He thinks you the innocent victim of my magic, Elaine, and blames me, not you. I see them moving about their fires, the little folk-from Avalon, and from your country, King Uriens. then she blinked, and it was Niniane there, tall and slight and fair; it seemed to Morgaine that Niniane was no more than a child, sitting in play in the high seat. It was like Viviane's voice in her ears: The priestesses drink only the water of the Sacred Well.
Must this be? I call upon you both, in the name of the Goddess, to amend your quarrel. I beg you, as my sister's son, to ride at my side and cover my back against treachery. Of course he had been fostered apart from her and hardly knew her, either . Dark bubbles rose and spilled a foul stench, and then, slowly, rising from the lake, a long, narrow ne
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