borodin!"

  "Like oil and water," she muttered. She turned back to Henry. "Rebecca and Praetorus have said they're ready as well. Shall we move?"

  Henry nodded, his hand on his sword. "Yes. Let's go."