By Stephen R. Lawhead
It has been fortold: within the hour of Britain's maximum desire, King Arthur will go back to rescue his people.
In Portugal, the reprobate King Edward the 9th has died by means of his personal hand.
In England, a gloomy state of affairs conceived by means of the power-hungry major Minister, Thomas Waring, is ready to be learned: the full destruction of the British monarchy within the twenty-first century.
And within the Scottish Highlands, a magical emissary named Mr. Embries--better referred to as ''Merlin''--informs a tender captain that he's subsequent in line to occupy the throne. For James Arthur Stuart isn't the commoner he has continually believed himself to be--he is Arthur, the mythical King of summer season, reborn. however the highway to England's salvation is rocky and hazardous, with robust ready to ambush: Waring and his ruthless political machine...and the brokers of an historical, way more powerful evil. For Arthur isn't the just one who has back from the mists of legend. And Merlin's magic isn't the merely sorcery that has survived the centuries.
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Extra resources for Avalon: The Return of King Arthur
On the other side, he put his hand to the fence post atop the bank, vaulted over the top wire of the fence, and struck off along the rising slope towards the shimmering light on the far hilltop. Reaching the crest of the first hill, he stopped to survey the situation. The fire still burned as brightly as before, but, try as he might, he could not make out any movement around the perimeter of the blaze. He moved on, descending quickly to the valley floor, jumping the stream at the bottom, and starting up the long slope of the next hill.
The speaker did not respond to the question. Instead, he said, “I am glad you kept my card. Listen carefully; there is not much time. I want you to come to London. ” “Not good enough,” James declared. “I don’t know you, and I don’t know what you’re up to. ” Embries remained unfazed by this blunt refusal. ” He paused. “There is a direct train to King’s Cross from Pitlochry at 10:21 this morning. ” “I suppose so,” James replied hesitantly. ” “Come to London, James,” countered Embries quietly. “Two days.
He shoved back from the table in weary disappointment and glanced up at the clock above the stove. Damn! It was past two o’clock—much too late to call Jenny now. She’d have been asleep hours ago. He stood, retrieved his one genuine find—the shooting party photo—and slipped it carefully back in its place inside the accounts book, put the book inside the box and closed the lid, then stumbled from the kitchen, pausing in the doorway long enough to snap off the light. He shuffled to his room at the back of the house, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed into bed.