Arthur drew himself up and gazed upon his Cymbrogi. With a small movement of his hand, he gestured the Emrys to his place beside him. 'Cai,' he said quietly, 'call the Dragon Flight to arms.'

Stalwart Cai turned on his heel and shouted aloud to one and all. 'Brothers! You have heard your king! Take up your swords and prepare for battle!'

With one voice the Cymbrogi gave out a mighty shout, and the chamber rang with the sound of their battle cry. Everyone fled the chamber in a chaos of haste to be the first one ready and waiting for the command to ride out.

'Bedwyr,' the king said, 'find me a sword.'

Bedwyr's hand fell instantly to the hilt of his own sword. He drew the blade and laid it across his palms, stepped to the throne and offered it to Arthur. 'Take mine, Bear. It will serve until we recover Caledvwlch.'

The king hesitated, but Bedwyr extended his hands insistently, so Arthur took up the sword, stepped from the throne, and walked out of the chamber. We fell into step behind him, resuming our long-accustomed places, battlechiefs to the Pendragon once more.

Horses were saddled, and wagons loaded with provisions. We raced through our preparations as if to banish the days of misery and gloom. When all was ready, we assembled in the palace yard to await Arthur's command; it was not long in coming. The king appeared before us, bathed and shaved, his hair scraped back and bound at his neck. Calm, resolute, he wore his red cloak and good mail shirt, and carried Bedwyr's sword at his side. Two daggers were tucked in his belt, and his shield was on his shoulder. It was a sight I had seen a hundred times if once, and it ever lifted my spirits.

'Brave Cymbrogi,' he said when the cries of acclamation were quieted, 'the battle we join will not be won by strength of arms alone. Therefore, heed the Head of Wisdom and take his words to heart.'

With this Myrddin Emrys came to stand beside his king. 'Hear me, Sons of Prydain,' he said, raising his hands in the ancient way of the bard. 'Morgian is as deadly as she is evil. Wherever we are weakest, she will find that place, and that is where she will bring her powers to bear. Therefore, let each man beware. Look to your souls, my brothers, for it is a spiritual battle that we undertake. Though we search for the Grail Cup and seek the release of the queen, know you this: it is nothing less than a quest for the restoration of holiness and the blessing of God's good favour.

'I tell you the truth,' he continued solemnly. 'Morgian's powers are great and many of us may die. But though we lose life to her, our souls remain in Christ and forever beyond reach of the Evil One. We will do well to remember that when the day of travail is upon us. Therefore, if any man is unshriven, let him confess now and receive holy absolution for his sins.'

Indicating a row of brown-robed clerics across the yard, he said, 'The bishop and his priests even now stand ready to hear our confessions and offer forgiveness.'

At this, the good bishop stepped forward. 'My friends, brave ones, I would have you ride into battle secure in your salvation. Remember, the incorruptible cannot abide corruption, and in the quest before you, none but the pure of heart can succeed. Come, then, and purify your hearts of all unrighteousness.'

Any awkwardness in coming forward for shrift was quickly dispelled when Arthur, wholly without thought for his sovereign dignity, stepped before the bishop, knelt at the churchman's feet, crossed his arms over his chest, and bowed his head reverently. If the High King of Britain could humble himself in this way, no man of lesser rank need feel belittled in the sight of his friends. Indeed, more than one warrior who held himself begrudged made peace with his swordbrother so as to enter God's presence reconciled.

It is no disgrace to tell you that I myself, concerned for my soul and the tribulations ahead, knelt on the cold stones of the dusty yard and made my confession, knowing full well it might be my last.

After the confessions, we received assurances of our forgiveness, and the bishop invited us to share the bread and wine of Christ's table in a last meal of holy communion. We did eat the bread of the Blessed Jesu's body and drink the wine of his blood, and then fifty warriors rose as one man to face a relentless, subtle, vicious, and implacable foe.

Thus we rode out from the Tor, a fighting force equipped for battle against a foe unlike any other we had faced. Upon reaching the trail beyond the abbey, we turned, not east, but south. Myrddin Emrys held it a gesture of futility to attempt raising the days-old trail. 'I believe the only traces we would see are those Morgian desired us to see,' he declared. 'We have been her playthings from the beginning. Mark me, Arthur, Llyonesse is where battle will take place.'

Llyonesse… I shuddered inwardly at the word. Dread stole over me, and it took a very great effort of will to hold fear at bay. Courage, Heaven's Bright Warriors stand ready to aid us; God's own servants go before us to prepare a way in the Wasteland.

With every step closer to Llyonesse, apprehension mounted within me. As the short winter day faded to the chill of a damp twilight, I found opportunity to speak to Myrddin. While the Cymbrogi set about making camp, I saw the Emrys laying a fire outside the king's half-raised tent, and went to him. 'Allow me, Emrys,' I said.

There is no need,' he replied. 'Once of a time, if there was to be warmth at all, it was my chore to provide the fire. I do little enough providing these days.' He glanced up at me quickly, then continued arranging the twigs and breaking up the larger branches. 'Sit down, Summerhawk,' he said – no one else save my father called me that – 'and tell me what is on your mind.'

Folding my legs under me, I settled on the ground before the fire-ring. I watched as he deftly snapped the branches and placed them onto the carefully stacked pile. After a few moments, I saw a thin tendril of smoke rising from the tinder -although I never saw him strike steel to flint.

'You seem certain Morgaws has fled to Llyonesse,' I said, watching the smoke waft slowly upward in the still evening air. 'How do you know?' I little doubted the Emrys would have sound reason for his judgment; I merely wished to hear it.

'I know because Morgian is guiding her, and Llyonesse is the one place in all this worlds-realm where Morgian can move at will,' he replied.

'She seems to have no difficulty moving anywhere she pleases,' I observed morosely.

'No,' Myrddin countered. 'That is why she needs Morgaws. I believe Morgian no longer commands all the power she once possessed, and now she must use others to further her dark purposes. Morgaws leads us to Llyonesse, where Morgian waits, like a spider spinning her webs, surrounding herself with lies and deceit.'

'And yet, Llyonesse is where her power was broken,' I pointed out, referring to the time he had last faced the Queen of Air and Darkness.

'Yes,' he agreed, sitting back on his heels as a yellow flame fluttered to life among the dry twigs. 'In Llyonesse Morgian's power was broken, and I think she has returned to that heaven-forsaken land in order to reclaim it through our defeat.'

Considering the theft of the Grail and the easy abduction of the queen, I said, 'Perhaps she has reclaimed her power already.'

'Perhaps,' Myrddin allowed, showing neither fear nor surprise at the thought. 'Either way, Llyonesse is where we will stand or fall.'

'Where will we find her?'

'I believe she will find us,' answered the Wise Emrys. 'But I suspect she will draw us to the place where she met her defeat. I know the place, a hill not far from the western coast – there was a Fair Folk settlement on that hill long ago. If she does not attack us on the way, that is where we shall go.'