Page 19 of Knight of the Sword

Sitting in the intimately small space of his sports car, their knees practically touching, probably wasn’t the wisest choice she’d made. Her truck would have been better. Sophie took a deep breath, which was another mistake, since it brought that strange woodsy and heather scent she was beginning to really like directly to her, along with something else that was purely him. Pheromones in an enclosed space were not good.

Seemingly unaware of the increasing amount of hormones being produced at the moment, Michael handed her the poetic riddle.

She read it and frowned. “The firedrake is the dragon?”

“Seems to be,” Michael answered. “The Pendragon certainly has lit up the sky.”

“Who’s the knight in this?” She suddenly remembered the strange dream. “You?”

“Afraid not.” Michael gave her the angelic smile, not the lustfully wicked one. “Uther took on the surname of the Pendragon. Since we’re looking for Excalibur, I assume the knight would be none other than Arthur.”

Sophie studied him. He seemed perfectly serious. But were seriously delusional people serious? If they believed what they said to be true… “You’re telling me Arthur really existed and is not just the stuff of myth and legend?”

“To be sure, myths and legends have sprung up,” Michael replied, “thanks to Mallory, Tennyson, White, and others. But there has also been enough scholarly research done—hundreds of books, in fact—pointing to Arthur being a great warlord in the sixth century and the one responsible for maintaining peace with the Saxons for nearly twenty years after the battle of Badon Hill.” He paused. “I think he was successful because he had at least two of the relics with him—the Sword and the Grail.”

Sophie glanced down at the riddle again. “Okay. Let’s say I play along with this game for now. Supposedly some person—and it does say “he” and not “she”—who sees the dragon will find the Sword at some lake. That’s a big help. Which state’s hundreds of lakes would you like to start with? How about Minnesota? There’s at least ten thousand lakes there, according to the tourist business.”

Michael shook his head. “The Sword will be found in the south, not the north.”

“How do you know that? Divine intuition or something?”

“Not intuition—actually, more of a science, of sorts. That should appeal to you.”

“It might,” Sophie answered. “Go on.”

“First of all, remember that these are Celtic relics, given to the world by the gods of the Fae. I know!” He held up his hand as she started to protest. “That part isn’t scientific, but just listen. Those ancient religions were based not only on Goddess-worship but on harmony and respect for the laws of nature as well.” He took another folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is the first riddle.”

Sophie unfolded it and read:

Where roses climb to heaven

Lugh’s lance will wait

Near to the Druid’s tree

Enter Dawn’s gate.

She handed the paper back. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. Where was the spear found?”

“Near a graveyard in Lewiston, Maine, by the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul. Are you familiar with the Tarot?”

Sophie arched a brow. “Only as a fortune-telling game.”

“It’s much more than that,” Michael answered, no trace of a smile on his face. “But I’ll spare you the lecture. In a nutshell, the suit of Wands—or Lances—relates to the element of air, through which a lance flies. The suit is also symbolic of new beginnings—dawn, springtime, birthing. “Dawn’s gate” would refer to the east, where the sun rises.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But how did your friends know where to go?”

“They didn’t, at first. They visited places along the east coast that could have been in existence around 1590, which is when we suspected the relics were removed from Scotland. The first place they went was Oak Island in Nova Scotia. Have you heard about the Money Pit?”

“No. It sounds like some casino in Vegas.”

“Perhaps that isn’t a bad comparison,” Michael replied, “but no. Around 1800 three boys decided to go searching for buried treasure, since ships wrecked off the Grand Banks all the time. They found a depression in the ground and started digging. Two feet down, they came upon a layer of carefully laid flagstones. They removed that and discovered an already-dug shaft. Ten feet more and they discovered a platform of oak logs. The wood was rotted from age, and when they dug another ten feet, they came to a second platform…workers were brought in only to find more platforms at ten-foot intervals to a depth of ninety feet, where they found another flagstone with a medieval inscription that, when translated, referred to valuable treasure buried even farther below—but now the tunnel started filling with water. Long story short, for the past two hundred years, syndicates have been trying to find what is buried there, but they encounter one booby-trap after another.”

“Why would Sara and Lucas think the spear was there?” Sophie asked.

“The theory is that a secret society has existed for a thousand years entrusted not only with actual treasure like the relics, but also with ancient scrolls that contain esoteric knowledge crucial to saving—or destroying—the world. The St. Clairs protected the Templars when they sought refuge in Scotland in 1307. Remember I told you the St. Clairs discovered America in the late 1300s and, with the Inquisition two hundred years later, they decided to remove the Templar treasure.”

“So they took it to Nova Scotia? I don’t understand. I thought you said the spear was found in Maine.”