The night had a cold, clear, crisp sense about it. To the two cloaked figures slipping out of the castle, it seemed isolated and silent. It made them feel as though the slightest noise would carry for a thousand miles through the quiet space. Both shuddered as they beheld the mist swirling around their feet and snaking up their ankles. Both of them knew that they could not let their friends down. Both of them knew what it would mean to fail.

They headed straight for the place Dextrin had mentioned, footsteps echoing loudly off the houses crowding in on either side of them.

As they approached, silently now, and cautiously, the faint sounds of chanting filled their ears. Pressing back into the shadows and drawing closer to the source of the sound, it was obvious that it was not English that was being spoken, but a strange, flowing speech that seemed to rise and fall like the tide in its captivating rhythm. Eventually the two women rounded a bend and had a full view of what was causing the sound.

A man of similar height to Arthur stood, thankfully facing away from their current position. He was muttering a chant under his breath as he tended what seemed to be a fire in front of him, from the way he was silhouetted in flickering light.

"Morgana, you don't think that's...?" Gwen whispered.

"Yes, Gwen, that's exactly what I think." She sighed in resignation. "Now we just have to prove it."

They were standing against the wall of one of the houses near the fire, shielded from the sorcerer's now golden-eyed gaze by the stone.

"Should we follow him?"

"Yes. Now shh."

Gwen nodded. "What do we do if he doesn't leave?"

"Be quiet. He will, don't worry. And when he does he'll lead us straight to the evidence we need. Just be patient." Morgana tried to sound self-assured, but in truth she hardly knew anything about this sorcerer. He could do anything. What if he already knew they were there?

Gwen just nodded mutely, not wanting to alert the man to their presence.

In time, the flames subsided and the sorcerer ceased his chant. The rim of the sky was beginning to pale and glow; it was now just before dawn.

Pausing for a moment as though waking from a deep sleep, the man before them turned his face to the sky and breathed what seemed to be a sigh of resignation. "One day soon, Uther Pendragon," he muttered to himself. "One day soon you will regret everything you are about to do, and everything you have done."

With a glance around, he turned and left. Little did he know of the two shadowy figures who watched him, dogged his footsteps, following him through the streets of Camelot. Little did he realise that they were listening to every word he said.

Guinevere and Morgana paused as their quarry turned quickly into a house beside him. It was an ordinary house, and was completely inconspicuous, indistinguishable from the others around it. At least it had been until the king's ward saw a known sorcerer enter it. Now it seemed as though that one house held all the answers to the riddles that had been posed since Arthur's arrest.

Morgana stepped forward, but Gwen held her back. "No, My Lady, we can't go in there with him inside. We have to wait."

"But Gwen! Arthur will be executed at dawn and the night is waning. We don't have much time!"

"What use are we to Arthur dead or captured? We must wait."

Morgana forced a smile. "You're right as always. But I can't help but think of how he's feeling..." She bit her lip. "What if he thinks we aren't coming?"

"We will come. Don't worry Morgana, we'll get there in time. All will be well."

The Lady nodded. There was nothing they could do now but watch and wait.

By the time the man left, the sun was beginning to rise. Their time really was running out.

Pushing open the door with a little difficulty, for it was an old door and stiff on its hinges, the women entered. At first all they were met with was the smell of mould and musty air. The fireplace was long disused and half the ashes were scattered around the floor. The floor itself was caked in dust and the footprints of the sorcerer were clear through it as if the man had walked through sand. On the warped wooden walls, painted ornaments and other household decorations were hung, many diagonally or just jutting out from the wall at odd angles. As Morgana advanced further into the room, the floorboards creaked and groaned under the sudden weight, threatening to give way at any second. But the sorcerer's prints led upstairs and Morgana, leaving Gwen to search the ground floor, followed them.

When she reached the landing, it was dark, and with no way to light one of the much-used candles lining the hallway, she was forced to stumble down the passageway in the pre-dawn gloom, clothes snagging on the furniture she passed. Eventually a light appeared at the end of the hallway and Morgana hurried towards it, causing her many bruises and stubbed toes. Cursing, she fumbled for the door handle, fingers knocking into it hopelessly in her haste before finally grasping it and hauling open the door.

It was a large room, obviously a bedroom by the excessive pieces of furniture cluttering the walls. And then there was of course the bed; it stood unmade and awkward in the centre of the room. Funnily, it looked oddly out of place, even in this house. Whoever designed this place either loved furniture, or had something to hide. Morgana was willing to bet on the latter.

A thorough search of the room left her out of breath and desperate, terrified of the consequences of her and Gwen failing. Hands shaking and even more clumsy than before, she tripped over the bed as she was leaving, nearly yelling in pain and shock as the bed slid easily out of place.

The floorboards underneath looked firm and genuine enough, if it could be said for anything in this God-forsaken place. Kneeling, Morgana hurriedly tapped each one, listening for the telltale signs of a hollow space.

Just when she had given up, she heard a faint echo from one of the boards. Heart racing, she clawed at it, willing it to move until her fingertips bled freely into the wood. She pulled it and grasped at it, her breath hitching as despair swallowed her. Sobbing, she beat her fists against the floorboard. Then finally, in one last fit of anger, she grabbed at the panel and pulled with all the strength that she possessed.

There was a groan and a sharp crack. And then the floorboard, or half the floorboard at least, for it had snapped straight down the middle, lifted up and away from its peers. Too tense to sigh in relief, Morgana delved her hand deep into the gaping crevice she had uncovered. Eventually her bloody fingers met cloth and she began to empty the hidden stash of clothing. When she saw it she nearly jumped in ecstasy. "Gwen!"

"My Lady?" Gwen was upstairs in no time.

Morgana piled her maid's arms high with bundles of fabric. "Come on, we have to go, there's no time!"

As they hurried back across the courtyard, both halted dead in their tracks. For there, in the centre, was a huge pyre. And Arthur was being dragged up onto it.