to do His will?” Bran questioned, growing angry. “Did you receive some kind of sign? You said something about proof?”
“I possess the Graal, the Cup of the Word.”
It took Bran a few moments to register what Philip had just said. Then the realization hit him. The Holy Grail. No matter how crazy the notion sounded, Philip was telling the truth. The warriors who had subdued Richard and Bran in the cavern had risen instantly, healed, sucking on some kind of liquid in bags on their backs. Bran had thought it some kind of magic but the truth was far more real—and chilling. It explained how the hordes of halfbreeds had survived their conception. It explained how the king had lived for centuries beyond his mortal death and how he could keep every man in his army alive, even during battle.
It explained how Bran’s arm had healed so quickly.
Lively arrogance danced behind the king’s eyes, a flicker of burning certainty. If Philip possessed the Holy Grail and used it to bolster his army…
“When the sinners realize the power of the Word upon the world, they will be moved to obey the scripture of the Word,” Philip continued, the snide assurance in his voice maddening to Bran. “Those who do not are evil, in the face of such truth, and killing them will be the Word’s work, through my blood, my sacrifice.”
“And those of your army,” Bran added.
“They are willing,” Philip said simply. “And worthy.”
Heat inside Bran grew into a blistering furnace. The conviction of the worldview Philip shared and his need to place it upon others scared Bran. It reminded him of people on the street who had nothing else to lose. It made them volatile, dangerous.
If he could have called Arondight, he would have torn Caer Llion apart, stone by stone, and brought it tumbling on top of Philip and his army.
“Will you join the power of Arondight to my own?” Philip propositioned.
Bran couldn’t show his disdain for what the king offered.
That would likely mean his death.
“I will think on it,” Bran said noncommittally.
“John has informed me that the last regiments of the northern cities will join the army here at Caer Llion by tomorrow,” Philip said. “Once gathered under one banner and organized, I will march toward our destiny and the birth of a new world. It will be best when you realize who it is that holds the mercy.”
Bran nodded. There was nothing for him to say.
“When I lead my army from Annwn, I want you to be at my side, young Ardall,” Philip offered. “I will give you the night to think on it.”
“And if I refuse?”
“To let you roam free would be an egregious error,” the king said. “I cannot let that transpire—not from those chains and not in the release death would serve Myrddin Emrys and a new carrier of Arondight. You will remain here, shackled, until you come to believe what I say.” He paused. “Think what we could accomplish, Ardall.”
Philip turned to go then and without a look backward walked out of the cell. The door relocked with quick, firm turns, and the footfalls of his leaving faded to nothing.
Silence became Bran’s only companion.
While on the cusp of dozing, Bran thought of the Holy Grail. He still had a hard time believing Philip possessed the famous cup. Bran knew of it, knew of it from what Richard had told him and what he had read at Old World Tales. After the Grail left the Holy Land and made its way to the British Isles, it had come to King Arthur at Camelot. Wounded during the Battle of Camlann by his son and mortal enemy Mordred, Arthur sailed away upon a barge to heal in Avalon until Britain needed him once more.Ever since that time, men had hunted for the fabulous life-granting cup with no luck.
What if the reason the Holy Grail hadn’t been found was because it was not in his world? What if the Cup of Christ had gone with Arthur to Annwn?
And what if Philip had discovered it?
It all made sense.
“Wake up.”
Bran snorted from his reverie, opening his eyes as he huddled amidst the straw, looking around for the source of the childlike voice.
No one was in the cell; no one was at its door.
“Huh?” Bran grunted. “Who’s there?”
“In the cell next to your own,” answered a deeper voice of calm authority.
Bran looked to the wall of stone on his left. In three spots the mortar bracing the stones had been