King Arthur struggles to hold together his kingdom. His magical sword Excalibur has been stolen. Who will be able to recover it for him? Arthur is immersed in politics at the northern most point of his Kingdom.Queen Gwenhwyvar and Sorceress Morgan Le Fay set their sights upon recovering the very symbol of Arthur’s power.

Together they pursue the thief unknowingly heading straight into a deadly magical trap that he has set for any who follow him.

eBook ISBN 9780987272027

Paperback ISBN 9780648078913


AD 494 FRONT COVER - Final Draft


Merlin straightened himself from hunching over the fireplace. He had taken a sword from the armoury, much to the amazement of Sir Brumean who was on duty at the time. The knight knew better than to question the old Sorcerer, so had allowed him to take any sword the old man may desire. It was this plain looking sword that Merlin had taken to his chamber and began to re-fashion. He had agitated the fire to the point where the flame was intense enough to soften the metal that made up the hand grip. He was levitating it in the flame watching for the signs that the metal was ready to be re-moulded. It was taking a good deal of his concentration, but he couldn’t help but think about the events that had transpired overnight. Someone must have put a lot of thought into this act of treason. Was there more to it than just the theft of Arthur’s symbol of power? Of course there was! It must be a prelude to a challenge of Arthur’s rightful place as King of Britain; but by whom?

Aelle was the obvious mastermind behind this; perhaps too obvious. It was also possible that this was the work of a previously unknown challenger to the throne. The Saxons and Angles and Jutes would all benefit with Arthur out of their way. Wales, Dumnonii and Northumbria would be able to be invaded without the unifying presence of Arthur Pendragon.

Merlin’s thoughts were interrupted by the task now at hand. The hand grip had begun to glow white and soften. Now he could begin. In what would have looked an act of madness to anyone who had they witnessed it, Merlin stretched out his left and right index fingers and began to trace into the metal the intricate patterns that made up the decoration on Excalibur. With equal dexterity between both hands, he pushed and pulled the metal re-creating the ornamental embellishments of the sword’s trimming. He felt no heat, although it would have boiled the flesh from a normal man’s fingers. Drawing back his hands he flipped the levitating sword over and repeated the process on the other side. When he was satisfied that he had indeed successfully replicated the adornments on Excalibur he gripped the sharp edge of the sword and dunked it into a nearby bucket of water. It hissed and spluttered loudly as the metal contracted and hardened.