Daughter of Alchemy


Hi all,

I finally finished it! Daughter of Alchemy is live and ready for you to enjoy. This title (like all others) is printed with double spacing for the paper back so that people with reading disabilities can enjoy the expierence of Iseult’s world. I invite you to click on the link Daughter of Alchemy to experience the trauma and drama of Iseult’s world for yourself.

Remember to feed an author with a review. Further down this post is a little clue as to what is contained within the covers.

As always Happy Reading!

“He’s yours to do with as you please,” the cold voice invited to the snarls that began to sound.

“You won’t get away with this Bricius Aeilius! The Council will stop you,” Patrik screamed as an iron door swung open.

“The Council is mine, just as you were for all those years. And in due course the power of this world will be mine, “Bricius icily informed as he pulled the door closed with a heavy clang.

The snarling intensified as the werecats closed in on the cell. Patrik looked around the cell as the animals approached and shook his head. “I had my freedom Aeilius. You just didn’t know it. The rest of my powers are not yours for the taking.

“If anyone on the council breaks this pendant, know that iron will cage the beast for eternity.”

Patrik then clutched the amulet on his neck. When the iron bars of his cell opened to admit the snarling cats Patrik firmly shouted, “Ignis!”

Fire encased the cell and the whining of wounded and dying cats sounded throughout the memory. The memory was so vivid that the stench of burning flesh filled the projection room as the memory went dark and the room returned to its normal luminescence.


Cover Concept


I’ve started cover concepts for my next book. Which still has only a working title of Isis’ Savior. Playing around with other titles at the moment. At any rate I thought I would share the current concept with you. I am also sharing a snippet of the book with you. Feel free to leave any feedback! As always,

Happy Reading!


“When Bricius is in the room, the mark on Iseult’s arm will activate the cuneiform of the chair. The minute that happens they need to bolt from those chairs. The rangers will make sure that Iseult and Grandfather are out of those chairs. Once those who helped in sealing Mother Isis in stone are in those chairs, her stone prison will break.
“Bricius helped put Isis in that stone prison, he is the key to freeing her from it.
“For this to work though you are going to have let Iseult feel the pain you are helping her fight,” Haimi finished quietly. ” Haimi explained tiredly.
“Brady I hate to ask, but do you have the fire opal. I don’t want that stench in the house any more than it has to be,” Wilfrid sharply stated before anyone could object.
“I do. It is the brightest one that I possessed. The crown had requested a pendant be made of it, but in the circumstances I think they’ll understand a different usage,” Brady wryly answered as he opened the black pouch.
Wilfrid took the opal gingerly. As Wilfrid closed his eyes, his hand and the opal began to glow.
Eyes around the room began to widen at the almost magical site of fire growing where there was once no sparks.
Selk looked to Iseult and quietly asked, “Will you be able to handle the pain?”
“I will do whatever it takes to free us all,” Iseult answered confidently as she leaned into the iron chair. Tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes.
Slowly Iseult and Grandfather closed their eyes allowing the fireplace to go out. Wilfrid grasped the opal tightly allowing flames to surround the room, but not engulf it.
The flickering flames were accompanied by Master Evander chanting the writing on the parchment. Wilfrid kept the flames high as the house began to shake. The fireplace began to crack in two admitting a slim leg into the room.

Isis' Savior Concept Cover 2


Frozen in Ice


Hi all,

I am part of a writing group and they gave us a prompt this week that piqued my imagination. We were given a picture of a woman in what looked like a glass coffin and told to tell her story. I decided that Sleeping Beauty was to easy a route to go.

I hope that what I have come up with intrigues you as much as the image did me. In the next couple of months I hope to take this piece and turn it into a full length novel. At any rate as always I hope you enjoy and feel free to leave a review.


Frozen in Ice


A man with icicles in his white hair stood in front of an icy coffin. Engraved in scrolling gold letters on top of the coffin was the name Noelle. In the coffin lay a woman with jet black hair and blood red lips. Her eyelids were tattooed with holly. Pale skin stretched over high cheekbones. Around her neck was a pearl and amber choker.

The man standing in front of the coffin with his head bowed and frozen tears fell from his eyes. Ice was forming around his pale lips as he brokenly murmured, “One day Noelle, you will walk the snows with me again. I promise.”

“You shouldn’t come here everyday Jack,” an aged man sagely informed from the white doorway.

“She can still hear me Father Time,” Jack replied brokenly.

“Seeing her everyday isn’t healthy for you,” Father Time insisted.

“If I don’t visit my sister, who will?”

“The two of you aren’t alone,” Father Time insisted again.
Jack’s thin lips sneered as he turned to face Father Time. “For someone who has been around since The Beginning you don’t know everything. Or is it that you have forgotten,” Jack harshly retorted.

Father Time shook his grey head an closed his ancient blue eyes. “Jack, we are all still here. Just in different aspects than our pasts,” Father Time explained softly.

A glittering teardrop fell from Jack’s clear eyes as he bitterly shot back, “Sixty years ago she danced beautifully on the snowflakes! Now the mortals couldn’t tell you her name! How am I not supposed to be bitter,” Jack asked hotly.

“Jack, time will heal all,” Father Time sagely assured.

Jack violently shook his head as he spat, “Not this time, Father Time. Unless they return to the old ways never will Noelle slide down the snowbanks again,” Jack bitterly assured.

“Times change Mr. Frost,” a mellow female voice said from outside the room.

“Mother Nature,” Jack sneered.

“You’re young by our standards Mr. Frost. But not by the world’s. You know these things, why can you not accept them?”

“Because out of all of us she is the only one who ever cared for me. Noelle is kind, gentle, and caring. Not to mention free spirited and fun loving. My sister doesn’t deserve to be forgotten by the fleeting memories of mortals,” Jack stubbornly insisted as icicles began to form in his short locks.

“Jack, she will dance again,” Father Time benevolently guaranteed.

Jack angrily shook his head as he stormed past Mother Nature and Father Time leaving a light trail of fallen snow in his wake.
Mother Nature bowed her vine tangled hair in the wake of Jack’s icy anger as Father time sadly shook his elderly head. “How do we thaw Jack’s frozen bitterness,” Mother Nature asked Father Time.

“With time he will see that the mortals will remember the joyfulness that Noelle embodied. Until then all we can do is keep Noelle surrounded by warm hope and soft thoughts,” Father Time positively stated.

“Jack won’t accept that Father Time. We have to be able to tell him something more than that,” Mother Nature quietly insisted as a cool wind swept the snow away.

With hunched shoulders Father Time closed his eyes as he stood in front of the frozen Noelle Frost. “I don’t know what to tell him,” Father Time whispered as a tear trailed down his paper thin face.

“Do you think Mr. or Mrs. Claus could help,” Mother Nature gently asked.

“They could try. Unfortunately I think it would only increase Jack’s bitterness. After all Mrs. Claus has gained in popularity where Noelle has lost,” he sadly explained.

Mother Nature shook her head as she joined Father Time in front of Noelle Frost. As the two stood silent watch over the frozen youth, multicolored leaves fell to the floor around them.


Snow was falling heavily around the sparkling house on the hill. Of all the houses on the North Pole this one stood out the most. Multicolored lights were reflecting off the falling snow like a rainbow of diamonds in the sun. Smoke was coming from the chimney and golden lights glowed in the windows.

In the arched doorway Mother Nature stood wrapped in a cloak of leaves. She stood there until a small figure in green opened the door and chirpily greeted, “Mother Nature! What brings you here?”

Mother Nature smiled patiently and replied, “Hello Trixie. Are Mr. and Mrs. Claus in?”

Trixie energetically nodded as she directed, “They’re in the main study. He’s going over his list.”

Mother Nature smiled at Trixie as she thanked the little elf. Trixie’s ears turned a bright red as she disappeared.
With a fond smile Mother Nature shook her head as she made her way to the most famous study in the world. After a polite knock on the stone entryway Mother Nature heard a jovial, “Enter.”

Mother Nature glided into the cozy study like a gentle spring breeze. “Hello Santa and Mrs. Claus,” she politely greeted.

“Mother Nature! What a nice surprise,” Mrs. Claus exclaimed.

“What’s wrong old friend,” Santa asked from his wingback chair.

“What makes you think something’s wrong,” Mother Nature asked.

“I smell rain in the air,” Santa wisely answered.

Mother Nature bowed her curly, vine entangled head. “Can you talk to Jack,” she pleaded softly.

“He’s still visiting Noelle than?”

“Worse. He’s getting bitter,” Mother Nature gravely informed her old friend.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Claus whispered as her chocolatey eyes began to shine.

“He could make winter bitterly cold for all of us if he doesn’t accept that people and things change,” Mother Nature quietly explained.

“I know old friend. But, what can we do,” Santa worriedly asked.

“You and Mrs. Claus are the most magical of the winter beings. Surely you can do something,” Mother Nature pleaded the crackling fire emphasized her hope.

Santa sat contemplatively, his list forgotten, as he pondered what he could do. Slowly the twinkle returned to Santa’s eyes. “Trying to talk to Jack wouldn’t do any good. However, there is something that can be done. It would take you, me, and Father Time,” Santa told Mother Nature conspiratorially.

Mother Nature cocked her head to the side as she asked, “What do you have in mind?”

“Let me have one of the elves call Father Time. It’s best if we discuss this when we are all together,” Santa gravely stated. Mother Nature looked at Santa with confusion as one of the elves called for Father Time.

Mrs. Claus walked across the study and put a hand on Santa’s right should as she leaned in and whispered softly to him. Mrs. Claus then walked out of the room with a homely smile towards Mother Nature. Mother Nature smiled graciously at her hostess and continued to stare at Santa in confusion.

The crackling flames in the fireplace roared loudly in the silence. Santa and Mother Nature stared into the flames as though they contained the answers to their problems. Slowly the fire glowed brighter as a black square with symmetrical lines formed in the center of the flames.

Slowly the square grew larger in size until it covered the flames. Once the square stabilized an elderly form stepped through the square as spryly as Santa went down a smooth chimney.

“Show off,” Mother Nature whispered with a fond smile.
The form bent form straightened as he was able and gave a warm smile to Santa before asking, “You had something that you wanted to talk about?”

“I’m hoping you could help me with something, Father Time.
“Mother Nature has told me the sad state that Jack Frost has fallen into and I think there may be a way we can help him,” Santa finished mysteriously.

“What did you have in mind,” his ancient voice cracked.
As his guests stood waiting on him, Santa smiled and replied,

“We turn Jack into a child.” Santa’s smile never left his face as he gave his solution.

Mother Nature’s eyes widened as the vines in her hair went vibrant green to brittle brown. Father Time had a few white hairs turn chestnut brown. “That’s…..” Father Time muttered.

“I think I need to sit down,” Mother Nature mumbled.

Two chairs appeared out of the air for the mythical beings to sit upon as they watched Santa grin. With a jovial chuckle Santa explained, “Between the tree of us we have the willpower to bind Jack’s memories and turn him into a mortal child temporarily. He needs to remember how to play. With a little luck not only will we get Jack back, but Noelle as well.”

Mother Nature stared into space for a moment before whispering, “My only question is how would he return to us?”

“Bind his memories to something precious. When he remembers what it is like to be a child and play the spell would lift automatically,” Santa firmly stated.

“Who would watch over him,” Father Time asked sagely.
Santa gave a half smile as he calmly answered, “Old friend, I was hoping you would take over the role as his grandfather.”

Father Time chuckled and smiled as he replied, “Count me in. I haven’t spent time with the mortals that decide our fate in years.”
Mother Nature smiled as bright as a summer sun to signify her agreement to Santa’s rather outlandish plan.

New Idea for a Book Series


Hi all,

The other day I read a prompt that started to play with my mind. Anyways, as I was thinking about the prompt I came up with an idea for a new series loosely based on the Greek Gods. I thought I would share it with you and try to get an idea of what you think of it. Feel free to share any opinions you have! And as always,

Happy Reading

Two thousand years ago the world stopped believing, thus causing a long descent into utter chaos. As their beliefs faded so did their gods. Finally the essence of the gods was so week that their souls joined with the mortal world.

The gods are consistently reborn ever generation; never regaining their memories.

Humanities consistent association has left only one goddess to tend everything – Hestia, goddess of the hearth.

Hestia can no longer see the world suffer. So one by one she calls the gods home to Recreate Olympus.

The first to be called home is the lustful, temperamental god Zeus.

To Roma


Here lately I have been posting quite a bit of Arthurian one shots. I truly hope you are enjoying them. Today I have yet another one shot for you. This particular one takes place early on in Arthur’s reign. As always feel free to leave a review.

Happy Reading!

To Roma

Sunlight filtered through the arrow slits of what was quickly becoming known as the king’s workroom to the denizens of the castle. The sunlight allowed enough light to see by and a slight breeze to circulate the air of the some what stuffy room.

In the light’s path sat a sturdy wooden table covered with scrolls. The paper was imported from Aegyptus and known as papyrus. It was extremely durable and versatile. The durability of the papyrus was invaluable to the nation,

Although Khitai was able to produce a cotton blend that was cheaper, it was also more delicate. The papyrus was one of the few extravagances that Arthur allowed his administration this early in his reign.

Behind the table of scrolls sat a man with reddish brown hair and dancing blue eyes. The man was bent over the table carefully reading a scroll. There was a slight frown on his face as he stared at the scroll.

After several moments the sound of a man clearing his throat alerted the seated man to the presence of another in this his workroom. The seated man looked up and said, “Sir Gareth, come and sit for I have something of a quest for you.”

Sir Gareth entered the room and looked warily at the man before saying, “A quest, Your Majesty,” alarm colored Gareth’s voice.

“Of a sort,” his majesty confirmed with a half smile on his face. It was a smile that made Gareth nervous.

With trepidation in his stomach Gareth echoed, “Of a sort?”

“Yes. I would like for you to make a journey with the Lady Seraphim,” Arthur answered. Gareth could have sworn that he saw amusement in the king’s eyes as he said that.

Gareth almost sagged in relief. Doing anything with Lady Seraphim was both refreshing and amusing for the fact that it was common knowledge that Seraphim acted like no lady that any knight had ever met.

It was well known that you could take Lady Seraphim into a tavern and she would encourage one to act with boisterous pride amongst your peers. The Lady Seraphim also tended to act as though she were any other knight. That tended to help with thinking of her as a comrade in arms rather than a damsel in distress.

“What sort of journey had you in mind, your majesty,” Gareth asked his king.

“’Twould be naught but a journey across the seas, to the land of Roma,” replied Arthur, his hazel eyes sparkling in mischief.

“Then thou wish a mission of secrecy,” Gareth questioned. The prospect of traveling in secret with the king’s champion sparked the knight’s interest. Gareth, like all other knights of the table, had never served with a female knight and the king’s chosen champion was a woman. This was a highly unconventional thing to have.

The danger this trip held for the King’s Champion was great. This much Gareth knew. The danger was primarily because Seraphim was a woman. All in Camelot knew how the Romans tended to treat women.

Especially given the fact that the primary religion of the Roman conquerors was that of the Christ child. This was a religion that saw women as a frail lot that were to be protected and kept far from the fields of bloodshed.

And the King’s Champion, the Lady Seraphim, was anything but meek and mild. In many ways Seraphim was more of a knight than some of those that sat at the Table Round. For she truly did believe in and try to live by the ideals that the King had set forth for his Knights. It was rumored that the Lady Seraphim didn’t even know the meaning of the words ‘lip service’. That was something that Gareth found to be extremely true in the few dealings that he had attended with the Lady Knight.

As Sir Gareth lost himself in his thoughts the king interrupted, “I have every confidence that my Champion can defend herself. Unfortunately I also know the depths of treachery that the Roman Senate can fall too,” he finished sternly.

“Understood, Your Majesty. I shall do my utmost to keep faith with the high honor that you have seen fit to bestow upon me,” Gareth finished solemnly.

Arthur gave an ironic grin as he nodded his head. As Sir Gareth strides were taking him from the room the king intoned, “Oh, and Sir Gareth, remember to tone her temper with an alehouse if need be.”

Gareth paled at the thought of what could drive the formidable Champion to the alehouses to calm down. With a half bow towards the king, Gareth strode the door shaking his head at the adventure to come.

A Call To Arms


Alright folks,

I thought I would continue with the Arthurian theme for a bit here. So for today’s short trek into my weird mind I give you A Call To Arms. This one features Palamedes the Saracen and the, by now, rather infamous, Lancelot du Lac.

As always,


Several seagulls flew around the stone castle making their braying call heard throughout its numerous halls. The outer walls of the stone castle had four parapets. Each parapet was covered with gleaming red tile. Atop each parapet was a white triangular flag with an embroidered raging blue lion on it. The flags were limp as there was no breeze to hold them stiff. From the top of these parapets you could see cresting ocean waves hitting the sandy shore.

A grey stone wall covered in salty brine protected a modest castle. If you stood just outside of the main hall you could catch a whiff of a pheasant dinner being prepared.

This castle by the water was the famed Joyous Guard and its master was the most famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) Knight of the Table Round: Lancelot du Lac.

Currently he had one guest in his castle and that was another knight of the Table – Palamedes the Saracen.

Palamedes was one of three knights of the Table from the country of Babylon. Many courtiers were shocked to learn that the distant lands of the Saracen had heard of the wonders of Arthur’s court at Camelot.

Even now when the glory was beginning to fade Arthur’s dream of peace and safety for all people was spreading. And that’s what the two men seated in wooden chair decorated with brightly embroidered dorsals on the backs were discussing.

“This I tell you true, Lancelot,” the dark skinned Palamedes began, “though Arthur will die, his dream will not die with him.”

“Talk of such a great man bodes ill for a splendid dinner of pheasant and vegetables,” said the fair skinned, dark haired knight. If one looked closely you would be able to see the fear in his blue eyes when talking of the death of a man he still considered to be his greatest friend and liege lord.

“I do not mean to ruin our dinner, Lancelot, but surely you must see his mortality as I do,” Palamedes explained.

“After all these years Palamedes, do you still not know what he means to us personally,” Lancelot asked his guest in slight confusion.

“Well I know that many of you consider him a friend and companion. I myself consider him to be a great friend. But what I am trying to impress upon you is that his dream will outlive him,” Palamedes explained as the servants brought the food in and set it on the long wood board table before the two middle aged knights.

As the servants backed out from the dining table the two men began to load their plates although their conversation took on a different tone.

“Do you believe how far the fame of Camelot has spread,” Palamedes asked his companion.

“My friend, when you and your brothers first came to Camelot as emissaries from your father, Esclabar, King of Babylon, I had trouble believing. As for this day his fame is almost inconceivable,” Lancelot replied truthfully.

“Yet Gaul is closer to Britannia than Babylon,” Palamedes replied.

“True,” Lancelot conceded.

After a moment of silence Palamedes said, “Word from my home land is that even Belshazzar respects what Arthur has managed to accomplish in these times.”

Lancelot winced at the disdain in Palamedes quiet voice. All residents of the castle knew that Palamedes had little respect for his oldest brother who now ruled their father’s kingdom. Lancelot could understand those feelings, they were after all, the same way he felt about Mordred.

Only with Mordred there was more black-hearted hate than lack of respect. That villainous, base born bastard had nearly destroyed the kingdom. And while Lancelot knew he played a part in the near ruin of all that he held dear, he knew for certain that Mordred’s part was far larger than his own. Lancelot knew that many people would agree with him. Including his guest.

“It amazes me how one man’s dream can mean so much too so many,” Lancelot replied.

“He is a great man surrounded by great people who would do anything that he asked of them,” Palamedes told his friend.

At this moment a man with wild eyes and straggly hair was ushered into the room. The only saving grace about his looks was that he wore a red tunic embroidered with a gold dragon. This man was a messenger from Arthur.

Lancelot motioned the man forward. As the man approached the aging knight he extended a scroll secured with a black ribbon.

Lancelot opened the scroll and quickly scanned the contents of it. His tan face was pale when he raised his head to look at Palamedes

“What does Arthur say,” Palamedes asked, slightly alarmed at his friends paleness.

“He has asked for aid in a battle against the surly peacock Mordred. A final battle,” Lancelot replied gravely. The tone of the scroll told Lancelot that this battle would be one for the famed castle of Camelot itself. Because the man who controlled Camelot controlled the nation.

Lancelot and Palamedes looked at each other and hoped that they would arrive in time. Both knights knew deep in their hearts that with war between nephew and uncle this would be the final tolling of the bells for the greatest nation on earth. And in the backs of their minds they hoped against all hope that Arthur’s dream would live on in the memory of the people.

Born of Common Blood


The following is a one-shot background piece on an early book I wrote. It is part of a set of one shots about the goings on of King Arthur and his Noble Knights of the Table Round. This one happens to center on two characters one is my own creation the other is a mainstay in Arthurian Mythology. Sir Bors is the mainstay as he was on the legendary Quest for the Grail. The character of my own creation is Lady Seraphim, Champion for the King. I present to you, – THE TALE OF SIR BORS, A SWORD SWORN KNIGHT OF COMMON BLOOD.

As always,


It was nearing sunset on a warm summer’s day when someone knocked on the door of the little three room cottage. The villagers down the road didn’t visit the old woman that lived within. The village elders thought that she was off of her somewhat rusty hinges.

As for the children of the village, they were a different story altogether. They thought she was a bard. The old lady told them stories of Camelot. Of great Lords and Ladies. Even ones of knights in shining armor at tournaments jousting for a ladies favor.

She even told them of a time when there was no famine or war. When miracles happened as often as the new dawn, and good deeds were a knights daily fare with his lady’s smile as a reward.

The old woman gave a heavy sigh as she rose from her old wooden chair to answer the door. Her dark hair had long sense faded to white and her joints ached with the cold, but she was still as alert as she had been when she was a young maid of twenty.

Upon opening the door it wasn’t to find a child as she expected. Instead she found an apparent man of the gentry on her doorstep. His long white hair was tied back with a thong and his blue eyes were shadowed with the wisdom of age. The lines of his face spoke of a hard life lived with many adventures. It was obviously a face that spoke volumes to the right person.

“Seraphim? King’s Champion? Is it truly thee? Has my long search sought thee out,” the man asked. Relief was evident in his gravelly voice.

Seraphim, for that was the woman’s name, was shocked. Who was this man? How did he know the truth of her past? Seraphim had thought herself successful in erasing herself from popular memory.

“Who art thou,” she asked with a slight tremor in her voice that had nothing to do with fear and the frailty of age. While she may have sounded weak, you could almost hear the hidden strength that lay just beneath her surface.

“Do not you remember the Knight born of common blood,” he asked in a soft voice.

“Born of common blood? Bors? Could it possibly be you that stands at my door?” Confusion was evident in her voice. This couldn’t be Sir Bors.  He hadn’t been seen since he left on his quest to find the Grail with Perceval and Galahad. Rumors had abounded of his death for years now.

“It is Milady. Might I beg entrance into your cottage,” he enquired politely.

“Granted Bors,” Seraphim answered in the same tone. Bors walked humbly into her home. Granted her home was not as grand as the rooms that she had acquired at Castle Camelot but the cottage was comfortable and it suited her needs perfectly.

“Please arrange thyself to thy comfort. For I wager that our conversation shall last well into the next sunrise,” Seraphim told him.

“Indeed Milady. For we have much to tell each other,” Bors agreed. He spoke quietly as though he were afraid to disturb the memories she held. Bors knew that his friend held a temper most powerful and he did not want to be the one to disturb it should it be resting peacefully after all these years.

Even though his voice was quiet it was serene. Just as it had always been at court, where Arthur and Guinnevere had presided in days long gone. Seraphim thought she detected a note of weariness in his voice as well. If it were there it would be a first, for Bors wasn’t known to be weary of anything.

“Before we begin would you care for refreshments?” Seraphim’s tone was polite, yet her eyes shone with merriment.

“I’ll not turn it down if you’ve a mind to share your precious ale,” he answered her with a slight grin. For in times now past it was almost unheard of for the Lady Champion Seraphim to share any ale or mead that was in her possession. It was just something that wasn’t done.

Seraphim nodded her had as he went into her little kitchen. She returned with two wooden mugs and a jug of ale.

“Where have you been Bors,” Seraphim asked after she sat down with her ale. There was more than a hint of sorrow in her voice.

“I shall answer your questions if you shall answer mine, Lady Seraphim.”

“Name thy question, Sir Bors.”

“What happened Lady Seraphim?”

“It fell apart. Her Majesty took to Lancelot’s bed,” Seraphim informed Bors gravely.

“The stories are true then? The tales told on peoples lips,” Bors asked in confusion.

“They are, my friend. Everything from the betrayal of Mordred and Morgause to that of the king resting on the isle of Avalon,” Seraphim confirmed. Her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“How? Why?”

“I do not know. It was a combination of many things. The battle with Lancelot for Guinnevere shook the people’s faith in Arthur. Thus opening the door for the vile that was spread by Mordred and Morgause,

“Other than that I know nothing more,” Seraphim replied.

Bors grew upset at the news. This was not what he wanted to hear. Especially not from the only female knight of the Table Round. She was the King’s Champion! How could she not know hat destroyed the realm?

“How did you survive? You who were his staunchest supporter and protector, yet there isn’t a tale in all the land that bears your name or presence,” he accused.

“Tis not what ye think, for you see, I am still bound by orders,” Seraphim stated simply.

“How is that possible?”

“Before the final battle, during the last gathering of the Court, I was ordered not to fight in the final battle against Mordred.

“Arthur gave that ordered at the beginning of the gathering in front of every surviving knight. I was furious. And I let my anger be known by storming off after he explained his orders.

“He said that I was to survive so that Camelot would be remembered,’ Seraphim explained.

“In other words, he left the hardest task to you,” Bors clarified.

Seraphim nodded her head in agreement. “And you Bors? What happened to your companions, Galahad and Perceval,” Seraphim asked.

A look of sadness mixed with joy crossed his face before Bors replied, “They are no more Seraphim. Listen well and I shall tell thee of the holiest adventure of the Knights of the Table Round.

“Across the blue sea and the land of hot sands there lies serene a hollow hill. Within it stands a glorious stone Cathedral dedicated to our Holy Father. It was protected by a silent order of monks.

“Before we reached the Cathedral, Galahad joined the ranks of the eternals.

“Upon reaching the Cathedral Perceval and I were silently led to the bishop of the Holy Ground for he was the only one permitted to speak.

“He told us, Perceval and I, of how his ancestor Joseph came into possession of the Cup of Christ.

“And then we were told of Joseph’s long journey from the land of milk and honey.

“After this he bid us to stay the night. And to receive communion the next day.

“So we stayed in the simple quarters provided. And truly we intended to stay but a single night. But that night turned into many seasons.

“Finally one day I awoke for communion to find that I woke alone. For in the night Perceval had ascended the steps of heaven.

“On that day the bishop told me that it was my duty to return to tell the tale of Christ’s Cup.

“And so I returned only to find that Camelot was no more. Arthur and Guinevere were no more. And absolutely no one knew of the Lady Champion Seraphim.

“Seraphim, I am most sure that when you were charged with keeping Camelot alive in the hearts of the people you were not supposed to erase yourself,” Bros finished.

“You may be right but it was all I could think of so that they will remember the most important parts,” Seraphim replied.

“Could you not have saved Her Majesty’s honor,” Bors asked.

“I tried and tried true. But by the time I started ‘twas already too late. She had been condemned in the eyes of the populace,” Seraphim replied.

And so the two old friends sat there and talked long into the night. They talked of recent times and those long gone.

Come morning Seraphim knew she had more to add to the legend before she could take her eternal rest.

So when the children came the next day Seraphim told them a new tale. The tale told that day would forever be remembered as the greatest adventure for Arthur and his Knights.

It would come to be known as the Quest for the Holy Grail.