 
# Keepers of the Western Forest

### Chris Kennedy

### Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Chris Kennedy

For Imogen and Dylan.

Better than never?
Table of Contents

Keepers of the Western Forest

Part 1: The Knight with the Closed Visor

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part 2: The Phantom Knight

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Part 3: The Axe

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

A Letter from Robert Westwood to his Grandson

## Part 1: The Knight with the Closed Visor
### Chapter 1

An arrow hissed through the forest glade and planted itself—thwack!—smack in the middle of the cross Darin had daubed with clay on the trunk of a dead oak.

Ten shots out of ten, right on target, for the first time ever! Eagerly, Darin shouldered his bow and stepped out to retrieve his arrows. As he left the shadow of the trees, sunlight made a sudden halo out of his tousled head of yellow hair. Tall for his age—fourteen years—he had a stubborn jut to his chin and a mouth that curled slightly at the corners when he grinned. He grinned now and slid the last arrow into the quiver on his back. Picking up his game bag, he set off for home.

It was April; the woods were bright with young leaves. He was in high spirits as he marched along, whistling the tune his mother always liked so much. How pleased she would be with the rabbits in his bag! He was getting to be such a good hunter these days, Brogan the forester would no longer have to leave them his gifts of game.

Before long, the towers of the abandoned castle came into view, ruddy in the late afternoon glow. As he neared the last bend in the forest path, shouts echoed through the trees. A man's voice, raised in anger; not Brogan's—but who else could it be? Darin took the last few yards of the track at a run and broke into the open, opposite the cottage where he lived with his mother.

Three riders were stationed by the door. Two of them were dressed in brown tunics, with long swords at their sides. The third, astride a glossy chestnut charger, wore a surcoat of yellow and brown over chain-mail armour; a gleaming steel helmet hung from his saddlebow.

A knight—a real live knight, here!

The knight kicked at the cottage door. "I will be back, Lady Etaine," he shouted. "You can't hold out forever."

"We could force our way in easy enough," one of the other men said.

"Stop! Leave my mother alone!" Taking hold of his bow, Darin took a step forward. He was shaking, but he nocked an arrow and drew it back. "I know how to use this."

The knight turned in his saddle and squinted at Darin through narrowed eyes.

"Ha! You must be Karman's brat." He gave a short bark of laughter. "Don't worry sonny, we're leaving—for now. So you can stop waving that thing at me. You can't take on all three of us."

There was something about the voice, the short black beard, the thin-lipped sneer. Then Darin remembered. "You are the knight who came to tell us my father was dead."

"Indeed—and your mother still refuses to believe it. It's been nearly ten years. Time she stopped hiding herself away."

"What do you want with her?"

"You'll have to ask her that yourself." The knight shook his reins and turned his horse's head towards the road along the edge of the forest. As the three men passed by, one of the knight's companions snatched the bow out of Darin's hand, jerking his arm roughly. Contemptuously, he threw it to the ground and laughed.

Darin watched them ride away. His wrenched shoulder was hurting and he was dizzy with rage. As a four year-old boy, peeping round the doorway into the castle hall, he had been afraid of the big knight standing at the head of the party from Camelot and haranguing his mother and her attendants. Now he felt nothing but hatred for him.

He ran to the cottage. "Mother, they've gone. Open up."

The door swung half-open. By the dim light within, his mother's wide grey eyes seemed even larger than usual. She stared at him for a moment, then her gaze flickered past him to the bright world outside.

"Oh, Mother!" Darin pushed his way in and put his arms around her. She was trembling. "Are you all right? What did they want?"

She held him close. Gradually her breathing became steadier. "That was Agravain, Darin. Don't worry. Go and get ready. I'll tell you all about it over supper."

In his room, he dragged a comb through his thick, curly hair, remembering how he had carved it out of some antlers he had found in the old castle hall. It had been a present for his mother, but later he made her a far grander one; he kept the first for himself.

What had Sir Agravain been saying to her? He gave up struggling with his tangled locks and tossed the comb aside.

There was no mirror in the room for him to admire the results—indeed, there were no mirrors anywhere, either in the house or the castle. When he was a little boy, and they were still living in the castle, a big looking glass stood in his mother's chamber. She would sit in front of it brushing her waist-long auburn tresses and he would climb up beside her to peer at his own impish little face. Then he would wrinkle up his nose, tossing his golden curls, and she would laugh that irresistible laugh she had in those days.

But the night King Arthur's messengers came from Camelot, she smashed the mirror into a thousand pieces and made a solemn vow. One day her husband would return, despite what the rest of the world might think; until then, no living person but her son would ever see her face again.

The next morning there was not a soul left in the castle. Darin and his mother moved into the cottage just outside the big gates. Since that day, neither of them had set eyes on anybody, apart from the occasional glimpse of Brogan as he left a brace of pheasants or some rabbits by the gate, trying his best not to be seen.

As he left his room to go for supper, Darin was thinking about the story the messengers had told that night. Sir Crevan, a false knight of the Round Table, had betrayed the expedition Darin's father was leading against rebel armies in the north. Despite the ambush, the rebels had finally lost the day, but Darin's father had been cut off from his men. He had last been seen riding away from the field of battle with Crevan and a number of northern knights in pursuit. As a year had passed with no further sign of him, it was assumed he was dead.

Nearly ten years had gone by since that night, but Etaine still refused to accept the verdict. As for Darin, he did not know what to think.

In the kitchen, his mother was putting two bowls of rabbit stew on the table.

"Tell me about this Agravain," he said.

"Not yet. First eat your supper."

He was hungry despite his curiosity, so he sat down and picked up his spoon. His mother ate little. She had that look he knew so well, the unfocussed gaze that told him she was thinking about his father.

After eating in silence for a while, he pushed aside the remains of his stew. "Please, mother, tell me now why that knight was here."

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "He wants me to be his wife."

Darin heard again that scornful laugh. Karman's brat, he called me. "Him? Never! That's impossible. How could he think such a thing?"

"When I was a girl, my family promised me in marriage to a knight. A kinsman of Sir Agravain's."

"But you married my father."

"Yes. I was always against the arranged marriage. I pleaded with my parents, but it was only when King Arthur took my side that they allowed me to marry Karman."

"Why did he do that? The king, I mean."

"I was an only child. The man who married me would become lord of the Western Forest. Arthur loved your father and had great faith in him. I don't think he trusted the man my parents had chosen for me enough to let him take control of land so near Camelot."

"And now Agravain thinks he can walk in here just because he is a relative of the knight you were promised to?"

"It would be the alliance our families wanted for years."

"Yes, but why him? Why not the knight you were originally supposed to marry?"

"He . . . he disappeared years ago."

"Disappeared? What was his name?"

His mother regarded him steadily with wide, sorrowful eyes. "Sir Crevan of the Marshes," she said.

Darin shoved his chair back from the table and jumped to his feet. "Crevan? The traitor who led my father and his men into ambush? And Agravain dares come round here!"

"Agravain was never implicated in the treachery, son."

Darin was striding round the room. "The whole thing is ridiculous. Anyway, he can't force you to marry him."

His mother was silent for a moment before answering. "He said he would give me a month to think about it. To come out of retirement and marry him publicly. Otherwise, he will bring a priest here to perform the ceremony—and witnesses to swear we were married with my consent. I would be powerless to resist."

Darin stopped pacing and stared at her. "I'll put an arrow in him first!" He thought for a while. "If he is so sure of himself, why has he waited so long?"

"I suppose he hoped I would have accepted your father's death before now and that I might have listened to his case." Suddenly, there were tears in her eyes. "But I will never believe it. I would know if he were really dead."

"In a year's time, I shall be fifteen. Then I will be lord of the Western Forest, at least in name. Is that why he is in such a hurry now?"

"Ah, Darin! When I swore that vow, I thought it would be but a matter of months before your father came home. These last years have been a time of peace, though. Brogan and the council of villagers were well able to govern the region without me. But Agravain says things are changing."

"Changing—how?"

"There is talk of rebellion again. These lands must be strong. Agravain has men-at-arms enough to garrison the castle."

"And does the king trust him?"

"Apparently." She frowned. "But I'm not so sure he should."

Darin was thinking hard. "Then you must go to Camelot," he said finally. "Tell King Arthur—he surely won't allow Agravain to bully you like this!"

Etaine averted her gaze. "I don't know. Agravain and his kinsmen form a powerful branch of Arthur's fellowship. He will be unwilling to risk losing their loyalty." She hung her head. "Besides . . ."

"Your vow," muttered Darin. He knew what he must do. "I shall go, then. I'll seek out the knights who were my father's friends. I'm sure one of them will agree to be your champion."

"Champion?"

"Yes. You know, like in all those stories you used to tell me about Arthur's knights, always ready to defend ladies in distress. He could challenge Agravain, trial by combat—and be there to advise me when I come of age."

His mother frowned again. "I suppose it might work."

"Agravain was right about one thing, though," Darin said. "It's time you stopped hiding away like this."

She sighed. "Very well, if you succeed in finding a champion, I shall stand before the people as Lady Etaine once more. But I can never break my vow. I shall wear a veil always—no one but you will ever see my face until your father returns from his quest."

Darin sat down again opposite his mother and put his hand over hers where it lay on the table. "Mother, it's been ten years. Don't you think he would have come home by now?" All at once, he was struck by the words she had just used. "What quest do you mean? I thought he was leading an army against rebels in the North and that his men defeated them, despite Crevan's ambush."

"They did—but this was something else. He had long been determined to find a wonderful axe he had heard about."

Darin began to remember. "Yes! You told me about it years ago. What was the story again?"

"I really don't know very much. Your father was full of foreboding that this realm of Logres would one day be torn apart by rival factions. When that dark time came, he said, the axe would play a crucial part in the struggle."

"How could one axe possibly make such a difference?"

Etaine shrugged. "I have no idea," she said.

Darin took his mother in his arms and kissed her cheek. "Well, good night. Tomorrow I must get ready to go. I have one month in which to bring you back a champion."

"Oh, son, the day had to come, that you would leave." She smiled for the first time that evening. "You have grown tall for your age—why, soon you'll be a man! It was your father's plan that you should go to Camelot one day and swear allegiance to King Arthur."

Before going to his bed, Darin took a lighted taper from the kitchen and walked over to the castle, to stand in the great deserted hall one last time. It was many months since he had visited the old place. As a lad, he had roamed the corridors, finding all manner of dusty treasures there: cooking pots and silver drinking vessels, knives with horn handles, a huge book bound in vellum. Best of all had been the three longbows in different sizes, together with a plentiful supply of arrows he had taught himself to sharpen and fletch.

He peered into the shadows around him. Would the great banqueting hall ever again echo with laughter, as it did when his father was Lord of the castle? Now, only the owls came here.

The moon was rising as Darin made his way back to the cottage. I'll never be able to sleep, he thought. What adventures will tomorrow bring?

### Chapter 2

Darin woke early. He had slept well, despite everything; the previous day's exercise in the forest, followed by a good supper, had seen to that. When he went out, he found a horse tethered to the tree by the garden gate. Next to it, on the ground, lay a splendid leather saddle and a tunic of closely woven chain-mail, which he knew was called a hauberk. On top of the hauberk rested a helmet with a visor; a sword and lance leaned against the garden fence.

Over breakfast, his mother explained: Brogan had long been prepared for the day Darin would go to Camelot. On seeing the signal—Etaine's green scarf tied to the gatepost—he had brought everything over just after sunrise.

Later that morning, she showed Darin how to saddle up, how to put his foot in the stirrup and mount. Riding came easily to him and he spent the day guiding his horse—Dart, as he had decided to call him—round and round the cottage, then along beside the castle walls and finally down the path into his beloved forest. He spent the evening with his mother.

The next morning, however, it was time for them to say goodbye. Darin, wearing his mail hauberk, fastened the sword belt round his waist, settled the lance into its special holster behind the saddle and climbed onto Dart's back. Slung over his shoulder he wore an old shield he had found in the castle years before. It was round, more like the kind of buckler carried by ordinary fighting men than the emblazoned, triangular shield carried by knights, but Darin thought it completed his kit perfectly. His mother handed him a satchel with provisions: vegetable pasties, rabbit pie and a flask of her own damson wine. After securing it to his saddlebow, he took the helmet she held up to him and placed it on his head with the visor open.

"Just keep riding eastwards," she told him. "Keep the mountains always on your right, and within two days you should come out of the forest. You will see the walls of Camelot easily enough."

They gazed at each other one last time. Darin could see the tears in his mother's eyes; he fought to keep back his own. After all, he was doing this for her.

"Goodbye, mother. I will not fail."

He set Dart into a gentle walk towards the trees. At the bend in the forest path, he paused to look back for a moment at his mother, holding her head high and waving farewell. His adventure had begun.

He rode, sometimes at an easy pace, sometimes, when the path was broad and straight, breaking into a canter. Every so often, he would draw out his new sword, admiring the shining blade and intricately engraved hilt. He brandished it a few times to get the feel of the weight and balance, slashing first to his right side, then leaning over and sweeping it across Dart's neck and down to his left. This made the horse nervous at first, but he soon grew used to it; Darin talked to him softly, saying what a fine team they were!

They made good progress until well into the afternoon. The forest was growing unfamiliar, as Darin had only ever once before ventured this far. When the trees started thinning out a little to reveal a steep mountainside sweeping down on his right, however, he remembered that this was almost the end of the first part of the great forest. The last time he had been here, he had gone no further than the edge of the trees. From there, a grassy bank sloped down to a stream; on the other side, open hillside climbed to more forest. He promised himself and Dart a drink and a rest as soon as they arrived.

Suddenly, the brightness of day showed ahead; the path before him was broad and straight. He tugged his sword from its scabbard and urged his steed to a wild gallop, slashing at the tops of the thorn bushes on either side of the track and whooping with excitement.

As horse and rider burst out of the forest onto the open hillside, a group of deer drinking at the stream below scattered in panic and ran for the shelter of the trees. In the confusion, two of them ran straight across Darin's path; without thinking, he aimed a blow with his sword at the neck of the one nearest him. He did not really expect to hit his target, but he was already growing accustomed to the sword in his hand. He felt the shock as the blade hit home. The deer fell behind as Dart thundered on; Darin's heart fluttered wildly, almost choking him. Reining in his horse, he turned and looked back, in time to see the stricken creature give its last gasp.

A terrible feeling of shame, guilt and remorse fell on him. In the past, he had shot and killed rabbits, but that had been to feed his mother and himself and to show Brogan that he could provide. This, however, had been a wanton slaying. Because of his foolish, headstrong excitement, a beautiful young animal lay dead on the hillside.

Darin dismounted. He tucked his helmet under his arm and led Dart down to the stream. His heart was hammering and the blood pulsing in his brain seemed to cast a darkness over the world. Only the centre of his vision remained bright and unnaturally clear. The moss on a nearby rock, the sparkles of light in the stream as it raced over the pebbles, these things were etched with a distinctness he had never before experienced. There was not a creature in sight; everything was still. Only the incessant chatter of the stream was loud and close, as though inside his head.

The sun was warm, but he was shivering. He stooped to dip his helmet into the brook and drink; Dart was already drinking at his side. The cold mountain water steadied him, so he stood up straight and placed the helmet on a rock where it would dry in the sun.

A few yards down the hill, a pool had formed between the rocks; Darin could see a patch of sky and some tall reeds mirrored in it. A rush of curiosity about his own face, which he had not seen since his mother smashed her looking glass so many years ago, made him walk over to the pool. Let's take a look at the face of a killer, he thought grimly.

Kneeling, he placed his hands on the rocks and leaned over. Something was staring back up at him. O horror! A face more hideous than anything he could ever have imagined, reflected with absolute clarity in the crystal waters! Dark, irregularly shaped blotches stood out against the otherwise livid complexion; the eyes were a startling red, the twisted lips and tongue as black as the basalt slab over his grandfather's tomb.

He fell back from the pool with a cry of despair and sat trembling, head in hands. His mother's dear face was so fair—how could it be that he was such a monster? He thought of the big old book he had rescued from the castle. All manner of beasts and flowers illuminated the pages, but also creatures with terrifying faces, which, his mother explained, were fallen angels and evil demons. He too must be a thing of evil, to resemble them so closely!

How could she have born it, seeing him like this every day? It made no sense. Only one thing was certain: no one must ever see him again! Just as his mother had done, he must make a solemn vow.

He stood up and raised his eyes to heaven. "By all the spirits of this place, I swear never to reveal my face to any living soul!" he cried.

Then he remembered that his mother, when she swore her oath, had made it a condition that no one could see her before her husband returned. He seized his helmet, put it on and slammed the visor shut.

"Until I return to this place, having won great honour for myself, no man will know my name, and this is the only face the world shall see!"

He led Dart across the stream and climbed onto his back. Slowly, they rode up the grassy bank towards the forest on the other side.

### Chapter 3

Stella waited until the young man and his horse were out of sight, then she came out from the shade of the tree from where she had been watching and walked down to the rock pool.

She regarded her reflection with satisfaction for a moment—slanting blue eyes that looked so huge set in that delicate face with its slightly pointed chin and high cheekbones—then she tossed back her mass of golden curls and laughed a silvery laugh. These mortals were so ridiculously easy to fool. He deserved to get a fright, killing one of her deer like that.

Then why was she troubled by what she had just done? As guardian of the stream, it was her chosen duty to protect all the creatures that came to it for sustenance; but the image of the lad, shouting at the sky, touched her heart and made her sorry for the cruel trick she had played on him. There was something more besides, something stirring in her memory.

She frowned and looked down again at the water. There was another reflection in the pool now, someone behind her, raven tresses and dark, flashing eyes. She whirled round. "Morgan!"

Morgan the Enchantress was taller even than Stella. She wore a deep purple gown gathered at the waist by a belt with a golden clasp, fashioned like a wolf's head with red gemstones for eyes. Her full lips twitched in an approximation of a smile. "Greetings, cousin," she whispered.

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? I really am your cousin, you know. On the faerie side."

"Maybe. Child of faerie father and mortal mother—it should never have been. Look at what you have become."

Morgan scowled. "What I have become? Just because I put my powers to some kind of use instead of moping around like you, or sitting endlessly meditating like that half-wit brother of yours."

Stella glared at her. "Oberon is a greater and nobler spirit than you could ever comprehend. And as for these powers of yours—are you still holding that poor man prisoner in your cave?"

Morgan's mouth achieved at last a smile of sorts, a cruel, triumphant grimace. "You poor dear, you're still pining for that handsome knight of yours. And were you not now just telling me how love between faerie and mortal should never be allowed?"

Stella looked away and said nothing. Morgan took a step closer. "Listen," she said. "There is something that I want. If you can help me find it, I will set your knight free."

Stella laughed. "Me? Help you?"

"Yes," said Morgan. "Tell me, have you heard tell of the Green Knight's axe?"

Stella nodded slowly. The axe had belonged to Lord Bertilak, once a good friend of her brother's, but she was not going to give too much away before she knew what Morgan was after.

"I've heard the story of how the Green Knight used it to test the honour and courage of King Arthur's court, and how Sir Gawain took up the challenge, but nothing more," she said. "Why are you so interested in it?"

"Never mind that. If you can find out where it is and how I can get my hands on it, I will release your knight. You can get people to talk who would never tell me anything."

"You've only yourself to blame for that," Stella said.

Morgan tilted back her head and looked down her nose at her. "I have spoken," she replied. She swept past and strode off up the path beside the stream towards the mountains.

Left alone, Stella sighed. She had tried constantly to forget the knight Morgan held spellbound in the cave, but it was useless. When she had first seen him, standing just where that young lad had made his vow but a few minutes ago, her heart had lurched in her breast with such force that she had almost sunk to the ground. He had been calling out, addressing the spirits of the place and thanking them for guarding his homeland during his absence. His noble uplifted head and long fair hair as he stood in his armour by his great warhorse had filled her with a yearning for which nothing in her whole life had prepared her.

Of course, love between mortal and faerie could not be, she knew that, so she never revealed herself to him. Instead, the next time he appeared at the stream, she followed him. For a time, she was content just to witness his adventures unseen. Aeons of evolution had given her eyes capable not only of analysing the light rays that sustain the visible universe, but also of influencing them directly. This was how she had altered the reflection in the pool just now, to punish the boy for slaying her deer; and in this way too, she could bend the light around her, making herself invisible.

One day, while following her knight through some wild country, she had met with Morgan. The enchantress had seen the knight. "Cousin, is he not the most handsome man you ever saw?" she said. Stella flushed and made no reply, but she knew instantly that Morgan had guessed her secret. Later, she heard that Morgan had lured the knight to a great cavern, using some story of being a lady in distress, and there had thrown him into a trance and made him her prisoner. Angry, Stella went to the cave to confront her.

There she found the man she loved, bound to a great pillar of rock that rose from the floor of the cavern, his eyes open but glazed and fixed on the distance. When Stella demanded his release, Morgan told her that there was one way, and one way only, that the spell could be broken. Should the knight's eye fall on anyone who awakened love in his heart, he would be free.

"So what do you say, cousin? Will you be the first to try?"

Despite having sworn never to show herself to him, Stella stepped forward to stand directly in front of the knight and fixed her great, luminous eyes on his. She knew well that her beauty was of an order few mortal men could hope to resist.

The prisoner showed no sign of even being aware of her presence.

Morgan laughed. "Now it's my turn." She brushed Stella aside, shaking her shining black hair loose, drawing herself to her full height and turning slightly so that her gown moulded itself to the contours of her body; but still the knight stared blindly ahead.

"Ha!" Morgan's voice was full of scorn and fury. "No matter. I shall keep him here until I have bent him to my will!"

"Don't be a fool. You can't force love."

"You understand nothing, faerie!"

Stella felt the sting of Morgan's contempt, but was powerless to undo her sorcery. Sorrowing for her knight, she fled into the forest.

Ever since that day, she had struggled with her heart, but now she gave up the pretence. She was partly to blame for the sad fate that had overtaken the poor knight; she must do everything she could to set him free. She would visit her brother Oberon and ask him what he knew about the axe. It might give her some hold over Morgan if she could find out why she wanted it so badly.

After that, she would follow the young lad she had tricked just now. Something told her she ought to know more about him.

### Chapter 4

Listlessly, Darin rode on through the tangled forest. It would be impossible now to realize his plans. No longer could he introduce himself proudly at court as the son of the king's faithful knight and friend—not with this horrifying secret. He must keep his vow, as his mother had kept hers. Ah, but Etaine's oath had been sworn out of love, while his was born of fear and shame!

The sun was still high, but evening would be coming in two or three hours. Darin had eaten nothing all day, so when he came to a clearing, he dismounted and sat down under a tree with his bag of provisions. He opened his visor and took a few bites of one of the pasties his mother had made him, but soon gave up. Thinking it might give him courage, he took out the flask of wine and raised it to his lips.

Suddenly, he heard singing. He had barely enough time to slam his visor shut and scramble to his feet before a horse and rider emerged from the forest at the far side of the clearing. It was a young man dressed in a mail hauberk like Darin's, but with a breastplate over it of polished steel. The visor of his plumed helmet was open, revealing an honest, cheerful face. A single green stag was emblazoned on his shield.

It was too late for Darin to slip away and hide in the forest; the newcomer had seen him.

The young knight's song died on his lips. "Greetings, noble sir!" he called out. "I pray you, what is your name? And will you not show your face to me, that I may greet you in all courtesy?"

Darin tried to speak, but no words would come. The smile on the knight's face was gone, to be replaced by a stern and haughty frown.

"Sir Knight! What means this silence? I am Broderic, a knight of King Arthur's court. And know this—any man who rides armed in the forest so near to Camelot and refuses to declare himself or show his face must have ado with me!" He seized his long spear.

Still tongue-tied, Darin leapt into his saddle, heart beating wildly. There was no escaping this. He took his spear and dressed his shield on his left arm.

"Have at you then!" cried Broderic. He levelled his lance and spurred his steed into a charge.

Darin urged Dart forward to meet his opponent, aiming his spear as best he could, and they clashed together in the middle of the clearing. Darin's lance hit the outer edge of the other's shield and was easily deflected, but a blow from the knight's spear to the middle of his own round buckler almost winded him. He remained in his saddle only with the greatest difficulty as the two riders rushed by each other.

At the other side of the clearing, the Knight of the Stag was poised for a second charge. Darin turned Dart's head to face him and, as he did so, a sudden instinct told him to lean back in his saddle, carefully levelling his lance and aiming for the middle of the oncoming knight's breastplate. Then, just as the two were about to meet again, he stood up in his stirrups, bending forward from the waist and thrusting with his spear. The blow landed a split second before Broderic would have expected it, sending him tumbling to the ground.

Darin turned his horse and came back to the middle of the glade. What must he do next? He felt no desire to cause further hurt to the knight lying dazed on the ground. How should a true knight behave?

Broderic now struggled to his feet and put his hand on the pommel of the sword at his side. "Sir Knight," he said. "You joust well, and I am fairly thrown. I beg you now, speak to me, that we may end this quarrel. For if you do not, then I must draw my sword and fight on and great harm will surely come to one of us."

He takes me for a knight, thought Darin; I must try to speak like one. "Fair Sir," he replied, finding his voice at last. "I have no quarrel with you, nor do I ride in my noble Lord Arthur's forest with any treachery in mind. But I am young and untried. I have sworn a solemn oath not to reveal my face or parentage to any man until I have won some honour for myself."

Broderic seemed satisfied with these words. He took his hand from his sword and pushed up his visor. "Then, Sir, I will respect your vow!" he said in a more friendly tone. "And if it's honour you are hoping to win, then you are here at the right time. The day after tomorrow will be the first day of May and a great tournament is to be held at Camelot. Young knights are come from all parts of the realm to join those of Arthur's court in the jousting and the prize, which is awarded each year by our beauteous Queen Guinevere, is greatly coveted. What say you, will you be there?"

"I will, Sir!"

"Well, then," Broderic said when he had mounted his horse again, "no one shall hinder you further. And know this, I am accounted a passing good jouster myself, so I shall warn the company to expect stiff competition from the Knight with the Closed Visor!" He waved a hand in farewell and rode back into the forest.

Darin fastened Dart's reins to the branch of a tree and got out his provisions again. He sat down, opened his visor and attacked the pasties and wine with rather more gusto than before. When he was finished, a sudden weariness fell over him. Laying his shield on the ground for a pillow, he stretched himself out fully armed and closed his eyes.

Broderic had given him something to think about, something to help him forget that grotesque creature in the rock pool.

### Chapter 5

Stella found her brother in his grove of oak trees, sitting cross-legged on the ground with his hands resting on his knees, a broad-rimmed hat slouched over his eyes. He scarcely seemed to be breathing.

Stella shrugged and lifted her gaze to the heavens. Meditating again—why does he never have any time for the world we live in? So many of our people are doing the same thing now. Life has become empty for them. Why don't they realize we must work out our salvation together, here?

She sat down on the stone bench at the edge of the grove. It was no good trying to get his attention when he was in this state. She looked down the aisle formed by the two straight rows of oaks and smiled. The rest of us went looking for wild places, mountains, streams, that would remind us of the Old World—but Oberon, of course, had to plant his own grove. She settled down to wait.

Before long, Oberon lifted his head. His eyes under the rim of the soft black hat were as blue as her own, but narrower, more focussed. He stared at her, his face devoid of any expression she could read.

"Hello, sister. What brings you here?"

Stella laughed; it was pointless being offended by him. "Yes, it's good to see you, too. I came to ask your help."

"I see. Are you ready to start deep meditation at last?"

"Can't you think of anything else? You know how I feel about all that."

"Yes," Oberon said slowly. "You think we still have things to learn from this world and the mortals who live in it—things about ourselves that we have forgotten, isn't that it?"

"It is."

Oberon jumped to his feet, picked up the long black cloak he had been sitting on and threw it around his shoulders. He grinned suddenly and Stella saw again the old look in his eye, at once both mocking and affectionate, that she remembered from the old days.

"That's because you're still in love with that knight of yours," he said. He came and sat next to her on the stone bench.

For a moment, Stella regretted having confided in her brother earlier concerning her feelings towards Morgan's prisoner. "It's easy to laugh," she said. "It's more complicated than that."

"I'm sure it is. But tell me what you want of me."

"Bertilak was a friend of yours, wasn't he?" Oberon nodded. "Well then, have you any idea what became of his axe, the one he carried as the Green Knight?"

Oberon opened his eyes wide. "What do you want to know about that for?"

"Oh brother of mine! Do you still do that, always answer a question with another question? Just tell me if you know where it is—I'll explain later."

"No, I don't know where it ended up, I'm afraid—but I don't think it's here in Logres any more. I seem to remember Bertilak worked some sort of magic on the thing, invested it with special powers. The last I heard was that he went off with it somewhere overseas. I'm pretty sure he never came back."

"Special powers?" Stella frowned. "Have you any idea why Morgan the Enchantress would want to get hold of it?"

"Morgan? Well, she was once Bertilak's pupil, you know. He disowned her when he heard what use she was making of his teachings. It seems she turned to evil ways after the young King Arthur left her to marry Guinevere."

"Arthur and Morgan? An unlikely combination, surely?"

"That's what I heard. As for the axe—we would have to find out more about its powers to know what Morgan might want with it."

"Is there any way we can do that?"

Oberon turned his head and stared into the forest for a moment. "There is someone I could ask," he said.

"I would be grateful. I need to get some sort of hold over Morgan."

"I see."

Stella got to her feet. "I'll come back soon to hear if you find out anything." She took her brother's hand. "I do care about you, you know. How is your meditation going these days?"

"It's rather like an equation. Solve it and the necessity of being is cancelled. I'm nearly there."

Stella shrugged, shook her head and sighed. "Farewell, then."

"Farewell, sister."

Striding through the forest, Stella thought about what she had just learned. An axe with magical powers? That certainly sounded like the kind of cheap sorcery that would appeal to Morgan. Stella felt nothing but distaste for the magic Morgan and a few others dealt in; it was the unwholesome product of the marriage between faerie wisdom, won by thousands of years of close investigation into the workings of the universe, and ignorant mortal greed. There was no denying its power, however—she herself was helpless in face of the spell holding her knight prisoner. She must find the axe and try to understand its significance before approaching Morgan again.

Now her thoughts turned to the incident by the stream. A day and a night had passed since she had watched the boy ride off into the forest, but the curious conviction that he would play a role in her life had not left her. Was it only the coincidence of his being in the exact same place as she had first seen her knight, declaiming at the sky in the same way? She was sure there was more to it than that. The path he had taken led to Camelot, so she decided to head in that direction.

The day was bright and warm and she had plenty to occupy her mind, so it did not seem long before she found herself in the part of the forest bordering the plain where King Arthur's city stood.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a child's voice. Looking around, she saw a boy of about eleven, hopping up and down on one leg and chanting a repetitive little song. He had the reddest hair she had ever seen, with freckles to match; the hood of his brown tunic flapped up and down on his back in time to the rhyme. He stopped abruptly when he saw Stella.

"Hello," Stella said. "That's a funny song."

The boy stared at her in the same way most mortals did when first confronted with her wide-eyed gaze and dazzling curls. "It's the only bit I can remember of a ballad Sir Broderic sings," he said.

"Sir Broderic? Who's he?"

"He's the youngest of King Arthur's knights, my Lady. He says I can be his squire when I'm old enough. He already lets me look after his horse and the new foal, River!"

"That's wonderful! But I'm not 'your Lady'. My name is Stella—what's yours?"

"Brynn."

"Well, Brynn, have you seen a rider pass this way on a brown horse with a star on its forehead? Wearing armour and a helmet so you can't see his face and carrying a plain round shield?"

"No, my L . . . Stella, but that sounds like the Knight with the Closed Visor. Sir Broderic told me about him."

"And what did he say?"

"The knight beat him with lance and shield in the forest. He won't tell anyone his name." Brynn looked down and kicked gently at the roots of the wide tree they were standing under. "I think he just got lucky—Sir Broderic is very good, he won the May Day joust last year."

"And did Sir Broderic say where the knight went?"

"If you want to see him, he will be at the tournament. Come to Camelot tomorrow. Now I must go back and see how River is!"

"Goodbye Brynn. Thank you."

Stella watched the boy run off down the track. She would most certainly go tomorrow—perhaps she would see something to confirm her suspicions as to the identity of the young man who intrigued her so.

### Chapter 6

Darin left Dart contentedly cropping the new grass that grew at the edge of the clearing. He hid his satchel, shield and spear under some ragged thorn bushes. Still wearing his sword, he set out on foot to explore the forest round about.

It was good to be walking and swinging his arms again after a long day in the saddle and a night spent on the hard ground. Tomorrow, he would go to the tournament. What he had seen the day before at the pool may have changed his life, but he was still sworn to find a champion for his mother. Perhaps in the character of the Knight with the Closed Visor, the title Broderic had given him, he would be able to make his request at Camelot. In the meantime, he must find water for himself and his horse. By steadfastly refusing to think any further ahead than that, he might be able to forget his troubles for a while.

After a brief search, he came upon a little stream. The water was brackish, but it would do, so he went back to fetch Dart. He decided to keep what little remained of his provisions for his evening meal. After he had ridden Dart back to the clearing, they set off down the path Broderic had taken. Before long, he decided to walk, leading his horse by the bridle. From what Broderic had said, Camelot could not be very far away, so he was in no hurry. He would stay in the forest until May Day morning.

The sun had passed its highest point when the woods ahead started thinning out. It did not look to him like the end of the forest yet, but evidently he was approaching a quite considerable clearing. Suddenly he heard shouting and the desperate squeal of a frightened pig. He slammed his visor down and jumped up onto Dart's back.

As he rode into the big open space, he saw a cottage with some tilled land around it, some stalls and a few chickens scratching about. A shaggy-haired man in a brown tunic with the hood down was dragging a pig out of one of the stalls. Another fellow, similarly dressed and holding a stout cudgel, was threatening the old man who stood in the cottage doorway.

"Stop your yammering, old man!" Darin heard him shout. "If you don't want a taste of my club, you'll go back inside and keep quiet!"

Darin cried out and drew his sword. As Dart galloped forward, the first man let go of the pig and fled into the trees by the side of the cottage. The other man turned and raised his cudgel as Darin bore down on him. Darin slashed at him, smashing the cudgel from his hand and wounding him in the shoulder. The man let out a yell and ran after his companion. By the time Darin could turn his charging horse to follow them, the would-be robbers had disappeared. He reined in and looked down at the old man. "Are you all right?"

"Thank you, sir. You came at just the right moment!" The man did not look up as he spoke, but seemed rather to be addressing Dart. "Those villains would never have tried their tricks if my son were here. No, robbing blind old men is more to their liking."

Darin looked at him closely. The man's eyes stared fixedly ahead. "Are you all alone here, then?"

"My son and his wife went to Camelot this morning," said the old man. "They will lodge there tonight with her sister. The town is filling up with folk come for the tournament and the two sisters expect to do well selling their needlework. And there is plenty of well paid work for the men, setting up the tourney ground for the big day tomorrow."

"I intend to go and try my luck in the jousting myself," Darin said.

"And do you have lodgings there?"

Darin shook his head. Then he remembered that the old man could not see him. "No. I thought I'd sleep in the forest again."

"Then you shall stay here! You can have my son's bed and there's supper enough for two. I warrant those ruffians won't be back as long as you are here, so we'll be helping each other out."

Darin thanked him and dismounted. His host told him to put Dart in one of the stalls. "There's plenty of hay and water for him in there."

It took them some time and not a little energy to round up the terrified pig, but eventually they had it safely penned again. They went inside the cottage and Darin sat down at the table, as the old man asked him to. He put his helmet, which he had taken off in the heat of the chase, on the dirt floor beside him. How good to be free of it for a while and to have some company! He watched the blind man as he bustled around the room. A circle of stones served as a fireplace, a low cot stood by the wall and a rough wooden door led into a second chamber.

"I sleep in here," said the old man. "Tomorrow, after you've gone, I shall bring the pig in here with me and bolt the door till my son gets home in the evening, just in case those villains come sniffing around again. You can have the other room, there's a fine big bed in there."

He put a loaf of crusty bread and a side of bacon down in front of his guest. There were some apples already on the table and a jug of cider. After they had eaten their fill, the old man told stories of tournaments he had watched in the old days before he lost his sight. He had seen all the greatest knights compete in the lists, Lancelot and the rest.

"I hope you do well tomorrow, young sir," he finished. "Many a noble knight made his name at the May Day tournament. Go now and rest, to be ready for the jousting. It will take you no time at all to get there in the morning."

Darin thanked the old man for his hospitality and went into the other room. Although he was alone in the cottage with a blind man, he still felt uneasy about going to sleep with his face uncovered. What if the son and his wife were to come back unexpectedly and find a monster lying in their bed? He dragged a heavy chest from the corner of the room, shoved it against the door and put his sword and helmet within easy reach. That done, he pulled off his boots and hauberk and stretched himself out in his shirt.

He could still feel the bruises from his encounter with Broderic, but the bed was deliciously soft after his night on the cold ground. He sighed. Life would be easier if everyone were blind, like this old man—but that was an unworthy thought.

Very soon, he was asleep.

### Chapter 7

Darin had never imagined there were so many people in the whole world, let alone that they could be all together in one place at the same time.

The great meadow that stretched from the edge of the forest to the glistening walls and towers of Camelot some quarter of a mile away was alive with folk, standing in groups or strolling between the many gaily-coloured tents pitched all around. It took him some time to pluck up the courage to ride out of the shadow of the trees. Although he was fearful of being asked his name or requested to open his visor, Darin was determined not to spend the day skulking in the woods.

He steered Dart gently through the milling crowds. Knights sat or stood by their different pavilions while their squires busied themselves preparing arms and armour. A few of the squires looked in Darin's direction; groups of people stared at him, talking among themselves in low tones as he rode by. Broderic's story must have been passed around.

The air suddenly thrilled to a sound Darin had not heard since his boyhood. Over by the rows of raised benches that had been set up at the end of the meadow, three men in scarlet and yellow tunics blew on long trumpets. People were taking their places, dressed in fine robes and talking excitedly together. When the fanfare was over, a herald stepped forward.

"My lords and ladies, people of Camelot and all who are gathered here this May Day," he cried out in a great voice. "Stand now for your King, the most noble Arthur, and his Lady, Guinevere, the Queen of the May!"

There was another flourish of trumpets. A distinguished middle-aged man with a yellow beard, dressed in robes richly embroidered in gold and purple and wearing a jewelled coronet, stepped out onto the dais beside the public benches. At his side, a tall, graceful lady in a long green dress with a golden girdle, her red hair garlanded with flowers, flashed a radiant smile around the gathering. They settled themselves in the two huge carved chairs in the centre of the dais. On either side of them sat several noble-looking men. Darin guessed they were the great Knights of the Round Table; his mother had told him all about them. He wondered which one was Lancelot, which Gawain. These men had been his father's friends.

Again the herald cried out:

"Let it be known that this day there will be jousting and that the knight who is declared champion will be presented with a fine falcon by the Queen of the May herself! All those wishing to join in friendly combat for this prize now take your places by the lists."

This announcement was greeted with loud cheers. Mounted knights started gathering in a fenced-off area nearby. Darin rode over to join them. Most of the knights did not look in his direction, but many of the squires who were in attendance were watching him.

The jousting began. Pairs of mounted knights were led in turn to either end of the long narrow strip marked off for the contest and, at a signal from the herald, they would rush together with lance and shield. If both riders remained in the saddle, they would be allowed three passes in all and then would take their places back in the paddock. Mostly, however, one or other of the knights would take a tumble at the first or second pass and be forced to leave the field. Each time this happened, a great shout would come from the onlookers.

Darin watched all this very carefully, hoping to learn how to joust like an experienced knight. It was not long before his turn came. A squire took Dart's bridle and led him to his end of the lists. At the other end, he saw a knight with a plain shield closing his visor and levelling his spear. At the signal, he spurred Dart into a charge. He aimed his lance and did exactly as he had done when he met with Broderic in the forest clearing and easily unhorsed his first opponent. As he returned to the paddock, he recognized the Knight of the Stag awaiting his turn in the lists. Broderic raised his spear in salutation and Darin returned the greeting. He was beginning to enjoy himself.

Throughout the morning, he continued his careful study of the other competitors' fighting methods. He saw how many of the knights were content to hunch down low and rely on their weight and strength to stay in the saddle, while others employed various tricks and feints to emerge victorious. In his own encounters, he learned to watch his opponent carefully and adapt his technique to the situation, sometimes employing one or other of the tricks he had observed. By the early afternoon, he had unhorsed many knights.

As he rode back after having defeated a knight with a red and black quartered shield, he saw that only one contestant was left in the paddock. As he drew nearer, he recognized the shield emblazoned with its single stag.

Broderic opened his visor and smiled. "Well met, Sir! Now I shall have my revenge for yesterday's fall."

"It would be no dishonour to lose to such a knight as you," answered Darin. "But be sure I shall not make your victory an easy one."

A hush descended on the crowd as the two were led out to opposite ends of the lists. There was a trumpet blast and the herald announced that the time had come to decide who should have the prize, Sir Broderic of Camelot or the Unknown Knight. The signal was given and the two riders urged their steeds to the charge.

Darin took the blow right in the centre of his shield. He dug his feet down and leaned forward to stay in the saddle, but his lance splintered in his grasp. He saw Broderic thundering by him and then he was at the other end of the lists. A squire was waiting for him with a fresh spear. Almost immediately came the signal for the next pass.

This time, he waited until the last possible moment to stand in his stirrups and thrust his body forward. As he did so, he leaned to the side slightly, aiming as far across Broderic's body as he could. As he hoped he might, Broderic anticipated the blow a little too soon, moving his shield out to deflect it, and Darin's spear struck him in the middle of his breastplate, lifting him clean out of his saddle. Darin heard the roar that went up from the spectators as he and Dart raced on to the end of the lists.

Turning his horse, he saw Broderic lying on the ground and felt a sudden concern. He rode back towards the fallen knight, but two squires came forward to block his way.

"Sir, are you well? I hope I have not hurt you?" he called.

Broderic sat up slowly. He pushed up his visor. "A little dazed, sir, but otherwise all right, I think," he replied after a moment. "It seems to me you have won yourself quite enough honour this day," he added with a rueful grimace. Then he grinned broadly.

The two squires approached Darin again. One of them took Dart's bridle. "Well jousted, Sir Knight!" he said. "We are here to escort you to our gracious lady, Queen Guinevere, who wishes to reward your prowess in the lists this May Day."

They led him over to the dais, his spear still in his hand. Guinevere rose from her ornate chair and smiled down on him. An attendant appeared at her side bearing a hooded falcon on his gauntleted hand.

"Well done, Sir Knight!" Her voice was warm and low, yet her words carried clearly. "By right, this bird is yours and I would like to hang this garland around your neck." Her hands reached up to the flowers in her lustrous hair. "But first, I pray you, how shall I call you? And will you now not show your face to the Queen of the May?"

"Aye Sir," said the king. "We have heard of your vow, but you have won great honour this day. Now you may reveal yourself to us."

Inside his helmet, Darin's face was burning. He knew that when Arthur spoke he must be obeyed, but he could not bear to let him or his beautiful queen see the horror hidden behind his visor. He sat there in silence, head bowed.

Arthur scowled, his face suddenly flushed. "What means this insolence? You will show some courtesy to your queen—or pay dearly for your churlishness!"

Darin could think of nothing else to do. In desperation, he turned Dart's head around. Before anyone could try to stop him or give chase, he was galloping across the meadow, back to the shelter of the forest.

### Chapter 8

King Arthur sat rigid in his chair, glaring before him, unseeing. At his table in the great banqueting hall, no one spoke.

Brynn stood behind him, holding a great flagon. He had been chosen to serve the wine at the high table—Sir Broderic had had something to do with that, he suspected—and now he was awaiting the signal. This was the most important thing he had been given to do since arriving in Camelot with his mother and sister over a year ago, but the day was turning out a disappointment. Sir Broderic had been defeated in the lists and now the festivities were being ruined. Aware of the silence throughout the hall, he looked round the faces of the guests at the king's table.

Next to Arthur sat the queen and his closest knights. Lancelot and Gawain were there and Sir Bors with his lady. Sir Broderic and some of the young knights who had taken part in the day's jousting sat opposite them, together with a few damsels of the court. The lords and ladies gathered round the other tables stared glumly at the rich feast that was spread before them. Roasted fowls, peppered chops, parsnips and all manner of fruits and delicacies remained untasted, for nobody would have dared to start before the king, whose knife and goblet lay untouched on the table.

Guinevere finally broke the silence. "My lord," she said softly. "I know you must be disappointed. You had set such store by the tournament, hoping to find knights worthy of a place at the Round Table."

"Indeed," replied the king. "Just as I have hoped every year since the days when my fellowship was complete, when Tristram, Karman and Pelinore and his cousins were all still with us, and many another good knight!" He glanced over at Broderic. "My friend, I well remember the day I first saw you ride in the lists. Right glad I was to welcome you to my company. When I saw even you take a fall before this unknown knight's lance today, I felt sure we had found a worthy champion indeed. But then—the insolence of the fellow!"

He banged his fist down on the table and turned to Lancelot on his right.

"He disobeyed my command and he insulted my lady Guinevere! You, Lancelot, as the queen's champion, you must avenge her honour. Tomorrow you will ride out, find this discourteous villain and slay him. Or bring him to me as your prisoner."

"My dear, temper your anger," Guinevere said. "I confess to being somewhat taken aback by his behaviour this afternoon, but I do not feel insulted. Something about the way he sat, with his head bowed, made me think that perhaps some great sorrow—" She broke off with a puzzled frown. "Or is he mad, perhaps, or possessed?"

Arthur grunted. "You, with your woman's heart! Ever too ready to find excuses for unknightly conduct. Broderic, you have conversed with this false knight. What do you make of him?"

Broderic had told Brynn earlier he felt no resentment towards the unknown knight for his victory that day. The young man's words in the forest clearing had appealed to his imagination, he said, but his behaviour at the tournament was hard to defend.

"My Lord, he is young and eager. I must say I liked him for that. And he spoke to me courteously enough." Broderic paused. "But not before he had knocked me off my horse, of course. Perhaps he is a two-faced fellow after all!"

"I wish he would see fit to show us at least one of them, then," said the damsel sitting next to him.

A laugh went round the table. It was quickly stifled, however—the king was still scowling.

"My lord," Lancelot now said. "You know full well I would hasten to obey you and not even wait for the morning before riding after this unknown knight, but my lady does not seem intent on vengeance. And, if I may speak my mind, something I saw in this young man's way of jousting today has been bothering me."

"What do you mean?"

"I seemed to recognize the style—though I'm still trying to remember from where. I think we can expect great things from this Knight with the Closed Visor."

Everyone at the table exchanged looks at this remark. Brynn knew Lancelot was the greatest living expert on matters concerning the joust.

Arthur, however, was not satisfied. "Very well, sir!" he grumbled. "If you have no stomach for the job, I will say this. Any knight here who brings this villain to me will be richly rewarded—nay, pursue him in a group if you will, show him not the courtesy of fair combat, but drag him back here like a common thief!"

There was a sudden disturbance at the lower end of the hall. Brynn turned his head in time to see the great doors swing open. A slender girl in a long white robe trimmed with yellow silk stood in the opening for a moment before stepping over the threshold. It was the damsel he had met in the forest! Everyone was watching her as she advanced down the hall towards Arthur and his queen. Her eyes were as blue as the woodland flowers entwined in her long golden hair and the gracefulness of her walk stopped Brynn's heart. She took her stand in front of the high table and addressed the king.

"My Lord," she said. "I have a favour to beg of you."

Arthur rose to his feet, his frown banished now. "Speak, damsel, for I am sure I can refuse you nothing."

"Then, my Lord, I ask you not to hunt down the unfortunate young man who earned your displeasure today. He is inexperienced and not yet made a knight. If you knew the true reason for his unmannerly behaviour you would think less harshly of him."

"Alas, lady," replied Arthur. "I find that hard to believe! Maybe you can tell me just why I should forgive him?"

"At this time, my lord, I shall tell you no more, but remember your word to me and grant me this boon. Let me be the one to find him, instead of any of your knights here. When I do, I shall take him on such a quest that, should he succeed in it, he shall have done you great service."

"And then? How shall I know of this?"

"I pledge that he shall return here to you, my lord, and when you learn what he has done you will forgive him with all your heart and knight him with your own sword, Excalibur! But should he fail in his quest and be slain, why then he shall have paid for any wrong he may have done."

"Very well, lady." Arthur was smiling now. "Your words have filled me with wonder. I eagerly await the outcome of this matter!"

The mysterious damsel bowed to the king and queen. She turned and walked lightly back to the great doors which closed behind her, as if by themselves. Brynn could see the look of amazement on the faces of the whole company. The unknown knight's story had taken an exciting turn.

King Arthur took his knife in his hand and held up his goblet to be filled. He was beaming; Brynn had been at court long enough to know he loved nothing better than the promise of marvels and adventures.

"My lords and ladies!" roared the king. "Let us not waste this feast!"

### Chapter 9

It was daybreak. A cold grey light filtered down through the trees. Darin realized he must have dozed off in the saddle for at least part of the night. After he had fled from the jousting field the day before, he had given himself up to despair, dropping his reins and letting his horse roam freely along the forest paths. Dart was standing still now, quietly nibbling at some tufts of grass between the roots of a wide-spreading elm that stood proudly in the middle of an open space, looking almost as if it had pushed its smaller brothers aside to breathe more freely.

Darin was surprised to find the lance from the tournament still in his hand, despite his sleep. In sudden anger, he threw it from him.

"Honour?" he muttered. "What good is any honour I may ever win with spear or sword? I shall never dare show my face, I shall always be alone!"

He bowed his head, sobbing.

"Do not be so hasty, sir."

The voice was clear and sweet as a mountain stream. Darin looked up and saw a slim, blue-eyed girl standing before him. In her hands was the discarded lance. She held it up to him.

"This spear may yet do you good service."

"Damsel! I did not see you there! Who are you? And what are you doing here, all alone in the forest?"

"I am Stella," she answered. "And I know the forest well. Why am I here? I was looking for you."

Darin stared at her. What could this lovely, barefoot girl want with him?

"King Arthur is angry with you," she said.

Now he hung his head once more. All his shame, for a moment forgotten, came flooding back.

"Aye, and rightly so!" he said. However, he took the spear from her and settled it into its holster.

"Nay, do not despair," Stella said. "I know how you can win back his favour. There is a knight, an enemy to King Arthur and his Round Table, who attacks and slays all who would pass through the valley where he makes his stand. Should you defeat this traitor and win your way to the cave where one of his best knights lies imprisoned, Arthur's gratitude would know no bounds."

"Ah, Stella!" replied Darin. "I am no longer looking for honour. And I will never, never set foot in Camelot again!"

Stella was silent for a moment, regarding him steadily with wide, blue eyes. "If you will not do it for the king, will you not do it for me? This knight, who is known as the Black Corbie, serves one who has done me great wrong."

Darin looked down at the golden-haired girl. What had he to lose? Nothing but a life of sorrow and loneliness. "Very well, my lady, I will face this renegade knight for you. But you must show me where I can find him."

She put one hand on his saddlebow, leapt lightly up onto Dart's back and settled herself in front of him. Suddenly her laughing face was inches from his own, behind its steel visor, and a slender arm was round his neck.

"Ride on, then!" she cried.

Darin steered Dart into the thick forest once more and on they rode, Stella directing him whenever a fork appeared in the narrow track. The woods grew thicker and gloomier the further they ventured. Sometimes Stella would sing softly, a strange, warbling song like the sound of babbling water, that soothed Darin's troubled heart; then a sweet yearning would surge up in his breast, such as he had never felt before. He longed to throw off his helmet with its hated visor and bury his face in her silky golden tresses; but, each time, the thought of the look of horror he would surely see on her face checked his impulse.

By the middle of the afternoon, Darin was growing weary. As he caught himself nodding off for the second time, he remembered he had scarcely slept since the night before the tournament.

"We must stop and rest a while," said Stella. "We have made good progress today."

They dismounted. Darin sat down on the mossy root of a big old oak and leaned his back against the wide tree-trunk. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, it was night. He must have slept for a few hours. He looked around him, but could see nothing except hundreds of tiny lights, sprinkled here and there on the forest floor—glow-worms. There were a few of them on the ground just in front of him, arranged in a rough circle.

He heard movements and could just make out a figure approaching him. His hand went to his sword, but then he heard Stella's voice.

"There," she said, and put down two more little lights, completing the circle. "Now you must eat."

In the faint glow cast by the little creatures, he could see his satchel and the wine flask. Stella must have put them there in the middle of the circle.

"I know you don't want anyone to see your face. All Camelot knows it. You can trust me; I shall sit with my back against the other side of the tree. Eat now and drink, for soon you will need all your strength."

She said this so simply that Darin felt no need to reply or explain. In the protective darkness, he raised his visor and gratefully started on his meal. The last piece of his mother's rabbit pie had gone a little stale, but it tasted good, washed down with mouthfuls of damson wine.

"Won't you have some too?" he asked.

Stella assured him she had no need of food or drink. When he was finished, he leant back with a sigh and felt much better.

"My mother used to tell me that faerie folk use glow-worms to light up their great halls beneath the hills," he said.

Stella laughed her silvery laugh. "What do you know about the faerie people?"

"Not much. They live forever and get up to a lot of mischief. It's all just stories, I expect."

"No, no, they are as real as we are! Look up, and tell me what you see."

Darin raised his eyes to the patch of night sky that showed through the trees above their heads. "A few faint stars. Or are you going to tell me they are glow-worms too?"

She laughed again. "Each one of those stars is like the sun," she said. "And all around them are countless worlds, just like this one."

Now it was Darin's turn to laugh. "What nonsense you talk! The sun is much bigger than any star and there's only one world—this one, which is bigger than anything else! But tell me more, I love a good story!"

"Ages and ages ago, the faerie folk lived in a world out there, a world very like this. After countless generations, they had learned to conquer death and to travel enormous distances. One day their world was threatened by...." Stella was silent for a moment. Then she went on. "By a huge flaming creature, rushing towards them through the heavens."

"You mean, like a dragon?"

"Yes, call it that if you like. When they knew their world was coming to an end, they set off in search of new homes among the stars. Some of them came here, long before men arrived in these forests. And they are here still."

"A wonderful tale!" Darin said after a minute of silence. "And just how is it that you know so much about the faerie people?"

He heard her laughter in the dark.

"Try to sleep some more," was all she said.

He sat for a while looking up at the sky. The stars were no longer visible; hidden by clouds, he supposed. He thought about the fantastical story he had just heard and all the adventures he had been having, but, before long, he grew despondent again. Life seemed to offer so much, but he knew it was not for him; he would never be able to share his deepest feelings with anyone or be a part of the brave company at Camelot. He would always be in hiding.

He closed his visor and shut his eyes.

### Chapter 10

The day dawned cloudy. Darin and Stella prepared themselves without speaking. They mounted and started out.

The forest was now very dense, with only occasional patches of grey sky showing dimly through the high leafy branches. Everything was still; not a bird was singing and the moss-covered pathway muffled the sound of Dart's hooves. More moss grew up the sides of gnarled and twisted tree trunks and hung in swathes from the lower boughs.

All at once, the clouds above turned black and such a darkness fell over the path that Dart stopped and waited nervously.

"Easy, now!" Darin whispered.

Even as he had spoken, everything around them was illuminated by a sudden flash—and then again. Almost immediately came the thunder. Darin's arms were around Stella's waist, and now he pulled her closer to him. Once more, thunder crackled overhead.

As his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the gloom, he could see a faint patch of grey in the darkness up ahead.

"We are coming to the edge of the forest," said Stella. "Just a little further and we will reach the entrance to the ravine where The Black Corbie stands guard."

Darin urged his horse slowly along the track; the rain began to drum on the leaves above their heads. By the time they reached the last trees, it was so fierce that it sprayed back up from the ground, making it impossible to see much of the scene in front of them. They dismounted and stood together in the shelter of a wide oak tree. Its branches did not afford much protection for long, however; soon Darin's shirt under the chain-mail was soaked and cold against his skin. For her part, Stella seemed not to mind the rain, but turned up her face to it and laughed, shaking her wet curls.

The storm ended as abruptly as it had begun. The blackest clouds were gone and a weak and bleary sun was breaking through. Darin could see the long, narrow valley that lay before them. To the left, a little stream ran alongside the path through the ravine, the ground on the other side of it rising sharply to a wooded hillside. To the right, a sheer cliff face ran the length of the valley. Great mossy boulders were strewn about the valley floor and there were several caves in the cliff.

He felt Stella's hand on his arm. She pointed to the largest of the caves, maybe a hundred yards from where they stood. As he looked, a horse and armed rider emerged from its depths.

The rider wore a black surcoat over his armour and bore a crimson shield on his left arm. As he rode towards them, Darin could see that both he and his black charger were enormous. His closed helmet was of the old style, with no moveable visor: high, with slanting eye-slits and a crest consisting of a pair of wings. The device painted in black on his shield was in the shape of a crow.

The Black Corbie stopped fifty or sixty paces from where they stood. "Sir! Neither you nor your lady shall pass this point," he shouted. "Turn back the way you came, or I will slay you both!"

Darin looked at Stella with a sudden sense of misgiving. He was willing to risk his own life in this encounter, but not hers.

"Don't worry about me," she said, "I know the forest. I am quick and light and can easily escape him if I have to. And I have faith in you!"

Darin sprang up onto Dart's back. He tried to remind himself that he had unhorsed many knights bigger and heavier than himself at the tournament, but he knew he was facing a very different opponent this time; his arms trembled and his grip was weak as he took his lance. He drew a determined breath, however, and summoned up all his courage. "You will regret those words, villain!"

The Black Corbie laughed and spurred his charger. Darin urged Dart to meet him, but he scarcely had time to dress his shield and level his spear before there was a tremendous splintering of lances. He felt the blow with his whole body; for a moment, he was looking at the sky—then came the jarring pain as he landed on his back. The huge black horse thundered by him, its hooves sending up showers of shale and clay.

He scrambled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it, and looked about him. There was no sign of his lance, but his buckler lay on the ground a couple of yards away. His enemy was already wheeling his steed around; his shattered spear was gone, but now a sword flashed in his right hand. Darin hesitated between drawing his own and trying to retrieve his shield, but realized he would not have time for either. The great black horse was almost upon him. At the last possible instant, he jumped straight across its path; now he was on the Black Corbie's left hand side, temporarily out of reach of his sword arm.

The massive figure in the black surcoat loomed over him, twisting around for a backward swipe. Darin had a glimpse of wild eyes glaring at him through the slits in the winged helmet as he leapt up and seized the crimson shield with both hands. Digging in his heels, he yanked downwards with all his might and succeeded in pulling his bulky opponent, who was leaning far to the side, out of his saddle. They both fell heavily to the ground.

Darin was the first to regain his feet. He ran over to pick up his shield and then drew his sword, his heart beating fast. By now the fallen knight was up again and advancing towards him on foot. "You will pay for this!" he bellowed, raising his sword high above his head.

Darin saw the blow coming and held up his shield, but the sword struck the top edge of it with such force that it sliced its way down almost to the centre. The straps gave way and the round buckler was torn from Darin's arm. He leapt backwards as the Black Corbie shook it free of his blade, growling in fury.

Speed is my only advantage, he thought, gripping his sword with both hands as the heavy knight lumbered at him. He danced about and easily dodged the next few blows that were aimed at him. Then, seizing his chance as his enemy was recovering himself after a particularly vicious swing, he leapt into the air and brought his blade crashing down on his helmet. He had the satisfaction of seeing one of the crow's wings fly off and then he was back to weaving and dodging again.

He kept this up for a long time. The last clouds had dispersed and the sun was getting hotter and he was glad of the wet tunic under his mail; it kept him cool for a while as he danced around his opponent. He could see the big knight was gradually getting slower, but he knew that just one cut of that mighty sword could still prove fatal, chain-mail or no chain-mail. Darin took no unnecessary risks; even so, he found more and more opportunities to deliver blows of his own. Every time he struck at his enemy's body, the crimson shield was there to block him, so he concentrated on the helmet. After landing a good few buffets on the tall man's head, jumping up each time to gain a little height, he fancied the Black Corbie was beginning to stagger a little under the blows.

At last, as the sun reached its highest point, the heavy knight sank to his knees. Darin sprang forward, seized the scarred and dented helmet and pulled it off his head. He stood before the kneeling figure with upraised sword.

"Yield, traitor!" he panted.

The Black Corbie's beard and long hair were streaked with grey. His face was red from his exertions, his breath laboured. "I yield, noble sir! Have mercy, I beg you! I bear you no hatred. I fought only to please a certain great lady. Now my pride has been humbled, I see how falsely she has treated me! She never bore me any real love, she just used her hold over me and I sorely regret the many evil deeds that I have done in her name!"

"This knight is not the first to have succumbed to the magic powers of Morgan the Enchantress," said Stella, appearing at Darin's side. "Although he has done great wrong, he is as much her victim as is the poor knight who is being held prisoner in yonder cave. I think you should spare his life!"

"Gladly," answered Darin. Now the heat of battle was over, he did not relish the idea of killing anyone. "This sword has already taken one innocent life and that is more than enough."

Stella shot him a curious look. "And do you regret that slaying?"

Darin made no reply, but turned to the knight who knelt before him. "Sir," he said, "I will let you go, on condition that you surrender your sword to me and swear to ride this day to the court of King Arthur. Tell the king that he with the closed visor sent you and throw yourself on his mercy!"

"I will do as you command, fair Sir!" said the Black Corbie. He handed his sword to Darin, and then rose with some difficulty to his feet. "I am sorry now that I stood guard for so long over the poor prisoner in the cave. I was jealous of the interest my false lady took in him. He was a noble knight, but now he stands like one who has lost his reason and can move neither hand nor foot. The spell that binds him will not be broken until he looks upon someone who awakens love in his heart."

He mounted his charger and took his leave of them. Just before entering the forest, he turned and called back to Darin.

"Perhaps the damsel who rides with you can break the spell. I dare say she is more worthy of a true knight's love than the hard-hearted Morgan."

Darin turned to his companion. "Did you know about this spell and how it may be broken?"

"I did. But I am not the one who can do it. He has no love for me."

Darin wondered why he felt so relieved. For some reason, the idea of anyone falling in love with this golden-haired girl made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"But come," said Stella, "your quest is not quite over."

She took his hand and led him towards the shadowy entrance to the cave.

### Chapter 11

Darin could hear the steady drip of water as he stepped over the threshold; it came from somewhere in the dark recesses of the cave. The air in his nostrils was cold and dank.

In the main body of the cavern, which was far wider than the opening in the cliff and roughly circular in shape, it was lighter than he had expected. In addition to the daylight from the entrance, a narrow beam came from a chink in the rock somewhere high above. Pillars of limestone rose from the cavern floor or hung down from the high, vaulted ceiling. Standing almost at the centre of the cave, the biggest of these was a good twelve feet in height and thicker than a man. To this pillar, the prisoner was bound fast with tough vines twisted and woven into stout ropes.

He was dressed in a loose shirt. His long, matted hair and beard spilled wild over his shoulders and down his chest. Although he wore no armour, both his figure and his strong-featured countenance seemed to confirm the Black Corbie's words, that this had indeed once been a noble knight. He stood motionless, his head tilted back, his face turned towards the point high above where the narrow beam of light entered the cave. Only his eyes moved, rolling distractedly in their sockets.

"He feels no hunger, thirst or cold," said Stella. "But he sees and hears, and he is aware of the passage of time. He knows he is a prisoner here."

Darin felt a wave of pity for the wretched knight. His heart warmed to him. "Go then and stand before him," he said. "I can't believe he could feel no love for one as fair as you. Surely you can break the spell!"

"No, I told you, I am not the one. I think his heart is true to some other love." Stella turned and took both his hands in hers. "Our quest is almost ended. I am asking you to do one last thing for me to see if I am right in my conjectures."

Her eyes, gleaming in the dim light of the cave, made Darin think suddenly of the rock-pool; the shock of what it had revealed to him that day now made him giddy.

"Sir, will you take off your helmet and show your face to this poor knight?"

His giddiness increased as he realized what she was asking of him. His head was filled with a chattering sound, as of racing waters drumming over rocks and pebbles. "Ah, lady, I cannot, I cannot! I have sworn a vow."

"I know all about your vow—you will not show your face until you have won great honour." Stella smiled. "By defeating the Black Corbie just now you have won honour enough."

Darin's mind was in turmoil. He would not, he could not show his face! And what good could it possibly do if he did? He fell back on his last excuse.

"I must return to the place where I made the vow. Only then can I open this visor."

The sound of the racing stream was like a thousand voices chiming in his ear. He realized one of the voices was Stella's.

"I know that too," she was saying. "I was there that day, by the stream, I heard everything you said. Understand this—I am no mortal girl, I am the Spirit of the Stream. When you are in my presence, you are in the presence of the Stream itself. You have returned to me and you have won much honour. Now you are free of your vow!"

As she spoke, it seemed to Darin that the walls of the cave wavered and grew insubstantial. Behind them, he could see dimly the grassy hillside, the trees of the forest. The image grew brighter, then darker, then brighter again, flickering in and out to a pulsating rhythm, the beating of his heart. He felt faint.

Why was she asking this of him? If she had been by the stream, she must know his awful secret. How could she think the sight of such a frightful monster could possibly help the enchanted knight? Did she want to add to the tortured man's suffering? No, he could not believe Stella was capable of such cruelty.

And, oh, if she is no mortal girl, then what am I to do with these feelings in my heart? I can refuse her no longer; I must do as she asks.

It took far more courage than it had taken to face the gigantic knight with the crimson shield, but he raised his hands to his helmet and lifted it from his head.

There was no sign of horror or repugnance in her eyes, but he could not tell what she was thinking. She was gazing at him seriously. Taking him by the hand again, she led him to where the man stood, bound to the great stalagmite. She left him there and withdrew a few paces.

As he watched, he fancied the prisoner's wildly rolling eyes became less agitated. Slowly, the knight turned his face towards him. His lips moved, but no sound escaped them.

And then Darin heard.

"Etaine!" whispered the enchanted knight. "Etaine!"

Darin stared at him in disbelief. His mother's name! Abruptly, the man's eyes snapped into focus.

"How can this be?" The knight's voice was now clear and vibrant. "Have so many years gone by? Is it my son? My precious Darin? It can only be you!"

"Father? Are you—are you Karman, my father?"

"Yes, I am Karman of the Western Forest!" said the knight. The bonds that bound him to the pillar fell away as if they had been nothing and he rushed to embrace his son.

After a few moments, filled for both of them with indescribable emotions, father and son took a step back and stood looking at each other. They both had tears in their eyes and broad grins on their faces. Karman's hands were on his son's shoulders.

Stella broke the silence. "My lord, your son has acquitted himself well today. Young as he is, he defeated Morgan's champion, a strong and experienced knight who has guarded this cave for years."

"Ah, that was well done, son! But you are not hurt, I hope?"

"Just a bruise or two that I got falling off my horse!" Darin laughed. "And my shield, an old buckler I found in the castle, got almost cut in two! I'll not use that again."

"Then you shall have mine," said his father. "You must bear the family arms now, the crest of the Western Forest. There will be no more fighting for me for a while. I must find your mother and see my home once more—please tell me she has come to no harm!"

"No, no! All these years she has waited for you! She alone in the whole world believed you were still alive. You will find her in the old cottage by the castle gates. She sees no one. Brogan has secretly watched over us for years."

"My lord!" Stella's voice came from deep in the cave. "Your arms are all here. I have the shield."

Darin turned and saw her emerging from the darkness, carrying a great shield. At its centre, a single oak tree was emblazoned, the symbol of the Keepers of the Western Forest. The rest of the shield's surface was plain silver, polished until it was like a mirror. The light reflected from it danced over the rough walls of the cavern. As he watched its shifting patterns, he seemed to hear the sound of the stream again, although less loudly this time. As in a dream, he saw himself standing beside the rocky pool, his foot at the reed-grown edge. He watched himself lean forward to look at his own reflection in the clear water.

Then he was back in the cave, holding the shield Stella had handed him. He looked down into the mirrored surface. A young man was looking back at him with clear, bright eyes. Golden curls fell over a broad, white brow. His curved red mouth was finely etched, the jaw resolute and well modelled. A great feeling of joy and relief swept over him as he recognized in that face the little boy he had seen long ago in his mother's looking glass.

### Chapter 12

"What a tremendous story!" exclaimed Broderic, when Darin had finished telling his new friend everything that had happened to him since he left his mother's cottage. "Just wait till the minstrels get hold of it."

Darin beamed at him, but then a slight frown wrinkled his brow. "I only wonder what has become of Stella?" he said sadly. Once outside the cave she had said goodbye to him and his father. Had he only imagined the look of regret in her eyes, as she turned her face one last time in their direction before melting into the forest?

Broderic gave him a shrewd glance. "You must forget about her. No good ever came from getting too close to faerie folk." He grinned and slapped his friend on the back. "Besides, there are plenty of comely young damsels here in Camelot, all dying to meet the hero of the hour!"

Darin was new to this kind of talk. He realized miserably that he was blushing, and almost wished he had his trusty helmet on again, visor firmly closed.

They were sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard of King Arthur's council chamber where the great Round Table was. Now the king and his old friend Karman came over to join them. Sir Karman was now looking much better. He was dressed in fine garments of silken cloth, given him by the king; his hair and beard were trimmed and combed. The young men stood up respectfully.

"Darin," said Arthur. "Your father and I have had so many things to talk about, although he seems strangely reluctant to tell me how he slew the traitor, Crevan. Modesty no doubt!" He turned to Karman again. "As we heard it, you were cut off from your men and he had several northern knights with him."

"They abandoned him, my Lord," Karman replied, looking rather uncomfortable, Darin thought. "No one loves a traitor."

"In any event, my best knight and truest friend has been restored to me!" said Arthur. "Young Darin, you have indeed done me great service, as the damsel promised you would. I am grateful to you."

Darin bowed his head and blushed again.

"I've just been hearing the whole story," said Broderic. "Tell me, sire, did the Black Corbie give himself up to you, as Darin instructed him to?"

"He did indeed! He is cooling his heels in my dungeons right now, while I make up my mind what to do with him."

"That man's strength lies in his unswerving loyalty," said Sir Karman. "Unfortunately, he bestowed it unwisely. I doubt if Darin could have defeated him had there not been a seed of doubt in his heart concerning Morgan's trustworthiness." He looked meaningfully at the king. "If such a knight were to swear loyalty to a noble cause, he would be a truly formidable warrior."

"Your father was always a good judge of men, Darin," Arthur said. "I will take heed of his words." He turned to Darin again. "I have told Sir Karman to waste no more time, but to ride immediately to find the Lady Etaine. It gladdens my heart to think of their reunion! I have made him promise, however, to come back here with your mother before too long. Until then, I hope you will stay here with us?"

"Gladly, sire!"

"Good," said the king, "but before he leaves, there is one thing I want Sir Karman to witness. Tell me, Darin, do you know what it means to be a knight and in my fellowship?"

"I think so, sire."

"It means, my son, that you must love honour above all things," said Karman. "It means that you are sworn to uphold the law of the king throughout the realm, to side with all men who are loyal to him and to protect all defenceless women and damsels. Could you live by such a code, do you think?"

"There is nothing I would want more! I pray for the day I am deemed worthy of knighthood!"

"That day is come," said Arthur. "Let us waste no more time."

"Kneel before your king, son," said Karman gently.

Darin went down on one knee. In awe and disbelief, he watched as the king raised his eyes to heaven, then drew his sword and held it up before him with outstretched arm. The blade flashed silver and gold in the sunlight and a hundred gemstones sparkled in the ornate hilt of fabled Excalibur. At that moment, it became the embodiment of every noble or generous impulse that had ever stirred Darin's breast; it seemed to point the way his heart longed to follow. He closed his eyes and bowed his head humbly.

As in a dream, he felt the great sword touch him lightly on the shoulder, and heard Arthur's voice.

"Arise, Sir Darin of the Western Forest."

An hour later, he was watching his father ride away. A great happiness filled him as he imagined his mother's coming joy, but still there was a pang of sorrow in his heart. He knew it was not because Karman was leaving; he would be back soon enough. No, it was an image of blue eyes and golden curls, the silvery sound of laughter and song that he could not chase from his mind—these things were to blame.

He sighed and went off in search of Broderic.

## Part 2: The Phantom Knight
### Chapter 13

Everything was changing. The fog was thinning and there was a sense of movement again. After an eternity spent motionless, in darkness and silence, Crevan could hear a voice calling out to him, a woman's voice, rising and falling in swelling cadences. The chant he heard was in some strange, rhythmical tongue, a tongue unknown to him; but something deep in his nature understood and obeyed. For the first time since the darkness had closed around him long ago, he was aware of huge, wraith-like forms—forest trees—drifting past him as that imperious voice drew him on towards some unholy tryst.

Seeing a living world slowly becoming real around him brought back a sudden, vivid memory of that fatal day on the bleak moor side. Along with Brian of Mount Savage and four other northern knights, he had been riding in pursuit of Sir Karman of the Western Forest.

After a long chase, Brian had called a halt. "The day is lost!" he told Crevan. "We are going home. I, for one, will send word to Arthur that I am ready to swear allegiance to him. Fergus is dead. Whatever reward he may have promised you for your treachery, you will get nothing now. If you want this knight we have been following, you are welcome to him, although I dare say he has a very different idea of what your reward should be!"

One of the knights in Brian's company laughed grimly at this and then the five horsemen rode away, leaving Crevan alone on the bare hillside.

The jingle of harness receded; a lone curlew repeatedly called out its own wild name across the barren moor. Crevan looked around and saw Karman riding towards him with drawn sword, sunlight dancing on his steel helmet, on the silver shield with its oak-tree crest. All his old hatred and jealousy rose up within him; Karman had always been Arthur's favourite. He had taken Etaine, whose family had all but promised her to Crevan, and had gone from triumph to triumph, seemingly unaware of his rival's existence.

Angrily, he drew his sword; but when his enemy was close enough for him to see the fury in his eyes, fear clutched at his heart and he turned his horse to flee.

It was too late. Karman was upon him.

"Turning your back on me will not save you, Crevan! You shall die a traitor's death!"

In mortal terror, Crevan looked over his shoulder in time to see the flash of bright steel. Then he knew no more, until he found himself walking slowly back down the hillside. A profound hush had fallen over everything. Behind him, a grotesquely crumpled form lay on the cold ground. He recognised it as a man's body and one that was strangely familiar, but he did not yet realize what had happened to him.

Not a living soul was in sight as he reached the foot of the hill and entered the forest. It was there that the mist began to gather around him. An unbearable sense of loss and regret invaded his soul; he felt mortally cold. He was moving without volition, without even having to walk, floating helplessly through the trees, a few feet above the ground. Now he understood—the man he had envied and hated most in life had slain him, had killed him with one blow of his sword.

The bitterness that flooded his soul was a welcome relief. It filled the crippling emptiness he felt within and gave him a reason to cling on to his own wretched being. Now he was justified in hating and despising Karman throughout eternity. The Keeper of the Western Forest had cut him down from behind, had acted like a coward and sacrificed his honour forever.

Slow months and years passed by. The mist grew thicker until he could no longer see anything of his surroundings and all sense of movement ceased. Sometimes, forgetting his hatred for a moment, he was overcome by sorrow and repentance. Then it seemed as though he were being drawn upwards, towards the faint glow in the mist above him. He yearned to dissolve into the light and be forgotten; but then he would grip down hard on the hot coals of his anger and sink back into the ever-increasing darkness to brood and exult again in his rage and despair.

And then, suddenly, the change had come. The woman's voice was calling him, the fog was lifting and he was moving again. The great incantatory rhythm now possessed him utterly. He recognised in it the cry of a kindred soul, one united with his own in a shared bitterness, a common desire.

The last of the mist was gone; the trees around him were clear and distinct. With a rush of exaltation, he felt the ground under his feet, felt the weight and resistance of a body around him once again. He raised a hand before his eyes and made a fist, then strode out of the forest into a rocky ravine.

The cliff face that ran along the side of the narrow valley in front of him was pitted with caves. From the deepest of these, a great, gloomy cavern, emanated the voice that had summoned him.

Wrapped in his new flesh, the dead knight marched on to meet his commander.

### Chapter 14

"Tarrum tumtum, was once a spotty youth!" sang Broderic, as he rode his brown yearling, River, out of the shelter of the trees and onto the wide meadow by the walls of Camelot.

Brynn was riding by his side, on his sister Shayla's grey palfrey, Maggie. He laughed. "What's that, sir?"

"A ballad I want to have ready for Darin, when he comes back to Camelot—The Knight with the Closed Visor. I'm using that tune he whistles all the time."

"To commemorate his brave deeds?"

"Yes—well, not exactly, Brynn. It's a bit of a joke, really. In my song, the reason he keeps his visor closed is to hide his youthful spots and pimples!"

Brynn laughed again. "You don't think he'll mind?"

"Of course not! He's a good fellow. I'll give a dinner when he gets back, invite our friends round. I'll sing it then."

They reined in their horses and gazed out across the bright meadow that lay before them, spangled with purple and yellow flowers and splashed a vibrant red where the occasional poppy blew in the warm breeze.

"I want the ballad to end with a bit of a flourish," Broderic said after a while. "I'll have King Arthur make a toast during the celebration banquet at the end of the story. He holds up his goblet and says:

Full many a brave and handsome knight in truth

Like Darin here was once a spotty youth!"

He turned and grinned at Brynn. "I'll disguise our hero a bit, though—give him another name. Everyone will know who it is, of course. Any ideas?"

"How about Pipkin, sir?" Pipkin was the name of Brynn's friend, the stable boy at his uncle's house in the harbour town where he used to live.

"Pipkin! Like Pipkin here was once a spotty youth! That's it, lad! Now, let's go. River can smell home."

They set out at a canter across the plain. Brynn was looking forward to telling his mother and Shayla all about his stay at Lord Karman's castle in the Western Forest with Sir Broderic. In the year that had passed since Darin had arrived at Camelot, Brynn had grown taller, a little broader in the shoulder and—he fancied—he had lost some of his freckles. Although he still lived with his mother, he was now Sir Broderic's squire in all but name. He spent his days looking after the horses and practising archery with Broderic and Darin.

He glanced with pride at his master-to-be. In these peaceful times, it was no longer necessary to ride armed in the forests around Camelot. Sir Broderic, unencumbered by helmet or armour, rode easily. His hair floated on the breeze and he was stylishly dressed in green doublet and hose, with a jewelled dagger at his waist. Brynn was wearing his customary brown tunic; he had his longbow on his back.

Within minutes, they were riding through the great gates and into Camelot. One of the guards waved and ran towards them.

"Sir Broderic! The king wants to see you in the council chamber. He is impatient, you'd best go immediately. Your lad here can stable your horse."

"You heard him, Brynn." Broderic jumped down from River's back. "I'll see you back at my chambers."

Brynn dismounted and took the reins of both horses in his hand. He watched Broderic and the guard hurrying away towards the keep. They were soon out of sight.

"Come on, you two."

Docilely, River and Maggie followed him down the cobbled street. He hitched the grey palfrey to the post by the stable door—he would ride her home later—and led River inside. After nearly two day's ride from the Castle of the Western Forest, Broderic's yearling was happy to be back in his stall. Brynn brought some oats for him to get his nose into and stood back to watch. It was good to stand in the dimly lit stables, with their comforting odour and no sound but River's steady munching.

Going to visit Darin with Sir Broderic had been the most exciting event since last year's tournament. The two young knights had treated him so familiarly and Broderic had often talked to him like a friend about his plans. Within a year, Broderic was going to marry Tara, one of Queen Guinevere's ladies-in-waiting. Brynn had first seen her at the May Day banquet, the dark-haired girl who had been sitting next to Broderic. Once they were married, they would set up home and Broderic would come into some land from his uncle. Then Brynn would live with them as Broderic's squire and learn all the knightly skills.

His dreams about the future were interrupted by the sound of Broderic calling his name outside.

"Saddle him up again, Brynn. Quickly, while I go and arm myself."

By the time Brynn had River ready again and taken him outside, Broderic was back. He was wearing his coat of mail and had his sword and shield. He leapt into the saddle and looked down at Brynn.

"Tell your sister that whatever she hears about Darin, it's not true. Tell her I'm going to prove it!"

Brynn was still holding River's bridle. "What do you mean sir? Please!"

"A knight was attacked in the forest this morning, a kinsman of Lancelot's who was on his way here. An armed rider ambushed him and struck him from behind like a coward! The knight is badly wounded—he may even die."

"But what has this got to do with Darin, sir?"

"The rider was young and handsome and carried a shield with an oak tree—like Darin's! The king has sent three knights to bring Darin here for questioning. Now, let me go. I must find this impostor."

Broderic spurred his horse and set off at a gallop for the northern gate, showing scant regard for passers-by. Brynn closed the stable doors, mounted the palfrey and rode her to his mother's house.

It was impossible! Darin was brave and honourable, he would never attack anyone unprovoked—and from behind! Nobody would believe it. And why was it so important to tell Shayla?

He found his sister sitting on the bench outside their door, braiding her hair, which was as red as Darin's own. She looked up and smiled.

"Hello, little brother. How was it at Darin's?" She stood up and came over to stroke Maggie's neck. "Oh, how I wish I could have gone too!"

Brynn was surprised by the sudden passion with which she made this last remark. Then, suddenly, he understood—she was in love with Darin. Of course! This made sense of a lot of things. Recently, Shayla had been joining them at archery practice. Darin didn't pay her much attention, but Broderic was always encouraging and she was on the way to becoming a very good shot. Now Brynn understood the way he had seen her looking at Darin sometimes. Broderic must have noticed it too; that was why he was so welcoming. He had once confided in Brynn how worried he was that Darin was making himself unhappy, brooding about that faerie friend of his. Nothing good could ever come of that, Broderic said. Why couldn't Darin find happiness with one of the court damsels, like he had done with Tara?

Brynn could never quite understand why Broderic, whom he admired in every way, could be so embarrassing where girls were concerned. Surely, the brave Sir Darin would not be the same? Brynn loved his sister, however, and hated the thought of her getting hurt. He dismounted and took her hand.

Her face turned pale as he carefully repeated what Broderic had told him. When he was finished, she slumped back down on the bench and hid her face in her hands. When she looked up again it was with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Brynn! It can't be true. This poor wounded knight will say so, as soon as he sees Darin face to face."

"Of course he will."

Shayla frowned. "But what if the knight should die before Darin gets here? How will he prove his innocence then?"

"Sir Broderic has gone after the traitor who is carrying his shield. If he gets him, that will be proof enough."

"But if not? They'll make him stand by the knight's corpse. Oh, Brynn, I don't trust that way!"

Brynn shuddered. He knew what she meant. It was generally believed that a dead man's wounds would start bleeding afresh in the presence of his murderer.

"Don't be afraid, Shayla," Brynn said. "Sir Broderic will not fail."

He sat down next to her and put his arms around her. She let her head fall on his shoulder, sobbing.

### Chapter 15

Brynn had walked back and forth between his house and Broderic's quarters twice. He realized Broderic would be gone for hours, even days, but he was still disappointed each time at not finding him back. His mother was not at home and Shayla had gone to look for Tara. He slung his longbow over his back and picked up his quiver of arrows. He was going to follow Broderic.

He strode round to the stables and saddled the grey palfrey. Sir Broderic had headed for the north gate—there was only one path he could have taken into the forest. "Let's go, lass," he murmured. He scratched the palfrey behind the ear, something he knew she loved. "Not much rest for you, I'm afraid."

They took the street at a canter and were soon through the gate, galloping towards the forest. Once among the trees, as the track grew narrower, they slowed down to a walk. Where there were branches that grew out across the path, many showed signs of snapped-off twigs; more than a few leaves were smeared with blood. The wounded knight must have passed here on his way to Camelot.

Except for the echoing rattle of a woodpecker, the woods were silent and Brynn rode on with his ears alert for any telltale sound. After an hour or more, he came to a place where the track divided into two, continuing to right and left of a steep mound that rose suddenly from the forest floor. Around him the trees grew tall, their branches arching high above his head; as they swayed, shifting patterns of light and shadow played like rippling fire over the rounded hillock, enamelling the leaves of the nettles and brambles that straggled up its grassy sides.

In the solemn gloom, he shivered as he remembered the tale he had heard at court of Sir Gawain's encounter with the Green Knight. Wasn't the Green Chapel, where Gawain and the terrifying giant with his huge axe had kept their tryst, just such a mound as this? Faerie hills, folk call them.

As he waited there, unable to decide which path to take, he heard a horse somewhere nearby, snorting softly. He looked around him, holding his breath. After a few moments, he heard something else—it sounded like a faint groan. It came from not far away, where the left-hand track curved and disappeared into the trees.

"Come on, girl." He guided the palfrey towards the bend in the track. The first thing he saw was River, swinging his neck to look at him and snorting again. Then he saw Sir Broderic lying on the ground. His head and shoulders were resting on the bole of an oak tree and he was pressing both hands against his side. Almost half of the linen surcoat he wore over his armour was red with blood.

The reins fell from Brynn's grip. He swayed in his saddle, darkness threatening his vision. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look again at the torn, soaked linen and the blood oozing through Broderic's fingers. He dismounted and knelt beside his hero.

"Sir, sir! Speak to me."

Broderic's eyes did not open, but he uttered a faint moan. Brynn noticed that his sword was still in its scabbard—someone had wounded him and he had not had the chance to defend himself. What must he do? He couldn't move Broderic by himself. He would have to fetch some one from Camelot, but that would mean leaving him alone for two or three hours. Would he still be alive when help arrived?

At that moment came the unmistakable sound of horses approaching. Bryn's heart was thumping. Was the traitor who had wounded Sir Broderic coming back? No, he could hear men's voices conversing openly—surely a villain like that would ride alone. He stood up.

The first rider to come into view wore mail; on his surcoat, Brynn recognized the oak tree emblem. It was Darin's father, Sir Karman. After him rode a burly man with short, grizzled hair—a forester, to judge by his green tunic and longbow.

Sir Karman raised his hand and halted his horse. He jumped down and bent over Broderic for a moment. When he looked up, his kindly eyes were filled with concern. "What happened here, lad?"

Brynn hesitated. Sir Karman had been away from court; now was not the time to inform him of the suspicion that had fallen on his son. "I don't know, sir," he replied. "He must have been ambushed.

"It's my son's friend, a fine young knight," Sir Karman said to his companion, who had dismounted and was now kneeling beside Broderic. "What do you think, Brogan?"

"The wound is wide, but not deep," said the forester. "A sword, I'd say. Cut through the mail, cracked a rib or two, maybe. The only real danger is the amount of blood he's lost." He sprang up and walked in amongst the trees. When he returned, he had some broad, dark green leaves under his arm. He knelt again, took a small dagger from his belt and cut a long strip from Broderic's surcoat. Reaching under the mail hauberk, he shoved the leaves up and against the wound. He passed the linen strip beneath Broderic's waist, slid it up behind his back to chest-level and bound it tight. "We can't risk moving him until I've treated the wound properly. He'll have to stay here tonight."

Brynn had given no thought to the time when he set off after Sir Broderic. "The day is nearly over!" he exclaimed.

The forester got to his feet. "Yes. And this man must be kept warm. It won't be cold tonight, but even so we'll need a fire." He strode over to his horse and reached into a copious saddlebag. He took out a beech-wood box and handed it to Brynn. "Can you use this?"

"Yes, it's a tinder box, sir."

Brogan nodded. "There's flint, steel, touchwood and tinder in there. There's plenty of dead wood around." He turned to Sir Karman. "We are not far from Lachlyn's old place. I use it when I'm in these parts. If you will come with me, sir, we can get everything we need and be back just after nightfall."

"Very well." Sir Karman said. He put his hand on Brynn's shoulder. "Don't worry, lad, Brogan here knows his business. He's treated me for wounds worse than this before now."

Brogan grinned. "We'll bring herbs and blankets. A pallet to carry our patient on tomorrow. And something for our supper."

"I'll get started on the fire, then!" Brynn said.

The two men mounted and galloped away. Brynn searched around for wood and soon had a pile of twigs and moss-covered branches. He slid open the lid of the box, took out some straw tinder, put it on the ground and placed some kindling twigs around it. Taking a strip of dried mushroom touchwood, he held it pressed against the flint in his right hand and fitted his left hand into the curved firesteel. He struck the sharpened flint down against the steel and red sparks flew. Before long, the touchwood was glowing. He dropped it on the straw and blew on it until a lick of flame appeared.

When the fire was going, he went and sat by Broderic. He fancied Brogan's makeshift bandage had already done some good and that Sir Broderic was lying easier.

"Don't worry, sir. Help is coming."

Broderic's eyelids flickered and then opened suddenly. He gaped at Brynn.

"Sir! You're going to be all right! What happened?"

Broderic gripped Brynn's arm. "I can't believe it, I can't believe it," he whispered. He grimaced and let go his hold on Brynn with a groan.

"Easy, sir."

"But Brynn, I saw him. After he came at me from behind, he opened his visor. As if he wanted me to see!"

"What sir, what?"

"It was Darin!"

### Chapter 16

On the evening of the second day after Broderic had left the castle, Darin said good night to his mother and made his way to his chamber in the west wing. He set his candle in the bracket on the wall by his bedside, threw off his clothes and crossed the room to the window at the other side.

The days of idleness spent waiting for his father to return from visiting his various tenants were beginning to tell on him. He was restless. He kept thinking about the mysterious axe and how he had sworn to find it. His father had told him what he knew: it had belonged to Bertilak the sorcerer, who had carried it when he appeared as the Green Knight. Bertilak had foretold that one day it might play a crucial part in the battle for Logres, but Karman had been unable to find out anything about its whereabouts. His only interest now was in resuming his responsibilities as lord of the Western Forest; he wished his son well in his quest.

The night air was cool on Darin's face and chest. He gazed out over the trees, hunched together in the fast fading light, imagining himself standing down there in the fragrant darkness beneath the brooding boughs, hearing the nocturnal life of the forest awakening around him. An owl's wavering note sounded twice, like a challenge, daring him to venture further into the depths of the sacred woods. Stella was out there somewhere.

He sighed and went across to the bed. After snuffing out the candle, he lay on his back for a while, looking at the few faint stars visible through the tall, narrow casement. Were there really other worlds out there, just like this one? When Stella had told him about them on that magical night in the forest, he had laughed at the idea; now he knew what she really was, he had to wonder. He sighed again and turned over on his side.

His limbs were heavy and he had eaten a hearty supper with his mother, so it was not long before sleep came. But it was not an easy sleep. Fragmented visions of woodland glades and rocky places flashed before his eyes, while distant voices, muttering in some outlandish tongue, troubled his dreaming spirit. Now he was pursuing a hooded figure that fled before him down an endless corridor resembling the great gallery in the oldest part of the castle, but at the same time seeming to be a long avenue of trees that formed cathedral-like arches high above his head.

"Yes, there are indeed other worlds, and they will seek you out!" said the hooded stranger who was suddenly walking at his side.

Darin woke up abruptly, fighting for breath. A great weight was pressing down on his chest; he felt something cold against his neck. He was lying on his back again and someone was sitting astride him. He grunted and struggled, trying to throw off his assailant, but the visitor leaned forward, pressing the flat of his knife against Darin's throat. As he did so, his head and shoulders crossed the narrow beam of moonlight that came from the window.

Darin froze; the hairs of his head stood on end. He lay there, paralysed with fear and something altogether more strange, looking up at the face revealed in the shaft of silver light, much as a field mouse, in the iron grip of merciless talons, might stare into the ancient eyes of infinity an instant before the curved beak did its cruel work.

The face he saw in the moonlight was his own. Every feature, every detail, was the same. He tried to speak, to cry out, but found himself unable to utter a sound or make even the slightest movement; the eerie vision of his own countenance leering down at him seemed to drain him of all willpower, of his very faith in his own existence.

The intruder sneered. "Hah, it's true then," he said in a cracked whisper. "Just as my lady foretold!" He gave a hoarse laugh. "One glimpse of my face and you're helpless as a baby. What do you make of that, young sir?" The mocking laugh came again. "How think you now, what am I? An apparition? Some jealous twin? Your own conscience bothering you, perhaps? I'll leave it for you to work out."

He took his knife away from Darin's throat, but brought his face down closer.

"Don't you worry, my pretty lad," he hissed. "I'm real enough and I'm here to work your ruin! When I have done what I must do, I'll be back to amuse myself with you some more!" Now he leaned back. "The sins of the father will be visited upon the son," he pronounced in a hollow voice. He jumped up, stood for a moment by the bedside and then he was gone.

After a few seconds, Darin found himself able to move again. He sat up and peered about him, then got up and walked around the room. The door stood ajar, but he could not remember whether he had closed it before going to bed or not. Other than that, he could discover nothing to suggest there really had been an intruder in his bedchamber. His mind recoiled from the idea that any real person could resemble him so absolutely. It must have been a phantom, or just a part of his dream.

He stood by the window looking out over the moonlit forest and put his hand to his throat. The knife had felt real enough, though. If only Broderic were here. But no—despite being the author of several hopelessly romantic ballads, Broderic prided himself on his clear-sightedness and had little time for old wives' tales and superstitions. Darin suspected that his friend's impatience with all stories of supernatural encounters or magic in any form was in fact rooted in a deep-seated fear of such things. He would be of no help to him now. Nor was he about to destroy his mother's newfound happiness with Karman by frightening her with his story. Had she herself not once told him about the old belief that when a man sees his own likeness walking to meet him he is certain to die soon after?

He dressed himself quickly in doublet and breeches, groped his way along the corridor and stole out of the little postern at the end of the wing. The moon hung low in the western sky, giving him enough light to find his way to the stables. He would start east right away. Dart would have no problem with the familiar part of the forest if they went carefully and daylight would come in an hour or so.

There was only one person he could think of who might possibly be able to shed any light on this uncanny business—Stella.

### Chapter 17

Dart appeared to share his master's sense of urgency. He knew the forest well, and took the path at a good pace, even though Darin could see almost nothing of what lay before them. By the time daylight started showing through the trees, they had put a considerable distance between themselves and the castle.

Darin strained his eyes to peer up ahead, his nerves still taut as bowstrings after his harrowing experience. All at once, even before he was conscious of what he had seen, he stopped Dart in his tracks and silenced him with a gentle hand on his neck. Sixty yards further down the path lay a small clearing; in the centre, an armed man stood with his back to him, adjusting the saddle-straps of a big grey war-horse.

In his present state of uneasiness, Darin had no wish to meet anyone, and certainly not before he had ascertained what manner of man he might have to deal with. Swiftly and soundlessly, he dismounted. He led Dart into the trees and tethered him there, out of sight of the path. Then he crept forward and crouched behind a ragged holly bush where he had a partial view of the clearing. In addition to the man he had just seen, two others were lying on the ground, apparently asleep. Their horses stood nearby. All three men were obviously knights.

The first man turned round. Darin recognized him at once; it was Sir Agravain.

"Come on, wake up, you two!" said Agravain. "We must be on our way if we want to catch that young blackguard."

Darin was glad he had kept out of sight. Ever since he been at court, he had done his best to avoid Sir Agravain. He had wanted to tell the king all about the arrogant knight's treatment of his mother, but his father had instructed him to say nothing. For now, it was a personal matter. Karman would speak with Agravain and keep a watchful eye on him. He would only involve Arthur if he saw evidence that Sir Agravain harboured treacherous intentions against the realm—as he half suspected to be the case.

The two other knights were now awake. One of them sat up. It was Sir Gareth, a good and generous man, much loved by Arthur and all his fellowship.

"Easy, Agravain!" grumbled Gareth. "And don't speak about young Darin that way! If Arthur had wanted him arrested like a criminal, he wouldn't have chosen us for the job. We are to approach him courteously and tell him the King requires his presence. I have no doubt he will come with us readily enough. I cannot believe him to be guilty of any underhand business!"

The third knight, meanwhile, had got up and gone over to the horses. "No, cousin, I don't think it's likely, either," he said.

Behind his holly bush, Darin listened to all this, incredulous. Three important knights had been sent for him, and he was suspected of some dishonourable crime! His first instinct was to jump out of his hiding-place, protesting his innocence, but the presence of Sir Agravain restrained him.

"Hah, that may well be!" barked Agravain. "But that doesn't change the fact that we should be on our way. Guilty or not, we must waste no more time bringing him to trial."

Darin watched as the three knights mounted their steeds. In due course, he would present himself at court, he decided; not under guard, but of his own free will, to face anyone who dared challenge his honour. First, however, he must speak with Stella. Whatever it was these knights had been talking about, it seemed somehow to be part of the same nightmare as last night's eerie visitation. Now more than ever he needed the counsel of someone who had knowledge of things beyond the world of ordinary human affairs.

When the riders were out of earshot at last, he ran back to where Dart was waiting patiently. "Come on, boy," he urged. "We must get to the stream as fast as we can."

By now the sun was up. The stream was still a long ride away, but they had started out very early. If they could keep up a steady canter, galloping whenever the track allowed it, Darin calculated they could be there by midday.

As he rode on, mulling over the disturbing events of the last few hours, his anxiety was mixed with a certain sense of excitement at the thought of maybe seeing the golden-haired damsel once more. Would she be there? Would she show herself? He felt sure that one glance from those clear blue eyes would make him strong enough to face whatever the world might have in store for him.

It was indeed about midday when they emerged from the trees and looked down the grassy slope at the rushing stream below. Darin had passed this place not long before on his way from Camelot to visit his parents, but the scene still had the power to stir up a host of mingled emotions and memories. He had looked into the rock-pool again, but had seen nothing but his own, anxious face staring up at him. He still had no clear understanding of what had happened to him the day he killed the deer and saw that hideous reflection. Broderic was sure it had all been the work of 'that faerie creature,' but Darin did not want to believe him.

He dismounted and led Dart down to the stream, where they both refreshed themselves. He looked around, up and down the narrow valley and along the edge of the forest at either side of it.

"Stella!" he shouted. "Stella! Are you there?"

His voice came echoing back at him from the trees. The stream was chattering noisily, but the sound of it was not right inside his head, as it had been on that strange day. He could clearly hear birds singing somewhere, but he could see no sign of life.

"Stella! Stella!" Again, his voice rolled back to him. "Please, I must speak with you. If you are there, show yourself!"

Once more, he scanned the trees and the length of the rocky stream. A gleam at the edge of the forest caught his eye. What had seemed like a ray of sunshine, caught and fragmented by the leafy branches, was suddenly transformed into long tresses of golden curls; a glimmer of white moved quickly through the shadows, revealing itself as a yellow-trimmed gown. Stella appeared at the top of the rise on the other side of the stream.

She gazed down at him in silence as he stood there, heart beating.

### Chapter 18

After regarding him for a few moments, Stella beckoned Darin to join her. Leading his horse by the bridle, he crossed the stream and climbed the grassy bank to where the faerie girl was waiting for him at the edge of the forest. She turned without speaking and started walking back into the trees. Still leading Dart, Darin followed her to a tiny glade in the middle of which lay the trunk of a fallen oak tree, whose branches had long since been taken, no doubt to make a cheerful blaze in some cottager's hearth during the winter months.

Stella settled herself on the fallen tree and with a graceful gesture invited Darin to sit beside her. At last, she broke the silence.

"Well, what's troubling you?"

Darin looked at her in some dismay. There was no warmth or eagerness in her voice and her wide blue eyes gave nothing away as they gazed steadily into his own. If anything, all he could detect in them was the faintest shadow of sadness. It was all so much in contrast with his own emotion at being in the presence of the damsel he had dreamed about day and night that he was unable to speak.

"Well?" she asked again.

The clearing was narrow and the trees crowded around them, so that the direct rays of the sun fell only upon the mossy oak on which they sat; bright flakes of light sprinkled down by the gently swaying boughs above danced across the forest floor. Looking up, Darin was dazzled by momentary beams, as a branch tossed here or there, leaves glowing, translucent green gold. No queen or princess in her regal palace, he thought, splendidly arrayed in silks and glittering gems, was ever more glorious than this barefoot faerie damsel in her woodland hall.

Making an effort to control himself, he began. The words tumbled over each other as he recounted the story of his nocturnal visitor and the conversation he had overheard on his way from the castle.

"I can make nothing of it," he finished. "I'm convinced that some unnatural force is at work here, so I came to you. I could think of no one else who might have any understanding of such things."

Stella stared at him; her brow wrinkled ever so slightly. In the glade, the babble of the stream they had left behind was a mere whisper, scarcely distinguishable from the rustling of leaves overhead, but it seemed to grow louder as he looked into those hypnotic eyes. He averted his gaze.

"And did your visitor say anything?" she asked at last.

"As I told you, he taunted me with my weakness and loss of will. I cannot remember his exact words."

"Think. Try to remember. Was there nothing else?"

Darin put his mind back to the scene in his bedchamber on the previous night. "Yes, he said something about the sins of the father being visited upon the son. Something like that."

For the first time, he saw a flicker of interest in Stella's eyes. "Karman?" she asked quickly. "He spoke of your father?"

Darin nodded. Stella's frown deepened and she sat in thought. "If this is about Sir Karman," she said finally, "then Morgan the Enchantress is behind it. I feared she would not let him go so easily."

"But . . . how?"

"She is a powerful necromancer. She could easily have enlisted the help of some poor, weak-willed spirit, chained to the earth by unfinished business. It's not beyond her art to call a lost soul like that from beyond the grave and give it some kind of body. With your appearance."

"To take revenge on me for freeing my father? By bringing me into disrepute?"

"Yes." Stella frowned again. "I cannot think that will be enough for her, however. I am sure she has more trouble in mind."

Her sudden air of involvement was heartening. "The question is, then, how can we stop Morgan and this double of mine? And what must I do about the knights who are looking for me?"

"You must not let yourself be apprehended yet." Stella spoke now with less hesitation. "We must first see what Morgan's plans are. Go home and arm yourself, then come back here to me. Make sure you are not seen!"

"And if I should meet with this phantom knight—if I'm helpless at the sight of him again? Have you no magic to send him back to wherever Morgan found him?"

Stella sighed. "Although I am of the faerie race, I have no magic, as you call it. Our knowledge and understanding of the natural world goes beyond yours, of course, but we are not sorcerers or necromancers. However, though I may have no power over such spirits, the way they appear to us is only a question of light—and light can be manipulated. Were I able to show you the true face of your enemy, you would be free to act."

"Can such a creature be stopped?"

"If you destroy the body it has been conjured into, the spirit will return to the world of shadows. To do that, you must cut off its head."

Darin stared at her for a moment and jumped to his feet. "Very well. I'll go home at once. There will be a moon tonight. I can be back here armed by morning."

"Good. In the meantime, I shall go and see my brother. He promised to help me find something which might give me power over Morgan."

"Really? What's that?"

Stella shrugged. "I don't know why, but she is desperately searching for a missing axe."

Darin stiffened. It had to be the same. "Not the Green Knight's axe?"

Her lips parted in surprise. "How did you know?"

"I have sworn to find it. It was my father's quest. He believed that one day it might save Camelot."

"Then let's hope my brother has heard something."

Stella walked with Darin as he led Dart out of the trees and onto the hillside overlooking the stream. "Farewell," she said. "Be careful."

At first, as he rode back through the forest, he drew courage from Stella's obvious concern. But gradually he began to grow uneasy. His feelings about her had undergone a subtle change since he had finally seen her again. She had seemed distant at first; only after he mentioned his father did she show any interest in his story.

Why had she helped him free Karman from Morgan's spell in the first place? He remembered, as he had done countless times before, her laughing eyes as she sat close to him on his horse; he remembered her voice in the forest night, as she told him of distant faerie worlds. For the first time in his life, he felt the cruel stab of jealousy. She was more interested in his father than she was in him! And what was that she had said just now? Appearance is a question of light and can be manipulated? Was Broderic right in thinking she had tricked him so cruelly by the rock pool that day? Ah, but he had probably deserved it.

He urged Dart onwards. Enough. Whatever reasons she may have, she wants to help. Just think about what has to be done; and don't forget there are three knights out looking for you.

### Chapter 19

It was approaching twilight when Darin came to the last bend in the forest path near the castle. He dismounted and tethered Dart to a tree. "Stay here, boy," he whispered. Treading softly, he moved to the edge of the forest to spy out the land.

The three big warhorses belonging to the knights he had seen earlier stood just outside the castle gates. As he watched, a stable lad came out and led one of them in; a voice from the castle somewhere barked out some sort of command. It was clear that Agravain and his companions intended to spend the night there.

When all three horses had been taken inside, Darin crept from his place of concealment and ran across the open space to the castle walls. There was no one around, so he slipped in through the gate, made his way to the west wing and quietly let himself in by the little postern.

Once inside, Darin stood motionless for a moment in the darkened corridor, listening for any sound that might help him judge the situation. From the great hall came the distant murmur of men's voices. Something clattered in the kitchens.

Quickly tiptoeing in the other direction, he soon came to his own chamber. He always kept his sword there, close to the bed, a habit that had remained with him since the night he had spent in the house of the blind old man; but his shield, along with the rest of his arms, was in the armoury at the other side of the main hall. He picked up his sword and sword-belt and stole back down the corridor. He was going to have to be patient and wait until everyone was asleep before he could go through the hall to the armoury.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps. The flickering light of a taper appeared at the end of the corridor and advanced towards him. As it drew nearer, he recognized the plump figure of Morag, a servant woman. She bore a lighted taper in one hand and in the other a pitcher, which she was no doubt bringing to Darin's room as she did each evening. She looked startled for a moment as Darin stepped up closer to her.

"Master Darin! I didn't know you were back yet. I was bringing this in case you should turn up later."

Darin put his finger to his lips. "Sshh—I don't want those knights knowing I'm here."

"Very well, sir," she whispered back. "I can't say I like them much myself. Two of them are courteous enough—but the other has been ordering us all about ever since he got here."

"That sounds like Sir Agravain."

"Aye, master, I think I heard that name." Morag looked at him curiously. "But why are you so anxious to avoid them, sir?"

"Don't ask me to explain, Morag, please! Just trust me. I need my shield and armour. How long do you think I'll have to wait before the three knights are asleep and I can get to the armoury without being seen?"

"I can't rightly say, master Darin. It may be quite some time. They are arguing about something and that Agravain is the only one drinking wine."

Darin thought for a moment. "Where is my mother? Is she in her chamber?"

Bewilderment showed all over Morag's matronly face. "I'm sure I don't know, sir. I haven't set eyes on her since she left with you this morning!"

Now it was Darin's turn to be bewildered. "What do you mean, left with me?"

"Why, didn't I see you talking together down by the old cottage when I looked out from my casement early? Then you both rode off on that new black horse of yours."

Darin gaped at her. "New black horse? I don't have a black horse—and I haven't seen my mother at all today." An awful realization dawned on him. "Quickly, there's no time to lose! Can you fetch me any sort of armour without them seeing you?"

"I'll try, master Darin."

Darin watched the light of the taper recede as Morag scuttled off down the corridor. He resigned himself to waiting. The murmur of voices from the hall continued, occasionally swelling briefly. That must be Agravain, he thought, in a bad temper as usual. At last, a glimmer of light appeared; he heard Morag puffing as she hurried towards him. Over her arm, she had what looked like some blankets.

"Oh, master Darin!" she exclaimed in a breathless whisper. "I swear that bad-tempered knight was looking at me suspiciously as I went through the hall. I didn't dare come back carrying a helmet or shield, for fear of what he might ask me. I'm sure I would have given something away." She handed Darin the taper and lifted the blanket away from the bundle over her arm. "But I did manage to bring this. Heavens, young sir, how heavy it is. I'm sure I don't know how you can prance around in these things the way you do."

Darin was relieved at the sight of his mail hauberk. He took it from her and discovered she had brought a coif as well, also of finely meshed chain-mail. He handed back the taper. "Well done. This will do nicely."

He put on the hauberk and slipped the coif over his head. The steel links were cool on his brow, around the sides of his face and under his chin; they covered his neck and made a double layer of mail where they spread over the shoulders of his hauberk. A chain-mail hood like this would not afford as much protection as a helmet, of course, but it had the advantage of restricting his vision less and allowing him to move more freely.

"You see, Morag," he whispered, "it's not so heavy when you are wearing it as it is draped over one arm. Now tell me, which way did my mother go this morning?"

"Sir, you . . ." she broke off, puzzled. "I mean, Lady Etaine and—well, they rode along the track by the side of the forest, northwards, master Darin."

"Thank you. Now you had better go about your business as usual. Say nothing to anyone, mind!"

"No, sir." Morag wrinkled up her face again. "But I don't understand. Where did my lady go, and who was she with, if it wasn't you?"

"I can't really explain," said Darin. "But those knights through there are after the wrong man."

He buckled on his sword belt as he watched the elderly servant waddle back in the direction of the great hall and then stepped quietly into the night. Once outside, he closed his eyes and forced himself to wait until he had counted up to ten; when he opened them again, they quickly accustomed themselves to the dark. The moon, being past the full, would not be rising for a while, but it would be big enough to give plenty of light when it did. As he approached the forest, he peered up the track running alongside the trees to his left. It was a well-trodden path—he knew from experience it would shine in the moonlight, making riding easy.

Entering the forest, he found Dart waiting where he had left him. The horse snorted a soft greeting as he took the bridle in his hand, then suddenly grew uneasy and reared up. At that moment, a gleam of light reflected from the polished saddlebow. Darin spun around.

Several dim figures were approaching out of the darkness. One of them held aloft a burning torch. Darin saw grim faces, grotesque in the lurid, flickering light: gaunt cheekbones, the white of an eye, men of all ages in the rough-spun clothing of farm workers. Someone seized his arms from behind. He strained to free himself, but two strong, heavyset men were holding him fast while a third wrestled with Dart's bridle.

The man with the torch came up closer.

"Yes, that's him, all right!"

### Chapter 20

The two men who had hold of Darin pushed him forward while the man with the torch led the way. The rest of them followed close behind with the one leading Dart bringing up the rear. Darin struggled and demanded an explanation, but nobody answered him. They left the path and took a narrow track through the trees.

At length they came to a clearing, in the centre of which smouldered the remains of a small fire. There were signs that food had been roasted there earlier. Two men lying beside the fire rose to their feet; Darin reckoned there must have been about dozen of them all told. The leader flung his torch onto the embers of the fire and flames sprang up. In their flickering glow, Darin could see two more figures, apparently asleep under a blanket at the edge of the glade.

"Tie him to that tree and take his sword," ordered the wiry, balding man who had been carrying the torch.

Two ropes were produced from somewhere. Darin's arms were pulled around the tree behind him and his wrists bound together, then a cord was looped round his ankles and likewise tied to the trunk. One of the heavyset men who had been holding him took his sword out of its sheath, carried it across the clearing to where Dart was tethered and threw it on the ground. Then he joined the others, sitting cross-legged around the fire.

Darin could now see them all more clearly. There were eleven of them, ranging from a couple of youths his own age to hardened men with grizzled beards. All of them had the clothes and tanned faces of field workers. He had given up protesting, as no one seemed to pay him any attention; instead, he listened closely to their conversation.

"You're quite sure it's Lord Karman's son?" The speaker was the man who had just taken the sword.

"Aye, it's him all right. I've seen him riding with his father often enough," replied the wiry man.

"He does look very like the man I saw—but I never really thought it could be Darin of the Western Forest. Anyone can carry a shield with an oak tree on it."

"Well, it's him," said the wiry man. "Tomorrow we'll take him to the castle, and tell his father what he's been up to."

"Don't be a fool, Lachlyn!" broke in a tall, surly looking fellow with a scar on his forehead. "A great lord like that Karman isn't going to listen to the likes of us. He'll pat his precious son on the back and send us packing. These people look after their own. I'm all for stringing the brat up here and now. There's no shortage of trees."

Two or three of the men grunted their assent at this.

Until now, Darin's fears had mostly been for his mother, alone somewhere with her sinister kidnapper; but now his alarm deepened. He must get away from here and find Etaine before it was too late. "Gentlemen, listen to me, I beg you! I do not know what wrongs have been committed against you, but I am innocent. There's an impostor out there riding around in my armour. I've seen him myself."

Eleven faces in the glow of the fire turned in his direction. The man who had taken his sword got to his feet and came over to him. "Are you really the son of Lord Karman?" he asked, looking him in the face.

"I am Sir Darin of the Western Forest, made knight by the King himself! And you said it yourself—anyone can ride out carrying another man's shield."

Some of the others had gathered round. "Don't listen to him, Gwyllym!" said the one with the scarred forehead.

"But I saw your face quite clearly, if only for a moment," Gwyllym said. He turned to his companions. "My wife got a much better look at him when he was threatening her and my father, before I arrived on the scene. We'll wait until she sees him before deciding what to do next."

"What's that you're saying?" said a sleepy voice from the edge of the clearing.

"We've got the young knight we think did it, my love," Gwyllym answered. "Come and see for yourself."

One of the two sleepers Darin had noticed earlier—a woman—pushed aside her blanket and draped it over the person lying by her side. She got up and joined Gwyllym. She was plump and pretty-faced. Lachlyn held the torch high while she scrutinized the captive. "Yes, that's him. He may look young and handsome now, but I swear there was an evil glint in his eye when he jeered at your father and me after setting fire to the sheds. And the things he said to us!" She shuddered and pressed herself up closer to her husband. Gwyllym put his arm around her waist.

The man with the scar on his forehead looked around the company. "You see—she recognizes him. So will Carrick's wife and daughters, if they ever find the courage to come out of that room they've locked themselves in!" He turned to Darin and leered at him. "It's bad enough torching people's property, but anyone who threatens our women winds up at the end of a rope."

There was a murmur of assent. Darin's heart sank.

"What's all this noise about?" asked a peevish voice. It was the second person who had been asleep under the blankets, an old man. He got up and walked unsteadily towards the others.

"Mind the fire, Father," said Gwyllym.

"Don't fuss!" replied the old man. "I can tell where the fire is."

With a start, Darin recognized the blind man he had helped against the robbers the day before the tournament, more than a year ago. "Greetings, sir," he said. "The last time we met, you may remember, we had a merry time of it together rounding up your pig."

The old man's jaw dropped. "Young sir! Are you with us?" A broad smile spread across his face and he turned his blind eyes towards Gwyllym and the rest. "This is the young fellow who helped me the last time I was bothered by ruffians. I'll warrant he's here to help again."

"But Father, this is the man who burnt our sheds and drove off the animals," said Gwyllym's wife.

"Nonsense!"

"But I saw him as clear as I see him now"

"I saw him too, Father," Gwyllym said. "'Twas only a glance, but this is the same face, unless my eyes deceive me."

"Of course your eyes deceive you! You folks—your eyes are always deceiving you. Just think of all the things Carrick claims to have seen when he's drunk too much mead."

Some of the farmers gave a chuckle at this. The old man turned to face them.

"No," he said. "I don't trust your eyes half as much as I trust my own ears. I never forget a voice, you all know that. You can try disguising the way you speak, but it will never fool me." He jerked a thumb in Darin's direction. "This young man is not the blackguard who bothered us that day—and that's all there is to it."

### Chapter 21

Everyone looked at Darin.

"What I've been trying to tell you is the truth," he said. "There really is an impostor out there, my exact double in every way. My friend Stella thinks it is all the work of an enchantress who wants to hurt my family. The worst thing is he's kidnapped my mother. Don't you see, I must ride after them, there's no time to lose!"

"Who is Stella?" asked Lachlyn.

Darin hesitated. "She helped me once. She is of the faerie race and knows about these things."

The man with the scarred head snorted. "Faeries! Enchantresses!" He looked at Gwyllym. "He's lying. As for your father, he's mistaken."

This time, however, there was no response from his erstwhile supporters. They all looked enquiringly at Gwyllym and Lachlyn; the broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms of the one and the decisive, commanding voice of the other seemed to lend the pair some authority.

"What do you think, Lachlyn?" asked Gwyllym. "I have never known my father be wrong before. I think I would sooner believe in enchantresses than believe he's got it wrong this time."

Lachlyn looked into Darin's eyes for a second. "Untie him."

Within seconds, Darin felt his bonds loosened. He stepped forward, shaking his arms to get the feeling back in them. Gwyllym, meanwhile, was running across the clearing. He came back leading Dart by the bridle and handed over Darin's sword.

Darin sheathed it and looked round the faces in the flickering torchlight. "Thank you for trusting me! When all this is over, I will make sure my father does all he can to make up for any harm this villain may have done to you or your property."

He led Dart back down the narrow track. Once on the path, Darin mounted and rode out of the forest, then took the way to the north. The moon was up now; although it had not yet cleared the trees, it made visibility considerably better. The smooth, trodden earth of the path ahead reflected enough of its diffused light to shine out against the dark ground and Dart galloped fearlessly on. As usual, he was completely attuned to his master's mood.

By the time the huge gibbous moon had emerged from the forest to sail the empty skies above them, they had covered quite some distance. On their right, the trees flashed by in the silver-blue light as they raced along the shining ribbon laid out before Dart's drumming hooves. Gradually, the great orb in the night sky turned a golden yellow, its radiance became less intense; as daybreak approached, nothing was left but a bone-white ghost hanging over the western horizon.

The sun was well up when Darin reined his horse to a stop. The path they had been following made an abrupt turn to the right into the pinewoods that had gradually replaced the oak forest; directly ahead was a steep mountainous slope. It seemed unlikely that two riders on one horse would have ventured up it, or through the tangled thorns and scrub to the left, so he guided Dart into the forest track and urged him forward again.

Before too long they came to a pine that was taller than the rest, with more space around it. Something green was lying on the needles carpeting the ground beneath. Darin got down and went closer. It was a scarf—he recognized it as one his mother often wore.

"Come on, Dart, we're on the right track," he whispered and swung himself back up into the saddle.

The path had grown wider and was straight for the most part, with the result that Darin often had an unobstructed view for some distance in front of him, except when the bright sunlight dazzled his eyes. Since they were riding due east this happened quite frequently, but once the sun had climbed a little higher he had less trouble keeping a careful watch ahead as Dart galloped on.

Just as a new stretch of path opened up before him, he caught a glimpse of something in the distance: the glint of sun on steel, a black horse. He pulled up abruptly and then let Dart go on at a gentle walk, keeping close in to the trees on his right hand side. Straining his eyes, Darin was better able to make out the figures ahead of him, just before they disappeared round a gentle bend in the track. An armed man on foot was leading a horse; that flash must have been the sun reflecting on the shield slung over his back. What looked like a green bundle of some sort lay across the saddle. With a shock, Darin realized what it was.

He urged Dart forward and they raced down the path. As they came around the curve, he saw that the little group before him had come to a halt. No longer slung rudely over the horse's back, his mother was now standing with her arms raised. Her hands were bound together and tied fast to the saddlebow.

At the sound of Dart's galloping hooves, the black horse threw back its head in alarm. Darin realized that, should it bolt, his mother would be in grave danger. He also realized that he could not swing his sword at the kidnapper, who was now attempting to scramble into his saddle, so long as she was standing so close beside him. He leapt down to the ground, shooing Dart off towards the trees, and ran the few remaining yards between him and the pair by the horse.

"Mother," he cried, "are you all right?"

At the sound of his voice, the man at his mother's side, who until now had had his back towards Darin, paused in his efforts to mount and turned to face him. Darin felt his skin creep: there again was his own face, leering at him triumphantly. His scalp prickled as he stared into blank eyes that were at once his own and another's. He heard the hated, cracked voice he remembered from his bedchamber.

"Ah, it's only you, the dutiful son!"

Darin's feet seemed to take root in the ground; a rushing sound filled his head and he felt himself drawn headlong into the vortex of that compelling gaze. He became intensely aware of another soul with his own in some dark place. He was buffeted by waves of hatred emanating from it, but he could sense at the same time a deeper yearning, as of some lost being, helpless and ignorant, longing for release. All at once, he saw again the eyes of the young deer he had slain on the hillside. The light of absolution radiated from them and he realized suddenly the kinship of all living creatures. At that moment, he knew that he and this spirit in the darkness with him were far more deeply alike, as were all men, than any trick resemblance of face or form might make them seem.

Etaine's voice was crying out his name; he watched as his double drew his sword and reached out to pluck the mail coif from his head.

"Well, sonny boy," rasped the phantom, raising his sword. "This is it."

Darin heard his mother scream.

### Chapter 22

Stella was sitting on her rock by the stream, waiting for Darin to return. The sun rose and started its daily ascent of the heavens, but still he did not come. She began to grow restless.

The water chattered on. So often, it seemed to give voice to her thoughts; now it was calling her to follow the course of the stream back up to the tarn from which it flowed. She rose and commenced her light-footed way uphill. Before long, the path beside the stream grew steeper. With every step, she climbed higher and higher above the forest and out onto the open mountainside.

Over the centuries, this narrow mountain torrent had become a part of her soul. The Elders had been right: some kind of attachment was still necessary. When she and her brethren had first come to this world after their own had been destroyed by a fiery comet, they were advised to choose some place in it to call their own, something to watch over down the ages. Even among her own generation, the final generation of faerie, nostalgia for the home planet still burned strong, so they sought out the things they had missed most during the vast stretch of time their ships had taken to cross the galaxies—forests, lakes, rivers and springs. She had chosen this stream and it pleased her greatly that, although its waters were never the same from second to second and the creatures that lived beside it were renewed almost as quickly, it had become the one constant concern running through her life.

This is what is left to us of love, she thought, now that we no longer need each other. For it was true: since her people had achieved near immortality, they relied on each other for less and less. Oberon was not alone in believing the faerie race to be ready for the final step. Now there was no longer any need for them to reproduce or to provide sustenance for themselves, the usefulness of community was gone, and each individual was free to wander undisturbed, meditating on the ultimate riddle.

What had Oberon said? He had spoken of an equation. Solve it, and the necessity of being is cancelled. He must expect his meditations to lead him ultimately to a state somehow prior to existence itself. Everything—the galaxies we traversed, the worlds we have inhabited—would be shown to be illusion. We shall simply cease to exist—indeed, we shall never have been.

Stella had almost reached the little tarn. It lay below her in a dip in the mountain, just beneath the final slope to the summit. As always, she felt her thoughts and senses growing sharper the nearer she approached the birthplace of her stream.

No, she told herself, we have lessons to learn from the world we find ourselves in. It is not our destiny to meditate ourselves into nothingness, one by one. The time is approaching when we must come together again to decide our fate—and mine is bound up with Karman's and with that of his son who has come to me for help against a common enemy.

Quickly and easily, she climbed the last slope to the summit of the hill, one of the foothills of the great mountain range that lay ahead of her. From here, she commanded a view of the road that ran through the pine forest at the foot of the mountains, coming from the west on her right, crossing over the pass between the hill she stood on and the main body of the range and then continuing east on her left. Eventually, she knew, the road would pass the entrance to the rocky ravine and the cavern where Karman had been imprisoned. She wondered if Morgan was there now and what she was plotting. Should she go there and confront her, or should she return downstream to see if Darin had come back after all?

As she stood there debating with herself, her eye was caught by a flash of light coming from the road to her right. On a stretch of path that was clearly visible to her through the pines, she could make out two human figures, a horse and the shine of armour. Even at that distance, to her clear-sighted faerie eyes, the armed man looked very like Darin. The person with him, who was lying slumped over the saddle almost as if unconscious, was a woman in a long green gown. Stella's interest quickened; Darin's strange story had convinced her that she was about to be drawn into Karman's life once more.

Although she had long ago renounced the desire to hold the knight she had fallen in love with by the stream, he was always in her thoughts and in her heart. She had witnessed that same desire for possession in Morgan and had been repelled by it. She had also witnessed with what steadfastness Karman had remained true to his love, even when tempted with beauty that would have conquered most men. Here was a reality that went far beyond the names and forms of love, a reality Stella's people had lost touch with long ago.

Looking down on the tiny figures below her, she silently renewed her commitment to Karman and to those he loved. Her reward was a suddenly sharpened awareness of the beauty that surrounded her. She started down the tree-covered hillside towards the road, rapturously breathing in the sharp, resinous smell of a pinewood in the morning sun. In the profound stillness, her light footfall on the carpet of dry needles was unexpectedly loud and a brittle pinecone rolling down the slope in front of her sent sudden echoes rattling through the woods. Golden sunlight glowed on the rough, fissured bark of the trees and flooded her soul. No, the transcendence Oberon was seeking was not for her.

Once out of the trees and onto the road at the western end of the pass, Stella stood listening for a moment. There was nothing to hear, but she knew the travellers could not be far away, so she set off down the path. After some minutes, as she was approaching a bend in the road, she heard the sound of galloping hooves and Darin's voice calling out. Another voice, low and indistinct, reached her ears, and she quickened her step. Making herself invisible, she rounded the corner and saw before her a beautiful woman with long auburn hair, standing by a big black horse. A little way down the path stood Darin, petrified. Another man, his double, was about to strike him with his sword.

I used my abilities to trick and torment this young man once, thought Stella, and now I must use them to show him the truth. She raised her arms and held them out before her, framing Darin and his double between outstretched hands. Then she trained the full power of her gaze upon them. Letting her own shield of invisibility drop, she instantly detected the distortions radiating from the body housing the spirit Morgan had conjured from the dead and neutralized them.

### Chapter 23

His mother's scream dragged Darin back from the abyss where he wrestled with the lost soul of his tormentor. As the world resolved itself before his eyes, he saw her finally wrench her wrists free of their bonds and fall to the ground next to the big black horse.

The phantom knight's sword had now reached the highest point in its upward swing. Darin knew his end was upon him, but even so, the mysterious sense of pity for the tortured spirit he had just encountered persisted. He looked again at his mother, that she might be the last thing he would see.

She still lay on the ground, reaching out her hand to him. All at once, where there had been only empty air, Stella was there beside her. Time seemed to stop and Darin's whole being was flooded with wonder and disbelief: the slender girl standing before him with arms outstretched and head erect exuded power the like of which he had never before witnessed. Twin beams of light blazed from her eyes, dazzling him.

When his sight returned, the figure standing in front of him with lifted sword had changed. Gone was the face that had mirrored his own so exactly. Instead, he saw a skull-like head, its thin, cracked lips drawn back from yellowing fangs; the eyes were nothing but dark hollows, a faint green phosphorescence in their depths. Something slithered through the matted, stringy hair that hung limply over the apparition's withered cheeks.

The paralysis that held Darin's limbs in check let go of him on the instant. With a swiftness born of violent revulsion, he drew his sword and swung it with all his might, aiming just above the place where the thin hair fell upon his enemy's armoured shoulders. As he did so, he closed his eyes, to be greeted again by a vision of the terrified deer fleeing before him; he felt the impact once more as his blade bit into flesh.

He opened his eyes in time to see that hideous head spinning in the air, two feet above the phantom's shoulders. Then there came a great roar, like nearby thunder in his ears, and total blackness fell over everything. He heard the big horse rear up, snorting wildly in the darkness.

Daylight returned abruptly. The black horse, white froth foaming from its mouth, plunged into the forest. A great wind blew up, forcing Darin to the ground, where he lay flat on his face. Within moments, it had risen to a shrieking crescendo, filling the air with swirling dust and pine needles and lashing the trees until they groaned and cracked.

When the gale died down, he lifted his head and looked about him. Broken branches strewed the ground; twisted roots showed white where the violence of the storm had torn them almost out of the earth. Stella was kneeling not far away, covering her eyes with her hands; Etaine too was now on her knees. Of the phantom knight there was no sign, only the dull sheen of his steel hauberk where it lay crumpled on the ground. He stood up unsteadily, staggered over to his mother and knelt before her. Looking sorrowfully at her bleeding wrists, he took her hands in his, kissed them gently and raised his eyes to hers. They fell sobbing into each other's arms.

Something warm was nuzzling at Darin's ear. He looked up; it was Dart. He smiled at his mother and she smiled back at him. Their tears were over.

"I think he wants us all to go home!" he said.

Etaine laughed and then looked quizzically at her son. "Did you know about this double of yours?"

"He paid me a visit the night before last. I don't know what crimes he has committed, but people are blaming me for them. Stella thinks it's all the work of Morgan the Enchantress, angry at losing my father."

"Ah, yes. Stella!"

They stood up and looked around. There was no sign of the faerie damsel. They called out, but there was no answer.

"I knew who she was straight away," Etaine said. "Guinevere described her to me in great detail. She told me how she charmed Arthur out of his foul temper. I'm not surprised—she certainly is very beautiful, isn't she?"

Darin looked at his feet and mumbled.

"Oh, son! Broderic said he was worried you were making yourself unhappy over her. Come on, you can tell me."

Darin sighed. "I've been a fool. Did you see her standing there, with the light blazing out of her eyes? I would always be half-afraid of a creature like that."

The phantom knight's silver shield was still leaning against a tree beside the path. Darin picked it up and slung it over his shoulder. "This will serve as evidence when we tell our story," he said. "There is only one other like it and it's still in the armoury. Now, let's go home and face Agravain. Maybe father is back."

He mounted Dart and helped his mother up to sit sidesaddle behind him. They rode back down the track together in silence until they had emerged from the pinewoods and started on the path south that would take them home.

"There is a damsel at Camelot in whose company I take a great deal of pleasure," Darin said. "I think she cares for me. I must confess I look forward to seeing her again."

"You mean Shayla"

Darin arched his brows in surprise, but only for a moment. "Of course—Broderic again!"

"He seems to think the two of you were made for each other."

Darin laughed. "Maybe he's right. But I'm young, Mother. I intend to take my time finding out!"

They rode on, silent again. Eventually, the last pines on their left were gone and the afternoon sun poured its glory down upon the familiar oaks of the Western Forest.

"While I was standing there helpless in face of that strange apparition, whoever or whatever it was, everything suddenly changed for me," Darin said after a while. "Somehow I realized we all are a part of each other. I acted out of horror at what I saw when I struck the blow, but I couldn't have done it if I didn't think I was helping some lost spirit on its way to redemption."

There was no reply. Darin turned and looked over his shoulder at his mother. Her brow was furrowed and her grey eyes seemed troubled as they met his. She dropped her gaze. "That lost spirit was Crevan's," she said.

Darin reeled in his saddle. He brought Dart to a standstill. "How can you be sure?"

"He used an old pet name he had for me. Butterfly." Etaine shuddered. "I never could stand him calling me that, even when we were young."

"That traitor again! How he must hate us! Morgan couldn't have chosen a better ally."

"He was taking me to her, he said. She was going to barter with your father. My freedom in exchange for his."

Darin clenched his fists. "The villain! He held a knife to my throat and laughed at me."

"He never forgave me for choosing your father instead of him. But son, I shouldn't have told you all this. Promise you will say nothing to your father."

"Why?"

"He will blame himself." Etaine sighed. "When he came home to us, it took me some time to stop him feeling guilty for the way in which he slew Crevan. He was forced to strike at him from behind."

"He executed a traitor! It was his duty. But no, I won't tell him who the phantom really was."

Darin felt his mother's hand on his shoulder. "Look," she said. "There's your father now!"

On the path up ahead, Karman was riding to meet them, sunlight gleaming on his armour and making bright his gaily-coloured trappings. As soon as he reached them, he leapt to the ground, rushed across and lifted Etaine from Dart's back. He stood holding her tightly for some moments.

"You're safe!" he murmured. He glanced at the shield slung over Darin's shoulder. "So it's true, there really was an impostor! Lachlyn the forester told me you had gone after him."

Darin let his mother tell the story. When it was over, Karman looked at him. "I left your friend Broderic at Lachlyn's cottage not long ago," he said. "He's been badly wounded, but Brogan's herbs have helped him through his fever. Young Brynn is with him too."

"Wounded? How?"

"He wouldn't say. Tomorrow, though, he should be well enough for us to take some men from the castle and bring him home on a litter. He will be better off with us than alone in his lodgings."

"Yes, that would be best," said Etaine. "And now, let's go home."

Karman helped Etaine up onto his horse and swung himself into the saddle behind her. Darin tried to think of Shayla as they rode on, but it was no good—he could not drive the pictures of Crevan out of his mind. He had imagined he was bringing release to some tormented soul when he swung his sword, but now he was not so sure. Perhaps Crevan would never free himself of his hatred—and if Morgan could raise his spirit from the dead once, there was nothing to stop her doing it again. And why had Stella disappeared without saying anything? He must find her.

They were not yet finished with Morgan.

## Part 3: The Axe
### Chapter 24

"Good shot, Brynn!" Darin's shout rang out across the meadow and echoed from the walls of Camelot.

"It wasn't just luck, either," answered Brynn, letting his bow-arm drop and regarding the target with satisfaction. "I've been getting steadily closer to the mark all morning!" He ran a hand through his mop of red hair. "When Broderic hears about this, he'll make me his squire right away."

"Oh, come on, Brynn, you know he can't do that yet. In two years time he'll be lord of the castle and all the lands his uncle is holding in trust for him. Then he can take you on. Be patient. You are only twelve, after all."

"And you were only fourteen when King Arthur made you a knight. You never even had any training as a squire."

Darin laughed. "The king got a bit carried away that day, that's all. He was so overjoyed at seeing my father again."

Brynn ran over to the target to gather up their arrows. As he was bringing them back, he caught sight of his sister hurrying across the meadow in their direction; she was wearing a pale green gown over a yellow kirtle and her hair was ablaze in the rich autumn sunlight. "Here comes Shayla—she probably wants to shoot a few arrows to show she's as good as we are."

Darin turned quickly; Brynn could read the eagerness in his eyes.

"She has no bow with her," Darin said. "And she would never turn up for archery practice wearing those sleeves."

Shayla waved excitedly. Darin and Brynn started out to meet her.

"Darin!" she cried as they drew closer. "Broderic wants to see you right away! He says it can't wait."

"What's the rush?"

Shayla was out of breath when she reached them. "I don't rightly know. He's been talking with the King. It seems there's something important the two of you must do. He's waiting for you at his lodgings."

"Let's go then!" said Darin, and the trio set off towards the city gates.

"Shayla, you must come riding with me in the forest later," Darin said. "The autumn leaves are so beautiful. They'll make the perfect background for that lovely copper-coloured head of yours."

Brynn winced at this clumsy compliment. He could never understand how Darin, whom he admired so much in other respects, could be so embarrassingly idiotic when his sister was around.

Darin's words did not seem to embarrass Shayla, however. "Maybe I shall. But what will you do when spring comes along, I wonder? Go looking for a damsel with green hair?"

"Why, no," Darin replied. "The green of your eyes will serve very well."

Brynn groaned. This was getting worse. "There's never been anyone with green hair," he mumbled.

"That's where you're wrong," retorted his sister. "What about the Green Knight?"

Brynn wrinkled his brow. "Oh, him! I heard the story once, about him wanting to chop Sir Gawain's head off. I don't remember it all."

"You must ask Broderic about it sometime," Darin said. "He tells it better than anyone. With a few strains from his harp thrown in for good measure."

Mention of his hero made Brynn impatient to be gone. "I'll meet you at Broderic's, then," he called out, breaking into a run.

He found Broderic pacing up and down his room. Brynn sat down on the settle beside the unlit fire to get his breath back. "Darin's on his way," he said.

"Good." Broderic continued his pacing. Although he was now completely recovered from his wound, he had not yet regained all his customary cheerfulness. Even so, Brynn had never seen him as serious as this.

It was not long before Darin and Shayla appeared at the door, laughing together.

"There you are!" Broderic exclaimed as they entered. "Listen, Darin, I have been talking with the king, and things are getting worse by the minute. Battle is imminent and it seems your old enemy, Morgan the Enchantress, is siding with the rebels!"

Brynn could tell by Shayla's puzzled frown that she was as surprised at this as he was. Darin looked alarmed. "Broderic, you know—"

Broderic held up his hand. "It's too late for secrecy now."

Darin turned to Shayla. "I'm sorry, my love, but the king made all his knights swear to tell nobody. For some time now, it seems, rebel knights and barons have been siding with Sir Mordred against him."

Shayla sat down on the settle next to Brynn. She gripped his hand. "Are we all in danger, then?"

Broderic shrugged. "The situation is serious, certainly. But Arthur will prevail."

"The king called a council of war yesterday," Darin said. "Broderic and I weren't invited—we neither of us have men-at-arms under our command yet."

Broderic slapped him on the back. "Well, King Arthur wants us now, my friend. He's been talking with your father about that axe of yours. Have you made any progress?"

"Not much. Stella was going to ask her brother about it, but I haven't been able to find her. My father thinks it must have been taken out of Logres and that it probably has some kind of magic powers. But that's just speculation."

Brynn suddenly remembered the ancient sailor who used to tell stories back in his old home by the sea. He sat up straight. "Wait a minute. Did you say a magic axe? Maybe I know where it is!"

Everyone looked at him in surprise.

"When father was alive and we still lived in Kingshaven, I used to hang around the harbour listening to the sailors' yarns. There was one story—about a magic axe in the realm of Sultan Al-Din."

"What did they say about it?" asked Darin quickly.

"The sultan used it to try prisoners. Bert's axe or something."

"Bertilak's axe?"

"Something like that." Brynn thought hard. The old sailor, lean and tanned, had held up a stump bound in tarred cloth to show his spellbound audience where his hand had once been. "The axe would know if a man was guilty when he tried to pick it up. It would come alive and punish him, all by itself—chop off his hand, for stealing. It was huge, with a green handle and studded all over with green gems."

Darin smacked himself on the forehead. "The Green Knight's axe—and you've known about it all along. Brynn, that's wonderful!"

"The Green Knight again! Will someone please tell me about him?"

"His name was Bertilak," Broderic explained. "He was ruler of a wild, mountainous land and he was a great enchanter. Normally, he appeared as a jovial lord, as red-haired as you or Shayla, but sometimes he took the form of a gigantic knight, green from head to foot, carrying an enormous battle-axe."

"Was even his hair green?" Brynn asked, glancing at his sister.

"Hair, beard, face, everything."

"Stella is convinced the axe will give us some sort of power over Morgan," Darin said. "Come on, Broderic, let's go find the king."

"Good," Broderic said. "From what your father told him he already realized we might have to cross the sea. He's promised us his royal seal and as much gold as we could need to take ship from Kingshaven."

Brynn jumped to his feet. "Take me with you! I know a lot about ships and the sea—and I've always dreamed of seeing Sultan Al-Din's land."

Broderic's hand was already on the door. He turned. "No, lad. You're too young. We can't be worrying about you the whole time."

"But I know how to use the bow now. Ask Darin!"

"Broderic's right, Brynn," Darin said. "You stay here and look after your sister."

When the two young knights were gone, Brynn and Shayla stared at one another. "I'm going to help them, whether they like it or not," Brynn said. "If you will let me take your palfrey, I'll ride down to Kingshaven right now and get there first. I'll find the best ship for them."

"Will mother let you go, do you think?"

"Yes. Uncle Cuthbert has been asking when I will go down there to visit again. Cousin John and I always have such a good time together. I'll tell her Broderic's going away and this is the perfect opportunity."

"It's a long ride."

"I know the way and I'm old enough to do it alone. The king's highway is safe these days. She knows that."

Shayla bit her fingernail. "After what we've just heard I don't know if any of us is safe anymore. But we won't mention that—there's no point in frightening her yet."

"Come on, then. You can help me persuade her. And I can keep an eye on your Darin for you."

Shayla smiled, but Brynn could see the effort it was costing her not to cry instead.

When they got home, they found their mother sitting at her worktable, needle in hand. She raised no objection when Brynn made his request.

"He can borrow my horse," Shayla told her. Brynn was relieved; she was hiding her anxiety so successfully.

His mother laid her work aside. "Very well. But must you go immediately?"

"Yes, yes!"

She laughed. "Always in a hurry! You're well enough dressed for the journey, I suppose, so put some bread and cheese in your satchel, fill your water bottle, and get a blanket to take with you."

When this was accomplished, she gave him a penny. "This is for the inn keeper, for one night's lodgings. You know you won't reach your uncle's before tomorrow. Do you remember the inn?"

"Oh, yes! I've been there more times than you have! And the keeper still knows who I am."

Brynn was used to Shayla's horse, a spirited young mare; soon he was galloping in style along the highway. A light north wind was blowing, with the first hint of winter on its breath. Perfect to fill the sail for a voyage to the warm south, Brynn thought. If only I could go with them, adventuring in the sun whilst everyone back home was huddling away from the cold!

He reached the inn by late afternoon, but kept on riding. Soon he would come to a shortcut he remembered through the woods. His plan was to keep on going until he arrived at the point where the forest track rejoined the king's highway, halfway between the inn and his destination. There was a deserted barn there; he and John had found it when they were out exploring together on his last visit. He was sure he could be there by nightfall. Then he would sleep. The others would probably stop at the inn. He would easily be at the harbour before them.

In the twilight, the barn looked even more deserted and rundown than he remembered it. He went in and peered around. After tethering Shayla's palfrey, he munched some bread and cheese and then settled down with his blanket on a heap of straw in the corner.

### Chapter 25

When Stella arrived at the grove, she found it deserted. Although she could not have said how, she sensed that Oberon had been absent for some time. She called his name a few times anyway and sat on the stone bench to think.

Could he have meditated himself out of existence, dematerialized? No, that was absurd—she laughed at herself, that such an idea should be the first to occur to her. If he's gone anywhere, she thought, that's good. It means he's coming back to life. Could he be out gathering information about the axe?

She waited for an hour, staring down the avenue between the two straight rows of oaks, but she knew somehow he would not be back that day. She and her brother had always known each other's mind—at least, until Oberon had lost himself in meditation. She thought back to their life in the Old World, to the period spent on the great starship, to the day he captained the pod that set their group down on a rocky island to colonize this planet—all long ago now. Ah, would that he could be more like he was then!

Stella stood and began her way down the track that would take her back to the stream. When she next saw Oberon, she must convince him of the importance of what she had been learning from the mortals. Having fought her desire to possess Karman, having witnessed his unshakeable devotion to Etaine—which she herself had put to the test—she had now also been confronted with the love of father and son, of mother and child. She was beginning to realize that the highest form of love expected nothing in return; real love was the desire to live heart and soul for another.

The knight she was in love with was mortal; one day, he would grow old and die. The same fate awaited young Darin, but Stella's love would go on and on. Now she could see that the years spent watching over the stream had foreshadowed something far greater. Henceforth, she would care for Karman's family, for Darin and his descendants, generation after generation—her knight's bloodline would be the stream she would watch over, forevermore.

A thin mist had crept down the hillside and gradually invaded the woods on either side of the track. Suddenly, from up ahead, came the din of many hooves; dark forms were materializing through the haze. Stella stepped off the path to wait beneath the trees.

The first two riders to emerge from the mist rode side by side. One was a knight, mailed but bareheaded. He had a lean face, young, with fierce eyes; over his armour, he wore a scarlet surcoat and his shield displayed a dragon—like Arthur's, but black instead of red. Next to him, astride a fine white stallion, rode Morgan the Enchantress, her long raven hair blowing wild from under a conical helmet of silver and gold. She too wore chain-mail, gleaming beneath a cloak of dark blue silk fastened at the neck by a wolf's head clasp. A jewelled sword hung at her side. Close after these two came a score or more horsemen, their steeds snorting steamy breath in plumes to mingle with the surrounding vapours.

Morgan lifted her hand and the whole troop came to a halt. Then she rode slowly towards Stella, fixing her with her gaze. The red knight made as though to follow, but she waved him back.

"So, faerie, we meet again at last."

Stella nodded her head in acknowledgement and stared wordlessly up at the enchantress.

Morgan drew her ripe, red lips back in a sneer. "I know you helped Karman's boy to free him—and to despatch my servant," she said. "You reneged on our agreement."

"We had no agreement, Morgan."

"The axe in exchange for your knight, remember? But none of that matters now. There are greater things afoot."

Stella jerked her head towards the red knight. "Who do you ride with?"

"That is Mordred, Arthur's nephew. We go together to raise an army against the might of Camelot." Morgan looked back at Mordred and his men, then sidled up closer and spoke softly. "But I can stop him, if you will take a message to Arthur."

"What message?"

"Tell him I can assure him of victory over Mordred's forces if he will renounce Guinevere and return to me. She doesn't love him—the whole world knows she cares only for Lancelot."

Stella stared at Morgan. It's true then—she and Arthur were once lovers. "He will never agree," she said after a pause. "He swore an oath to his queen—as sacred to him as the oath he swore to his subjects and to the Knights of the Round Table. But you wouldn't understand."

Morgan threw back her head. "But I do understand! What Arthur has brought about—Camelot, Logres, the law, the bond of honour, what you will—is the noblest, most magnificent achievement his race shall ever know." Morgan's voice was savage. "And that is why I shall take such satisfaction in watching Mordred trample it into dust."

She pulled her horse's head round and started back towards the waiting company. Then she turned in her saddle to look at Stella one more time. "Tell him he has three days," she hissed. "Otherwise, he shall die—they will all die. And all because of a faithless wife."

She dug in her spurs and galloped into the mist, followed closely by Mordred and his men.

### Chapter 26

There was nobody at uncle Cuthbert's house in Kingshaven except Pipkin, the stable-lad. Brynn left the grey mare and the rest of his things under his care and headed for the harbour.

People were bustling up and down the steep cobbled street leading to the shore. A cart rumbled past him full of silver-scaled fish, the driver walking beside it yelling encouragement to a pair of oxen as they strained to pull their load uphill; men and women sat in open doorways repairing fishing-nets, laughing and chatting. The clamour of gulls wheeling and swooping overhead added to Brynn's sense of excitement as he hurried down to the sea.

A wide, rectangular open space at the bottom of the hill, roughly cobbled like the street, gave directly onto the beach. At its southern end, a few men were resting, their heavy baskets beside them on the ground. One of them waved—the popular garrison commander's son was still remembered here. At the other end of the front, a little bridge crossed the modest stream that flowed into the sea, giving access to a steep path up to the fortress on the cliff. This was not one of the great ports of Logres; they were situated at the mouths of the bigger rivers. Nevertheless, the small cove, a natural harbour nestling between sheer white cliffs, was favoured by the king for important business, not least because of its proximity to Camelot.

How good to hear the crunch of shells and pebbles underfoot once more! Brynn filled his lungs with the cold, sharp air and gazed out to sea. The surface of the water, swept by rippling patterns that fled before the fitful northern breeze, was constantly changing hue: now a dull, greenish grey, now burnished to a metallic sheen. White foam swirled over the pebbles as the sea slapped and hissed against the shore.

Alongside one of the wooden piers jutting out from the beach, a crowd of little fishing coracles bobbed merrily; beside the other, two larger craft tilted tall masts to and fro as they rode the waves in their moorings. These two ships now held Brynn's interest, so he set off across the beach towards them. The bigger of the two had raised decks fore and aft, a straight stern and one mast rigged with a square sail. This was a modern, seaworthy vessel, well suited for the voyage Darin and Broderic were to make. The smaller boat was one he recognized. She was called the Petrel and also had a single mast, but was rounded at the stern and measured less than fifty feet: the sort of ship intrepid northern sailors had brought with them generations ago.

As he drew nearer, Brynn could see considerable activity going on around the larger vessel. Three men were coaxing a horse up the ramp set against the lowest point of the gunwale, while others were busily storing supplies under the afterdeck. Two men standing on the pier were conversing as they watched the proceedings. One was obviously a sailor, his baggy pants bound with thongs at the lower leg and a kerchief knotted around his neck; the other, tall and haughty looking with his beaked nose and close-trimmed beard, wore a brown and yellow surcoat over a suit of mail.

Brynn slowed his step. There was something familiar about the knight on the pier. Of course! It was Sir Agravain; Shayla had pointed him out a couple of times. He knew something about Darin's experience with the man and that he was a friend of Sir Mordred. Darin and Broderic were discussing him only recently, remarking on his absence from court—now he knew about the impending war, Brynn understood better why they had seemed so concerned at this. Agravain must have gone over to the rebel knights!

Casting an eye over the ship once again, he observed two more armed knights standing on the foredeck. Rebels, openly boarding a ship in the king's own harbour—did the garrison here not know about the present state of affairs? He hesitated to go any closer. He did not dare to speak in front of Agravain and doubted that the captain would pay much heed to his warnings anyway. He must inform the guards up at the fortress—the commander would remember the son of his old comrade in arms and would surely listen.

He ran to the bridge as fast as he could, crossed the stream and started up the path to the cliff-top fort. Before he was halfway up though, he turned to look down on the harbour and realized he was too late. The ship was pulling away from the pier, eight pairs of oars at work and the sail already beginning to unfurl. In a matter of minutes, she would round the cliff at the opposite side of the cove and be out of sight.

What was he to do? Broderic and Darin would be here soon; he may well have had a head start, but Shayla's palfrey was no match for Dart and River. The ship still moored below him would be well capable of the journey south, given the prevailing wind and providing she had an experienced crew. The two young knights would waste no time in commandeering her. He made up his mind. He was not going to let Broderic send him away; somehow, he would be on board the Petrel when it set sail.

He did not stop running until he reached his uncle's house. Pipkin was still the only person there.

"Let them know I am with Sir Broderic," Brynn told him. "And ask them, the next time anyone is going to Camelot, would they please take Shayla her grey mare back? Thank you!"

He slung his longbow and quiver on his back, folded the blanket over his satchel and ran back down the cobbled street.

As he neared the front, he spotted River and Dart tethered to a post at the end of the pier; Broderic and Darin were standing by the Petrel, engaged in conversation with a swarthy individual dressed in curiously patched, many-coloured seaman's clothes. Brynn slowed to a walk and skirted the open square on the other side of the ship to the three men, keeping his face averted from them. When he reached the sea, the hull of the boat hid him completely from their view, so he moved as quickly as he could, keeping the noise of his feet on the pebbles to a minimum until he reached the pier. From there, the two knights were once more in sight round the stern of the ship, so he ducked under the walkway and edged out into the water. Before it got too deep, he hoisted himself up onto the wooden spar that ran under the pier connecting the supporting posts. He crawled along this until he came to the stern of the ship and then waited, clinging on to the spar.

Now he could hear voices.

"Very well," Broderic was saying, "we will see to our horses while you go and round up your crew."

"It won't take long, young sir." This was presumably the captain of the ship speaking. "I have two mates who always sail with me and I can make do with another six hands—four, even, if you gentlemen could take an oar when needed. With the seas as they are, that's not likely; six oars are quite enough for me to get in and out of harbour."

Darin said something in reply and then Brynn heard footsteps as they all made their way back down the pier. Cautiously, he raised his head until he could see along the walkway. The sailor was gone; Broderic stood by River with his back turned and Darin was on the other side of the horses.

This was his chance. He heaved himself up onto the pier and ran a little further along beside the ship until he could get a hand on the gunwale and scramble over the side. He rolled down into the bottom of the boat, near to the mast, and lay there for a moment, his heart thumping. Fore and aft of the vessel, raised decks stretched from prow and stern a third of the distance to the mast. There was a space under them about three feet high, sometimes used for storage. Brynn knew nothing was ever shoved too far under the deck to be easily reached; there would always be room behind any cargo for him to curl up for a while.

It would be busier aft, most of the time, where the steering-oar was fixed, so he bent low and ran to the foredeck. He crawled underneath as far as he could go and spread out his blanket.

Then he settled down to wait.

### Chapter 27

Darin turned his face to the wind and gazed back at the dwindling cove they were leaving behind. Above his head, gulls were screaming and crying; a wonderful elation took hold of him.

"To think, today is the first time I've ever even seen the sea, let alone sailed on it!" he exclaimed to Broderic, who stood beside him on the afterdeck.

The captain, who stood next to him manning the steering-oar, laughed at this. "Never seen the sea," he echoed. "Just fancy."

"How do you plan your route?" Darin asked.

"Easy. See that coastline up ahead?"

Darin nodded. The faint line on the horizon he had seen as they set sail was now recognizable as land.

"Well, when we get a little nearer, we turn and head south, keeping the land always in view on the larboard."

"Larboard?"

"The left side of the ship," said Broderic. He pointed to the steering-oar mounted on the right gunwale. "Opposite the steer-board."

The captain turned his gaunt, tanned face in his direction. "Ah, so you know something about the sea."

"I've made this crossing before. My uncle has land along the coast over there."

Darin stared ahead. The ship was divided into three parts: the deck he was standing on, then a lower section mid-ships where the ribs of the hull were plainly visible and where the mast was fixed and finally another raised deck leading to the prow. Dart and River stood in the lower part of the vessel, tethered to iron rings at the edge of the foredeck; they seemed remarkably unconcerned about their unusual surroundings. Supplies the crew had loaded that day, covered with cloth treated with pitch to keep them dry, occupied most of the rest of the space between mast and foredeck. Of the six crewmen who had rowed them out of harbour, standing at their oars on the front deck, the two whom the captain referred to as his mates were now busy trimming the sail while the others rested, sitting on sleeping-bags of the same pitch-covered material.

Suddenly restless, Darin made his way forward, swaying a little with the unfamiliar motion of the deck beneath his feet, until he stood right at the prow of the ship. Holding onto the gunwale and gazing out over the waters ahead, he gave himself up to memories of the last days he had spent with Shayla.

He had no doubts any more. He loved her—and she him. Fears for the future of Camelot, for the safety of all of them, had been forgotten in the pain of their parting. She had lifted up her face and he had kissed her; he could still feel her tears against his cheek. When he returned from this quest, he would marry her.

Leaving his mother had been hard too. Those great grey eyes he had known all his life could hold mysteries in their depths he had no words for, but never had he seen such sorrow and tenderness. His father had been stern. Embracing him, he had wished him success on his mission before striding away to join King Arthur in the council chamber.

Darin tightened his grip on the side of the ship and lifted his eyes to the horizon. His father was right—the mission was everything. The most important adventure of his life was begun. If he and Broderic could return with the axe, they might save Arthur's kingdom from annihilation at the hands of Morgan and the rebels.

Beneath the deck where Darin stood, Brynn lay dozing fitfully. Time had gone slowly for him while the ship was still in dock. He had lain there listening as the men loaded provisions, brought the horses on board and tethered them close to his hiding-place. Dart and River were understandably restive, so when the sounds of activity died away and it seemed the crew was ashore for the time being, he crept closer and whispered their names. Both horses knew him well; they nosed under the foredeck. He stroked their soft muzzles, murmuring comforting sounds.

"Shh!" he whispered. "You be quiet now, we don't want to draw attention to this end of the boat!" As he felt their warm breath on his arm, he revelled in a delicious sense of conspiracy; it was good to have friends nearby.

At last, the ship got under way. He heard the sailors shifting their feet about on the deck above his head as they strained at their oars and then the sound of the sail unfurling and catching the breeze. He crept over to comfort the horses again as they showed some alarm at these new developments, then lay back and let the gentle rolling of the ship lull him into a half-sleep.

How long could he hold out like this, hidden away beneath the deck? He knew he would have to stay there long enough to be sure that Broderic and Darin would not immediately order the ship back to harbour and put him ashore. At the same time, however, he was anxious to tell them about Sir Agravain. Surely then they would see how useful he could be to them on this voyage?

All at once it was very dark; he realized he had been asleep. For a moment, he was not sure where he was, but the creak of the overlapping planks of the ship's hull soon brought his situation back to him. Suddenly, he was aware of another sound—a voice, whispering urgently in the darkness. Someone was sitting close by. He strained his ears to listen.

"But didn't you say these knights are travelling under the king's seal?" the voice was saying. "Isn't it all a bit too risky?"

"Haven't you heard there's a war coming?" said a second voice. "King Arthur is going to have his hands too full to bother with the likes of us. Besides, I have no intention of going back to Logres. We can stop at any port we like with all that gold and live like lords until the war is over. Who knows what the situation back home might be by then?" There was a pause. "Don't tell the crew anything about that royal seal business, though."

"Yes, what about them? What are they going to think about all this?"

Brynn jumped—this third voice was very close by. Three of them—probably the captain and the two mates he had heard him mention to Broderic on the pier. What treachery were they planning?

"Two of them I know well. They'll be happy to come in with us," replied the voice Brynn took to be the captain's. "I'll have a little word with them tomorrow. As for the new fellows, well, we'll do it while they're sleeping. They won't have much to say about it once it's done. If they do, we'll chuck them over the side to keep the two knights company!" He chuckled. "You should have seen that bag of gold when they paid for the supplies!"

"Good," said the voice nearest to Brynn. "When shall we do it?"

"Tomorrow night when they're asleep," answered the captain. "We'll use hammers. Bash 'em on the head, both at once. We don't want either of them waking up. If they are King Arthur's men, they'll be pretty handy with those swords they're wearing, young though they be!"

Brynn heard the captain stand up. "Let's all get some sleep now, it's been a long day." The three men moved softly away.

Brynn lay for a long time thinking about what he had just heard. There was apparently no danger until the next night, but he had better take action before the captain had time to get any more of the crew involved in his treacherous plot. He must warn his friends before daybreak.

After giving ample time for the three conspirators to fall asleep, he poked his head cautiously out from under the deck. One of the horses snorted softly, but showed no further sign of agitation. Although there was no light but that of the stars, Brynn could see quite well after the pitch darkness of his hiding place. A lone seaman stood on the afterdeck, his hand on the steering-oar; some of the crew lay huddled in their bags on the deck beside him, the rest slept near the mast in the lower section of the ship. Slightly apart from the rest, two figures lay sleeping just in front of the afterdeck. Beside one of them, Brynn could see the dim gleam of a long blade. He remembered Broderic telling him how Darin would always sleep with his sword within easy reach.

Keeping the horses between himself and the sailor on steering duty, he crept out from under the deck and crawled along the shadowy space between the provisions and the side of the ship. The gap separating him from the sleeping knights was now not more than five or six yards, but it was clearly visible from the afterdeck. He lay still, awaiting his opportunity.

After some minutes, the seaman let go of the oar, shook his arms and stretched. Then he turned and took a few steps towards the stern of the ship, where he stood with his hand on the gunwale, staring out down the long wake behind them. It took Brynn but a few seconds to cross the starlit stretch of lower deck; he lay down next to Darin's sleeping form and pulled his hood over his head. If I lie perfectly still, I'll not be noticed, he thought. Then he settled into waiting again.

The faint grey light that comes an hour before dawn was stealing over the ship when Darin sighed and moved his head a little. Brynn whispered his name and saw his eyelids flicker; suddenly the young knight was wide-awake, a startled look in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Brynn clapped his hand over it. Whispering in Darin's ear, he told the whole story of the last day and night, as the Petrel and her sleeping crew ploughed steadily on through the dark waters.

### Chapter 28

As the first dart of sunlight shot over the horizon, catching the billowing striped sail, the crew of the Petrel began to stir. Darin watched as they sat up in their sleeping bags one by one, gazing in astonishment at the group on the foredeck: the two young knights, swords drawn, and an unknown redheaded lad sitting between them on the edge of the deck with a serviceable-looking longbow across his knee, arrow nocked and ready against the string.

When he was satisfied the last sailor was awake, Darin gave a nod to Broderic, who held up his sword. The red rays of the early sun flashed fire on the dazzling steel blade.

"Men," said Broderic in a strong, clear voice that could be heard easily the length of the ship, "there are traitors to the king on board!"

A murmur went around the crew. The captain scowled at his two mates, who were looking startled, while the other sailors looked questioningly at one another.

"My young friend here," continued Broderic, pointing at Brynn, "overheard an interesting conversation last night. Your captain and his mates, planning to murder my companion and me for the sake of the gold we are carrying—even though they know we are bound on important business for the king."

"It's true what he says about being the king's men, lads," said the sailor at the steering oar. "They showed me the royal seal they're carrying, while you were all still asleep. Why didn't the captain tell us about that, eh?"

"S-sir!" stuttered one of the sailors. "You c-can't imagine any of us would have gone along with such a p-plan. We would never turn against the King's knights, w-would we, lads?"

Most of the men vociferated their agreement; the two mates were still looking uneasy.

"The boy must have heard wrong," said the captain.

"No," Bryn piped up. "I was only a few feet away from you, under this deck. I heard every word."

"We are willing to think the best about the rest of you," Darin said. "But captain, no more lies. We know what you and your mates were planning and today you would have done your best to persuade the others." He looked round the attentive faces of the crew. "The question is," he continued, "what's to be done? We cannot afford to turn back, our mission is of vital importance to the realm." He pointed to the steersman on the after-deck. "Garth over there tells us the ship that left harbour a while before us was bound for the same destination as we are. The three knights on board are enemies of the King so we cannot afford to be too far behind them."

Darin turned and addressed the captain. "Garth also told us that you, despite your somewhat doubtful reputation, are the best sea-captain in the business. We need you and the whole crew on our side if this mission is to succeed. If it's our gold you're after, well, you shall have it, all of it. Get us back home with our quest accomplished and every man on board will be given more than he would get for twenty voyages. And King Arthur shall hear nothing about your intended treachery. So how say you, captain? Are you with us?"

The captain gave a twisted smile. "Very well, young Sir," he replied. "But you must forgive a poor man for being tempted by the sight of so much gold."

"Good," said Broderic. "But we cannot afford to trust anybody. From now on, Brynn here, Sir Darin and I will take it in turns to sleep. Two of us will be watching you constantly for the rest of the voyage, one standing with drawn sword by the steersman over yonder, the other on the foredeck here with the longbow."

Darin stepped down from the deck and went up to the captain. "Give me your knife," he commanded, pointing to the ugly dagger the seaman wore in his belt. "You shall have it back." He took the knife, then turned and stuck it firmly into the mast. "Show them, Brynn," he said quietly.

Eagerly, Brynn stood and raised his bow. Drawing the string back to his chin, he squinted along the arrow at the mark. Darin watched, willing him to aim low—the mast was much closer than the target used for practice would be. Brynn let fly the shaft; with a fierce hiss, it sped from his bow and struck the mast. The impact reverberated all through the timbers of the ship. One or two of the sailors recoiled in shock; the power of the bow at close range had driven the steel arrowhead so deep into the hard wood that it was no longer visible. Only the tiniest fraction of an inch separated the arrow from the blade of the captain's dagger.

Darin turned to the crew. "Sir Broderic and I taught him to do that. You may be sure we both can easily match that shot over a range six times the length of this ship."

"So," proclaimed Broderic, "that's how it's going to be. Brynn, give the bow to Darin and get some sleep. The rest of you, man your stations."

As the days and nights passed, the tension on board slackened and the members of the crew applied themselves willingly to their tasks, baling out the hold, reefing the sail to suit the wind or taking their shifts at the steering-oar. The three companions from Camelot soon adjusted to their rota, staying vigilant and taking it in turn to sleep and take care of their daily needs just as the seamen did.

The sea remained calm, while a steady breeze from the north filled the sail each day; during the occasional lull, the captain would steer while the other six sailors plied their oars. They made one stop for supplies, putting in at a port on the coast they had been following south. Broderic and Garth, the oldest of the hired seamen and the one the friends trusted the most, went ashore while Darin and Brynn maintained their watch over the rest of the crew.

On the twentieth day after they had first set sail on their mission, Darin was standing beside the captain by the steering-oar. Almost three weeks of sun and salt air had tanned his face and bleached his yellow hair until it gleamed like silver in the hot southern sun. He felt strong and alert.

The captain pointed to the larboard. "Look. We are nearly there."

Darin could see they were reaching the end of the coastline, which had been leading them in a southeasterly direction for some time. The captain was now turning the prow even more to the east to round the land mass they had been sailing down for so long. He pointed to the other side of the ship.

"And there lies Sultan al-Din's kingdom."

To the south, Darin now saw another coastline separated from the land on his left by only a few miles of water. It was towards these straits that the ship was now racing at a steady clip.

"Well done, captain," he said. "You have fulfilled the first half of your contract."

The seaman, however, seemed uneasy. His eyes darted frequently and, to Darin's mind, furtively around the sea and along the southern shore and he had his lower lip between his teeth.

"What's the matter, man?" Darin asked.

The captain was silent for a while. He gazed at his interrogator with troubled eyes.

"Well Sir," he said eventually, "to be frank, my ship and I are not exactly unknown in these parts. If the coastguards find out I'm here, I wouldn't like to say what sort of reception we might get."

"You villain! What are you? Some sort of pirate? I should have known."

"It's just a question of some supplies not paid for," the captain mumbled. "And a few other little matters," he added softly.

Darin looked at him, not hiding the contempt in his eyes. "Don't worry, you're under our protection. Sultan al-Din and Arthur value their cordial relationship; the king's seal will ensure the safety of our whole party."

The captain looked doubtful. "I still think it would be best to be cautious. If you want me and my ship to get you home again, that is. They might not wait to parley."

"Very well. Do you have a suggestion?"

"If I take us in close to the shoreline over there, I can sneak us into a little cove before we reach the bay yonder where the sultan's palace and the citadel stand. We'll just have to hope nobody sees us. I will wait for you there, but if they come for me I shall have to put out to sea again and pick you up when I can. I'll watch out for a signal—perhaps by then you will have been able to negotiate something."

Darin weighed this up for a moment. "All right," he said. "Let's do it."

### Chapter 29

Stella found her brother at last, walking in the forest near his grove. He was wearing his customary long cloak and wide-brimmed hat.

He beamed at her. "Sister! Well met."

Stella sensed the change instantly. It was not only the unexpectedly enthusiastic greeting, but also the force radiating from his entire being. This was the Oberon she remembered and loved, the young officer who had captained the pod that first brought them from the mother ship to land on this planet.

"Brother, you're back at last."

"Yes. I've been travelling."

Stella laughed. "I meant—you are back! You've only been half there for years. What's been going on?"

Oberon looked at her seriously for a moment. "You're right, I have changed. I no longer see those things you're always talking about as just phases we pass through on our way to a higher reality." He smiled. "Love, above all. I now believe it teaches us we cannot fulfil ourselves alone. We shouldn't aspire to some sort of blissful transcendence without first using whatever wisdom we may have picked up along the way to help the rest of our fellow beings."

"Ah, Oberon! You don't know how good it is to hear you say that! But what brought this on?"

"Two things. I had a breakthrough in my meditations—and I've have seen Titania!"

"Titania?" That was impossible, surely. "But how? Is she here?"

"No." Oberon's eyes were shining under the brim of his hat. "Well—yes and no, that is."

"I don't understand."

Brother and sister had been walking slowly side by side during this conversation. Now they stood by the oak grove. They sat down on the stone bench.

"First I must explain to you the nature of my breakthrough," Oberon said. "You will remember I was meditating on the workings of the mind and their relationship to the structure of the universe. I hoped to transcend the forms that thought has imposed upon reality to a plane of blissful, empty being."

Stella nodded, intent. Her brother smiled and went on.

"Well, I got behind the structure of the universe all right, but not to a realm of silent bliss. One day, I was sitting right here, formulating a complex equation in my mind. At a certain point, I realized I could have expressed the same thing in a different way, so I adopted this new formula and was about to continue my train of thought, when I suddenly felt with absolute clarity that everything had changed. At first, I didn't understand—all around me looked the same, the same sun shining on the same trees. But I knew somehow that I was in an entirely different world."

Stella looked at him blankly.

Oberon spread his hands. "Don't you see? Every time we choose between two alternatives, a new universe comes into being—one in which we make the other choice. It's hard to imagine. Such a world is not in another place or time. It's not even another world, really—just this one as a different mode of possibility."

"But we can only live in one universe, surely?"

"Normally—yes. But having solved my equation, I find that I can enter any other universe I wish, if I know what decision brought it into being and go to the point in space where that decision was made! For example, the first thing I tried was to go to a fork in the path I had been walking the day before. I imagined myself back in the moment when I decided to take the right-hand track. Then I chose the left. I immediately noticed a patch of mushrooms growing a little further down the path to the right. They were still there, even though I had picked them the day before."

Oberon waited a moment for Stella to appreciate the full significance of what he had just told her. "And now we come to the most interesting part," he continued, taking his sister's hand. "A month ago, I took my boat, Ariel, and sailed down to Avalon."

Avalon was the rocky island where the scout pod had touched down the day of their arrival, thousands of years before. They had named it after an island in the Old World. Then Stella understood.

"You went to the place where you made the decision our group would stay here and Titania's pod would return to the mother ship," she exclaimed. "You wanted to cross into the universe in which she and the others stayed here and we were the ones who went on to some other galaxy." She was silent a moment. "You did it because you wanted to see her again. I knew it—you love her!"

"Maybe!" Oberon laughed. "I know I miss the arguments we were always having."

Stella clapped her hands. "Believe me—you two were like the two halves of one of your equations. So you put that boat of yours to good use."

The Ariel was a beautiful sailing boat, modelled on the yacht her father and brother had delighted in back in the Old World. It had taken Oberon nearly a hundred years to build it. With its sharp prow, slender hull and triangular sails, it could race through the water and tack in and out of the wind in a way that left the square-rigged ships the mortals used far behind, dependent as they were on favourable breezes.

"Oh, sister! You are right to liken our minds to some sort of equation. Incredible as it may seem, at the same time as I was sailing to Avalon, Titania, in her world, was on her way there too. When I stood on that rocky plateau at the southern end of the island and stepped into another universe, there she was, sitting on the cliff's edge, gazing out to sea. She had been drawn there, she told me, by a sudden desire to revisit the place where her life on this planet began."

"But you came back. Didn't you want to stay there with her?"

Oberon shrugged. "I should have liked nothing better—but you remember how we were. Before long, we were arguing again. Titania finally issued a challenge—I could come and live with her as king, but only if I brought something from my world that she and her people thought might add something of value to theirs."

"Her people? King?"

"Titania's team had a lot more members than ours did, remember—more than I thought necessary to colonize such a small planet as this, in fact. Well, most of them are still together." Oberon grinned. "Titania, of course, lords it over them. A veritable Faerie Queen!"

Stella laughed. "Of course she does! So what will you take her, do you think?"

"I'm not sure," answered Oberon. "Something that will help the mortals in her world, I suppose. Titania takes a great interest in them—she has followed their history very closely. Her world looks very much like this one, but from what she told me I gather the mortals have developed rather differently—as you would expect, given the millions of decisions we have all made since landing on Avalon. This realm of Logres, for example, is called England in her world."

"England? And there's no King Arthur or Camelot, I suppose?"

"No. I get the impression Titania regards the whole western part of her world as being a little barbaric. That highly developed sense of honour and chivalry that Arthur has fostered here and that you admire so much is somewhat lacking there, I'm afraid."

"Well then, brother, that's what you could offer her—stories of Arthur and his knights to inspire the mortals in her world. I can think of a few."

Oberon looked thoughtful. "A good idea. But, alas, I'm not much of a storyteller. Could I persuade you to come with me, perhaps?"

"Can you do that? Take someone with you?"

"I think so—if we have physical contact, holding hands for instance, and you open your mind to me. Shall I show you?"

"Sorry. Another time, maybe. Right now, I'm needed here. It's vital I find Bertilak's axe, and soon. Did you hear anything yet?"

Oberon looked at the ground and pursed his lips. "You still want that thing? I asked Gondrifel, one of Bertilak's servants, but he claimed to know nothing about where it might be. But I must warn you—the axe is dangerous."

"In what way?"

"It seems Bertilak somehow gave it the power to see into a man's heart and mind. Anyone who attempts to pick it up does so at his peril. Unless his conscience is absolutely clear, the axe will turn on him."

Stella got up and began pacing back and forth. "Morgan says it's not important any more. But I don't believe her. I'm sure she fears the thing."

"Very likely. As I told you before, she was Bertilak's pupil, but he didn't like what she was turning into. Perhaps the axe was a warning to her, a threat. He was always devising moral tests and whatnot. Like that beheading thing he subjected that poor knight to."

"Sir Gawain."

"Yes. But Stella, I'm not sure Gondrifel was speaking the truth. I have a nasty feeling Morgan got to him first."

"Then we are in trouble. I must go to Camelot at once. Farewell, Oberon."

"Farewell, sister."

### Chapter 30

The foredeck where he lay was already warm from the morning sun when Brynn woke up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Broderic stood next to him bow in hand, staring off to starboard.

"What is it?"

"Land," Broderic said. "Our journey is almost over."

On the afterdeck by the steering-oar, Darin and the captain were both looking in the same direction, as were the rest of the crew. Brynn stood up and went to the very prow of the ship, holding on to the gunwale.

The rocky coastline was now not far away. He watched spellbound as cliffs and coves passed by on his right; up ahead he could make out golden sands, the sweep of a wide bay. The Petrel was pulling in towards the coast, however, and the distant sandy beach soon disappeared behind a high cliff. At the foot of the cliff lay a narrow, sheltered cove. Brynn realized that this was what they were making for. Suddenly, he had the inexplicable sense that he was coming home, that his destiny was tied up somehow with this mysterious land he had heard the sailors talking about when he was a child. His head reeled as he told himself he was now looking at it with his own eyes.

He was startled out of his reverie by a sudden violent splash beside him on the right and then another to his left. He had just time to note an arched back, wet and gleaming in the bright sun, before the creatures plunged back beneath the waves. He heard one of the sailors cry—"Dolphins!"

Dolphins! He remembered the stories he had heard about these magical, intelligent creatures; how it was said they had rescued shipwrecked sailors, carrying them on their backs to the shore. He knew that their appearance was supposed to be a good omen—and here were two of them, leaping and plunging as they kept pace with the ship!

Once again, he felt with uncanny certainty that destiny was at work. It was if the dolphins were aware of him, were reaching out to him. He had the strange sensation that their minds were moving in his own. He whipped round to face Broderic. "Isn't it wonderful! I just know something marvellous is going to happen to us all."

Broderic clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I hope you're right." He turned and started toward the afterdeck where Darin stood, deep in conversation with the captain. Brynn followed.

Darin explained to them why it was they must land secretly in the little cove ahead of them, rather than sail on to the bay where Sultan al-Din's harbour and the palace were.

Broderic scowled at the captain. "So, your past crimes are catching up with you! I'm surprised you agreed to bring us here, if you're a wanted man in these parts."

"He had no intention of coming here at all," said Darin. "Remember, if Brynn hadn't overheard them plotting, we'd have been dumped overboard and they could have gone anywhere they liked."

Broderic scowled again. "Well, if you don't finish the job and get us safely back home, you'll not see one coin of our gold. And if you ever set foot in Arthur's kingdom again, I'll make sure you're tried for high treason!"

"Aye, aye," muttered the captain. "But if they come for me, I shall have to put to sea again. Signal me when you have spoken with Sultan al-Din and got him to agree safe conduct for me and my crew."

The ship was now nosing its way into the cove, sail furled, the men at their stations rowing silently. On either side, high cliffs loomed; directly ahead, Brynn could see a patch of shingle from which a steep rocky path led up through a fissure to the high ground above.

"We're going to have to beach it," said the captain.

There was a light jolt and a crunching sound as the shallow prow of the ship drove into loose pebbles. Two sailors immediately jumped over the gunwale and splashed ashore carrying ropes and anchors, which they dug into the beach. The rest of the crew then left the ship and helped drag it a few feet further out of the water. Brynn took charge of the horses and coaxed them over the ramps. Soon the whole party was safely ashore.

Darin and Broderic had decided to present themselves at Sultan al-Din's court in their full regalia as Arthur's knights. They wore surcoats over their mail hauberks and they had their shields slung on their backs. They were attaching their helmets to their saddles when the captain approached them.

"They would have been here by now if they had seen us." His narrowed eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the cliff tops. "Perhaps we had better make use of this opportunity to get in some supplies. We can't even get through the rest of the day without more food and water. I'll send my two mates—they've been here before, they know the lie of the land. But they'll need silver."

Broderic handed over some coins and the captain passed them to the first mate.

"There you are, lads," he said. "And why don't you take a look at the old shed we stored the stuff in last time we were here? Maybe that cart is still there."

Brynn watched as the two sailors started up the rocky path. After exchanging a few more words with the captain, the three friends, with Dart and River in tow, set off up the track after them, leaving the five remaining seamen behind with the ship. Not a word was spoken as they toiled up the steep path and they were all a little out of breath by the time they reached the top and emerged into bright sunlight.

Brynn's eyes opened wide in wonder at the vista before him. A broad, scrubby plateau, dotted here and there with clusters of gnarled and twisted little trees, sloped gently away from them inland. To their right, a much steeper incline swept down to the wide sandy bay he had glimpsed earlier. About half way, the incline flattened out for a while into a small plain before finally dropping down to the bay. This plain marked the nearest corner of a great wall of red stone that surrounded a city the like of which he had never imagined. Thousands of houses, white, orange and red, clustered along the coast and climbed the hill; narrow streets threaded their way through the warren, disappearing and re-emerging as they burrowed under arches where adjoining house-roofs met. At the highest point of the city stood a magnificent palace, with an open, paved area in front of it. The whole bay glittered under the sun, with its yellow sands and sea of a deep blue he had never witnessed from the cliffs at home.

There was a gate in the corner of the wall closest to them, but a far grander one was visible at the near end of the bay, where the fortifications of the city looked out over the sands. Opposite it, many ships lay at anchor, whilst hundreds of people swarmed in colourful throngs around the piers and jetties of the harbour.

Broderic glanced back down at their own ship in the cove and then along the cliff top, to where the two mates were sitting on a rock a little distance away, presumably regaining their breath before heading off in search of supplies. "I think we should let ourselves be seen entering the city by the main gate, there below," he said. "It will give the palace plenty of warning that we are here on important business. We must show every courtesy to Sultan al-Din and his people."

"Certainly," replied Darin. He frowned. "I don't like leaving the Petrel unwatched, though. Brynn, I think you should stay here and keep an eye on the cove. If the captain puts out to sea, we'll know better which way he has gone. Don't worry, we'll come back for you soon."

"That's not fair! I want to see this wonderful city too."

"Let us establish contact with Sultan al-Din first," said Broderic. "You'll see everything then, I promise."

The two knights mounted their horses. Brynn fought back his disappointment and watched Dart and River canter off down the slope—both horses were clearly glad to be on firm ground once more. Then he looked over to where the two mates had been sitting. The tall, dark one was now on his feet, ready to get going, but the other, a sturdy, round-faced man of middle age, still sat on the rock, looking out to sea. Now he tugged at his companion's sleeve and pointed, shouting something.

Two galleys had appeared at the mouth of the cove. Even as their sails were being reefed in, Brynn could see men swarming over the sides and into two longboats. Within seconds, they were racing towards the beached ship, many pairs of oars rising and falling together like the wings of some great sea bird.

"Broderic!" Brynn yelled. "Darin!"

It was too late—they were already halfway down the slope to the plain and the beginning of the city walls. He turned his attention back to the scene below.

On the beach, the captain and the sailor with him had seen the boats full of armed men. They began running towards the steep path, the only way out of the cove. The other three sailors, who had been busy with something on the deck of the ship, jumped overboard and stumbled to the beach. They were scarcely ashore when the first boat reached the Petrel. A party of warriors in brightly coloured coats and turbans charged with lightening speed through the shallow water and onto the shingle. They soon caught up with the three sailors; some of the party seized hold of them while the rest rushed on in pursuit of the captain and his companion.

Brynn glanced over at the rock where the two mates had been sitting, but they were gone. Now he watched as the captain and the remaining sailor reached the rocky path and began desperately scrambling up it. The steep hill slowed them down considerably and the gap between them and their pursuers began to close. One of the warriors stopped and stood still. Brynn saw him raise a bow, shorter and more curved than his own longbow, and the captain fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder. The sailor with him paused irresolutely for a moment and the chase was over. Within a few minutes of the appearance of the ships at the opening of the cove, the captain and all his crew were being shepherded into the longboats.

During all this, men from the second boat had been busy pouring something over the decks of the Petrel. Brynn now noticed a thin plume of black smoke, then a lick of flame. Within seconds, the fire spread across the decks; the mast was instantly transformed into a fierce candle of flame and the sail caught light, scattering burning fragments into the sea. Brynn watched aghast as the ship that had carried him there was consumed before his eyes.

He turned to look down the hill after Darin and Broderic. They had just reached the level area near the start of the city walls. Suddenly, three horsemen appeared at the other side of the plain; evidently they had just ridden up the hill from the beach. The glint of steel told Brynn they were wearing chain-mail.

He gasped. Even at that distance, Agravain's colours were clearly recognizable.

### Chapter 31

Darin saw them first. He raised his arm and shouted out to Broderic above the noise of hooves and jingling harness. They reined in their horses.

"It's Agravain!"

The two young knights surveyed the three riders at the other side of the plain. There was no mistaking the brown and orange shield and surcoat of the big knight in the middle. They watched as Sir Agravain and the other two men put on their helmets and drew their swords.

"I don't think it's polite conversation they are looking for," murmured Broderic, reaching for the helm hanging from his saddle.

Darin did the same, then dressed his shield and took his sword in hand. "Traitor knights! We can take them." He spurred his steed forward.

Dart reared, snorting wildly. All his energy, pent up for so long on board ship, surged through him as he galloped in a headlong charge to meet the enemy, nostrils flaring, scenting battle. Darin cast a sidelong glance at his friend, who was leaning forward in his saddle, right arm extended in front of him, sword pointing the way ahead. Darin smiled grimly—Broderic's fighting style had ever been flamboyant, but effective nevertheless. Then he turned his attention to the knight with the plain green shield who was bearing down on him.

They met with a crash of sword on shield. Dart's pace was too hectic for there to be time for more than one blow, but Darin quickly reined him in and turned to face his opponent again. He saw out of the corner of his eye the man who had met with Broderic, lying motionless on the ground; Broderic was now moving in to engage with Agravain.

Darin and the knight with the green shield began hacking at each other with their swords. Try as he may, Darin could find no opening. At length, in a fit of impatient anger, he slashed at his opponent with such fury that the knight's charger staggered and reared back. Almost losing his seat, the rider grabbed for the reins with both hands and his sword fell to the ground. Disarmed, he regained his saddle and galloped away from the field of battle, back towards the slope to the shore.

For a moment, Darin contemplated pursuing his foe, but then thought better of it. Broderic was being hard pressed by Sir Agravain, a knight renowned for his horsemanship and skill with the sword. He turned Dart and rode at them.

"Agravain!" he yelled. "Throw down your sword!"

Broderic and Agravain suddenly stopped raining blows on each other; they were staring at the city walls. Darin looked over his shoulder. A troop of horsemen came galloping out of the corner gate, tunics and headgear all bright colours, the sun glinting on steel breastplates and curved scimitar blades.

Before they had time to think, the three knights were surrounded. Mounted warriors jostled them closely; one of them, the lavishness of whose dress marked him out as leader, barked some command in a guttural tongue unknown to them. His gestures, however, were not difficult to understand. The three knights sheathed their swords. Two men then dismounted and picked up the wounded knight who had fallen in his encounter with Broderic; he groaned as they slung him over one of their horses.

Still surrounded by the exotic warrior troop, they rode in through the gates and made their way uphill along a street barely wide enough for them to pass through two abreast. Their progress was followed by the innumerable hooded figures crowding the narrow streets that led away on either side—men with bronzed faces in long grey or brown robes. More people scrutinized them from the rooftops and doorways of the windowless buildings lining the street.

Eventually they came to the top of the hill. A wide flight of shallow stone steps brought them to an open paved area, bounded at the far side by a high wall. Sentries dressed in the same manner as the horsemen stood on guard by a huge archway, carved all over with intertwined, stylized flowering trees and closed by elaborately wrought iron gates. Seeing the approaching cavalcade, they quickly threw open the gates and stood aside.

The company now left the daylight behind them and entered a long, gloomy gallery. Everyone dismounted. The leader called out and men came from one end of the gallery to lead off the horses; from the other end, two figures in white robes emerged from the shadows bearing a stretcher. The wounded knight was carried away. The leader then gestured for the three knights, accompanied by an equal number of his warriors, to follow him through a further archway.

They stepped into a sunlit courtyard, in the middle of which a sparkling fountain splashed its waters into a basin lined with tiles, richly decorated and glazed in vibrant blue, purple and orange. The pillars supporting the rows of arches that opened onto the courtyard from the covered walkways on three sides of it were all similarly tiled. Darin caught the sound of women's laughter coming from the dim recesses at one side.

Opposite them, the fourth side of the courtyard was a dazzling white wall with broad windows flanking another splendid archway. Passing through it, they found themselves in a lofty hall. Light from the courtyard and from high casements at the other end of the chamber fell on a scene of sumptuous splendour. Glazed tiles, in the same jewel-like colours as the courtyard, covered every inch of ceiling, floor, walls and pillars, artfully arranged to trace an intricate web of arabesques and geometric patterns over the entire hall. All around were couches draped with rich silken fabrics, patterned rugs in subtle green and purple hues and small ebony tables with delicately carved legs, inlaid with ivory. Ornate jugs and bowls of gold or silver, and the dim gleam of polished red copper, all added their notes to the great symphony of colour that overwhelmed them.

Men in embroidered robes of a magnificence to match their surroundings sat, strolled at ease about the chamber or stood in groups conversing. They glanced over at the newcomers, but seemed not to pay much attention to them. Darin felt a nudge. Broderic was pointing down the room to their right.

In the corner of the chamber was a raised dais. On it stood a low table covered with purple velvet; upon that, lay a huge single-bladed axe, by far the biggest Darin had ever seen. Even from where he stood, the exquisite workmanship was evident. The long handle, bound in green leather, was studded with gold and emeralds. The head of the axe was enamelled in green and chased with gold; the blade was of shining steel. A battered leather case lay beside it.

"The object of our quest," whispered Broderic.

At that moment, a burst of wild music came from the doorway next to the dais—cymbals, drums and the reedy wailing of some blown instrument. All the men in the hall fell silent and rose to their feet; then, with one accord, they dropped to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the ground as two figures appeared in the doorway.

The courtiers were soon on their feet again, but kept their heads respectfully bowed as the two passed amongst them. One of the men who had just entered the chamber had a dark, narrow face with a long, thin black beard hanging from his chin; he wore a robe of blue silk and a tall conical hat. As he walked, he glanced from face to face with quick, shrewd eyes. The imposing personage by his side stood a head taller than any other man in the room; with patrician features and aquiline nose, he fixed his gaze constantly before him, as if intent upon some reality other than the great hall thronged with courtiers.

"Sultan al-Din!" said Darin under his breath.

The man in the conical hat exchanged a few words with the leader of the soldiers guarding Darin, Broderic and Agravain. He then whispered something in Sultan al-Din's ear. The sultan turned his head and regarded the three knights from Logres. He took a step towards them and addressed them in their own tongue, in perfectly modulated tones.

"So. Stranger knights, guests in our realm, squabbling outside our city walls!"

### Chapter 32

From his vantage point overlooking the bay, Brynn watched Darin and Broderic being escorted into the city. What should he do? They had told him to wait there, but the situation was now drastically different. Should he enter the city and go boldly up to the palace? He looked around him doubtfully.

At some distance inland, the two seamen who had been detailed to look for supplies were hurrying towards a gate in the sidewall of the city. He decided to follow them. The gate, which he had failed to notice earlier, was nearer to the palace; if he could catch up with the two mates, who apparently had some knowledge of the place, they might be able to suggest how he should proceed further. With his bow slung over his back, he set off at a trot across the sun-scorched earth. Behind him, smoke still curled upward from the charred timbers of the ship in the cove.

Entering at the gate, he found himself in a small square with narrow streets running off it in all directions. It was evidently a market place; men and women squatted in the dust with their wares spread in front of them. People thronged the square, the men in long hooded robes, the women veiled, many of them carrying jars or baskets on their heads as they moved gracefully through the crowd. Brynn gazed at the scene in fascination, overwhelmed by the scent of unknown spices and the hubbub of many voices speaking a strange tongue. Then he caught sight of the men he was following—they were leaving the square by a cobbled street that ran uphill, with every few yards a stone step, along the inside of the city wall. He hurried after them.

Before too long, he arrived at a small, flat triangular space. Here there was a fork in the street, one branch continuing straight ahead, the other following the curve of the wall to the right. He paused as he saw the two seamen pressed against the wall of the building that stood at the divide, evidently wishing to conceal themselves from anyone in the right-hand street.

A little further along stood a young girl. She was not veiled like the women in the marketplace, but her head was covered with a red silk scarf. She wore a small waistcoat, embroidered with many colours, over a loose, diaphanous kirtle, and wide pantaloons, gathered in at the ankle. On her hip, she carried a basket with a long shoulder strap. She spoke briefly to someone at an open door and then turned to walk on up the hill.

Brynn ducked into a doorway as the taller of the two mates looked back over his shoulder to check the street behind him. He peeped out again in time to see the two sailors seize hold of the girl. She let out a stifled cry as the tall seaman clapped his hand over her mouth. With his left hand, he grasped her by the upper arm; his companion held her fast at the other side, and together they lifted her off her feet and started carrying her up the hill. Brynn ran across the triangular space until he was against the wall where the sailors had been hiding.

It did not yet seem the right time for him to intervene. He dared not threaten the men with his bow while they held the struggling girl so closely. They were too intent on controlling their captive to look behind them, so Brynn ran after them, ducking from doorway to doorway. The cobbled hill was growing steeper, the stone steps occurring at shorter intervals. After a while, he found himself standing in the doorway of the last house on the street; a high wall, which seemed to enclose a garden, continued for a few more yards, and then the hill flattened out into an unpaved patch of dusty ground.

The sailors were dragging the girl across this wasteland. Her red scarf fell from her head into the dust; Brynn caught a glimpse of shining black tresses lashing across her back as she struggled in their grip.

"Looks like no one has been here since we picked up the stuff last time!" one of the sailors shouted.

They were heading for a low, ramshackle shed built against the city wall. A tangle of pine branches covered the roof and a stout beam barred the dilapidated wooden door. The first mate held on to the girl while the other kidnapper opened the door. They pushed her roughly inside and barred it again. Brynn could hear her pounding on the door and calling out in a high, angry voice.

The two men conversed in low tones for a moment and then the tall one walked hurriedly off across the wasteland towards a small arched gateway in a wall a quarter of a mile off. As soon as he's out of earshot, thought Brynn, that will be my chance. The second mate, meanwhile, had seen the scarf lying in the dust; he strolled over to retrieve it. As he stooped to pick it up, Brynn emerged from his doorway with his bow aimed and ready.

"Stop where you are," he said quietly. "One move and you'll feel this arrow in your throat!"

The man looked up, alarm showing in his eyes. He held his arms out to the side with his open palms towards Brynn.

"That's right," said Brynn. "Slowly—and keep your hands where I can see them. Now, tell me what you two want with this girl."

The burly seaman licked his lips and turned his eyes in the direction his companion had just gone.

"We've seen her before," he said. "It's the sultan's daughter. We couldn't believe our luck, finding her all alone like this."

"But why kidnap her?" asked Brynn.

"You saw what happened to the Petrel, and to our captain," replied the sailor. "The first mate's gone to the palace. If Sultan al-Din wants to see his daughter again, he must first release the captain and his crew. And provide us with a new ship!"

"You fools! You must leave it to Darin and Broderic to work out terms with the sultan. You'll ruin everything if you make him angry. Besides, you'll never get away with it."

The sailor sneered. "Talking won't do any good. Now they've got our captain, they'll never let him go."

Brynn took a step forward. "Open that door and let the girl out. Then back away from her. I'll be right behind you. One false move and it will be your last!"

The girl rushed out furiously the second the door was unbarred; she looked as if she would fall on her abductor, kicking and scratching, but Brynn yelled out. She saw the bow, understood and stepped back.

"You!" commanded Brynn, gesturing with his bow. "Inside!"

The seaman stepped into the shed, his hands raised above his head.

"And now, my lady," said Brynn, hoping she could understand him, "would you kindly close and bar the door?"

The girl sprang forward and slammed the door shut. When it was safely barred, she turned and leaned her back against it. She gazed at her rescuer with enormous dark eyes and giggled.

"My hero!" she said in mischievously dramatic tones. "Rescuing me from those uncouth foreigners—and you a northerner yourself!"

Brynn felt himself blushing. This intriguing girl seemed to be about his own age, but he sensed she was unlike anyone he had ever met before. "You speak my language!" he stammered.

"My father got me the very best teachers for languages and the art of numbers." Her smile was now unambiguously warm and grateful. Brynn felt a little more at ease.

"Is the sultan really your father?"

She nodded. "Yes. I am Safira."

She came and took his hand. A shock ran through his body. He remembered how idiotic Darin sometimes seemed when he was with Shayla. Now he began to understand why.

"Surely a princess should not be walking the streets alone?"

"I'm not supposed to, but I hate always having my bodyguard with me. This corner of the city is not far from the palace. It's always quiet. My old nurse lives just down the street. She is not very well, so I sometimes take her a few things. She is always so happy to see me."

Brynn could well imagine this; he would be more than happy if he could see Safira every day. He turned and looked back down the hill. They now stood so high above the bay that they could see the harbour and the twinkle of the sea beyond the cluster of rooves. A sudden light breeze wafted the impossibly sweet, heavy scent of orange-blossom from the walled garden nearby. He thought of the folk back home, where winter would soon be setting in, and a sudden wild joy rose in his breast.

"What a wonderful country you live in!" he cried. "I have felt I belong here ever since I first set eyes on the coast and those dolphins came to greet me!"

"Dolphins?" Safira looked at him out of the corner of her eye, head on one side. "Why did you come here?"

"I came with two knights of King Arthur's court. We are here to ask your father for the axe that belonged to the Green Knight."

The princess drew a sharp breath. "The prophecy!"

"Prophecy?"

She laughed. "Yes! My father says we must not take it too seriously, though. Dolphins do tend to make a fuss of every ship that arrives. He's right, I suppose. All the same, he will be very happy when someone finally claims that axe. He hates the thing, but he swore to my grandfather he would keep on using it to try offenders."

Brynn now explained all that had happened that day.

"We must go at once to my father and find out about your friends. We'll tell him everything," Safira said when he was finished.

Brynn willingly allowed her to lead him by the hand towards the little arch in the distant wall.

### Chapter 33

Agravain was the first to speak.

"Sire," he said, bowing to the sultan, "I am a knight from the court of King Arthur, come here to beg a boon for my King. These other knights set upon me as I rode beside your city walls."

"He lies!" Darin burst out.

Sultan al-Din lifted his chin and turned his remote eyes towards the ceiling. Darin understood and said no more.

The sultan returned his attention to Agravain. "And what does your king want of us?"

"Sire, he asks for the axe Lord Bertilak brought to these shores. He has need of it against his enemies."

The sultan raised his eyebrows. "The axe?" He turned to Broderic. "And what do you have to say to this, Sir Knight?"

"My lord," replied Broderic, "this man is lying. He is a traitor to his king. Arthur sent Darin and me to find the axe; I have his royal seal to prove it."

The quick-eyed man in the blue robe by the sultan's side stepped forward and took the seal from Broderic's outstretched hand. He perused it for a moment, then nodded and showed it briefly to Sultan al-Din.

"Sire," Agravain said, "they stole the seal from me just now when they attacked me."

Darin's throat ached, but he fought the urge to protest. The man in the blue robe went over and had a whispered conversation with the leader of the guards. Then he took his place beside the sultan again. "My liege," he said, so that the visitors from Logres could understand him, but with a strong accent. "This knight was not alone. He had two others with him and they started the fight."

Sultan al-Din looked mournfully at Agravain. "You can see how this report might incline me to believe these other knights," he said. Then he sighed wearily. "But it makes little difference whose story I choose to believe—the axe will decide."

He looked for a moment at each knight in turn. "To tell the truth, I hope and pray that one of you may succeed in this. We have always honoured King Arthur as a brave and good man. My uncle, Palomides, once sat in the company around his great table."

"Sir Palomides the Saracen!" said Broderic. "I have heard them tell of him at Camelot. A noble knight!"

The sultan bowed his head graciously. "Do you know anything about the special powers possessed by this axe?"

"We have been told that only a virtuous man may lift it. And that it will punish any man impudent enough to make the attempt with evil deeds on his conscience."

The sultan nodded. "That is so. Many men have come here from all over the world to try the axe, but not one has succeeded. As long as it remains here, I am sworn to make use of it to uphold the law of the land." He glanced at the man in blue beside him. "And my Vizier here makes sure that I do," he added dryly.

The Vizier shut his eyes for a moment. "It is a very efficient way of administering justice."

"But not to my liking," the sultan murmured. "In my opinion, everyone deserves to be tried by a group of his fellow citizens. The judge who passes sentence should first look well into the accused's heart—and into his own. A man may find himself in circumstances that would make thieves of us all—a man who might well mend his ways given half a chance. But the axe will slice off his hand, and that's the end of it."

"Cruel justice, indeed," Darin said.

"Yes. That is why I wait for the one who will deliver my realm from this axe. Then the Old Law shall pass away and I will establish the New!" The sultan's proud eyes flashed and he turned to address Sir Agravain. "Sir, will you be the first to try your luck? I warn you, the axe does not take kindly to traitors!"

Agravain shifted his feet and cleared his throat. "Sire, I would not presume to attempt what so many worthy men have tried before me without success. I had hoped that some virtuous elder of your court would place the axe in its case at your behest. I was informed that then I could easily carry it to my L . . ." He stopped for a moment. "To my Lord Arthur," he finished.

"To your lady, Morgan the Enchantress, rather!" muttered Darin.

"Morgan?" The sultan stroked his beard. "Has she turned against King Arthur then? Is her love changed to hatred?" He turned to Broderic. "Will one of you, then, attempt the axe?"

Broderic looked over at Darin. "Sir Darin of the Western Forest is surely the most honest and virtuous knight alive. If anyone can do it, I'm sure he can."

"Ah, sire!" said Darin in confusion, "my friend here always thinks so highly of everyone! I think there is little chance that I shall succeed where so many have failed. But it is my duty to King Arthur to try."

"Well spoken, Sir Knight!" said the sultan. He stood back and, with a sweep of his arm, invited Darin to approach the dais where the great axe lay waiting.

Darin could feel the eyes of all the lavishly dressed and turbaned courtiers upon him as he crossed the chamber. He was remembering the day King Arthur made him a knight—the noble exaltation that filled his heart as Excalibur pointed out the glorious path that awaited him. Ah, had he but followed that shining way, he would now be approaching this monstrous axe in calm humility, not in trepidation like this, with the memory of his jealousy shadowing his heart. For, in the uncompromising light of that youthful vision of knighthood, the ungenerous thoughts his infatuation with Stella had once caused him to harbour against his father, short lived though they had been, did, indeed, cast a bitter shadow across his soul.

Darin stepped up onto the dais. He leant forward and put both hands on the handle of the axe. For a weapon of such size, it seemed remarkably light as he lifted it carefully from its bed of purple velvet; he had the impression it was rising into the air of its own volition. A sudden tremor passed through his arms and made him tighten his hold on the green leather of the handle. In an instant, without his ever knowing how it happened, it was free of his grip. He watched transfixed as the great battleaxe hovered in midair, level with his eyes, emitting a faint humming sound. The whole axe was vibrating, making all the gems in its green and golden head sparkle; Darin saw once more the flash of Excalibur as Arthur raised it on high to dub him knight.

Suddenly the great green axe darted forward. The handle swung round and dealt Darin a blow to the cheek. He staggered back, tears misting his eyes. In truth, the blow had been a light one; the sting on his cheek was as nothing compared to the sting of shame in his heart. As the enchanted battleaxe sank down to rest in its former position on the velvet-covered table, Darin hung his head, mortified.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Bravely tried, young Sir," said Sultan al-Din gently. "Do not blame yourself. So light a reprimand can only have been for some trifling human imperfection such as no man who has reached maturity can hope to escape."

The kindness he saw in the sultan's eyes made Darin think of his father, which only deepened his sense of shame. However, he was grateful to him for his understanding words and held his head high again.

"A lesson I hope I may profit by," Darin said. "I'm sorry I could not free you of the axe, Sire, or help my Lord Arthur."

The Vizier appeared at the sultan's side and murmured a few words. Then he called out something to the guard at the door who relayed the order to someone outside. Two more guards now entered the room, leading a man dressed in patched clothing. It was the captain of the Petrel, one arm in a sling and his shoulder bound with a bloodied bandage. Darin shot a glance at Broderic.

"At last we have this thieving pirate in our hands, Sire!" said the Vizier. He looked enquiringly at Broderic. "Is his presence here at the same time as yours nothing but a coincidence?"

"My lords," answered Broderic, "our mission was of such urgency that we took the first ship to hand. We did not learn until later that this man had committed offences here. We hoped to obtain safe conduct for him, as he and his ship are vital to our mission. Pledging, of course, that he shall never come near your kingdom again."

"He is of no use to you now," the Vizier said. "His ship has been burnt."

Broderic started forward. "What's that?"

Sultan al-Din spread his hands. "Have no fear, good sir," he said. "I shall see to it that you return in safety to your King."

"This man must face trial by axe. At once!" declared the Vizier. He turned to the prisoner. "Do you know what that means, wretch?"

The captain nodded dumbly.

The sultan sighed again. "It is the law of the land," he said, glancing at Darin. "Let it be done."

At a signal from the Vizier, the two guards dragged the captain across the room and up onto the dais. They left him by the table where the Green Knight's axe lay, and stepped back, scimitars in hand. The unfortunate seaman stood there, white-faced, chewing at his lip.

"Now," commanded the Vizier. "Pick it up!"

### Chapter 34

There was a sudden commotion at the main door of the hall. Everyone turned to look as the sentries struggled to restrain the tall, dark man who had thrust his way into the room, shouting and waving his arms. Darin recognized the first mate of the Petrel.

"Let me through!" he yelled. "I must speak with Sultan al-Din himself."

The Vizier darted forward. "Silence! What is the meaning of this?"

"If the sultan wishes to see his daughter again, he must let my captain go."

"Dog," snarled the Vizier, making as if to strike the sailor.

Sultan al-Din held up his hand. "Wait. Bring him to me and let him speak."

Visibly summoning up all his resolution in face of such authority, the first mate of the Petrel addressed the sultan. "Your majesty, we have your daughter in our power," he said, his words coming out in a rush. "You must release my captain and his crew and provide us with a new ship. This must be done in exactly the way I shall instruct you if you are ever to see her again."

"You are a fool," hissed the Vizier. "My torturers will enjoy getting the whereabouts of Princess Safira out of you."

The mate flinched and answered in a trembling voice. "If I do not signal my comrade within the hour, he will take the princess and leave her bound hand and foot somewhere, helpless, and even I will not be able to tell you where." He looked imploringly at the sultan. "Would it not be better to avoid all risk, by granting what I ask?"

The sultan had been looking distraught during all this. He put his hand to his brow and studied the floor intently for a moment.

"I care nothing for these pirates," he said finally. "You will do what this man asks until I know my Safira is safe."

"But I am safe, Father!"

The voice came from a corner at the other end of the great hall. In the opening of a small door he had not noticed until now, Darin saw a young girl, black-haired and pretty. Standing by her side with his bow across his back, gazing in awe at the scene before him, was none other than Brynn.

"Safira!" The sultan started forward, his arms open, and the girl ran lightly across the chamber to meet him.

"Oh, Father!" she cried. "Brynn here has just saved me from kidnappers. I know I should not have been out alone. I was only visiting Fatima. Forgive me."

The sultan embraced his daughter, murmuring softly in her ear. She looked up and saw the first mate.

"This man and another fell upon me. Then Brynn came and now we have the other kidnapper safely locked up." She clapped her hands, her face flushed. "And guess what, Father! The dolphins came to meet Brynn when his ship came in this morning."

The sultan laughed. "Ah, the prophecy! I've told you before not to set too much store by it. Besides, dolphins often sport around incoming ships."

"But Brynn said he felt them trying to communicate with him. Come, Brynn, tell him!"

"Well done, Brynn," Darin called out, as the lad advanced hesitantly towards them.

"Ah, of course, he is with you," observed the sultan. "Yes, well done, indeed, young sir. I am forever in your debt—my daughter is very precious to me. You may name your reward."

Brynn blushed deeply. He looked first at his friends, then at Safira, then at Sultan al-Din. "I would like to know about this prophecy," he said finally.

Safira answered him. "Lord Bertilak, who brought the axe here, told my grandfather that one day someone would come from across the sea to claim it. He talked about the dolphins and everything." Here she paused and a faint colour came to her cheek. "He also said that this hero would one day rule over the land at my side." She turned to her father. "You must let him try," she said quietly.

Sultan al-Din looked enquiringly at Broderic and Darin, who both nodded.

"I cannot believe the axe will do this young man much harm," the sultan said. "My daughter has laid her hands safely on the axe before now and other children likewise, but they all lacked the strength to lift it."

Safira took Brynn's hand. "Won't you try?"

Brynn stared at her. The full implication of what Safira was asking of him, now that he had heard the prophecy, made his heart swell; he felt giddy, as if he were losing himself in the depths of her dark, beseeching eyes. He nodded.

The whole company watched, breathless, as Brynn and Safira walked side by side across the room and mounted the dais together. Taking both of her new friend's hands in hers, the princess placed them on the handle of the great green axe. She looked into his eyes for a moment and then stepped back.

As Brynn gazed down on the jewel-encrusted battleaxe, its magnificence seemed to him to be a symbol of the future that awaited him, a future he could never have imagined in his most exalted dreams less than two short weeks ago. Would he, an untried boy, be the one to achieve Arthur's quest? He felt Broderic's eyes on his back, and Darin's, and he knew how much this meant to them; but most of all he was aware of the slender girl who stood nearby, watching him eagerly.

The green leather was soft and warm to the touch. Gripping it lightly, he lifted the huge axe. To his surprise, it was not particularly heavy; in fact, as he raised it to shoulder level, he judged it the perfect weight for him to wield with ease as an accurate and deadly weapon. Holding it vertically before him, he turned to face the company.

The courtiers and soldiers fell to their knees as one man, prostrating themselves before him with their foreheads to the ground; the captain and mate of the Petrel followed suit. Darin, Broderic and the sultan remained standing, looking at the axe in awe. Brynn noticed Sir Agravain taking advantage of their inattention to slip quietly out through the main door, but he was too dumbfounded to give a sign. He turned to Safira, who stood by his side with a look of rapture on her face. "What must I do now?" he whispered.

"We must put it in its case."

She came to him and put her hands over his. Together they placed the Green Knight's axe in the tattered leather case lying on the table, closed the lid and stepped down from the dais. The sultan hurried forward, put his arm around his daughter's waist and clapped his hand on Brynn's shoulder. Darin and Broderic, laughing now, crowded round to slap him on the back.

"As you see, my people all believe in the prophecy," said Sultan al-Din, indicating the courtiers, who now started getting up off their knees. "You have proved your virtue and your strength. If you will rid my kingdom of this axe, you will forever have my gratitude. But you must act as you see fit."

Brynn looked at his friends and then at Safira. His heart said one thing, but his sense of duty another.

"I must see this quest through and deliver the axe to my lord, King Arthur," he said. He turned to Safira. "But I swear I'll come back as soon as I can, if that's all right."

"You have proved yourself a trustworthy friend to my daughter," said the sultan. "I pray I live to see the day that you return to us. And now, my friends, tonight you are my guests. In the morning, a galley will be waiting to take you to your king!"

That evening, there was feasting in the palace on a scale the three companions had rarely seen. At the banquet, spiced dishes, sweetmeats and sherbet appeared, all of them delicacies that were completely new to them; the whole company was merry, and none more than Sultan al-Din. Safira sat next to Brynn and when they had eaten their fill, she began to teach him some words in her language. Darin watched in amusement while the red haired boy sat spellbound by her pretty lips as they shaped the unfamiliar sounds.

At last, they all retired, each to his own chamber, happy to exchange the rough sleeping bags and the hard deck of the Petrel for the silk sheets and soft couches they found waiting for them.

### Chapter 35

The next morning, hundreds of well-wishers thronged the street as the three adventurers rode in cavalcade down to the harbour. Darin and Broderic had their own horses, while Brynn rode on a white pony given to him by Safira. Accompanying them were the sultan, Safira and a retinue of mounted soldiers, two of whom carried between them the huge axe, safely housed in its case. Despite the ease with which Brynn had brandished it the day before, the weapon had proved too heavy for one man to handle alone.

Waiting at the dock, they found a magnificent galley, longer and broader than the Petrel. Darin could see places for at least twenty seated oarsmen; they would not have to rely on favourable winds to get them home. There was also a tent-like structure on the after-deck. That, the sultan explained, was where the three companions would sleep, while the axe would be stored below deck.

"Look!" shouted Brynn, who was riding at Darin's side. He pointed out to sea. A small sailboat was racing towards them over the glittering water, tracing a zigzag path as it came.

"Just see how she takes the wind!" exclaimed Brynn. "Surely that's impossible? It's those peculiar sails that are doing it."

A murmur amongst the troops behind him told Darin that Brynn was not the only one to find the speeding boat remarkable. Then he realized what he meant: the little craft, with not an oar in sight, was sailing against the wind, and the mast, which seemed very tall for such a small a boat, was rigged with triangular sheets quite unlike the square sails of all the ships he had seen so far.

As the boat drew nearer, Darin was able make out figures moving about on deck. He watched as one of them ducked under the biggest sail and caught at a rope, as if to adjust the rigging. Something in the grace of the movement, in the way the bright sun gleamed on that tossing mass of curls, was suddenly familiar.

"By Arthur's sword—it's Stella!"

"And, look, Shayla too," cried Brynn.

By now, the two girlish figures were clearly recognizable. A tall man in a black cloak and hat was standing on the afterdeck, seemingly steering the boat in some way. At the bow, two women stood looking to shore, one with her hand raised to shade her eyes. Darin and Brynn stared at one another in amazement.

"My mother!"

"And mine!"

The party on the shore dismounted and hurried along the pier as the remarkable craft pulled in. Stella and the man in the cloak both jumped from the boat, made it fast and then helped the others. Their faces all were grim. Darin leapt from his horse and ran to meet them.

"What is it, mother? Shayla?"

Etaine came over and took his hand. Her wide grey eyes gazed at him and then at the anxious faces around her. "My son, everyone," she said quietly. "The battle is lost. Arthur is dead with all his knights; his kingdom has been plunged into darkness and anarchy."

A baffled silence greeted her words. No one seemed to understand what she was saying. "And father?" asked Darin.

Tears welled up in Etaine's eyes and flowed unheeded down her cheeks. "Slain also, at Arthur's side. Stella showed me where he lay on the battlefield. Together, we buried him by the stream at the edge of the Western Forest."

Stella stood now at Etaine's side. "He lies on the grassy bank where I first saw you, Darin," she said. "We placed his shield over the grave and planted an oak sapling beside it. He shall watch over my stream forever, as I shall watch over his."

Darkness swam before Darin's eyes; a bitter taste came to his mouth. "So it is finished. There is nothing for us anymore."

Stella's eyes blazed. "Don't say that! You and Shayla—you are the future. You must pass on your father's blood and perpetuate his name."

"Future?" Darin said, as Shayla's hand found his. "But where?"

"My friends," the sultan said. "You must all stay here with us."

"No!" It was Broderic, who had been standing alone, his hands in his hair and his eyes wild. "No—I must go and find Tara."

Shayla left Darin's side and ran over to him. She took his hand and opened her mouth to speak. She said nothing, however, but looked at Etaine imploringly.

"Tara is safe," Etaine said. "She has chosen to stay with Queen Quinevere." Everyone looked at her. "You must understand," she went on, "scarcely anyone escaped the great battle. Mordred led his army against the King far sooner than anyone expected. Arthur slew him before falling himself; they were among the last to die."

"And what then?" asked Darin.

"Afterwards, certain barons, who were in league with the rebels but had not been on the battlefield, moved in and took over the central realm of Logres. The rest of the kingdom is being fought over by hordes of savage scavengers who come pouring in from over the seas scenting carrion." Etaine put a hand on Broderic's shoulder. "They have allowed Guinevere and a few of her companions—your Tara among them—to withdraw to a safe retreat where they may stay for the remainder of their lives. There are no men in their company, nor are they allowed any visitors. The barons regard the Queen as a potential threat."

"Tell me where I can find her!" cried Broderic.

"Ah, Broderic," Etaine replied, "if you or my son were to venture into their territory, the barons would certainly have you put to death. Tara begged me to say that, if you love her, you will forget her and leave her to comfort her Queen and protector."

"Forget her? How can I both love and forget?"

Stella, who in the meantime had been back on board the boat, now approached Broderic, carrying something wrapped in a silk cloth.

"Tara sent you this," she said gently, as she handed it over to him. "She embroidered the cloth, using her own hair."

Broderic looked down at the object in his hands. The silk was worked with a pattern of flowers around the figure of a single stag, like the one on his shield.

"It's your harp," Stella said. "She wants you to promise not to look for her, but rather to go along with my brother on his quest, taking it with you and spreading tales of the glory that was Arthur's Camelot where ever you go."

Broderic stared at her blindly; unsteadily he walked to the edge of the pier and sat own, bowing his head over the harp in his hands. After a moment, Shayla went and settled herself quietly beside him.

"This is my brother, Oberon," Stella then told the company, indicating the tall figure standing slightly apart from the rest. "He has come to take us on a strange journey, to follow a quest like none ever undertaken before. Listen to what he has to say."

Oberon told them how he could move between worlds; how they could all make a new life for themselves in a place that was and, at the same time, was not their old home; how the stories they would bring with them of Arthur and his knights would be a gift and inspiration to the people there forever.

Darin tried his best, but he could make little sense out of what the man in the wide-brimmed hat was saying. He grimaced at his mother.

"I know it's hard to understand," said Etaine. "I've heard it all several times over by now and I think I'm just beginning to get the idea. I must say it does sound like the best chance you have of making a future for yourself with Shayla and me—if that's what you want."

Darin looked thoughtfully at Oberon. He was remembering how he had eventually come to understand and believe what Stella had told him about there being other worlds among the stars. This man was her brother, faerie like herself; perhaps his words too would one day cease to seem like nonsense.

"Yes, that is what I want," he said. He nodded to Oberon. "I will go with you."

"Good." Oberon glanced at Broderic. "And your companion?"

Broderic stood and turned to face them. "I heard your words," he said. "I confess I understand little of what you are saying, but I too am ready to go with you, if that's what Tara wants." He looked sorrowfully down at the harp he held at his side. "I shall pour all my love into this instrument, until the music of its strings carries my song straight to the hearts of all who may hear it as surely as the string of a longbow wings the arrow home to its target. From now on, this shall be my only endeavour: where so ever I go, I will make them listen. Arthur and the noble company of the Round Table shall not be forgotten."

"I have no doubt of it!" answered Oberon.

"My friends," said Brynn, "it seems you have found a quest worthy of you! As for me, since Arthur no longer requires the Green Knight's axe, my task is over. I will stay here. Ever since we arrived on these shores, I have known this is where my destiny lies."

Safira came and stood by his side. She looked at her father hopefully. The sultan nodded his approval, then turned to Brynn's mother. "Your son is right, my lady," he said. "His place is here. But he is young. He should have you near him still. Will you not also stay with us?"

"Gladly," she replied. "Shayla, you have Darin now. Your brother needs me more than you do." She embraced her daughter and held out her hand to Darin, who took it gratefully.

"So, what shall we do about the axe?" Darin asked Brynn. "As you are its master, you must decide."

"The sultan wants it gone from his kingdom," Brynn said, after a moment's thought. "You and Broderic must take it with you and throw it into the sea, far from land. As long as it stays in its case, you should have no trouble with it."

"A good decision!" said Sultan al-Din. "Then I can instigate the New Law in this realm. For a start," he went on with a smile, "that sea captain who brought you here is a dishonest rogue, but I am told he is an excellent sailor. I shall let him keep his hands, poor devil, and put him to work pulling an oar on one of my galleys without pay. If he can keep out of mischief for a couple of years, I shall put his talents to use and give him a position in my fleet."

"If that's all decided, then, we must start at once," Oberon said. "It's nearly two days' sail to the island of Avalon. I want to be there in time for the full moon."

After more farewells, Darin, his mother, Shayla and Stella boarded the Ariel. Oberon said the horses had to stay behind.

"Brynn, you have been a good squire to me," said Broderic. "But I think you have greater things ahead of you. River and Dart are yours now. Perhaps you and the Princess can exercise them occasionally." Then he and Oberon followed the rest on board.

Brynn and Safira ran happily over to take the horses' bridles; they whispered comforting words in their ears. Brynn's mother and Sultan al-Din smiled at one another.

"Cast off!" called Oberon, when everybody was ready. Stella pulled in the last rope securing them to the jetty and they were on their way.

### Chapter 36

The sleek hull of Oberon's sailboat sliced through the water at a speed that would have astonished the crew of the Petrel. He guided it west, through the straits, with Stella making constant adjustments to the complicated arrangement of spars, sails and rigging. Well before mid-morning, they were sailing north into open sea.

While the faerie brother and sister held their craft on course, their four passengers looked back at the coastline of Brynn's new home until there was nothing but a stripe on the horizon.

Darin squeezed Shayla's hand. "I'll miss your little brother."

"Yes—and my mother too. But at least they are safe. We have all of us lost someone."

Darin felt a stab in his heart as he thought of his father, slain in battle. He glanced across at Etaine and Broderic. His mother's eyes were calm and sad as she stared out across the waters, while the look of resignation on Broderic's face made him seem another person, so characteristic had his expression of cheerful determination been of old.

"Broderic, my friend," said Darin, pointing at the battered leather case on the deck. "I think it's time we honoured young Brynn's request and heaved that thing overboard."

Broderic nodded and helped Darin carry the heavy axe to the side of the boat.

"So here's an end to the Old Law," he said. "Long live the New!"

They swung the great case back and forth between them three times and then flung it with all their strength over the side. Everyone watched as it arced through the air. The waves had scarcely closed over it when the glistening forms of two dolphins shot vertically out of the sea, to hang there suspended for a moment, water cascading off their backs. Then the magnificent creatures plunged after the great axe and disappeared from view.

"The prophecy is fulfilled," breathed Darin.

Once the Ariel was safely on course, the voyagers sat in a circle around Oberon as he stood at the wheel. He told them first that he hoped to reach their destination, the island of Avalon, by nightfall the following day. Then, with some help from Stella, he tried again to explain the extraordinary nature of the quest on which they were embarked.

The enormity of the disaster that had occurred with Arthur's defeat was such that Darin, since he had heard of it, was left with an all-pervading sense of unreality. He guessed it was the same for all of them. They had hardly spoken of it amongst themselves; the time for that would come, but, for now, salvation lay in throwing themselves recklessly into this new adventure. When he heard Oberon say they were going to a world that was both like and unlike this one, it seemed to him they would just be exchanging one unreality for another; this was something he found curiously easy to accept.

From what he gathered, the mysterious change between what Oberon referred to as two universes of alternative possibility would occur on the island of Avalon. Afterwards, there would be a boat, brought there by some faerie friend of Oberon's, and they would sail north. Once on dry land, they would continue their way through places with strange names like Aragon and France until they came to the sea again. On the other side of this sea lay England, a country they would recognize as their own. Oberon would see they were provided with horses and Broderic was to sing his songs about Arthur and his knights at all the courts and castles they passed on their way. Oberon assured them they would be welcomed and rewarded wherever they went; the knights and ladies they would find there were hungry for tales of chivalry, love and adventure.

Oberon painted a picture of a world quite similar to their own, but more divided. Rulers of small kingdoms, barons and knights were constantly warring with one another throughout the whole western world, but recently a powerful religious leader had persuaded them to stop their fighting in order to unite in a great expedition to the city of Jerusalem, far away in the east. Oberon was of the opinion that these rough warriors would derive more benefit from tales of Arthur's knights, with their codes of honour and courtly love, than they would from the religious fanaticism instilled into them in order to send them off plundering foreign lands. Broderic would be the one to spread these tales and Darin, the last man to be knighted by King Arthur, would be a living example of true chivalry to all who met him.

Darin was quite clear about what he must do. He must reach this England Oberon had told them about. There, he would offer his services to the local ruler and use his knightly skills to win wealth and the right to hold lands of his own, where he would settle with Shayla and his mother and start a family. He thought of the bag of gold coins Arthur had given them. Would gold be of value in the new world they were headed for?

He looked around him. At least we will be together, he thought.

One of the many features of the Ariel that would have won Brynn's admiration was the sunken cabin amidships, fitted out with four comfortable bunk beds. As night fell, first Shayla and then Darin's mother climbed down the steps to sleep. Oberon, seemingly tireless, was still at the wheel. Stella leaned on the side of the boat while Darin and Broderic sat on the deck between them.

"I've been wondering about something Sultan al-Din said," said Broderic. "When he heard that Morgan was siding with Mordred against Arthur, he muttered something about love turning to hatred."

"She did not always hate Arthur," said Stella. "They were lovers, once. I saw her bent over his bloodied corpse on the field of battle, wailing and tearing out her hair."

Darin grunted. "But she was largely to blame for his death, surely."

"Ah, Darin. Love, hatred, jealousy, regret—hers is not a happy lot. She took his body to the island where she dwells with a group of maidens, her pupils. There they mourn over him."

Broderic looked at Oberon. "I've been thinking hard about how I might turn all the stories I remember into song. To begin with, how can I make my audience listen to tales about a king they have never heard of?"

"I've been thinking about that, too," Oberon said. "We must present him as a hero from the past. There are stories already in circulation amongst the folk you are going to meet about a great warrior who once defended them against barbarian invasions. Tell them Arthur was that hero and the Knights of the Round Table were his warriors—then they'll listen!"

Darin studied the tall faerie at the wheel, with the night breeze whipping back his long cloak, his eager face lifted to the stars as he spoke, steering them all towards their destiny. Oberon's obvious passion caught hold of his heart. He was right, of course—the noble company Arthur had formed around him, the trials and adventures each of his knights had faced, all this was the stuff of story fit to inspire and elevate the souls of men. Ah, but what a senseless ending! He bowed his head as the memory of the calamity that had befallen them came flooding back. His father gone, Arthur gone, the whole shining realm plunged into darkness and chaos.

It was then, even as despair threatened to overwhelm him, that the idea was born. He put his hand on Broderic's arm.

"Perhaps you should weave a message of hope into your songs, use your art to temper the final grim chapter. We are none of us certain what happens to us when we come to die. If life itself ends on a note of uncertainty, perhaps a good story should do the same."

Oberon looked at him intently. "What are you getting at?"

"Maybe there could be a hint of doubt as to whether Arthur really did die of his wounds in that last battle. Perhaps Morgan used her arts to heal him. Stella, what did you say was the name of the island she took him to?"

"I didn't," said Stella. "I'm afraid I don't know."

"And the island we're headed for now, Oberon—what did you say it was called?"

"I don't know what name the mortals use," replied Oberon, "but Stella and I call it Avalon. It's the name of an island from our old home, which was destroyed long, long ago. My father and I used to sail out there on a boat just like this one."

"So be it. Avalon is a fine, other-worldly name for the enchanted island where Arthur waits, free from the ravages of time, ready to return when his people need him most."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Oberon, his eyes alight. "And, sister! Is it not wonderful that a name from home should live on in story and legend?"

"Wonderful," echoed Stella, "but not as wonderful as the change all this has wrought in you." She smiled at Darin. "I haven't seen my brother so enthusiastic about anything in centuries."

Broderic was on his feet. "Darin, you've got it," he said. "Exactly what I needed—I can feel the songs taking shape inside me. And Oberon, thank you. This is the mission I was born for." He turned and started towards the hatch. "Now I must sleep on it. Goodnight, everyone."

When he was halfway down the stair to the cabin, Broderic looked back at them in the moonlight. "All is not lost," he said and disappeared below deck.

Oberon turned triumphant eyes on Darin and Stella. "Nothing is lost!" he proclaimed.

### Chapter 37

The next morning, they all sat on deck, listening to Broderic as he played his harp and sang for them the tragic story of Sir Tristram and the fair Iseult.

Although Darin knew the tale already, he had never been so moved by it as now; Shayla, who was hearing it for the first time, was weeping openly by the end.

"Oh, Broderic," she sighed, "your words make me see everything so clearly! And your music makes me feel those poor lovers' sorrows as though they were my own."

"It's true, my friend," said Darin. "I have never heard you play the harp like that before."

Broderic looked down at the instrument in his hands. "Tara's soul is in it now," he said. Then he too began to weep silently.

As the Ariel sailed on through the day, those on board were quiet for the most part. Darin guessed they were all of them trying to take the first step towards coming to terms with an overwhelming sense of loss. He sensed that Broderic's art had given them a shared starting point, somehow channelling and giving form to their grief. As he looked around his companions, he saw both sorrow and compassion in their eyes.

By late afternoon, it was plain that Oberon was growing impatient, standing at the wheel and peering intently ahead. "Tonight the moon will be full," he told Darin. "If I am to accomplish the change and bring you all with me, I must help my memory all I can by recreating certain circumstances as closely as possible. We must be at the island by nightfall."

It was evening when they finally caught sight of Avalon, lying directly ahead, due north. Even as Oberon called out, a huge moon appeared over the horizon to their right. It was twice as big as any Darin had ever witnessed at home; he seemed almost able to feel the pull of its magnetic force as it rose above the sea.

The island was drawing nearer. It was low in the middle, rising to higher, cliff-bound plateaus at either end. Most of the middle part of the southern facing coastline was taken up by a wide bay with a long, sandy beach. Oberon steered the Ariel towards the western end of the bay and soon they were sailing past the high, rocky side of the cape that jutted southwards into the sea on their left. By now, night had fallen and the moon was a third of the way up the sky, shedding a steely light over everything.

They left the Ariel at anchor out in the bay and lowered a small boat. It took Oberon two trips to row them all ashore, quicksilver jewels aflame with the cold fires of the moon dripping from his oars as they skimmed over the sea. They left the boat drawn up on the beach and started out across the sand.

"Everything will look much the same when we come back this way," Oberon told them. "Only it will be a different boat waiting for us."

His words reminded Darin of the mysterious nature of their journey; he saw his friends looking at one another wonderingly in the moonlight.

Soon they had rounded the bay and were climbing up the sides of the cape, heading southwards. As they ascended, the rising moon followed them every step of the way, peering at them through the trees when their path entered a pinewood some fifty feet above the sea.

Darin began to tell Shayla about his plans to seek out the forests of England and make a home for them there.

"And when you ride as a knight with the lords of that land, how will you call yourself?" asked Shayla. "Keeper of the Western Forest sounds a little grand, perhaps; people will wonder why they haven't heard of you before."

"You're right. Maybe something a little more modest, a name that could have come from anywhere. How about Darin of Westwood?"

"Lady Westwood?" Shayla laughed. "Yes, I like it!"

It was the first time the sound of laughter had made itself heard since Etaine had told them of Arthur's downfall. Darin hoped it signalled a change in everyone's spirits as they neared their goal, a tacit agreement to lay their grief aside for the present and enter wholeheartedly into this shared adventure.

The last few pine trees were now behind them and they were crossing a flat, desolate landscape to reach the end of the cape. The patches of moss and thin soil underfoot gradually grew sparser until they were walking over bare rock, the bones of Avalon shining white beneath the moon. At last, they found themselves standing on the edge of a high cliff at the southernmost tip of the island.

Gazing out from this high, rocky vantage point, Darin remembered what Stella had once told him about worlds floating among the stars. On three sides of him, far below, lay the sea. The low horizon was barely discernible, so alike in shade were sea and sky; a wide, uninterrupted curve from end to end. No longer was he a tiny figure, creeping through the forests of a vast, flat world; no, he was standing at the prow of some great ship, voyaging through the endless reaches of space. He lifted his eyes higher to watch the moon riding overhead and in the stillness of the night, he seemed to hear a faint sound, as if two high, singing notes from opposite ends of the firmament were meeting and vibrating in his head. He had a rush of giddiness and stepped back from the edge of the cliff. He saw Stella's brother regarding him from under the wide brim of his hat.

"The music of the spheres," said Oberon.

He can read our minds, thought Darin, and turned to look at the rest of his companions. They stood before him, transformed by the moonlight into heroic statues: his mother, tragic but indomitable, who had found brief happiness with his father, only to have it snatched away from her again; Broderic, his handsome features refined by sorrow, his eye fixed on some high inner goal; Stella, the immortal, perfectly at home in this lunar vision. And Shayla, his hope and his strength.

"It's time," said Oberon.

The moon had now reached the highest point in the sky. Its light, pouring down on them from above and reflecting off the waters below was so intense that sea, sky and rock fused into one great, silver radiance. Darin was unsure whether Oberon was speaking to them out loud or directing their minds with his thoughts alone as the spellbound companions moved quietly together and joined hands to stand in a circle, looking at one another in wonder.

"Now," said Oberon softly. "Close your eyes."

### A Letter from Robert Westwood to his Grandson

Dear Bryn,

I hope you have been enjoying the stories I sent you for your birthday. I typed them up from my father's old notebooks.

If people knew what I have come to believe concerning these tales, they would declare me insane. So I tell no one—not even you. What I will do, however, is relate two curious incidents from my own life.

I must begin by explaining that when your great grandfather started telling me about Darin and his friends, just after the war—that's the Second World War, lad—he insisted they were true stories about our ancestors. Some mysterious character he met in a library had given him them, he claimed. Once, when I was still quite small, we were on holiday down south. He took me into an old Norman church somewhere and showed me a slab of black stone, about five feet long, set into the floor. On it was carved a coat of arms and the name Wester-woode. He pointed out the device on the shield. "That's an oak tree," he said. It was worn almost smooth; but I suppose it did look something like a tree.

By the time I was your age, I knew a bit about history. King Arthur had never existed, so the tales about Darin and the Knights of the Round Table couldn't possibly be true, I said. My father looked at me in an odd sort of way, I remember, and finally admitted with a sigh that he had made them up. Some years later, I asked him what first gave him the idea for them. It was a game of Scrabble, he said; the words 'spotty' and 'knight' appeared together. That made him think of some poor knight who had to keep his visor shut all the time! (The spots, of course, didn't make it through to the story, just the closed visor).

So that's what I grew up believing—and would have continued to believe, were it not for the following events:

Back in the nineteen-seventies, when your father was younger than you are now, we lived on the island of Ibiza. One winter, I went to London by myself on business. It was an icy November afternoon, I remember, as I crossed Trafalgar Square and headed for Charing Cross road, pulling my coat collar up round my ears and cursing the miserable English climate. I could picture the whitewashed kitchen windowsill back on the island, bright in the warm morning sun. Before I went home, though, I wanted to get in a good supply of books, so I was on my way to Foyles—a wonderful place in those days, lots of floors and endless corridors. I was sure I'd find everything I wanted there—except, perhaps, one particular book, a long fourteenth century poem, Gawain and the Green Knight. At that time, for some reason, I imagined it might be rather obscure. I suddenly thought of the little bookshop my father used to visit in a side street off Charing Cross road. Perhaps I should have a look there first, get out of the blasted cold for a bit. I knew they had all kinds of odd books about esoteric religions, folk tales, legends and so on.

There was a musty smell in the shop—not only new stuff here, but all sorts of rare old volumes. I stamped my feet to get some feeling back into them and looked around. A bloke in an old tweed jacket was at the counter, busy marking something in the back pages of a pile of old books. "Gawain and the Green Knight?" he mumbled, chewing on the end of his pencil. "I don't have it in stock, I'm afraid. I can't tell you much about what editions are available either, not off the top of my head at any rate." Then a voice came from the other side of the shop. "Are you a student then? Of medieval languages, I mean?"

I turned and found myself looking into a pair of intense, cold blue eyes. A tall man about my own age was staring at me from under the brim of a soft black fedora. "Not really," I said. "Well," said the stranger, "you might find The Green Knight a little difficult in the original." He put the book he had been examining back on the shelf and came over to join me. All at once, he threw back his head, closed his eyes and intoned a few words of incomprehensible gibberish. "From the poem in question," he explained. "Up went the axe, then it came swishing down, straight for the naked neck. Or words to that effect."

English in the fourteenth century was very different to the way it is now, Bryn, and The Green Knight is even more peculiar. It's in a sort of northern dialect. I confess I couldn't understand a word, but the man in the felt hat said not to worry, there was a very readable modern translation available in paperback. "Any good bookshop should have it—except this one, of course," he said, grinning at the man in the tweed jacket. Then he stuck out his hand. "Auberon Dufay."

When I introduced myself in turn, he raised his eyebrows. "Robert Westwood? Not by any chance Bernard Westwood's son, Bobby?" I nodded, mildly surprised. "Ah, yes, I knew some relatives of yours, long ago," he said. "My sister told me she saw you once, in Cambridge." Now I was even more surprised. I hadn't been back to Cambridge since we moved up to Yorkshire at the end of the war. This remarkable fellow in the black hat and ankle-length coat—looking, if anything, younger than I was myself—was talking like one of those elderly family friends I would meet occasionally, who still knew me as Bobby.

When I said I was on my way to Foyles, Auberon glanced around the shop. "I'm all done here," he said, "and I'm headed in that direction myself. Why don't we walk together?"

Our breath hung in clouds before us as we stepped out into the freezing air. As we turned up Charing Cross Road, I took a sidelong glance at Dufay. He certainly cut a striking figure against the drab London surroundings, hat slouched over his eyes and long black coat, open despite the cold, flapping at his heels like a scholar's gown. I was intrigued—enough so, that when he invited me to have something in the café next to Foyles, I agreed.

Over hot tea, we talked of this and that. It turned out he knew Ibiza well. I wasn't particularly surprised—Dufay's flamboyant style would not be so out of place there. Then he asked me why I was interested in the Green Knight poem. I had always been fascinated by King Arthur and his knights, I said. I told him about my father's stories and how I was thinking about writing some more for my son. The idea seemed to amuse him. "Carrying on the family tradition, eh?" he said. He offered to look me up the next time he was in Ibiza—maybe he could help me with my project. He was some sort of literary agent, apparently.

This led to a discussion on Arthurian matters in general. He knew a lot, that was clear, and some of his opinions were rather unorthodox. Do you remember when we watched that DVD together, with King Arthur as a Roman legionary helping the Britons against the Saxons in the fifth century? You wondered why the well-known stories were always about knights in armour. Were they all wrong? I told you then that, despite all the theories about some real figure behind the legends, the one indisputable historical fact we have is that the tales of the Round Table were written in the twelfth century—the age of the Crusades, of tournaments and chivalry.

Well, when I mentioned during my conversation with Dufay the endless discussion that goes on about whether or not those old writers got their stories from some earlier source, he said they did—and claimed he knew what, or rather who, that source was. "It was a minstrel," he said. "One whose harping and singing was truly inspired. People who heard him perform at the courts he passed through were so moved by the experience that it changed them forever. They all scurried off to write down whatever they could remember." He sounded so matter-of-fact, I almost believed he did know more than all the experts. When I asked him where he got all this from, he laughed. "Let's just say I'm in a privileged position," he said.

I asked him to tell me more about his line of work. "I just adore stories," he said. "They are the greatest thing we can pass on. They all weave together into the greatest story of them all, the story of our lives on this planet. I shall always seek out the best story-tellers of the day."

"My father wove quite a few things from other stories into his own stuff, come to think of it," I said. "He had names from Shakespeare in there, and a boat called The Ariel. I suppose he knew that was the name of the poet Shelley's boat too. The one he was drowned in."

Auberon chuckled softly. He looked down at the table. "Excitable chap, Percy," he murmured.

I was getting used to the odd feeling I got when he said things like that—as though he knew personally people he couldn't possibly have met. It was just his manner, I told myself.

Then Auberon asked me, with a funny twinkle in his eye, if I had ever wondered where my father got his stories from. I told him about the Scrabble game and everything. Next, he asked me when my father had first told me them. Not long after the war, I said—nineteen forty-six, seven at the latest. He stared at me for a while, as though he were trying to work something out. Then he stood up. "Time to go," he said. "I'll see you on Ibiza."

He left me at the entrance to Foyles and set off in the direction of Oxford Street. Before he had gone more than two or three paces, however, he stopped and looked back. The wind was whipping at his coat tails; he held his fedora jammed down on his head. "The next time you come across a Scrabble set, have a look in the corner of the board," he called out. "I think you'll find the game wasn't put on the market until nineteen fifty-two. Good hunting!" And off he went.

The second incident happened on Formentera, a small island close by Ibiza. It was the summer after my meeting with Auberon Dufay. I took the little boat over to Formentera to go to a party at a musician friend's house down on the Cap de Berberia, a high, cliff-bound cape, the southern-most tip of the island.

It was the night of full moon. Everyone was outside; guitars and flutes were playing; people strayed in and out of the pinewoods that surrounded the house. Round about midnight, I wandered off alone down a footpath leading to the cliffs at the very end of the cape. It was a desolate landscape, bare rock mostly, shining white in the moonlight. I stood at the edge of the cliff gazing out over the sea. The coast of North Africa lay down there; I found myself remembering the time I had spent in Morocco, years before.

The moon was now directly above my head. Because I was right at the end of the cape, the sea lay before me and on either side, reflecting dazzling moonlight back up at me. Suddenly it was as though I were suspended in space—rock, sea and sky all one immense encompassing ocean of silver light.

It was then that my memories of Morocco made me think of the land of Al-Din and Darin's final quest. A voice in my head whispered Avalon!—I felt myself on the brink of some impossible realization. Completely oblivious of my situation, I took a pace forward.

O, Bryn! How can I make you feel what it's like to step out into the void, to know there's no way back, that you are about to plunge hundreds of feet to your death? A wild fluttering, high in my chest, lungs full to bursting, breath stopped, disbelief and panic fighting for the upper hand—and, along with it all, an insane elation, as if I really wanted to . . .

A hand gripped my arm. I felt myself being pulled firmly back from the abyss. I was on white rock again, silver sea and silver sky once more separated by a faint horizon. I turned round to see my rescuer.

Before me stood a young woman of what I can only describe as an unearthly beauty. Enormous eyes—how shall I ever forget them?—gleaming like ice; long, curling hair, the same glittering flow as the moonlit sea. How could such a slender creature have stopped my fall so effortlessly?

Her lips parted; I heard a soft voice say Not yet, not yet. I tore my gaze away from her and looked over my shoulder at the cliff edge again. Then, desperately trying to find the first word, I turned to face her.

Gone. Vanished. Utterly.

Well, lad, enough of my reminiscences. You can make of them what you like. I look forward to seeing you again soon. Maybe I'll ask your parents if I can take you to Formentera in the summer holidays. I'm sure you'd love it there, and I have a bit of a yen to see it again. What do you think ?

Lots of love, Grandpa.

* * *

If you enjoyed this book and would like a printed and illustrated paperback edition, enquire at:

chris-ivon@hotmail.co.uk
