The clash of swords shattered the night stillness. For a second I tried to incorporate the sound into my dream, but then I sat up abruptly to hear the clang of steel on steel with waking ears. My casement windows opened onto the castle courtyard, and the sound came from the direction of the gate.

In a second I was out of bed, my heart pounding wildly, fumbling with numb fingers at the door latch. We never had armed violence here in the kingdom of Yurt. The night watchman had for years been only a formality, but this sounded like real fighting.

But by the time I was out in the courtyard, the cobblestones cold and hard underfoot, the clashing had stopped. The night and silence were ominous.

I flew through the courtyard toward the gate, shaping a paralysis spell for whomever I would find. A lantern burned where the night watchman should be standing, and by it was a large indistinct lump. A cloaked and hooded man bent over it, apparently tying it up with a cord.

“Who are you?” gasped the indistinct lump in the night watchman’s voice.

Two more seconds and my spell would be ready. But the hooded man spoke first, as though in mild surprise, and at his voice the watchman gave an amazed laugh. “I am Paul, your king. I thought I was well known to you.”

I dropped to the ground, abandoning my spell, caught between anger and relief. The watchman seemed to feel the same way. “But, sire! Why didn’t you tell me who you were rather than attacking? I might have killed you!”

“Yes indeed,” said King Paul cheerfully, pushing back his hood. “The king of Yurt came very near to being killed by his own watchman! And very pleased with you I am, too. But you probably don’t want to lie there bound all night.”