'How came this woman to be in your court?' I asked, my voice harsh in my ears.

That is no mystery. My father's father, King Banw, married one of their kind. Though beautiful, the woman was frail and died without giving him an heir. He took another wife, of course, but always said his heart belonged to his Faery queen. Since Banw's time there have been Faery with us. Elaine is of their race. They are aloof and haughty, it is true, but they are a peaceable folk for all their strangeness, and keep to themselves.'

'Where do they abide?'

'In the forest Broceliande – a goodly distance to the east.' Bors observed me closely, as if regarding me for the first time. He leaned close, as if offering a confidence. 'I have heard it said that Lord Embries is of the Faery. Is this so?'

'So it is said.'

Bors nodded as if that explained much. 'And you?'

'Yes.'

'I thought as much. I mentioned it to Ban, but my brother said it was nonsense.'

'People make more of it than there is,' I assured him. 'The Fair Folk are not so different as many believe.'

He accepted this with a ready laugh. 'There is no end of things people believe. I have heard it said that your people can change shape as you will – become wolves or stags or owls, or whatever.'

Our talk turned gradually to other things, but I thought to myself, Fair Folk here, here in Armorica! Merlin must hear of this!

Broceliande lay two days' ride from the coastland into the wide low hills of Armorica. The land across the Narrow Sea is not as wet, not as given to mists and fogs and rain as Ynys Prydein. And at the height of summer it can be hot; the heat rises from the earth to dance in shimmering waves along the hilltops and ridges, and the dust puffs up beneath the horses' hooves.

It is a fair land. Streams and rivers, lakes and springs and pools there are in number. Trees grow tall, and the woodlands abound with all manner of game for the table. A lord would call himself blessed to hold such a realm; indeed, many I know hold far less of far worse and think themselves fortunate.

Thus it is something of a mystery to me that there are not more settlements in that region. Although we did pass through two new holdings on our way, these were being cleared and settled by Britons who, like others from the eastern and southern regions of Britain, had begun crossing the sea to escape the raiding Saecsen. A forlorn and slender hope. The Saecsen left Armorica alone for the most part because Britain was the more ripe for plunder.

If Britain fell, or if it rallied and discouraged raiding altogether, the barbarian would look to Armorica soon enough, and where would civilized men escape to then?

The thought that fellow countrymen – our own kinsmen! – were deserting our land discouraged Merlin. He did not like to see it, nor did I. But I understood and forgave them their fear, whereas Merlin felt betrayed.

'Do they think to escape the Darkness simply by crossing a little water?' he asked, eyeing the rude settlement sadly. 'I tell you the truth, Pelleas: when the sun goes down, the light fails for everyone, and all men will curse the night as one.'

He sighed and shook his head slowly. 'And there will be no bringing back the light once it has gone.'

So it was not altogether a light-hearted journey for us. But upon arriving at the edge of the forest we encountered a small holding – not more than a handful of mud-daubed huts and a briar cattle enclosure. The people living there were kindly and eager for news of the wider world. When we asked after the Fair Folk settlement, they were pleased to tell us where and how to find it, and would have sent someone to conduct us there if we had allowed it. The Fair Folk, they said, were solitary and did not welcome strangers. Nevertheless, they possessed the knowledge of many extraordinary secrets and helped the settlement from time to time as need arose.

In all, we found Broceliande to be very like Celyddon, and the Fair Folk settlement almost identical to Custennin's. The forest, dark and deep grown, hid the settlement from the world as surely as any enchantment.

The holding was built of timber on the steep rock banks of a broad forest lake – as at Goddeu in Celyddon they had chosen to build near a secluded lake. The forest had not been entirely cleared; the dwellings and storehouses were scattered among the standing trees. This aided the illusion of secrecy, to be sure; but it also gave the place an air of brooding and sombre silence.

'This is a cheerless place,' said Merlin when he saw it. We had followed the narrow pathway into the forest for a fair distance, and ridden up a slow rise, pausing on the crest to look down at the settlement below. There did not appear to be anyone about, nor signs that anyone marked our arrival. 'Well, let us go and make ourselves known to them.'

We urged our horses forward slowly, watching the settlement for any sign of life as we came nearer.

Sitting our horses before the foremost dwelling – a timber hall with a high-pitched roof of thatch – we waited, and a feeling of eerie foreboding crept over us. Merlin, frowning now, gazed intently at the dwelling as if to discover what had happened to its inhabitants. For neither of us weened anyone alive in the whole place.

'They are not here,' said Merlin at length, and made to dismount. 'Let us go inside and see if we may discover what has happened to them, or where they have gone.'

The hall smelled of decay. The rushes on the floor were spotted with mould, and webs hung from the beams and torch sconces. Platters of food stood on the board – untouched, but by mice. The ashes on the hearth were cold and damp.

Clearly, no one had entered the hall for some time. And those last there had left it hurriedly.

'It will be the same elsewhere,' Merlin said. 'They are gone from this place – and in great distress, I believe.'

'Let us search the other dwellings. Perhaps we will find something to tell us where they have gone, or when.'

So we set about inspecting the other dwellings in the set dement. Everywhere there were signs of a hasty departure: food prepared, but not eaten; hearthfires allowed to burn untended; useful objects and utensils gathered, then discarded in haphazard heaps. In one dwelling a rushlight had been lit and set on the board where it smouldered a long while, leaving a thin black scorch mark in the wood before guttering out. And in another an earthen pot set on the hearth to warm had broken from the heat, and its stew spilled out to char in the flames.

'How strange,' I said. 'It is as if they expected to leave, but did not know when. See?' I swept the near-empty dwelling with my open hand. 'There are no weapons or clothing, no treasure or objects of value left behind. Yet there are no signs of destruction or pillage – I do not think they were attacked.'

'Yet they were attacked,' replied Merlin, his eyes narrowed as he gazed around the interior of what surely must have been the lord's chambers. A candle tree stood by the bedplace, the tapers wasted into lumps of hardened wax on the dusty floor. 'But not by Saecsens or any of their kind.'

'Who then?'

He simply shook his head and said, 'Let us go from here.' He turned and led the way outside. As we emerged from the dwelling, I caught a flash of motion at the edge of my vision. I looked, but there was nothing. A moment later, my master and I heard a splash in the nearby lake – as if someone had thrown in a very large rock.

Merlin stopped and glanced toward the lake. Without a word, we turned and walked past the horses and down a path to the lakeshore. The surface was smooth and untroubled, but at the water's edge we saw the indentations in the coarse-pebbled shingle. Merlin knelt and pressed his palm into one of the marks. 'These were made by many feet,' he said. The sorrow in his voice made it husky and thick.