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his mind played movie scene after movie scene of the good guys suiting up to take on the bad guys. But what to take? Travel light? Travel heavy? Just how much of this stuff could he get away with?
    Something familiar drew Jasper’s eye to a bit of detailed metalwork on the hilt of a sword. Two moons—one full, the other crescent—graced the tips of the cross-guard. He grasped the scabbard in one hand, the grip in the other, and gave a good yank. The moons on the hilt seemed to grow brighter, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. Runes ran down the length of the blade.
    “Are you a master swordsman, young cub?” asked Nimlinn.
    Jasper held up the sword. It felt wonderfully, impossibly light. He gave it a quick flourish and smacked the blade into the corner of a lamp, shearing off a small chunk of the metalwork.
    “Not last I checked,” said Jasper.
    “Then that sword will remain here.”
    Jasper looked up, surprised. “Why?” He wondered, nervously, what else Nimlinn might rule out. His dream of outfitting himself like the ultimate warrior knight suddenly began to fade.
    “While I don’t know the history of much that lies within this room, I do know that that is a moon sword—one of the nine. They are highly sought-after objects. And so, unless you believe you could keep that from someone who has lived his whole life pursuing one, I believe you would do well to leave it here. Should you some day prove yourself, I will happily allow you to take it. I believe it would be in your best interests for now to keep a lower profile. These fallen were not placed here because they were ordinary. I suspect that many of the items they possessed are every bit as special as they were. You may take whatever you wish, so long as it isn’t too . . . flashy.”
    Jasper hadn’t given much thought to actually wielding these weapons against someone who had spent his whole life training with a blade. Instantly, he saw the wisdom of Nimlinn’s suggestion.
    He sheathed the moon sword and carefully returned it, then bent down to pick up the piece of metalwork he’d sheared off. Holding it close to the lamp it had belonged to, he turned it end over end in the pale light. It had a curling ocean wave motif, whereas the cut of the sword was smooth as glass.
    “I understand,” he said, quietly pocketing the bit of metal. And suddenly Jasper knew exactly what he wanted. Dashing over to one of the swordswomen, he selected a pair of bronze-colored vambraces, quickly strapping them to his forearms. Next, he grabbed a matching pair of greaves and strapped them over his jeans, just below the knees. Light would be the order of the day.
    Jasper ran over to the place where Lily had found her cloak and boots. Her purple high-tops stood out like . . . well, a pair of purple high-tops in a medieval tomb full of period clothes and armament. Jasper grinned as he lifted them just enough to retrieve the studded leather vest they rested on. The vest was a little tight but had buckles on the sides. Moving to yet another slab, he wasted no time belting a short sword to his waist before finally racing back to the figure of the second swordswoman for a hooded riding cloak.
    “Perhaps you should take one of those round things,” said Nimlinn. “Nearly all of them have one.”
    Jasper placed his tennis shoes on the slab where, a moment before, there had been a knee-high pair of riding boots. He eyed a few of the shields; some were quite small, others very large and heavy looking.
    “I think not,” said Jasper, weaving back through the slabs toward the narrow nooks carved beside the doors. In each nook rested a pair of iron-tipped wooden staffs. The tips were engraved with an odd script, which flowed down them one character at a time, nine in all.
    “You’re not thinking of taking one of those, are you?” said Nimlinn incredulously.
    “Yes, and why not?” answered Jasper.
    “Jasper,” began Nimlinn delicately, “I think those are meant for