We’d been staring at it for maybe five minutes when Kevin wandered away from us and paused at the water, where he shielded his eyes from the sunset and mumbled, “They’re back. The hands, the twelve-string guitar ...”
I followed his gaze, shielding my eyes also, to where the black sword could again be seen in the middle of the lake. As before, it was held aloft by a pair of slim, beautiful hands. “Wrong again—kid. I told you: It’s Stormbringer, sister to Mournblade, runesword of Elric, the last emperor of Melniboné.”
“No,” said Orley, approaching us, “It’s neither of those.” He shouldered between us and stood with his hands on his hips, like a superhero. “It’s Excalibur, obviously. Held aloft by the Lady of the Lake, waiting to be claimed.”
The truth of it was, it was all those things an
