The Brettonian was staring down through the fog as though transfixed. Emmaline gripped the carpet with one hand and shook the Knight's shoulder with the other. She sneezed so violently that her eyes watered generating a puff of gold dust as the magical overcharge worked it's way through her system. The sneeze seemed to penetrate the trancelike state that had settled over the Knight and he blinked his eyes.

"Set down," he commanded in a strange tone. By now their flight had carried them several miles from the wounded shaman but that still wasn't far enough for Emmaline's taste.

"We can make it to the village and probably to the mainland," she began but Brenly was shaking his head. Emmaline wasn't sure what has happened but it seemed the circle of ancient stones had somehow acted as a magical amplifier. She had heard of such places though in the stories they were usually associated with horror and Dark magic.

"Set down, there," Brenly insisted, stretching forth a finger to point to a patch of rolling fog that, to Emmaline, looked no different to any other. Emmaline glanced at Amal who shrugged and banked the carpet down towards the mist. As they sank through the fog they found themselves on the sandy shore of a small lake fringed with oak and beech trees. A small island could be seen in the center though it was hard to make out details through the mist. A soft light was moving on the water and Emmaline's eyes widened as she realized it was a woman wreathed in gossamer silk. She stepped across the water as though it was solid ground, her bare feet raising no ripples as she glided toward the shore.

"Asaph's tits!" Emmaline blurted in shock though if anyone heard her they didn't take their eyes from the woman approaching. She seemed to glow with a sourcless inner light as she stepped on to the pale sand if the beach and made a graceful beckoning motion to Brenly. The old knight took a step forward and sank to one knee lifting his stolen elven sword in ritualistic submission. The glowing woman reached out her hand and touched him on the forehead in benediction. The scene seemed to freeze for a moment and then she was gone.

"Asaph's tits," Emmaline repeated in shock. She had not sensed even a breath of magic though what had transpired had to be sorcery of the highest order. This time her words seemed to jolt the men from the reverie that held them. Amal and Douglas both voiced variations of 'what was that's in their own languages. Brenly stood seeming somehow to have lost the stiffness of age and weeks of imprisonment and hardship.

"It is the Grail quest," he said his voice filled with wonder. Amal looked blank but Emmaline had read enough salacious Brettonian literature, or at least literature set in Brettonia to understand.

"Ummm, I'm not sure if I should be congratulations you or not," Emmaline admitted ,"but we should get going before the magic dissapates."

Brenly shook his head firmly.

"I won't be going with you, I must stay till the goblin sorcerer is defeated," he declared his eyes shining with certainty. That sounded very noble but also a good way to get flattened by a giant green foot.

"You go," Brenly told them, "your path lays elsewhere. Douglas can take me back to his village from here."

"Aye," Douglas agreed ,"fir ta beest ya dinna show her faces after Gerald anaway." He glanced nervously at Brenly and then at the fog from which at any moment greenskins might burst. Emmaline nodded.

"Farewell then sir Knight," she told Brenly and performed a creditable curtsey, somewhat spoiled by the fact the borrowed coat rode up over get hips as she did so.