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“If that is her name, aye. The simple fact is that she may not fit in here, M’k’n’zy. She may not fit in here at all.”

“I… I don’t understand. She”

All at once Calhoun stopped talking. And he wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly knew, beyond any question, as sure as he had ever known anything, that Shelby was in mortal danger. With a cry of warning although he didn’t know what he was warning against Calhoun charged toward the tent flap just as a high-pitched scream came from outside the tent.

Calhoun dashed outside… and skidded to a halt.

Shelby was standing there with a bloody sword clenched in her hands and a look of pure fury on her face. She was breathing hard, and was covered with sweat. Facing her was the master-at-arms, minus one of those arms. It was lying on the ground next to him, the hand still clutching its sword, and blood was pouring from the ruined arm.

“Then again,” said Calhoun’s father appraisingly, “perhaps she’ll fit right in.”

Shelby’s wolfish grin of pleasure lasted for as long as it took to fully register upon her what had just happened. Then, slowly, her eyes widened as she focused upon the master-at-arms. He had dropped to his knees and was rather comically, and absurdly, trying to reattach his fallen arm by shoving it against the shoulder from which it had been severed. He was having about as much success with the endeavor as one would expect. The only thing he was managing to accomplish was to amuse the other Xenexians who were pointing and laughing at his hapless antics. Shelby gasped, unsure of what to say or do, at which point Calhoun walked to her quickly and pulled her away. The laughter of the Xenexians followed them as Calhoun distanced himself from them. Within moments they had left the encampment behind.

Shelby’s face was turning the color of paste, and her eyes were wide with confusion and horror. “Mac… Mac, what’s happening, what’s…”

“We’re in Kaz’hera,” he told her matter-of-factly.

“Of course!” she said as if that explained everything. “We’re in Kaz’hera! I mean, up until now, I was confused because I was operating under the mistaken belief that we were in Tuscaloosa, but it turns out we’re in Kaz’hera !”

“Eppy…”

She whirled and gripped him by the shoulders with such force that he was sure he was going to have a permanent imprint of her fingernails in his flesh. “Where the hell is Kaz’hera!”

“Eppy…” he started again.

“Why did I wake up in some tent, only to have some bruiser drag me out into the morning air and start giving me sword lessons?! And why, when I chopped his arm off like it was a piece of goddamn mutton, was I happy about it?!?” She was trembling with agitation. “Where… what is… how…”

“Are you going to let me tell you?”

“No!” she said, trembling, and then she put her hands to her face, breathing in deeply to steady herself. “Okay… go… tell. Now. Hurry. Before I crack up.”

“All right.” He let out a slow breath, tried to figure out the best way to explain what was essentially inexplicable. “Does the name ‘Valhalla’ mean anything to you?”

“Uhm…” She ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s, uh… a starship. Excelsior-class. Named after a famous American Revolution battle centuries ago, I think…”

“What? What’re you… ? No!” he moaned. “Eppy, that’s the Valley Forge, for crying out loud. I’m talking about Valhalla, the literary reference…”

“Dammit, Mac, I’m a captain, not a librarian! How am I supposed to… wait… wait…” She frowned, racking her brain. “It’s, uhm… that place. Norse mythology…”

“Right…”

She was flipping her hand around as if trying to swat an annoying insect. “Where the warrior women lived… the Valkyries… and they’d come and bring fallen warriors to this place, this hall of dead heroes, and that was Valhalla…”

“Exactly, yes. Well, the, uhm,” he cleared his throat, “the interesting thing about myths, Eppy, is how entirely different civilizations, even worlds, have different versions of the same thing. Flood myths, for instance, are prevalent in many”

She looked around at the forbidding