By sunset of the third day it was finished, every inch of the scabbard covered with twining symbols, some of which she did not even recognize; surely they had come directly from the hand of the Goddess through her hands? She lifted it, slid the sword into it; weighted it in her hands; then said aloud, breaking the ritual silence, "It is done."

Now that the long tension was broken she was aware that she was exhausted, shaken and sick. Ritual and prolonged use of the Sight could do this; it had, no doubt, interrupted her courses too, for they usually came on at moon-dark. This was said to be lucky, for the priestesses went apart to shield their power at this time, and it was the same as the ritual seclusion of the dark moon, when the Goddess herself secluded herself to safeguard the source of power.

Viviane came and took the scabbard. She could not suppress a little cry of astonishment as she looked upon it, and indeed it seemed even to Morgaine, who knew her own hands had fashioned it, to be a thing surpassing human work, pregnant with magic. Viviane touched it only briefly before wrapping it in a long, white silken cloth.

"You have done well," she said, and Morgaine thought, her mind spinning, How is it that she thinks she can judge me? I too am a priestess, I have gone beyond her teaching ... and was shocked at her own thought.

Viviane touched her cheek gently. "Go and sleep, my dearest; you have wearied yourself in this great work."

Morgaine slept deeply and long, without dreams; but after midnight, suddenly, she woke to the sudden wild clamor of alarm bells, alarm bells, church bells, a terror out of childhood, The Saxons are upon us! Get up and arm yourselves!

It seemed that she woke out of a start, and she was not in the House of Maidens, but in a church, and on the altar stone of the church lay a set of weapons; and on a trestle nearby lay a man in armor, covered with a pall. Above her head the warning was still pealing and clamoring, fit to wake the dead ... no, for the dead knight did not stir, and with a sudden prayer for forgiveness, she snatched up the sword ... and woke fully this time, to light in her room, and quiet. Not even the church bells from the other island penetrated the quiet of her stone-floored chamber. She had dreamed the bells, the dead knight, and the chapel with burning tapers, the arms on the altar, the sword, all of it. How did I come to see that? The Sight never comes upon me undesired ... was it just a dream then?

Later that day, she was summoned; with her conscious mind, she remembered some of the visions which had floated half-seen through her mind as she wrought the scabbard with the sword before her. Fallen to earth in a falling star, a clap of thunder, a great burst of light; dragged still smoking to be forged by the little dark smiths who had dwelled on the chalk before the ring stones were raised; powerful, a weapon for a king, broken and reforged this time into the long, leaf-shaped blade, tooled and annealed in blood and fire, hardened ... a sword three times forged, never ripped out of the earth's womb, and thus twice holy ... .

She had been told the name of the sword: Excalibur, which meant cut steel. Swords of meteorite iron were rare and precious; this one might well be the price of a kingdom.

Viviane bade her cover herself with her veil and come. As they moved slowly down the hillside, she saw the tall figure of Taliesin, the Merlin, Kevin the Bard at his side, moving with his hesitant, grotesque walk. He seemed more than ever clumsy and ugly, as out of place as a lump of tallow clinging to the edge of a fine-wrought silver candlestick. And at their side -Morgaine froze, recognizing that slender muscular body, that shining silver-gilt hair.

Arthur. But of course she had known the sword was for him. What was more natural than that he should come here to receive it?

He is a warrior, a king. The little brother I held upon my lap. It seemed unreal to her. But through that Arthur, and the solemn-faced boy who walked now between the two Druids, she saw some trace of the youth who had taken upon himself the antlers of the Horned God; quiet and grave as he was, she saw the swing of the antlers, the deadly desperate fight, and how he had come to her bloodied with the stag's blood-no child but a man, a warrior, a king.

At a whisper from the Merlin he bent the knee before the Lady of the Lake. His face was reverential. No, of course, she thought, he has not seen Viviane before, only me, and I was in darkness.

But he saw Morgaine next; she saw recognition move across his mobile features. He bowed to her too-at least, she thought irrelevantly, where he was fostered they taught him manners befitting a king's son-and murmured, "Morgaine."

She bowed her head to him. He had known her even through the veil. Perhaps she should kneel to the King. But a Lady of Avalon bends the knee to no human power. Merlin would kneel, and so would Kevin if he were asked; Viviane, never, for she was not only the priestess of the Goddess, but incorporated the Goddess within herself in a way the man-priests of male Gods could never know or understand. And so Morgaine also would never kneel again.

The Lady of the Lake held out her hand to him, bidding him rise. "You have had a long journey," she said, "and you are wearied. Morgaine, take him to my house and give him something to eat before we do this."

He smiled then, not a king in the making, nor a Chosen One, but just a hungry boy. "I thank you, Lady."

Inside Viviane's house he thanked the priestesses who brought him food, and fell to hungrily. When he had satisfied his first hunger, he asked Morgaine, "Do you live here too?"

"The Lady dwells alone, but she is attended by the priestesses who serve her in turns. I have dwelt here with her when it was my turn to serve."

"You, a queen's daughter! You serve?"

She said austerely, "We must serve before we command. She herself served in her youth, and in her I serve the Goddess."

He considered that. "I do not know this Great Goddess," he said at last. "The Merlin told me that the Lady was your ... our ... kinswoman."

"She is sister to Igraine, our mother."

"Why then, she is my aunt," Arthur said, trying the words oat on his tongue as if they didn't quite fit. "All of this is so strange to me. Somehow I always tried to think of Ectorius as my father and Flavilla my mother; Of course I knew there was some secret; and because Ectorius wouldn't talk to me about it, I thought it must be something shameful, that I was a bastard or worse. I don't remember Uther-my father; not at all. Nor my mother, not really, though sometimes, when Flavilla punished me, I used to dream I lived somewhere else, with a woman who petted me, then pushed me away -is Igraine our mother much like you?"

"No, she is tall, red-haired," Morgaine said.

Arthur sighed. "Then 1 suppose I do not remember her at all. For in my dreams it was someone like you-it was you-"

He broke off, his voice had been trembling. Dangerous ground, Morgaine thought, we dare not talk about that. She said calmly, "Have another apple; they are grown on the island."

"Thank you." He took one and bit into it. "It's all so new and strange. So many things have happened to me since-since-" His voice faltered. "I think of you all the time. I cannot help myself. It was true what I said, Morgaine-that all my life I shall remember you because you were the first, and I shall always think of you and love you-"

She knew she should say something hard and hurtful. Instead she made her words kind, but distant. "You must not think of me in that way. For you I am not a woman, but a representative of the Goddess who came to you, and it is blasphemy to remember me as if I were only a mortal woman. Forget me and remember the Goddess."

"I have tried-" He broke off, clenching his fists, then said gravely, "You are right. That is the way to think of it-only one more of the strange things that have come to me since I was sent for from Ectorius' house. Mysterious, magical things. Like the battle with the Saxons-" He held out his arm, rolling back the tunic to reveal a bandage thickly smeared with pine-pitch already blackened. "I was wounded there. Only it was like a dream, my first battle. King Uther-" He looked down and swallowed. "I came too late. I never knew him. He lay in state in the church, and I saw him dead, his weapons lying on the altar-they told me it was the custom, that when a brave knight lay dead, his arms should watch with him. And then, even while the priest was chanting the Nunc Dimittis, all the alarm bells rang, there was a Saxon attack-the watchmen came right into the church and snatched the bell ropes out of the hands of the monk who was tolling the passing bell to ring the alarm, and all the King's men caught up their arms and ran out. I had no sword, only my dagger, but I snatched up a spear from one of the soldiers. My first battle, I thought, but then Cai-my foster-brother, Caius, Ectorius' son-he told me he had left his sword behind at their lodging, and I should run and fetch it for him. And I knew this was just a way to get me out of the battle; Cai and my foster-father said I was not yet ready to be blooded. So instead of running back to the lodging house I went into the church and snatched the King's sword off the stone bier ... . Well," he defended himself, "he fought Saxons with it for twenty years, he'd certainly be glad to have it fight them again, instead of lying useless on an old stone! So I ran off and was going to give it to Cai as we were all gathering against the attack, and then I saw the Merlin, and he said in the biggest voice I have ever heard,