We are dragged into the castle and placed directly in the royal court, pushed down onto our knees as we wait to be graced with the king’s presence. The Wizard is knelt down beside us, looking quite happy with himself as we enter.
“His royal highness, King Uthyr,” someone shouts. A tall, broad man with a glorious thick red beard and long red hair steps into the room from a doorway behind the throne. He walks with a heavy stride and places himself in front of the ornate chair reserved for his royal hindquarters.
My eyes light up with joy as I see the man who enters behind him.
“Geoffrey!” I shout without thinking.
“Silence!” the guard to my left yells. He slaps me across the back of the head. I cry out, more in surprise than pain, and decide to continue my joy over Geoffrey’s continued existence in silence. Yeah, I know he’s still really dead, but at least he’s alive right now, for this moment.
“So, great oracle,” Uthyr says with an almost derogatory air. “You have managed to create quite a scene here within the fair city of York. I must admit, I am impressed. My guards assure me the man found on the steps of the cathedral shares an impressive likeness with you.”
“Thank you, my lord,” The Wizard says in a humbled tone.
“I am still not certain how this proves what you prophesied. Although these two may, in truth, be terrorists intent on causing harm to my kingdom, it seems to me they are more than likely mere pawns in your attempt to thwart my throne.”
“I assure you, my lord, this is nothing of the sort.”
“You say this, however, I cannot help but notice the Moorish maiden is wearing a pendant of St. Christopher which looks a great deal like the one you yourself were first found wearing. The same pendant was found on your double as well, I might add.”
“I swear I have never seen these two individuals before in my life.” He looks at me with a knowing grin as he says this. I find myself fighting an irresistible urge to slap him.
“I have tired of you and your antics, Myrddin of Ambrosia. I do not know how you managed to organize such a spectacle while held within my own dungeon, but I assure you that you shall not be allowed to do any such thing again.”
“My lord, please,” The Wizard begs in fear.
“Under royal decree, the three of you shall be burned at the stake as soon as preparations can be made. What do you think, Geoffrey? Will we be able to make this happen yet this afternoon?”
“I do believe we can arrange things in that amount of time, my king.”
“Perfect. Make it so.”
“Yes, my lord.” Geoffrey runs out of the room toward the front of the castle, his footsteps echoing through the large hall.
“As for the two of you,” Uthyr says, turning his attention toward us. “I promise you, were this to have occurred under different circumstances, you would retain a much more democratic system of judgment. I hope you don’t hold it against us.”
He stands and exits out the very door he had entered through. The guard to my left pulls me to my feet and directs us out of the room. I want to cry, but so many things have happened lately, I’m not sure what to cry about.
Go to Chapter Thirty-Six