The following morning Grayle made his way to the top of the hill, and found Merlin and Cadan looking into the carefully lined hole that had affectionately become known as "The Pit". The A-framed wooden crane had been moved back over the shaft and, as Grayle watched, several bucket loads of stone were removed from the shaft, two men on ropes watching out for falling debris as they were lifted out above them.

"How are things progressing?" asked Grayle.

Merlin looked up from the hole, his pale eyes boring into Grayle's in the early morning light.

"We're getting there. We're just removing the last of the cap debris; you can see the broken upper branches of the old tree there. Once we've removed all the stone and loose branches, we can get a rope around the main trunk of the tree and hoist it up and out in one go. I'm hoping in a few hours time we may be able to get down into the shaft. Would you care to join me? I need someone intelligent to come down with me into the base of the hole, to help me catalogue what's there without rooting around and breaking things. What do you think?"

"I'd be honoured to accompany you, my Lord Merlin," said Grayle politely. "Do you need me to tie the rope around the tree?"

"No, the lad Jago has volunteered, although we're still trying to teach him how to tie the right knot at the moment, he's not always the sharpest sword in the armoury. If you could organise some torches for later on it'd be appreciated. How's your grandfather?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Depressed. I think it's suddenly hit him exactly what has happened, and he's refusing to talk to anyone except Percival, and all he does then is shout at him. He told him it was all his fault he'd lost his hand and eye this morning, which is untrue and unfair."

"Depression is a nasty thing boy, never underestimate its power. Your grandfather has finally been beaten, not in battle or by old age, but by cunning. In his eyes, he is no longer a fighting man, but a cripple, an article of pity, and ultimately he will take the anger and perceived shame of his new condition out on the one person who loves him more than anyone else."

Merlin paused to rest a hand on Grayle's shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll sort something out. In the meantime, go and sort those torches out and we'll see about getting down into the shaft below the pit. I warn you, it could be interesting."

~

Percival walked up to the hastily erected cells constructed against the rear wall of the compound. They held two men, Tomas and Camlan, each in a separate cell. Solid wooden beams had been nailed firmly together to prevent escape, and slats at the front allowed a view of the prisoners inside.

The knight motioned at the guard to let Tomas out, and Morholt and two soldiers took him away to leave Percival alone with the other man.

Camlan sat against a side wall of the cell, his forester garb stripped of all weaponry and insignia. He sat staring into space, playing absently with a fine gold chain hanging around his neck, a small pixie-like golden figure dangling absently from his fist.

As Percival moved in close, Camlan tucked the chain inside his shirt, rising smoothly to his feet: a cat confined in a box.

"So, Sir Percival, come to gloat?"

"Gloat? No. I just was just making sure you're fit enough to face justice."

"Ah yes, trial by combat. I'm rather looking forward to it. Innocent until proven innocent I believe." Camlan smiled broadly at him.

"Maybe, maybe not. We'll have to see tomorrow won't we?" Percival looked him in the eye. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you betray Grayle?"

"I didn't betray Grayle, I trained him to the highest standard I could, certainly to a higher standard than you or anyone else ever could."

"You betrayed his friendship, and now he intends to fight you tomorrow."

"Then it will be a good fight, no-one should ever go down without a good fight."

"Well, that is something perhaps we do agree on," said Percival sadly. "Until tomorrow then. Get some rest, you will need it."

~

Grayle glanced across at Merlin as the two of them were lowered into the hole on a wide Bosun's chair. The triangle of supporting ropes intersected each corner of the plank, tied in turn to the single fragile looking hemp rope that twisted above them up to the crane above their heads.

"Why did you choose me to come with you?" asked Grayle as the men above them lowered them into the open shaft.

"Because it felt right," said Merlin. "Much of what I do is based on intuition, knowledge, and my beliefs, with an occasional bit of guesswork and good luck thrown in for good measure."

Catching the look of utter disbelief on Grayle's face, Merlin laughed softly in the deepening gloom as they descended.

As the light decreased, Merlin continued, his voice echoing oddly into the Pit. "What people call magic is very seldom what it seems. Wisdom is something people tend to assign to old age. The ability to divine or sense things other people can't is seen as magic, but that's only because other people are not able to do it themselves. So when people come across something they don't understand, or cannot explain it gets called magic. Magic is something unobtainable, something out of their reach, therefore they are justified in their own heads in allowing themselves to be awed by it, frightened by it, or controlled by it."

Grayle was silent for several minutes. He looked up at the small circle of light receding above their heads, and then back at the vague outline of Merlin's bearded face.

"So there is no magic?" he said finally.

"I never said that now, did I?" replied Merlin and lifted his hand.

A small light bloomed in his palm. The pale blue light was there for a few brief moments, but it showed Merlin's face in stark angular relief, indigo-edged shadows dancing in eldritch glee to paint a goblin mask of light and shade on the old man's face. A twisted smile hovered on Merlin's lips as the light faded to leave them once more in the dark.

Grayle looked up and away from the memory of Merlin's face, his heart pounding in the sudden darkness. Another light detached from the circle above and the warming welcome light of a candle in its lantern was lowered down to them on a rope from the miners above. He caught the lantern by its handle as it descended, and looked cautiously at the old man seated next to him.

"I didn't mean to scare you boy, I'm sorry," said Merlin softly. "I am the last of my kind, the last true druid of my faith. I can feel my doom coming, and the shadows of the netherworld lengthen to envelop me. I am old and tired, yet I am also Merlin the legend; immortal, immovable, immutable."

He paused. "Impatient," he added quietly and started to chuckle, the rasping laugh echoing in the confines of the shaft. "You're a good man Grayle, that is why I brought you down here. Maybe I just needed to talk to someone who would listen. Maybe I was just showing off: old men like to do that sometimes. There is always more to life than what you can see. My own thirst for knowledge has driven me all over the world, and I can see some of that thirst for learning in you. Is what I just showed you magic or merely something you don't know that can be engineered by anyone who has the knowledge? I'll let you decide that one, although I suspect both answers might be right. You asked me earlier why I wanted you to come with me. It does feel right, but maybe I just wanted you to see this first, to share some of that hard-won knowledge with someone I know who would appreciate it as fully as I do. But for now, we have arrived."

Grayle jumped as his feet hit the floor. So intent had he been on the old man's conversation, he'd forgotten for a moment where they were. He stood, lifted the lantern, and his jaw dropped in awe at what he saw around him.

They stood amidst the remnants of a few oak branches dislodged during the lifting operations to remove the cap. Loose stones were scattered on the floor of the small chamber in which they found themselves, but everything else seemed whole and untouched. Merlin moved forwards, the light of the lantern clearly illuminating the area in which they now stood.

Merlin ran his hands reverently over the stones at the base of the shaft. Massive pillars supported the walls rising above their heads. Spaced equidistant around the shaft they were bridged by massive cross beams of the same stone, each ornately carved and towering majestically over them.

"Do you recognise these Grayle?" asked Merlin in a whisper.

"They're made from the same stone as those used to form Stonehenge," breathed Grayle, but they've been worked to a much higher level. The carvings are very ornate."

"I suspect the carvings were done at a date later than the original placement of the stones, probably by the people who plugged the shaft to seal in the various treasures."

"Treasure? Where?"

"Note the placement of the pillars, there are plain and carved ones present. The plain ones are purely for support; the carved ones frame the points of the compass. If you look, in between each pair framing north, south, east and west, there are neatly stacked pillars of smaller stones. I suspect if we take those down, we will find a chamber behind each pair of carvings. I've seen similar works far to the east. We need to get these smaller stones out. Are you feeling strong boy?"

Grayle grinned at him in sudden excitement, and the two of them moved towards the northern pair of pillars. But before Grayle could remove any of the stones, Merlin grabbed his arm in sudden warning.

"No, wait, not that one: we'll leave that one for now." In answer to Grayle's unspoken question, he continued. "It doesn't feel right, and as you now know lad, I've learned to trust my senses.

"Look, here," he pointed at a sinewy looking serpent carved into the patterns on the northern pillar. "Dragon mark, this place is protected by an ancient curse, and only the right person, or persons, at the right time will be able to open this safely: that time for this chamber is not now."

Grayle nodded and watched as Merlin walked first to the east and then the west pillar pairs, finally approaching the south.

He stopped, running his hand over the stones reverently.

"This is a grave," he said softly. "See the mark here, someone of great import lies here. I think disturbing this southern chamber at the moment would also be a mistake, and the northern chamber will be looked at, but not by me. Remember this lad, this could be important. Right, let's get those young muscles of yours working. East or west?" he asked, giving the younger man the choice.

"The sun rises in the east, I've always liked a good sunrise. Let's start there."

"Interesting justification," said Merlin with a smile. "Come on then, but we need to do this steadily."

Carefully, the two men removed the slender pile of stones blocking the narrow gap between the two carved pillars. The topmost stone was at the upper reach of Grayle's arms and he struggled to remove it safely at full stretch. Once it was out, however, the rest of the stones were quickly removed, and he stacked them neatly at the base of the shaft.

"My lords!" The faint shout came from above. "Don't shout back in case it's unstable down there, but please let me know if you're ok. Two tugs on the rope for yes, one for no."

Merlin turned and yanked twice on the rope the lantern had been lowered down on.

"Thank you, my Lords! Please pull three times when you want to come back up."

"Right, that's them happy for a moment," muttered Merlin. "Come on lad, I want to see what's in that chamber.

Merlin picked up the lamp and raised it up to the foot-wide gap in the pillars, his eyes glittering in excitement. After looking long and hard into the chamber, he turned and smiled triumphantly at the younger man, passing him the lamp. "It's true, the Dragon Hoard lies here."

Grayle lifted the lamp and moved through the gap in the pillars, his jaw once again dropping in awe. A chamber approximately three feet wide stretched out in front of him for a distance of about twelve feet. More massive stones formed the side walls and roof of the room, each cleverly cut to fit next to its supporting partner to prevent any ingress of soil from the mound above. What caught Grayle's attention though was the glittering mass of jewels, gold, and silver strewn in a haphazard offering across the chamber.

He left the room and looked over at the still smiling Merlin, who leant in apparent exhaustion against the wall of the shaft.

"We've done it lad." Merlin said softly. "All we have to do now is get it out."

Cadan, standing at the top of the shaft, smiled to himself as he stood in the sun, the faint sound of laughter drifting up from the depths of the Pit below. He looked over at his colleagues. "Well lads, sounds we'm gettin' somewhere at last. Get the hoisting baskets ready, I reckon we'll soon be movin' sumthin' unusual."

~

"Father?"

Percival ducked inside the tent flap to find Mark staring at him balefully. A dark ring of tiredness surrounded his good eye, clean linen bandages covered his left and what remained of his ear. Salves had been applied to the various cuts and burns inflicted on his upper body, and a bandage was wrapped around the dagger wound in his thigh. Merlin had decreed himself happy with the seal to the stump on Mark's left arm and had left it in its black and withered state, something which Mark now used to his advantage as he pointed his truncated arm at his son.

"Get the hell out," he rasped at Percival, who stopped abruptly as he made to hug his father.

"I'm sorry father, I have obviously caught you at a bad time."

"No time is a good time. Do you think I'm having a good time with this?" He waved his stump angrily again. "You wander in here, happy as a dog with two tails and expect me to be happy too? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mark turned away from his son to face the canvas wall of the tent, staring out into the nothingness projected from his mind.

"I just wanted to tell you Merlin and Grayle have made it to the bottom of the shaft, and it's all we hoped for. I'm sorry father, I will leave you."

"Aye, go on, get out. Who wants to spend time with the cripple? Not even my own son."

"That's not true father," Percival said softly, his eyes conveying his misery. "It is my fault you are in this state, and I am sorry."

"Get out!" shouted Mark, spittle flying from his mouth as he turned to face Percival again, his face dark with anger. "Get out and take your so-called good news with you, leave me the hell alone."

Percival bowed to his father and lifted the tent flap to leave, the thin canvas failing to mask the sound of his father sobbing as he left. Head bowed in grief and his own private misery, Percival failed to notice the darkened figure standing in the shadows of the palisade. Morholt's dark eyes watched the knight stride away, his face a mask of guilt and careworn angles. He listened as the king's sobbing subsided, the gentle creak of a cot bed suggesting he had once again lain down and would soon be asleep. He looked over at the wooden cage that held Camlan and sighed. "Another night of worry awaits the rest of us," he muttered to himself.