She did not tire readily. There was small cause for concern on that count. I lost track of time as we stamped back and forth along the bank of the stream, our blades clicking steadily.
A long while must have passed, though, before she stamped her heel and threw up her blade in a final salute. She tore off her mask then and gave me another smile.
“Thank you!” she said, breathing heavily.
I returned the salute and drew off the bird cage. I tamed and fumbled with the jacket buckles, and before I realized it she had approached and kissed me on the cheek. She had not had to stand tiptoe to do it either. I felt momentarily confused, but I smiled. Before I could say anything, she had taken my arm and turned me back in the direction from which we had come.
“I’ve brought us a picnic basket,” she said.
“Very good. I am hungry. I am also curious . . .”
“I will tell you anything that you want to hear,” she said merrily.
“How about telling me your name?” I said.
“Dara,” she replied. “My name is Dara, after my grandmother.”
She glanced at me as she said it, as though hoping for a reaction. I almost hated to disappoint her, but I nodded and repeated it, then, “Why did you call me Corwin?” I asked.
“Because that is your name,” she said. “I recognized you.”
“From where?” She released my arm.
“Here it is,” she said, reaching behind a tree and raising a basket that had been resting upon the ridges of exposed roots.
“I hope the ants didn’t get to it,” she said, moving to a shaded area beside the stream and spreading a cloth upon the ground.
I hung the fencing gear on a nearby shrub.
“You seem to carry quite a few things around with you,” I observed.
“My horse is back that way,” she said, gesturing downstream with her head.
She returned her attention to weighing down the cloth and unpacking the basket.
“Why way back there?” I asked.
“So that I could sneak up on you, of course. If you’d heard a horse clomping around you’d have been awake sure as hell.”
“You’re probably right,” I said.
She paused as though pondering deeply, then spoiled it with a giggle.
“But you didn’t the first time, though. Still. . .”
“The first time?” I said, seeing she wanted me to ask it.
“Yes, I almost rode over you awhile back,” she said. “You were sound asleep. When I saw who it was, I went back for a picnic basket and the fencing gear.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Come and sit down now,” she said. “And open the bottle, will you?”
She put a bottle beside my place and carefully unwrapped two crystal goblets, which she then set in the center of the cloth.
I moved to my place and sat down.
“That is Benedict’s best crystal,” I noted, as I opened the bottle.
“Yes,” she said. “Do be careful not to upset them when you pour-and I don’t think we should clink them together.”
“No, I don’t think we should,” I said, and I poured. She raised her glass.
“To the reunion,” she said.
“What reunion?”
“Ours.” “I have never met you before.”
“Don’t be so prosaic,” she said, and took a drink.
I shrugged. “To the reunion.”
She began to eat then, so I did too. She was so enjoying the air of mystery she had created that I wanted to cooperate, just to keep her happy.
“Now where could I have met you?” I ventured. “Was it some great court? A harem, perhaps . . . ?”
“Perhaps it was in Amber,” she said. “There you were . . .” ,
“Amber?” I said, remembering that I was holding Benedict’s crystal and confining my emotions to my voice. “Just who are you, anyway?”
“. . . There you were-handsome, conceited, admired by all the ladies,” she continued, “and there I was- a mousy little thing, admiring you from afar. Gray, or pastel-not vivid-little Dara-a late bloomer, I hasten to add-eating her heart out for you-“ I muttered a mild obscenity and she laughed again. “That wasn’t it?” she asked.