I did not often have time to stop and reflect upon my good fortune, but in those days I prayed as I had never prayed before: for my people, for strength, for wisdom to lead. Mostly for wisdom. It is a lonely thing to be a king. Even sharing the burden with Maelwys it was not easy for me.

For one thing, many of the younger warriors had apparently chosen me for their sovereign. They more or less attached themselves to me, looking to me to lead them. Maelwys helped me as he could, and Charis too, but when men hold you as their lord, there is not much anyone else can do. It is up to you and you alone how best to lead them.

We spent many long nights, Maelwys and I, talking, talking, talking. Rather, Maelwys talked and I listened, carefully, to every word. He taught me much about the handling of men, and in the teaching taught me much about life.

I also saw a good deal of Blaise, and of Dafyd. And in the autumn, just before Samhain and the end of harvest, I travelled to Ynys Avallach with Charis, and then went on to Caer Cam to see Grandfather Elphin and the others. I stayed with them – such good people, such noble hearts – until the last leaves clung to the trees and the winds turned cold off the sea and then went back to the Tor where Charis was waiting to return to Dyfed.

The Isle of Apples, which is what some called it, had not altered in so much as a stone out of place. Time was frozen there, it seemed; no one aged, nothing changed. And nothing dared intrude on the holy serenity of the place. It remained, remains still, an almost spiritual place, a place where natural forces – like time and seasons and tides and life – obey other, perhaps older, laws.

Avallach now spent most of his time perusing the holy text with Collen, or one of his brother priests from Shrine Hill, as it had become known. I think he had it in his mind to become something of a priest himself. The Fisher King would have made a very strange, albeit compelling, cleric.

That autumn, I remember, he began showing the first interest in the Chalice, the cup Jesu had used at his last supper, and which the Arimathean tin merchant Joseph had brought with him in the days of the first shrine on Shrine Hill.

For some reason, I did not mention to him that I had seen an image, or vision, of the cup. I do not know why. He would have been keenly interested to hear of it, but something held me back – as if it was unseemly to say anything about it just yet. I remember thinking, 'Later I will tell him. We must get back to Maridunum.' Although we were in no particular hurry at the time, it seemed best to let it go.

That autumn, also, I sent my messengers to Ganieda. Whereupon, I settled down.to a drear winter of the most restless waiting I have known. But that I have already told…

How long, Wolf? How long, old friend, have I sat here upon my rock and watched the seasons fly? Up they swirl, winging back to the Great Hand which gave them… they fly like the wild geese, but never more return.

What of Merlin? What of the Wild Man of the Wood, eh? Will he never more return?

There was a time when… never mind, Wolf, it does not matter. Orion's Belt, Cygnus, the Great Bear – these things matter; these things are important. Let all else fade and fall. Only the eternal stars will remain when all else is unthinking dust.

I watch the winter stars glitter hard in the frozen sky. Were I not so forlorn I would conjure a fire to warm myself. Instead, I watch the high cold heaven perform its inscrutable work. I gaze at the hoar frost on the rocks and see the patterns of a life there. I stare at the black water in my bowl and I see the shapes of possibility and inevitability.

I will tell you about inevitability, shall I? Yes, Wolf, I will tell you and then you will know what I know.

We were living in Dyfed. I was ruling my people, little by little helping them to see the vision of the Summer Realm. It was in my mind that if I could only show my people the shape and substance of the kingdom I meant to create, they would follow me willingly.

I had no hint, then, of the forces arrayed against me. Oh, we struggle against a cunning adversary. Never doubt it. We move about on our crust of earth and we imagine we see the world as it is. What we see is the world we imagine.

No man sees the world as it is.

Unless, perhaps, granted sight by the Enemy. But I will not talk of him. Ask Dafyd, he will tell you. He will find it easier, for he has never had to stand against him face to face. Words alone are useless to describe the repugnance, the repulsion, the utter loathsome abhorrence… Ah, but let ft go. Let it go, Merlin. Linger not upon it.

I remember when he came to me. I remember his young face, full of hope and apprehension. He little appreciated what he was doing, the young fool, but he knew how badly he wanted it, how much it mattered to him. Of course, I was flattered a little and I saw some benefit in it for both of us, or I would not have allowed it. As it was -

What? Have I not? Pelleas, Wolf; I am speaking of Pelleas, my young steward. Who else?

Along with Gwendolau and some of Avallach's people, I had ridden to Llyonesse to hold council with Belyn. We were hoping to make a treaty among us to uphold one another through the barbarian incursions that had become more than annoying of late. We needed the help of those south of Mor Hafren and along the far southern coasts where the Irish had begun making their landfalls in the hidden little bays and inlets. Once ashore, they could strike north or east as they would.

Maelwys and Avallach believed that by Unking the coast-land with a system of watchtowers and beacon fires, we could discourage these landings, perhaps even end them. For if the Irish knew they would be met in force at each landing, and that their losses would outweigh their gains at every turn, they might abandon the war trail for more peaceful pursuits.

So we took the plan to Belyn. He was not easy to convince; he did not like the Irish any more than we did, but working with us would force him out of his cherished isolation. He much preferred his solitary way. But in the end, Maildun argued for us and won Belyn's support.

The night before we were to leave Llyonesse, Pelleas came to me. 'Lord Merlin,' he said, 'forgive me for disturbing your rest.' I had retired early to my chamber – haggling always taxes me, and after three days of it I was weary.

'Come in, Pelleas, come in. I was enjoying a small cup of wine before going to sleep. Will you share one with me?'

He accepted the cup I offered him, but he did not drink. I could see by the look on his face that it had cost him a great deal already to come here, and that he had a matter of some importance on his mind. Tired as I was, I did not rush him, but let him come at the thing in his own time.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and offered him the chair. He sat, holding the cup in his hands, staring into it. 'What is it like in the north?' he asked.

'Oh, it is a wilder country, to be sure. Much of it is woodland and there are mountains and moors where nothing grows but the peat moss. It can be a lonely place, but it is not so bleak and terrible as men make out. Why do you ask?'

He shrugged. 'I have never been to the north.'

Something in his voice made me ask, 'Is that where you think I live?'

'Do you not?'

I laughed. 'No, lad. Dyfed is only across Mor Hafren, not far from Ynys Avallach. It is no great distance.' He was embarrassed by this, so I went on to explain. The northland I was talking about is far, far north indeed. It is many and many days ride – above the Wall itself.'

He nodded. 'I see.'

'I lived in that region for a time, you know.' His head came up at these words. 'Yes, I did. I lived with Hawk Fhain – a clan of Hill Folk who follow their herds from grazing to grazing all over the region up there. But the land goes even further north than that.'