“Felipe,” Roland smiled, “it’s good to be back. How long have I been away?”

“Far too long, Sir Roland,” answered the old man, pawing anxiously on Roland’s travelling cloak, as if to reassure himself that he was not merely some product of his imagination.

Roland gave a hesitatant smile and began walking toward the immense portcullis. His mind was still muddled. It was good to be back in the castle, although for the life of him he couldn’t quite remember where he had been.

Or why he had come back.

Jacques.

“You have arrived at an opportune time, Sir Roland,” rasped Felipe anxiously.

“And why is that?” asked Roland, stepping off the heavy wooden drawbridge and onto the worn flagstones of the castle proper. He passed through the archway, sparing only a glance for the murder holes above. At that moment, there was a crashing noise from behind him. Several planks of the bridge had splintered and fallen into the moat. On instinct, Roland’s gaze swept to the middle tower.

“That’s why,” said Felipe.