CHAPTER TEN
Rain slashed down on the sturdy little stone cabin overlooking the North Sea. While it was only mid-September, the weather in the Orkney Islands had already turned harsh. A few low bits of rocky land off the north coast of Scotland, with the North Atlantic to one side and the North Sea to the other, the islands lay open to every bit of foul weather that came along.
Not that Sir Agravaine, known to the world as Harold Sanderson, cared. He had lived in this remote chain of isles for twenty years and had grown to love it. He loved the connection with nature, the honest people, and the chance to be alone with his books and his prayers.
He had been praying especially hard lately. A fellow knight had contacted him, saying that Sir Bedivere and Sir Lionel had been murdered. His con
