But just as the sword reaches the top of its arc, the king pauses. “Bedwyr,” he cries, choking back a sob. He lowers his arms and lets the sword fall to the floor with a ringing clatter. The king follows, bending until he kneels, facing Bedwyr, who puts out his arms to steady the king.

“I am lost,” the king whispers. “You’re my oldest friend. What do I do?”

“Your Grace. I would remove this burden,” says Bedwyr in a soft voice. “The stone whispers lies.”

They remain still for a few minutes, then the king nods.

Bedwyr rises and moves to a corner of the room. Isaac follows, sliding along the wall, as the watch ticks in his hand. Bedwyr lifts a box that holds an orb the size of a football. The orb appears to be made of glass, and it begins to glow with a white fire.

The hum fills Isaac’s brain and he knows it at once. Dark magic lies within the orb. Dark magic that immediately tries to use Isaac and his skill.

The white glow is replaced by two red eyes and a grinning mouth, and the eyes are fixed on Isaac, who presses his free hand to the pendant and pushes back against the evil magic, refusing to amplify it, refusing to accept it, and then . . .

Bedwyr snaps a cloth over the orb, hiding the eyes, and the hum fades to a low hiss.

The bewitcher. The Myrddin. Isaac remembers now. He’s read so many of these tales. Myrddin is another name for Merlin, an ancient Welsh name for Merlin the wizard who was mentor to Arthurian knights and to Arthur himself.

Isaac is in Camelot, near its end.

But this Myrddin is not a benign teacher. This Myrddin is a dark fae using the orb as a spyglass, watching, waiting, searching, and turning what was good toward evil.

Bedwyr returns to the king, who has retrieved his sword and moved back to the chair by the fire. “Sire, it’s time to put this into the hands of Mistress Vivienne.”

The king nods.

Bedwyr says, his voice careful as he picks the words, “And Caledfwlch, as well. The sword was always meant to be returned. That was the promise made at the beginning. The Vault is waiting.”

The Vault!

The king mumbles, looking up at Bedwyr with narrowed eyes. Isaac moves closer to the two of them.

Bedwyr goes on, “The orb and the sword will be safe in this lifetime. Mistress Vivienne will see to it.”

“And the next?” asks the king, standing again, the sword dangling from his hand. “What of the next? Is my perfect kingdom to turn to dust and vague memory?”

Bedwyr lowers his head. “All things turn to dust, my friend. But the Guardians keep these artifacts locked in the Vault. That is their duty.”