Eye of the Oracle

chapter 2

THE LADY OF THE LAKE

Sapphira sat at the side of the pool, gazing at the Ovulum. Even though it had been silent for centuries, she kept bringing it back to the healing waters every few days . . . hoping . . . hoping to feel love once again.

Holding it close to her lips, she whispered, “Elohim?” but, as usual, there was no answer. She dropped her hands to her lap and sighed. She didn’t dream it. She really was healed. Whoever was inside really did sing that heavenly song that told her of Elohim’s love.

She gazed at her reflection in the pool. The same fourteen-year-old girl stared back at her the same smooth, pale skin and stark white hair. Morgan had warned her that the tower’s dimensional rift could have altered their plane of existence, but she didn’t expect not to age at all.

Still, the spawns kept growing, though very slowly, and she would have to rise early to prepare the newest candidate for mobility training. She slid the Ovulum back into her pocket and rose to her feet, grabbing her lantern on her way up. As she strolled through the corridor, she waved her hand over the flaming wick. “Come on,” she said. “You can get brighter than that.” The lantern responded with a flash and burned steadily, brightening the entire tunnel as she marched on.

Watching her own shadow on the tunnel wall, she pictured the humanoid plants attempting to walk on their spindly green legs, tired and wobbly as they exercised to the beat of a slave-driving drummer. But when she tried to imagine a face on the shadowy mirage, she could only see Yereq’s, sad and thin as he toiled in silence.

As she slid down into her dugout, a tear formed in each eye. Yereq still came to mind every day, especially the hate-filled look in his eyes when Morgan finally sent him to the mobility room for good. What was he doing now? Could he be a fully formed giant? He had enough time to grow that much. But he had never shown up as a slave driver in the magnetite trenches or taken a shift as the lift operator. What might his job be?

Sapphira set the lantern on the floor, illuminating the two stone bunks. Paili sat in hers, her tiny feet brushing the floor as they swung back and forth. She formed her words slowly and carefully. “The lantern is very bright.”

Sapphira waved her hand over the flame. “Sorry.” The lantern slowly dimmed.

“If Morgan catches you doing that . . . you will be . . .” Paili rolled her eyes upward, apparently in search of a word.

“In big trouble?” Sapphira offered.

Paili nodded.

Sapphira wiggled her fingers at the lantern, and the flame waved its pointy head back at her. “I think she’s already suspicious about my power, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid of her anymore.”

“You should be afraid. If she . . . catches you trying to break into . . .” Paili glanced upward again, but this time, she just shook her head and sighed. “Too many words.”

“Take your time.” Sapphira stroked Paili’s hair. She was still an eight-year-old in body, and perhaps even younger in mind, even after over a thousand years of training. “You’ve come a long way, Paili. Don’t get discouraged.”

Paili forced out her words as though each one tortured her throat. “I was . . . doing better. Something . . . is wrong.”

“Yes, I know. I’m still trying to figure out what’s holding you back.” She sat on the floor next to Paili’s bed, using her toes to pinch a stale morsel of bread near the “mouse” hole. A dozen or so other morsels lay strewn around the opening.

Sapphira tickled Paili’s foot. “How’s our food supply?”

Paili just sighed and pulled her leg up to her bed.

Sapphira winced. “Oh. Sorry. Yes or no questions.” She kicked one of the morsels toward her hand and swept it into her fingers. “Do we have enough dried fruits and vegetables for another week?”

“No.”

“Another day?”

“Yes.”

“Is Naamah still bringing fruit from the bad tree for you to cook?”

“Yes.”

“Has she said anything about when Morgan might come back?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

Sapphira pulled her knees up to her chest. “That means tonight’s my last chance to search her castle. Whenever I’m anywhere near the portal, she doesn’t let me out of her sight.”

Paili grabbed Sapphira’s arm and pulled. “No! Don’t!”

“Paili!” Sapphira jerked her arm away. “I have to find Elam.”

“He is dead!” Paili moaned.

“Maybe not. Just because we don’t need bricks anymore doesn’t mean they killed him.”

Paili spread out three fingers. “Taalah is dead. Qadar is dead. . . . Elam is dead.”

“No!” Sapphira said, wrapping her hand around Paili’s fingers. “We didn’t see Elam get hauled off to the chasm like all the girls.”

Paili scowled. “You . . . never see Elam.”

Sapphira drooped her head and sighed. “I know.” With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the bread back at the hole. Then, reaching under Paili’s bunk, she withdrew a blossom and caressed one of its seven petals, as white and supple as the day she found her living gift centuries ago. “Elam’s not an underborn,” she said, laying the blossom on her bed, “so he probably died of old age a long time ago.”

“Yes. So you . . . stay here tonight.”

“No.” Sapphira rose to her feet and smacked her palm with her fist. “I haven’t looked everywhere, and I can’t ignore the feeling that someone’s being held prisoner in Morgan’s house. Even if it’s not him, I have to keep looking.”

Paili grabbed her forearm. “No!” she cried, squeezing tightly. “If you die . . . I am alone.”

Sapphira jerked free. “I won’t die!”

The lantern’s dim light reflected in Paili’s tears, two long streams running down her cheeks. Sapphira sighed and sat next to her, stroking her hair again. “Paili, everything will be okay. Elohim hasn’t brought me this far to let me die now. Why would he give me my power if he just wanted me to die down here?”

Paili pulled in her bottom lip and frowned.

“This will be the last time. I promise.” Sapphira picked up her lantern and headed for the hovel’s exit, whispering to the flame. “A bit lower, please.”

As the lantern’s glow diminished, she checked for the Ovulum in her pocket and climbed out into the corridor, tiptoeing in front of her own stalking silhouette. So far, so good. Morgan lurked somewhere in the overworld, Naamah was probably sleeping by now, but where might Mardon be? Since he never wanted her to leave the hovel at night, it seemed that he was hiding some terrible secret. Who could tell how late he might be working in the control room . . . or watching from the surrounding shadows?

As she approached the control room, the door swung open, and Mardon bustled out, studying a page of parchment as he strode toward her. She flattened herself against a wall and snuffed her flame with a quick wave. As he passed by, the light from Mardon’s lantern brushed across her eyes, but he never looked up from his work. She waited a few seconds, then continued on, not bothering to summon her fire again. After several centuries, the winding, upward path was all too familiar, even in total darkness.

After hurrying through the old green portal chamber, she felt for the entry to the next corridor and crept through, helped by the glow in the distance from the guard’s lantern and the swirling eddies emanating from the newer portal’s blue column. As she neared the chamber, she tiptoed and called out her usual warning, having learned that it’s never wise to startle a guardian giant. “Anak? It’s Sapphira.”

Just as she stepped into the chamber, the giant’s deep voice echoed off the distant walls and ceiling. “More night reading, daughter of the earth?”

Sapphira cringed. No matter how many times he taunted her with that name, it never failed to sting. Firming her chin, she strode into the towering giant’s shadow and crossed her arms over her chest. “At least I can read, son of putrefaction.”

Anak roared with laughter, making his muscular torso quiver. “A new insult from the queen of glib tongues.” He reached down and patted her on the head. “Morgan must keep you around for entertainment. I would have fed your carcass to the birds by now.”

Sapphira kept a stony face under the giant’s condescending hand. “She keeps me around, because I was smart enough not to teach Mardon everything I learned while he was gone. Without me, her garden of giants would produce nothing but fools like Anak and his sons.” She moved her hands to her hips. “If I remember the story Morgan told me, one of your sons lost his head at the hands of a shepherd boy.”

“Acid-tongued wench!” Anak wrapped his huge, six-fingered hand around her face and shoved her backwards, making her flop down on her buttocks. “David and his sons rot in their tombs while I live on.”

Sapphira climbed slowly to her feet and pulled out her coif. “Only by Morgan’s black arts.” As she spoke, she crept nearer, tying on her covering and keeping her eyes locked on Anak’s. “What would happen if you passed through the portal back to the land of the living?” She began tucking her hair into her coif, slowly making a circle around the portal. Anak’s gaze followed her, his body turning with his head. “If you went there, you would be a rotting corpse, because you died in that dimension, just like Mardon, and you’re stuck here because Morgan uses her arts to keep you from passing on to your eternal reward.”

Anak glared at her. “What do you know about eternal rewards? You’re stuck in this hellhole with me.”

With slow, furtive steps, she passed by him and eased closer to the swirling column of pale blue light. “I can’t argue with that. But at least I have hope. I have never died.” She withdrew the Ovulum from her pocket and laid it in her palm, pausing for a moment to make sure the giant moved his gaze to the egg’s mirror-like surface as it reflected the portal’s dancing light.

The moment he looked down, Sapphira leaped for the portal, but with a lightning fast sweep of his arm, Anak snatched her right out of the air and threw her to the ground. She tumbled head over heels and slid to a stop, scraping her elbow.

Anak extended his long arm and pointed at her. “Devious vixen! Get your scrolls and be gone!”

Sapphira rose slowly and brushed herself off, taking a second to examine the trickle of blood oozing down her forearm. It stung pretty badly, but at least she had managed to cling to her Ovulum. She slid it carefully back into her pocket and headed toward the tower, making a wide circle around the scowling Anak. As she passed through the broken doors, she clenched her fists. She had gotten so close! Just a few more inches, and she would have been on her way back to the upper realms, to the land of the living!

Keeping well away from the tree in the center and its twelve saluting statues, Sapphira shuffled to the outer wall and grasped the sides of one of the tall ladders that lined the stacks of shelves. Putting one foot on the first step, she paused and looked back at the portal’s bluish glow. What if she had made it into the column? Would it really have led to the upper world? Morgan had expressed her doubts long ago, and she was usually right about things like that. Still, it might be worth exploring if she could ever get past Anak, but would she be able to find her way home? And if she got lost in another dimension, what would Morgan do to Paili?

Sapphira slapped the side of the ladder and whispered to herself, “You should have thought of that earlier.” She began climbing the ladder, skipping over the familiar weakened rungs as she scurried upward. At least with this journey, having tried it before, she knew where she was going and how to find her way back, and so far no one else seemed to know about the museum’s exit at the very top.

Sitting on a hearth near a crackling fire, Morgan laid a sword on her knees. “It’s time to put Chereb back into service. My dragon slayer is ready to begin his work.”

Naamah, kneeling in the warmth of the greenish flames, caressed the ornate hilt. “How will you get it to him?”

“Chereb is not for my slayer.” Morgan set the blade next to the hearth and rose to her feet. “It is for the king.”

“Arthur?” Naamah asked, rising with her. “Why?”

Morgan kissed Naamah’s cheek and whispered into her ear. “It’s all part of the grand scheme Lucifer and I have been cooking up for centuries, and it’s finally time to let you in on it.”

Naamah set her hands on her hips. “Because you need me to do your dirty work, right?”

“Don’t worry. You’re perfectly suited for your part in the plan.” Morgan gestured with her head toward the room’s exit. “Follow me.”

Morgan strode across the marble floor of the high-ceilinged room, Naamah trailing close behind. “I have experimented with this sword for centuries,” Morgan said. “Even with the blood covering, it wouldn’t work for Ham or his son Cush. Yet, it flashed its sacred fire for Nimrod.” She paused at the entrance to a dark corridor. “Tell me, Naamah, how was Nimrod different from his ancestors?”

“He was a king.”

“Yes. It seems that kings and leaders of clans, like Noah, are able to summon the sword’s power.” Morgan entered the corridor, walking more slowly now as she passed by a series of heavy wooden doors, each with thick metal bars in their solitary windows. “Nimrod lost his kingdom,” she continued, “because he didn’t bother to renew the blood on his hands before the battle at the tower. The fool relied on the candlestone to defeat the dragons. Arthur, however, won’t need blood. He is a follower of the enemy.”

A low moan emanated from one of the windows. Naamah longed to see the suffering of the prisoners, but even on tiptoes, she couldn’t peek inside. “So, only a king can use Chereb?” she asked.

Morgan stopped at the last door in the hallway and lifted a key ring from a hook on the wall. “I don’t think so. An old prophecy I once read implies that any king’s heir or anyone he designates can use it as well.” She slid the long, slender keys around the ring, eyeing each one. “I wanted Mardon to test the sword to prove my theory, but since he is merely a dead spirit in our caverns, my experiments were probably useless. That’s why I will give it to Arthur. When he gets the sword, he will show it to Merlin, who will certainly know all about its secrets. If Merlin can use Chereb, then I will be certain about the designation theory, and my dragon slayer will make sure I get it back at the proper time.”

“But when you get it back, we won’t have a king or any innocent blood to cover his hands.”

“I have a plan to install a new king.” Morgan pinched a key, letting the rest of the ring dangle. “And we have sources for innocent blood.”

“Sapphira and Paili?” Naamah raised her eyebrows. “Would you dare kill one of them?”

“No. Paili’s presence keeps Sapphira in the lower realms, right where I want her.” Morgan inserted the key into the lock, pausing as she gazed through the bars in the window. “And I cannot take Sapphira’s blood. She is too dangerous, though she has no idea how powerful she is. Every person who spills her blood meets an untimely demise.”

“Yes,” Naamah said, shivering. “I know. We could really use Nimrod right now.”

Morgan nodded. “In any case, Sapphira is unable to thwart my ultimate plan without her twin oracle, and Acacia is long dead, so I don’t mind keeping her around. Her abilities in the control room are quite valuable.”

“I follow your plan so far, but what’s your source for innocent blood?”

Morgan turned the key and slid a heavy bolt to one side. “My prisoner will provide it.”

“Are you sure he’s innocent?”

“Since he was born before the enemy’s visitation, I’m not sure.” Morgan swung open the door. Naamah peeked inside, but all she could see was a tiny, empty room with an open trapdoor in the middle of the stone flooring. Morgan walked in and knelt at the trapdoor’s opening. “Shem dedicated him to God at his birth, and we captured him before the normal age of corruption. He has aged but a little, and since his only companion has been strife, I suspect he qualifies. But with the plan I have in mind, I won’t need his blood.”

“What? I thought you said ”

“Confused?” Morgan laughed. “After we talk to him, you’ll figure it out.”

“So,” Naamah said, spreading out her hands. “Where is he?”

Morgan pointed into the dark shaft. “Exactly where I expected him to flee. The sixth circle. That’s why I moved him to this cell after the Messiah cleared his followers out of the underworld.”

Naamah peered into the blackness. A downward draft pulled on her hair and clothes as it swept into a chasm of apparent nothingness. “Is the village of the dead down there?”

“Yes. What’s left of it.”

“So he’s alone?”

“Come. I’ll show you.” Morgan stood, and her body shrank, quickly transforming into a raven. Naamah spread out her arms. They flattened into leathery wings, and her hands molded into wrinkled claws. Within seconds, she began circling the room in the form of a bat.

Morgan jumped into the hole. Naamah dove headfirst in pursuit, plunging into the cold, black downdraft. Within seconds, the air warmed, getting brighter as they plummeted. Morgan spread out her wings and began to glide in a wide circle. Naamah followed her path, though her fluttering, jerky motions weren’t as graceful.

They landed in a village that looked like a deserted copy of Nimrod’s Shinar, not the marble-coated center of town, but rather the poorer outskirts. Hoofprints marred the muddy streets, and long rows of quaint stone huts stood in disrepair. A gust of wind lifted a broken piece of roof thatching and blew it across the street to a vacant marketplace, scattering straw among the empty carts of the missing vendors.

Morgan and Naamah returned to their human forms. Naamah pulled her hair back, staring into the crisp breeze. “Hades is a lonely place since the Messiah’s visit.”

“Yes,” Morgan said, smoothing out her dress, “but the sixth circle is perfect for keeping prisoners. Elam doesn’t ever seem to need food, so I can’t use hunger to break his will. Yet, this circle will soon be home to spirits that will drive him mad, and Elam will finally do what I ask.”

“Spirits? What kind of spirits?”

“Lucifer’s spies have told me that Elohim has created an abode identical to this one, a parallel home for the spirits of dead dragons. It seems that the two dimensions will intermingle in very interesting ways.” Morgan pointed toward a stack of boxes at the side of the market. “I saw him.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Elam. I saw you. There’s no use hiding back there.”

Elam stood up behind the boxes, revealing his tall, boyish frame. He walked straight toward Morgan, a club in his hand and fire in his eyes. “I was only hiding so I could crack your head open.” With the club ready to strike, he leaped at her.

Morgan raised her hands and thrust them outward. A wall of darkness threw Elam backwards, making him fly to the market. He slammed against the boxes, crushing them under his body. Slowly rising from the heap, he tightened his grip on the club and glared at Morgan. “I will get out of here. Just you wait and see. I’ll make you pay for what you did to Raphah.”

Naamah took a step closer to Morgan. “He still looks like a teenager,” she whispered, “and he’s really rather dashing.”

“Yes,” she whispered back. “I was hoping you would think so. It will make your job more pleasant. You will sing songs of doubt and treachery into his mind, but this isn’t the time or place to explain.”

Elam threw down his club. “I’m not going to stand here and be gawked at.” He began stalking away. “If you have anything to say to me, I’ll be at the kilns.”

Naamah chuckled. “He’s got spunk. That’s for sure.”

“Yes, and we’ll use that against him.” Morgan raised her arms and began transforming to a raven. “Come now,” she said, her voice changing to a squawk. “It’s time to return.”

Naamah reverted to a bat and followed Morgan upward, leaving the light of the world below and plunging into darkness. As they rose, they battled the downdraft that swept air from the prison cell above, now a tiny light in the distance.

Finally, they burst through the current and landed in the cell. Naamah flittered around for a moment, then planted her sharp claws before shifting to her human form. Brushing her hair with her fingers, she watched the raven stretch upward and reshape into the tall, slender frame of Morgan.

“If you wanted Elam’s blood,” Naamah said, “why didn’t you just take it from him instead of holding him prisoner?”

Morgan shook her hair back behind her shoulders. “I already told you. It’s not his blood I want. He will just provide the way to get Sapphira’s.”

“But why don’t you just get Anak to kill her? He’s expendable.”

“Because he is not able to kill her. Lucifer’s spies learned that an oracle of fire cannot be murdered unless she is betrayed by someone she loves. Sapphira didn’t speak up for Acacia when she took the bread, so Acacia lost her protection.”

Naamah smiled and winked. “So you have to get Sapphira and Elam to fall in love?”

“No. Romantic feelings have nothing to do with it. We need absolute trust and sacrifice. Only complete trust generates the brutality of real betrayal.”

Naamah knelt at the edge of the trapdoor and gazed into the darkness. “But with Elam down there, how will you get them to love each other like that?”

“When someone eats out of the hands of another, both the giver and the taker trust each other without reservation.” Morgan eased the trapdoor past Naamah’s head and closed it with a loud thud. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes. I was surprised that you let them get away with that.”

“It’s all part of the plan,” Morgan said as she headed for the exit. “And now we need a singer of dark lyrics to break that trust, little by little.”

Naamah rose and followed her. “Not a problem,” she said, winking again. “The words are already forming in my mind. If this song doesn’t make him doubt, then nothing will.”

Edward sat uneasily on Thigocia’s back, shifting his weight to keep the tough scales from pinching him. To his right, his friend Newman sat on Makaidos, looking even more uncomfortable as he adjusted his breeches while balancing his body with his shield. To his left, four other dragons waited, three of them with riders who sat tall and motionless, the trio of elderly warriors that Makaidos had brought out of retirement.

In the distance, a blanket of mist shrouded a huge swamp, and a high mound protruded from the waters like a swollen womb. A small building sat on top, a humble, thatched-roof house of worship with a rugged, stone bell tower at the front. Far to the left, a smaller hill rose above the swamp, its western slope stretching to the mainland. Weary Hill, they called it, the resting spot for Joseph of Arimathea after his long journey from Jerusalem. The bridge that once spanned the two hills was gone, destroyed by the invaders, and wood fragments still floated about the swamp, occasionally washing to shore.

The mist hovered in place, not a breath of wind to stir it, a perfect shield for the enemy troops that might approach again from the north. Edward nodded toward the water’s edge. “Newman, stop pulling on your pants. The king’s coming.”

King Arthur marched toward the line of dragons, his sword and shield in hand. He stopped in front of Makaidos and bowed. “Your presence is most welcome, King of the Dragons.” As his eyes met those of the aged warriors, he smiled. “I recognize these human heroes of my childhood, but please tell me the names of your dragon soldiers so that I may properly address them in battle.”

Makaidos nodded toward the others. “In order from your left to your right, the king has at his service, Thigocia, my mate; Valcor and Hartanna, twins born to us since my arrival here; Legossi, a daughter of Maven; and finally, Clefspeare, Goliath’s and Roxil’s only son.” Each dragon bowed in turn.

“Greetings, noble dragons, and welcome.” Leaning over, Arthur sketched a map in the drying mud with his sword. “Sir Devin’s scout tells us that the Saxons are massing behind the great tor, and they seem to be migrating toward Weary Hill.” With rapid strokes, the king drew a credible likeness of the two hills and the surrounding swamp. “We will counter them here,” he said, stabbing one side of Weary Hill.

Sir Devin pointed at the map with his own sword. “But wouldn’t that open up our flank to a water passage between the hills?”

Arthur scratched a line next to Devin’s blade. “The dragons will be able to sense any approach, so they will guard that side.”

“Your Majesty,” Devin said, sliding his sword back into its scabbard, “I beg you to fortify all sides with humans. I know you do not trust the dragons as much as you appear ”

“King Arthur!” Makaidos interrupted. “I sense danger!”

Arthur straightened, raising his sword with a tight grip. “How near?”

“It is strange,” Makaidos said, his ears twitching rapidly. “Somehow the danger lies between the two of us, yet there is no one here.”

“An invisible enemy?” Arthur asked. He sliced his sword through the air, then back again. “If he is here, he has no body that my sword can cut. Perhaps a ghost?”

“Even as you move the blade,” Makaidos said, “the focal point of danger seems to move.”

Arthur held up the blade and squinted at it. “The sword is dangerous?”

“I have heard of swords that seem to have a life of their own,” Makaidos said. “Where did you get that one?”

Arthur held it close to the dragon. “This is the very sword I pulled from the stone as a lad, but it is no more alive than the stone was.”

Edward cleared his throat. “Sire, if I may be so bold . . .”

Arthur nodded. “Speak, squire.”

“While you were scratching the mud, I think I noticed a slight quiver in the blade. Could it have been damaged during this morning’s skirmish with the enemy’s scouts?”

Arthur gazed at Edward curiously, then bent down and banged the sword against the ground. The blade broke cleanly away from the hilt.

Makaidos stretched his neck and sniffed the broken blade. “Yes, that must have been the danger.”

Arthur shook his head. “If this had happened in battle, I would have been helpless.” He rose and bowed to Makaidos, then to Edward. “I am in debt to both dragon and squire,” the king said.

Edward took in a deep breath, swelling his chest. He couldn’t resist the feeling of pride. He had made another step toward proving himself worthy of his father’s name. Now, if he could only get another shot at Goliath.

The king threw the worthless hilt on the ground. “It seems that I need another sword.”

Instantly, the sound of a dozen swords sliding out of their scabbards rose into the air. Edward thrust his forward first. “Take mine, Your Majesty.” His words echoed from the lips of every knight within earshot of the king.

Arthur laughed. “My good soldiers, I cannot take any of your weapons. Then you would be disarmed and ”

A haunting moan drifted in from the swamp, starting with a loud hum that slowly formed a stretched-out call. “Arthurrrrrr!” The voice seemed to stir the mist with its breathy echoes. Every man and dragon shifted toward the sound, the swords swinging away from the king and toward the shadowy water.

Near the shore, a ghostly female form hovered over the swamp, her long hair and gown flowing as the mist swirled all around her. With her body veiled, she seemed a phantom, perhaps even an embodiment of the mist itself. She raised her arm, holding an indistinguishable object in her hand.

Edward shifted his weight on Thigocia’s neck, trying not to tremble. The sound of murmuring filtered through the ranks.

Arthur raised his hand. “What are we? A pack of boys playing at war? Where is your courage?” He turned to Makaidos, his eyes alternately fixed on him and the phantom. “Do you sense danger from her?”

“Without a doubt, Sire. If she is not a demon, then she is something akin to one.”

“But she bears a gift,” Thigocia added, “and it is something holy.”

“How do you know?” the king asked.

“I can sense it.” Thigocia turned on her eyebeams and pointed them at the apparition. “Her aspect gives her away. She holds the gift as if it is abhorrent to her essence, as if its goodness invades her nature like a foreign army.”

The voice drifted in again, louder and more pleading. “Arthur, I have been called to give you the ultimate weapon.” With a mighty heave, she threw the object toward them, a sword spinning end over end until it pierced the ground near the shoreline.

Devin stepped forward. “Shall I fetch it for you, Sire?”

Arthur laid a hand on Devin’s chest and called out to the floating specter, “Who are you, and why do you offer this gift?”

“You may call me the Lady of the Lake. You will need this sword to conquer your greatest foes. It is called Excalibur, for it can cut both steel and stone. You will also learn to use its most powerful secret, the secret of holy fire.” The mist created a whirlpool of fog over the surface of the water that seemed to absorb her ghostly form. “Beware of those who call themselves friends,” she said as she sank lower, “for ambitious usurpers will bide their time with smiles and bows while they await their chance to take your throne.” She disappeared, and the swirling mist settled to complete stillness.

Arthur marched toward the swamp, waving his arm. “Edward,” he called, “come with me. The rest of you move to the front lines, and I will join you there as soon as possible.”

Edward pointed at himself, mouthing his own name.

Newman kicked his ankle. “You’re the only Edward around here! Get your carcass down and follow the king!”

Thigocia lowered her neck, and Edward climbed down as he had been taught, stepping across the first three spines, then jumping the rest of the way. He looked back at the dragon and nodded respectfully. “I think you’d better go with the others. The king made no exceptions.”

“Very well,” Thigocia replied, dipping her head.

Makaidos stretched out his wings. “Leave a horse tied for each of them, and we will be on our way.”

Edward hustled to join the king and marched side by side with him, trying to catch his breath. “I apologize . . . Your Majesty. I didn’t . . . consider myself worthy to ”

“Exactly why I called you,” the king said, clapping Edward’s shoulder. “When the lake spirit said to beware of my counselors, the truth of her words resonated in my heart. I have long believed that someone is plotting to wrestle away my throne, so I need to take action to prevent it.”

“Will you trust this spirit, Sire? The dragons warned that she is dangerous.”

“Dangerous to them, perhaps.” He stopped and looked back at the dragons as they circled low over the departing ground troops. Sirs Devin and Barlow led the way down a path toward Weary Hill.

Arthur lowered his voice. “Dragons cannot always distinguish the target of danger, and Thigocia declared that the sword appears to be holy.”

Edward eyed the leading knight, clad in dark mail and marching quickly. “Do you believe Sir Devin? Are all dragons possessed by evil spirits?”

The king continued toward the edge of the swamp, slower now as the mists surrounded them. “I don’t know whom to believe, so I brought you here to ask your help. I will make a formal pronouncement later, but you are now a knight. I want you to befriend both Sir Devin and the dragons. Get them to trust you. Learn their secret counsels, and report your findings to me.”

Edward tried to keep a proud smile from bursting forth as he walked beside the king, but he couldn’t calm his breathless voice. “And what of Merlin? He is your closest advisor.”

“Merlin would never turn from me, but he would also never act as a spy. He trusts Makaidos without question, so you must make sure you hide your efforts from him.”

“I will be sure to avoid him.” Edward shook his head. “I have never understood his loyalty to those creatures.”

With the mists now completely enveloping them, Arthur stopped again and laid a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Your distrust of dragons is warranted, but you will do well to keep your mind from prejudice. I just want the truth.”

Edward glanced at the gloved hand, his smile now breaking through. “Yes, Sire. I understand.”

Both men turned toward the water’s edge and closed in on the lady’s gift. The sword stood on its point, about a third of its length driven into the moss-speckled loam. Edward knelt close to it and examined its hilt and blade. “It’s magnificent! The workmanship of a master craftsman!”

Arthur grasped the hilt. “At least this one isn’t in stone.” He pulled, withdrawing the blade easily. “It seems that the Lady of the Lake had no scabbard for me,” he said, holding the blade high.

“Or instructions, Sire.”

“Indeed. The lady’s mention of secret fire reminds me of a legend I heard as a child. Such a weapon could mean the difference between victory and defeat in the coming battle.” The king turned the hilt around in his hand. “But I have no idea how to use it.”

“May I suggest inquiring of Master Merlin? I can fly to the castle with Thigocia and bring him back.”

“No need. He will be on the front lines by now, exhorting the troops. We’ll meet him there, but we’d better hurry. He won’t wait to command the march if he believes God has given the word.” Arthur slid Excalibur into his old scabbard. “If the sword’s fire is as powerful as I have heard, maybe today will prove that we won’t need the dragons ever again.”