See, now: the Fisher King had two daughters – Charis, the elder, and Morgian, the younger, by his second wife. There was some trouble between the two daughters -1 never learned what it was – but it led Morgian to reject her kinfolk. She left Ynys Avallach long ago and took refuge in the wild north, as far away from Charis and Avallach as possible. In time, she came to the Orcades and, in that clutch of smooth-hilled islands, made for herself a fortress amidst the ancient standing stones and barrows.

God help me, this selfsame Morgian became my grandfather's wife. She was not my mother, nor even my father's mother. Heaven forbid it! Hear me, I am the son of Lot ap Loth, King of Orcady. My father rode with Arthur against the Saecsens and Vandali. Let all men remember that. It was my grandfather's misfortune to fall prey to Morgian's lust for power. He was a king, and she wanted a kingdom. The match was set before anyone knew the danger.

Poor Loth, in his dotage, imagined himself a lord of vast wealth and influence, and she was very beautiful. Some say that even then she was a canny sorceress, and laid an enchantment on my grandfather. Under the sway of Morgian's corrosive influence, he believed Lot, his loyal son, plotted to steal his throne. He harried my father and tried to kill him, but Lot escaped with most of the warband, and established himself on one of Orcady's many unassailable rocks. Gwalcmai and I were raised there, coming south to serve with Duke Arthur. No more than boys, my brother and I, and Arthur no older; we were among the first of the young war leader's Cymbrogi.

I have no doubt that it was Morgian who had turned Loth against Arthur in the end, but, true lord that he was, Arthur never counted our kinsman's rebellious ways against us. Still, the infamy is never far from me – every time I take the field, it is to restore some lustre to our tarnished name. The Good Lord willing, we may yet be remembered as something other than the twin grandsons of wayward Loth, the mad king who made wicked Morgian his queen.

In the years we were fighting for our lives, Morgian delved deep into the Dark Arts that now ruled her. Myrddin says she has been consumed by the power she sought to command. Evil, he says, cannot rest and is never satisfied; it is a guest that always devours its host, a weapon that wounds all who would wield it. And Myrddin should know: he faced her and defeated her; she fled the field, her precious power shattered, her sorcery overthrown.

That victory did not come without a price, however; it cost Myrddin his eyesight and his closest friend. When Myrddin rode out to confront Morgian, he went alone. Pelleas, Myrddin's faithful friend and servant, feared for his master and followed. Alas, Pelleas has never been seen again, nor his body ever found. In all the world, there is only one person who knows what happened to Pelleas, and that person left Pelleas' brooch behind.

'You ask what this means!' said Myrddin Emrys, clutching the silver brooch. 'Do you not know the darkness of the tomb when you see it? Do you wake in the night and think it bright day?'

He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, and stared around him with wild eyes.

'Calm yourself, Myrddin,' said Bors, attempting to soothe. 'We do not understand.'

'Death and darkness!' he said, his voice raw in its torment. 'Morgian has returned!'

'Morgian!' whispered Bedwyr.

At the sound of her name, the hairs on my neck prickled and my mouth grew dry.

Myrddin, his face ashen, his hands shaking, swept from the chamber, leaving us stunned and bewildered. As soon as he had gone, everyone began talking at once. Most knew something of the Queen of Air and Darkness – aside from Myrddin, I think Bedwyr and I knew her best – but Bors knew her not at all. He pulled me aside and said, 'This Morgian – she and Morgaws are the same, yes?'

'No,' I answered, but in my heart I wondered: was it possible? Had Morgian taken the shape of Morgaws? I shuddered at the thought.

'But you know her?' he persisted. 'Who is she that she wields such power?'

'She is a sorceress, and the sworn enemy of the Emrys and all his works,' I told him. 'Her powers are as vast as her ways are subtle, she is shrewd and she is cunning, and the Ancient Adversary himself is not more fearful than she.'

'Myrddin fought her once and nearly lost his life,' Bedwyr informed Bors. 'She blinded him and left him for dead. I think if it were not for Pelleas, he would have died.'

'I remember Pelleas…' Bors said, his voice trailing off.

'Maybe it is nothing to do with Morgian,' Cai suggested weakly. God love him, if the sea and sky ever changed places, he would be first to question it, and last to believe it.

I wished I had some of Cai's dogged obstinance. As hardheaded as he was bighearted, he refused to believe the worst about anyone or anything. But I believed – more the dread – for I had some small experience of Morgian's powers, and it chilled me to the marrow to think she was somehow involved in the theft of the Grail.

We fell silent. No one believed Cai was right, but no one had the heart to dispute him, either. After a time, Arthur turned quietly to Cador. 'What of Rhys?' he inquired softly.

The change in the Pendragon astonished me. The fire of his anger had been quenched utterly. Cowed by Myrddin's revelations, he appeared shaken and defeated.

'I did not like to keep you waiting any longer,' Cador replied. 'I thought best to bring word, but also to begin spreading the search. Rhys and the Cymbrogi are riding to the nearby settlements and holdings to ask their aid.'

'Soon the whole world will know of my failure,' mused Arthur ruefully. The king dismissed Cador then, charging him to rest and return to the court when he was once more refreshed.

When Cador had gone, the Pendragon turned to the remaining Grail Guardians and Bors, who had in all respects taken Llenlleawg's place. This is what your negligence has wrought,' he said, 'the ruin of a kingdom.' He glared around the ring effaces. 'If you have anything to say, I beg you say it now, friends. For I tell you the truth, unless the Holy Cup is restored, Britain is lost.'

We all stared in silence, loath to make matters worse for saying the wrong thing. Alas, it was true; the Guardians had failed in their sworn duty and now the kingdom was imperiled. Who could answer that?

Unfortunately, the king read our reticence the wrong way. Taking a step backward, he collapsed into the thronelike chair. It was as if a blow from the flat of a sword had struck him down. 'Even my friends desert me,' he groaned. I could but gaze in wretched misery at his anguish now made painfully visible.

Then, as if to fight the despair that even now ensnared him, the Pendragon heaved himself up once more and stood defiant – a man confronting his accusers. He spoke, and there was fire in his voice. 'Every day more and more pilgrims arrive at the shrine, only to find it empty. The word of miracles has gone out: 'Come!' they say. 'Come to the Summer Realm, and there you will see miracles!' And so the people come expecting a marvel, but instead see only Arthur's folly.' His grotesque smile was terrible to see. 'Ah, perhaps that is the greatest marvel of all: one man's arrogance and pride transformed into a hollow shell of lifeless stone.'

He regarded us dully, then flicked a hand at us. 'Leave me!'

No one said a word, and no one moved. 'What?' the king demanded. 'Are you become stumps? Leave me, I said. Get you from me! I cannot bear the sight of you!'

Bors, standing with his head down, arms wrapped around himself, made no move. Lost in thought, he seemed no longer to heed anything taking place in this world. But Bedwyr, dour in his silence, turned on his heel and led the retreat, abandoning his king to his misery.