She knelt up a little. He wanted to cry out in warning: the raw bones were retracting somehow under the surface of her skin, which looked more like silk than like scales now, stripped of its power to break spears and swords. How would she live? She lifted her hands and examined them. “It seems that I am. Has it happened? Is it time?”
Lance had no idea. It didn’t matter. A great calm descended on him, a silence as deep as the earth. Fear and wonder left him. There were no more choices to be made. No more fighting, no more burned villages, no scared children, no man or woman riven through the heart of their own nature by the sun god, by the Son of God, who carved flesh away from spirit, life from death, creator from created. He would touch her, raise her to her feet. The two halves of their separated worlds would join, and all would be well.
“Yes,” she said, as if he’d spoken. “All will be well. You will bring the land to life through me. Through me, you’ll hold the kingdom in your hands. I am the graal, the holy cup of life. I’ll give you an heir to make war and sorrow a memory, the heir of the sword and the stone.” The words had come from her with passion, but as if they had been something learned, a message she had to deliver. Now she stopped, and her formality dropped away. She gave Lance his own wry, half-hitched smile of relief and joy, and held out her hands to him. “Ah, but I’m so glad it’s you, my brother!”
“Lance?”
He spun round. Art was there in the entrance to the chamber, leaning heavily on the wall. “I heard the thing howling,” he said. “My ankle was twisted, that’s all, so I ran to find you. I…” He fell silent, and stared beyond Lance at the woman kneeling on the sand. “My God,” he whispered dryly. “Who’s that?”
Lance answered with helpless truth. “She’s the dragon.”
“The dragon?” Arthur glanced back at him in concern. “You had a pretty hard fall. Did you hit your head?”
“No. She’s the dragon, Art. I took off her mask and she changed.”
“All right. We’ll have you both out of here soon. Guy’s setting up some ropes in the chamber back there.” He limped over, unfastening his cloak. “Why on earth is she naked? And… Lance, did you somehow find your long-lost sister here?”
“What?”
“Well…” Art looked between Lance and the woman, frowning and smiling at once, his face a picture of bewilderment. “If you were a beautiful maiden instead of the handsome fellow you are, that’s how you’d look. Just like her.”
“Art, I tell you, she—”
“My lady Guenyvre!” The child’s clear voice cut through the cavern like a blade. Oesa’s little daughter, who had moved into the shadows, now stepped forward, her spine straight, her small face serene. She lifted one hand and pointed straight at Arthur. “Look! The sword you sing of. The sword ex calce liberatus.”
The woman fell back on her haunches. She twisted round to stare at Lance. In the depths of her dark gaze, he saw a flash of denial—and then her lights went out, one by one, candles in the Vindolanda church snuffed out by the shuffling priest. She said, faintly, “Are you not the bearer of this sword, my brother?”
“Of Excalibur? No.” A hard lump rose in Lance’s throat. He held out one hand, and she took it, and her grasp was cold as stone. With the other he gestured to Art. “My lady, this is my king—the king of Britannia, Arthur Pendragon. The sword Excalibur is his.”
Art stumbled forward. He could barely walk, but he took Guenyvre’s free hand and helped Lance lift her upright. “You must be chilled to the bone,” he said, and wrapped his cloak around her.
She stood between them, clutching their hands, and she lowered her head, a gesture of hopeless surrender that almost tore a cry from Lance. She said, softly, “Yes. Artorius, my foretold king. I remember now. You will bring the land to life through me. Through me, you’ll hold the kingdom in your hands. I am the graal, the holy cup of life. I will give you an heir…” Her voice faltered. “An heir to make war and sorrow a memory, my lord. The heir of the sword and the stone.”
She tried to fall to her knees once more, but Art prevented her. “Stop that,” he said, gently. “Get up.” He took her pale face in his sun-browned hand and looked at her, frowning. “How long have you been down here? Did you hide with the children after the fight?”
Lance made one last attempt. “Art, I told you—she came from the dragon.”
Arthur shook his head. “You need some air and daylight. I can hear Guy and the others shouting for us. Come with me, both of you, and bring that child.”
***
In the sunlit world above, the strangest silence reigned. Lance couldn’t read it. The hush was profound yet vibrant. The buzzing pressure of it hurt his ears, made the ground lurch beneath his feet.
He was tired, that was all. Guy and the others had widened the gap in the wall, knocked masonry out of the top and propped the arch with a wooden scaffold. He’d gone in like a snake but was able to walk out like a man, only ducking his head. Guy, who had practically carried him up the last twists of the stairs, gave him an anxious look. “I’m all right,” Lance told him. “Go and help Art with Guen.”
“With who?”
“With…” Lance rubbed his brow. There was no Guen, no familiar shape in his memory to fit the short, loving name. “With Guenyvre, the woman from the cave. That’s what she’s called.”
“There’s no need. Look, my Ardana’s come to look after her—Coel’s wife, too. And that little Anglian brat is stronger than she looks.”
The child was helping Guenyvre over the rubble. Ardana reached out a steadying hand and drew her into the light, where the elder woman was waiting, a length of richly figured fabric in her hands. The golden embroidered beasts and knotwork drifted hypnotically in the wind from the sea. “Come here, dear,” the old lady called. “You have to put this on.”
“Hold on a moment.” Arthur emerged from the darkness. He’d kept to the rear of the procession back from the cave, uncharacteristically slow to return to the light. “Isn’t that the gown you and your women made when we first arrived here, and the Merlin prophesied my wedding?”
She dropped him a nervous curtsey. “It is, Your Majesty. Yes.”
“Well, the girl’s welcome to it—but don’t you have anything warmer?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. For now, though, she has to wear this.”
Arthur sighed in impatience. “Guy, you’re supposed to keep me informed about local customs. I don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes. Is this something to do with the solstice?”
“Not that I know of.” Guy turned on him gruffly. “Since when was I your cultural advisor? What do we keep a Merlin for, if not to—”
“Do shut up, Guy.”
“Why, you little…”