The Night Dance Read Online Free Page A

it. The soldier’s face that she had seen in her vision haunted her. It was as if, in that moment, they had exchanged something mysterious and deep.
    How could she feel so connected to a man she had never met?

C HAPTER F OUR
Sir Bedivere, the Last Knight of the Round Table
     
    Bedivere bent low in order to hear Arthur more clearly. As he attuned his ear to the dying king’s words, he gazed out over the corpse-strewn battlefield at Camlan. Fallen men from both sides of the horrific fight lay with their limbs still entangled in combat, their blood-soaked bodies turning the grass a blackish red. Their dead horses lay splayed and bleeding beside them.
    He was not yet sure which side had won. It appeared that he and Arthur were the only two left alive. All the other knights of the Round Table now lay dead, their armor reflecting the pink light of the setting sun.
    Mordred, who had raised this army against Arthur, was slain by Arthur’s own hand. In that fight, Mordred had not fallen before dealing Arthur a severe wound, enhanced by a deadly poison at the point of his sword. It had been concocted for him, no doubt, by his witch mother, Morgan le Fey.
    “One good thing can come of this for you,” Arthur spoke in a fading, forced voice. Uncannily a glint of merriment had found its way into his dyingeyes. “No longer will the minstrels call you the handsomest man on the island save King Arthur.”
    A blast of dark laughter escaped from Bedivere despite the dire circumstances. The minstrels who sang of the bold exploits of King Arthur and his noble knights of the Round Table always spoke of Bedivere as most handsome save Arthur . It had never bothered him; he was not naturally vain.
    What had irked him was that, of late, they had begun referring to him as Bedivere the one-handed . He’d suffered a severed tendon during a particularly fierce battle and it had cost him the use of his left hand. He didn’t want to be known as the one-handed because it implied weakness. The minstrels were quick to add, “Although he was one-handed, no three warriors drew blood in the same field faster than he.” Nonetheless, Bedivere still found his ailment an embarrassment.
    “So, most handsome one remaining on the island, I have something to ask of you,” Arthur continued, the glint of mirth still alive on his strained, drawn face.
    Bedivere shook his head. “I am not yet the most handsome,” he replied. “And I would be glad never to have that title. Lean on me, and I can support you away from this bloody ground to where we can get you some care.”
    “There’s no reason to move me,” Arthur said, resisting Bedivere’s attempt to raise him. “The wound I suffered to my head, the one dealt by Mordred, is too deep. Let what will be come to pass.”
    He lifted his sword, Excalibur, which he stillgripped at his side, several inches from the ground. “Take my sword and toss it into the middle of a lake. Return it to my kinswoman Vivienne, the Lady of the Lake. She who first gave it to me bade me promise I would never let it fall into any other hands but my own.”
    Bedivere turned in every direction. “Do you mean the river?” Bedivere asked, nodding toward the Camel River that ran under a nearby bridge.
    Arthur shook his head and winced at the pain it caused him. “It must go back to the Lady of the Lake,” he insisted.
    Bedivere heard the crash of the ocean’s surf against the rocky shore a short way off. “I’ll plunge it in the sea, then,” he suggested.
    Arthur gripped Bedivere’s arm with surprising strength and pulled himself up. “It must go back to the enchanted lake,” he said, his eyes now burning with determination. “My soul cannot rest until this is done. Swear to me that you will return it to her. Swear!”
    “I swear it,” Bedivere promised as Arthur slumped back onto the ground, dead.
    Bedivere sat down heavily on the chill ground beside Arthur, his friend and king. Excalibur gleamed in the sunlight, and