CHAPTER ONE
Black Legend
Fifteen-year-old Ryan Maxwell groaned as the teacher lead them toward the medieval corridor of the Smithsonian Museum. The blond boy was on a trip to Washington, DC with his class of high-school juniors, and he had hated the entire time. Ryan glanced at a rest bench nearby, made his way over, and sat down. "This is boring," he mumbled. "Maxwell! Keep up with the group!" Mrs. Barton snarled, stopping his entire group to snap at him. He grumbled and stood up, walking slowly toward them. "Hurry up!" a girl barked. "Yeah!" someone else chimed in. "I'm coming! God!" he snarled irritably. He suddenly stopped walking, for it had become very cold, despite the fact he was wearing a sweatshirt. "Wh. what's going on?" Ryan whispered to himself. "Is something wrong, Ryan?" Mrs. Barton asked. Her impatient voice sounded distant, although she was only about thirty feet away. The world began fading before his eyes, as if he were passing out. He closed his dark blue eyes, shook his head, and then opened them again. Ryan was not in the Smithsonian Museum anymore. The boy was surrounded by tall grass in every direction with nary a person in sight. "What the hell happened?" he wondered. It was also very cold in the field he stood in, and the sky above was cluttered with gray clouds. He shivered and put his hands in his jeans pockets. I guess I'd better find some way to get back home, he thought, starting to walk in the northeastward direction. The boy had no sense of direction, and being lost in a strange world did not help at all. He cursed this fact as he looked around. A white flake drifted down in front of his face. "Snow?" Ryan groaned. It was just his luck to be caught in a blizzard while he was lost in the middle of nowhere. He noted his surroundings. There was grass dusted with snow everywhere around him, with one tree in the distance. It was a weeping willow tree covered with ice. The young man shrugged and quickened his pace to get to it before he froze to death. As he reached it, Ryan saw that there was a person sitting under it already. It was a red-haired girl about his age, dressed in gold and orange medieval Scandinavian clothing and curled up into a ball. He sat on the other side of the tree and balled up as well. "Who are you?" the girl called over, muffled a little. "Ryan Maxwell," he replied, annoyed. Talking was just letting more body heat out. "What a strange name! My name's Sangrida Daren," she said cheerfully, peering around the tree and smiling. "Great." He paused. "Do you have any idea how to get me back to my own world?" He had guessed that he wasn't on Earth anymore. Sangrida thought for a moment, tilting her head from side to side. "No. but maybe Priest Eiren does!" The girl sprang and attached herself to his arm. "Hey! Let go of me!" Ryan snapped, pulling with all of his might against her. "You're cute! Want to go to the village and visit Eiren with me?" she squealed happily. "Will you let go of my arm?" he snapped, nodding vaguely and prying her fingers off of him. Sangrida smiled on and nuzzled her head against his shoulder. "We'll have such fun in Sol! Follow me," she added, pointing toward the west and taking off. "But it's snowing so bad outside. We're going to get lost and die," Ryan said. "Oh, don't be so grouchy. I'm sure we can find some way to keep warm," Sangrida said, grinning. He shuddered in disgust. "I feel a second wind coming on." The boy got up and strode after his new companion. About an hour later, the girl had led him to a small village nestled in between two hills. It had stopped snowing, and there was now about an inch and a half of snow on the ground. The boy was used to snow, however; he had originally hailed from northern Maine. Sangrida apparently did not like it. She kept shivering and mumbling what sounded like dirty words under her breath about somebody named Mysta. "Why, Miss Daren! What have we here?" a jolly, cheerful voice rang out from the doorway of a black building. The building was much fancier than the other little huts in the village. "Priest Eiren!" The girl trotted up to the figure in the doorway, who was dressed in brown monk robes. "This is Ryan Maxwell. He comes from the other world and is going to help me get home and he's Cyril!" she chirped cheerily. "Whoa, whoa, wait! When did we agree on this? And just who the hell is Cyril?" Ryan broke in, running up onto the second step of the stairs. "But that's what the prophecy says, dear boy!" Priest Eiren said. "Do come in." He opened the door and led him into a temple or church of sorts. Black and silver tapestries depicting a large wolf with wings and six crimson serpents for tails hung from the walls. In between the first two tapestries at either side of the hall were two suits of armor, one silver and the other black. Ryan walked inside and shut the door behind him, looking around in wonder at everything inside. "This, my son, is the Temple of Fenrir. I am the head priest here, Eiren. Back when I first became the head priest, the dying one before me gave me a book with a prophecy inside. "The prophecy says that one day, the god of darkness Fenrir shall summon forth his Black Knight, Talinor, to do his bidding, bringing destruction and war upon the countries of Yoren and Sol. It also states that the god of light, Solanus, shall summon his Holy Knight from another world and lead the four dragon gods to destroy Talinor. You, my son, you are the Holy Knight Cyril." The priest paused, letting this sink in. Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but Sangrida continued for Eiren. "I'm one of the dragons, Mr. Maxwell. I want to return to the heavens, and I want to be with my two brothers. Please help me!" she begged, launching herself into his arms. He pushed her away. "Look, I'm not a knight. Sorry to disappoint you. I'm just a normal guy, and I just wanna get home," he informed. "But." Ryan interrupted. "Let it go, man. Just send me home," he said in a frustrated manner. Sangrida began sniffling, sounding obviously fake, I might add. Eiren sighed. "Mr. Maxwell, I think you just need to take some time to consider your fate as our savior. I'll tell you what, I have a nice room that Sangrida has whenever she's around. You can share it with her." He shook his head violently. "No!" he snapped obstinately. "I'm not considering anything. I'm figuring out a way to get home. All right?" Sangrida latched onto him again. "You're so cute, Sir Maxwell! If it makes you feel better, then I should tell you that once you've returned all of us to the Valhall, then you can go back home!" she said, hugging his arm tightly. He pried her off again. He thought about this for a minute and sighed. "Fine. Whatever." Eiren and Sangrida both smiled at him. "Thank you, Sir Maxwell. You have no idea how much this means to me," Sangrida said sincerely. "I'm just doing it so I can go home," Ryan said, ice edging his voice. "Whatever you say." It didn't sound like she believed him. "I can't wait to see my two brothers again. Valen and Aesir must be so worried about me!" Sangrida said, talking aloud to herself. "He said there are four dragons. What about the other one?" She shrugged. "Oh well. I'm going to make dinner." Sangrida swept off, humming. "I also thank you, from the bottom of my heart, Mr. Maxwell." Eiren said, taking his hand and shaking it. "Yeah, yeah. So where's my room?" he asked. "I'll have one of my monks take you there. Taren!" Another brown-robed man scurried out of a room, which had been hidden behind a pillar. "Yes, Priest Eiren?" he asked, sounding annoyed. "Would you lead Sir Maxwell up to the free room? Thank you," Taren muttered something under his breath and skulked down the hall with Ryan following him. "So, you're the Holy Knight? You don't look like a knight to me," the monk said, glancing at Ryan. "At least one person understands that I'm not," Ryan said, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'll gladly assist you in your journey. Anything to get away from that moronic bastard Eiren," Taren muttered. "I don't care what you do." There was a lengthy pause. "Taren! Taren!" Another man came running up the hall to him. "What?" he growled. "It's missing! Miss Sangrida's mirror is missing!" the second monk shouted in a distressed manner. "And? She's probably looking in it," Taren said, blushing. "She was the one who noticed it was missing. So it can't be that!" The monk stopped walking and thought. "What's the big deal? It's just a hunk of glass," Ryan said, shrugging. "You misunderstand. Lady Sangrida's holy relic is that mirror. She draws power from it," Taren said, smiling dreamily. Ryan waved his hand in front of his face. "So go and find it." The monk sighed happily. "I can guess that you have a crush on that girl," Ryan said disgustedly. "A what?" The second monk cleared his throat. "I'm going to find the mirror." Taren walked off down the hall and hummed lightly. "Where are you going, son?" the second monk inquired. "To some room that's open," Ryan replied. "I see. Follow me." Within ten minutes, they had found the telltale room that belonged to Sangrida. It had a sign on it that the monk claimed said 'Sangrida Daren' in runes. Ryan just nodded vaguely and went in. "Pick out a place to sleep," the monk (whose name was Djallen) instructed. He nodded and glanced at the floor. "I call the floor. There, let's go," Ryan said, leaving the room quickly. It was heavily perfumed and bothered his sinuses. He sneezed a few times and then leaned against the wall. "DINNER!" Sangrida shrieked, echoing through the halls. "She'd better be a good cook," Ryan muttered, getting up and walking toward the nice smell of fresh bread. "Lady Sangrida is a most wonderful cook, I assure you," Djallen said, nodding once. "Come on, let's go. I'm hungry, dammit!" Ryan snapped at him. "Certainly." And so they went. "What is this?" he asked, poking the strange food on his plate. The entire temple had fallen in for dinner, and the monks were contentedly eating it. It had noodles of some kind in a sauce that smelled like lobster mixed with steak, lumped in with chunks of some unfamiliar meat. "It's from an aitvaras. It's good, try it," Sangrida advised, pausing from devouring hers. "What the hell is an ate-virus?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "An aitvaras," Eiren corrected, "is a sort of rooster-dragon creature." Ryan snickered. "That must be one freaky-looking animal. I guess I'll try it." He speared a piece of the meet on his fork and nibbled at it. Shortly thereafter, he spat it out. "That's gross! How can you guys just sit there and eat it?!" Ryan demanded. He chugged his cup of milk. "Perhaps you're just not used to it, Mr. Maxwell. It gets better after you eat it a few times," Sangrida said in a small voice. "After you tried to poison me, do you think I'm eating it again? Yech," Ryan picked the chunks of meat out of his meal and tossed them to the ravenous Taren. "So, Mr. Taren, did you ever find my mirror?" Sangrida asked, changing the subject. "No, sadly. I have no idea where it may be. I'm sorry, Lady Sangrida!" he apologized, grabbing her hand and kissing it. Ryan rolled his eyes and chewed his noodles. The noodles were actually edible and tasted very good. Sangrida giggled and smiled at Taren. "Mr. Maxwell, are you starting out on your journey tomorrow?" Eiren asked, after swallowing his current mouthful of food. "Journey? What?" he asked. "The journey. The journey to find the dragons, temples, relics." the priest listed. "I don't care. Fine," Ryan said in a monotone. He was becoming irritated with the amount of reverence he was treated with. "How will I know who the dragons are, anyway? It's not like Sangrida looks like a dragon." Eiren sat back in his chair and touched the tips of his fingers together. "I do not know, Mr. Maxwell. I don't know." Ryan groaned. "Will you stop calling me Mr. Maxwell? It bothers me," he snapped. "Of course, Mr. Maxwell," Eiren said, oblivious to the glare he was receiving from the boy. He sighed and pretended to shoot himself in the head with his fingers, then laid his head on the table. "Tired, Ryan?" the girl chirped, leeching onto his arm. "Yes. Tired of this entire world," he growled, shoving her off once again. "Poor Mr. Maxwell! Oh well. A night of good sleep will cure what ails you!" Sangrida hugged him and swept off cheerfully after collecting his dishes. The next morning, he awoke to an unpleasant poking in his ribs. "Ouch! Ow! Cut it out!" he barked, sitting up. "Good morning, Ryan! Well, Taren and Eiren have gotten us all packed up and it's time to go!" Sangrida's cheerful voice greeted. "Come back later, when I feel like getting up." He flopped back down, facedown in his pillow. She giggled. "You're so funny, Mr. Maxwell. Come on!" She tugged on his arm, grunting with the effort of trying to pull him up. He grunted and got up. "Now let go of me. I'm going," he mumbled. "Okay." Sangrida smiled and bustled off. "Moron," he muttered under his breath. He rose to his feet and groggily dragged toward the door, rubbing his eyes. "Lady Sangrida! Lady Sangrida!" Taren charged into the room, knocking Ryan over and onto the floor. "Ow! Dammit, Taren, she went somewhere," he growled angrily. "Oh. I'll not be bothering you, then, sir!" Taren left the room, while Ryan got up and walked outside, adjusting his sweatshirt and jeans. They had rumpled and shifted while he was sleeping. He yawned and shuffled into the temple's dining room. "What's for breakfast?" he asked Djallen. "Aitvaras," he replied, smiling and holding up a dish. The boy blinked once and then shook his head. "No thanks, I'm not hungry anymore," he said, shuffling out of the room. "You really don't know what you're missing, Ryan. You really don't," Djallen said, shaking his head and picking up a chunk of the meat. "Oh, yes, I do," Ryan replied grouchily. "Oh well." "Mr. Maxwell!" Sangrida rang out cheerily. Her perpetually sunny manner was beginning to annoy Ryan. "What now?" he barked. "I have some new clothes for you!" She held up a stack of brown and gray Old Norse clothing. "Fine," he said, taking the clothes and walking back toward his room. He heard her footsteps following him, and her humming. "Why are you following me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and laying a hand on the doorknob. "Oh, no reason," she said with a seductive grin. Ryan rolled his eyes, ignored the grin, and slammed the door in her face. "These clothes itch like hell. Can we get MY clothes washed soon?" he asked, itching his stomach and his arms. "Sure, the first spring we get to, we'll wash them!" Sangrida said, smiling. "Yeah, good. Can we get going already before I tear off my skin scratching like this?" he asked, scratching some more. "Okay! Taren!" The monk appeared beside them, bearing a sword at his side. "I'm coming with you, Lady Sangrida!" he said, smiling back at her. Ryan rolled his eyes. "Let's get going before I puke on my shoes." And so they left.
Fifteen-year-old Ryan Maxwell groaned as the teacher lead them toward the medieval corridor of the Smithsonian Museum. The blond boy was on a trip to Washington, DC with his class of high-school juniors, and he had hated the entire time. Ryan glanced at a rest bench nearby, made his way over, and sat down. "This is boring," he mumbled. "Maxwell! Keep up with the group!" Mrs. Barton snarled, stopping his entire group to snap at him. He grumbled and stood up, walking slowly toward them. "Hurry up!" a girl barked. "Yeah!" someone else chimed in. "I'm coming! God!" he snarled irritably. He suddenly stopped walking, for it had become very cold, despite the fact he was wearing a sweatshirt. "Wh. what's going on?" Ryan whispered to himself. "Is something wrong, Ryan?" Mrs. Barton asked. Her impatient voice sounded distant, although she was only about thirty feet away. The world began fading before his eyes, as if he were passing out. He closed his dark blue eyes, shook his head, and then opened them again. Ryan was not in the Smithsonian Museum anymore. The boy was surrounded by tall grass in every direction with nary a person in sight. "What the hell happened?" he wondered. It was also very cold in the field he stood in, and the sky above was cluttered with gray clouds. He shivered and put his hands in his jeans pockets. I guess I'd better find some way to get back home, he thought, starting to walk in the northeastward direction. The boy had no sense of direction, and being lost in a strange world did not help at all. He cursed this fact as he looked around. A white flake drifted down in front of his face. "Snow?" Ryan groaned. It was just his luck to be caught in a blizzard while he was lost in the middle of nowhere. He noted his surroundings. There was grass dusted with snow everywhere around him, with one tree in the distance. It was a weeping willow tree covered with ice. The young man shrugged and quickened his pace to get to it before he froze to death. As he reached it, Ryan saw that there was a person sitting under it already. It was a red-haired girl about his age, dressed in gold and orange medieval Scandinavian clothing and curled up into a ball. He sat on the other side of the tree and balled up as well. "Who are you?" the girl called over, muffled a little. "Ryan Maxwell," he replied, annoyed. Talking was just letting more body heat out. "What a strange name! My name's Sangrida Daren," she said cheerfully, peering around the tree and smiling. "Great." He paused. "Do you have any idea how to get me back to my own world?" He had guessed that he wasn't on Earth anymore. Sangrida thought for a moment, tilting her head from side to side. "No. but maybe Priest Eiren does!" The girl sprang and attached herself to his arm. "Hey! Let go of me!" Ryan snapped, pulling with all of his might against her. "You're cute! Want to go to the village and visit Eiren with me?" she squealed happily. "Will you let go of my arm?" he snapped, nodding vaguely and prying her fingers off of him. Sangrida smiled on and nuzzled her head against his shoulder. "We'll have such fun in Sol! Follow me," she added, pointing toward the west and taking off. "But it's snowing so bad outside. We're going to get lost and die," Ryan said. "Oh, don't be so grouchy. I'm sure we can find some way to keep warm," Sangrida said, grinning. He shuddered in disgust. "I feel a second wind coming on." The boy got up and strode after his new companion. About an hour later, the girl had led him to a small village nestled in between two hills. It had stopped snowing, and there was now about an inch and a half of snow on the ground. The boy was used to snow, however; he had originally hailed from northern Maine. Sangrida apparently did not like it. She kept shivering and mumbling what sounded like dirty words under her breath about somebody named Mysta. "Why, Miss Daren! What have we here?" a jolly, cheerful voice rang out from the doorway of a black building. The building was much fancier than the other little huts in the village. "Priest Eiren!" The girl trotted up to the figure in the doorway, who was dressed in brown monk robes. "This is Ryan Maxwell. He comes from the other world and is going to help me get home and he's Cyril!" she chirped cheerily. "Whoa, whoa, wait! When did we agree on this? And just who the hell is Cyril?" Ryan broke in, running up onto the second step of the stairs. "But that's what the prophecy says, dear boy!" Priest Eiren said. "Do come in." He opened the door and led him into a temple or church of sorts. Black and silver tapestries depicting a large wolf with wings and six crimson serpents for tails hung from the walls. In between the first two tapestries at either side of the hall were two suits of armor, one silver and the other black. Ryan walked inside and shut the door behind him, looking around in wonder at everything inside. "This, my son, is the Temple of Fenrir. I am the head priest here, Eiren. Back when I first became the head priest, the dying one before me gave me a book with a prophecy inside. "The prophecy says that one day, the god of darkness Fenrir shall summon forth his Black Knight, Talinor, to do his bidding, bringing destruction and war upon the countries of Yoren and Sol. It also states that the god of light, Solanus, shall summon his Holy Knight from another world and lead the four dragon gods to destroy Talinor. You, my son, you are the Holy Knight Cyril." The priest paused, letting this sink in. Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but Sangrida continued for Eiren. "I'm one of the dragons, Mr. Maxwell. I want to return to the heavens, and I want to be with my two brothers. Please help me!" she begged, launching herself into his arms. He pushed her away. "Look, I'm not a knight. Sorry to disappoint you. I'm just a normal guy, and I just wanna get home," he informed. "But." Ryan interrupted. "Let it go, man. Just send me home," he said in a frustrated manner. Sangrida began sniffling, sounding obviously fake, I might add. Eiren sighed. "Mr. Maxwell, I think you just need to take some time to consider your fate as our savior. I'll tell you what, I have a nice room that Sangrida has whenever she's around. You can share it with her." He shook his head violently. "No!" he snapped obstinately. "I'm not considering anything. I'm figuring out a way to get home. All right?" Sangrida latched onto him again. "You're so cute, Sir Maxwell! If it makes you feel better, then I should tell you that once you've returned all of us to the Valhall, then you can go back home!" she said, hugging his arm tightly. He pried her off again. He thought about this for a minute and sighed. "Fine. Whatever." Eiren and Sangrida both smiled at him. "Thank you, Sir Maxwell. You have no idea how much this means to me," Sangrida said sincerely. "I'm just doing it so I can go home," Ryan said, ice edging his voice. "Whatever you say." It didn't sound like she believed him. "I can't wait to see my two brothers again. Valen and Aesir must be so worried about me!" Sangrida said, talking aloud to herself. "He said there are four dragons. What about the other one?" She shrugged. "Oh well. I'm going to make dinner." Sangrida swept off, humming. "I also thank you, from the bottom of my heart, Mr. Maxwell." Eiren said, taking his hand and shaking it. "Yeah, yeah. So where's my room?" he asked. "I'll have one of my monks take you there. Taren!" Another brown-robed man scurried out of a room, which had been hidden behind a pillar. "Yes, Priest Eiren?" he asked, sounding annoyed. "Would you lead Sir Maxwell up to the free room? Thank you," Taren muttered something under his breath and skulked down the hall with Ryan following him. "So, you're the Holy Knight? You don't look like a knight to me," the monk said, glancing at Ryan. "At least one person understands that I'm not," Ryan said, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'll gladly assist you in your journey. Anything to get away from that moronic bastard Eiren," Taren muttered. "I don't care what you do." There was a lengthy pause. "Taren! Taren!" Another man came running up the hall to him. "What?" he growled. "It's missing! Miss Sangrida's mirror is missing!" the second monk shouted in a distressed manner. "And? She's probably looking in it," Taren said, blushing. "She was the one who noticed it was missing. So it can't be that!" The monk stopped walking and thought. "What's the big deal? It's just a hunk of glass," Ryan said, shrugging. "You misunderstand. Lady Sangrida's holy relic is that mirror. She draws power from it," Taren said, smiling dreamily. Ryan waved his hand in front of his face. "So go and find it." The monk sighed happily. "I can guess that you have a crush on that girl," Ryan said disgustedly. "A what?" The second monk cleared his throat. "I'm going to find the mirror." Taren walked off down the hall and hummed lightly. "Where are you going, son?" the second monk inquired. "To some room that's open," Ryan replied. "I see. Follow me." Within ten minutes, they had found the telltale room that belonged to Sangrida. It had a sign on it that the monk claimed said 'Sangrida Daren' in runes. Ryan just nodded vaguely and went in. "Pick out a place to sleep," the monk (whose name was Djallen) instructed. He nodded and glanced at the floor. "I call the floor. There, let's go," Ryan said, leaving the room quickly. It was heavily perfumed and bothered his sinuses. He sneezed a few times and then leaned against the wall. "DINNER!" Sangrida shrieked, echoing through the halls. "She'd better be a good cook," Ryan muttered, getting up and walking toward the nice smell of fresh bread. "Lady Sangrida is a most wonderful cook, I assure you," Djallen said, nodding once. "Come on, let's go. I'm hungry, dammit!" Ryan snapped at him. "Certainly." And so they went. "What is this?" he asked, poking the strange food on his plate. The entire temple had fallen in for dinner, and the monks were contentedly eating it. It had noodles of some kind in a sauce that smelled like lobster mixed with steak, lumped in with chunks of some unfamiliar meat. "It's from an aitvaras. It's good, try it," Sangrida advised, pausing from devouring hers. "What the hell is an ate-virus?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "An aitvaras," Eiren corrected, "is a sort of rooster-dragon creature." Ryan snickered. "That must be one freaky-looking animal. I guess I'll try it." He speared a piece of the meet on his fork and nibbled at it. Shortly thereafter, he spat it out. "That's gross! How can you guys just sit there and eat it?!" Ryan demanded. He chugged his cup of milk. "Perhaps you're just not used to it, Mr. Maxwell. It gets better after you eat it a few times," Sangrida said in a small voice. "After you tried to poison me, do you think I'm eating it again? Yech," Ryan picked the chunks of meat out of his meal and tossed them to the ravenous Taren. "So, Mr. Taren, did you ever find my mirror?" Sangrida asked, changing the subject. "No, sadly. I have no idea where it may be. I'm sorry, Lady Sangrida!" he apologized, grabbing her hand and kissing it. Ryan rolled his eyes and chewed his noodles. The noodles were actually edible and tasted very good. Sangrida giggled and smiled at Taren. "Mr. Maxwell, are you starting out on your journey tomorrow?" Eiren asked, after swallowing his current mouthful of food. "Journey? What?" he asked. "The journey. The journey to find the dragons, temples, relics." the priest listed. "I don't care. Fine," Ryan said in a monotone. He was becoming irritated with the amount of reverence he was treated with. "How will I know who the dragons are, anyway? It's not like Sangrida looks like a dragon." Eiren sat back in his chair and touched the tips of his fingers together. "I do not know, Mr. Maxwell. I don't know." Ryan groaned. "Will you stop calling me Mr. Maxwell? It bothers me," he snapped. "Of course, Mr. Maxwell," Eiren said, oblivious to the glare he was receiving from the boy. He sighed and pretended to shoot himself in the head with his fingers, then laid his head on the table. "Tired, Ryan?" the girl chirped, leeching onto his arm. "Yes. Tired of this entire world," he growled, shoving her off once again. "Poor Mr. Maxwell! Oh well. A night of good sleep will cure what ails you!" Sangrida hugged him and swept off cheerfully after collecting his dishes. The next morning, he awoke to an unpleasant poking in his ribs. "Ouch! Ow! Cut it out!" he barked, sitting up. "Good morning, Ryan! Well, Taren and Eiren have gotten us all packed up and it's time to go!" Sangrida's cheerful voice greeted. "Come back later, when I feel like getting up." He flopped back down, facedown in his pillow. She giggled. "You're so funny, Mr. Maxwell. Come on!" She tugged on his arm, grunting with the effort of trying to pull him up. He grunted and got up. "Now let go of me. I'm going," he mumbled. "Okay." Sangrida smiled and bustled off. "Moron," he muttered under his breath. He rose to his feet and groggily dragged toward the door, rubbing his eyes. "Lady Sangrida! Lady Sangrida!" Taren charged into the room, knocking Ryan over and onto the floor. "Ow! Dammit, Taren, she went somewhere," he growled angrily. "Oh. I'll not be bothering you, then, sir!" Taren left the room, while Ryan got up and walked outside, adjusting his sweatshirt and jeans. They had rumpled and shifted while he was sleeping. He yawned and shuffled into the temple's dining room. "What's for breakfast?" he asked Djallen. "Aitvaras," he replied, smiling and holding up a dish. The boy blinked once and then shook his head. "No thanks, I'm not hungry anymore," he said, shuffling out of the room. "You really don't know what you're missing, Ryan. You really don't," Djallen said, shaking his head and picking up a chunk of the meat. "Oh, yes, I do," Ryan replied grouchily. "Oh well." "Mr. Maxwell!" Sangrida rang out cheerily. Her perpetually sunny manner was beginning to annoy Ryan. "What now?" he barked. "I have some new clothes for you!" She held up a stack of brown and gray Old Norse clothing. "Fine," he said, taking the clothes and walking back toward his room. He heard her footsteps following him, and her humming. "Why are you following me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and laying a hand on the doorknob. "Oh, no reason," she said with a seductive grin. Ryan rolled his eyes, ignored the grin, and slammed the door in her face. "These clothes itch like hell. Can we get MY clothes washed soon?" he asked, itching his stomach and his arms. "Sure, the first spring we get to, we'll wash them!" Sangrida said, smiling. "Yeah, good. Can we get going already before I tear off my skin scratching like this?" he asked, scratching some more. "Okay! Taren!" The monk appeared beside them, bearing a sword at his side. "I'm coming with you, Lady Sangrida!" he said, smiling back at her. Ryan rolled his eyes. "Let's get going before I puke on my shoes." And so they left.