Seaweed was tangled in his dark curls. The violet eyes stared up at the Tor, blank and unseeing. Silver gleamed through a rip in the boy’s tunic. Mordred closed his gauntlet about the druid spiral the prince wore on a cord around his neck and jerked it free. He’d been slightly disappointed to find the rider of the fairy horse wasn’t his cousin, but at least he now had the means to get to Avalon. He turned to his captain, who held his other captive flapping upside down by its jesses. “Bring that stubborn merlin over here.” He thrust the spiral towards the bird. “Recognise this, druid?” he said. “This is the pathfinder from the end of your old staff. I know you can use it to open the mists between worlds. If you help me and my men get to Avalon, I’ll let Gareth’s snivelling mother try to revive the fairy lad. I’m sure I can think of a use for him when my cousin arrives.” The merlin screeched at him and tried to peck his hand.
