Duncan swayed on Brandubh as if he had been struck. Both rider and horse had come to a halt. Sucking in his breath, he reached for his sword, more on instinct. Recognition flared instantly in him. The sword of the Dragon Knights—his sword, was nearby. He had not felt its magic since that fateful night. Yet in this moment, it resonated within his very soul. It called to him. Brandubh whinnied and shifted uneasily, sensing the magic, too. Reaching out toward him, Duncan patted his mane. “Aye, ye felt it, too.” Scrutinizing his surroundings, Duncan lifted his hand from the hilt of his sword. With a slow smile, he understood his destiny was about to change. For the first time in many a moon, Duncan raised his head and said a silent prayer to the goddess, placing his fate in her hands. Calling forth his powers, he listened and waited until the breath of the wind touched his face, swirling around them both. “Let us follow the path of the wind, Brandubh, and pray it will lead us to the sword.”
