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were bearing pieces of black armour of marvelous workmanship.
    “This,” said the king, “is the armour of Erekosë, broken from its tomb of rock for Erekosë to wear again.”
    The amour was, unlike that worn by the Imperial Guard, smooth without embellishment. The shoulder pieces were grooved fanning high and away from the head to channel a blow of sword, axe or lance away from the wearer. The helmet, breastplates and the rest were all grooved in the same manner. The metal was light but very strong, like that of the sword, but the black lacquer shone. In its simplicity the armour was beautiful. The only ornament, a thick plume of scarlet horse-hair, sprang from the top of the helm and cascaded down the smooth sides. I touched the armour with the reverence one has for fine art—for fine art designed to protect one’s life.
    “Thank you, King Rigenos,” I said. “I will wear it tomorrow when we set sail for Noonos.”
    Overlaying my excitement for the coming war was my love for Iolinda which seemed to be a calmer, purer love, so much higher than carnal love that it was a thing apart. Perhaps this was the chivalrous love which the Peers of Christendom had held above all other?
             
    That night, I lay at peace, thinking of Iolinda, and in the morning slaves brought my armour to me and helped me don it. It fitted perfectly, comfortably and was no weight at all. With my poisonous sword in its protecting scabbard, I strode to the Great Hall where the Peers of Humanity had been summoned.
    There, in the Great Hall hung with hundreds of bright banners which descended from the high, domed roof, the Marshals, the Captains and the Knights were gathered in splendid array.
    A little group of marshals kneeled before me as I kneeled before the king. Behind them were a hundred captains, behind them five thousand knights, all kneeling. And surrounding us, along the walls, were the old nobles, the Ladies of the Court, Men-at-arms at attention, slaves and squires. I, Erekosë, Champion of Humanity, was to be their saviour. They knew it.
    In my confidence, I knew it, also.
    The king spoke:
    “Erekosë the Champion, Marshals, Captains and Knights of Humanity—we go to wage war against unhuman evil, to save our fair continents from the Eldren menace. This expedition will be decisive. With Erekosë to lead us we shall win the port and province of Paphanaal, but that will be the first stage in our campaigns.”
    He paused and then spoke again into the silence:
    “More battles must follow fast upon the first so that the hated Hounds of Evil will, once and for all, be destroyed, men and women—even children must perish. We drove them to their holes in the Mountains of Sorrow once, but this time we must not let their race survive. Let only their memory remain to remind us of what evil is!”
    “We will destroy the Eldren!” we roared, intoxicated by the tense atmosphere of the Great Hall.
    “Swear it!” shouted the king and the hatred boiled from his eyes, seared from his voice.
    “We so swear! We will destroy the Eldren!”
    “Go now, Paladins of Mankind—go—
destroy the Eldren filth!
”
    We rose to our feet, turned in precision, and marched from the Great Hall into a day noisy with the swelling roars of the people.
    Down the winding streets of Necranal we marched, myself in the lead, my sword raised as if already victorious, down towards the waiting ships which were ready on the river.

    Oars were slipped through the ports and dipped into the placid river waters, strong men, three to a sweep, sat upon the rowing benches. Fifty ships stretched along the river banks, bearing the standards of fifty proud Paladins.

    The people of Necranal lined the banks, cheering, cheering so that we became used to their voices, as men become used to the sounds of the sea, scarcely hearing them. Richly decorated cabins were built on the decks and the ships of the Paladins had several masts bearing furled sails of painted canvas.
    I