the flame. Jared sat cross-legged on a threadbare gray blanket, watching the changes in her expression the anxiety in her furrowed brow, the fear in her wide eyes, and the pain in her tight bluish red lips. He glanced from time to time at the tent’s entrance, wondering if the occasional snaps of twigs or hoots of owls signaled coming danger.
With his hands clenched over his mouth, Jared took in a deep breath and whispered between his thumbs. “If he is not here soon, Irene, we have to assume the worst. Valcor is no match for Devin.”
Irene placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “He is no match in battle, but my brother is wiser by far. Do not give up hope. I would not have arranged our meeting had I thought this a fool’s errand.”
Jared raised his head. “I heard a nightingale.”
Irene whispered, “It is the signal.” She pursed her lips and blew a warbling bird whistle.
Within seconds, the tent flap flew open, and a man with water dripping from his sleeves bustled in.
Irene grasped the man’s arm. “Valcor! Are you hurt?”
Valcor, stooping under the low ceiling, shook his head, panting. “Devin . . . Devin tracked me to the river’s edge, so I swam . . . swam upstream as far as I could.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I ran the rest of the way. It will be some time before the dogs pick up the trail again, but we must hurry.” He pulled a scroll from his vest, sat beside Jared, and rolled it out on the blanket. “I found the letter, and I managed to keep it above water.”
Irene glanced upward and clasped her hands together. “Thank the Maker!”
Wrapping his arms around himself, Valcor shivered. “Yes. It is a miracle that I escaped. My bribe must not have been rich enough to keep the guard quiet.” He rolled up his wet sleeves and ran his fingers across the parchment. “But this information is worth all the trouble.”
Jared eyed the letter. “It is lengthy. Please give us a summary.”
Valcor held the letter close to the dancing flame. “It is clear that Devin is now more dangerous than ever.”
“But he failed,” Irene said. “Arthur and Merlin squashed the rebellion.”
“Devin did not fail completely. He took Excalibur, and now Merlin has vanished. Who can predict how powerful Devin and Morgan will become?”
Valcor slid the candle closer to the letter. “This explains what I believe is an even greater danger. You see, Merlin promised to tell Morgan how to restore her wandering spirit to a body. The promise, it seems, has been fulfilled in this letter, which I recently learned was in Devin’s possession.”
Irene shifted to Valcor’s side and draped her shawl across his shoulders. She eyed the letter’s exquisite penmanship. “Why would Merlin make such a promise to a witch?”
Valcor took his sister’s hand. “I asked Merlin that very question before he disappeared. He said the plan is of divine origin and extends well beyond his vision, but we should not worry; God knows what he is doing. In any case, as you may already know, Morgan is not a common variety witch. She is the wife of a Watcher. Her original name was Lilith, a wretched enchantress who lived before the flood. Her husband taught her the evil arts of the fallen angels, but she did not know that practicing these arts would cause her to become a wraith. She actually took on the nature of the Watchers and has no hope of redemption without regaining a body and giving herself in obedience to the Christ.”
A peal of thunder rolled across the sky. Valcor’s gaze flashed toward the tent entrance as he rolled up the letter and thrust it back into his vest. “There is much to explain, and time is short.” He held his hand over his vest pocket. “Merlin told Morgan she needs a hostiam viventem, a living sacrifice, in order to shed her ghostly cowl. That sacrifice has to be a legal, female relative of the king. Morgan had her evil eye on Guinevere, but not even the Watchers’ arts could persuade Arthur to give up his wife. So, it seems that she changed her plan, hoping Devin could take the throne during the rebellion.”
“But how would that further her cause?” Jared asked. “Devin has no wife and no female relatives that I know of.”
“Who would have him?” Irene sliced her hand across her throat. “I would kill myself before I let