Bryan Davis - Eye of the Oracle

Barlow clamped his huge hand over the old man’s mouth. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think we have to believe Devin’s story. Merlin’s love for dragons has apparently driven him mad.”

Edward furrowed his brow and nodded. “So what do we do?”

“What choice do we have?” Barlow replied, shrugging his shoulders. “In order to be true to the king, we have to join Devin in opposing Merlin.”

Edward let a smile break through. “Exposing the fraud and rescuing the true king would be quite a feat, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but don’t forget,” Barlow said, wagging his finger. “This isn’t about obtaining honor. It’s about loyalty to His Majesty.”

Edward shook his head. “You’re right, as usual. Keep reminding me.”

Barlow released the gypsy. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone else, you will die a traitor’s death. Understood?”

“Oh, yes,” the old man cackled. “Not a word.”

Barlow tromped toward the summit’s edge. “Come then. We have to meet with Sir Devin.”

Edward followed, but the gypsy stayed put. “Aren’t you coming?” Edward asked.

The gypsy pointed toward the other side of the summit. “My family is that way. Mustn’t keep them waiting too long.”

Barlow stopped and raised a finger at him. “Don’t forget. Not a word.”

The old man lifted his lantern in front of his wrinkled, leathery face. “My lips are sealed!”

Barlow and Edward turned and headed down the slope. “So how does one expose a powerful wizard?” Edward asked.

“I have no experience in that area, so we’ll just leave it up to Sir Devin.”

“I’m sure I can get Newman to join us,” Edward said. “Do you have friends you can count on?”

“A few. My nephew Fiske is sure to do whatever I ask.”

A loud flapping sound breezed by them. Barlow whipped out his sword. “What was that?” he asked, raising the blade high.

Edward pointed into the air. “A bat! The biggest I’ve ever seen!”

Keeping his sword in front of him, Barlow marched ahead. “We shouldn’t dawdle in haunted places. Bald Top still holds dark secrets, and we’d best get off its slopes.”

The two men hurried down the hill, staying quiet for the rest of their journey.

Clefspeare, I dub you Jared, son of Arthur.” The king tapped the bowing man’s shoulder lightly with a gleaming sword. “By this decree, I name you my son, though you have already become closer than any of my natural offspring.” He turned and tapped the lady’s shoulder, touching the flowing blonde hair that draped her sparkling white gown. “And you, dear Hartanna, I dub Irene, for your very presence brings peace to my soul. You are now my daughter, a treasured princess, who, I hope, will always find peace within the walls of my palace.”

King Arthur lifted Excalibur from Irene’s shoulder and handed the blade to Merlin who stood with him on the platform. The sword maintained its faint white glow, strong enough to illuminate Merlin’s wrinkled hands, yet it seemed no more than the brightest candle among the dozens that lined the throne room. When Merlin slid the sword into its sheath, the ornate scabbard swallowed the glow.

Arthur picked up a scroll from the table at his side. “For your protection, I have entered your names as Reginald Bannister and Tabitha Silver in the official records as my adopted son and daughter. Hide your identities well, for if your enemies discover them, you will be chased by bloodthirsty hounds for centuries to come. I suggest choosing different surnames for yourselves for the time being, though you may return to Bannister and Silver to protect your inheritance when the time comes.”

Jared lifted his eyes toward the king and slowly stood. “Sire, I humbly accept the gracious bestowal of your good name. May I always bring the name of Arthur honor and a blessed heritage.”

Irene stood at Jared’s side. “I, too, am honored, Your Majesty.” She rubbed her hand across her bare forearm. Her skin seemed to radiate silvery white. “Having shorn my scales, and with them the dignity of a dragoness, I now feel clothed once again with the integrity, nobility, and heritage your deeds have inspired. May I wear this livery well.”

Arthur’s solemn face broke into a proud, fatherly smile. “Well spoken, my friends. I trust that I will be able to live up to my duty and keep you safe in your new skins. Have the other dragons taken the necessary steps to secure their safety?”

Jared glanced at Irene. “The ladies have chosen new names and blended into life in the nearby villages or secluded themselves elsewhere, as you instructed. We do not know, however, what has become of Valcor.”

Arthur’s brow lifted. “I was with him in Bowman’s Forest only a few weeks ago. I assume he has gone into hiding.”

“We have assumed the same,” Jared said. “At least Devin will never be able to learn his whereabouts from us, even through torture.”

The king took off his formal outer robe and handed it to Merlin. “Speaking of Devin, now that our ceremony is complete, we must make haste.”

“Indeed.” Merlin placed Excalibur and the robe on his chair. “Devin’s traitorous band could attack at any moment. I have arranged for your knights to secretly assemble at Blood Hollow, so I suggest that you leave through your escape route at once to convene with them. Gawain will meet you at the tunnel exit and escort you to the other knights.”

Arthur strapped on his armor and reached for his sword on Merlin’s seat.

Merlin grabbed Arthur’s wrist. “But you must leave Excalibur.”

Arthur pulled away from the prophet’s grip and lifted the sheathed sword in his palms. “Go into battle without the sword?” He strapped the scabbard to the belt on his back. “I should say not!”

“I have more need of it,” Merlin said, holding out his hands. “Devin’s tiny army is counting on surprise to win. When you arrive, your forces will crush him like a shoe on a cockroach. Should you come late, Excalibur is my only hope for survival.”

Arthur placed his hand on Excalibur’s hilt and hesitated. Outside the door the distant sound of clanking steps shattered the evening’s quiet meeting.

“There is no more time,” Merlin urged. “Trust me! Leave Excalibur and fly to Blood Hollow. Gawain will have a sword for you.”

Arthur unfastened the sword from his belt, scabbard and all, and handed it to Merlin. He then scrambled to the secret panel in the corner and shut it behind him.

Merlin picked up Arthur’s robe and helped Jared put it on. “Should I wear the crown?” Jared asked.

Merlin helped him straighten out the sleeves. “No. Your hair is a close enough match, so the robe should be sufficient. Just keep your back to the door. I expect Devin to enter at any moment.” He turned to Irene. “You may face the door and kneel before our ‘king.’ Can you make yourself cry?”

Irene shook her head. “I have not yet learned all the ways of women. I have shed many tears, but I cannot force them.”

“Then try to look sad, as though entreating the king for someone’s life.”

Within seconds a servant came to the throne room’s doorway. “Sir Devin to see His Majesty.”

Merlin nodded to Jared, who spun toward the back of the room. Irene dropped to her knees and extended her folded hands toward him, twisting her face in counterfeit pain. Merlin stepped to the entryway to intercept the quickly marching Devin. “His Majesty has a guest, Sir Devin. May I give him a message for you?”

Devin looked over Merlin’s shoulder. “Is the lady ill? She seems to be having intestinal distress.”

“Not sickness; her entreaty is a private matter. We will be in prayer for her for the next half hour, and then I shall escort His Majesty to his chamber.”